#Sweaty Mammoth

[gremlingottoosilly]

That last ask was an inspiration but now I give you short!reader that grabs Konig's shirt collar, gear, harness or if for once the mammoth of a man is wearing a tie. It gets nabbed before he's yanked down to meet reader eye to eye.

You're only doing it for two reasons. First, the obvious one is to kiss him. This man is huge and often doesn't even notice you in front of him unless you're shouting...so if you want to give your man some smooches and he is too dumb and too huge to lean down and give it to you willingly, you'd have to take drastic measures.

Konig actually thinks he is being attacked in his own home, for a second. He is ready to start swinging before he notices a familiar smell and understands that it, in fact, is totally okay and it's just his pretty wife being silly and wanting to give him a heart attack simply because she needs to kiss him. He loves it when you're taking the initiative in this sort of thing - usually, you are not really all about reciprocating his feelings, so he kinda adores you for being fine with giving him affection. Seriously though, you look freaking adorable like this...he can't wait to claim you even more, to make you his in a major way. So, he is fine with you pulling him by the straps of his combat wear, when he is all sweaty and dirty as you claim his lips in a kiss. God, he can't love you even more. Your second option is, well, when you're really fucking mad at him, and you need to literally pull him to your level. He might be a bit more apprehensive about being in your area when you're angry like that, but once he can see your mad face up close...yeah, even if you're genuinely trying to seem threatening and force him to listen, he still wants nothing more but to smother you in his affection. So, no matter how much you want him to listen, you will still be getting kisses - only this time, he would be even less careful. If you're pulling him close, you must be expecting kisses - and there is literally no way for you to escape this. Nope.

[bellyyearner]

Office life at 550+ lbs

Word count: 1061

Extreme obesity, mobility issues, work environment, feedee perspective

No gender mentioned POV

Being a working feedee is hard sometimes, especially when your gain slows down to a snails pace despite how much you've been eating. In the last 3 years you've only put on another 40lbs, but you have an easy job that pays the bills and allows you to live comfortably so you can't complain too much. The only part of this job you hate though, is the journey inside.

As you exit your car you can already feel the sweat forming between your rolls, it's been taking a few tries lately to stand up after swinging your hefty left leg out onto the concrete. You've even questioned if you should bring your car to the shop to check the suspension just in case your fat ass crashing back down onto the driver seat a half dozen times a day might be causing issues. At the very least you were thankful for your personal parking spot only being about 250ft from the elevator up to the office floor. Only 100ft from the buildings entrance and the cold AC running throughout the building.

And so you begin your slow pendulous waddle, thighs scraping against each other with every step, causing so much friction your jeans always have a distinct wear pattern only a couple weeks after buying them. One foot infront the other you waddle, repeating the laboured motion as your breath grows heavy and your belly slaps against the tops of your thighs. Halfway to the door now you hear the clicking of heels against the concrete, 2 interns whizzing by you without a word. You can't even imagine moving as fast as they do, or why they'd even want to move that fast in the first place. Your sense of urgency left you a couple hundred pounds ago.

Another 20 heavy steps later you reach the door, a mailman on the other side who was about to leave opens it for you, clearly staring at your mammoth size and brow covered in sweat. You make it inside and can barely catch your breath to say thank you before he's gone. The AC graces your hot sweaty skin and you feel relief, you spot your double wide chair HR had fought to get installed for you last year, and plop down on it with a huff. All there's left to do is catch your breath for a couple minutes, walk 60 steps through the lobby, turn right, walk 10 steps to the elevator, a minute of standing, and another 30 steps to your cubicle. Where you will then chow down on a couple snacks you brought and rehydrate before looking at spreadsheets and grazing on more food for 8 hours. A routine you had grown so accustomed to that it became second nature.

You look at the handle bar bolted into the wall and remember when you found it insulting, but now it was a necessity. Gripping the bar you start to stand hoping a second try isn't needed because of how many people were in the lobby. You can feel your heart quake and your knees whine but thankfully you hauled your lard laden ass off the seat in one attempt.

The second journey begins and the heavy waddle ensues, gut bouncing, thighs scraping, mouth open and breathing loudly enough that you're attracting attention. You try to ignore their stares but it's only fueling your appetite, already making a mental list of what you're going to grab from the vending machine once you get off the elevator. A few minutes later you round the corner and take the final few steps only to notice a sign on the elevator. You can't read it yet but you can feel your heart sinking already. It can't be right? They would've told you. They would've sent an email or a text. "Out of order".

Panic sets in, you can't climb 4 flights of stairs, you bought a one story house for good reason, you haven't had to climb more than a curb in years at this point. Your mind is growing frantic as you feel the burden your legs are under grow stronger, anticipating if you're really gonna be expected to climb the stairs.

Your phone buzzes, a text from Susy in HR

"Hey! I'm so sorry 'your name', this just happened like an hour ago and I totally forgot to tell you. The elevator is having some major issues and we don't know when it'll be fixed. I dug up that old paper work you filed 6 months ago about work from home and I'm gonna push it through asap! I've sent Lucy downstairs with a work laptop for you to bring home, just take a couple days off while we get all the paperwork in order."

Relief washes over you as you hear the distinct clicking of heels coming down the stairs. You steady your breath and try to seem unfazed, almost certain you look ridiculous.

Lucy: "Hey 'your name', here's your laptop and a cherry cola, figured you would need it before heading back to your car ;). You know I'm gonna miss seeing you around here, less stuff to talk about and no one to gawk at. You have my number so just let me know if you need me to come over to help you adjust"

A quick farewell and her heels were clicking back up the stairs, but all you could think about was how you're never gonna see the inside of that office again. With no where to go and no decency to be upheld there was no reason you wouldn't finally break 600lbs. You chug the Cola, wanting to make one final show for the coworkers and acquaintances you've made over the years, and start the final journey, one to immobility.

With a gassy belly swaying from side to side, your humongous thighs atop fattened lard laden calves carry you through the lobby one last time. Not even trying to hide your burps and groans you walk out of the building, skipping the chair by the door you once saw as a refuge. Thoughts of what takeout you're gonna get delivered and a quickly growing Walmart order forming in your mind as you slowly waddle through the parking lot one last time. All fueled by the dream of being an immobile work from home piggy

[starry-eyedblog]

ahh i’m so sorry @angelofacidx!! i accidentally posted this ask before it was ready and had to delete it so your ask is gone :(( i hope i did a good job and y'know i had to make simon a tad pathetic, just for you <3

warnings/tags: simon x fem goth reader, awkward simon, flirting, teasing, kissing

when simon caught a glimpse of you one night at the pub he frequented with his mates, he was instantly captured by your beauty. usually, his type wasn't goth girls but there was something just so intriguing about you and your style that he found himself unable to look away.

when his friend johnny saw he was staring off, uninterested in the conversation, he followed his friends eyes and saw what had his full attention. "got a wee crush have you, si?" he chuckles, playfully nudging at his arm.

"oh fuck off," simon grumbled back, thankful for his black face mask covering his flushed cheeks. then, another friend was peeping up. "not your usual type mate. gonna go talk to her? or just oogle all night like a dickhead?" gaz had laughed with a raised eyebrow, taking a sip of his pint.

simon shrugged off his friends and left his booth, walking over to the bar where you were sat on a stool, talking away to a friend. he slipped in behind you, akwardly coughing to catch your attention which worked.

you spun around in your stool, tilting your head back to take in the absolute mammoth of a man stood in front of you. "can i help you?" you had asked, tilting your head slightly with an almost annoyed expression and simon felt his face flush warm.

"i uh- i was wonderin' if i could buy you a drink?" he asked, trying to avoid staring at you too much incase it come off as rude. in reality he was soaking up your outfit and makeup, enjoying all the details his eyes could find.

you laugh softly and with a smile, you accept the offer. "course you can, i'll have whatever you're having." you say, leaning in a bit closer to him so he can hear you over the general chit chat filling the busy bar.

simon nods, watching the way you lean towards him. his hands grow sweaty and his eyes frantically try to avoid yours. he quickly orders two rum and cokes, paying for them with a tenner. he takes his change, watching the bartender pour the drinks and place the glasses down in front of him.

he says a quick thanks before handing you a glass, "thanks." you say simply, bringing the glass up to your lips to take a long sip. as you place the drink down onto the bar, you look up at him with a questioning look.

"gonna ask me any questions or?" you tease with a smile and simon feels his heart hammering against his ribcage. "oh yeah, sorry uhm. so what's your name? that's a good place to start yeah?" he chuckles, hooking his mask under his chin and taking a big sip of his drink to try settle his nerves.

simon was someone who was confident in his looks, knew how intimidating he was with his height and old scars. you'd think he was a womanizer, but in all honestly he got shy around pretty girls and always managed to make an arse out of himself.

you laugh and nod, "yeah that's a good place to start. maybe next you can ask what my job is?" you tease with a cheeky smile before taking pity on him and telling him your name before asking for his.

simon answers back with his name, complimenting how pretty yours is before trying to move on and ask more questions that aren't very surface level.

more drinks are bought throughout the night and you seem to stay by his side, enjoying how flustered he gets around you. the more tipsy simon gets, the more he's unable to hide his fascination about your style.

"so, goth huh? i may have uh been a bit of an emo when i was younger in all honestly," he admits and you bark out a laugh, body tipping back and simon hopes to engrave that sound into his mind to remember for the rest of his life.

you raise a brow, "that so? just trying to imagine you with piercings and eyeliner. paints a pretty image honestly." you say before leaning forward, taking one hand and slowly dragging it up his arm while staring into his eyes.

once simon realises what you are doing, his face flushes pink and he feels his heart race. "had to take those out for military." he murmurs, unable to hold eye contact for long.

"military? makes sense now with all that muscles." you hum, giving a gentle squeeze to his bicep. "i've been like 'this' since i was a teenager, first got into the music through my parents and then discovered how much i enjoyed the style and makeup. haven't looked back since, brings in a lot of unwanted attention though. guys asking me to be their goth mommy on nights out or even dates, like what the fuck?" you shake your head, laughing with him with your hand still resting on his bicep.

"guys actually ask you that? fuckin' hell and i thought i was bad at flirting." simon bites, throwing back the rest of his drink before placing the empty glass onto the bar.

you laugh loudly at his words, shaking your head before finishing your own drink. "trust me, you're one of the best so far. little shy though eh?" you tease, giving another squeeze to his arm before standing up.

once you are standing up straight, you turn to your friend and explain your plan to her. she laughs and smiles, gently smacking you in a playful way before agreeing.

you turn back around and go up onto your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his ear, "i'm going out for a smoke, if you'd like to join me." you whisper, pulling back to stare up at him.

silently simon nods and follows you outside, glaring at any men who even glance in your direction while you make it out the bar. he is under the impression it will just be a friendly smoke together but oh boy was he wrong.

as soon as the both of you are outside, you are dragging him down a dark alleyway around the corner. your arms wrap around his neck and pull him down until your lips are just brushing. "can i kiss you?" you ask while looking into his eyes, hoping he’ll say yes.

simon is caught off guard, his eyes widening as you easily pull him down closer to you. “su-sure.” he mutters before he feels your lips pressing to his in a slow kiss. his arms gently wrap around your waist, bringing his body flush to yours as he deepens the kiss.

after a minute or so, the two of you pull away panting quietly. you giggle softly as you look at him and simon pulls a confused expression. “what you laughing at?” he grumbles, pink flushing his cheeks.

“a bit of my black lipstick is smudged on your lips big guy.” you smile cheekily, bringing your thumb to your mouth to lick before gently swiping at simon’s face to get rid of the evidence. he smiles down at you as he feel you wiping at the lipstick left behind.

he then works up the courage to ask the big question. “so, will i be able to get your number?” he utters, holding your waist a little tighter as he stares down at you. the question makes you chuckle, your head nodding. “yes you definitely can have my number.” you answer, smiling happily up at him.

[romanceyourdemons]

sleeping on a mattress on the floor is good actually because it brings you back to the ancient days when man hunted for food and slept on a bear skin on the cave floor. tough, sweaty, with mammoth blood still matted in his hair. and man’s hunting buddy thag slept on the next bear skin over, and man can hear him breathing, and can hear the sound of him shifting on his bear skin rug to comfortably arrange his powerful limbs, limbs that were not just powerful but also graceful like a tiger’s in their hunt that day. and man tries to match his breath to thag’s, but he has it backwards, exhaling on thag’s inhales and inhaling his exhales, and thag’s breaths are so slow, slow like the footfalls of a great creature, and man’s lungs burn at the end of each one. and between them lies a rough river of bare stone floor, so cold, colder than deep water, colder than a bleeding arm

[feedyoutillpigsfly]

You never really were a very stealthy person even when we first met. It wasn't uncommon for you to drop whatever you were holding and somehow it would extravagantly fall resulting in a flustered sweaty boy bending over, pulling his trousers back up over his ass crack.

I was intrigued by your gusto when we had our first team lunch of the year. Watching you down plate after plate of pasta from the all you can eat bar. Shirt buttons tightening, skin taught and red from the exertion.

It was rhythmic. As you slowed down the tempo changed, but your determination did not. It's almost like I was watching you in your own little world seeing if you could beat your personal record. The grin on your face after each bite as you savor the flavors only to quickly chew and swallow it into your rounded gut.

I was not let down by my keen eye for observations, after setting my intentions on you. I noticed the reason the donuts disappear so quickly was because you would take an entire box to your desk to be devoured secretly. This was a daily occurence I would soon find out.

I was weak with anticipation to fill your greedy growing belly. That Friday, I asked if you wanted to grab lunch, my treat. You would've jumped at the opportunity if you could get your stubby toes off the ground without too much exhertion. Instead you heaved your heavier than last week body out of your shrinking desk chair and thumped your heavy thunder thighs toward the elevator.

I picked a booth at the restaurant and you were too shy to ask for accomodation. I eagerly watched as you lifted your top roll to sit on top of the table and allowed the bottom to sit heavily on your lap, a tight squeeze for sure. When the menus come I snatch yours and a fire is lit behind your eyes. I order for you as your eyes widen in disbelief, the list long and full of delicious soon to be eaten treats are listed to the server.

When the food arrived, I slipped into the booth beside you and taking handfuls of fleshy belly, I used my other hand to hand feed you each dish I had ordered for you. As the buttons popped off your shirt the electricity between us grew and I couldnt wait to watch you waddle home and see what else I could fit in you without the ever tightening of your clothing, the table, and societal pressures in the way.

From then on we were inseparable. And it wasn't long before even the larger clothes I had bought you were skin tight and you simply couldn't heave yourself out of the xl office chair without texting me to come help from my cubicle. I watched as your excited jiggles to the donuts in the breakroom became laboured as the gargantuan 22 year old waddles down for his drug of choice. The hallway was also getting a little narrow when you account for the sway your belly forced you into, your shoulder would tap each wall side to side as you gasped your way down it.

As soon as I was promoted, we decided it only made sense if you quit pretending to work while eating and just stay home eating full time instead. Boy was that a good choice. Your belly, despite years of overconsumption and greed, had never seen what the next year would bring.

Clothes were a thing of the past after day 2 and showers became a weekly 2 person job. Trips to the bathroom ended in puddles on the floor a few too many times before you reluctantly agreed to pee pads.

Before that step, you always felt in control of the weight. That you could stop whenever you wanted to. When you didn't have to get up even to toilet yourself, your weight soared and even your fingers felt heavy while playing video games or texting. I of course was no help. I spent my non work hours trying my best to shove delicious concoctions of sugar and lard into your sea of belly. We were overjoyed. I wonder what you'd say if a mirror could behold your mammoth body.

"More please?" 🥺 🐷

[rivertigo]

why was Bob Dylan so shaky and sweaty and small and well mostly because he was always on something… amphetamines? I’m not sure but basically he was like this sexpot prey animal and I think maybe in a past life I engaged in some crazy caveman bdsm with him and I hunted him with a proto spear like weapon maybe fucksd him with a caveman strap and he died from blood loss or another pre historic disease who knows maybe he overdosed on caveman drugs like poisonous frogs maybe or what if he died in a mammoth riding crash and got replaced by a look alike ? just spitballing here

[sodamnradd]

Near midnight Draco yanks his front door open, wand in hand, suspicion etched all over his face.

Hermione stands on the top step, a rather sorry cupcake melting in her hand. “You didn’t come.”

She’s zipped into a little black dress with crisscross straps all along the sides and a swooping neckline he spends a breath too long gawking at.

“You never said it was mandatory.”

She wobbles on the edge of her heel, but when Draco reaches for her, she pulls back, scowling.

“Happy birthday.” She hands him the sorry cupcake.

He stares at the sticky mushy thing and notices a goopy swirl that might be a blazing comet on a bed of Slytherin green. “What’s that?”

“A Snitch. They ate the rest at the surprise party you didn’t show up to.”

His heart sinks. “I didn’t know.”

“Rather the point of a surprise party.”

“Who was there?”

He can’t imagine anyone showing up except for maybe Potter because she’s got some kind of magnetic pull over him. Draco suspects he’s suffering from a similar syndrome. Because, say, if Granger had insisted he show up tonight, Draco would have. He almost asks why she didn’t demand it of him.

“Everyone. My friends. Yours.”

“You spoke to my friends?” he asks, jarred.

“They were amused when we thought you were late. Then they all seemed sorry for me. Thought I was delusional for misinterpreting our relationship.”

“…our… relationship…” It’s not what she means. Of course, it isn’t.

‘Our’ pangs in his brain until it becomes rhythmic. A marching band beat of our, our, our.

His eyes wander. Her outfits are never so short, though they ought to be because Granger’s thighs are magnificent. He envisions dragging icing over them and running his tongue—

His face flames. “I’m sorry, Granger. I just wanted to spend my birthday alone.”

“Why? You love to be pampered.”

True. He grins. “Were you going to pamper me?”

A curl falls over her face as she lowers her chin, and he feels the burning need to tuck it behind her ear. But as the rest tumble forward, he realises she’s hiding. His chest tightens. He feels awful for making her feel small. She’s a mammoth in his mind. All five foot two of her. All the time.

“I don’t know why I came. See you on Monday.”

He feels like an arse. A tongue-tied, idiot arse who doesn’t know what to say to her and instead blurts out: “I didn’t want to spend my birthday watching every bloke at your party try to take you home. It’s bad enough at work. But when there’s liquor and strappy dresses and your thighs… I just needed a day off.”

“A day off from me.”

“From the side-effects of spending time with you.”

“Side-effects? Like I’m some sort of disease?”

“Probably!”

“Wow, Draco.” She glowers. “Just wow.”

“Nobody makes me feel this way. My palms are always sweaty. My stomach is in knots. I can’t speak properly around you half the time. It takes ages to focus because I’ll spot a lipstick stain on your stupid S.P.E.W mug and my mind launches into space. Like this fucking comet.”

“It’s a Snitch.” She steps forward, cat-like. Close enough to smell the perfume on her neck. His trousers are suddenly too tight. And that’s before she swirls her finger through the comet-Snitch icing and draws it to her mouth. “Butterscotch.”

He gulps. His favourite.

She drags her finger through it again, offering it to him. “Want some?”

His lips part and holy shit Hermione’s finger is in his mouth and he’s seconds away from coming in his fucking pants.

He tears back.

She steps forward.

“Granger,” he snipes like a spooked animal.

“Don’t be rude, Draco. I baked them just for you.”

Oh Gods.

She dunks her finger into the cupcake again. “Just a little more.”

“Stop.”

“Be that way.” She drags her finger between her lips and makes a moaning noise that joins ‘our’ in sounds he’ll never get out of his head.

“Ask me.” She’s looking up at him with her career confidence. Mouth wet.

He shakes his head, dazed. “What?”

“You said you didn’t want to see other blokes trying to take me home. Well, here I am at your doorstep and you haven’t even asked if I’d like to come inside.”

“Would you like to come inside?” he manages roughly, wondering if he’s hallucinating.

Hermione snatches the smeared cupcake from his hand and waves at the door. “It’s still your birthday for seven minutes. Think we can make them count?”

Oh, they make them count.

(768 words, prompt: you didn't come)

[liaromancewriter]

Miracles

Premise: A chance encounter with Ethan brings an expected revelation for Cassie.

Fandom: Choices Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 1,050

A/N: Submission for @choicesmaychallenge24 prompt "mood changed like the weather" and for @jerzwriter Mother's Day event.

Miracle of life, my ass!

It was a miracle the world’s population was edging toward eight billion, given the indignities that pregnancy wrought on women’s bodies.

Cassie Valentine barely controlled a grimace as her patient let out an inhumane scream and tried to push a watermelon-sized human being out of her hoo-ha. The mammoth pregnant belly heaved and metamorphized with each contraction, blood and fluids gushing out from between her thighs.

She was in week three of her intern year ambulatory electives block. She’d chosen Women’s Health, thinking learning more about her body would be cool. However, most of her rotation had been spent in labor and delivery since that team was short-staffed.

Apparently, this was a popular time for giving birth in Boston. What else could horny Bostonians do during the long, cold winter nights?

Contrary to popular belief, babies straight out of the womb were not cute, with their skin red and wrinkly and covered in amnio fluids. Witnessing a mid-morning birth was enough to put one off their lunch.

“You have a beautiful baby girl,” the third-year resident cooed, smiling widely as she laid the wriggling tiny human on the mother’s chest.

Cassie scrutinized the scrunched-up face peeking through the blanket and thought it looked more like a fish, but to each their own.

Leaving mother and child to bond, she followed the team out of the delivery room, discarding the protective sheath and cap in the bin outside, and shook loose her long blonde hair.

Checking her watch to make sure she wasn’t late for afternoon didactics, Cassie strode toward the nurses’ station, intent on completing the notes from this case while it was fresh in her mind.

She didn’t often think about motherhood. After an almost scare in college that had given her and Jackson several restless nights waiting for the results, she’d been diligent about preventing accidental pregnancies.

Still, given that she came from two prolific dynastic families, Cassie supposed it was inevitable she’d have kids one day. But everything she’d witnessed these few weeks hadn’t exactly endeared her to the idea of putting her body through all that!

Her mind came to a screeching halt, and her feet slowed at the sight of Dr. Ramsey leaning against a wall, arms folded, chatting with another attending.

Ethan looked out of place in the brightly painted maternity ward, decorated with colorful wall posters about the benefits of breastfeeding and glittery balloons bobbing in the air as eager parents took their babies home. His somber expression countered the excited hubbub in the busy hallway.

Now, that was a man who couldn’t see kids in his future. Cassie still remembered his ambivalence about family and children when they tested the fMRI machine. Given how his brain scan lit up, it was a sore subject.

Not that it’s any of my business, she thought, turning away. Still, she furtively sniffed her underarms (the delivery room had been hot and sweaty) and sighed in relief. All clear.

Cassie sat behind the desk at the nurses’ station, entering notes into the computer, when a shadow fell over her. She glanced up mid-sentence, instinctively knowing who it was.

“Be with you in a minute, Dr. Ramsey,” the charge nurse said from behind her.

Ethan towered above the station, but his eyes were locked on his phone so Cassie could observe without him being any wiser.

He looked tired, his jawline scruffy with overgrown stubble. His short, neatly styled dark brown hair was unusually tousled—as if he’d run his fingers through it.

Cassie’s hand itched to touch the small, subtle strand of hair that fell slightly forward. It gently curved towards his forehead, softening his otherwise polished (and somewhat austere) look.

She thought it added a bit of character, giving Ethan a relaxed and approachable appearance. Until his striking blue eyes caught you spying. Then, there was nothing casual about Ethan Ramsey.

“Rookie,” Ethan said neutrally, head cocked sideways, his gaze inscrutable.

“Dr. Ramsey,” Cassie acknowledged cooly with a slight nod. She wanted to be nonchalant, but curiosity won out. “What are you doing here?”

He quirked one eyebrow, his expression haughty, for lack of a better word.

“Sorry!” Cassie blurted out, feeling her cheeks flush. “I know it’s none of my business.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, hesitating. “But, since you knew Dolores…”

His Adam’s apple pulsed as he swallowed, emotions swimming in his eyes. He blinked them away, cleared his throat, and shut down any hint of vulnerability.

“Baby Hudson is being discharged from NICU this week. Dolores’ sister asked me to coordinate the transfer to his pediatrician in Minneapolis.”

“Oh. I didn’t know he was still here.”

Cassie realized she hadn’t given Dolores or her baby much thought in the last couple of months. She had moved on to other patients, trying to keep her head above water as the harsh realities of residency and competing in the fellowship competition beat down on her.

Of course, Ethan Hudson was still in the neonatal ICU, given his premature birth at twenty-six weeks. It was a miracle he’d survived the night. She felt terrible for her negligence, even though Dolores’ untimely death had devastated her at the time.

“Why would you?” Ethan commented impassively, drumming his fingers on the desk. “He was no longer under your care.”

“How is he?”

“He——” Ethan sighed, looking away from her briefly. “He’s hit all his developmental markers. Dr. Lozoya doesn’t expect any long-term complications. He has Dolores’ eyes.”

Her green eyes sharpened at the softly spoken words, the tenderness in his voice catching her off guard. From the sudden frown on his lips, Cassie suspected he hadn’t meant to make that admission, at least not to her.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, doctor,” the charge nurse interrupted.

The bubble surrounding them burst. Ethan straightened from the desk and nodded absently before accompanying the charge nurse down the hallway.

Cassie watched his retreating back with a considering look. In the short time she’d known him, his moods appeared to change like the weather.

The man was full of contradictions: arrogant one minute, compassionate another. Dismissive and rude at times, he was also wickedly sarcastic and funny on the most unexpected occasions.

Who, she wondered, was the real Ethan Ramsey?

---------------

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @lady-calypso

@mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16

@justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[themiltonholmes]

Monthly voted art, featuring human Milton who is very wary of magical hoops - but keeps getting caught out by them!

Exclusive alts for £2.50 Patrons: Belly Dancer Reality Shift (+ Bulge) - https://www.patreon.com/posts/103291142 Toon Elephant - https://www.patreon.com/posts/103291143 Wooly Mammoth - https://www.patreon.com/posts/103291144 With Nips - https://www.patreon.com/posts/103291145 Sweaty (+ Mammoth) - https://www.patreon.com/posts/103291147

This is a spiritual sequel to: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/51643801/

[inanimatetffantasies]

Mitch, the Big Rig

For @tight-stories-and-growing-chav​

Mitch was feeling exhausted after a day of hitching. He was a traveller who had hitched and walked his way through the country wanting to explore before he really settled down and got a proper job and home. He saw this as his last big adventure in his prime. He has just hitched a few miles from a small town and ended up at a rest stop.

It was a sleazy joint, grungy and worn down but Mitch needed a snack before he found a motel to settle in for the evening. The outside area had a bunch of trucks laying out the front. Mitch was impressed how big these rigs looked up close. 

He walked into the building and was looking through the drinks on sale, about to grab a bottle of juice when he noticed a slight musky aroma in the air. “Heh, thirsty, are we, Little man?” said a voice behind him. Mitch turned to see a bear of a man looking down to him.

The man was topless, with his sweaty belly on display, hair matted and wet. The bear looked down with an almost possessive look as he inspected the man. Mitch staggered, intimidated by this mammoth of raw masculinity, the smell of a real mans musk making his cock excited

“Heh, You clearly like what ya see boy, are ya a hitchhiker? How’s about you come back to my truck, I could use a buddy for company for a little while, ya know? There's a motel about a half hour drive away I can take ya to.” The man knew he found his prey. It was clear he intended no good for Mitch, but… the way he talked, like he already owned the younger man had a effect on Mitch, and his towering beefy figure glistening with sweat, sweat with a stench that felt to Mitch like it was burrowing into his head…It was like he was encouraged to go along with the bears offer…. Almost like he had to Obey him.

Mitch stammered and nodded in agreement. The bear, who then introduced himself as Rusty, smirked. He wanted a new prey to play with and this guy was too fucking easy to hypnotise with his Alpha Musky pheromones. “Yeah, That’s a good boy” 

Mitch followed him out the back exit of the rest stop and was led to an empty parking space. Rusty then swiftly pushed the weaker man into the spot, and snapped his greasy fingers. There was a light shining for a second and then an impossibly heavy force pushed down on Mitch. His clothes ripped apart as his body grew and contorted. It seemed painful but in reality the man was feeling ecstasy like no other as he changed. His dick swelled and leaked as his face morphed into the front of a truck-like vehicle. His dick leaked black liquid. Not cum, no, but… what seemed like engine oil? Rusty just whipped out his dirty cock from his old jeans and wanked off to the sight. Mitch's hands and feet grew hard and rubbery as they blackened, and his screams and moans of pleasure faded before being amplified, but as a different sound, the sound of the horn of a big rig. Then when Rusty shot his load onto the morphing Mitch, sealing him as Rusty’s property, he snapped his fingers again, and with another flash, where the younger man was, was now a beautiful truck. Perfect to be broken in by a trucker like Rusty. 

Rusty laughed as he opened the door, climbing in and getting used to his new truck. He sat in the driver's seat, and lay back, his back sweat seeping into the fabric of the truck. He saw the key in the ignition, and took it. Imprinted on the head of the key was the face of Mitch before he became property for a real man. He rubbed his dirty finger across the face, before jamming it into the ignition, which made Mitch’s consciousness, who was still fully aware, albeit in a truck haze of pleasure trapped within the truck, and made the engine start.

Fumes burst out of the exhaust, feeling like a release for Mitch, and Rusty decided to take his boytruck for a drive. When he heard the exhaust fumes he smirked “Heh, yeah boy, let it out… think I will too” before he farted loudly, his heavy sweaty arse right on top of the seat where part of Mitch's face was formed. Rusty turned up the heat in the truck and let himself sweat, letting it seep into every part of his mitch vehicle. Within minutes, the whole rig stank of musk and sweat.

“Yeah boy, You are mine now, My bitch truck taking my sweat, gas and fat ass wherever I fucking want” Rusty lit a cigar and just let the ash fall over the floor, as his dirty boots crushed into the cock and balls of Mitch that was now the pedals of the truck, as he pulled his horn, his sweaty, grimy hand all over it with force, knowing that some of Mitch's cock was not that horn, giving the truck a handjob.

Rusty forced his Mitch brand truck to drive down the highway, smirking as he broke in the poor bastard who happened to encounter him that day…

[alkali1]

Testimony Part 1

They thought she wouldn't come. The pharmaceutical company's lawyers had pushed to make her testify in person, figuring she wouldn't physically be able to show up, and they'd win the lawsuit by default. Five years ago she'd taken an experimental, unregulated fertility treatment, and now she was suing when it worked all too well. 260 weeks pregnant with sextuplets, she was unable to give birth either naturally or by c-section, and she was doomed to grow and grow until her body could no longer handle it.

Even though she had been bedbound for two years, and homebound for even longer, she knew her only hope of winning a settlement was to appear, so her partner and care team heaved her up onto an extra-wide rolling bed and rolled her into the court building.

Everyone turned to stare as the doors opened and her carers attempted to squeeze her through. The wide courtroom door was still too small for her massive body, and they struggled to maneuver her through. All they managed is to get her stuck, as her fat shelf of an ass and heaving belly each overhang the sides of her gurney and become lodged in the doorframe. She groans in extreme discomfort as her bloated body is squished and prodded as they try in vain to fit her through. Sweat drips down her face, smearing her makeup, and she gasps for breath, exhausted and overwhelmed just from the strain of being so massively, inhumanly pregnant.

Finding courtroom clothes to fit her sickeningly exaggerated body had been a nightmare, and the only option was ultimately to cram her into the largest, stretchiest pink dress they could find. It was technically 'modest' as it covered all the skin from her neck to her fat thighs, but it clung tightly to her fertile curves, leaving little to the imagination. They had crammed her massive tits into the largest nursing bra available to avoid her thick nipples being on permanent display, but her constantly engorged udders spilled out everywhere from the inadequate cups, and the tight fabric of her dress put every bulge on display. She'd been milked dry before they left, and she hoped that she wouldn't be here so long that she'd leak through her dress.

After several humiliating minutes her caretakers are able to squish enough of her cellulite through the door that her belly is able to be squeezed through. Gasps and murmurs fill the courtroom as everyone gawks at her, finally getting a good look at her hugely gravid form.

Her womb is a mammoth, misshapen lump, coming to a sickening point at her taut, herniated navel. The six toddlers inside her shift in their cramped space, making her moan in discomfort. Her hips, continuously widening for a birth that may never come, are buried under pounds and pounds of piled-on cellulite that strains her tight dress to the absolute limit. And the sheer size of her breathtaking bump pushes her tremendous cleavage up into her face. Every day for her is a battle to not be smothered by her own enormous body. The judge begins the proceedings. She tries her hardest to stay silent and not grunt or groan from the painful pressure and movement in her womb, but her choked noises frequently disturb the quiet courtroom.

After two torturous hours, It's finally time for her to take the stand. She's rolled up as close as her bed can get, and the judge moves a microphone down to her swollen, sweaty face. Now she will have to describe the discomfort and humiliation of her daily life, trying to win the sympathy of the judge and jury...

[bizaar]

Cruel Summer - Part 6

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 15k (YIKES)

warnings: swearing, mentions/descriptions of child/spousal abuse, death, funerals, grief, ANGST, panic attacks, fluff, allusions to sex and smuttiness towards the end of the chapter

A.N.: Babysitter!reader part six is here! This one is a MAMMOTH you guys I was gonna cut it down but you all gave me some pretty positive feedback about long chapters so... here you go :) Wayne Munson continues to be the best man in Hawkins, meanwhile, Eddie's father is the literal worst -- Eddie has TRAUMA

I'm gonna be sad about the Munsons for the rest of my life

Hellfire met and played at the Munson trailer for the better part of a month before the drama room finally became available again. Eddie could not have been more relieved if Publisher’s Clearing House had shown up on his doorstep with a million-dollar check. It was only three sessions, considering the club only officially met on Fridays, but each and every one of them had been punctuated by a special kind of weirdness that Eddie could not stomach another second of.

He’s never been so happy to be back on school grounds.

First and foremost, Gareth had been correct. Wayne was very clear that he didn’t want them playing D&D in the trailer anymore, not after a particularly rowdy session had seen Jeff and Adam engaging in a wrestling match that ended with them falling over and absolutely decimating an antique coffee table that had belonged to Eddie’s grandmother.

Eddie damn near pulled his hair out over it, considering it was arguably the nicest piece of furniture they owned and something Wayne had been very careful about preserving, scratches and water rings and all. The moment only got worse from there, as before Eddie could even finish saying “oh shit—you guys, my uncle is gonna kill me!”, there was Wayne, stepping in through the door mere seconds after the table collapsed … well, exploded was probably the better word to describe what had happened to it when Jeff and Adam came crashing down with all their collective weight like they thought they were a pair of pro-wrestlers or something.

Pair of assholes, more like.

It would have been hilarious if it had been any other piece of furniture in any other house, but then that was just Eddie’s luck, wasn’t it? That it would be the single piece of furniture they owned that his uncle was precious about.

Eddie never met her, considering his father was all but disowned by everyone but Wayne by the time he was born, but he knew well enough that his uncle was a mama’s boy through and through, and Grandma Munson was revered in that household, even in death. What few remaining heirlooms of hers there were that hadn’t been pawned or lost to time were tantamount to sacred, so needless to say, Eddie was in deep shit.

Wayne stood surveying the scene as the smoke cleared – dice, pages, and character maquettes scattered to the wind, sweaty teen boys still wrapped in the vice of their wrassling, laying amidst the rubble of Munson family heirlooms – and he miraculously did not kill his nephew. He did, however, breathe out hard through his nose and go right back out to chain smoke and try to calm down.

Wayne didn’t get mad easily, his temper was a slow-burning fuse in contrast to his volatile younger brother’s, but still, it made Eddie panicky. Being in trouble with Wayne was an exercise in “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed,” and arguably worse than any insult or abuse his father could have hurled at him in the same situation. Eddie would have given blood to avoid finding himself in the line of those big, sad eyes as he rushed everyone out and did his best to clean up and piece the table back together. The effort was in vain, there was no saving the table and no amount of apologies could save Eddie from the long tired sigh of disappointment Wayne heaved when he finally came back inside.

Wayne didn’t have many hard rules – respect the space, don’t do anything too stupid while he’s gone, do your damn dishes – but that night he made a new one. No more D&D in the trailer. Eddie promised, though more importantly, they shook on it, which was binding among Munson men. Of course, the nasty little problem there was that Eddie had also sworn to himself that he would never set foot in Benny’s diner ever again, not even if his life depended on it … not even if he thought he was going to find you there.

He honestly didn’t think he could physically make himself go through that door, and he was panicking about it, because how was he supposed to explain that to anyone?

How to explain that even after ten years, the diner was still so stifling with the lingering atmosphere of his mother’s presence that he couldn’t breathe? Too many memories of days after school spent waiting while she moved back and forth behind the counter, hours and hours sitting in the squishy pleather booths doing his homework (when he still did his homework) or perched on his knees on the rickety stools and spinning around and around and around until he couldn’t see straight. Watching the clock and counting the minutes left in her shift, walking home hand in hand, telling her about his day, and enjoying a brief interval of peace before his father got home.

Enough time has passed that those days are fuzzy now, bright little jewels of memory that have turned to sepia-toned shards of glass embedded in his mind. They are still painful enough to keep Eddie away from the diner permanently. How is he supposed to explain that he’s afraid he’ll taint what is left of those memories if he returns as he is now, so far removed from the version of himself that his mother knew? The best version of himself.

He can’t do it. He won’t.

So he swallows his pride and calls Wayne at the plant and begs him – literally begs – to let Hellfire play in the trailer. He doesn’t know precisely what it is that wins his uncle over, maybe he’d blown the whole coffee table thing out of proportion in his mind and Wayne wasn’t actually that upset about it (he was) or maybe it is just because he just thinks Eddie really needs a win after the last few months, with you and what happened that afternoon at Rick’s and not graduating again (he really hopes it isn’t that, despite how stridently true it is) — really what is the harm in letting them play a little D&D? Especially after Eddie’s long, drawn-out spiel about how he swears they will be on their best behavior and they won’t get too rowdy or make a mess and he’ll make sure everyone uses coasters if he wants them to, and Wayne listens to his nephew talk a mile a minute before finally cutting him off mid-stream — because they aren’t the type of people who worry about things like coasters — and he relents.

“Take a breath, Bud, it’s alright. You can bring your friends over.”

And Eddie practically sobs with relief, which is embarrassing, but it had been a very tense few hours fighting off panic attacks and wrestling with the very real thought of canceling Hellfire entirely just to try and avoid ever having to set foot in that diner again.

Somehow he gets the sense that Wayne knows all this because he’s always had that weird sort of omniscience that parents have when it comes to their kids (good parents, at least) even though Wayne is not his dad and Eddie is not his son – Wayne always seems to know exactly what’s wrong with him at any given moment and it would be maddeningly frustrating if Eddie didn’t rely upon it completely.

The Munsons have never been good at talking about their feelings, and Eddie feels so much all the time.

He thanks Wayne profusely and swears he’s going to make it up to him.

“Just don’t let the big guy break any more furniture.” Wayne huffs down the line, wrenching a watery laugh from somewhere deep inside Eddie.

He would have said something smart about how the only thing that’s going to get broken is Jeff’s neck if he doesn’t behave himself, but he’s already too far gone in his memories as he hangs up and switches over to autopilot to go about getting the place ready for guests…

It was late summer, 1977, and Eddie sat on the steps of Wayne’s trailer, back when it was just that, before it was home— sulking because she was leaving him there again.

It wasn’t her fault, and he didn’t blame her, because he knew she didn’t have any other choice.

Still, he did not want her to go.

His father had gotten himself arrested again, for dealing or boosting a car or any number of his other nefarious pastimes, and his mother was preparing to go through the long, arduous process of bailing him out. That meant Eddie would be spending the night on the couch at Uncle Wayne’s, and while those nights were never bad — it was all television and take out and the novelty of being treated like an adult without being scandalized in the process, like when he was nine and his father took him out to a strip club on the interstate (it was the angriest Eddie had ever seen his mother – she’d blown a gasket) – it was always just the circumstances that sent him to Wayne’s that Eddie hated.

His mother sat crouched in front of him on the stairs and pinched and poked and tried to make him smile. She always teased just a bit too much when things were bad, always told him he was too young to be so serious.

He pouted and told her that she ought to just leave his old man there to rot, not for the first time (though unknowingly the last). She’d wrinkled her nose and agreed with him, pulling him forward by his elbows to wrap her arms around him and blow a raspberry into his cheek. He would have told her he was too old to be treated like that, but in spite of himself, he snorted with laughter and let his mother kiss the offended flesh before standing to talk to Wayne.

Eddie felt the brief warmth of humor give way to anxiety tugging at his heart and covered his ears – he didn’t want to hear her say anything too serious. Serious on Eddie’s mother was always too close to sad, and he hated when she was sad (too many mornings sitting and watching her try to mask last night’s bruises with caked on cover-up, biting back tears and doing her best to smile for him.)

Her voice was hushed and thick with emotion as she spoke.

“I’ll be back when I can, but…” he heard her suck in a sharp breath, “I don’t know, Wayne, it just — it took so long the last time –”

Wayne cut her off, patting her on the shoulder and speaking in a soft, reassuring voice.

“I know, Darlin’. You take as long as you need,” and then he made a point to perk up, raise his voice to try and make himself sound chipper, for Eddie’s sake – chipper is an emotion that has never worked on Wayne. “We’re gonna be just fine. It��s gonna be fun. Right, Bud?”

He nudged Eddie gently with the toe of his boot, but the only response he could muster was a dejected sigh, propping his head up with his fists, elbows perched on skinned knees.

He reached down to ruffle his hair and Eddie jerked moodily out of his touch and buried his face in his knees as his mother tut-tutted him.

“Hair’s gettin’ real long…” Wayne mused, sucking his teeth, “Maybe we’ll give you a trim while your mama’s gone,”

The thought of it set Eddie’s heart beating at a pace – his father was always trying to cut his hair, spitting hateful slurs and insults about the “kind of men kept their hair long” – thankfully, his mother spoke up.

“Oh, no, don’t.” She said quickly, reaching down and running her fingers fondly through Eddie's curls, “We like it long, right, Baby?”

He didn’t answer, but he could feel her looking at him, waiting patiently. A sprig of defiance wormed its way up through his midsection, and Eddie decided he would stay quiet for the rest of his life if he had to.

His mother just sighed – she didn’t have time for a tantrum, the one his father was sure to throw was arguably worse than the one Eddie was kicking up. She had to go, so she turned on her heel and started down the gravel drive.

“I’ll be back soon. Love you, Teddy Bear!” She called, waving over her shoulder— her massive collection of keychains jangled loudly as Eddie peeked up from his knees to watch her make her way back to the car.

The Munsons were all packrats in their own way – his mother collected keychains and magnets, Wayne collected novelty mugs and baseball caps, and his father collected felonies and arrests… Eddie supposes now that he collects regrets. He wishes he’d done more to commit her to memory, he wishes he’d done something to make her stay…

“I love you!” She said again, louder, stretching the phrase lyrically and trying to bait him.

He wired his jaw shut – maybe if he didn’t say it back she’d stay until he did. Maybe he’d never say it again and she’d never leave him.

Still, a sudden spike of anxiety flared in his chest as something screamed at him to call out to her, make her turn around and look at him one more time. Just in case.

Just in case what? Just in case you never see her again.

“Don’t let him drive!” Eddie shouted at his mother’s back, pushing up to stand on the steps like if somehow he were a little taller it would help drive the message home.

Don’t go. Don’t go. Please, don’t go.

She stopped as she pulled the driver’s side door open and smiled – a wry, crooked thing that indented her cheeks with dimples.

“I never do.”

She winked, and slipped in behind the wheel and out of his life because no matter what she assured him, she didn’t ultimately have a say in who drove home that night, no matter what his father had taken or how fucked up he was.

He drove. They crashed. She died.

The funeral was open casket, and Eddie refused to move from his seat. He didn’t want to see her, not like that – he wanted her here, smiling and laughing and teasing too much and collecting stupid novelty keychains and breathing, not cold in the fucking coffin his father had put her in.

The son of a bitch had tried to drag him up there to “pay his respects”. He seized him by the scruff and told him not to be a pussy, but his arm was in a sling from the accident and he couldn’t get a good enough grip on Eddie to hold him to the spot when Wayne stepped in and pulled his brother aside for an extremely tense, hushed conversation.

The repast had been at Benny’s because she’d worked there long enough that the staff was like family and their house was too small to host. His father somehow managed to get himself completely blackout drunk, despite the lack of any booze being served, and made a huge scene – like he always did, and Eddie sat there trying to endure the violence of his hatred for the man.

Why couldn’t he have just let her drive? Why did it have to be her? Why hadn’t she been wearing her seatbelt? Why why why…

His grief was too big, he didn’t know what to do with it or where to put it, and it made Eddie so angry. Angrier than he had ever been in his life. It made him brave— or perhaps vitriolic— and when his father shouted and slurred and swatted at him like he always did, Eddie grit his teeth and spat the venom right back.

For all the times he’d sat helpless, for all the times she’d sent him to run and hide, he finally stood up.

He paid for it, of course, with a hard crack to the face that knocked him right back down, and before his brain could stop rattling around his skull enough to catch up to his body, Eddie hit one of the first of many hard limits he would pass with the old man over the next few years.

With a bloodied, broken nose, he bolted from the diner and ran all the way out to the interstate. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he meant to get as far away as humanly possible, from his father, from Hawkins, from his grief and the terrible life he knew he surely faced without his mother to act as a buffer. Even at eleven years old, he knew he didn’t have a chance if he stayed.

This town would kill him if he stayed.

The first and only car to pull up beside him had been a rusty pickup – it was Wayne, because of course it was, and he rolled alongside Eddie in the truck at a glacial pace on the shoulder of the wrong side of the road for the better part of twenty-five minutes as he tried to talk his nephew down.

Eddie continued to walk, wiping blood and tears on the sleeve of his suit jacket and refusing to be coaxed into the cab until he’d learned that the cops had picked his father up and he wouldn’t have to go home that night. When Eddie finally relented and climbed up into the passenger seat, he saw that Wayne’s knuckles were cracked, swollen, and bleeding on the steering wheel.

He didn’t have to ask to know what had happened – he hoped his father hadn’t been too drunk to feel every second of the beating Wayne had given him — Eddie hoped it hurt as bad as it did when Wayne set his broken nose later that night, sitting perched on the edge of the sink, gritting his teeth and biting back tears.

It would be another two and a half years of days like that before the old man would finally go to prison.

With Wayne’s blessing, Hellfire resumed at the Munson trailer, and by 8:30 that Friday in April, everyone was piled into the little living room, huddled around the replacement, decidedly less nice coffee table, and Eddie could finally breathe again.

Except that Jeff was fully committing to the bit of being bizarrely hostile, in his own completely non-threatening way. Eddie thought it was exceedingly strange – and more than a little rude considering he would have been meek as a mouse if he had found himself allowed back into a home where he’d so unceremoniously destroyed a treasured piece of antique furniture, but he couldn’t really kick up the gusto to be angry about it, because Jeff was being hostile no matter where they were.

“Hey, what the fuck is Jeff’s problem?” He’d asked Gareth one day, sitting huddled over his notebook in the back of second-period English Lit while Mrs. Faulkner droned on about some old dead guy.

Proust or some shit.

Gareth had merely shrugged his flannel-clad shoulders in feigned ignorance and done his best to look innocent as the color drained from his face and his eyes went wide. Of course, that reaction suggested he knew exactly what Jeff’s problem was, but the old harpy had screeched a warning at them about cross chatter and threatened detention from the blackboard before Eddie could press him further on it.

The issue with doing everything with the same group of people is that when you have a problem with one of them, you have to see them everywhere you go. Jeff is a member of the Hellfire Club as well as Corroded Coffin, so Eddie has to deal with his snarky, backhanded remarks pretty much wherever he goes.

It is, at best, mildly annoying and at worst, deeply confusing.

Eddie can’t wrap his head around the shift in his attitude, except that once, when you were still very new to each other — the first time he’d ever brought you to hang out with the guys as his officially official girlfriend, in fact — Jeff had pulled him aside at the end of the night and drunkenly warned Eddie that if he ever hurt you, he would kill him.

It had been an intense and slightly off-putting way to end what had been a generally pleasant evening, but Eddie had just chalked that up to Jeff being… well, Jeff. Poor social skills and all too easily impressed by nice girls who showed him even the slightest bit of kindness or attention.

You’d laughed about it on the car ride home, not unkindly, though. You thought his crush on you was sweet, like the crush the kid you babysat had on you. And then you’d sat in the car eating ice cream and discussing life’s most important questions; who would win in a fight – Jeff or Eddie...

Eddie had just been happy to get to share you with his friends and integrate you into the group without it being weird so that he didn’t have to parcel out his time between the band, D&D, and you.

He knows you would have won out over his friends every time, though he’s not sure they could have held it against you.

He used to love how much they loved you until he told everyone about the breakup.

He’d said it was mutual, and maybe he’d let them believe that it had been more your idea than his — he doesn’t know why, maybe he’d thought it would be easier to stomach if he could manage to be pissed at you, but he couldn’t muster it and it didn’t make him feel any better to say it.

Despite everything, Eddie can’t help but shake the feeling that all of his friends have taken your side. Somehow they know he hurt you, and he supposes if Jeff had meant he was going to annoy him to death it’s working marvelously.

And then there’s Dustin.

Dustin Henderson, who spends all his time talking about his babysitter and hangs out with that pretentious douche Steve Harrington when he isn’t following Eddie around like a lovesick puppy.

He can’t deny he has a soft spot for the kid, even if he is annoying as hell, and Eddie does feel bad about biting his head off over the whole situation with the diner. He’d thought it was actually very cool that the kid even tried to find them an alternate place to play, and he’d been sincere in his apology at the campus phone, but he also knows he’d gone a little overboard in the teasing, especially with that bizarre conversation with Dustin’s babysitter that followed.

It hadn’t been Eddie’s fault, not entirely.

He’d already been feeling too manic, his senses dialed up to eleven at the thought of having to go back to Benny’s, but Dustin was also just entirely too easy to tease. He was, perhaps, just a tad too flirtatious with the babysitter on purpose, just to ruffle Dustin’s feathers — Eddie is big enough to admit that that was a fuck up on his part.

The connection over the payphone had not been the greatest, just as much static as voice, and somehow he’d fooled himself into thinking the girl on the other end of the phone sounded a lot like you. So much like you that if he tries very hard, he can convince himself that it had been you on the phone that day. It wasn’t, he knows this, but in his heart of hearts?

The teasing, the cadence of her speech, the specific little phrases she used, her laugh? Christ – the way she’d laughed had been enough to make Eddie weak at the knees because he swears to God, Tiamat, Ozzy Osborne, whoever is out there listening, that it had been you laughing on the other end of that phone call — but then she’d hung up on him, and Eddie knew he’d been deluding himself, projecting you into some random girl he’d probably scandalized.

He imagines some snotty cheerleader on the other line, lying on her bed, twisting her perfectly manicured fingers in the phone cord, popping bubble gum, and kicking her feet —painting the picture of a pretty little fantasy until she realizes who she was talking to, until he tells her his name. Then he pictures her sneering and slamming the phone into the box with a harsh grunt of disgust.

She probably felt like she needed to take a shower after that, to wash the freak off of her.

Eddie still can’t believe how badly he’d let his feelings get hurt over it, all because he’d let himself pretend he was talking to you.

Then there was the way Dustin and Wayne acted towards each during that second Friday playing at the trailer. It was a rare day off, and it had seen his uncle rolling up unexpectedly and coming through the door halfway through their session.

Everyone instantly shut up and mumbled their own overly formal, awkward greetings as Wayne surveyed the group. He greeted the boys he knew, regarded the ones he didn’t with a curt nod as Eddie introduced them – Mike and Lucas, and then he clapped eyes on Dustin, and he got stuck. He stared hard and set his jaw, and Eddie could practically see the gears turning in his uncle’s head as he tried to work something out.

It would have made him nervous if he hadn’t noticed the way Dustin was staring right back at him with the same intensity. Like they recognized each other but they didn’t precisely know where from.

Weird.

And then the moment passed, like fixing a skipping record.

“Y’all been playing long?” Wayne hummed, setting his wallet and keys down on the little dining table shoved against the opposite wall.

His addressing Eddie brought the game to a screeching halt and everyone held their breath and waited to see what he would say.

“Few hours, yeah.” he replied cautiously, “Why?”

There was a tiny nagging voice in the back of his mind that warned him they were about to get kicked out and they would have to finish their session with flashlights in the back of his van, but Wayne just shook his head, like it didn’t matter why he’d asked.

He fished his cigarettes from his pocket and patted himself down in search of his lighter, coming up empty.

“You got a light?”

Eddie tossed him his lighter— he caught it effortlessly.

“Well, don’t stop on my account, gentlemen.” He said, pushing a cigarette up to his lips and going right back outside.

The door clicked shut and a collective sigh passed over the room as everyone turned back to the game board and began chattering amongst themselves.

“You think he’s still pissed about the table?” Adam asked sheepishly.

Jeff and Gareth both began to voice their dissent – no, no way that was so long ago — and Eddie had to grit his teeth to stop himself from saying anything too mean about it because it may have been long ago to them but he still hadn’t heard the end of it.

“Of course, he’s still pissed – you guys, shut up about the table already,” Eddie huffed, flipping through the beat-up Player’s Handbook balanced precariously on his knee.

Of course, that only spurred them on to talk more about it. And when Mike piped up, asking “what table” Gareth was all too happy to launch into the story, much to Eddie’s annoyance as everyone lost interest in the game and began laughing and talking.

He propped his chin up on his hand and heaved a dejected sigh, continuing to flip through the book and waiting for them to be done. He just wanted to play D&D, was that too much to ask?

And then he could feel eyes on him. He glanced up to find Dustin staring at him expectantly from where he sat on the floor like he was waiting for the answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet.

Eddie waited. Dustin waited, and for a long moment, they both just sat, staring, waiting for the other to speak.

“What?” Eddie finally prompted.

Dustin began slowly.

“So…” He said, giving him a quizzical look and shuffling just a little bit closer to where Eddie sat with his knees up in the lazy boy. “How do you know that Wayne guy?”

Eddie wouldn’t say that the question floored him, but he didn’t quite know how to respond. He supposed he could have just answered the question – he’s my uncle – but he was much too caught on the other end of it.

“How do I–? How do you know Wayne, Dustin?” Eddie snapped, well aware that he was biting the kid’s head off over nothing again. “Don’t ask me stupid questions like that.”

He could practically hear you in the back of his mind, reminding him that there were no stupid questions, but Eddie stridently disagreed. That was a very stupid question.

Dustin didn’t have a response. He looked more put out than dejected as he threw up his hands and shook his head, but someone kicked up with a concern about snacks or drinks or something variably more important to a group of teen boys before Eddie could chase the thought any further.

It was another twenty-five minutes of trying to corral the group before they finally resumed their session and when Wayne finally came back in, Eddie spent the rest of the night trying not to get distracted by the way he and Dustin sat glancing at each other as he did his best not to lose his flow.

Wayne didn’t have much to say about it later on.

“Do you and Dustin know each other or something?” Eddie asked after everyone had gone, gathering the last of the books and character sheets, and dice.

Wayne sank heavily into his chair — the lazy boy that had served as a poor substitute for Eddie’s throne — with a sigh and beer. He scratched his stubbly chin and furrowed his brow like he had no idea what his nephew was talking about.

“Who?”

Eddie grit his teeth to keep himself from snapping.

“Dustin— the kid with the hat? Braces?”

“Oh.” Wayne said.

He hummed deep in the hollow of his throat, like he was considering whether or not to tell Eddie something, then he picked up the remote and flicked on the tv.

“Nope.”

That was the end of the conversation, no matter how long Eddie stood there in the living room, waiting for his uncle to elaborate. He didn’t, and Eddie finally had to just turn and stalk back to his room with an agitated sigh.

He can’t help but feel that there is a huge piece of the puzzle missing there, one he isn’t sure has anything to do with all the weirdness that has punctuated his days since school started. He tells himself he doesn’t care, so why does he suddenly feel like there is some kind of big conspiracy between everyone he knows going on behind his back? He racks his brain for what the possible connection could be and comes up empty.

He is so goddamn relieved when they finally get back to playing in the drama room.

+++

The counselor’s office looks the same as it always does, all of Ms. Kim’s pictures, degrees, and personal items are still where they were when Eddie was last here, same time last year.

Christ, has it been a year already?

He knows he’s fidgeting more than usual, bouncing his knee and digging his nails into the arm of the chair as he waits for the guidance counselor to speak.

So far she’s just sitting there, staring at him and it's making him very nervous.

The last time he’d been pulled out of class to see Ms. Kim, she’d told him he wasn’t graduating again… and graduation is only a month away now. He’d be lying if he said his stomach wasn’t in knots.

She is smiling sweetly at him from across her desk, hands clasped neatly in front of her and Eddie is still frantically bouncing his knee.

“How are you doing, Eddie?” She finally asks, tilting her head thoughtfully and leaning forward ever so slightly.

He resists the urge to ask her to just cut to the chase. He would much prefer to rip the band-aid off and get it over with – none of this beating around the bush with mindless pleasantries.

Still, his mother had done her best to raise him right, in spite of it all, and he would be damned if he didn’t at least try to be civil with Ms. Kim. She’s never been anything but kind to him, which is not something he can say about most of his teachers.

“Okay, I guess,” he mumbles.

Her face pinches into a mask of concern.

“I heard you’ve been having a bit of a rough year.”

Eddie clears his throat to cover the bitter snort of laughter that tears itself out of him.

“Yeah well, nothing ever really changes around here, does it?” He says, smirking and shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “Same shit different day – sorry.”

The silence that blooms between them is more than a little bit awkward. He hadn't meant to swear.

Ms. Kim straightens the stack of papers set out on the desk in front of her and Eddie’s gaze flicks down to try and discreetly see what they are – he can only make out his name.

“So, I've got your transcripts here,” She begins, “And I wanted to talk to you about your future at Hawkins High School…”

Eddie’s heart drops into his stomach – he suddenly feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Oh come on, my grades can’t be that bad…” He chuckles. It is a humorless sound.

He is going to be devastated if she tells him he’s not going to graduate again. He doesn’t think he can stand another year of this…

He half expects her to give him a piteous look, scrunch her features and turn her eyebrows up in apology, but instead, they jump up towards her hairline and she shakes her head.

“No, actually, quite the opposite. Your grades are…” she trails off, shrugs, “Well, I’m not going to lie to you, they’re still pretty low, but considering what they were this time last year?” and then her lips quirk up into a big smile, “I think you might be on track to graduate next month.”

Eddie would have been less shocked if she’d pulled a gun on him. He's fully aware of how his mouth has fallen open as he stares at her.

“Shut the fuck up!” He gasps, and then, “Sorry – I’m so sorry – I just… y-you’re serious?”

"I'm serious."

"You're not just bullshitting me, right?" Goddammit, Munson, language, "Ah– sh-shoot – sorry."

Despite his language, Ms. Kim is still smiling and nodding – and Eddie doesn’t think she would lie to him about this. Educational staff wasn’t allowed to pull practical jokes, were they? Prank the guy with the worst grades in school by telling him he was graduating? That would be a major conflict of interest, probably illegal even, which means she’s not kidding, and he’s really – finally – going to graduate if he can keep his shit together.

Holy shit.

“I know it’s a little premature to say, but congratulations.” Ms. Kim says.

Eddie almost doesn’t hear her.

He feels like he’s going to burst, though for the first time in a long time it’s from happiness and not some kind of devastating attempt to hold himself together. Eddie only realizes how broadly he is smiling as his hands come up to clasp either side of his face. Shock is the only word he can think to describe what he feels, elation maybe? Dumbfoundedness?? Mostly, he can’t believe his stupid luck.

No, not luck, hard fucking work is more like, he’s been kicking his own ass all year and it’s finally paying off. He suddenly can’t wait to tell someone, everyone, get up on a table and shout it at the denizens of this wretched place – take a good last look, everybody, Eddie Munson is finally getting out of here.

“That being said–”

God dammit.

“–you’ve got one grade that you need to pull up. Mrs. O’Donnell’s class–”

Eddie's heart sinks a little. He's not sure any one of his teachers hates him more than Mrs. O'Donnell does. She would fail him just to spite him if it didn't mean she would have to endure another year of him in her class.

“– you’re close though, D is a passing grade. I should mention, however, that if you don’t manage it–”

“Oh, Christ – don’t say that!”

Eddie’s not superstitious, but he can’t help but jump forward and wrap his knuckles sharply on her desktop with both hands. It’s made of sheet metal – shit.

Is it bad luck to knock on wood when it’s not made of wood? He doesn’t know.

You would have known because you always had little bits of random information for him like that.

You were a purveyor of secrets and forbidden knowledge – you were Lady Midnight.

God, he wishes he could tell you the news, wrap you up in his arms and spin you around and around until he can't stand up straight.

Ms. Kim carries on about how there’s no shame in getting his GED and how best to stay on track for graduation, but Eddie isn’t listening anymore.

He’s too busy picturing the alternate universe where you still lived in Hawkins. Maybe you had a place together, one of the tiny apartments above or behind or in the basement of one of the buildings on Cherry Street.

He imagines he’d go straight from Ms. Kim’s office to find you at work, wherever that was – maybe you worked at Family Video with that asshole Keith and he’d find you behind the counter, or maybe you had some office job that he’d pick you up from every night at five.

He imagines the way your face would brighten when he told you — Baby, you won’t believe it, I’m finally fucking graduating! — your eyes would go wide and you’d scream and throw your arms around him and jump up and down. Everyone would stare because everyone always stared at the both of you, but you wouldn’t care because Eddie was graduating.

You’d be so excited that he would have to pry you off of him, and then you'd take him by the hand and insist you go out to celebrate immediately.

“Let’s go to Enzo’s and get drunk and eat our weight in breadsticks and lasagna,” You’d say, sidling up and tucking yourself beneath his arm.

And Eddie would scoff because there’s no way either of you could afford Enzo’s, but he would never deny you a good time.

“Sounds great, Sweetheart, we don’t have to pay rent this month,”

Of course, that was never going to happen.

Realistically, he thinks if he had the chance to tell you, your face would scrunch in sadness or maybe even anger, because you’d worked so hard tutoring him last year, all for nothing. All for him to break up with you just because he was jealous that you’d graduated and he didn’t, because you’d promised you weren’t going to leave him behind and he hadn’t believed you.

Maybe this was the start of Eddie finally getting his shit together, but what is the point of moving on if you aren’t going to be there waiting for him?

He’d spent so long imagining the moment when his life would finally jump out of stasis — graduating, moving on, moving out, getting his own place, getting a real job, and maybe – if he was really lucky – even someday getting married. Settling down with someone kind and fun and funny and eventually having a couple of little Munson brats of his own, running around wreaking havoc and living the childhood he always wished he’d been lucky enough to have.

He doesn’t want any of that on his own, he doesn’t want it without you – as cheesy, sappy, rom-com bullshit as that sounds.

He'd spent too long imagining his life with you.

Whatever scenario he drummed up for his future self — whether the band took off and he made it big and became this ridiculously famous rockstar living in a mansion out in LA, or even if he just got a job at a mechanic’s shop somewhere that barely paid him enough to make rent — you were always there with him.

Filthy rich or dirt poor, you were supposed to be hitting those milestones together.

He’s going to graduate next month and you’re not going to be there.

Eddie's heart is hammering against his ribs again, and he flexes his fingers to keep his hands from shaking.

It always hits him in the worst moments...

There is no rhyme or reason to his path after Ms. Kim turns him loose. For lack of anywhere better to go, Eddie heads straight for his locker, because he doesn’t think he can stomach sitting through class — he doesn’t know what he plans to do when he gets there.

Maybe he’ll grab his shit and leave — cutting class is not a good look when you're trying to graduate — maybe he’ll slam his head in the door until the blood stops roaring in his ears or his head falls off or something — can't graduate if you're dead — can't have a panic attack if you're dead either.

He fumbles with the lock until he can get the door open then, for lack of anything better to do, sticks his head inside, hands gripping the metal tightly as he tries to take deep breaths.

It’s nothing compared to a sink full of ice water, and the relative dark is not enough to be calming, but it’s better than nothing.

Calm down calm down calm down calm down calm–

“Are you okay?” he thinks he hears you ask.

Eddie whips back from his locker and cracks the back of his head against the door – ow – and it’s not you standing there, staring at him through your lashes, of course, it’s a cheerleader.

Chrissy Cunningham, he remembers after a moment of static. Red-blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, sweet face, heavy blue eye makeup. She’s wearing jeans and a soft white cardigan and Eddie realizes he didn’t recognize her without the greens and golds of her cheer uniform. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her out of it.

The phrasing makes him feel like he could start blushing.

She’s staring up at Eddie with big, wide eyes, filled with concern, and maybe something halfway to fear. It takes him a moment too long to realize she’s waiting for him to answer the question she’d asked.

“What?” He asks a little too loud, swallowing hard.

Her voice is very quiet when she answers.

“I just … asked if you’re okay…?”

“Oh… Yep— I mean — yeah, no. Yes. I’m fine.” Real smooth, keep talking cool guy, “I was just— I was looking for something.”

He gestures nervously to his locker, glancing at its messy contents before reaching out and snatching the first thing he sees. A broken pencil. Great.

Eddie has never been good at thinking on his feet — there is always as good a chance that he’s going to make a complete fool of himself as he is going to come across as smooth. Even when he’s confident that things will go well, his brain has this nasty little habit of betraying him at the last moment and short-circuiting, as had happened that first moment he’d tried to talk to you in the lunchroom.

He may as well have just stabbed himself with the broken pencil for how thinking about that makes his chest hurt.

Still, he holds the pencil up to Chrissy, like he needs to prove that he’s okay. He’s not.

“Found it.” He says.

She stares at him, wide-eyed and blank for what feels like an excruciatingly long moment, and then she smiles — giggles even, in spite of herself, pursing her lips and casting her gaze downward. It’s a soft, shy thing that carries shades of the way you’d looked at him the first time he’d ever spoken to you. It makes Eddie’s heart thump.

In a moment he remembers himself and slams his locker door shut, putting the pencil behind his ear and crossing his arms over his chest like he suddenly feels the need to protect himself.

Cheerleaders don’t usually talk to him unless it is to say something nasty or to try and buy from him … or that time in his first senior year when the cheer captain cornered him in the bathroom at a party and tried to coerce him into having sex with her out of some kinky, rebellious fantasy she’d wanted to fulfill before she graduated — you’d thankfully come to his rescue before anything could happen.

Girls like Chrissy Cunningham, who wear their innocence like a veil and date sports stars most certainly don’t talk to guys like Eddie.

It makes him nervous.

“Uh … sorry, did you… want? Something?”

Her eyes grow wide, like she’s been accused of something untoward and she looks away again, scratching nervously at her ankle with the toe of her immaculate white sneaker.

“Oh. Yes… actually.” Chrissy says, “Um, s-so… I was told that you— like … I mean if I wanted to get … something? You would have it.”

It takes him a long moment to untangle the sentence, and he’s a little dumbfounded when it finally comes undone. Maybe he was wrong about her because according to his translations, Chrissy wants one of two things from Eddie: sex or drugs.

Somehow he doesn’t think she’s coming on to him so that just leaves option two, which doesn’t leave him any less flummoxed.

“You wanna buy?”

It sounds much more like an accusation than he intended.

Chrissy twists a delicate finger tightly in the hair at the nape of her neck, garroting the tip of her digit and doing her very best not to look directly at Eddie. Her face is ever so slightly flushed pink as she bites at her lower lip and nods.

In spite of the bizarre situation, Eddie does think she is really very pretty, in a way he’d never noticed before.

He swallows and clears his throat to stop his voice from cracking as he continues.

“…What, uh— what were you in the market for… specifically?” He asks.

Chrissy glances at him from the corner of her eye and twists her sleeves down over her hands. She hesitates like she has absolutely no idea how to answer the question. Suddenly, her eyes are bright and shining, like she is ready to cry, and Eddie’s heart is in his throat.

He can’t stand to see people crying – girls, in particular, it makes him feel helpless, too much like watching his mother put makeup on over the bruises on her face. His hands twitch at his sides as the impulse to somehow try and comfort her becomes nearly overwhelming.

“Hey — hey… it’s okay. I’m not gonna bite you.” He says softly, resisting the urge to take a step toward her.

And do what, hug her?

That’s what he would have done with you, pulled you close and held you tight until you’d calmed down. Eddie doesn’t dare cross that line to touch Chrissy, he’s half convinced she might combust into flames if he did, innocent little bird that she is.

Innocent little bird trying to buy drugs.

He hopes she knows he means no harm as suddenly she becomes very interested in her sneakers, tugging at the hem of her big cardigan.

Eddie dips his head to try and meet her gaze, make her look at him – all she’ll do is glance at him, and he smiles at her when she does, in a way he hopes is reassuring. The moment of emotion thankfully passes quickly and Chrissy comes down again – she’s no longer on the verge of tears and Eddie can relax… at least a little bit.

“You good?” He asks.

“Yeah— yes. I’m sorry… I’ve — I’ve never done this before.” She mumbles, chewing the inside of her lip.

“That’s okay…” He assures her, shaking his head, “Everybody starts somewhere… I guess – uh – I guess I should’ve asked what kind of results you’re after?”

She blows out a tense breath and purses her lips like she really has to think about it.

“I don’t know… I—um… I've been having …n-nightmares?” She mumbles, then shudders bodily, like a sudden chill has ripped through her. “Terrible nightmares.”

For half a moment, she gets this scary, far-away look in her eye and it’s enough to stop Eddie from thinking about how her admitting that feels a tad too much like oversharing, considering they don’t know each other…

That’s not true, He tells himself, You do know Chrissy… second grade. Project on manatees – she came over and mom helped us work on it…

And then like being struck over the head, he’s reminded of another seriously unhelpful bit of information for the moment Eddie has found himself in.

She came to Mom’s funeral…

Eddie nods sagely, “You wanna sleep better.” he hums, trying to banish the image of black clothes and sorrowful faces standing around as a coffin is lowered into a grave — a much younger Chrissy stealing a shy glance at him before ducking back to hide behind a pair of legs.

Eddie wonders if she remembers any of that.

Chrissy returns the motion, a sharp jerk of her head in affirmation. It’s reassuring. At least he knows what he can sell her now.

“Okay.” He feels himself smiling without really being aware of how it got there, and he shrugs, “Well, hey, I’ve got the cure—“ Eddie stops short and tries to blink the living room at Rick’s place back on its axis — I’ve got the shit for what ails you — he’s quick to correct himself, shaking his head to try and clear the sudden smokey haze from his mind, “I’ve got something for that,”

Chrissy nods again and then brings up a hand Eddie hadn’t realized she’d had clutched in a fist. Slowly, her fingers unfurl to reveal a crumpled hundred-dollar bill.

“How much will this get me?”

Eddie almost laughs out loud at the sight of it. It’s more than he’s ever even paid to refill his whole stash.

Much more than you’re gonna need, Sweetheart, he wants to say, but he can suddenly taste whiskey on the back of his tongue and his head is buzzing with static.

Eddie rubs his hands down his jeans where his palms have become sweaty, and he tries to pass the nervous motion off like he’s searching his pockets.

“Well, I don’t— I don’t have anything on me right now…?”

“Oh!” Chrissy chirps, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates and freezing a moment as her fingers snap closed on the money again. “Sorry–”

“It’s fine, I’ll just...” Eddie makes a show of jerking his thumb over his shoulder, but Chrissy is shaking her head before he can finish the thought.

“No, no that’s okay—I just thought… nevermind, it doesn’t matter…”

She trails off, color bleeding into her cheeks as the interaction suddenly starts to feel like it’s fizzling out.

Eddie is quick to try and smooth things over because strangely he is suddenly very concerned with what Chrissy thinks about him. He suddenly wants so badly for her to think he is nice.

“No, I mean — like, if you wanna come back around tomorrow?”

An awkward silence blooms between them as she considers the offer.

“Tomorrow?” She echoes, a soft, lilting question that has Eddie smiling at her again.

He notices that her two front teeth are ever so slightly crooked in a way that is painfully endearing. She’s much too sweet for this, he shouldn’t be agreeing to deal to her, but he suddenly feels the closest he has felt to his old self in months, standing there in the empty hallway, talking to Chrissy Cunningham — Eddie before you.

“Yeah.” He says gently, “Yeah—we could meet after school…”

She hesitates, worries her lower lip, and continues to avoid looking at Eddie. It doesn’t feel malicious so much as bashful, like maybe it didn’t matter that it was him she was talking to, like she would have been this shy trying to buy drugs from anyone.

Her brows come together, scrunching down over her big pretty eyes.

“Tomorrow’s the pep rally,” Chrissy says softly, like she’s letting him down.

It hits Eddie like a fist to the gut, and darkness begins creeping in at the edges of his vision. He takes a slow, deep breath in through the nose and blinks rapidly.

“You don’t want to go to the pep rally.” He can suddenly hear you saying, somewhere very far away.

Eddie digs his nails into the palm of his hand until it hurts in an attempt to try and banish you.

“Right.” He says, forcing himself to breathe normally.

Chrissy finds the courage to finally look at him then, if only briefly — her eyebrows are turned up apologetically.

“…And the championship game,” she says.

“You just want to go and antagonize the basketball team…”

“That’s also true.” Eddie hums, nodding.

He’d caught you on your way out of class, throwing his arm around your shoulders and trying to steer you towards the gymnasium before you’d shrugged out of his reach.

No, of course, Eddie didn’t want to go to the pep rally, but an injustice had been delivered upon the Hellfire Club by said Hawkins Tigers, and by code of law, action begets action. He didn’t know what he planned to do – make a scene, probably heckle and taunt the players from the bleachers, be generally disruptive – but you wanted absolutely no part of it.

Your refusal was an idle thing, yet dagger sharp.

Eddie staggered, throwing himself back against a row of lockers and gasping dramatically as he pantomimed being stabbed. You hardly reacted, rolling your eyes and leaving him behind as you made your way further down the hall toward your locker. You were used to his antics by now. He watched you go.

“Me? Antagonize the basketball team?” Eddie called, jogging to catch up, “I would never–”

“No, of course not.” You said, the sarcasm oozing off of you thick enough to leave a gooey trail in your wake. “Because you’re just bursting with school spirit, right? – Go sports!”

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, coming to a sliding stop at your side as you found your locker amidst the row.

“Oh, come on, Sweetheart, give me a little credit here. I’m peppy as hell. I’ve got pep in my step,” The statement was punctuated by Eddie jumping up and down beside you.

Again you rolled your eyes, and turned your attention to fidgeting with the sticky padlock clipped to your locker.

“Look, if we go, it’s gonna be weird that we’re even there in the first place and you’re just gonna push it and push it until one of those meatheads decides he’s offended by something and causes a big scene – because that’s what always happens – and it’s just so much easier not to go and avoid all that drama in the first place.”

You were right, because you were always right, but Eddie didn’t have to tell you that.

“How dare you,” He gasped, feigning offense, pressing a scandalized hand to his chest, clutching phantom pearls, “Here I am, bearing my heart and soul, and you won’t even entertain the idea of being seen in public with me. Heartless – that’s what you are.”

Of course, by then you were openly ignoring him and his antics, which absolutely would not do, so Eddie changed tactics. He reached out and pinched the flesh of your cheek between his thumb and forefinger.

“Hey, can you blame a guy for wanting to support the home team?”

You jerked out of his touch and swatted angrily at him.

And then, perfectly on cue, there came the basketball team. The hallway parted like the sea as people made way for Hawkins’s best and brightest (and most popular) flanked by the ever-present cheerleading squad, like a green and gold cloud of preppy little gnats.

Eddie clenched his teeth as he watched the group pass, feeling judgment rolling off of them in tangible waves, like invisible daggers hurled in his direction – worse still in your direction, because they’d offered you a choice and you’d picked him over them.

He just couldn’t help himself.

“Go Tigers!” Eddie shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

The phrase “if looks could kill” passed briefly through his mind as they turned to regard him. He felt a strange mixture of satisfaction and chagrin as they did their very best to kill him dead, satisfaction for how he’d gotten under their skin without doing basically anything, and then chagrin as he saw how their disdain for him extended to you.

That made it less fun – still, he committed to the bit.

“See?” Eddie said, gesturing down the hall towards the group of fading athletes, “Think about how fun it would be to sit through three whole hours of that.”

You watched them go – your old friends – and turned to look at him. Something fluttered across your face, and for half a moment Eddie was afraid he’d gone too far and hurt your feelings somehow. Then you narrowed your eyes.

“I thought Eddie Munson didn’t do school functions?” You teased, though there was real bite behind it.

Eddie cringed bodily – he understood that reference.

In the weeks before he’d mustered the courage to ask you out, you’d asked him if he was going to that night’s Sadie Hawkins dance. Eddie had scoffed and told you “I don’t really do school functions,” like it was some kind of running joke.

The Hellfire guys had laughed, and you’d tried your best to join in, but he’d seen the look of disappointment flash across your eyes and the way your face fell. You’d mumbled a quiet, “oh, okay, nevermind then” before quickly excusing yourself. It only occurred to him that you’d been asking him to the dance several hours later, while he was sitting on his bed working out the chords to a song you’d said you liked.

Eddie was sure his neighbors must have thought he was being murdered with the way he’d screamed when it hit him. He was a fucking idiot, and he knocked over just about every piece of furniture and clutter they owned in his panic to get to the phone and call you. It was too late for the dance, and he barely let you get a word in edgewise as he stumbled over apologies and excuses and promises to make it up to you somehow – he was still making it up to you.

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?” He groaned, thumping his head against the locker beside yours.

You gave him a sly, sidelong glance, your lips quirking at the corners and eyes flashing in triumph as you finally managed to jimmy your locker open.

“Never.” You purred.

Flirting with Chrissy seems like a real funny way of trying to make it up to you, but still, Eddie tries to make himself smile in a way he hopes is reassuring. He hopes it looks a lot more convincing than it feels.

“What if we meet up before the game?”He posits, and Chrissy doesn’t seem convinced, so he keeps talking, “D’you know where that old picnic table is? Out in the woods past the field?”

She nods, still tugging at the sleeves of her cardigan.

There is a soft crease of worry between her eyebrows and Eddie feels a strange combination of warmth blooming in his chest and guilt cramping his stomach as he resists the urge to smooth it away.

She really is very pretty...

“Yeah,” she says, slowly with a newfound sense of surety, “…Okay. Before the game.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. A sigh of relief.

“Okay. So… I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Okay.”

"Okay."

She offers him one more shy smile before turning on her heel and scurrying down the hall.

He watches Chrissy go and very quickly feels the afterglow of talking to a pretty girl give over to guilt as something crumples inside of him.

“Come over tonight?” He’d asked, leaning against the locker beside yours.

You’d cast a sidelong glance his way and offered an apologetic smile as you tucked away your textbooks.

“I can’t – I’m babysitting.”

Ah, the old babysitting excuse – Eddie knew it all too well, and it was not enough to deter him.

“That’s okay, I’ll come to you.” He said, eliciting the expected response, your face scrunching up in the way he loves, brows coming together, eyes narrowing.

“No, you won’t.” you’d huffed, like he’d suggested something positively scandalous.

The suggestion of it was there, of course, a perpetually lingering shadow of arousal that lived between any two people in a consenting adult relationship (particularly if they happened to be a couple of horny teenagers) – still, Eddie couldn’t help but feign innocence.

“Why not?”

“Because.” You pressed, stretching the word, “I’m not gonna be one of those cliche babysitters who sneaks her boyfriend over to make out all night. That’s how you get killed in a horror movie.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, hand dropping idly to crook a finger through your belt loop and tug you towards him.

“Oh, come on,” He said, “We’re not gonna make out all night.”

He moved to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind your ear and somehow managed to get lost along the way. Suddenly his hand had come to rest at the curve of your throat, which only went on to suggest a strident contrast to what he’d just said.

No, you weren’t gonna make out all night, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do everything in his power to get you out of your jeans.

“Eddie…” You warned him.

"Ed-die."

You furrowed your brow at his mocking and he just smiled. He knew that tone, it meant “don’t start”, but the way you sighed his name betrayed your steadfastness. It was reminiscent of the way you said it when he had you in a compromising position, with his hands all over you – all whiny and a little desperate, face flushed, lips bitten.

Uh oh, he thought, feeling the stirrings of something in his abdomen that was never so easily banished. Dangerous territory. Proceed with caution.

For the sake of his dignity, and considering you were both still at school, Eddie pivoted – it was a rare act of self-preservation.

“Come on, Babycakes,” he said, sounding perhaps a tad whinier than he’d intended, “I wanna meet the little twerp who’s been trying to steal my girl.”

Your brows came down in stark contrast to the way your face split into a wide grin as your fingers came up to grip the hand that had drifted south to rest over your collarbone.

“Your girl huh?” You purred, tilting your head down to gaze up at him through the thrush of your lashes.

Fuck. He loved it when you looked at him like that, but he knew if he wasn’t careful, he was gonna end up with a raging hard-on – at school, no less – and then what was he gonna do?

Eddie swallowed hard and ran his thumb over the plush spread of your lower lip, despite how it nudged him just a little further down the path of ruin. He had to fight to resist the urge to push the digit past your lips, press down on your tongue.

“Gotta scope out the competition.” He said thickly.

You scoffed then, thankfully cutting the tension with the harsh sound as you jerked your head back, pulling out of his grip.

“He’s not competition, Eds, he’s twelve.”

Eddie shrugged. “Even better, I’ll let the punk know who’s boss.” He could tell you clearly weren’t buying it, so he doubled down, “Hey– hey, I’m great at babysitting — I get those babies flat as a pancake every time.”

Your eyes flashed indignantly and before he could think to move, you jabbed him sharply in the ribs with your knuckle.

“Ah—shit!” he gasped.

“That’s my joke, Munson.”

Eddie hissed a sharp intake of breath and jerked away from the skittering feeling over his ribs as you poked him again and again.

“Baby don’t—ahh!“ He cut himself off with a cry as your hands came down to squeeze at his sides.

The worst thing that had ever happened to him was how you had so unceremoniously discovered just how goddamn ticklish he was, one afternoon when you’d engaged him in a wrestling match. You’d started it, but Eddie had easily flipped you over and pinned you down, holding your hands over your head and ready to torment you until you said “uncle”, but little did he know that you were an incorrigible brat who would not go down without a fight. Not a fair one, at least. Somehow, you’d gotten a hand free and immediately jabbed him in the ribs, pulling an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp from somewhere deep inside of him, startling the both of you. It was all over from there.

Eddie has not known a day of peace since, and today it seemed would be no different.

In some small attempt at self-preservation, he seized you at the wrists and pulled your hands around his back, jerking you forward and forcing you to hug him so that you couldn’t tickle him.

It was not the most ideal solution, considering the growing state of his arousal. You were suddenly pressed flat to him, head forced back so that your chin was resting at the dip of his sternum, gazing up at him with the faintest hint of mischief glinting in your pretty eyes.

If you were a cat, your tail would have been twitching with anticipation.

"Oh good, now that I've got your attention," He started, breathless and a little lightheaded as you tilted your chin down ever so slightly.

And then you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his chest and Eddie yelped. He bit the sound off with a shout of laughter and pushed away from you.

You chased him, because of course you did, vicious harpy that you were – talons extended and reaching to grab at him again. He easily skirted around you in a wide circle, and suddenly you were both laughing and shouting as Eddie proceeded to run up and down the hall, fleeing the threat of your tickling fingers like he was running for his life.

It was an exercise in stamina, as even though he had longer legs, you were the faster runner, and as such, you were on him at every turn, squeezing and poking and pinching.

You really were in rare form that day. Super bratty. Part of him knew he was gonna have to hold you down and teach you a lesson later if you kept it up. That same part of him really hoped you would keep it up.

Your classmates passed you idly in the hall as you played, staring in varying degrees of discomfort as they made their way to the forgotten pep-rally, admonishing your dopey public displays of shouting, laughing affection with sidelong glances and the singular utterance of “get a room.”

In quite the athletic feat, Eddie finally managed to outmaneuver you enough to grab you from behind, pulling your hands across your chest and pinning them there so that you were stuck in a straight jacket of your own body. Once he was certain you were restrained, he walked you back to your locker, compensating for your presence between his legs by taking large awkward steps.

The action was closer to skipping than walking, and by the time Eddie deposited you back to your locker – the both of you noticeably winded from the game – you were giggling hysterically, spinning in his arms and rocking back against the cold metal door. You made no effort to stop him from caging you in there, hands coming up to rest on either side of your head as you lingered a moment, working to catch your breath.

Your face was flushed the prettiest shade of pink from exertion, eyes bright, chest heaving. Eddie watched your tongue poke out to swipe a thin sheen of moisture over your lips, and he swallowed hard.

He had to force himself to drag his gaze up from your mouth.

“So anyway, about me helping you babysit tonight—"

You heaved an overdramatic groan and rolled your eyes as Eddie rushed to continue before you could cut him off.

“Just hear me out— you said he’s a little nerd, right? That’s perfect. Nerds love me,”

“No, they don’t.”

“They do.” He insisted, beaming, “We can play D&D! Like a mini-campaign. Just the three of us – it will be so fun, I promise.”

The corners of your mouth quirked with humor.

“Can I be the Dungeon Master?” You asked.

You were teasing, but Eddie just dipped his head forward to brush his lips against the highest point of your cheekbone.

“Baby, you can be whatever the hell you want if you just say yes.” He said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You hummed thoughtfully and let your head thump back against the hard metal like you were really considering the suggestion.

Eddie pulled back ever so slightly to watch the gears of your mind turning visibly on your face, though he very quickly became distracted as his eyes dipped to the exposed columns of your throat. He had to work very hard to resist the urge to put his mouth on you and suck a bruise into your flesh.

He wondered what the student body would think about that? The Freaky couple going at it in the hallway while the pep rally went on unnoticed? How’s that for school spirit?

Finally, you shrugged your shoulders.

“…I mean… he would love that, actually.”

“Yes!” Eddie cheered, pumping his fist in victory.

He grabbed you by the wrist and jerked your hand up for a high-five, the force of which rang out with a loud clap, echoing through the now-empty hallway and leaving his palm stinging.

You were giggling again, chewing your lower lip like you meant to contain the sound.

“Really though, he’s gonna love you. You guys like all the same nerdy stuff,” you said, rapping your knuckles against his chest. “You’ll be best friends and then I’ll just be that girl from across the street who used to be cool. Last year’s toys —totally lame.”

Eddie caught your hand and held it there, brushing the pad of his thumb across your knuckles and telling himself he didn’t need to tell you just how cool he thought you were, how much he loved you.

He was too caught in the way his heart was suddenly thumping in his chest over the sentiment.

Nobody ever said “oh you should meet Eddie Munson, you’re gonna love him,” — at least not without a heavy dose of sarcasm.

Nobody loved Eddie. Except for you … and the kid you babysat, apparently.

It made him feel like he could burst.

Eddie wanted to linger in the feeling a little longer, bask in its glow, but because he was who he was, he just couldn’t help himself.

“Of course, he’s gonna love me, I’m awesome.”

You snorted with a burst of undainty laughter.

“And so modest!” You teased, eyes growing soft as you walked your fingers up over his chest. “And smart, and funny, and handsome…”

Eddie felt his stomach do a cartoon flip-flop – he was still learning to take compliments like that, and you’d made it perfectly clear that you wouldn’t stand for his self-deprecating comments, which left him standing hopelessly defenseless in moments like this.

He rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to hide his face in the crook of your neck, if only to hide the warmth he could feel creeping up into his face.

“Aw, babe…” he mumbled, “You’re gonna make me blush.”

Then your hands drifted southward to rest on the buckle of his belt, and Eddie felt something inside of him begin to throb.

He couldn’t tell if it was his heart or his dick.

“Let me come with you.” He suddenly couldn’t stop himself from saying, perhaps a little too earnestly as he did his best to ignore the way your nose wrinkled at the unintended innuendo.

You giggled, and Eddie pushed his lower lip out and pinched his brows in a mock pout.

“No, stop it, I’m trying to be sweet.” He huffed.

You breathed a sigh of soft laughter through your nose and nodded, relenting.

Eddie dropped his chin and nudged your nose with his, glancing up at you through the thrush of his lashes in a gentle mockery of the way you’d looked at him moments before.

“Please?” He pleaded, softly.

At this point, despite how you’d gotten him all worked up, he didn’t even want to have sex with you (that was a bald-faced lie, he would have fully taken you right there against the lockers if this were some kind of cheap porno and if he thought he could get away with it) he just wanted to be near you —always— sit on the couch and watch a movie with you, cuddle you, hold your hand, breathe you in, kiss you, hold you and never let you go.

Truthfully, Eddie just wanted in on the piece of your life that you had yet to share with him, because he was infinitely curious about how you spent your nights entertaining the kid you babysat.

Selfishly, he wanted every part of you to belong solely to him. He was, in fact, more than just a little bit jealous of how much of your time and attention that kid held in his grubby little hands.

It was stupid, he knew that, but you had a knack for making him just a little more stupid than was normal.

You brought your hands up to smooth the wrinkles out of the front of his shirt and drummed your fingers over his heart.

It was a nice prelude to the gentle rejection hanging on your lips.

“Not tonight, Eds.” You mumbled.

Eddie made an unabashedly whiny sound of disappointment in the hollow of his throat and put on a show of pouting as he dropped his head to press his forehead against yours.

“Fine,” He sighed – rather pathetically in the hopes that you would take pity on him enough to reconsider.

You didn’t, but you did surprise him by suddenly fisting your hands in the front of his jacket and tugging him closer, as if that were even possible.

He was fully pressed against you now, pinning you to the lockers, and that little sparkle of mischief was back in your eyes.

“…You should come over after, though.” you breathed against his lips.

Eddie felt heat flaring in his chest, the possibility of “after” dripping down to pool in the pit of his abdomen – he could feel his face splitting in a slow smile as he rocked back on his heels.

“Yeah?”

You nodded slowly, “My parents are in Chicago until next week — and I should be done tonight by eleven-thirty? Then we can hang out, watch a movie, and stuff.”

If he was grinning any wider, his face might have started to peel off, so Eddie bit his lip.

“And stuff, huh?” He echoed, tilting his head in curiosity, “What kinda stuff?”

He knew exactly what kind of stuff you were talking about, he just wanted to hear you say it.

“Oh, I dunno.” You hummed innocently, “Maybe play some games?”

“I like games.” Eddie said, nodding emphatically, “What kind of games do you want to play?”

You blew out a breath and rolled your eyes up like you were thinking, even going so far as to tap your chin with your index finger. You were so goddamn cute, Eddie’s fingers twitched with the urge to squish your face.

“Well, there’s Candyland… Twister… Chutes and Ladders?”

It was a stretch, to be sure, but nobody ever accused him of being mature, and in spite of himself, he snorted with laughter.

Chutes and Ladders… Dumb joke. Really trashy. Barely even an innuendo.

Still, he tried and failed to compose himself.

“Sounds good. What next?” Eddie asked, still chuckling.

Your eyebrows jumped, like you couldn’t believe the audacity of him to even think to ask.

“What, and ruin the surprise?”

The surprise was ruined the minute you put your hands on his belt.

It was sex.

You meant sex, but you were too shy to say it outright.

You were the type of person who wasn’t shy about initiating but did so by rolling up with your hands behind your back, eyebrows jumping as you coquettishly asked if he wanted to “fool around”, and it was so incredibly cheesy Eddie couldn’t help but fall a little more madly in love with you for it.

His heart was so full with the feeling, the declaration of it lived perpetually on the tip of his tongue, but how many times a day could a man feasibly tell the object of his affection he loved her before the words started to lose meaning?

The danger of semantic satiation was ever-present.

“You,” he said, taking your face in his hands and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, again and again, each following word punctuated with another chaste peck, “Are,” Kiss. “An incorrigible,” Kiss. “Tease.” Kiss kiss kiss. “And a mean, mean girl. How am I ever supposed to make it to eleven-thirty?”

You stuck him to the spot with a sly look, quirking your brow and pursing your lips.

“You’ve got hands, don’t you?” You said, deadpan.

The boldness of the statement hit him like a slap to the face, and as if it weren’t enough to say it, you punctuated the statement by bringing your fist up and making a slow jerking motion.

“Oh, my God!” Eddie shouted, hands flying down to grip you by the shoulders as he barked out a burst of sharp, incredulous laughter. “Who are you?”

In the distance, he could hear the marching band beginning to play, signifying the start of the pep rally.

You smiled, looking awfully proud of yourself for being so naughty, and then you were serious again, pouting.

“Well?” You prompted, “Edward. I asked you a question.”

Eddie bristled at the sound of his full name and gave you a hard, disapproving look. You just smiled, a cat in cream – you were really gonna pay for that one tonight, and he had to wonder if you knew that.

His fingers scrabbled up to rest at the junction where your shoulders met your neck – because he couldn’t not touch you – fingers gracing the curve of your throat, and he met your gaze.

“Yes.” He said matter-of-factly, “You’re absolutely right, my darling little weirdo. I’ve got hands.”

And then there was that look again. You were pleased as punch and his head was spinning for it.

He bit his tongue to resist the urge to tell you he loved you again.

Eddie had never been this stupid about someone in his entire life – he’d been with other people, had little crushes here and there, some reciprocated, most not, but he had never been in love before, not like this.

Nobody had ever matched his energy the way you did. He knew he could be too much, but his feelings had always been big and unwieldy. Eddie did nothing in small measures, least of all love, and he didn’t know how to parcel it out in manageable bites. Once he was in, he was all in, and he threw everything he had to offer at the object of his affection. You were the first person who had ever accepted it without hesitation, and perhaps most thrilling of all, you’d given it right back.

He could hardly stand it.

He would have married you tomorrow if you’d have him, but that was a secret, something shiny to take out and admire in private moments. That was just for him.

Eddie pulled you into a tight hug, and pressed yet another kiss to your temple. He hummed contentedly when he felt your arms snake up around his waist under his jacket and the soft rumble of you sighing against him and he loved loved loved — but still, he just couldn’t help himself.

“I’ve also got a blanket in the back of my van.” He said crudely into the line of your hair.

Then it was your turn to shout with laughter, pushing against his chest. Eddie only held you tighter, deciding he could stand to indulge himself, and you could stand to be squeezed a little.

“Come on, Sweetheart.” He said, teasing a little too much as he hugged you and stretched the words in a singsong way, “Let’s go out to the vaaaan.”

“I don’t have time!” You laughed, the strain of trying to break free of him evident in your voice.

Eddie nuzzled his face into the crown of your head and felt the tickling of static kicking up over his nose and cheeks.

“Sure you do.”

You continued to struggle, and Eddie continued to hold on.

“I don’t want to be late.”

“You can be a little late.”

“No—"

“Yes.”

“Eddie.” You whined, that authoritative warning creeping into your tone again.

Christ, he loved it when you got bossy.

Still, Eddie released you, though only to seize you roughly by the jaw and pull you back to him, slanting his mouth against yours in a forceful kiss. He coaxed you to open up for him just a little more with a swipe of his tongue and the little moan you breathed into him as he licked the roof of your mouth shots all the way down to his balls, kind of like a bolt of lightning, kind of like getting kicked there.

It was not entirely unpleasant.

You were more than just a little bit breathless when Eddie finally released you with a wet, vulgar smack, feeling satisfied enough to start purring, like a cat in cream as he licked his lips. He watched you struggle to open your eyes and hummed contentedly at the sight.

He still had a gentle hold on your jaw, and he was not entirely convinced he wasn’t just going to kiss you again and again, holding you to the spot until you were late to babysit, just because you were that sweet, with your pink lips parted ever so slightly and your face flushed bright red.

Instead, he squished your cheeks in his hand and shook your head back and forth, fondly, before finally releasing you.

“Alright, that’s enough out of you.” He said, “Begone Succubus! And tempt me no more.”

“Don’t be mean,” you huffed, taking your bag from Eddie as he offered it to you and shouldering it.

Eddie spun you away, and crooked his fingertips to hold on until distance demanded you part. Off you went, looking back at him with a bashful smile and starting down the hall.

He sighed, and watched you go. Eddie pressed his hand to the left side of his chest where he could feel his heart thumping and felt utterly dopey, drunk on your love and lost in the promise of “after”.

Then, he remembered almost too late that he couldn’t just let you go — he had to get you back for biting him— and because you were a brat and he had absolutely no handle on his impulsivity, Eddie took a big step forward and brought his hand down to clap you on the ass with a loud smack.

You yelped and leaped damn near out of your skin, hands flying down to cover the offended spot and face burning as you turned back to glare at him. You stuck your tongue out at him and he could feel the muscles in his face start to hurt from how widely he was grinning.

“See you tonight!” He called, watching you scurry down the hall, shoulders pulled up to your ears because of course —of course— he still wasn’t done, so he raised his voice and shouted, “—you know— FOR THE SEX!”

“Eddie!” You hissed, “Shut up!”

Eddie watches Chrissy go and breathes out a hard, shaky breath to try and banish the way he’s getting dangerously misty-eyed.

When she’s gone, disappeared around the corner, he sinks to the floor to stop his knees from buckling underneath him, and crouches at the foot of the lockers. He groans and crushes his palms into his eyes until he sees bursts of color.

Eddie misses you more than he’s missed anything in his stupid, pathetic life, and he feels guilty for it because he has no right to miss you after he’d so carelessly thrown you away.

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

He can’t shake the feeling that with the perfectly innocent interaction he’d just had with Chrissy, he’s wronged you somehow, betrayed you — more than he already has — and he has to remind himself that flirting isn’t cheating.

You can’t cheat on someone you aren’t with.

He sniffs pathetically and runs the back of his hand under his nose.

He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him. He wishes he could feel normal again, free from this pervasive guilt, these stupid panic attacks, the crushing vice you still hold on his life after almost a year. He wishes he could be rid of you, and he wishes he would cease to exist for even thinking that.

Nobody’s fault but your own, you fucking loser.

Eddie makes himself think about Chrissy, because that feels easier than missing you. He thinks about her long legs in her short little cheer skirt, the gentle pout of her pink lips, her big wet eyes.

He thinks about how he’s going to see her again tomorrow.

He tells himself he’ll keep on flirting with her if she’s open to it, because she’s nice and she’s pretty and because there’s danger in it.

He knows he’ll definitely end up having sex with her if she comes on to him, because it’s been eight months since he’s felt the gentle press of your body and his hand has been a poor substitute.

Eddie knows Chrissy has a boyfriend, but he doesn’t care, because fuck Jason Carver and the shining white horse he rode in on.

There is a delicious sense of satisfaction in thinking about how goddamn pissed Jason would be to find out Chrissy had been talking to him, let alone soliciting drugs from him.

His perfect little princess.

Eddie thinks he could ruin her and have fun doing it.

No, he wouldn’t. He would do it and feel awful about it afterward because all he seems to manage to do these days is destroy himself a little more.

The thought of using her like that makes him feel sick, but he doesn’t know what to do with all the love you left behind in him. He doesn’t know where to put it. He won’t part with it — it’s all he has left of you — but it’s becoming a weight much too cumbersome to carry.

Eddie tells himself that maybe a rebound is the answer, maybe it’s what he needs to finally start to feel halfway normal again. Maybe it’s time to finally start thinking about moving on… the thought of it breaks his heart all over again.

If he closes his eyes tight enough he can still see you walking down the hall, glancing back at him over your shoulder – sticking your tongue out at him because you think he’s an asshole.

You'd wanted to see him.

He wants to see you so badly it makes his chest hurt… but instead, tomorrow he is going to see Chrissy...

Taglist: @harrys-tittie @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e @itsrainingbisexualfrogs @thicksexxualtension @ganseysgff @scoopsr0bin @peanutbutter-y-jams @audhd-dragonaut @clilxlx @alexandriaemily20 @averagestudent03 @but-vanessa @cosmictime45 @timelordfreya @forever-war @munsonzzgf

[tails89]

(So many sentences) Sunday

It's Sunday here, so I'm getting the ball rolling with some big brother Buck.

...

Turns out, asking your best friend to marry you is easier said than done.

The last time he’d asked someone to marry him, his dad had put a hand on his shoulder and told him to do the right thing. Shannon was pregnant and Eddie was at least half responsible, so they were married a month later.

They’d been young and terrified, but Eddie doesn’t regret his time with Shannon, not when it gave him Chris.

He wants to do it right this time, and it’s not just Buck he needs to consider. There are four of them in this family. Because that’s what they are. That’s how Eddie’s been thinking of them, even before Buck and Zac moved in two years ago.

In that time they’ve been raising two kids together. They’ve been to parent-teacher interviews, school field trips, and supervised birthday parties. They’ve nursed both kids (and each other) through injury and illness together, sitting for hours in the ER when Chris broke his arm and when Zac had appendicitis.

(keep reading under the cut)

Eddie spends the whole weekend stewing over it, trying to get Chris and Zac alone without Buck around to overhear. It’s not easy when they’re both either at work together or at home together.

A whole week passes before he gets the opportunity.

It’s Tuesday afternoon. Buck’s at work, having swapped a shift with Jackson so he could have the next day off to chaperone a field trip at Zac’s school. 

The sound of screeching children drowns out the low rumble of the engine as Eddie waits, windows rolled down, for the pick-up line to crawl forward.

It’s hot, and the AC is broken again, pushing through stagnant air that’s only marginally better than the warm breeze blowing in through the window.

Eddie wipes sweaty palms against his jeans and lets the truck roll forward to the front of the pick-up bay.

“Eddie!” Zac is as enthusiastic as ever as he throws the back door open and clambers into the back seat. He freezes halfway across the seats, leaning over into the front. “Where’s Buck?” he asks, peering around like his six-foot brother might magically materialise in the front seat.

“He’s at work, remember,” Eddie tells him, biting back a smile at the confused look on the ten-year-old’s face.

“Oh, yeah.” The confusion clears and Zac grins, scrambling into his seat. “Did you know you can tell the age of a mammoth by counting the rings on its tusks?”

“Uh, no?” Eddie blinks at the sudden conversation shift and turns to shoot Zac a fold smile. “Seatbelt.”

“Yeah, it’s like how you can count the rings on a tree,” Zac continues, reaching for his seat belt. “And there’s a mummified baby mammoth that we might get to see.”

“On the field trip?” Eddie asks, piecing the puzzle together. 

He’s not sure who’s more excited for the trip– Buck or Zac. Their kitchen table is currently buried under the pages and pages of notes and education resources Buck had printed off the museum’s website.

“Hey Dad?” The front passenger door swings open and Chris shoves his crutches into the footwell. “Can I go to Matt’s house after school tomorrow?”

“Not on a school night,” Eddie tells him, waiting for his son to put on his seatbelt. “Maybe on the weekend.”

“But Dad,” Chris starts, “he just got Tears of the Kingdom and he said I could play it.” 

“Aren’t you still grounded?” Zac asks from the back seat.

“No, Dad said I’m not anymore.”

“It’s still a school night,” Eddie says, flicking on the indication to pull away from the school. “And you have homework. Why don’t you wait until the weekend?” he suggests. “You could have a sleepover.”

“Yeah, okay.” Chris pulls his cellphone out of this bag and Eddie turns his attention back to the road, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

“Hey, so I was thinking we could stop at the beach before going home,” he says, his hands suddenly feeling sweaty again.

“Really?” Zac asks, his reflection in the mirror leans forward in his seat and Eddie can feel his feet swinging against the back of his chair. “Can we get ice cream?”

“I thought I had homework,” Chris says slowly, lowering his phone.

“I know, we won’t stay long. I just— there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Eddie says, glancing back up to the mirror. “Before we get home.”

Chris’ expression twists into something thoughtful. “Is it about Buck?” he asks. “Is that why you picked us up from school?”

“I pick you up from school all the time.”

“Yeah, with Buck,” Chris responds, his tone edging into suspicion. “Because you hate driving.”

“I don’t hate driving,” Eddie argues.

“But Buck drives all the time,” Zac pipes up, joining Chris in this gang up on Eddie hour. “You never drive.”

“Buck’s at work,” Eddie reminds them. “And yeah, fine. It is about Buck, but it’s also about you guys and me and—” he stops and forces himself to take a breath. “Let’s just get to the beach and then we can talk.”

“Wait, are we getting ice cream because it’s bad?” Chris asks, his voice wavering. “Did something bad happen?”

Eddie resists the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel. God, he’s already screwing this up. 

“It’s nothing bad,” he says instead and pulls into a parking spot, cutting the engine. “It’s good. I promise.” 

They all bundle out of the car and head over to the little van that sells soft serve and slushies, and Eddie buys both kids an ice cream, stuffing his pockets with napkins for the inevitable mess that will follow.

They walk down to the beach, Eddie carrying Chris’ ice cream as they pick their way across the sand to find a spot near the water.

“So,” Eddie starts, handing over the ice cream. He wipes his hands on his jeans again, the stickiness more to do with nerves than the dripping mess Chris is eagerly digging into. “I wanted to talk to both of you about me and Buck and—” he hesitates, bracing himself. “How would you guys feel if me and Buck got married?”

“You’re getting married?” Zac sits up on his knees, his eyes lighting up. 

Eddie laughs, handing over a napkin. “Well, I haven’t asked him yet,” he admits. “But I want to.” He glances across at Chris. “Only if both of you are okay with it.”

“Yes!” Zac cheers, the ice cream dripping down his hand forgotten in his excitement. 

“Chris?”

His son’s lips press together deep in thought. “If you and Buck get married, does that mean he’ll be my dad too?”

“If that’s something you want,” Eddie tells him, watching carefully for Chris’s reaction. 

A bright smile spreads across Chris’ face and he nods fervently. 

“Yeah, that would be cool.”

The last of Eddie’s anxiety fades.  “So, you’re happy if I ask him?”

“Yes!” Both kids nod and Zac says, “Me and Chris will be brothers.” Then he notices the ice cream running down his arm, soaking into his sleeve and hurries to lick it up.

“No we wouldn’t,” Chris tells him. “Not really, Buck isn’t your dad.” He finishes his ice cream. “I think you’d be my uncle.”

Zac’s smile falters. “But you’re older, and I don’t want to be your uncle.”

“You can be brothers,” Eddie tells him, handing over more napkins so they can start cleaning themselves up. “But you can’t say anything to Buck. It’s got to be a secret, just for a little while.”

“Okay.”

Nodding, Eddie lets out a long breath. The conversation had been easier than expected, though in hindsight it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Both boys love Buck as much as Eddie does.

Still, that’s step one done. Now all Eddie needs is a ring and the perfect moment. 

Easy.

Tagging (no pressure): @fairytales-and-folklore @rosieposiepuddingnpie @spruceoutoffive @bigfootsmom

[awkwardlyfangirly]

Love your dad Donnie fics!! Can we get a Leo x Pregnant reader fic please?? ;u; if you wouldn’t mind? 🌸✨

aww thank you!!

i know it took a while, thank you for your patience :')) but HERE'S THE FIC FOR YA

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rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles fanfiction ~ Leonardo x pregnant female reader ~ I'm no pregnancy expert,, please bear with any inaccuracies lolol

/////////////

“Snuffalupugus,” Leo says.

You wrinkle your nose. “Snuffalupugus? Isn’t that the wooly mammoth from Sesame Street?”

He chuckles a bit.

“Leo! This is a serious thing! We’re NOT naming our baby Snuffalupugus.”

“I am being serious,” he huffs, rolling his eyes and nuzzling closer to you. “Snuffalupugus.”

You sigh and continue scrolling through the list of baby names you’d found online.

“If we’d decided to check the gender it would really really help with narrowing down the number of names we have to sort through,” you grumble, tapping your fingers against the phone case. “Uh. Maxine?”

“Maxine?” He laughs.

“Leo, we don’t need commentary! Yes or no?”

“Okay, okay! No!” He presses his face into the back of your shoulder. “You alright? You seem a bit --”

“I’m fine,” you snap.

“Wow. Okay.”

You’re laying in bed together, trying to choose a name for your baby. You’ve shoved all of the sheets off of your body and Leo has gladly stolen them; you’re laying on your left side with a pillow supporting your swollen belly and your husband trying to spoon you from the back.

You’re hot. You’re sweaty. You’re uncomfortable. Your belly is full of child and the child is making its presence known.

“Get off,” you growl at Leo.

The baby tugs at the edges of your uterus. You want to scream.

Leo scoots away from you and you growl again.

“What?? What?? I’m backing away!”

“No, no, that wasn’t at you, that was at this -- this BABY --”

It kicks again.

“It won’t settle down,” you hiss, and the baby kicks you again. “It. Won’t. Settle. Down. The past six days, Leo. Kicking. And Kicking. And Kicking. I haven’t SLEPT. I. Haven’t. Slept. At. All.”

The baby kicks, hard, and you curl around yourself in pain.

“Aww. Y/n. Darling. I’m so sorry…”

“Darn right you’d better be sorry,” you mutter. “You did this to me, sir.”

“Hey. It takes two to --”

“Don’t you dare,” you growl.

Your baby sucker-punches you in the ribs. You shriek and wiggle.

“The past six nights?” Leo climbs over you, facing you now. “Six nights? And you didn’t say anything to me?”

“Don’t blame me for this,” you mumble, trying your hardest to get your baby out from under your ribs. “I’m the one growing the baby. Don’t add more to my burden.”

“Aw, honey. I’m not trying to blame you for anything. Just -- just why didn’t you tell me?”

“What are you supposed to do about it? Carry the baby for a while to give me a break?” You sigh deeply, rubbing at your temples. “I just gotta get through this. Like every other mother before me.”

His forehead is creased and wrinkled, his eyes suddenly solemn.

“Darling. Why didn’t you --”

“Leo, you’ve been living with me for the past eight months! You KNOW that it hasn’t exactly been A WALK IN THE PARK --”

“But you didn’t tell me you haven’t been sleeping thanks to internal baby abuse.”

“Well. C’est la vie.”

He rests his hands on your stomach and the baby kicks at him several times.

“Ow ow ow,” you grumble. “It won’t. Stop. It’s. So. Kicky. It’s. So. Active. I blame you. I read books all day, Leo. I haven’t been outside in fifteen years. I don’t think it got its LEVEL OF ENERGY from ME.”

“I’m so sorry,” Leo says, wincing. “You need some… some ibuprofen?”

“It doesn’t help. I can still feel the kicks. And the discomfort. OW. Leo. Hold my hand.”

He squeezes your hand and you curl up in pain again.

“Labor’s going to be worse,” you whisper at yourself. “I know it. Labor’s going to be worse. I can barely handle this.”

He runs his fingers over the back of your hand. “You got this. Believe me. You’re the strongest person I know.”

You groan and shut your eyes tight. “It’s in my RIBS. OW. OW. It’s trying to SEPARATE my RIBS from the REST OF MY ORGANS.”

He presses his forehead against yours, still holding your hands, letting you squeeze the circulation out of his fingers. He’s feeling a heartbeat in his hands, his or yours, he doesn’t know, but he bites his tongue and lets you squeeze.

“Breathe,” he whispers, “breathe,” as you whimper and dig your face into his shoulder.

“Never again,” you’re muttering. “Never again. I hope you’re fine with one child. Never. Ever. Again.”

“Okay,” he mutters back. “Whatever you want.”

“I want to GET THIS THING OUT OF ME.”

You stay that way for the rest of the night -- you on your left side, him on his right, facing each other, holding hands. He puts on some relaxing music to try to soothe the baby down. It might help. It might not. All you know is the baby kicks and kicks and kicks and you doze off whenever you can.

When you wake up in the morning, still groggy and sore, Leo kisses your forehead and holds out a notebook.

“These are my names,” he says. “The names I like. For our baby. You can take a look? See if you like any of them? It might help it be less stressful for you. If you don’t have to sort through every single name.”

You blink sleepily at him and take the notebook.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice groggy, and he smiles softly and kisses your lips and then cups your stomach with both hands and presses his forehead against it.

You hear him murmuring something to your baby, and then his voice trails off and you reach out a hand to touch his head. He’s asleep, fast asleep. He must have been up all night. You vaguely remember seeing him on his phone and writing, occasionally, when you opened your eyes and looked.

You glance down at the notepad. The top of the paper has your name written on it, surrounded by hearts, and a loud I LOVE YOU scribbled in the margins wherever he found the space.

You reach down and put your hand on your belly. The baby doesn’t kick; it’s probably asleep now, finally.

“You’re gonna have one heck of a dad,” you murmur to it.

[passivenovember]

Billy tugs his phone out of his pocket, clumsy fingers swiping notifications from the home page. 

He’s got four emails from Cosmo, a missed call from Maxine, and a message from Joyce that lights up his screen with the same sprawling, letter-esque type that all people born before 1983 seem to use. 

Billy, Joyce says, and Billy imagines her index finger tapping furiously, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, Hop ate some bad seafood. Won’t make the party. I’m sorry, kid. Love you so much. Breathe in, have fun, breathe out. Love, Joyce Byers.

Billy hadn’t noticed the time.

“This is fun,” Eddie says, suddenly. 

Billy looks up, startled out of his swirling little daydream. “Sure,” he says distantly. Things have settled in the dust. Soft, intimate conversations flutter around the room like butterfly wings, brushing Billy’s skin and sticking to the sweat on his brow. 

He’s relieved to be out of the spotlight. A good meal can take the edge off of things, sending people into a heady, comfortable space where nothing matters as much as it did before. 

Scarecrow is asleep on the couch. Everyone else is gone.

Billy considers the clock on his home screen and the prickly meaning of 10:23 shining over the last picture he took with his mom before boarding the plane last Christmas. His feet hurt, his throat’s dry, and really what would it matter if he took off?

It’s not like Steve would toss a rock through his living room window. He might send someone after him, like. Chrissy or Eddie or Dustin, who Billy learned spent every summer at a camp not far from Mammoth Lakes. He’s been gathering information all evening, building his arsenal. No matter the case or the friend or the scenario, Billy could take them–

“Should we go check on Steve?” 

Billy looks up from the empty pit of his cell phone screen. It’s gone dark. The room has cleared out, with art majors and registered nurses running back to whatever warehouse Steve keeps them in, and it’s down the the bare bones.

Billy. Scarecrow, asleep on the couch. Robin and Chris, probably, sitting on a bathroom floor somewhere misty-eyed like El and Max are when they’ve had too much to drink, doing each other’s hair and throwing compliments at each other like confetti. And Munson. 

Always Munson. 

Eddie wags an eyebrow, patting at his shirt pocket for a packet of cigarettes. “Want?”

“No,” Billy says, wrinkling his nose at the bright orange package, “Thanks.”

Apparently, people still smoke Dosal’s. 

Apparently, this is 1982. 

“Suit yourself, Blondie,” Eddie fishes a pale slim between two fingers and pinches the butt with his teeth, patting around all over again for a lighter. Billy wants to play the Hypocrite, insisting that smoking real cigarettes is bad, even though his lips are lightning pricks of jealousy. 

“They’re having a moment,” Billy says finally.

“Who?”

“Nancy and Steve.”

“Awful long moment, if you ask me.”

“Nobody did.”

“Gee, thanks,” Eddie quips back. He gets a flame started. Smoke pouring from his nose like a dragon, “You should go up there,” Eddie says, eyes bright with mischief.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t just go up there–”

“Don’t wanna cause a scene?” Eddie blows smoke through his nose, the flat, sweaty face of his palm lining circles through the air, “Dude. Party’s dead. It’s not like anyone’s around to see and even if they did, they won’t remember or care once the hangover kicks in.”

“Oh, and you don’t count?”

“‘Course not, Blondie, I’m just stirring the shit. Besides,” Eddie smirks, “You go up there and find out what’s keeping him, and I swear I’ll punt the Wheeler kid over my shoulder and we’ll be gone in time for Nancy to storm, broomstick flying, out the front door.”

The edge of Billy’s cell cuts into his palm, its corner pressing deep enough that Billy feels his pulse thumping through centimeters of metal and plastic. “Where’s Chris?”

“Went for a sleepover with Robin and the baby. Chrissy loves kids.”

Billy doesn’t remember that. He doesn’t remember much of anything–

“Are you serious?” Eddie rolls his eyes, “That’s what you get for staring at your phone for twenty minutes, Hargrove.”

Billy starts. “Twenty minutes?”

“It’s true what they say about radio signals and microwaves and cell phones frying your frontal lobe, you know–”

The ceiling starts thumping overhead. “Wait,” Eddie says to himself. To Billy. He holds his palm upward, cigarette smoke curling up through his fingers like fog from a sewer grate.

Someone slams a door. 

And then someone else comes thundering down the stairs, their footfall so heavy that Billy glances at the knick-knack shelf with mirth.

He holds his breath, terrified and suddenly, heart-wrenchingly sober–

And then Nancy rounds on him.

She’s crying.

Eddie says, “Wheeler,” like he knows something they don’t know.

Nancy ignores him. Her eyes somehow catch and tear open on Billy’s smooth, concerned gaze. He wants to say something to her. He wants to apologize and scrub the thundering sound of her footsteps from the stairwell.

She stalks to the foyer, snatching her purse off the now bare antique table that had bags and jackets piled high not even twenty minutes ago. “Mike,” Nancy says, her eyes glued to the floor as she digs around for her keys.

Scarecrow doesn’t rouse from his spot on the sofa. He’s drooling, a little.

Billy clears his throat, “Is everything–”

“Michael Wheeler,” Nancy says, with all the pissed-off, righteous terror of a girl who spent too long at her mother’s knee.

Mike sits with a startled sound, “What, what happened? Is everything–”

“Get up so I can drive you home.”

Mike stares wildly around the room, dimly lit like all rooms are at the end of a monumental evening. “Where is everybody?” Mike’s wide, nervous eyes land on Billy. “Hey, do you have any more of that tater-tot casserole?”

“I–”

Nancy grabs her brother by the scruff of his neck, “You don’t need more casserole, I can get you McDonald's on the way home.”

“Home,” Mike repeats, scrubbing sleep from his eyes, “What happened to you and Steve–”

Nancy hauls Mike to the front door, shoves him through, and slams it shut behind them.

The house falls silent like someone hit the mute button. Like Nancy ripped the button out of the wall and they’re stuck in this weird, floating space between alive and. Something else. Radio silent.

Eddie clears his throat, “Anyway–”

“Mike told me he doesn’t like tater-tot casserole,” Billy says thickly. Feeling. A little bit like a tiny ceramic figurine in the center of a snow globe, full of wonder as emotions swirl brightly all around him. 

Maybe he’s just drunk. “He said he wouldn’t eat it.”

“Right.”

“But he did,” Billy tries heavily. “Mike was the first person I met when I got here and he made me feel like shit, but then. He ate the casserole.”

Eddie nods, taking a languid drag from his still-lit cigarette. Billy thinks that Steve is going to throw a fit when he comes down here and finds his vintage, 1970s furniture smelling exactly like the decade they were manufactured in.

Billy shakes his head, willing it to clear. “It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense anymore.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I just mean that. Why would Mike eat the casserole if he hates it?”

Eddie shrugs, “Maybe he was lying?”

“But why would he eat my casserole if he hates me?”

“Maybe he was lying,” Eddie says again, flatter this time. He puffs on his cigarette, studying the drunken flush on Billy’s cheeks. It goes on forever and forever and then he ashes his cigarette in the tray Steve uses to keep loose change in, leaning forward on his elbows. 

Eddie’s head gets huge and wobbly like a bobbledummy. “Can I be honest with you, Billiam?”

“--Billiam–”

“Can I, though?”

“Sure?”

“You’re a great guy,” Eddie says lightly, full of feeling, and Billy starts to shake. “I’m being serious. You’re the best guy Steve’s been with in longer than I can remember, you just. I think you judge people too harshly.”

“Me?”

“You.” Eddie determines. He leans back, cool as a frizzy-haired cucumber. “I just think, like. You’re getting all misty-eyed over the drunken realization that maybe Mike didn’t hate you as much as you thought he did, and earlier you seemed surprised that Nancy didn’t try to kill you with a paring knife, and you’re attributing it all to some garlic bread and a fucking tater-tot casserole.”

Billy’s ears feel hot. Red hot and sunburned, under the weight of Eddie’s scrutiny. Maybe he’s right, maybe he’s wrong– “What should I attribute it to, then?”

“You,” Eddie says, lighting another cigarette. “I’ve known you for half a day, Hargrove, and I can tell. You’re cool. Way cooler than you give yourself credit for.”

–

Eddie makes up some bullshit lie about needing to go home. I work in the morning, he says, so Billy lets him go.

And then he climbs the stairs, two at a time while flickering memories of the party-set-up dance just out of reach. He’s never actually been anywhere beyond the landing on the second level of Steve’s house. The attic drawstring dangles in a lazy, barely-there breeze, and Billy’s surprised to find more doors than he anticipated, stamped along the hallway in calm, quiet darkness.

He imagines them leading to spare bathrooms. Closets that span the entire floor. Libraries and knicks that lead to the unpolished servant’s quarters. 

It’s magical like the Brothers Grimm stories his mom used to read to him, and Billy has the foreign, intense urge to open every single door and peer into the darkness like Nancy Drew.

Nancy Wheeler.

But the door on the farthest end of the hallway spills gold onto the carpet from a tiny, amber sliver, and Billy’s heart thumps wildly, battering against his ribs at the thought that Steve’s in there, Steve’s just down the hall–

Billy knocks twice with the hardest part of his knuckle. Just like his mother used to before Neil went missing and before Susan made her laugh at the grocery store, back when Billy had huge feelings but couldn’t put a name to them. Back when his bedroom was a fortress. 

“Steve?” Billy says. Someone shuffles behind the door, their shadow casting long enough to reach like phantom fingers into the hallway. “I think I’m gonna head out–”

The door swings open.

Steve’s been crying. 

Right away, Billy’s heart skips a beat and starts thumping backward, eager to turn back time and retrace every step until things start to make sense again. “Oh, you didn’t have to open the door,” Billy says, shyly, “Sorry. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Steve shrugs. He won’t meet Billy’s eyes when he says, “Is everyone else gone?” Like he hopes they’ll come thundering up the stairs, one right after the other, to save him from this.

Billy tries to push the thought away and fails. “No, they’re all gone.”

“Did you have an alright time?”

“Yeah,” Billy says softly, surprised to feel his heart opening like a flower in the light of that truth. “Your friends are really great, Steve. Chrissy was a doll and Robins–”

“Robin.”

“Yeah. Dustin actually knew where Mammoth Lakes is on a map, like. I was so surprised. And he’s been hiking near the mountains at that nerdy little summer camp–”

“--Camp Knowhere–”

“Right. Science camp,” Billy smiles, feeling hot all over from the booze, “And Eddie was great, too, y’know. For a nosy piece of shit.”

Steve starts at that, his spine going ramrod straight like maybe Billy’s words electrocuted him. “You. You spent most of the night with Eddie?” 

“Yeah, he’s cool,” Billy chuckles, and. Steve makes a face, like. A trademark, Big-eyed-terrified-jealous-asshole kind of face. It’s adorable. “Steve. Are you jealous?” Billy asks, amused.

Steve turns beet-red. “No.”

“Oh my god, you are.”

“I’m not jealous of Eddie Munson,” Steve spits, rolling his eyes so far back Billy thinks they may never be brown again, “He’s a nice guy, I just. Can’t believe you found anything he said so interesting that it took you an hour and a half to come up here.”

Billy falters. “I thought he was one of your friends.”

“He’s a work friend,” Steve says sharply, “That’s not the same thing. Nancy said he was making eyes at you all night.”

And. 

For the first time since Steve started turning Billy’s heart on its head with the sound of a shovel on his driveway, Billy wants to knock Steve’s teeth in. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Steve looks bashful, staring at the floor. “I don’t know. Nancy said that–”

“Fucking Nancy,” Billy spits. His arms burn, and his muscles pull tense. “She has no right to run up here and tell you that anything was going on, Steve, because she’s full of shit. Eddie’s a cool person. He was just being nice.”

“Like how he’s been ‘nice,’ to every other guy I’ve–”

Billy tries to put a lid on the fire that sentiment starts, burning through his stomach. That Billy’s not special. He’s just like every other guy Steve’s ever brought home. “Eddie loves his girlfriend,” Billy reasons, “Chrissy, remember her?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Billy says, crossing his arms over his chest. “What does it matter who I spent the night with, anyway.” 

“Billy–”

“I still had a good time. I thought that’s what you wanted?” 

“It is what I wanted.”

“Then why are you acting so weird?” Billy's jaw aches. He wants to hinge it shut. Yearns to fold himself into Steve’s arms and forget everything. Nancy and the kitchen, Nancy and the Hallway–

But. 

He’s drunk. And when Billy’s drunk, his mouth runs away with him. Steve’s hurt him, whether or not he meant to is inconsequential, and Billy’s suddenly pissed off. Furious. He bares his teeth. “It’s not like I could’ve spent any time with you.”

Steve picks up on it immediately, his eyes blowing wide with regret. “Bill–”

“When you weren’t saddled up in the next room, smoking until your eyes dried out and ditching me so I could bake bread in the kitchen like your little kept boy, you were locked up in here with Nancy.”

Steve’s baby browns flash red with anger. “Like you were, with Munson?”

“What are we talking about?” Billy snaps. “Where is this coming from?”

“Nancy just said–”

“You’re throwing a fucking fit because I was spending time with one of your friends?” 

“To be fair,” Stee quips, smiling softly, “Eddie’s pretty cute.”

“I’m not in the mood for this,” Billy shakes his head, driven crazy with sorrow, “That’s bullshit, Steve. You don’t get to be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you, baby.”

“Don’t call me that,” Billy says, “I’m pissed at you.”

“Alright, Jesus–”

Billy feels his fuze stop, ready to detonate. “Why are you rolling your eyes and acting like this isn’t a big deal? It is.”

“I know.”

“I come up here and you start bitching at me about Eddie Munson. I’m not the bad guy, here. I wasn’t the one who disappeared for an hour to talk to a girl I once called ‘baby,’ on the phone.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. 

His mouth opens and closes, working around a comeback, but Billy isn’t in the mood to give him that chance. 

“For months, Nancy’s been this huge thing hanging over my head. Ever since we got snowed in that last time, and. Steve, I didn’t ask to be a bigger part of your life. I didn’t ask you to scrape my driveway, or bring me ice melt, or grow flowers to decorate my classroom with. I didn’t want any of it. I don’t deserve–”

What Nancy said to me. Robin’s kindness. 

This.  

Love.

You. 

Billy takes a deep, steadying breath. “I’m sorry,” He says, tugging a hand through his hair. When their eyes meet, Steve’s are warm. Sad. Billy wets his lips, “I don’t want to bitch back and forth. Tonight was really fun. Really. I loved it.”

I love you.

Billy turns, grateful that the world is less of a dreamscape, now. He’s ready to go home, ready to disappear, But then–

“Nancy said she overstepped, tonight.”

Billy stops. His hand clutches the banister.

“She told me she opened her mouth and ruined what we had, and. To be honest, I’m not really surprised. I should’ve expected that she would say something fucked to you because she does that. Always has. It’s one of the reasons we broke up in High School and never got back together again, even though–”

“--Steve–”

“I just. We’ve never really stopped caring about each other, and it’s unhealthy. I was living in denial because it’s always been platonic on my end. But I think in some weird, step-ford wives kinda way, maybe Nance–”

Billy whirls, his body catching on fire, “I don’t want to hear that she’s in love with you, Steve.” 

Steve watches him like a bear caught in a trap. 

Billy’s voice cracks right down the middle. He hates it. He’s going to drown. “I swear to god. If you tell me that she’s in love with you and after all this time, all this shit you’ve done to make me like you. Steve, if you stand there and say you love her–”

“I’m not in love with Nancy Wheeler, Billy, I’m in love with you.”

Billy blinks, shocked when tears cling to his lashes. 

He’s grateful that Steve isn’t close enough to see them, poised and ready to break like waves over his freckles. “No,” Billy says, not. Believing it. He can’t. He won’t. Billy shakes his head, “No–”

“Look–”

“--This is insane,” Billy says, “We’re fighting. We’re having our first fight.”

“Yeah,” Steve says sheepishly, “It sucks, but. It’s kinda nice, too. Refreshing to have it all out there.”

“Stop,” Billy says, breathless. “This isn’t right. I’m supposed to call you an asshole, and you’re supposed to kick me out and I’m supposed to not sleep, and. Cry to my sister on the phone. I’m supposed to realize I fucked up big time, and come back tomorrow with flowers and apologize for getting so drunk and ruining our lives–”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Steve says. He tucks his hands into his pockets, gaze steady on what he wants. “What’s happening is my fault.”

“It’s not,” Billy says thickly. He wants to stand on the stairway banister and say it’s his fault. All of it. His insecurity, his depression, his brain bullshit, making everything difficult since that first January day–

“It is, though,” Steve says, taking one step closer. “I shouldn’t have invited Nancy tonight. I should’ve done more to make you comfortable, and even though I knew all the shit with her was tearing you up inside, I didn’t do anything to stop it. I should have.”

“It’s okay–”

“It’s not okay, Billy, you’re supposed to throw shit and call me an asshole because I deserve it,” Steve says. “We’re having our first fight, remember?”

He’s on the verge of smiling, but. 

Billy can feel heartache like an incoming rainstorm, emotions like clouds gathering somewhere neither of them can see but when the rains come and wash away everything that was there before, they can start over, bathed in the light of the dawn.

“I don’t know what she said, exactly, but Bill,” Steve looms closer, his eyes swamped with emotion, “You’ve gotta believe me. It’s not true.” When his hands cup Billy’s neck, they’re warm. His thumbs brush lightly over Billy’s jaw. “I’m so in love with you, Billy.”

Billy presses into them, like a cat, “Okay.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier. I’m sorry–”

“That’s the thing about a first fight,” Billy says, grinning softly, “I think we get to have makeup sex, now.”

Steve holds terrifyingly, shockingly still, and then. 

He moves.

Billy kisses him. He presses all his weight into Steve, pushing and pulling until their bodies meld into something new. 

Steve sucks on his tongue, hands scrambling to touch every part of Billy he can find. They stumble, unsure on love-drunk legs, knees knocking along the hallway and into the bedroom. 

Billy hums low in his throat. Steve’s tugging on his shirt, pulling the starched fabric downdown down until the blood stops pulsing up through his brain. 

“Off,” Steve says, panting into his mouth, “Off, baby, please–”

“Buttons,” Billy grunts, and they go flying, a handful of tiny stars that leave scratch marks on the wallpaper.

This is the shirt Steve picked out for him. So they could match. They’re matching right now, two halves of a whole, and Steve gets him on his back, says, “Let me eat you out, baby. Please–”

“Yes.” Billy’s mouth chokes around a half-baked thought, that. Good boy. Steve, Billy, both of them. 

“Thank you,” Steve says, like a prayer, and it’s ridiculous. 

Billy wonders if it’s the start of something. Of love. Fifty more years draped button-downs and pressed khakis and Steve, salt-and-pepper gray around the temples and everywhere else. 

He gets Billy’s pants off.

Billy moans because he wants to see it. The room is cold, and Steve is warm, and Billy tucks into it like an animal fending off the winter, and then he’s hot.

On fire.

Steve gets his mouth on Billy. Licks up his balls and swallows his cock down to the root, nose buried in the curly blond husk that pillows him. Steve gives head like someone’s told him he’s got ten minutes left to live. It’s break-neck. Harsh. The world is drowning and the sky has been torn open, and this is Steve’s dying wish. 

“Shit,” Billy says to the ceiling, “Shit, Steve, I’m gonna–”

Steve pulls off with a wet, satisfying pop. “I’ve got lube in the drawer,” He says, voice hoarse through the fog of pleasure surrounding them. 

He doesn’t ask. 

He licks a stripe from Billy’s balls to his swollen, pink head, and says, “Open it for me.”

Billy doesn’t have the wherewithal to think so he gets on his knees and crawls, starving, to the beside table. 

“Jesus Christ,” Steve says. He follows Billy up the mattress. Steve’s cupping his ass, petting it, spreading it open. 

He spits on Billy’s pucker, and.

There are fingers, pressing lightly at his rim. Steve says, “I’ve wanted this for years,”

Billy drops the lube, says, “Years?” But then he’s being split open. Fucked open on Steve’s tongue, strong and sure and slick, in all his most tender places.

His face hits the mattress. He’s suffocating, and death smells like cedarwood and vanilla. Billy’s dripping a puddle onto it, ruining the duvet and the sheets too, probably, but.

It feels amazing. It’s amazing–

Billy’s radioactive. Steve’s got him by the kneecaps, keeping him open and receptive, and Billy’s cock hangs heavy and swollen when Steve pressed two fingers in alongside his tongue.

Billy’s makes a noise, like. 

His lungs are giving out. His heart has grown lips to speak, after all these years, and–

“Is it okay if I–”

“Want you,” Billy gasps, tasting cotton on his tongue. He can’t manage more than that.

Steve pulls away, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to the base of Billy’s spine. “Lay on your back, okay?”

Bily does as he’s told. 

His shirt is tangled frustratingly around his elbows. Billy twists onto his back, anyway, watching as Steve tugs his own pants down just far enough for his cock to bounce free.

It’s perfect.

It’s long and thick, pink at the tip next to a pretty brown freckle, and Billy wants to get his mouth on it. He tries to sit, obeying when Steve keeps him pinned to the mattress with a strong, gentle arm across his chest. 

His pupils are blown wide, eating up all the honey-brown Billy loves so much. “I want,” Steve starts, gasping when Billy’s fingers tug at his length. “Fuck–”

“Where’s the lube?” Billy demands. 

Steve fumbles for it. When his fingers close around the bottle, he squirts a generous amount onto Billy’s waiting palm and sits back, watching through eyes half-lidded as Billy’s fingers tease and play with him. 

“You’re big,” Billy says softly.

“Jesus, you’re gonna give me a complex.”

“It’s a fact,” Billy twists his fingers and Steve lights up like Times Square. He wants to do it again, “You’re gonna feel so good, Stevie.”

Steve drops his forehead to Billy’s chest, tongue laving hot over his collarbone. “You talk way too much,”

Billy tugs on his cock a little harder, relishing the little ah ah ah’s Steve can’t hold back. He’s got Steve where he wants him, that pretty pink head bumping softly against his hole, and Billy needs this.

Steve’s heart and body and love, more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.

It’s terrifying.

It hurts and it really, really doesn’t when Steve slides home. Kisses all over Billy’s face and says, “I love you,” like he’s a virgin who’s just seen God for the first time.

Then he moves, sliding out and back in, out and back in.

Thrusting and then pounding, folding Billy in half until Steve is all he can feel inside of himself, all he can see staring down from above.

“I love you,” Steve says. Keeps saying, when Billy whimpers that he’s going to come. Steve quickens his thrusts, “You’re gorgeous. You’re so tight, baby, so perfect. Come for me, alright? C’mon, let me see you–”

It’s all the gentle reverence Billy could never, ever deserve. 

He has no choice but to lie there and take it.

–

“I like your ears.”

It’s hot, under the duvet cover. Billy’s covered in sticky, warm sweat. It’s Steve’s and it’s his and it’s theirs, making it difficult to stay put but impossible to pull away. 

Steve’s got a leg thrown over Billy’s waist. 

He’s propped on his elbow, gazing down at the soft, rounded shell of Billy's ear, fingertips tracing up and around until he tugs on the lobe.

“Ow,” Billy swats his hand away. “Dick.”

“You’ve got Dumbo ears.”

“Is this the best you can come up with in terms of pillow talk?”

“Freckles and pink cheeks and perfect lips. Long eyelashes and wonderful hair and now the ears, took?” Steve ignores him, leaning down to ghost the shell with his lips, “You’re like a cartoon character. It’s like God wanted to make everyone else feel bad about themselves because of how detailed you are.” 

His breath tickles.

Billy laughs, high and bright, “God, you’re insane.”

“What do you expect? You’re the main character and I’m just a supporting role–”

“--shit, what time is it–”

“--I’m not even a supporting role, I’m a cameo. An NPC–”

Billy pats around under the covers for his phone, realizing that it’s probably still lying face-down on the coffee table. 

“--It’s really only a matter of time before you find some other person who’s as perfect and detailed as you are, and then you can have perfectly detailed babies and live in your perfectly detailed house–”

Billy sits, drooping his legs over the side of the mattress, “I live in an IKEA showroom, I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that.”

“Hey, where are you going?” Steve demands. “I thought we were gonna have a sleepover?”

Billy’s stomach swoops. 

His brain kickstarts, trying to think of a reason he can’t sleep over tonight, but his synapses fumble the ball and he sits there, starched button down dangling between two fingers. 

Suddenly, he can’t breathe.

The walls are closing in, and Steve says, “Billy, what’s wrong?” And Billy thinks no one should ever want anything from him. No one should ever get this far–

“Hey, why are you breathing like that?” Steve sits, palms spreading warmly over Billy’s stomach where he slots in behind him. “Where’d you go?” 

Billy’s mouth dries up. Outside the window, the sky is starting to gray, a little, dawn slowly and softly approaching. Billy has no idea how long they’ve been here, lying like this together, but he knows he never wants to leave.

Won’t survive it ever ending. 

But it will.

It will–

Steve presses a kiss to the back of Billy’s neck. “Talk to me, Billy. Please.”

Billy shakes his head.

“Let’s lay down,” Steve tells him, and before Billy knows it he’s tucked under the covers again, folded in and around the soft, supple places Steve has made for him. 

Billy counts to one hundred, then.

Listens to Steve’s breathing for as long as it takes his own to go calm. Finally, he sits with his back to the headboard. Steve watches him, patient.

Always patient. 

Billy takes a deep breath. “When you were up here with Nance–”

“--Billy–”

“What did she tell you?”

Steve’s fingers play with the knobs of thread on his duvet. Like the rest of his house, it’s old. Quilted. Probably a hand me down from his mother, and her mother, and hers before that. “She told me you were afraid of me.”

Billy waits. Listens.

“You know you don’t have to be, right?” Steve looks up at him, eyes thick with worry, “You know I would never do anything–”

“It’s more than that,” Billy says. “My mom. She wasn’t always gay. Or, maybe she was, but she wasn’t always married to Susan.” His knuckles turn white on the lip of the duvet cover. This is stupid. This is so fucking stupid. “Before our family was like it is now, there was. My dad.”

Steve nods. Waits.

“He was an angry man,” Billy swallows and his throat clicks. “He liked. Blood.”

“Baby, if it’s hurting you, we don’t have to talk about this.”

“I have a lot of problems, Steve,” Billy says. “Something’s wrong with me.”

Steve shakes his head, “You struggle with mental illness. That doesn’t mean something is wrong with you, Billy.”

And.

Steve’s shaking. His jaw is set, strong and resolute, ready to argue Billy’s case for him. Ready to lay these things to rest because they’re in love.

Steve says he loves Billy. He really believes it, and.

Billy toes the edge of a cliff. “I’m gonna tell you something I never say out loud,” He whispers, “Is that alright?”

“Of course, you can tell me anything.”

“I know, but,” Billy sits up straighter, tugging a hand through his hair, “I need to say it because. Look, Steve, I.”

Billy’s going to throw up.

He closes his eyes. “I love you, okay? I fucking love you, too, and I can’t. Goddamn do this, if you don’t know the whole story–”

“Alright.” Steve sits, taking Billy’s hands in his own. “Tell me. Go slow.”

Billy opens his eyes, and all he can see is Steve. 

Beauty. 

Kindness. 

He realizes, then, that he’s shaking. That he would do anything to keep this. 

It makes him brave.

“Okay,” Billy starts, staring down at their hands because that’s easier. “I moved out here because I knew there were kids that needed someone to care about them, but I miss my family. I haven’t unpacked my house because I can’t see myself fitting in here, but. I never really fit anywhere, except for with my sister.” He stares out, to the foot of the bed. He counts the shadows, seeing his father’s face in every single one. “Steve, I. I didn’t expect to fall in love with you.”

Steve laughs, “Same, you’re way too cool for me.”

“No, I’m serious. I didn’t expect to fall in love. Not with anyone,” Billy says, “Ever.”

Steve’s smile falls away. “That’s not possible,” He says valiantly, “Someone would’ve come along and loved you. You’re a beacon for it.”

Billy gasps, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Steve, I used to be a piece of shit–”

“--So did I–”

“--I have panic attacks,” Billy admits in a rush, like he’s ever been good at hiding them. “I overthink things, and I spiral–”

“--I love you, Billy–”

“--I have to go to therapy two times a week. My favorite color is gray. Well, blue and gray, but–”

“--I love you, Billy,” Steve says, again. He rubs his thumb across the back of Billy’s hand, smiling softly. “We were neighbors before this. I know you.”

Billy watches Steve’s thumb, timing his breaths to its careful, loving swipe. “There was something else Nancy said,”

“What?”

“That I can’t keep stringing you along if fear is what I feel.”

Billy realizes, half a second too late, that he’s dropped a bomb. Steve pulls away from him, brow furrowing. “Stringing me along?”

“No, not, like, in the literal sense–”

Steve gets out of bed. He’s naked, and it feels wrong to look when the roof is caving in, but Billy can’t help it. 

“Nancy said that? I can’t believe Nancy said that, that’s so–” Steve’s eyes close like doors. “I don’t understand why you’re afraid of me.”

“Not you,” Billy says sharply. “She got that part wrong.”

“Then what? Tell me what I can do–”

“You can’t do anything!” Billy snaps. The room is silent. Outside, there are crickets. Night birds. Billy’s chest aches, pain springing fresh in his voice. “The fear is mine. It’s inside me. Ever since I was a kid, and. With my dad, I just.”

Steve watches him. 

Billy shakes his head. “I feel like I have a lot of work to do before I can love somebody.” 

A dam breaks. 

Billy doesn’t realize he’s crying until Steve crosses to him, pulling Billy to his chest. “Love isn’t something you have to work for, alright? You don’t have to spend years working on yourself until you think you’re perfect enough to love someone, you’re perfect now.”

Billy hiccups, his throat closing just a little. 

“Billy, please believe me,” Steve says. 

Billy wants to. More than anything, but.

He pulls away, scrubbing at his face with the back of one hand. It takes everything in him to say it, but he has to. He owes it to himself and to Steve and to this brand new, perfect, fragile thing growing between them.

“I love you,” Billy says gently, “I do. I’ve loved you so much for so long but I feel like I don’t know who I am. I haven’t known since the second I moved to Hawkins, and I just. Need to see my mom. And my sister. I need to go home and be with my family before I can–”

“When does your spring break start?”

“I don’t know,” Billy says, “What day is it?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Steve smiles in spite of himself, thumb lifting to wipe the tear tracks from Billy’s face. “I could’ve guessed, you know? You’ve never really been happy, here. I thought I was helping.”

“You are.”

Steve nods, threading their fingers together. He watches their hands for a moment, and then sighs, his neck rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “I think you should go home early.”

Billy frowns. “But–”

“If you need space, I can give it to you,” Steve looks at him, smiling small and sad, “It hurts that you don’t see yourself here and I’ll miss you like hell for those two weeks, but. If that’s what you need to feel sure about this–”

“--I’m sure about you, Steve–”

“--Then yourself. Take care of you first,” Steve grows serious, eyes tracking the curves of Billy’s face, “I want you to feel okay. That’s the most important thing.”

Steve presses a kiss to their hands, and Billy loves him. It rumbles down through his bones, spreading like wildfire until his skin catches aflame. 

It hurts.

It hurts, and it really, really doesn’t when Billy lets out a deep, trapped breath. “Okay. I’ll miss you,”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

“You won’t run away from me when I get back?”

Steve leans forward, his breath ghosting the shell of Billy’s ear. “Where else am I gonna go?”

–

Billy sleeps in Steve’s bed that night.

When he wakes and the room is empty, his phone charging on the nightstand, he opens his Southwest App and buys a ticket. 

One way, home.

--

from the new chapter of if snow loves the trees and fields

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

One Night in Pelois

Featuring Paul Pelosi, husband of U.S. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi

The bartender had just handed me my my drunk and I was taking my first swallow of it when I glanced down the bar. There he stood! Tall! Gray hair! Nicely dressed in his suit jacket and his chest hairs poke out of his unbuttoned shirt. Plus he looked rich. Seems that GOD had packed all my likes into one man. Then I noticed his gold wedding ring as he smiled at me.

Truth be told, I‘m good looking and get lots of smiles from married men and much more when I go out. So I've been in this situation before. Next thing I know, he was walking towards me like we were the only ones in the room. His smile got bigger as we met. Then I saw his blue eyes, yeaning for attention, for just a moment of love.

"Having fun tonight?" He asked as he surveyed me from head to foot.

"Yes."

"Good. My name is Paul." He offered as I felt his leg touch mine. I like the light sexy touch of his knee against my leg. It sent chill bumps down my spine.

"Micah." I answered with a smile as I let my left hand drop to my side and slowly reached down and touched his thigh.

"Well, Micah, I when I finish my drink I’m going home for some fun. Would you like to join me?" He said as he stared straight into my eyes.

“What about your...” I said looking down at his wedding ring.

“She’s out of town. And I could use some company.”

Suddenly his right hand was down touching my hand before grabbing it and pulling it over to his crotch. Breathing like a marathon running dashing for the finish line, I pressed my hand against the crotch of his slacks. I touched his soft dick. It felt thick.

"Sure." I said as I move my fingers down and felt his balls beneath the fabric of his slacks. They were big and watery.

Once outside, I headed for my car, but the rich old man asked if I would ride with him. Damn if he didn’t have 2021 Porsche 911 Carrera S. He carried me for some ride through the streets of San Francisco. And I can’t even begin to tell you of the Pacific Heights house he took me to. I’ve only seen houses like his in movies and on TV.

We just got out of the car and head to the front door when someone spoke, "Is everything OK Mr. Pelois?"

Mr. Pelois? Paul Pelosi, husband of U.S. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, I thought as I notice he’s nervous that he’s been caught.

“Yeah, we're fine. Hey, have you met my nephew before?”

I quickly gave the security guard a wave a nice to meet you. He returns the favor as Paul ushers me into the house before the security guard could get a good look. I could tell Paul is relieved to have made it to the house as he slips off his shoes and puts his keys away, like it’s his normal routine. I notice the photos on the wall, lots of him and his wife.

By this time, I was SO horned up, I made the first move, leaning in to kiss him. Quickly, he started unzipping his pants, pulling out his cock. My dick was raging hard almost busting through my zipper as I undid my pants. As they fell to the floor, I pulled his down to the floor unleashing his mammoth dick and balls. His dick was a beer can uncut with enough for skin to let me dock half my dick in.

I instantly fell onto my knees in front of Paul, pressed my fingertips lightly against his king-size nuts, stroking as softly. I cupped them in my palm and rolled them around as well as I could. His cock began to grow; it grew faster than you would think and soon it was pointing in my face. A full 8" of cut old man cock. I stuck out my tongue and flicked the head of his prick, rolling his balls over in my palm.

Grabbing the base of his cock and wrapping my lips around it, my tongue thrust against the shaft I swallowed half of his dick. I felt his big hand grab my head and press it down. As I looked up, my mouth full of juicy cock, Paul was looking down at me and smiling.

I began bobbing my head up and down his shaft as his nuts bounced invitingly against my chin. I reached up and tugged at his nuts, they were sweaty, my fingers curled around them and he moaned with satisfaction. I pulled away from his cock and put a hand on his thigh, rubbing him while I jerked my cock, with my mouth full of his wet precum. Paul let go of my head and wrapped his hand around his wet cock, stroking generously.

"Let's go where we can be more comfortable and release some tension." He said if suddenly realizing where we were, took me by my hand and led me to the couch.

Paul staggered as he set down on the sofa in front of me. I took off my shirt, revealing my six pack abs while Paul observe my body, stroking his meat. Then the next thing I knew, the old man had my dick in his mouth and sucking me as he jacking himself off wildly. This married man was a ferocious cock sucker! He couldn’t get enough of sucking my cock and from the way he was doing it, he definitely had done it before.

I felt myself fixing to cum when Paul suddenly took his mouth away from my cock.

“You near cuming?” He asked. When I nodded he said, “I want you to fuck me.”

Damn if that’s wasn’t exactly what I wanted. As good as him sucking me had felt, the thoughts of fucking him had been in the back of my mind all the time.

I spit in my hand several times and smeared it all over my cock making it wet and slippery. Then I got down between Paul’s hairy legs as he began to raise and spread them even more. I expected it to be difficult to push my thick, 7" cock into him, but Paul’s asshole took my dick easily. And I realized that he had done a lot more than just sucked a few dicks in his life.

“Yes, give me that big dick.” The 82 year old called out. “Make me yours!”

I swear his asshole was hotter than any I have ever had. And looking down and seeing his hard cock bouncing up and down just added to my pleasure. In fact, I reached down and grabbed Paul’s dick and pumped in unison with my pumping his ass. I was really enjoying the sensation of his ass squeezing my dick.

Then I just lay on top of him as started kissing him as I fucked his old asshole as hard and fast I possible.

Damn! I couldn’t get enough of kissing the old millionaire. We devoured each other as we kissed and fucked. And damn if Paul didn’t shoot off on my stomach without me even touching his dick. Feeling his hot load of sperm against my belly caused me to shoot my own load deep inside his hot hole.

Another married man conquered, and another notch on my bedpost.