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hippiegoth97 · 2 months ago

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I Melt With You: Eddie Munson x Reader

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Description: It's Eddie's birthday, you spend the day celebrating with your friends. And when you and Eddie return to his trailer for the night, you have the perfect gift for him. One you've been wanting to give him for such a long time...

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: smut, virgin!female reader, fingering, oral sex, protected sex, light praise, fluff

Word Count: 7.4k

divider by @xxbimbobunnyxx

I Melt With You

"Are you ready for your special present, baby?" You say to Eddie as you stand behind him with your hands over his eyes. Eddie's never been a major birthday guy, but having you in his life for the past year has changed his mind on the subject.

"You know it, sweetheart." He chuckles at your words, curious as to what kind of surprise you have planned for him tonight.

You two had spent the day with your friends Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle to celebrate as a group. You all met up at Skull Rock, drinking beer and eating pizza before presenting Eddie with gifts. Steve gave him a voucher for ten movie rentals at Family Video, and Robin got him a couple new patches for his battle vest. Nancy and Jonathan went in together on a blood red guitar strap, while Argyle presented him with a homemade t-shirt in black and white tie-dye with an intricate skull design.

When it came to be your turn, you gleefully bestowed upon him a first edition of The Hobbit. His favorite book, signed by Tolkien himself and everything. It's safe to say that Eddie was over the moon about your present in particular, scooping you up into his arms to give you a heart-melting kiss after he tore the wrapping paper away from the weathered book cover. He said it was 'the most bitchin' gift in the entire world'. You felt a little bad for upstaging everyone else, but being his girlfriend implies that it's kinda your job.

You'd moved to town in the summer of '86, living with your Aunt Sylvia before moving into the dorms for freshman year at Hawkins Community College. When you first arrived, Sylvia showed you around. There's not much to do in a place like Hawkins, but you've lived in worse places with even less to do. At least there's a movie theater and some basic shops and restaurants here. The last place you lived had a gas station/country store and two churches as the only things around for miles.

Summer was pretty uneventful, you'd go out to eat or see a movie every once in a while. But most days, you'd be helping Sylvia tidy up her home at Forest Hills Trailer Park. She's not as spry as she used to be, so you took on the chores around the house that she can't bend down to do anymore. You didn't mind at all, the work kept you busy. Something you noticed though, or more like someone, was a handsome young man who lived a couple trailers down from you. His name was Eddie, and you two talked sometimes in passing as you took the trash to the dumpster or either of you saw the other smoking on their front steps.

He said he lived with his uncle Wayne, and you told him about your aunt. Apparently they know each other, she used to bake cookies for Eddie and help him with his homework when his uncle was out. You found out many other things about Eddie over those three months. He liked metal music, had a band, and was a total nerd. He was cute, and charming, you really liked him. He seemed to like you too, but neither of you made a real move in any forward direction. You're quite shy, and Eddie appeared to share your delicate nature, despite how dramatic or obnoxious he could be.

Regardless, the two of you liked being around each other in your small ways. It was comfortable, noncommittal. You were both busy with your own lives, too focused to become entangled with one another. Or anyone else, for that matter. And when fall rolled around, you barely even said goodbye as you hauled your stuff to your assigned dorm room. You figured you'd see Eddie again in town at some point, so it didn't feel necessary to participate in a formal parting.

You wouldn't see your kinda-sorta-friend again until your first ever college party. It was being held by one of your classmates, you don't quite remember who. But your roommate, Robin, insisted you go along with her. You begrudgingly agreed, going against every natural instinct to avoid crowds that resided within you. The party itself wasn't huge, but it was certainly not what you had in mind for that evening. Robin went off with people you didn't know at the time, Nancy and Steve, leaving you to fend for yourself.

You had scanned the crowd, trying to find a singular familiar face. But nope, you were completely on your own. You found this fact to be quite overwhelming, so you stepped outside to get some air and have a smoke. And lo and behold, you found the one and only Eddie Munson all by his lonesome. It was like he was waiting for you, and you were overjoyed to see him.

"Hey, long time no see, Y/N." Eddie speaks first, looking you up and down. He really likes how you look tonight, a simple cocktail dress and strappy heels. Perfectly applied makeup painted on your face, and your luscious hair styled into an updo. He's only seen you in ripped jeans, dirty t-shirts, and rubber gloves before. He likes how you look no matter what, but this getup is certainly enticing to him.

"Hey, Eddie. What brings you here tonight? I never considered you a party person." You ask, reaching into your purse for a cigarette. You locate the pack, pulling one out and dropping the box back inside. You stick the end between your lips, digging around for your lighter. You're just about to give up looking when you hear a flick in front of you. You look up to find Eddie lighting the tip of your smoke, and you inhale deeply to jumpstart the burn. "Thanks." You say meekly, unable to hide your blushing in the moonlight. He's standing quite close to you, gazing deep into your eyes as he mindlessly returns the lighter to his pocket.

"No problem, angel. And no, I'm not into this scene at all. But it's good for business." He smiles kindly at you, hoping to put you at ease. He hides it well, but underneath the facade, his stomach is fluttering with butterflies and his heart hammers in his chest. He wasn't sure he'd see you again, at least not for more than a passing glance. But here you are, exactly where he wants you to be.

"I figured as much. I'm not really into it either. My roommate Robin dragged me here." You giggle at this admission, which makes Eddie laugh too. He gestures for you to join him to sit on the backdoor stoop. You do, slanting your legs together to sit properly in your dress. It's far from comfortable, but you don't want to flash him or something.

"Buckley, huh? She leave you all alone?" You nod, and he tuts. "That's kinda rude. Although I will say, I'm glad I get to see you again." He leans over to nudge your shoulder with his own, the leather of his jacket rubbing against your bare skin. This simple touch sets your insides ablaze, and the air between you is changing.

"I'm glad to see you too, Eds." You reply, trying to keep yourself together. You take another drag, blowing the smoke out in a large cloud as the nicotine works its way through your system. You flick the ash, the two of you simmering in silence as your faces stare out into the cool fall night. Eventually, the cigs burn away to nothing, the spent butts discarded into a nearby bush.

"Y/N?" Eddie asks, breaking the silence. You turn your head to look at him, meeting his large brown eyes. Your mouths are dangerously close to each other, and he keeps staring at your lips.

"Yes, Eddie?" You say softly, eager to hear what he has to say. You really hope it's the same as what you've been tempted to say since the second you found him out here.

He clears his throat, clearly nervous about asking you this. "W-would you...maybe...wanna go out sometime?" Eddie stumbles over his words in the most adorable way. Even though you've always wanted him to ask, you still gasp as you can't believe it's actually happening.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you to ask that." You say, dumbfounded. He's about to confirm if that means 'yes', when you impulsively grab the lapels of his jackets to pull his mouth to yours. He grunts in surprise at first, before softening against you. You both melt into the kiss, and Eddie smoothly maneuvers you to straddle his lap. Your bare knees sit on the brick of the steps, but you don't care about them getting scraped at the moment. He bites your bottom lip, making you gasp. He slips his tongue into your mouth, quickly dominating yours. You instinctively grind your hips against him, already feeling an erection forming in his pants.

"You look so beautiful tonight, Y/N." Eddie says breathlessly as you break away for a moment. His hands have migrated to your waist, gripping you with the perfect balance between firm and gentle. His touch makes you feel safe, secure.

"Thank you, you're very handsome too." You repay the compliment, even though he almost always wears the same clothes. He looks sexy as all hell in them, that's for sure. You stare at one another for a moment, still rubbing yourself against him. Stifled moans leave your lips, and Eddie loves every little sound you make. He decides to take things a step further, leaning forward to kiss your neck. "Eddie." You whimper, savoring the sensation of his teeth and tongue leaving purple marks all over your throat. Your hands slip into his thick hair, tugging on it just enough to make him groan.

He attempts to make another bold move, slowly sliding one of his hands to slip under your dress. He's just about to touch your slick folds through your panties, when you grab his wrist. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" He asks, worried he's overstepped and ruined everything. He looks at you with a concerned expression.

Your face has hardened like stone, and you feel frozen in place. "I just- I haven't...gone all the way before." You speak sheepishly, blushing in embarrassment. He probably thinks you're not worth his time now. Your stomach turns as he doesn't respond at first, tempting your flight response to kick in any second now.

Eddie caresses your cheek, giving you another light kiss. "It's alright, baby. We don't have to do anything you're not ready for. 'Kay?" Your heart soars at his understanding, and you capture him in a passionate hug. "How 'bout we go inside, hm? We can hang out for a bit, just talk and plan our date. If you still want to, anyway." He rubs his neck awkwardly, wondering if you even want to keep being around him at all.

"Of course I do! C'mon, let's go get a drink." You reassure him that you have no intention of blowing him off, standing up and extending your hand to help him off the ground. He smirks, letting you assist him. He wraps an arm around your waist, leading the two of you into the house.

To this day, you and Eddie still haven't fully 'consummated' your relationship. It's not that you haven't wanted to, far from it. But you've wanted to wait until you're ready, and he's been every flavor of patient with you. You two go on cute dates, and cuddle in your dorm or at his trailer. You attend his band practice and performances, and occasionally play D&D too. You also frequently engage in hot-and-heavy make-out sessions, and even let Eddie touch your tits from time to time. You've never gone any further than that though, until tonight. You finally know that Eddie is the one you want to give your virginity to. You love him more than anything in the world, and you want to give every little part of yourself to him. "Happy Birthday, Eds." You say excitedly, removing your hands so Eddie can see what you've done to his room.

He opens his eyes, finding every surface lit up by multiple candles. There's rose petals on the bed, and a small box wrapped in dark blue paper sitting on the pillows. "Damn, Y/N! You really went all out, huh?" Eddie exclaims, unable to believe how lucky he is to have you.

"There's more, baby. Open your present." You say seductively, nudging him forward with your palms. He chuckles darkly at your tone, doing as you ask. While he's occupied with the box, you quickly remove your clothes to uncover a very special lingerie set you bought just for this occasion. You pose seductively against the dresser, you can't wait to see his reaction.

Eddie tears the paper away on the little gift, revealing a brand new box of condoms. His eyes widen a moment, looking to you to see if you're trying to say what he thinks you are. His jaw practically falls to the floor when his eyes meet your body. You're dressed in nothing but a dark red bra and thong. The material is lacey, and almost completely sheer against your skin. "Jesus christ." He whimpers, unable to trust his eyes at the moment. He's been dreaming, fantasizing about you finally giving yourself to him. Is this really happening?

"Did you figure out what your special surprise is yet?" You ask mischievously, biting your lip. You suddenly feel very exposed under his gaze, you've never been so scantily clad around him before. Even your bathing suit is a one-piece, although Eddie adores you in it anyways. He nods wordlessly, walking over to you to get a closer look.

"Can you turn around for me, princess?" He asks, his mouth sitting agape. You slowly rotate all the way around, letting him drink in your entire form. He groans at the sight of your practically bare ass, unable to resist reaching a hand forward to grip one of the supple cheeks. "Is this okay?" He inquires while stepping even closer behind you. You moan in response, pressing yourself further into his grasp. He kneads the firm flesh, drawing more little noises from your lips. You want him to take you right now, the anticipation is already extremely intoxicating. "Does that feel good, sweetheart?" He speaks lowly in your ear, sending a chill up your spine.

"Yes, fuck." You rub yourself against him, his cock hardening in his jeans.

"You wanna lay down for me, baby?" He asks, intending to take his sweet time with you. You oblige his request, resting your head on the pillows while he stands at the side of the bed. "God, you're gorgeous." Eddie looks down at you in endless admiration. He removes his own clothes layer by layer, and you watch hungrily as he reveals his body to you. His jackets and shirt come off first, exposing his tattooed chest and arms. He slips off his shoes, and unbuckles his belt to take off his jeans. Your breath catches in your throat as he's only in his boxers now, his dick forming a tent in the thin fabric. He notices you licking your lips as you stare. "Like what you see, angel?" He asks teasingly, laying down next to you on his side.

"Yes, you're so handsome, Eddie." You say softly, reaching a hand up to caress his slightly toned chest. You've seen it many times before, but it's different now that he's practically naked. He carefully leans over you, pressing his lips to yours tenderly. You melt beneath him, moaning when his hand cups one of your breasts. Eddie slips his tongue in your mouth, effortlessly dominating you. You pull him a little closer by the shoulders, wanting to feel his weight and warmth on you. He shifts to put himself directly over you now, his knees on either side of your own.

"Can I take this off, sweetheart?" Eddie asks, tugging at your bra strap. He has every intention of making sure you're comfortable with what he's doing. And regardless of how horny he is, he'll stop altogether if that's what you tell him to do. He loves you so much, and he never wants to hurt you or make you uncomfortable.

"Go ahead, love." You say as confidently as you can. You'd be lying if you said you aren't nervous about this, your anxiety has wormed its way to the forefront of your mind. But you know Eddie will never force you to do anything, you're perfectly safe here with him. You breathe deeply, trying to relax.

"You doin' okay?" He asks, noticing your body trembling slightly. He thought you might be cold at first, given your lack of clothing. But he knows you better than that.

"Y-yeah. I'm just a little nervous, that's all." You stutter. You see he's about to climb off of you, and shut this whole thing down. "But I want this, I want you." You insist, holding his arm to keep him in place.

"Okay, angel. I'll go real slow, alright? And if you're not having a good time, just tell me and we'll stop. I promise." He strokes your arm as he speaks, his eyes never leaving yours. He's deadly serious, and you love him even more for it.

"Okay." You smile sincerely at him, sitting up to unclasp your bra. You slip the straps off your arms, and you lay back down with the cups still covering you. "I imagine you can take it from here." You giggle, wanting him to expose your tits himself. It is his birthday after all. He grins back, pinching the bra between his finger and thumb before snatching it away. It's tossed to the side, and Eddie takes a moment to fully appreciate your naked torso. Your breasts are perfect swells of velvety flesh, your nipples hardened with arousal.

"You have gotta be the most beautiful woman in the entire world." He says as his pupils dilate with lust. You can't help blushing at his praise, itching for him to finally touch you. He lowers his body, resting on his elbows. His large hands grab at your tits roughly, his thumbs rolling over the pebbled mounds at the centers of them.

"Oh, Eddie." You sigh blissfully, a familiar pressure building between your legs. You've never fully relieved it before, and you're really looking forward to finding out what it's like. Eddie brings his lips to your chest, leaving wet kisses on every inch of flesh he can reach. Every touch sets your insides on fire, the temperature of the room rapidly rising. Your hands tangle into his curly locks, tugging gently to draw some low groans from him. His sounds hum against you, heightening every sensation. He swirls his tongue around one of your nipples, before taking it into his mouth. "Fuck." You moan, your back arching off the bed. Eddie slips his arm beneath you, wanting to hold you up closer to him.

He continues nibbling on your sensitive bud, eventually moving on to give the other one equal attention. You're putty in his hands at this point, making the sweetest little noises. "Are you feeling more relaxed, Y/N?" Eddie asks, lifting his head slightly to check in on you. You meet his kind eyes, your heart fluttering at how sweet he's being with you.

"Yes, Eddie. You're making me feel so good, love." You coo at him, stroking his hair. "You wanna take my thong off now?" You tease, biting your lip. You're certainly more loosened up, and you really want him to go further.

"Don't have to tell me twice, baby." He speaks softly, putting you back down on the sheets gingerly. His hand goes to the strap of the thong at your hip, looping two fingers between it and your supple flesh. He hesitates, gauging your reaction to what he's about to do. Your heart races in anticipation, and you're mentally begging him to expose the most intimate part of you. "You ready, Y/N?"

"Yes." You say simply, placing your hand over his to assist him in pulling the thin material away from your hips. He finishes the job when you can no longer reach, flinging the garment across the room. Eddie makes a note to keep it as a souvenir later, saving it in a box dedicated to your relationship.

You're completely bare to him now, his eyes scanning over you intently. Eddie carefully spreads your legs apart, his large hands holding your thighs. You can't help the tremor that rolls over you, which makes him stop in his tracks. "You okay?" He questions, and you insist that you're fine. That you want this more than anything. With that, he brings one hand to your core, slowly rubbing two fingers along your dripping pussy. You moan at the contact, you've never felt anything like this before. "You're so wet for me, sweetheart." He says, as if he's surprised.

"Is that a good thing?" You don't mean to be so ignorant about sex, you feel silly even asking. But you have nothing to go on, except what you've seen in movies. Though those don't provide much actual information at all. You worry that Eddie will laugh at you for being uneducated, the nerves coming out to play again.

"Yes, it means you're enjoying yourself, angel." He says, not a hint of judgment in his voice. This puts you at ease, and he continues to drag his digits along your hole to your sensitive bud. You at least know what a clitoris is, thankfully sex-ed back in school taught you that one. It feels so good when he touches you, you can't help letting out little moans at the sensation. Your hips buck upwards when he brushes your clit, pleasure jolting through your body. "Can I put my fingers inside you, love?" He asks so sweetly, wanting to loosen you up along with making you come undone.

"Yes, please." You can't help the neediness in your voice, practically aching for him to be inside you any way he can. He brings his middle finger to your entrance, using his free hand to caress your waist to keep you relaxed. His eyes meet yours again, and he pushes into you nice and slow. You wince at the feeling at first, gripping Eddie's arm firmly. You try your best to stay calm, knowing the slight sting will turn into pleasure after a while.

"I know, princess. Just let yourself mellow out. It'll get better, I promise." He assures you once he's in you as far as he can go. You just nod, whimpering quietly. He stays still for a minute, letting your walls get used to the stretch. He tests the waters, curling his finger slightly. It strokes your g spot, pulling another moan from your lips. "There ya go." He smirks, satisfied with himself. He pumps slowly in and out of you, curving the joints just so.

"Fuck, Eddie. It feels amazing. Can you put in another one? And go a little faster?" You plead, letting your eyes flutter closed as you feel something beginning to brew in your belly. He does as you ask, making you gasp. Your cunt welcomes the fullness, and you can hear your juices squelching from the friction. Eddie watches as his fingers work you up, memorizing your fucked-out expression. He would love to gaze into your eyes as he drives you mad, but he lets you be so you can focus on enjoying yourself.

"I love the pretty noises you're making, Y/N. Tell me how it feels, let me know I'm doing a good job." Eddie's tone pushes you further, amplifying every little thing he's doing to you. You can feel yourself getting closer, your first orgasm quickly approaching.

"It feels unbelievable, Eds. Keep going, I want you to make me cum." You whimper, bringing your hand around the back of his head. You pull him down to you, hungrily kissing his lips. He increases his pace within you, and you moan down his throat. You can tell you're just about to lose it, helpless noises trapped inside your connected mouths. His tongue tangles with yours, and he massages one of your tits to overwhelm you with pleasure. Your body feels like it's on fire, a sheen of sweat spreading over your skin. You're so very close, you can feel it. You have no idea what to expect, you just know that the buildup is going to explode any second now.

Eddie breaks away from your kiss, wanting to watch you lose control. "C'mon, baby. Let it all go." He says lowly in your ear, brushing his thumb against your clit to send you flying over the edge.

"Oh god, I think I'm gonna-" You're cut off by an enormous tidal wave of bliss crashing into you. Your breath catches in your throat, before releasing in an obscenely loud moan. Your legs begin to shake, and you feel your insides clench against Eddie's fingers. Stars fill your vision, and you finally understand what all the fuss is about. This has to be the best thing you've ever experienced in your life, there's nothing else like it on earth.

"Atta girl." Eddie praises, carefully removing his fingers from your pussy. Your hips stutter at the loss of him, your walls snapping at nothing. He lays on his side next to you, letting you come down from your high at your own pace. He presses a light kiss to your cheek, though you hardly notice as you're still reeling through the aftershocks. He watches your chest rise and fall, admiring how picturesque you look with your legs still spread apart and the sweat on your skin glistening in the candlelight.

When your breathing and heartbeat slow down a bit, you roll over to face your man. You gaze at him meaningfully, the flickering glow of the burning wicks illuminating his deep brown eyes in a most romantic way. "That was amazing, Eddie. Thank you." You capture his lips in a kiss of gratitude, showing him how thankful you are to have him in your life. Eddie's hand cradles the back of your head, and you scoot closer to press your body against his own. You snake your hand down his front, grazing his skin with the tips of your fingers. He sighs at your touch, hoping you'll keep going until you reach his needy cock. You meet his waistband, stopping your movements for a moment.

"Go ahead, sweetheart." Eddie whispers in a brief break from your intense kiss. You accept his invitation, slipping your hand beneath the elastic. You feel his mound of hair, going lower until you make contact with the firm flesh of his length. You gasp in surprise, it's much different than what you were expecting. That's not a bad thing, you're just not used to it. "Take your time, love. It's okay." He encourages you to keep going, and you reach for him once more. You gingerly feel around on his dick, noting how silky soft it is with a stiff center. Eddie groans at the teasing contact, he's already so wound up from giving you your first orgasm.

"Can you take these off, Eds? I wanna see you." You feel a bit stupid again, you sound like a child with all your questions. Eddie doesn't seem to mind though, and thank fuck for that.

"Of course, baby." He slips his boxers down his legs, his cock slapping against his stomach when it's set free. He kicks the underwear away, returning to his previous position. You take a minute to just look at it, noting the curve of the shaft and shape of the head. There's a small amount of sticky fluid leaking from the slit at the tip of it, giving you a sudden urge to lick it off. You imagine that fluid, and how hard he is, indicates that you have had a certain effect on him. He wants you, and this is as clear a sign of his desire as you could possibly get. "What do you think, angel?" He asks, smirking at the flare on your cheeks as you've been staring at him for a good while.

"It's beautiful, love." You say breathlessly, eyes flicking to his briefly. He chuckles at your compliment, that's definitely a new one. "Can I?" Your hand raises, waiting for permission to fully touch him.

"Knock yourself out, baby." He replies, taking your wrist to lead your palm to brush over his shaft. "Fuck." He groans, and the sound is music to your ears. You grip him cautiously, and he pulls your wrist to show you how to stroke him. You follow his silent instruction, dragging your hollow fist up and down languidly. "Just like that, Y/N. Fuckin' perfect." Eddie whimpers, he's been waiting so long to feel you on his dick. Your hand, or tongue, or pussy. Anything he can get, he wants.

You love the little noises escaping his lips, observing how his face scrunches and twists as you please him. It's making you very wet again, you can sense your arousal dripping between your legs as you become more revved up. "Lay down, babe." You want to try something, hoping it'll make him happy. He looks at you oddly, wondering what you're up to. But he does as you ask, his back meeting the mattress. You sit up on your knees, positioning yourself perpendicular to his crotch. You give him a loving glance, still pulling whines and moans from his chest. You bend over, so your mouth is directly over his swollen head. You curiously poke your tongue downwards, licking a small stripe over the bead of precum to taste him.

"Fuck, Y/N." Eddie groans, one hand balling the sheets below while the other rests beneath his head. The fluid is salty, but far from unpleasant. Interesting. It's strangely like you're conducting an experiment, testing which things you do with your mouth will please your boyfriend the best. You swirl your tongue around his tip, plant wet kisses that provide small amounts of suction, drag the flat of your tongue along his thick shaft. Everything you do to him is driving him mad. You know it'll take more than one try to be good at giving him head, but your teasing trials seem to be doing just fine in the meantime. "Feels so good, princess." Eddie praises you again, you can't get enough of that.

"You make lots of pretty noises too, Eds. It's very sexy." You decide to make a bold move, challenging yourself further. You bring your lips to his tip, opening nice and wide to slide down as far as you can onto him. You surprisingly manage to take his entire length in without choking.

"Oh my god." Eddie didn't expect you to try to fit all of him into your mouth, but the fact that you appear to have no gag reflex is another gift all its own. You're so hot and wet around him, he's not sure how much longer he'll last. It's been so long since he's had anything other than his hand pleasing his dick, and your toying around from earlier was fucking phenomenal. He tilts his head forward to look down at you, almost cumming right here and now from the sight of you crouching over with his cock shoved down your throat. "You really are amazing, you know that?" He says, in total awe of you.

"Mmhmm." You hum teasingly, making his hips buck upwards at the vibrations. You can't help smiling around him at his reaction, the power you hold in this moment is intoxicating.

"Jesus, Y/N. You're gonna be the death of me." Eddie chuckles in disbelief, wondering if he's dreaming again. You dissuade him of this thought, sliding your mouth up to his head, before bringing it back down again. "Shit." His grip on the bedding tightens, his toes resisting the urge to curl. You repeat the motion, wanting to make him cum for you. You're guessing it won't take long, especially given your newly discovered skillset. "That feels amazing, baby. Keep going if you can, and maybe a little faster?" He asks nicely, appreciating every little thing you're doing for him.

"Mmm." You hum in agreement, another moan escaping his lips. It takes everything in him not to put his hand on your head to hold you down and fuck your face. But he knows you're not ready for that, not yet, at least. You increase your speed, bobbing up and down while keeping your teeth away from his tender flesh. It's a little bit of a challenge, as he fills your hole significantly. Your jaw is gradually growing tired, but you're committed to this. You want to make your love feel just as good as he made you feel earlier. You try swirling your tongue around him as you move, and it looks like you've made the right choice by the way his noises become more and more desperate.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart. Especially for your first time. I'm almost there-fuck, your mouth is too damn good." He's so hot, he swears he's melting into the bed. Just a little more, and he'll finally get some relief. You try to go even faster, letting his tip ram into the back of your throat. You can see his stomach tensing, and his balls flexing slightly. He's gonna lose it, and it's all because of you. "I'm gonna cum, baby. Try to swallow it all if you can." He groans almost as loudly as you did with your own orgasm, his hips stuttering. His load spills down your throat, and you just barely get a taste of it. You really enjoy it, hoping there will be many more times you get to have the flavor of him on your tongue.

You release his cock with a pop once he softens. You look at the fuckstruck expression on his face. His eyes are hooded with lust, staring at the ceiling to ground himself. His chest rises and falls roughly, panting sighs forced from his lungs. You crawl up to his head, caressing his shiny cheek. His gaze flicks to you, a satisfied smile crawling across his mouth. "I take it I did a good job?" You ask shyly, your cheeks heating up again.

"More than good! That was fuckin' fantastic!" He says enthusiastically, which makes you giggle. "Seriously though, did you practice on a carrot or something?" He asks, mostly joking. But the widening of your eyes blows the humor away. "No way!"

"Maybe a little, although it was actually a zucchini." You admit, drawing raucous laughs from both of you. "I wanted to impress you." You snuggle up to him, bringing your head level to his. Your knee lays over his thigh, and you drag your nails up and down his chest. You look at Eddie from under your lashes, giving him your best attempt at 'fuck me' eyes. His arm goes around your waist to pull you nearer to him.

Your shared energy escalates, the closeness of your bodies electrifying the air in the room. Eddie's breath fans hotly against your skin before he speaks lowly to you. "Well, you certainly succeeded, Y/N." He cups your cheek, gently brushing his thumb across it. You nuzzle against him out of habit to deepen his touch. "I love you more than anything in the world, sweetheart." He whispers, not wanting to disturb the peaceful quiet.

"I love you too, darling." You reply just as softly. He brings his face closer to yours at an agonizing rate, it seems to take forever for his plush lips to touch yours. The second they do, however, you both give in to the feverish intensity that's been broiling inside you. Eddie bites your lip harshly, and you moan to allow his tongue access. He quickly dominates you, moving his hand to grip your thigh. He pulls your leg further over him, his fingers digging into your flesh. His mouth moves to your neck, licking and sucking to mark you up like a wild animal. "Fuck, Eddie." You whimper, savoring the pinch of his teeth.

"I'm gettin' to that, baby." He smirks, rolling the two of you over so he's on top. His dick is hardening again, pressing into your inner thigh. He's kissing all over your chest, and tenting your knees apart so he can rub his erection on your soaked pussy.

"Shit, I want you so bad." You whimper at his tip meeting your clit. You're clawing at his back, sure to leave dark red scratches all over him. He groans against your tits, nipping them over and over while his cock spreads your wetness around.

"I want you too, princess. Just let me work you up a little more, I promise it'll make things so much better." His tone is so comforting, yet darkly seductive. You have no choice but to heed his words, letting him drive you wild before the main event.

"Alright, just please don't stop touching me." You whine, grinding your hips upwards to get more friction on your needy cunt.

"Wouldn't dream of it, angel." Eddie says through a moan at your bold move. You both roll your hips against each other, making the most deliciously vulgar noises. He lowers a hand to put two fingers inside you again, curling them in that flawless way only he knows how.

"Oh, god." You can't believe this is happening. He's worshiping your breasts, teasing your bundle of nerves, and fingering you? If heaven is a real place, it's right here, in this moment. There's nowhere you'd rather be than writhing beneath your man. You can feel that familiar pressure building up within your belly once more. Eddie reaches over to the nightstand for the box of condoms, clumsily opening it with one hand to retrieve one.

When he tears one away from the long strip within the package, he opens the little foil square while still riling you up. You watch as he rolls the latex down his length, tossing the wrapper on the floor. He looks at you a moment, gripping his dick to bring the head to wait outside your taught entrance. He plants a gentle kiss on your lips. "You ready, love?" Eddie asks, breathing heavily in anticipation. He's waited so long for this moment, to share his body with you.

"Yes, Eds. More than you know." You encourage him to press on, finally put himself inside you. He nods at your confirmation, gripping your thighs in his large hands. He slowly pushes his dick in, stretching your pussy more than you expect. You wince at the feeling, your fingers holding his shoulders tighter than before. Your eyes squeeze shut, this is harder than you were anticipating.

"I'm goin' nice and slow, baby. Just relax." You force your eyes open, gazing up at his comforting face. You nod, taking a deep breath.

"Kiss me?" You ask, thinking his tongue in your mouth will distract you. You plead with your eyes, hoping he understands.

"Of course, sweetheart." He brings his lips to yours without hesitation, continuing to push into you. You gasp against him when he brushes your g spot, waiting for him to bottom out. Inch by inch, he stretches your walls until his tip hits your cervix. "Fuck, you're so tight, baby." Eddie groans, stilling his movements to let you loosen up.

You two lay here for a while, giving each other little butterfly kisses and giggling like teenagers. You're in no rush, wanting to savor every moment. You're so deeply, helplessly in love, and this night is the ultimate expression of your affections. You're feeling so serene, blissful even. And you think you're prepared for Eddie to start moving. "I think I'm ready, darling. You wanna make love to me now?" You chuckle when you realize how old-fashioned that phrase sounds, 'making love'. You've always found it kinda cheesy, but 'fucking' doesn't quite have the same ring to it.

"You got it, princess." Eddie grins, slowly pulling out before slipping back in. Low moans spill out of your mouths, the initial discomfort quickly transforming into pleasure. His left hand holds your hip for leverage, while the other pins your own to the mattress. His fingers intertwine with yours, bringing you even closer together.

He begins to thrust in and out of you at a gentle pace, he doesn't want to hurt you. The sensation is really good, but you're craving more. "Eddie, please go faster. I swear I'm not gonna break." You insist, rolling your pelvis upwards to encourage him. He does as you ask, snapping his hips once to give you a taste. "Fuck!" You cry out, his cock hits your special spot perfectly. "Keep going, just like that." You beg. You wrap your legs around him to pull him deeper into you.

"You're so needy, baby. I love it." Eddie repeats the rough action, stealing your breath away. Before you have time to respond, he ruts himself against you in that same animalistic way over and over. He's not sure how much longer he can last though, you've been hugging his cock so damn tight it's insane.

As for you, you're not too far behind. Everything Eddie does feels so good. He's pounding you relentlessly into the bed, your orgasm ramping up with every stroke. Moans and curses harmonize with the slapping of skin, the room shaking from the headboard smacking against the wall. You're positively drenched in sweat, holding onto each other for dear life. "I'm getting close again, Eds. You're so fucking amazing."

"I'm right there with you, love." Eddie pants, his stomach threatening to tense to signal his end. He's determined to drag you down alongside him, enlisting his mouth to bite and lick your tits and throat with reckless abandon. His hand releases yours, snaking down to your clit to rub it in strong circles. You're overpowered by sensation, euphoric waves washing through you. Your walls are fluttering around Eddie's length, he can feel you about to lose it. He stops marking your flesh for a moment to share a loving look with you. "Cum for me, sweetheart."

Eddie's simple command, and the expression of pure admiration on his face sends you tumbling into oblivion. "Fuck, Eddie!" You cry out, your hands clawing at the sheets and pillow beneath your head. Your back arches upwards, your tits rubbing against Eddie's slick chest. Your thighs quake, and your insides squeeze around his cock as your orgasm runs its course.

"Goddammit." Eddie murmurs, the feeling of you cumming around him is too fucking good. He thrusts into you sloppily, extending your pleasure. He loves the way your beautiful face looks right now, so much so that his load spills from his cock to fill the condom. He presses a desperate kiss to your lips, and you reach up to hold him to you in response. He's still pumping in and out of you, riding out your shared highs. You exchange muted moans, slowly simmering down as your hearts stop racing. Happy tears spring from your eyes unexpectedly, and Eddie breaks away to check on you. "What's wrong, baby? Was it too much?" He's gone still within you now, becoming soft and overstimulated. He caresses your cheek, wiping the tracks away. You sniffle, shaking your head.

"Nothings wrong, Eddie. I just love you so much. Happy birthday." You look up at him, smiling brighter than the sun. This night has been everything you'd dreamed of, and sharing it with Eddie makes it so much more meaningful.

"I love you too, Y/N. Tonight has been the best night of my life. And being with you has made it so special." A couple tears of his own drip down onto your face, and he kisses you tenderly to accentuate the sentiment. You two are so perfect together, and you want nothing more than to keep it this way forever.

The end.

#hippiegoth97 #fanfiction #smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #hawkins #1980s #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x virgin!reader #virgin!reader

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fairysluna · 10 months ago

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Helloooo, thanks for sharing your writing with us, I love all of your fics specially sinners 🤍🧸⭐️

For the short drabbles could you do Maegor + asking for his niece’s favor at a tourney

this is such a cute idea! i love this so much. Also, thank you for your kind words, I hope you like this🤍✨

tags — fluff, rhaena being lowkey a hater, reader being delulu (like all of us).

The way the whole crowd roared with excitement when the royal prince came out victorious from the tournament was deafening. You were laughing excitedly, clapping as your smile couldn't get any bigger. Eyes shining as bright as stars at midnight as you watched your beloved uncle smiling back at you from afar. Your beloved older sister, Rhaena, was sitting next to you wearing an unfazed expression on her face, completely opposite to the cheerful attitude you had.

From your seat, you saw Maegor galloping slowly towards the royal family, wearing that winning smile that you loved so dearly as he rested his lance against his shoulder. The butterflies that appeared on your belly were hard to ignore when he started to get closer and closer to you. You fixed your hair, nervously played with your fingers and impatiently waited for him to get close enough to hear his voice. At your side, your sister scoffed, already annoyed by your attitude towards your uncle, with whom you wished to marry; she had heard all of it, and she was tired of hearing that man's name coming from your lips.

But you couldn't care less about it.

Your attention was all over the man on the horse in front of you, standing proudly and looking so gallant inside that thick metal armor of his, you couldn't help but to bite your lip before he decided to open his mouth and say, “May I have the honor to ask for the princess' favor?” He didn't even have to specify which princess he was talking about, for every single person knew he meant you. They all certainly knew about the close relationship you had with him.

You slowly arose from your seat, taking with you the crown of flowers that you made early that morning, especially for him. You walked closer to the railing and looked down at him, feeling the air getting caught in your throat as you saw him more up close. He removed the helmet of his armor, wanting to look into your pretty eyes before he uttered the next words. “I'm convinced that everytime the sun rises you become far more beautiful, my princess.” He spoke slightly lower, as if he wanted just you to hear. You couldn't help but to feel suddenly shy under his mischievous stare, the heat on your cheeks growing as you tried to look away from him.

“You flatter me, uncle,” you replied, managing to throw the crown of flowers down the lance. “I feel like the most beautiful maiden in the Seven Kingdoms whenever you speak with such kindness to me.”

“Well, you are, my dear.” He winked at you. “Before I leave, allow me to remind you that this victory, as well as the ones that are yet to come, are dedicated to you. My beautiful princess.” A silly, enamored smile was drawn on your lips as he turned around in his black horse and galloped away from you. He made you feel all kinds of things in such a little amount of time, including a strange, new sensation located in your lower belly which you decided it was best to ignore.

Once you returned to your seat, you found your sister staring at you with a visible frown on her face. “Could you be any more obvious? You left a path of your drool behind you.”

“I will marry him someday,” you told her, your voice filled with the purest of illusions.

Rhaena could only roll her eyes.

follow @by-fairysluna for updates!

GENERAL TAG LIST — @islandfantasydream @arcielee @bucknastysbabe @zaldritzosrose @rafeism @valeskafics

MAEGOR TAG LIST — @targaryen-dynasty @hypocritic-trash-baby @mariahossain

#maegor targaryen fanfic #maegor targaryen x y/n #maegor targaryen x reader #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #hotd #house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd fanfic

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munchcorner · 8 months ago

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Sukuna uses Yuji for his own benefit. Whenever Jin isn't around, he'll use Yuji to ask for someone's number, saying, "I'll stop bullying you for the day if you ask their number."

Of course, Yuji doesn't trust Sukuna, "Why should I? You won't harass them, right?"

Sukuna, not wanting to admit his interest, replies, "Your dad's asking for their number." Yuji stares at him with scepticism, "why would he need their number?"

"I don't know, man." Sukuna shrugs. Yuji tries to walk away, but Sukuna drags him back.

"We're not going home until you ask," Yuji tries to take his grip off him, but Sukuna's too strong.

"Fine, just please don't harass them or something." Yuji takes the number and gives it to Sukuna.

Like the lying uncle that he is, he still bullied Yuji that day.

Aside from using Yuji to ask for numbers, Sukuna also makes Yuji do the chores Jin asked him to do.

"Oh, yeah. Your dad said you should take out the trash." Sukuna says while watching wrestling on the television.

"I can't believe I'm stuck with you again," Yuji complains.

"I can hear you, brat."

"It's not like I was preventing you from hearing me," Yuji yells as he takes out the trash.

"Remember to clean the backyard after you return! Also, buy me some ice cream on your way here!" Yuji doesn't answer and slams the door.

Sometimes, Sukuna blames Yuji for something he did.

"Yuji, I told you not to play too rough. Look, you knocked down the trash can," Sukuna scolds when he sees Gojo approaching. "Your teacher would be disappointed if he sees it,"

Yuji's jaw drops after hearing Sukuna.

"But you were the one who kicked it down after getting pissed into an argument with a child!" Yuji complains, not noticing Gojo.

"Yuji, you know it's bad to lie, right?" Sukuna pretends to be disappointed.

"You're the one lying!" Yuji yells in disbelief.

"Gojo, I'm so sorry my nephew is acting this way. Please punish him," Sukuna clutches his chest in faux pain. It hurts to think about him being punished, but he needs some discipline, or this behaviour will continue."

Gojo only smiles, "don't worry about it. It's a problem that's easy to resolve. Since you're his uncle, why don't you set an example by cleaning it up? Hm? Maybe it'll teach Yuji to own up to his mistakes,"

Sukuna glares as Gojo walks away with Yuji while he's cleaning up.

#jjk sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk itadori yuji #jjk yuji #yuji itadori #itadori yuji #jjk hcs #jjk headcanons #unckuna

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songmingisthighs · 10 months ago

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Wanbelyn

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

<< previous | m.list | next >>

ch. lv - uncle yuyu

neurosurgeon!hongjoong × reader

buy me coffee ?

where love and peace is held, i never expected for this to happen. i planned and i planned, i expected, and i hoped, but it was never you. you held what i wanted hostage to make room for you, the thing that i needed but has no means of acceptance. deny me, live your best life.

For some reason, Yeonjun felt compelled to sort trash out that day. He had been staring at the bags that his kitchen staff would bring out for 20 minutes straight before deciding he couldn't stand the damn thing any longer.

It wasn't like the task was fun or it had benefits. Heck, he had to recycle and risk meeting a recycling nut who would attack him for not crushing his cans first. So his plan was to just get the bags there, throw it out and return ASAP.

But one thing caught his eye when he turned around to walk back to his cafe. He noticed a very familiar boy looking around the park with furrowed eyebrows and he noticed people looking at him, probably as confused as the little boy was, maybe even concerned because it didn't seem like he was there with someone and that was concerning.

"Hey, bud," Yeonjun called out after jogging towards Kijoong who turned around at the sound of a familiar voice. Though it seemed like Kijoong recognized him, he didn't make a move to approach Yeonjun. Heck, he took a couple of steps back and made it seem like he was ready to run away. "It's me, uncle Yeonjun! I know your nanny (y/n) and your uncle Woowoo!" He said, desperately hoping the boy won't run because if he ran and he chased him down, that could seem like a humongous problem.

Thankfully Kijoong nodded, "You're the uncle from the cafe," he stated though seemingly shying away from Yeonjun's kind gaze slightly. Yeonjun was glad to hear that Kijoong remembered him but there more pressing matters he needed to prioritize. "That's right! So... What are you doing here alone? Is your daddy nearby?" Kijoong immediately shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows, "No, I want (y/n) and daddy don't know where (y/n) is," he said, obviously hating the fact that his dad didn't seem like he was going to round up a search party to look for you. Though Yeonjun couldn't help but notice that Kijoong was so keen on looking for you, he knew he had to get the boy back to his dad. "So, your dad's not around here, huh?" Kijoong shook his head at Yeonjun's question, "So where is he?" "Daddy's cutting people with his friends," and boy did Kijoong said that with much confidence because some people heard and couldn't help but stop in their tracks and stare at the innocent toddler and a panicked adult who immediately look around and waved his hands frantically, "It's not what it sounds like, folks. His dad is a neurosurgeon, a very good one at that."

It wouldn't take a genius to realze that the kid had ran away from wherever he was supposed to be and whoever he was with, but knowing that it would be hard to ask Kijoong about where he was and who he was with, Yeonjun decided to just cut the middle man and call up his friend.

"What's up cutie pie?" Wooyoung snickered, not looking into the camera though Yeonjun had face-timed him. "Yeah I kind of have a problem and you're the only one who could help me," Yeonjun said, shifting his eyes between his phone and Kijoong who was looking around as if disinterested or worse, trying to find a means to escape. Yeonjun's words made Wooyoung roll his eyes, "For the last time, I am not dressing up like a cupcake and handing out flyers. You're roommates with Jongho, ask him," he scoffed which made Yeonjun groan, "No, dude, look." It took Wooyoung longer than he'd care to admit to realize that he wasn't hallucinating when Yeonjun moved the camera to Kijoong who upon seeing Wooyoung, beamed up and waved. "HI WOOWOO," he yelled into the mic but Wooyoung was unbudging, still confused, "Hey bud, what- why are you with my friend Yeonjun?" and Kijoong shrugged his tiny shoulders, "Uncle followed me," and Yeonjun immediately turned the camera back on him, "That is not true, I found him at the park!" "The park? Why is he there? He was supposed to be in daycare," Wooyoung asked but it was apparent that he was doing something else frantically, "He was looking for (y/n)." That seemed to cause both men to stop momentarily and stare at each other knowingly.

With a sigh, Wooyoung mustered up a smile, "Kijoong, buddy," Kijoong, who heard his name being called, popped his head into the frame and tilted his head to the side, "I need you to go with Uncle Yeonjun here back to the hospital, okay?" Kijoong momentarily glanced up at Yeonjun before he furrowed his eyebrows, "But... (y/n) said I can't go with anyone I don't know," he said, looking at Yeonjun suspiciously. "But you do know him! You know I know him and he's going to take you back to the hospital!" Wooyoung tried to reason but Kijoong only stared at the screen with furrowed eyebrows. "Tell you what," Yeonjun spoke up finally, "How about you keep calling Uncle Wooyoung on our way to the hospital, huh? That way Uncle Wooyoung can see that I'm really bringing you to the hospital, how about that?" he reasoned. Kijoong seemed to be satisfied with the idea by nodding and opening his arms up so Yeonjun could carry him.

During the whole way to the car parked near the cafe and the hospital, Yeonjun took notice of how Kijoong seemed to be calmer though he kept talking about you along the way. What made Yeonjun sigh heavily was when Kijoong told Wooyoung to tell you that he was being so good and that he listened to you to not follow strangers so you could come back home. He actually said home and while it could easily be about the apartment he and his dad lived in, he had a feeling that Kijoong was talking about the place you belong in. Even when Wooyoung told him that he and his dad would be waiting by the lobby he asked about you, seemingly hopeful that you would be there for him.

When Yeonjun took Kijoong out of the backseat's seatbelt, he took notice of how Kijoong simply waited by his side as he made sure his car was locked before offering Yeonjun his phone before lifting his hand. "(y/n) said hold," he stated though innocently, his eyes was showing determination. Yeonjun barely knew the boy but he could tell how much he had grown to get used to and close to you so much so that he was dependent. For some reason the knowledge made him feel bad that you had been absent from his life.

Even before reaching the lobby, Yeonjun could see the neurosurgeon pacing back and forth worriedly with Wooyoung next to him with his arms crossed and disgust on his face, talking about something so serous that it caused Hongjoong to stop in his tracks and put his hands on his hips, replying Wooyoung something that was probably ridiculous to Wooyoung as seen from the way he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Daddy!"

The very second the automatic door opened, Kijoong let go of Yeonjun's hand and ran to his dad, grabbing the man's white jacket as if to crawl up. Hongjoong crouched down and scooped his son into his arms and burying his face in his hair. Hongjoong visibly let out a shaky sigh and you could almost see the stress leaving his shoulders.

"Where have you been? Why did you run out of daycare?" Hongjoong asked, momentarily letting go of his relief to scold his son. Before Kijoong could answer, Wooyoung stepped up and answered for the little boy, "Because he missed (y/n) you dumb fuck. Remember her? The strong as hell woman you manage to mess with YET AGAIN with whatever you said?" At the mention of messing with you, Hongjoong visibly shifted, seemingly uncomfortable that he was being called out like that. "What the hell did you say to her?" Wooyoung pressed, taking a step forward when Hongjoong lifted Kijoong into his arms, "What the hell happened that she couldn't seem to talk about it?" Hongjoong sighed and shook his head, "It's honestly not my business that she doesn't want to talk to you, but honestly, her running away and abandoning her responsibilities because I made a mistake is not on me." Had it not for the fact that his son was right there (and that it could jeopardize his employment), Wooyoung would have definitely punched Hongjoong in his face. "She ran away because of whatever it is you said or did, I can definitely be sure of that," Wooyoung scoffed but Hongjoong was not backing down, "You kept saying that she's an adult, she's a grown-up, she's a woman or whatever, so should a grown-up just hide when a mistake was made? I was and still am willing to talk about what I did wrong because I did, I can admit that, but frankly, I don't know how effective that conversation is now that she selfishly closed the door to have a conversation from her side and blocked other means of conversation. I get her need to preserve herself, to shield her from potential pain, and to tend to her wounded feelings first, I do, but she can't call me names when she herself is in hiding and is refusing to talk without even notifying anyone in her life. So before you bite my head for being stupid and God knows I was, do your friend a favour and help her back," he said before turning around and carrying Kijoong back to the daycare after bowing to Yeonjun and thanking him before excusing himself.

Hongjoong could feel Wooyoung and Yeonjun staring at him but he couldn't care less. 1. Wooyoung is stubbornly statued on his convictions so if he were to fight him off on it, he'd just be wasting his breath, 2. He didn't know Yeonjun and he knew Yeonjun is your friend so he would most likely side with you and try to defend you in front of him, 3. Kijoong had been returned and he would much rather focus on his son than strangers. But with each step he took, he couldn't help but let his mind go back to that day you left, that day he sat under his home office desk and let the fact that he had hurt you badly sink in slowly, drowning him in guilt and feeling of stupidity. Then his mind connected the memories and feelings to the ones he experienced years before, the day his ex abandoned him with their 3-month-old. And once again, he blamed himself for being abandoned by someone he had leant on, someone he trust, someone who was hurt because of him.

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sidekick-hero · 1 year ago

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we were meant to be (we live happily in my fantasy)

(steddie | explicit | wc: 5672 | written for @steddiemas Smutty Sunday prompt needing to be quiet | tags/cw: public sex in a bathroom, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Escort Steve Harrington, Modern Setting, Multiple Orgasms, Happy Ending

Eddie Munson has it all.

The big mansion with more bathrooms than anyone could ever need, five platinum albums in as many years, countless awards to show the world that the trailer trash from a shithole town in Indiana had made it, and enough money to buy said shithole town if he ever wanted to. Which he certainly didn't, thank you very much. The only good thing about this hellhole is his uncle, who still refuses to live anywhere else.

Eddie Munson also has the most gorgeous date of all the Grammy attendees on his arm, smiling charmingly at the flashing cameras and winning the hearts of everyone he so much as looks at.

God, Eddie wishes Steve Harrington was his, too, in all the ways that really matter. But just like his house and his cars and his wardrobe, which is worth more than his uncle made in a year at the plant, Steve is only as much his as money can make you. Sure, he owns his time and his attention and his devastatingly handsome smile for the agreed upon amount of time, but not his heart. Never his heart.

Eddie Munson has it all, except the love he so desperately wants. That's what you get, he guesses, when you fall in love with your escort.

When Chrissy first suggested it, hiring an escort seemed like a great idea. It would solve most of his problems, especially because it would keep people off his back by making them think Eddie was seeing someone. It stopped most of the stupid questions about his love life in interviews that were supposed to be about his and his band's music. It stopped all the rumors about him dating some random celebrity or one of his friends. It gave him someone to take to all the boring as fuck events he had to attend without getting anyone's hopes up only to have Eddie walk away from them the next day, already bored.

When he opened the door to his hotel room almost a year ago to find the most beautiful man he'd ever seen standing in front of him, he already had a feeling that he might regret ever saying yes to Chrissy's idea. That feeling only got worse when Steve, the name of the apparition in front of him, turned out to not only be kind and caring, but also funny as hell. The more comfortable he got around Eddie, the more Eddie got to know his bitchy side, and it had Eddie in stitches every time Steve unleashed it on some annoying redneck or corporate suit they encountered.

Spending time with Steve soon became something Eddie looked forward to weeks in advance. Because it meant he had a reason to tell Chrissy to book Steve for a few precious hours, he found himself saying yes to more requests than ever before. At first, Eddie told himself it was because it was so rare for him to meet new people he enjoyed being around. All of his friends he's known since high school and the people he hooks up with usually don't stay long enough to have a real conversation. So, Eddie tells himself, it's just the novelty of having someone who hasn't heard (or lived through) all of his stories, and who, in turn, broadens Eddie's horizons with funny anecdotes and surprisingly clever analyses of movies and shows they've both seen.

Eddie knows he's been fooling himself since the first time their lips touched and a kaleidoscope of butterflies took flight in his stomach.

Steve had kissed him for the first time about three months after Eddie had hired him. They had been at a party in the Hollywood Hills after another award show. Eddie's band had won six awards and he wanted to go out and celebrate. Returning from the restroom, he had found someone talking to Steve, hands on his shoulders, slowly sliding them down to his waist and crowding closer to him. The sight had hurt more than Eddie had expected, especially when the guy leaned in to put his mouth on Steve. But the kiss never happened because Steve had pushed him away forcefully.

Eddie didn't even realize he'd gotten close enough to the couple to hear the man's next words.

"Come on, you fucking slut. You spread them for Munson but not for me? Afraid of a real man giving it to you, is that it?" Hargrove spat, and Eddie finally recognized the backup singer from some wanna be rock band that always talked shit about Corroded Coffin, obviously jealous of their success.

"You disgusting pig," Eddie heard himself say from afar, and before either man could say anything, Eddie drew back his fist and connected with Hargrove's sneering face. The sound of it hitting his jaw was extremely satisfying, but Eddie had never hit anyone before and the pain in his hand came as a surprise.

Worst of all, Hargrove didn't go down like Eddie had hoped. Instead, he looked at Eddie with murder in his eyes, the muscles in his body tense, and Eddie knew what was coming next, so he closed his eyes and waited for the pain to come.

Only it never came.

He peeked one eye open to find Steve with his hand fisted in Hargrove's shirt, their faces inches apart as Steve hissed at him. "If you so much as look at him the wrong way, I'll go to the press and tell them all about your charming words to me for not giving you the time of day. Maybe talk a little bit about what a sad and pathetic loser you are, clamoring for my attention because you wish you could be half the man Eddie is."

Eddie has never seen anything hotter than Steve Harrington threatening someone and he doesn't care how wrong that sounds. He dares anyone to look at his blazing eyes and the flexing muscles in his toned forearms and tell him it's not the hottest thing they've ever seen.

"Are we clear?" Steve growled, waiting for Hargrove's answer. For a moment it looked like fists were going to fly anyway, but then Eddie saw Hargrove nod almost imperceptibly and he let out the breath he'd been holding.

They left soon after and Steve insisted on going home with Eddie to look at his hand, which was starting to swell. "I've been there a few times, this is going to hurt like a bitch if you don't treat it right," he told Eddie and that was that. He took Steve home.

As he opened the front door of his house he expected some sort of reaction from Steve but none came. No looking around, no whistling, no remarks about his wealth or choice of decor. Just a warm hand on his shoulder and Steve asking where he keeps his first aid kit. Eddie wished he'd asked Steve over sooner, even though there was never a good reason.

In the master bathroom, Steve sat him down on the closed toilet seat before gracefully sinking to his knees in front of Eddie. Heat rushed to his cheeks at the sight, the movement conjuring up images he usually only indulged in the safety of his bedroom.

There was a thick tension between them as Steve tenderly reached for his swollen hand and began to put ointment on it. Eyes fixed on what he needed to do, Steve broke the silence that had fallen over them and began to speak in a low voice. "I'm not your damsel in distress, Eddie. I can take care of myself and I don't need anybody to save me, okay? This is not Pretty Woman, and if you want to keep asking for my services, you have to accept that."

Despite the calm in his voice, Eddie could tell that Steve was worked up, probably nervous about how Eddie would react to this. He had no idea where this speech was coming from, but the thought of Steve needing Eddie to save him sounded utterly ridiculous. He had only known Steve for a few months, but he was already well aware that Steve Harrington was a certified badass.

When he told Steve this, he was met with hazel eyes looking at him questioningly. "But why did you hit that guy if not because you thought I needed saving?"

Something in Steve's voice tugged at his heart, a vulnerability shining through the confident way he usually held himself, and Eddie responded instinctively, cupping Steve's neck with the hand not currently wrapped in Steve's.

"Because he deserved it? Steve, I know you could kick anyone's ass and probably look hot as hell doing it. Hearing that asshole talk like that about someone who is... I dunno, like you, I just couldn't help myself."

"Like me?"

With anyone else, Eddie would think they were fishing for compliments, but he knows Steve isn't. He really has no idea how maddeningly exceptional he is.

"Yeah, like you. Someone who talks all the time about a bunch of kids that he used to babysit because he's obviously so proud of them and he cares about them so much. Someone who makes our limo stop so he can give a homeless family the contents of our mini-fridge, who always makes himself seem a little smaller than he is around people who are shy and easily intimidated. Someone who gives the best verbal dressing-down I've ever heard, but also makes me feel like I'm funny and interesting every time I spend time with him. Someone who sees the world differently and isn't afraid to ask questions and speak his mind, even if people think they're stupid for it. Because they're not, they just don't fit into their dumb little boxes. You don't fit in those stupid boxes and a disgusting pig like Hargrove doesn't get to talk to you like that."

Eddie has no idea what came over him at that moment, the words pouring out of his mouth like water from a burst pipe, but they seemed to be the right ones. At least judging by the way Steve lunged forward to capture his lips in a surprisingly sweet kiss.

It was then that Eddie realized his grave mistake. He never expected it to happen, so he had left his heart unguarded around Steve, not realizing it had been stolen until it was too late. Running away was no longer an option, so instead he surrendered to the intoxicating feeling of Steve's plush lips against his, giving his body to the man who already owned his heart.

Not surprisingly, they ended the night with Steve buried deep inside of him, his hand still wrapped around Eddie's bandaged one.

Eddie doesn't know how much more sleeping with him would add to Steve's rate, but he doesn't care. He felt a little sleazy at first, paying for sex, but every time he looks at Steve he knows it's worth every penny in his bank account, along with his dignity.

Knowing he was royally screwed the second Steve's lips touched his, Eddie shoveled his grave deeper and deeper, finding more and more reasons to go out with Steve on his arm, only to bring him home and get lost in his body.

Eddie always wakes up alone, though, and it starts to eat away at him, this longing for more. He wants to wake up with Steve's bed hair tickling his nose where it is tucked against Steve's neck, to feel his sleep-warm skin against his own, to hear Steve grumble as he inevitably begins to explore the tantalizing body in his arms, only to have the sound turn into a wanton moan. He wants breakfast in bed and morning showers together, fighting over who gets to read the editorial cartoons first.

When he accepts his first Grammy, he wants to tell the world that as incredible as it is to stand here and see a lifelong dream come true, it's not the most important thing in his life anymore. It's not the award in his hands, but the man sitting in the third row, next to his manager and best friend Chrissy, beaming at him with pride.

But he doesn't, he just thanks their crew, their fans and of course his friends and his uncle before he hands the microphone to Jeff to do the same.

Later, at the reception, he drowns his heartache in the expensive champagne being handed to him left and right. Steve is plastered to his side and when Eddie reaches for the fourth glass, he stops him with his lips against his ear. "I have plans for you and they don't involve you passing out drunk." His deep voice whispers and Eddie feels goosebumps rise all over his body.

He lets the waiter pass and eyes Steve hungrily. "Stevie, you naughty boy. Not in front of the kids," Eddie giggles, waving to his bandmates and Chrissy, who all roll their eyes indulgently. They know he pays Steve, but they never act like it, and Eddie is grateful for that. They're probably aware of his feelings because Eddie has never been subtle and they've known him most of his life. If they feel sorry for him, they don't show it, but Eddie sees their worried looks sometimes.

Steve snorts inelegantly and Eddie thinks they're both a little high on champagne and endorphins.

When he leans in close again and Eddie wraps a possessive arm around his waist, Steve purrs in his ear, low enough that only Eddie can hear him. "Meet me in the restroom in the back. I have a surprise for you, Mr. Big-Shot-Rockstar." With that, Steve plants a wet kiss on his cheek and tells the group he'll be right back.

Eddie counts to 83 before he can't wait any longer and follows Steve, not even bothering with an excuse. They all know what they are up to anyway. He thinks he hears Gareth muttering "Unbelievable" and Chrissy whistling behind him, but he's already on his way to the restroom Steve mentioned at the back of the venue.

When he gets there, however, he can't find any trace of Steve.

"Steve?" he calls, his voice echoing off the tiles. Even his breathing sounds loud, so he holds his breath, listening for any sign of life. Then he hears it, the slick sound of slippery skin sliding against skin and ragged breathing. It comes from somewhere around the corner and Eddie follows it slowly. When he turns the corner he sees another row of stalls and feet peeking out of the last one. The door is open.

The closer he gets, the louder the sounds coming from the stall, and his cock stiffens in his pants at the thought of what he'll find.

He's still not prepared for the sight of Steve standing inside, naked as the day he was born, his clothes neatly folded on the closed toilet lid. His big, veiny hand is wrapped around his hard cock, already gleaming from the pre-cum smeared along its length. He's pumping it almost lazily, his eyes lustful and bright as they blink back at Eddie. His other hand plays with his stiff nipple and Eddie can feel his own cock leaking at the sight.

"Steve," he breathes out in wonder, "fuck, look at you. What are you doing to me?"

"Not enough, so you have to come here and let me get my hands on you." Steve's voice sounds strained, like he's already keyed up from the way he's touching himself, and Eddie has half a mind to just keep watching Steve getting himself off. But then he moans Eddie's name, and it's high and needy, luring Eddie over with its siren call.

Following it, Eddie squeezes into the narrow stall and wraps his own hand around the hard length of Steve's cock. The flesh is hot in his palm, its girth already familiar, and Eddie thinks he'll never touch another dick, not even his own, as long as he can have this. Steve has ruined him, completely and utterly, and it's that thought that finally breaks the tenacious control he's had over his emotions all these months.

His lips crash against Steve's without any finesse, there's just hunger and love and an urgency he can't explain as his arm wraps around Steve's waist while his other hand remains wrapped around his cock. They're pressed together from head to toe, Eddie still fully dressed in his expensive designer pants and burgundy shirt and Steve gloriously naked. He's probably smearing Pre all over his pants, which are rented and which he probably has to pay for now. But what are a few thousand dollars more when he can have Steve moaning brokenly against his already swollen lips at the feel of the smooth material rubbing against the sensitive head of his cock.

"You're killing me, baby. So sexy, knowing exactly what you're doing to me," Eddie pants as he pulls his hungry mouth away from Steve's, kissing along his blushing cheeks and down the sharp line of his jaw to take it between his teeth. Steve's hips keep twitching, desperate to rub against Eddie's hand, Eddie's pants, anything that will give him some friction, shameless and so fucking hot that Eddie can barely think.

He soothes his bite marks with his tongue and picks up the pace of his hand on Steve, reveling in the slick sounds that fill the empty restroom. "This is what you want, huh? For me to get you off in a public restroom, for you to come all over me, for you to mark me with your cum so that everyone can see how gone I am for you?"

Steve moans brokenly at his words, his hips stuttering and Eddie can feel the telltale twitch of his cock so he quickly sinks to his knees, the movement eerily similar to the night of their first kiss all those months ago when their roles had been reversed.

Twisting his fingers in Eddie's hair, their grip painfully tight and arousing at the same time, Steve comes in Eddie's mouth, his hot cum shooting down his throat, making him cough and splutter, but still eagerly drinking down every drop. He keeps milking Steve's cock until the overstimulation becomes painful and only then does he pull off of Steve to look up at him.

What he sees takes his breath away.

The hands in his hair have loosened their death grip and are instead tenderly combing through his messy locks. Steve's eyes are liquid amber, the color high in his cheeks as dark as the red of his lips, and the expression on his face is unbearably soft. One of his hands slides from Eddie's hair to his face, gently cupping his cheek and wiping away a few stray drops from the corner of his mouth. Their eyes lock and Eddie couldn't look away even if he wanted to, lost in Steve, in his smell, the feel of his hairy thighs under his palms, his taste on his tongue and the sight of his beloved face filled with warmth and affection.

He's not sure he'll be able to come back from this.

"Eddie," Steve begins in a soft voice and he knows what Steve is going to say and he just can't bear to hear it right now. Steve will tell him that they need to get dressed, to go back, to continue their charade until Eddie has to go home to his empty house and his empty bed and his empty life.

"Quite a surprise you had there, Stevie. Totally worth paying for those pants," he jokes, trying for some levity.

Steve gives him a crooked smile and says, "That wasn't my surprise, actually. Well, not all of it. But you... I wasn't expecting... um, this," he finishes lamely, shrugging, and Eddie feels his face heat up. Steve did not expect Eddie to lose it so much at the sight of him.

"Oops," Eddie jokes, obviously embarrassed but trying not to show it. "What surprise have I ruined?"

The hand still cupping his cheek pulls Eddie back to his feet and he winces a little as his knees crack. Smiling at him, Steve uses his hand on Eddie to draw him in for a sweet, almost chaste kiss, were it not for the fact that Steve is still naked and can probably taste himself on Eddie's lips and tongue, which he playfully teases with his own.

As they kiss, Steve blindly reaches for Eddie's hand and guides it to his ass and between his cheeks. Following Steve's lead, he teases his fingers along the crack down to his hole and gasps against Steve's mouth when he feels the hard stopper of a plug there. "Fuck," he hisses, "you are trying to kill me."

"I take it you like your surprise?" Steve sounds smug, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction at the wrecked look on Eddie's face.

"Sweetheart, you have no idea. No idea."

Palming Eddie's hard cock straining against the fly of his pants, Steve smirks. "I might have at least some idea. How about we do something about it, huh?" He adds, giving his cock a squeeze that causes his eyes to almost roll back in his head.

"Please," he practically begs, eagerly playing with the plug, pulling it out and pushing it back in before twisting it on the next pull.

Steve's arms wrap around him, pressing against Eddie and suddenly turning them both around so that Steve's back is to the open door. He pulls away from their embrace and Eddie whines at the loss of Steve in his arms. "One second, baby, just lemme close the door real quick," he coos.

Making good on his words, he grabs the door handle and pulls the door shut before locking it. Eddie reaches for him again as soon as it's done, but Steve seems to have a different idea. He turns and rests his forearms against the closed door, his forehead between them. Arching his broad back, covered with moles and beauty marks, he pushes his round ass out at Eddie and shakes it for good measure.

Looking over his shoulder and giving Eddie a cheeky grin, he asks, "What are you waiting for, lover boy? A written invitation?"

Smack.

The sound of Eddie's hand connecting with Steve's cheek is loud, echoing off the tiles and ringing through the empty restroom. A red handprint is already forming on the pale skin and the sight makes something primal inside him purr with satisfaction.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck," Steve curses and for a moment Eddie is afraid he has really hurt him, but then he sees Steve's hips buck. He moves closer and drapes himself over Steve's back, reaching around to find his cock more than half hard again.

"Every time I think you can't get any hotter," Eddie mutters to himself and Steve chuckles.

"Yeah? Right back at you," he replies with a smile in his voice. Then, more quietly, he asks, "Do it again?"

There's nothing Eddie would like more, but first he wants to see how far this newfound dynamic will go. "Only if you ask real nice, baby. Only good boys get what they want."

The cock he's still holding fills out even more, growing fully hard in his hand, and Eddie has never been in love like this. It's a weird moment to realize, but they didn't call him a freak for nothing, he supposes.

"Fuck, okay, okay. Can you -" Steve begins, already breathing hard, almost panting. "Can you please spank me again?"

Smack.

The moan that bursts from Steve's throat is loud and guttural, and the redness on his cheeks looks perfect. There's only one thing missing, his cum decorating it, the white a beautiful contrast to the angry red.

"Yes, please, Eddie, please, come on me, paint me with your cum, rub it into my skin, anything you want," Steve babbles, his cock as hard as it was just before he shot down Eddie's throat. Eddie must have said his thoughts out loud, too far gone to realize it, but he doesn't care. They clearly want the same thing and he suddenly can't wait any longer.

"Please baby, tell me you brought lube and a condom?"

"Jacket. Right pocket. Hurry, I need you, Eddie."

"You got me, baby," he whispers, taking the time to plant a soft kiss on the back of Steve's neck. Then he fishes what they need out of Steve's jacket and is back on him in seconds. He reaches for the plug that keeps Steve stretched and open and gently pulls it out, watching in rapture as Steve's rim stretches around it, trying to suck it back in, thinking of how it will feel around his cock in a minute.

When it pops free, he sets it on the floor and pushes Steve's legs further apart before coating two of his fingers with lube. "I'm just checking to see if you're ready for me, okay?" Eddie tells Steve as he pushes his fingers inside. They sink in easily, no resistance as Eddie smears the lube around the rim. He can feel Steve's heartbeat against his fingers and thinks he'll never get tired of this.

"I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready, c'mon Eddie, please," Steve begs and Eddie doesn't even think about denying him. Instead, he shushes Steve with another kiss, this time between his shoulder blades, before resting his forehead against the skin there as he pulls down his fly, finally freeing his cock. It's an angry red, leaking copious amounts of pre-cum, and Eddie knows he won't last long.

He rolls the condom down his length and coats it with more lube before guiding the head to Steve's waiting hole and slowly pushing in, wanting to give Steve time to adjust. Steve is having none of it though, just pushing back until Eddie sinks in all the way, making them both groan.

"The. Death. Of. Me," Eddie pants against Steve's back and Steve chuckles. Then, once again showing no mercy, he tightens around Eddie's cock before relaxing again, but before Eddie can catch his breath, Steve slides almost all the way off him before pushing back, effectively fucking himself on Eddie's length.

"Fuck, baby, I won't last long like this," he whimpers, already feeling himself getting closer, his orgasm pulled from him by the tight grip of Steve's ass around him.

"Good."

Steve breathes hard, moans and high-pitched whimpers falling from his lips as he manages to fuck Eddie's cock against his prostate, and Eddie holds on for dear life, his hands wrapping around Steve's and pulling them up to the top of the door, both of them clutching it just to hold on to something.

Just as Eddie feels his balls tighten against his body, he hears the door to the venue creak.

Acting on pure instinct, adrenaline flooding his system, he slaps a hand over Steve's mouth, his other hand grabbing his hip to halt his movements.

Someone enters the restroom, the man's footsteps clearly audible as he walks over to one of the stalls, and Eddie is shocked to find a giggle rising in his throat. Here he is, in a public restroom at the goddamn Grammy Awards, balls deep in the man he's paying to be with him and who he's in love with, while another man is probably about to take a dump. Everything about it is so fucking ridiculous that he has to fight the laughter that is about to burst out of his mouth.

Steve, on the other hand, doesn't seem to suffer from the same fate. Instead, he clamps down on Eddie's cock inside of him, silently urging him to get over himself and let Steve fuck himself on his cock again.

"Steve," Eddie warns in a low voice, nothing more than a breath against the shell of Steve's ear. They can hear the other man's zipper coming down and then the sound of a stream hitting the bowl. Eddie uses the sound to speak as quickly and quietly as he can. "We have to be quiet."

Steve nods against his hand, but doesn't stop clenching rhythmically around him, moving his hips as much as he can with Eddie's hand still wrapped around him.

The flush of the toilet startles them both but only seems to spur Steve on, his movements becoming faster, more erratic and Eddie surrenders to him, no longer trying to hold him still but reaching around him and grasping his hard cock in his hand, thumbing at the slit and smearing the pre-cum around the head. A whimper escapes against his palm and he hastily stuffs Steve's mouth with his fingers to starve out any more sounds. He's glad it happened while the man on the other side of their stall turns on the faucet to wash his hands.

Steve comes all over the door with the sound of the dry blower drowning out his stifled moans around Eddie's fingers, and Eddie has to bite down on Steve's shoulder to muffle his own scream as he follows him over the edge and fills the condom.

They both catch their breath as they hear the restroom door close again.

The giggles finally break free and this time Steve joins in. "Fuck my life, that was hands down one of the weirdest moments that has ever happened to me," he laughs as he pulls out and ties off the condom.

"But also kind of hot," Steve adds, and Eddie isn't sure he agrees. It had been hot to have Steve squirm on his cock, so drunk on pleasure that he didn't care if someone overheard them. The way he had somehow used Eddie for his own pleasure, that had been hot too. But someone taking a piss while he was fucking didn't really do much for him.

He kind of liked the pressure of having to keep quiet, though. Definitely something he'd like to explore.

" Sort of, yeah," he allows, turning Steve over to give him a deep kiss. When they part, he helps Steve get dressed again, aching all the while with how much he wants to take Steve home now, to curl up in bed together and fall asleep in each other's arms. He's suddenly tired, not just physically, but mentally. Emotionally.

He's not sure he can do this anymore.

As they leave the bathroom to find his bandmates and Chrissy, Eddie thinks maybe it's time to accept the facts and try to get over Steve. He can't keep chasing a dream that will never come true. Steve won't do this forever, and when he decides it's time to do something else with his life, Eddie will be left behind, on his own, to put the pieces of his heart back together again.

He'd rather start now, while he still has a chance to maybe find something real someday. Because one thing Steve has shown him is that he wants that. Something real. Someone to stay.

Eddie wants that someone to be Steve, but even if he has it all, he won't have that.

When they say their goodbyes, Steve asks if they're going to Eddie's, and it hurts to see his face fall when Eddie tells him no, but it's for the best. Steve will still get paid handsomely for tonight and Eddie has the memory of their little adventure today stored away for bad days.

The next morning, he calls Chrissy to tell her that they will no longer need Steve's services.

"But why?" Chrissy asks, clearly surprised after having to book Steve at least once a week for the past few months.

"Because I need to find someone who wants to be with me, Chris. Really wants to be with me. Steve's great, but I need to stop living a lie."

"So you're telling me you're not hopelessly in love with him, Munson?" That's his best friend, cutting to the chase and getting right to the point. He loves and hates that about her in equal measure.

"You know I do, or you wouldn't ask, but I don't see what that has to do with me needing to find someone to love me."

Chrissy sighs deeply. "Oh, Eddie." And that's her "You're an idiot, Eddie Munson" voice.

"I don't know why you're 'Oh Eddie'-ing me here, Chris. I'm trying to be -"

"He hasn't accepted payment in five months." Chrissy cuts him off.

What?

"What?"

"He hasn't taken payment for the last five months. He asked me not to tell you, and I figured he'd tell you eventually, but he never did. He always said he would soon, that he was waiting for the right moment, and I promised myself to wait until the new year, and if he didn't tell you by then, I'd tell you. Even someone without eyes could see how much you are gone for him."

"So the last five months, all those hours, all those events, all those nights we had sex, he never got paid for it?" Eddie couldn't believe what he was hearing. They spent so much time together, time he didn't pay for, time Steve could have spent with clients making money.

"Eddie, he never charged you for sleeping with you. That's not part of the services he offered, he told me that when I first hired him. He did it because he wanted to, he's been dating you for almost half a year. Which you'd know if you -"

"I gotta go, Chris."

"Tell Steve I said hi," he hears her say as he ends the call, already throwing on some random clothes before heading down to his car.

He has to talk to Steve, tell him what a fucking idiot he's been before asking him to move in with him, since they've apparently been dating for several months now and it's not too early to ask.

Eddie can't wait to really have it all.

#steddiemas #steddie smut #steddie #eddie x steve #steddie fanfic #nsft #my writing #rockstar eddie munson #modern au

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disneyprincemuke · 1 year ago

Text

no other shade of blue, but you * ms47

you didn't have a favourite colour up until you met him

pairings: mick schumacher x fem!reader

word count: 1136

notes: i actually am so down bad for this man right now, don't really know what to tell you, so here i am with a short blurb for the man, the myth, the legend... also not THAT great so let me just skrrt skrrt

(f1 masterlist)

first dates, well, they're never easy. unless it's from a recommendation of your aunt's husband. she had gushed on and on about the man she was trying to set you up and while you were hesitant at first, hearing her husband talk about how amazing the guy is, you finally agreed.

you still remember, all those years ago, the unfortunate way that it had gone wrong for you and the man sitting next to you in his best suit. you press your lips together as you fumble with the lace of your dress, speakers booming with a monotonous voice as you tried to fight off the boredom that is unfortunately getting the best of you.

you drop your head slightly to glance at him, smiling slightly when he notices your stare. mick reaches over for your hand, squeezing it slightly before intertwining your hands. you remember when you used to pray, despite never being religious in your life, that you would never forget the way his blue eyes shine.

you remember how your car had broken down en route to the restaurant your uncle had asked you to drive to, telling you that he made the reservation under mick's name. you had to call your uncle for help, who was unfortunately out of town with your aunt, so the only person left to save you was mick.

you watched as his car drove up to yours in the dark of the night, you leaning against the trunk of your car. you pushed yourself off as he came to a stop right by you.

"are you okay?" he asked you, shutting the car of his door behind him. you had to take a step back to fully process the man that is approaching you. his pictures clearly didn't do him much justice, because he looks much better up close. "i called the tow truck, but it's going to take a while."

you smiled at him, at the time, only very thankful for the way he came to you without another question. "thank you so much for coming to me. mick, right?"

he nodded at you with a smile. "and you're hanna's niece, right? (y/n)?"

"yes, that's me." you offered your hand out to shake his, which he does take, surprisingly.

"i hope you didn't wait for too long," he muttered, turning away from you. he opened the door to the back of his car and reached in for something. "i was calling the tow truck for you and they told me they'd be a while."

you tried to take a peek at what he's reaching into. but he's quick with his actions, turning around to show you what's in his hands. it's a paper bag and a plastic bag with two cups in it. "we'll miss our reservation, and it's dinner - i assumed you're just as hungry as i am. i got us food to eat in the meantime."

you remember your heart skipping a beat when he laid it all out on the trunk of his car. it was just some fast food takeout, but you remember the way your heart felt warm when he pat the hood of his car for you to take a seat on.

"are you sure? your car looks expensive - i don't want to damage it," you said, shaking your hand.

in return, mick hopped on it first. he pats the empty spot on the other side of the hood for you to hop on. "don't worry about it."

you sat on the hood of that car for the better part of the next 3 hours. when the towing company told mick they would take a while, they were not kidding. neither you nor mick knew what exactly to talk about while you indulged yourself in a simple meal of burger and fries.

hour one was filled with food and small talk, both of you trying to properly navigate how comfortable you can get with your questions. you were still on opposite ends of the hood at the time.

hour two was when mick would keep the trash from your simple meal. you sat slightly closer to him, shoulders brushing as you indulged yourself in a conversation about the one thing you know about him: race cars. eventually, you talked about your relations to hanna and sebastian, and were curious why you'd never been to a race.

you would admit that you'd never been a big fan of cars, making it a point to gesture towards your beat-up vehicle that objectively ruined your date. he laughed, throwing his head back, and argued that this date was a nice change instead of sitting in a fancy restaurant for hours hunched over the table and trying to fit the stereotypes of a first date.

hour three, you found yourself a lot closer to mick. your shoulders are now touching and the conversation flowed way more naturally than you initially thought. he seemed to be more down-to-earth than you expected, admittedly scared away by the fact that his father is a very big name everywhere.

"okay, this is a stupid question," mick started, turning to you slightly.

"no question is stupid on a first date," you shook your head with a small smile. "what is it?"

"what's your favourite colour?"

you were stumped for the first time that night. you thought for a few seconds, looking ahead at the dead road as you debated in your head if you actually had one. mick would pipe down and slump his shoulders as he watches you think.

"i don't actually-" you turned your head to look at him, feeling your words catch in your throat when your eyes met his. you would feel this churning in your stomach as you looked at him, his eyes innocently staring into yours with his eyebrows raised to urge you for an answer.

you would sigh shakily as you answered him. "it's blue."

ever since then, blue has been your favourite colour. not just any blue - it has to be the specific shade that mick's eyes are. the dreamy and captivating blue that you would come to know and love for as long as you've known him.

before you know it, you stand at the end of the chapel with a mic in your hands. you glance over mick's shoulder, catching sebastian's proud smile before you return your eyes to the man who got on his knee for you.

"and actually," you say, as you wrap up your vows, "on our first date, you asked me what's my favourite colour." you look up with a small smile.

"i actually didn't have one. i said blue, because they're the colour of your eyes. i've never seen blue the same ever since," you smile. "i could probably live in it now."

general taglist: @cashtons-wife

#this is so #subpar #to what i was trying to portray #LOL #girl please #i might retire #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines

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spooky-bunnys · 2 years ago

Note

I absolutely love how you write, it's so light and fresh, so genuine that it's a delight to read! I just love your profile ✨🖤🌸

It may be one of Edward Cullen x MaleReader! Edward leaves MaleReader when he meets Bella convinced that she was his true love but breaks her heart in the process, MaleReader is rude and charismatic at heart but it affected him so he just walks away from the cullens and moves on with his life falling madly in love with a man who later discovers that he is a demon who roams the earth in search of his own happiness and both come together for it. Both begin to love each other and join the Volturi for battle as spectators taking care of collateral damage and guarding the injured, both were a power couple in the Volturi coven. Edward just watches helplessly as his old love was more than happy with his new family and love.

Warning this is a slight crossover with Black Butler. But I hope you enjoy!

New and Better Family

Edward ANGST

(Name) had always been there with him. Through everything. How does he get repaid? Getting replaced. By a fucking human. A HUMAN OF ALL THINGS! He was done. (Name) was in his and Edward's shared room. Packing a bag. Emmett and Jasper stood in the door way. Trying to talk him out of leaving. Rosalie knew exactly how he felt and thought he deserved to leave if he wanted to. Alice?

"(Name) your over reacting! You should be happy!" (Name) ignored her. Continuing to pack his bag. Carlise was calming Esme down in his office. When (Name) announced he was leaving, Esme immediately tried talking him out of it. She didn't understand why he was so upset. She knew him and Edward were mates. But Edward kept saying he found his true mate. Then practically threw (Name) aside.

Zipping up the bag (Name) shoved the three out of his way running out of the room and out the front door. He left the Cullen's resident and coven. When he was far enough he finally felt it. The mate thread broke. He felt to his knees holding his chest. It hurt. But what hurt worse? Seeing someone you gave everything up for....give you up. (Name) growled standing brushing the dirt off him and headed back....home.

When he arrived back in Italy he felt broken. He knew how his father figure was gonna react to not only him coming home but....the fact that he let Edward do what he did. When he arrived to the castle the guards immediately bowed. The Vampire Prince returns. He quickly made his way to the throne room. Throwing open the door and throwing his bag at a random guard member. Throwing himself into his uncles arms.

Marcus upon seeing the broken mate string immediately held his nephew close. He knew the feeling all too well of losing a mate. Caius jumped from his throne about to march over but seeing his son cry in his brothers arms knew something was up. So he sat back down grumbling lowly. Aro looked confused but pleased that his nephew returned. When he went to ask something Marcus rose a hand to him.

When their hands made contact Aro's face dropped. Oh that stupid Cullen boy. He released his brothers hand and grabbed his other brothers arm leading them out of the room. Giving the two privacy. Caius began arguing about how he needed to stay by his sons side when Aro explained what he saw. (Name) catching Edward cheating. How Edward explained that Bella was his true mate. How he was tossed aside for a human girl. How his mate string is broken.

Caius saw red. He was ready to declare war against the Cullens. Ready to destroy the coven for how that boy and the seer treated his precious son like trash. Aro gently grabbed Caius's shoulders. "Wait brother. Before you do that give (Name) time to properly heal before trying to destroy those he holds close." Caius frowned deeply. It was true his son held some of the Cullens dear. He sighed and nodded. First thing he needs to do is comfort his son.

Upon reentering the throne room Caius saw how his son was asleep on Marcus. His power still amazed him. (Name) could sleep and eat like any human. But his vampire powers were more powerful then anyone the kings know. Which is why he was so special to the Volturi. Caius made his way over and carefully lifted his son into his arms. He nodded to his brother before making his way to his son's wing of the castle.

Once (Name) was in bed and covered Caius sworn revenge for his son. He never wanted to see his son like this ever again. He'd make sure those who broke him will pay. With not only their lives, but their happiness. Caius ran a hand through (Name)'s hair knowing it calmed him down. Once (Name) was better he'd introduce him to the new guards, his wife, and everyone in the Volturi.

It didn't take as long as (Name) thought it would to heal his broken heart. Being surrounded by his old and new family's love was something he was grateful for. It was when (Name) decided to leave the castle to feed did he find his true mate. A tall man with shiny black hair. Eyes that told a thousand stories. A smile that made him feel things Edward never did. And a touch that was more addicting then anything. (Yes. You are mated to Sebastian. Cause he's better then Edgelord Edward)

When (Name) told his family about his true mate many things happened. Aro was overjoyed knowing his nephew finally got what he deserved. Marcus was confused upon seeing the string which was uch different then anything he's seen but still happy for (Name). Caius. Well. He didn't react too well. Since (Name) had been sneaking out of the castle for nearly a year to be with his mate.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Caius roared. Seeing an unknown person all over his child. Caius was ready to rip his head off and burn his body and dance in the ashes. Marcus spoke up silencing everyone. "Truly remarkable." Upon seeing the confused faces around him he held his hand out to Aro. Who gleefully took it. And started laughing madly upon seeing the true mate string. But it was different. "Just what are you?" Aro asked speeding into the man's face.

The smirk on the man's face didn't waver. Only grew. "I am a Demon. I've been searching for love and happiness for centuries. Until I stumbled across little (Name) here." (Name) was shocked and hurt. His mate was a demon? Why didn't he tell him? The male stuck his hand out to Aro. Smirk still plastered on his face. "I'm Sebastian." Aro took his hand and frowned upon getting nothing from the male.

Sebastian smirked more seeing the frown. "Sorry to say this but your power doesn't work on me." Aro smiled. Seeing the statement as a challenge. Oh he liked this Sebastian. "(Name)? Darling what's wrong?" Everyone turned to (Name) who looked extremely hurt. "Why didn't you tell me you were a demon? I knew you weren't human and told you what I was...." Caius stood from his throne and made his way to the couple.

"Well. Maybe it's because there is a law against it." Caius threw out there. Hoping to cheer his son up. Which worked. (Name) nodded knowing that every species have rules. Caius then glared at Sebastian. "Well since you are the mate of my son I will introduce myself. I am Volturi King Caius. Father of (Name)." Sebastian then looked surprised before smirking broadly.

Sebastian dipped (Name) making him squeak. "Oh~ so your royalty? Well then this is gonna be fun." (Name) then growled and shoved him away blushing. "Stupid flirty demon." Caius smiled. He missed seeing his son so happy. He hoped nothing will damage their happiness. But sadly Caius had jinxed it. Cause not much later the Volturi received an invite to the wedding of Edward Mason Cullen and Isabella Marie Swan.

(Name) threw the invitation into the library fire. After spending decades together Edward refused marriage. Now a few years with a human and he gets married? (Name) was growling and cursing every word in the Italian dictionary. Sebastian chuckled and wrapped his arms around (Name). Bringing him to lay against his chest. Sitting them in (Name)'s favorite chair. "Aww what's wrong my angry prince?"

(Name) glared at him and punched him in the chest. Sebastian didn't react. (Name) frowned more before he sighed. "It's just...we spend a very long time together. I proposed every decade because I knew he wouldn't but he rejected me every single time!" (Name) threw his arms up. "Then some clumsy clown of a human stumbles into his life and he throws me away like I'm some animal carcus." Sebastian leaned into (Name)'s ear before speaking softly.

"Just imagine though. If he had agreed, we never would've met." (Name) freezes. He was right. (Name) didn't need that stupid Edgelord. He had Sebastian. Who actually loved and cared for him. "Why don't we get married?" (Name) stopped breathing. Did he hear that right? "What?" He asked breathlessly. Sebastian chuckled. Seeing his normal hateful mate speechless. "I said let's get married."

(Name) turned and looked at him. Trying to see if he was serious. Sebastian was. He as holding out a ring with a (size) red gem. (Name) smiled widely and threw himself more into Sebastian screaming out a yes. The kings (mainly Caius) broke the door down. Wondering what was going on until they saw the crying (Name) with a ring on his left ring finger. They each cheered (except Caius he roared at the Demon for not asking him permission before giving him his blessing).

The wedding was wonderful. Many covens and demons came. Including Sebastians son figure Ciel who gave one look at (Name) before nodding tell Sebastian "He's good. Don't do anything bloody stupid." (Name) knew the two were gonna get along greatly and even invited Ciel to move into his wing in the castle. To which surprisingly he agreed. After the wedding and helping Ciel moving into the castle, Sebastian and (Name) went on their honeymoon to England.

(Name) loved the sights and culture. Taking many pictures and grabbing suviners for his family. But sadly the honeymoon was cut short when (Name) got a call from a furious Caius about the making of an immortal child. When they arrived back to Italy (Name) headed straight to the throne room. Annoyed that his wonderful honey moon was interrupted. But his mood worsen upon finding out it was his ex that was responsible.

"I knew he was stupid. But I didn't think he was that bloody fucking stupid." (Name) had a slight English accent from his honeymoon which not gonna lie Sebastian was enjoying. Very much. "What makes you so sure that they actually did make an immortal child? I mean this is Carlise's coven we're talking about. He may let Edgelord walk over him but he wouldn't allowed him to break such a law." He had a point. That's when Aro rose a hand. "We have a witness young (Name)."

That's all he needed to know before smirking widely. Sebastian felt a lustful shiver run down his back. 'Oh the way that smirk looked on (Name)' he thought. Ciel who was in the throne room shot his a disgusted look. "Now isn't the time to get horny you stupid demon!" He definitely fit in the family. It didn't take long for the Volturi to gather their own witnesses. When they were ready they immediately headed out.

When (Name) arrived on the battle field, the first thing he did was make eye contact with Edward. Who looked extremely surprised to see him. Sebastian growled loudly and dragged (Name) into his arms. Holding him close and tight. Ciel immediately understand the situation stepped in front of him. Sending a hateful glare his way. Both Demon's eyes were glowing red with murderous intentions.

(Name) placed a hand on Sebastian's right cheek and another on Ciel's left shoulder. Letting them know he was fine. Both stood their ground. Edward looked heart broken. That's when Marcus gave his hand to Aro who laughed like a phsyco. "Ah dear Edward! Was throwing away your mate worth spending eternity with your blood singer. Who is in fact NOT your true mate?" Edward frowned and glared at Aro.

(Name) smirked and opened his mouth. "We should really be thanking him Uncle Aro." Everyone on the Cullen's side looked shocked at the reveal. "Oh? Why is that young (Name)?" Aro asked with the biggest grin on his face. He knew where (Name) was going with this. "Well. If he hadn't thrown me away I never would've met my true mate." The Cullen side froze. Jaws dropped looking at him is disbelief. "Or gotten the son I always wanted."

(Name) pulled Ciel close and smirked at them. Ciel blushed looking away. Sebastian chuckled. "That's a lovely speech darling~" Sebastian turned (Name)'s face and kissed him passionately making direct eye contact with Edward. As if to say "Stay away. He's mine now". Edward looked away hurt. When Sebastian released him (Name) immediately elbowed him in the stomach blushing madly. He had covered Ciels eyes and was now holding him close.

"But yes. Thank you Edward. Cause now I'm the happiest I've ever been and it's all thanks to you." Edward doesn't know why he was so hurt and jealous seeing (Name) wrapped in someone else's arms. Their bond had been broken. So why was he feeling like this? He didn't realize what it was until the end of the battle. Which he had surprisingly lost. Be he knew if he was against (Name) he'd lose. But what surprised him was how well he fought with his new family.

A family in which Edward had given him.....by letting him go stupidly.

#male reader #x male reader #twilight #twilight x male reader #black butler #black butler x male reader #crossover

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theaawalker · 6 months ago

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The Time Travelers ⌚ [Marty Mcfly x Y/N]

Pairing: Marty McFly x Fem!Y/N Song Inspo: Marty McFly by Luke Christopher Word Count: 1,728 Summary: You, Marty, and Doc Brown formed a formidable team. You were always by Marty's side, assisting with Doc's eccentric experiments. Unbeknownst to you, Marty shared your feelings but hadn't yet found the right moment to express them. He had planned to ask you out after Doc's latest experiment, but things took a dangerous turn when adversaries of Doc attacked, forcing you both to flee for your lives. Warnings: sexual harassment, some violence (non-graphic) Masterlist: see fandoms (pc-friendly)

"Marty! They're catching up!"

"I know, (Y/N)! Damn it, I know!"

Marty pressed harder on the gas pedal, accelerating rapidly. "Marty, wait! 88 miles per hour—" Too late. The next moment, you crashed into a barn.

You groaned and checked yourself for injuries, noticing Marty struggling with a hazmat helmet.

"I'll be quick," he mumbled through the mask. You waited anxiously until Marty returned to the car, gunfire echoing in the distance.

"What's happening?!" you shouted. "Hold on!" he replied, speeding away again with shots trailing behind you.

[ TIME SKIP AKA TIME TRAVEL ]

Marty drove to your neighborhood, but something was off. The area hadn't been developed yet.

"What should we do?" You asked nervously.

"I don't kn—Wait. Doc! We need to find Doc! It's his machine, he must know what's going on!"

"Marty," you interrupted.

"Come on, (Y/N)! We have to locate his place and—"

"Marty!"

"What?!"

You sighed deeply. "How about you take a moment to calm down. Clearly, we're not at home. Let's think this through. My 'uncle' Lou is at the café. Well, he's not really my uncle. Whatever. Let's check if we can use the phone there. We'll call Doc and see what he suggests. Sound good?"

Marty's expression softened, and he nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Okay. Let's head to the cafe." He held out his hand to you, and you took it with a shy smile. Since you couldn't drive, you began walking together.

[ TIME SKIP ]

"What the heck?" Marty muttered under his breath. You shared his disbelief. This was surreal. It looked like... the 1950s.

"Marty...?"

He nervously ran his hand through his hair and scanned the town until his eyes fell on a trash can. He rushed over, picking up a newspaper. His eyes widened as he read, mumbling something you couldn't quite catch.

"What? What is it?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, nerves and excitement mingling in your tone.

"1955, (Y/N)! We're—We're in 1955... Doc's machine worked."

Your mind raced as you tried to comprehend the enormity of the situation. "Oh my God. I—I haven't even been born yet! Well... that might not be such a bad thing."

"Ouch." Marty furrowed his brows at your self-deprecation.

"No, no, no. I meant for the space-time continuum. Two of us existing in the same time period. That's be catastrophic." Marty blinked at you, clearly speechless and impressed. "What? I listen to Doc."

The two of you chuckled a bit, cut short as the memory of Doc being murdered returning. Doc was dead, or he would be... in 1985. Meanwhile, the two of you were stuck in 1955.

Marty's expression shifted to a mix of determination and concern. "Come on. We've still gotta use that phone."

With that, Marty grabbed your hand and hurried across the quiet street towards Lou's Cafe, the familiar setting from countless retellings of his adventures. As you stepped inside, the nostalgic atmosphere enveloped you—the checkerboard floor, the red vinyl booths, and the jukebox playing tunes of an era long gone.

"Did you kids jump ship or something?" the man behind the counter asked, his voice a blend of curiosity and amusement.

"Sorry?" you replied, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected question.

"Well, what's with the life preserver?" he continued, gesturing towards Marty with a quizzical expression.

You glanced at Marty, realization dawning upon you. "Oh," you chuckled softly, "I just... he likes his vests."

"I just—uh... I need to use your phone," Marty stammered, eager to distract from any further questions about his unconventional attire.

"Sure. Right over there," the man said, pointing to a booth in the back of the cafe.

Before Marty left, he turned to you with a hint of urgency in his eyes. "Stay here for me. Okay?"

"Okay," you nodded, offering him a reassuring smile despite the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind. "I swear, Marty, if it's the last thing I do, I'll get us home. I'll get you home," you added, trying to muster the courage you knew he needed.

Marty returned your smile gratefully before rushing towards the booth, leaving you to take a seat at the counter. You settled onto the stool, trying to blend in with the patrons who seemed oblivious to the temporal chaos unfolding around them.

A familiar figure caught your eye—a young man sitting just a seat away, devouring a sundae with gusto. "Hey, ice cream sounds pretty good," you mused to yourself, trying to find some semblance of normalcy in this surreal situation.

"Um, could I have a sundae?" you asked Lou, the man behind the counter, your voice wavering slightly with nerves.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," Lou replied warmly, reaching under the counter to retrieve a bowl and prepare your order.

Meanwhile, Marty trudged back from the phone booth, a sheet of phone book paper clutched tightly in his hand. "Hey, do you know where—" he began, only to be interrupted by the sudden swing of the cafe's front doors.

Your breath caught in your throat as you glanced towards Marty for confirmation. "Marty. I—Is that...?"

"Biff," he muttered under his breath, his jaw clenched with apprehension.

The cafe seemed to freeze in time as a familiar, imposing figure entered—the swaggering bully, Biff Tannen. Minions behind him, his presence filled the room with a palpable tension, drawing the gaze of everyone present, including yours and Marty's.

"Hey, McFly! McFly, I'm talkin' to you!" Biff bellowed, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.

The young man at the counter turned around, and it hit you like a lightning bolt. It was George McFly, Marty's father, a timid and awkward figure caught in Biff's shadow.

"Oh. Hi, Biff," George stammered, his voice barely audible over the din of the café.

Marty's expression mirrored your own shock as you watched the scene unfold before you, the pieces of the past falling into place with eerie precision.

"That's George McFly," Marty whispered to you, his voice tinged with disbelief. "My dad." You nodded silently, your eyes locked on George's vulnerable form as Biff continued his relentless taunting. "M-My dad was a total wimp," Marty muttered, his shoulders slumped with defeat.

"Poor guy," you whispered sympathetically, unable to tear your gaze away from the heartbreaking sight.

"Hello! McFly! Anybody home?" Biff mocked, knocking on George's head with a cruel smirk.

"I see Biff's always been an asshole," you murmured to Marty, your voice tinged with anger and empathy as you witnessed the brutal bullying unfold before your eyes. Marty remained transfixed, his expression a mix of sorrow and frustration as he watched his father endure Biff's torment.

"What're you lookin' at, butthead?!" Biff sneered, closing in on Marty with malicious intent.

Enough was enough. You couldn't stand idly by while Biff continued his reign of terror, especially not aimed at Marty.

"Hey! Why don't you back the hell off, asshole!" You snapped, your voice ringing out in defiance.

Biff's gaze snapped towards you, his expression shifting from rage to something altogether more unsettling—a predatory glint in his eyes. He licked his lips slowly, a sinister smile spreading across his face as he moved towards you, his towering frame blocking your escape.

Fear gripped your heart, but you stood your ground, refusing to let Biff intimidate you any further. Marty got up to fight but Biff's gang held him back.

"Don't you touch her, you sick son of a bitch!" Marty yelled.

"Oh shut up, dip-stick. A pretty girl like this ain't gonna like a squirt like you. She needs a real man." Biff turned his attention back to you. "Ain't that right, doll face?" He smirked.

"That's actually insulting." You spat. "I'd rather lick the mud off my shoe then be anywhere NEAR you!" The fucking nerve this guy had. You tried to push him away, escape from his grasp, anything. But his grip on you was iron.

"You better watch your mouth! Just you wait, honey. You're gonna be beggin' for a taste of me." He said, sending sickly chills down your spine. "Stop it! Leave me alone!" You protested as you squirmed with all your might. That must've set something off inside of Marty because he lost it and let loose on Biff's gang. Fists were flying and bodies were falling. Biff's head whipped to witness, loosening his grip, and you took the opportunity. The next fist you saw was yours meeting Biff's jaw and knocking him on his ass.

Before you could breath again, Marty grabbed your hand and RAN. He ran until the two of you were safe in a little shop Biff would never look. As soon as he was sure you were safe, he began checking you for any harm.

"Are you okay? Of course you aren't. I'm so sorry, (Y/N). Damn it. That just made me so mad to see him touch you like that. No one should be so damn disrespectful and- and touch you like that! I swear, (Y/N)."

"Marty."

"When I see him again I'll- I'll... I'll beat the shit out of him!"

"Marty!"

"(Y/N)! He's a total ass! He deserves to-"

You cut him off by grabbing his face and crashing your lips to his. He was a bit surprised at first but quickly returned the kiss. He rested his hands on your hips and carefully pulled you closer.

By the time you pulled apart, you were both flushed in the face. You leaned closer and nuzzled your foreheads sweetly, running your fingers through his soft hair.

"W-What was that for?" Marty stuttered.

You pursed your lips as you gently ran your fingers through his soft hair again. You wanted to confess, tell him you liked him, Like, really liked him. You started it a stutter, a huge smile spreading across his face. You could sense he knew what you were going to say...

Until you heard someone clear their throat.

It was the store owner. She stood there with her hands on her hips and a small smirk on her face. Both yours and Marty's faces were red with embarrassment.

"S-Sorry, ma'am." You stuttered.

"Yeah. Sorry." Marty seconded.

With that, you two quickly shuffled out of the shop, holding hands, and running down the block. Meanwhile, the store owner watched from the shop window, a growing smile on her face.

"What weird kids. Sweet, but weird."

• ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ •

Check out my upcoming high-fantasy series

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violetmuses · 4 months ago

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Can't Get Enough - A. Aretas ❤️‍🩹

Title: Can't Get Enough - A. Aretas ❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: When Armando Aretas returns to Miami, one familiar face shows up sooner than later.

Tag List: @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @nobodygetsza @peaxhygirl @superstar-t20 @adoresmiles @klssngss @deja-r @hyper-trash-panda @amethyst-loves-bucky 🏷

======

2024

Traveling around the world pulled strings for quite some time, yet Armando Aretas returned to Miami, Florida on this bright and sunny afternoon.

“What's up, man? I'm parked outside.” Detective Mike Lowrey stepped forward to dap Aretas up.

After facing many questions or encountering secrets over time, Mike would take responsibility here and stand up as Armando's biological father.

“Thanks for picking me up.” I didn't know who else to…” Armando trailed off.

“It's fine.” Mike then completely understands this point, whispering. “I'd feel better if you stayed with us anyway. Someone else might call authorities before you could even settle in.”

“Yeah.” Aretas genuinely struggled to express himself. I'm just…”

“Tired?” Mike asked.

“That's putting it nicely.” Armando shrugged before joining the classic Porsche. “Can we drop it, though? I don't wanna bum you out with my bullshit.”

“That's fair.” Mike attempted to ease the situation once more.

“Yeah.” Armando speaks up again, thankful while air conditioning chilled down the vehicle.

_______

Until further notice, Armando settled in the guest bedroom located upstairs. Very few belongings took space when Aretas organized essentials.

After taking this much-needed shower, Aretas headed downstairs and noticed that Christine Lowrey, Mike's wife, had returned.

“Hey. Did you just get back?” I didn't hear the garage.” Armando already observed different parts of the house.

Mike married this remarkable person named Christine, a physical therapist. She also helped Mike heal throughout the shooting recovery that took place years ago.

“I drove back from work early because you were here, Armando.” Christine smiles.

“What? You didn't need to…” Aretas feels shocked in a quiet way.

“Of course.” Christine then laughed for just a moment. “Ready for lunch?”

“Thank you.” Armando nodded, joining the kitchen table with Mike before Christine sat down.

Peace.

*****

“Time to work.” Driving his classic Porsche, Detective Mike Lowrey pulled up to the Miami Police Department by morning.

“That's our job Armando left the passenger seat.

“Got jokes now?” Mike laughs while entering this well-known precinct.

“No.” Armando declined, walking toward the briefing room to join others.

Right when Armando and Mike genuinely sit down together, one voice called out:

“Nephew!”

Detective Marcus Burnett, Mike's longtime partner and best friend, reached that briefing room this time. Staff members chuckled around this space.

“I know.” Even Mike shook his head.

“Habla demasiado.” Slyly pointing toward Burnett, Armando whispered to Mike and used his native language of Spanish.

“Your Uncle Marcus.” Shrugging, Mike laughs for real.

“Está loco. ¿Recuerdas la fogata?” Aretas expressed the campfire nonsense.

“Yeah.” Mike nodded, ending the conversation before Marcus sat down.

“What'd I miss?” Burnett veiled Skittles in his pocket despite showing up early this morning.

“Uh-uh.” Disappointed, Mike arched his brow toward Marcus.

For once, Armando held back laughter while observing.

When Captain Rita Secada stood behind the podium and began this meeting, everyone settled for business.

Here we go. Aretas thought.

*****

“Seeing an informant today.” Mike gathered with Armando and Marcus in the hallway.

“Cool. Are they coming to the station?” Marcus genuinely questioned his partner.

“Going to her place.” Mike grounded location details. “It's too risky if the public learns our assignment.”

Her? Armando stood puzzled by curiosity this time around. Who could help us with this drug case?

Silent, Armando joined the car, exiting with Lowrey and Burnett to figure everything out.

______

Sunlight warmed all around Florida palm trees that lined up near gorgeous homes.

Within seconds though, Aretas became silent for once.

Navigation signaled your old address.

When that door finally opened, you emerged and sent Armando through an inward tailspin.

His expression turned unreadable for this assignment, but feelings pulled in so many ways.

“Hey, Mike.” You cleared your throat. “I didn't know that y'all would come over so early.”

“Bad timing?” Mike didn't even know what to think.

“Not at all. Just finished cleaning the house.” You declined, silently welcoming Marcus and Armando through. “What's going on?”

“Whenever you're ready, we need some intel, all right?” Mike questioned. “Pushers started running again, especially in clubs this summer.”

“Okay.” You nodded, watching your hands to set the kitchen table for guests. “Let's do it.”

_______

“You good?” Mike noticed immediately that Armando wasn't talking and excused himself from the table.

“We knew each other.” Aretas exposed new information and revealed your bond.

“What, seriously?” Gobsmacked, Mike almost clenched his teeth over Armando's connection to you.

“It's a long story, but yeah.” Aretas went on just a little more. “We met right before my mother escaped prison.”

“Damn…” Mike stepped back through disbelief right now.

“Mike!” Marcus called from the living room out of nowhere.

Returning to that living room, Mike and Armando see Marcus facing pictures on the walls.

Armando smiled, beaming like an adorable goofball throughout various photographs.

“Are y'all together?” Marcus pointed between you and Aretas.

“We broke up.” You say.

“But y'all still have pictures organized around the house!” Marcus pulled theatrics.”Might as well get a dog too.”

“My mother got in the way, but I don't wanna talk about it.” Aretas planned to work instead.

No other choice.

*****

Red and blue overcasts hit various neon hubs that grooved throughout South Beach. The police department just locked down monsters again.

That same night, Armando returned to your house and turned off the news, just grateful that you were okay.

“Can we try again?” You glanced down and realized that Aretas nearly fell asleep on your couch.

“Hmm?” Armando wakes up, grumbling to seek long-awaited kisses.

“Can..we…” You trailed off that response when his now gentle lips met yours and made up for lost time as he smiled for real.

Just when your fingers smoothed his beard, one cell phone rang.

Leaving his warm embrace, you frowned when Armando picked up the call.

“Hello?” Despite so many years passing, you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Sorry. Marcus is losing his mind right now.” Mike spoke up.

“No more Skittles?” Armando tried first.

“Uh-uh.” Mike refused that idea. “It's not about snacks. He's looking for you.”

“What's up?” Armando questioned his father while puzzled.

“He's acting really paranoid about your relationship.” Mike told the truth.

“I don't care.” Armando defended himself and only watched, concerned.

“I'll deal with Marcus. Just know that I'm happy for you, all right? Bye.” Mike hung up and left Armando with you once more.

No matter what happens next, you'll never lose each other again.

#armando x reader #movies #jacob scipio #bad boys #armando aretas #bad boys ride or die #bad boys for life #armando aretas x reader #armando #my writing #drug reference #dark themes #slight angst #fanfiction #au fanfiction #💜💜💜#violetmuses #slightly suggestive

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alphabetbill · 4 months ago

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Macabre [ HEMLOCK GROVE ] - chapter 1

" 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧, 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤, 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠- 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 "

[ C I C A D A ] hosho mccreesh.

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~ description ~

A werewolf whose only skill is running from his fears, a half-upir with no idea of the true darkness lying inside of him, and a girl found alive in the woods months after her mysterious death.

Some secrets in Hemlock Grove should have just stayed buried. In a town that isn't so sleepy after all, monsters of all kinds are wide awake under the surface, crawling their way up.

~ warnings~

This story will contain mature and heavy themes that may involve potentially explicit content, gore and murder, talk of kidnapping and stalking victims, supernatural/paranormal/religious themes and trauma, any other themes not covered in the general description will probably be tagged here at the start of the chapters that other significant warnings apply to.

A list will be linked here upon completion and upload of each chapter:

Cicada and the Snake

Chapter 1 . Chapter 2 . Chapter 3 . Chapter 4 . Chapter 5 . Chapter 6 . Chapter 7 .

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c h a p t e r o n e .

Peter Rumancek

<<>>

IT WAS WITH A HEAVY HEART SOMEWHERE INSIDE THAT Lance Evergreen would lay his daughter to finally rest, but not heavy enough.

On a muggy October evening, the man would stumble into his house, more of a trailer trash dwelling than anything, and hit the drinks as though he had never left them. Judith had been gone for months, and in his mind, seeing them lower her battered corpse into a hole in the ground where he would never see her again felt almost offensively anti-climactic. He had dreamt of the worst-case scenario over and over again, had imagined how it happened, when and why. How they would find her and what would be left of her.

By the time her body was found dumped in that ditch, in his head, Lance had already seen it all.

He had already mourned. He would never stop.

Peter went to visit him the day after the funeral.

He kicked his way through discarded beer cans and shattered bottles that spilled sticky ichor onto the bare particle board. He thought Uncle Vince was bad, given his lethal alcoholism that had eventually killed him, but this was just sad and Peter was just sad.

He knew Lance as well as he had known Vince, the two men having been close friends. Peter knew that Lance had an ex-wife, Judith's mother, who had shown up for the funeral and left promptly afterwards. Peter hadn't known her all that well from the couple of times he met the woman when he was little, but he had seen the way she clung to her cigarette and never said a word to anyone at the funeral. She used to be a local, but neither his uncle or Lance had brought it up so he had never had a reason to ask why she left. They also had a son who died.

Peter had also known Judith, which only made his heart squeeze more to think about it. He had fond memories of throwing worms at each other, collecting snails as kids, and gathering around Nicolae Rumancek to observe the fairy he had caught in a mason jar. He remembered so clearly how Jude was so adamant that it was in fact not a fairy, but a firefly, and that Peter's grandfather ought to let it go. Now his grandfather was gone, the girl was gone, and all he had left were faded recollections to remember it all by.

The man was already out cold by the time he reached the couch, which had been torn up by a dog- he could tell from the scent. It must have died not too long ago, because the food bowl still sat in the corner of the kitchen, flies buzzing around it. Peter took it upon himself to dispatch the old food with a hollow feeling in his chest and returned to the living room.

It was difficult to see how much this man had changed. Peter had fond memories of Lance giving him shoulder rides and driving around in his car. He remembered his stories, many of which he and Vince made up, and remembered how life-like and exciting he had been. Now all that was left was a husk of the soul of a man- a man with a failed marriage, two dead kids and one dead best friend. Alone in the world to drink and then die.

Peter didn't know what to do to fix his uncle's friend. He didn't know how to help his sad, hulking body off the couch when he had no interest in learning how to move. He didn't know how to console a father whose daughter was gone. But he did know that he wanted to be there for him, and that he wanted to help.

So, he helped. All while the man had drank himself into a stupor, the boy found his way to the kitchen and to the garbage bags beneath the rusted sink with the constant drip. He put the bottles, the cans, the wrappers, and all of the litter that his eye could see into the bag and hauled that bag out to the trash. He came back. He repeated the process.

It should not have been Peter's job to clean up this mess, but for once he didn't mind doing it. It felt almost therapeutic to cleanse the trailer of the mess and the alcohol and the despair he wished Uncle Vince had the chance to. The last thing he did was pry the bottle from his hand and set it away on the kitchen table.

Then Lance muttered in his sleep. Something something not worth it anymore.

When Peter came home later, he hugged his mother. He loved Lynda and she loved him, but they had never been a family for too much sentimentalism. Tonight was different. He needed that hug. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to never hug her again.

The following day at school felt like walking through a land of zombies. Peter was new to town, having arrived a couple of weeks prior to Judith Evergreen's funeral. He didn't know whether or not it was because of that, that everyone here seemed so lifeless and flat. He didn't think so, because he only found one or two funeral flyers dangling from the noticeboards, all of which had been trampled on or discarded on the floor.

It was the end of the day and Peter was in the middle of picking up one of the memorial notices for her when Roman Godfrey spoke to him for the first time.

"So you knew her," he said. A statement, not a question. His eyes– those eyes– tore right through the flesh and into his soul.

Peter knew at once that the boy was upir. He could sense it from a mile away, from the very first time he had glanced in the rich boy's direction on his first day at school. He could sense it like a serpent shifting beneath Roman's skin in the dark.

Roman was impossibly tall for the age of seventeen and had a face that had been morbidly carved by the holiest of angels. His hair was brown and loose, unlike his crisp blazer or tucked-in shirt and trousers. Peter wondered if the boy could smell his blood.

"Yeah. When I was a kid" he replied, anything to erase the unbearable cloud of tension that was the upir standing behind him.

"Mm. It's weird. I knew her too," Roman said. His voice didn't sound sympathetic, or if it did, it fronted as disjointed and monotone. "You want a lift home?"

It was raining and Peter had no interest in walking until he became a soggy wet dog. So he accepted.

The car was a vintage cherry red Jaguar, which Roman explained had belonged to his father. Peter wasn't sure what he was meant to do with this information but nonetheless continued to listen. The ride was relatively quiet and the radio hummed in the stretches of silence between admittedly one sided conversations.

"You're new in town," Roman said, making small talk.

"Are you a Gypsy?" he asked, but surprisingly not in that sneering way most other folk did.

"People at school say you're a werewolf. Is it true?" he questioned, as if Peter hadn't heard the rumours already, much like a subtle interrogation.

All of those things were correct, but Peter scooted around the last question by declaring that he was just an obscenely hairy teenager.

The car stopped on the side of the road near a slope that rolled down into a clearing, pulling up just in front of a rusted mailbox.

"You're related to Vince," Roman evaluated, seeming to recognize the dwelling. "He used to work for my mom at one point."

Peter had not known about that, and briefly found himself wondering what exactly his uncle had been doing with Olivia Godfrey. A strange, unnerving woman indeed.

As he thanked the rich boy and got out of the car, retrieving the mailbox, a car drove by.

Peter jolted.

In the seconds it had taken for the other vehicle to pass, a girl had appeared sitting in the passenger seat of Roman's car, where Peter had only been sitting seconds ago. In the small window of time he caught a glimpse of her, he saw black and blue and gray skin and teary, blood-filled eyes.

He saw Judith Evergreen, and then she disappeared.

"Something wrong?" Roman asked, viridian eyes narrowing.

After taking a moment to settle himself, unconvincingly the werewolf shook his head. The Upir left, but not without staring at Peter for a little longer than what was considered a normal duration of time to stare at someone.

He descended the old wooden staircase and into the clearing by the river where his home, previously Vince's, sat overlooking the water. He entered, greeting his mother, and opened the fridge to pop open a beer.

"So what's up with the Godfreys?" he asked, swigging from the bottle as he went over to plunge into the couch, stretching lazily to reach the remote and flicking on the TV.

"Bad business," Lynda said as she sipped on her cup of tea, already seated on the couch. "You should steer clear of them."

"The boy, Roman. He's an upir. I don't think he knows it himself," he sighed. All he could think about was the sinking feeling he got when he was near him, the feeling of drowning slowly, or being buried alive beneath the burning weight of his stare alone. Despite this, Peter couldn't deny his nagging intrigue. Call it morbid curiosity.

"He dropped you home?"

"He offered. It was raining."

Lynda said nothing in response, but Peter knew what she would have said.

Be careful with him.

That night Peter sat down on the edge of his bed and found himself staring through his window and out into the woods. In those woods, he thought he saw a girl.

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boring but we're getting there i swear also oh my god i'm actually posting for once????

anyways this is also on wattpad and chapter two will be out very soon :) i'll shut my mouth now.

#bill skarsgard #hemlock grove #roman godfrey #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgård fanfiction #roman godfrey x oc #peter rumancek x oc #someone plz tell me if i'm supposed to use capitals for upir because it looks weird when i do #i know if its a proper noun i would but ehhhhh

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wormdebut · 2 years ago

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Part One | Part Two | Part Three

THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE WITH ME ✨ ENJOY - “I missed him, seriously? You two boneheads got to see him? That’s a cruel joke and I for one am not having a good time, in these hallowed walls.” Eddie was pressed. It was five-thirty in the morning on a god damned Saturday and Maxine was being insufferable.

“I thought you said pretty boy was shy! I for one thought he was endearingly feisty.” Max tossed her hip into Eddies side and she shuffled behind him to get espresso from the back.

Eddie let out a quick laugh, “Are you sure we are talking about the same pretty boy? My pretty boy? He said all of ten words, maybe. But god, he blushes so pretty.”

“Steve Harrington, right?” Max called from the back as Eddie was finishing setting up his beloved pastry display. The fluffy blueberry muffins were looking especially fruity this morning, and Eddie was ecstatic. He absolutely dropped one on the floor at that though.

“He has a last name? You know his last name? How the hell did you pull that off Mayfield?” Max had the beans tucked up against her shoulder as she crouched down to grab the fallen muffin, “Jeez Ed, you don’t have to throw things to get what you want. I asked him to join our new loyalty program. You know we need a first name, last name, phone number, sexual orientation, et cetera et cetera.”

Eddie stood frozen with the stupid floor muffin, “Sexual orien—what?” He shook his head to snap out of it, “Did you say phone number? Maxine Evelyn Mayfield, did you con my pretty boy out of his precious phone number—” He finally tossed the poor muffin into the trash and grabbed the beans out of his current favorite employees hands, pouring them into the machine hopper, “For little ol’ me?” He fluttered his eyes at her and she swatted at him to get him to absolutely cut that shit out.

“Of course I did, you flaming homosexual idiot.” Eddie loved Max, she was a sister to him really, and he never saw himself as someone that would get to have more family than just his uncle Wayne. He loved Wayne deeply, but Max had started working at the grind as soon as she turned sixteen, came out to him as bisexual within the same year and they had been inseparable since.

“You flatter me Red, you truly do, gimme gimme gimme the goods.”

“Calm down, Edward. Let us get the store open and then I’ll tell you what you want to know, Capiche?”

Eddie groaned as he walked away, “Come on Maxine, at least I call you by your government name. You know Edward isn’t even that.”

She laughed again, “Forgive me, Edison.”

——

“Max, why does our fearless leader keep staring out the window like he’s waiting for someone to return home from a year long journey?” Erica was not the only one that noticed Eddie peering out into the street with eyes wide like he was a kid that lost his mom at the grocery store. Max and Erica were settled at either machine and Eddie had blown through all the guest orders in the lobby, hoping to see the current object of his affections but he had had no luck.

“Because he’s waiting for his flavor of the week to return from the Abercrombie cataloger he seemingly walked out of.”

Erica huffed out a laugh, shaking her head as she muttered a brief ‘hopeless’ under her breath.

Eddie Munson wasn’t one to get caught up on any specific man, no. He kept his options open and certainly was not the dating type, not since—he just wasn’t a relationship guy. There was something about Steve though. Was he being irrational, having only seen the man once? Abso-fucking-lutely he was, but Eddie didn’t care. He knew the people around this city, he knew which regulars he could take out for a drink, he knew who not to talk to. Steve was new, and Steve was cute. So cute.

The business was slow for a Saturday, Eddie certainly didn’t mind. He was distracted. After checking on the girls, he ducked away to the back to pull his phone out. Max had given him the sticky note that had ‘Steve Harrington’ written on it, in surprisingly neat cursive with a number underneath. He was willing to get Max whatever she wanted, after the little stunt she pulled. The ‘Loyalty Program’, god Red was genius.

Eddie: So, I’ve got some good news, and I’ve got some bad news. Always gotta go with the bad first so, Max may or may not have lied about the loyalty program. My uncle is fairly old fashioned so we don’t subscribe to that kind of thing, but the good news is I get to shoot my shot, so drinks tonight, maybe? I know a couple cool places in the area if your interested?

Eddie sure as shit wasn’t shy and he wasn’t going to pretend to be. He smirked to himself as he sent the text off, but the smirk was just as quickly dropped when he realized he didn’t even say who he was.

Eddie: Shit! This is Eddie, by the way, the manager at The Daily Grind? I honestly can’t get you out of my head, to the point that my team stepped in, so like I said, this is me shooting my shot - E

Because business was slower than usual, Eddie’s day was slow as hell. The customers were an even mix of lovely and absolute hellions. One woman asked him to blend a drip coffee with ice? He did it of course, but he sure as fuck did not want to. A gentleman tried to snap at Max and she handled it fairly well on her own, but Eddie was waiting in the wings for her signal.

One-thirty couldn’t have come sooner. Eddie absolutely beamed as his beloved best friend and assistant manager for all intents and purposes blew in with her hair up in a bouncy high pony-tail, “Eddie Baby!” she cheered and she threw her arms around his neck with a airy laugh.

“Chrissy Angel!” Eddie smiled into her obnoxiously high pony tail, “Did you catch Henderson in the parking lot?”

“Yeah he was just pulling in. Day go okay?”

Chrissy Cunningham was bubbly and fierce. Eddie absolutely adored her. She followed behind Eddie as he sauntered into the back to catch her up. He wished her well, greleted Dustin as he made his way in. Erica was set to stay with them for the next few hours, but Chris and Dustn would be fine to close up by six.

Eddie walked Max to her car, and nothing short of cackled when she wished him well with his ‘lover boy’.

“Haven’t heard from him yet, Red, but you know I will keep you updated.” She waved him goodbye as she slid into her car. Eddie found his motorcycle, that he had parked by the back door and found himself lost in thought as he drove home.

Eddie really wasn’t a relationship guy. He was twenty-three and had had one relationship, Devon had been great. He had been. They had been together for two years, Eddie was eighteen and fresh out of high school, Devon was there for Eddie when he needed affection, when he needed someone to need him. Devon was older than Eddie, twenty-two when they started dating and he had clung to Eddie, it was unhealthy at the end. The facade Devon had put on had melted away, and it just—Eddie was snapped out of his thoughts as he parked in his apartment complex. His phone trilled and he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face when he saw the text from ‘Shy Boy Stevie’.

Steve: Hey! Sorry to get back to you so late. Rob and I are still unpacking our apartment. I am not at all familiar with the area yet but would really love to see you again. Where do you want to meet?

Eddie: Excellent. Meet me at Bauman’s on Braker Street at 8? It’s a date sweet thing. - E

Taglist - @gay-stranger-things @savory-babby @trashpocket @itsfreakingbats @steddiereid @lovelyscot @booksandsience @breealtair @nightmareglitter @misty-inferno @dazedandinked @child-of-cthulhu @bookworm0690 @martzja @exhibit-no-restraint @imzadidragonfly @live-the-fangirl-life @sidebarre @bejeweledbaby @stucksolangelo @eboyawstenn @daisyellsong @biatcgh @vampireinthesun @bestwifehaver @whatthemeepever @maya-custodios-dionach @krazyperson @crowned-with-stars @be-the-spark-bitch @blisschaoss @swimmingbirdrunningrock @braveangel777 @thequeervibes @eastern-wind @5ammi90 @justsomefunshit @perseus-notjackson @literallyjustarat @malachitedevil @gothwifehotchner @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @walkingaftermidnight07 @jade-joltz13 @boop369 @thegingerrapunzel @grtwdtsmwhr @angeldreamsoffanfic @stevesbipanic @kitt3ntales @micheledawn1975

if you wanna be added or removed just let me know ✨

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vanillabourbon · 2 years ago

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the first of many. | intro | ongoing tlou series

story summary. joel arrives at Jackson twenty years after the outbreak with a young girl that cares for him just as much as he cares for her. little did he know, he would soon meet someone else that would urge his returning sense of humanity one step further.

introductory chapter warnings. weaponry. alludes to suicidal thoughts and behavior. mentions of blood and violence. wounds. kinda sad ngl but let’s call it canon. pls let me know if i missed anything.

story pairings. joel miller x reader, tommy miller x platonic!reader

words. 11k (i went a bit overboard, hehe, but editing is going slow so pls ignore any obvious mistakes. this is the first work i’ve taken seriously so please enjoy :))

Chicago, Illinois. September 2003.

The mind and the body’s initial response is always denial – denial of things, of circumstances, and of situations that are too radical, too unconventional, to believe.

How could anyone believe the events of things as they were? Social and societal constructs had been dismantled in a matter of hours, as if the very fabric of everyone’s being had been tied together by a mere string. The justice and sovereignty in belief, in trust in the nature of things themselves, was apparently so fickle, so haphazardly constructed in the first place, that it took a rapidly spreading infection to displace and make known just how unsafe anything is from harm.

No one should be shocked, really. Least of all you.

In hindsight, which is the only perspective anyone can rely on at a moment’s notice, everything gave way to regret and humiliation. How had no one seen this coming? Everything up until that point in time suddenly seemed so obvious – so commonsensical. It was as if someone had balled up every bad thing and every imperfect thing until it could no longer withstand its own constraints and, instead, chose to flow directly toward the seemingly permanent.

There’s always an element of impermanence in the seemingly permanent.

For whatever reason, now, only a day had passed since the events that led to an abrupt collapse in society as you knew it. You wanted to believe the best – that society and the nature of man would prevent anything from happening. You trusted that the condition of humanity would never outweigh the moral weight of integrity and righteousness. You told yourself that the militant responses of the government were out of necessity and that order and control would fall soon after – or, at least, eventually.

Whether you truly believed that or not no longer mattered.

You were being ushered through the city of Chicago by your older brother, trailing after your uncle, aunt, and two cousins in the wake of another riot. It was dark, darker than any time you had ever stepped foot through the streets of Chicago. And it was bare. Every skitter and harsh knock of a tin trash can sent your brother’s nerves into overdrive; his fingers dug into the flesh of your forearm, dragging you beside him with every step he took. His vice-like grip pained you, but you didn’t bother to tell him that.

You did exactly what he had instructed you before: keep quiet and avoid eye contact.

Military brigades sat empty in the torn and destroyed city streets. Fires engulfed and illuminated countless buildings – convenience stores, pharmacies, mini marts, miscellaneous retail stores. For a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw a young boy, no older than your small cousins, ducking behind a fire hydrant. Tiny fingers braced against the stained red paint, gripping the rusted bolts as if a life depended on it. Maybe it did. But the boy was gone when you chanced a look back.

“Eyes forward,” your brother mumbled.

You didn’t bother to argue. You were far too consumed with wandering, catching stray remnants of the world around you in your peripheral. Anything and everything surrounding you seemed too fantastical, like a stupor you were unable to shake yourself from. The tall, familiar skyscrapers were in stark contrast to the now empty storefronts and abandoned vehicles.

Even though it felt like the end of something, it seemed like the start of something else. Of what, you didn’t know.

Regardless, you wanted to make no effort to distract or distress your brother any further. You’d never seen him so laser-focused, so adamant about one thing, in your life. It was clear that safety was his top priority, and the thought sent your mind and your heart reeling.

Even if your brother hadn’t been dragging you toward Lawrence Avenue, you felt that your feet would have been bumbling about of their own accord. You were sure they weren’t moving because of anything you were doing. Your mind was elsewhere, eyes flitting to and from every glimpse of dark corners and shattered glass you dared to witness. Surprisingly, it wasn’t fear bubbling up and threatening to overtake your every sense; it was surprise, perhaps confusion.

Your gaze would’ve gotten lost down a dark side road as you were marched by it, but you were torn from your daze. A slight stumble, the slip of a toddler’s foot, caught everyone by surprise. One of your cousins rested in an awkward heap a few feet in front of you, ground having scraped her knee and stray debris nearly slicing her palm as she braced herself. Among stray tires and pieces of burnt wood, she looked so small, so petite. Her face twisted in pain and sadness as she turned about, first to you and your brother as you approached then to her parents only a few steps away.

Without missing a beat, your uncle ushered your aunt forward, pushing her lower back and guiding her to keep going. He did the same with his young son before going back and reaching down, scooping up his daughter from where she lay on the pavement with one hand and reassuring her with the other.

Momentarily, his eyes flitted toward you and your brother. It was the first time he had turned to look at either of you since you started your trek. For a moment, you wondered if he was about to say something.

But he didn’t. He only locked eyes for a second, maybe longer, before he was turning on his heels and picking up his pace to a light jog.

Only minutes had gone by before your family’s pounding footsteps were quieted by shouts and gunfire. A frighteningly sudden halt came when you all jolted to a stop. If things were still, you would’ve been gracious for the moment to rest your feet, for the chance to catch your breath and rock back on your heels to ease the pain from your soles. The act of running was starting to take its toll – stripping and coercing your composure and relief from their rightful place.

Calm felt so far removed. Even more so when the gunfire ceased and a loud, nearly automated voice came over a distant speaker: “ALL REMAINING CIVILIANS MUST REPORT TO ONE OF TWO EMERGENCY MEDICAL CAMPS.”

A tan army vehicle passed by your group just then. It rolled passed, and you all did a poor attempt at ducking into the shadows. Your brother’s grip tightened, if that were even possible, and dragged you to his side. Your breath caught in your throat until the back tire of the vehicle disappeared from sight, rolling down the road and toward the loud din still protruding from two streets over.

Whoever was among the shouting didn’t matter. It was clear that there were a lot of them, and that scared you. The streets had seemed so empty, so shallow. For a moment, you could pretend like your family was all that was left, that you all would make it to your aunt and uncle’s vehicle you’d left at airport parking. Maybe drive until you found a place safe enough to sleep. Wake to a world not burnt and bruised on every side.

It was a good dream. A pipe dream, perhaps, but a good one.

Your uncle was the first to move. He wrapped his arms around your aunt and cousins, driving them down a side street a few feet away. Your brother, a slight wild look in his eye, chanced a look around. For a split moment, he looked as if he was going to grab your wrist and keep running, chance a run-in with the military or with a group of people just as scared as the two of you. But he didn’t. He let out a low huff and dragged you toward the same side street.

Your aunt was huddled a few feet away, partially occluded by shadow and rocking one of your cousins in her arms. She was crouched, whispering, or pleading, something in a low voice. It was almost unnerving to watch her come undone.

Your gaze was torn from the sight when your uncle grunted. He was crouched right beside you, tying your other cousin’s shoes. Your cousin’s small hands were splayed across his back as she tried to balance herself.

“Danny boy, you’re with me,” he finally said. He looked over his shoulder and up at your brother. “We’ll run the rest of the way. It’s just a few blocks.”

You furrowed your brow, stepping forward quickly. Danny’s hand was still locked around your arm, but he made no move to stop you nor speak for himself. “Wait, what?”

Your uncle turned his attention back to the small white strings in his hands, his fingers fumbling awkwardly with the small shoelaces. “I know we said we’d get the car checked, but it should run just fine. We’ll come back for them in five minutes, tops.” His head was nodding before he even finished his sentence. “Yeah, yeah. Five minutes. Tops.”

“You can’t be serious.” Since he made no effort to acknowledge you, or to look at either of you again, you turned to your brother. “Is he serious?”

Danny was chewing on his bottom lip then, staring down at your uncle with eyes that did not seem in the least bit alarmed. “You sure about the car?”

“Positive.”

“It’ll run?”

“Should.”

At that point, your chest started to heave. Slightly, but heave all the same. A thickness suddenly but slowly started to coat your throat, like someone had lodged a softball right between your esophagus and windpipe.

Danny might’ve been calling your name, but, if he was, you couldn’t hear him. In seconds, he was dragging you backwards until you were pressed into the wall of the closest building. It was some worn-down bar. Your shoulders dug into the brick. “You have to stay here. Okay? With Aunt Lorraine and the twins.”

And that did it – that truly jolted you. “No,” you protested, hands coming up to grip your brother’s forearms. Now it was your turn to dig your fingers into his flesh. Anything to keep him there and grounded, right beside you, where he belonged. “You can’t just leave me.”

“I have to. We can get the car. Skirt downtown and be on our way to Indiana.”

“What about the military?”

“We can get away from them.”

“How?”

“We can.”

“It’s the military,” you deadpanned.

For a moment, you could almost make out a brief glint of humor in his eyes. The side of his mouth perked up, threatening a smirk that always drove you crazy whenever he found hilarity in situations not in the least bit hilarious. But right now, in this moment, it lifted whatever burden was trying to settle like a rock in your chest. Your brother was still your brother. And, to you, he’d never leave you.

“We just can, alright?” He reasoned. “We have to.”

“Well, what happens when we get to Indiana? What if we can’t find a place to stay?”

“You let me worry about that.”

“But, that’s the problem, Danny. You don’t worry about these things.”

You finally broke eye contact then. Pools of tears were beginning to form, blurring your vision and making everything around you swim.

“Well, that’s why I need you, isn’t it? Gives me an incentive to actually come back for you.”

You scoffed, a slight sniffle leaving you as you did. “As if you’d ever leave me behind.”

“Hey, we need to go, kid,” Your uncle said.

Afar off, he had long since stood and was waiting for your brother at the mouth of the street. When you turned toward him, he looked away, chancing a quick look both ways before exiting the shadows entirely. He loitered there, clearly waiting for Danny to join him.

Your brother had completely ignored him, not taking his eyes off of you for even a second. “Exactly. That’s why you have to trust me when I say I will come back.”

When you returned his gaze, his eyes were as earnest as you had ever seen them. He was telling you the truth and trying his hardest to make sure you believed him before he took off. You did, of course, but something was making every nerve in your body hot and every hair on your head stand. Something wasn’t right.

“I trust your word, Danny, but I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

And something told you he didn’t mean himself and your uncle.

He urged himself forward, pressing a hard kiss to your forehead. He stayed there for a few seconds, crushing you to his chest, before abruptly letting go. He determinedly strode down the street, meeting your uncle on the sidewalk with a firm nod.

Before he disappeared, he turned once more to you and added, “I’ll see you again.”

–

Austin, Texas. September 2003.

If Joel could give voice to the crushing weight of a broken heart or the sudden unwillingness to yield to the innate response to keep going, he still wouldn't be able to properly identify it as true sorrow.

He still couldn’t quite pin it – anger, disbelief, pity … guilt. Everything had happened so fast, as they always do. But never to him. Calculations and planning, pure thought – the things he was used to and relied heavily on simply because they worked – were nothing compared to the devastation of unpredictability – of spontaneity, the unexpected. As cruel as fate could be, as cruel as life itself could be, there was very little possibility that it could bring about something like this – to take something so pure, so innocent, as a life. A child’s life.

A life for a life, he determined.

“Swear?” Sara had asked. Long ago now, it felt like. Something about a birthday cake, but the softness in her voice had sent Joel’s heart pumping with love and affection.

“On my life.”

A woman screamed somewhere to his left. His brow twitched, and, for the first time, he became semi-cognizant of his surroundings. A makeshift medical camp was teeming with victims, families, military and doctors alike, swarming and descending around him. White lab coats and camouflage armor were a hazy swirl as frenzied bodies wheeled grocery carts, gurneys, wheelchairs, beds – anything they could find – all through one Austin plaza.

For one second, one split second, Joel could vividly picture himself and Tommy driving by here on the way to pick up supplies not even two months earlier. He had been laughing, then. Shaking his head at something his brother had said to diffuse his anger for having been late the morning of.

Joel had been clutching a juice box then, too. A ‘good source of vitamin D.’ It felt small and strange in his hand at the time. Foreign. An odd replacement to the coffee usually growing cold in his tired grip. But he had promised her. Even when she threw a smile over her shoulder and clamored out of the truck to bound across her school’s parking lot, he didn’t let the box go until he’d drunk it all. Even when the memory was fading now, lost to a couple of weeks and now permanently overwritten by the last time he’d dropped her off, Joel could still feel the box.

Small. Strange. Like the last image of her now boring into the backs of his eyelids – curling and uncurling her failing grip in his t-shirt with every gasping breath.

Out of nowhere, a woman screamed again. Not loud enough to startle him from whatever depth he was losing his footing in, but still loud. Loud enough to draw the attention of nearby soldiers, who rapidly trained their weapons toward her. They didn’t shoot. They didn’t stand down either.

The woman was on her knees in the middle of all the chaos. A nurse unknowingly side-stepped a soldier and nearly tripped over the wailing woman. She didn’t notice of course. She just knelt there, rocking and shrieking. It took a moment for Joel to notice the small body she was clutching in her hands. A girl. Straight, dark hair thick and spiraling, down her mother’s lap and nearly sweeping the concrete. Her legs were dangling, bedazzled skechers limp and uncanny. There was a trail of blood leading from a misshapen wound – like indents left from teeth – on the girl’s left calf.

He looked away.

“Joel.” A voice came. Hardly recognizable. Seconds later, Tommy appeared in front of him, hands gripping his forearms and eyes pleadingly searching Joel’s countenance with growing anxiety. “Joel, c’mon now. Talk to me, brother. Say something.”

He did say something, though it didn’t quite reach Tommy’s ears. He was muttering, balancing himself on the perch of the old gurney beneath him and rocking himself slightly.

“On my life,” Joel muttered, continuously, trapped in an earlier memory. An earlier conversation. With the only one who mattered.

“Alright, well,” Tommy started, dropping one hand as he scanned the surrounding area. “We need to get you something to cover that hand.” He turned his attention back to Joel, leaning down and pushing forward to take up Joel’s entire field of vision. “I’ll be back, you hear me? Don’t move.”

He was gone almost as fast as he came. At his words, Joel’s eyes dropped to his hand, the one he’d been unconsciously cradling in his lap. Blood dripped, unceremoniously, down the valley of his palm and onto the cracked pavement under his boots. He vaguely remembered lashing out at some guy before being ushered into the camp. In front of some convenience store. He had landed roughly, shards of glass impaling his skin before Tommy got the chance to haul him up and press him to keep running.

There wasn't a single part of him that felt it, though. The gaping wound – the whole ordeal – seemed like a hallucination, like something plucked from the deepest, most submerged part of his consciousness. Something hardly thinkable. Something vicious and unnerving. Something that simply couldn’t be true.

“Dad … Daddy!”

Joel jolted awake. A stray frosting tip fell from his fingers and rolled across the floor until it hit the edge of Sarah’s heel. His vision swam with exhaustion, drowsy eyes sweeping over the kitchen table. A half frosted cake, a bit lopsided and slightly whiter than the yellow version advertised on the box. A frosting bag filled with purple frosting resting precariously on the edge of the table, inches from his hand now numb from laying on it.

In sudden alarm, he turned back to a curious Sarah. “Baby, I –.” When she met his gaze, he just sighed, dropping his shoulders. “What’re you doing up? It’s late.”

“I saw the light,” she said simply.

She bent down, retrieving the frosting tip before ambling over to his side. He watched her every move, weighing every option that popped into his head about what her expression meant. Child-like innocence. Brief reminders of every year he’d spent enjoying her life right before his eyes.

The small gears were shifting in her head; he could see them from here. She was eyeing the cake, if he could even call the mound of crumbled blocks a cake. Her gaze momentarily slid toward him as she neared him. She stopped at his side, a small hand on his thigh indicating her intent. He pushed his chair back, hands easily guiding her up and onto his lap.

“What’re you doing?” She finally asked.

“Figured I’d try my hand at baking. Construction’s getting slow these days. What’d you think?”

His voice was casual, but he was anything but. He had worried his lip in the aisle of the supermarket just at the thought of buying the wrong cake decorations. The moment of truth had come too soon for him. If he hadn’t been so damn tired, if Tommy had gotten the supplies earlier and hadn’t caused the job to go until ten –

“It’s pretty.”

Her voice startled him, laced with joy and, what seemed like, pleasant surprise. Her back was leaned against him, and he could just make out her face, angled slightly away from him. She was smiling softly at the poor imitation of whatever he’d bought. The only store left open had been out of cake mix, of course. A woman in the aisle with him explained how easily he could make something close to it with this. Easy for her was hell for Joel, but he couldn’t put a price on Sarah’s smile at that moment.

“Thank you. Tried real hard on it.” He was trying for humor, but he meant every word. His attempts were born from a real place – a place that desperately wanted to see her light up the way she did when he forced himself to sit through her favorite movie, when they decorated the Christmas tree early last year, and when he finally let her drive the truck on Tommy’s lap.

The two looked at the excuse for a cake. It was leaning now. A small portion protruding from where Joel attempted to make a flower out of a mold.

“Is it –,” she paused, cautiously, but hopefully, picking her next words. “Is it for me?”

“‘Course, babygirl. This masterpiece of a cake ain’t for just any eight-year-old.”

“I’m not eight yet,” she reminded him. “Except,” she paused again, frowning. “My birthday’s tomorrow.”

“You always wake up so early. Thought I’d try to surprise you by fixin’ it tonight.”

She stared a bit longer before nodding decisively and throwing an arm around his shoulders. She twisted in his lap, eyes and smile beaming up at him. “I would’ve slept in for you.”

Luck. It had to be luck. Joy, devotion, trust, unquestionable love. A child’s eyes swim with all of the above, and one child in particular, his child, was looking at him with all that and more. Her tightly-wound curls framed her small face and swept her tired eyes, but her expression remained the same. Joel’s heart twisted at the sight.

He cleared his throat, hesitant to speak with the growing lump in his throat. “You would’ve pretendin’ to, anyway.” He rose, maneuvering her until he was carrying her comfortably against his hip. “C’mon, now. It’s late. Gotta get to bed if you want your gifts.”

Abruptly, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, daddy.”

He smiled, part of him worried his eyes were growing wet. “Anything for you, babygirl. Happy birthday.”

Joel was torn from his stupor at the sight in front of him – the sight he’d been staring at while reliving a memory he felt fading almost as fast as he began to remember it. It was a boy, barely old enough to be a teenager. His tear-stained cheeks were nothing compared to the way his eyes rapidly and wildly scanned the area. His gaze hit Joel’s for only a second before he was moving on.

“Dad!” he was shouting. “Dad!”

The boy was turning in circles, looking every which way and shouting into the sea of unknown faces. Every so often he was jostled by complete strangers – unnamed faces covered in weaponry, medication, or grief. One man bumped into him so hard he nearly lost his footing. It didn’t matter. It didn’t stop his shouts or his turns or his wild eyes cutting through the masses of people.

“Dad!”

“Dad … Dad!”

Joel turned suddenly, new reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose and hands gripping a cup of coffee – fresh seconds. His elbow was propped against the kitchen table he had been occupying for the last hour, mountains of papers and file folders splayed across the tabletop along with a black pen resting atop an unfinished tax document. With Sarah now in sight, his eyes briefly scanned the backyard through the patio-door window, where he’d last seen her playing soccer with Tommy.

His brother, of course, now leaned against their fence with a shit-eating grin on his face as the woman he was talking to from his neighbor’s yard threw her head back in laughter.

Of course.

Joel’s eyes turned back to Sarah, breathing in feigned annoyance. “What? Jesus, you keep calling my name like that you’re gonna dad me to death.”

She snorted. “If I wanted that, I’d do it more like this – Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Da–.”

“No, now that’s more like it.”

With a shake of her head, and a small smile, she wandered closer to him with a simple, “What’re you doin’?”

“Takin’ a break from you.”

She ignored him, stepping close enough to peer over the table. Normally, Joel would shoo her away with an obvious hint that she shouldn’t concern herself with whatever was his job. He didn’t like her looking or hearing about their situation in any way, good or bad. She was supposed to be thinking about soccer and school and zoos and the fair he and Tommy were taking her to later that week. Not any of this.

After a moment, he finally did; he abruptly moved forward, reaching and shuffling the papers into a messy stack.

“Nothing you have to worry about, honey, it’s –”

“Line eight E is repeated three times.”

He froze. “What?”

“Line eight, letter ‘E.’ It’s repeated three times.” For emphasis, she pointed down at the document closest to her.

Joel picked up the paper, letting the black pen slide off of it and land with a soft thud on the paper beneath it. She was right. There was no denying she was right. “Huh.”

“‘Sometimes it’s good to have a second pair of eyes,’” she quoted him, turning and strolling to the cabinet to retrieve a bag of chips. He’d told her that when he let her replace the axle nuts on her bike tire. She’d sworn the nuts wouldn’t rotate until he came over to help. The sentiment worked then, and it was working now. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself, Dad.”

He gave her a look, brows furrowing, but her back was turned. She busied herself pouring chips into a bowl. He tried for humor again, responding, “I’m never by myself. I got Tommy breathin’ down my neck every day. He’s all the help I need.”

The only indication of her response was a slight shake of her head, curly hair brushing, back and forth, between her shoulder blades. A quiet huff, something close to a laugh, escaped her.

“We’re also out of milk.” She threw a reply over her shoulder casually, very obviously avoiding turning around.

For a long moment, his eyes were still trained on her. It took a mental connection, a moment of realization, for his brows to lift slightly. His gaze slid over to a purple sticky note hanging diagonally on the refrigerator. Her frilly handwriting, turned cursive upon entering middle school, etched out ‘Get milk from the store!’ in large letters.

“That’s what the note on the fridge is for?”

She remained silent but finished making her snack, ambling back to his side and taking a seat in the chair beside him. There was no need for her to respond, but Joel’s nerves went into overdrive at any and all underlying insinuations. Was she worried about something? Worse yet, was she worried about him?

“Where’s all this coming from?” he continued.

She shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. “You just work so much. More than usual. I just thought – Least I can do is help you some.”

“You really wanna help out around here, maybe you can finally get a job,” he tried, verbally poking fun. “Pick up a few hours.”

“Oh, ha ha.”

She briefly smiled at him, but the act ended as soon as it began. It was clear something was bothering her. Worry was etched between her brows, and it was then Joel realized that’s how she’d been looking at him all month. Eyes wide and deep with concern; brows furrowed with a tight smile that didn’t seem quite as natural anymore. His heart nearly broke, and he cleared his throat to hide his upset.

“Look, I’m sorry. I know I work a lot, and I’m not … around as much as I used to be. I’ll do better. I will. But there’s nothing you need to be worryin’ about.”

She only nodded before adding a soft, “I know.”

“Good. So you also know I love you, babygirl. Not much I wouldn’t do for ya.”

“I know.”

“That all?”

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I love you too, dad.”

“That all?”

“Well, I wouldn’t wanna ‘dad you to death.’”

“Oh yeah,” he teased, leaning forward to swipe a few chips from her bowl. He flung one towards her, grinning when a laugh erupted that she couldn’t quite contain. Popping the rest of the chips in his mouth, he warned, “Stop playing with your food.”

The sound of laughter, even from a memory, felt jarring, too rich and too pure for the dark scene unfolding around him. He was long-since aware of his eyes growing wet, and, for once, he didn’t care. Couldn’t bring himself to fear or worry about it. He just stared – from the shrieking woman to the shouting boy to the wide, suddenly imposing, city landscape in the distance. It all felt void, lacking meaning in a meaningless world.

What was to be gained from this? What did any of them gain from anything?

Someone ran by, bumping into Joel’s gurney and swearing a harsh apology in the process. Or maybe just swearing. He couldn’t quite place it, and he didn’t try to. But the action was enough to remind him of his being; his body felt weightless as he drifted from distant memories to distant memories, deliberately failing to grasp one long enough to replace the bitter nightmare threatening to replay itself, over and over again. Maybe if he’d twisted the other way. Or took a chance on running. Or held her a little tighter. Or –

The gurney suddenly felt rough where his hands were gripping the edge, knuckles white and blistering. Now he could sense pain from his open wound. And maybe that was the point. To sense, to feel, something other than what was threatening to send him spiraling. The recent events were still forming pictures in his mind. Consolidation taking its time as depictions kept reordering and restructuring themselves. Building and tearing down again. It was like his brain refused to settle on any one experience.

Because they were all wrong. It was all wrong. It shouldn’t have happened. Not like this.

Emotions had yet to hit him like a brick wall, and, quite frankly, he didn’t want them to. Not now. Not ever. Sensations were returning, sporadically. There was only one he settled on. He vaguely remembered Tommy slipping a handgun into the waistband of his jeans earlier, telling him he might need it before hoisting him to his feet and pushing him to run. To run like his life had depended on it. Even if he was forced to leave his entire life – a child – lying on the cold ground behind him.

That was the sensation he focused on: the hard lick of metal curling its cool touch against his lower back.

Chicago, Illinois. September 2003.

Waiting is just as agonizing as not. You still couldn’t quite decide if you wanted time to go faster or to go slower. You were, however, determined to maintain as much control over the situation as possible. If Danny could manage a calm head, so could you, for his sake and in his absence. You made sure your aunt was comfortable, reassuring her with a few pats on the shoulder after she’d sunken to the ground. Your cousins kept near her, staring up at you with pure curiosity.

You wondered if they understood, or just how much they understood. For their sake, you hoped they hadn’t a clue. If their silence was any indication, you were sure they were fine, probably more so worried about their mother’s – your aunt’s – tear-stained cheeks than anything else.

You tried your best not to glance at the street entrance every minute, but your head was on a swivel. Time itself seemed to stand still. How could you not wish you could do the same? Stand still, as if holding your breath might make it easier to hear your brother’s footsteps come back to you. His footsteps – loud, heavy, familiar.

That’s what you were thinking about when your uncle stumbled through the mouth of the side street he’d left you in. A purple bruise was forming on the lower left side of his jaw. A streak of blood ran across the chest of his gray shirt. Most disturbing of all, he was completely and utterly alone.

“We’ve got to go,” he said.

He hurried right by you, taking long strides towards his family. After checking his wife and daughter, he crouched and busied himself zipping his son’s jacket.

“Where’s Danny?” You asked.

The question hung in the air – thick and unanswered. He ignored you. Easily. His eyes remained pinned to his son’s body as his fingers fumbled, first with the jacket and then with the cuff of his son’s jeans.

“Where is he?” You were still calm, then. With no answer, you pulled back and stepped cautiously toward the end of the street, looking down where he’d come from. When no one else came by, you returned to your place a few feet away from your family. “Where’s Danny?”

All action and thought cease to exist when laughter brings forth pure, adulterated delight. Especially for a six-year-old child. Laughter and millions of innocent giggles bubble over and make it easy for small feet to run freely. Untamed footsteps can easily fall in line with grass and get lost to rows and rows of trees.

Lost. So, so lost.

You stood in the middle of a clearing. At some point, your laugh had burned down to a chuckle, then to silence, when you realized how far you’d made it alone. Your brother had teased you, playfully giving chase about a mile back, and you had wonderfully ran and leapt over branches and small creeks. Even climbed over a small boulder. You only came to a stop when your echoes seemed too quiet for two.

“Danny?” You called to no one in particular. “Where are you?”

It only took a moment for the beautiful chirps and snaps of branches to seem daunting, not tranquil. Terrifying, not serene. The stillness of it all threatened to suffocate you and evoke fear where you didn’t think it previously possible. You wanted to back away, but your foot had already nearly slipped on a slick mud spot.

Your eyes bounced, wildly, from one tree trunk to another. An unfamiliar feeling coiled up your back and settled at the base of your neck. The sun was starting to slink toward the horizon then. Which way had you come from? What would happen if you didn’t make it back home? What if Danny had gotten hurt, and you hadn’t both to hear him or stop for him? Had you left him somewhere?

“Danny!”

There was no answer. Only the distant sound of water trickling over rocks and another quick snap of a tree branch waving in the wind. Hot tears trickled down your face as you dropped down, sitting and pulling your knees under your chin. You were lost, but, above all, you had lost your brother.

“Hey, little sis, look what I found!” You nearly jumped out of your skin, twisting around to see Danny stepping around a bush and joining you in the clearing. He looked up to proudly present you with a small frog, cupped carefully in the palms of his hands. “Wanna name him?”

For a moment, you stayed right where you were. A soft cry escaped your lips, but there was an early sense of relief flooding every part of your small frame. You still hadn’t relaxed your furrowed brows or the frown that wound tightly on your face. Fear had gripped you, and you were beginning to realize it was the hardest thing to shake.

It only took Danny a second to realize you were crying, and only a second longer to bound over to your side and drop to his knees. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He set the frog down on a dry patch of grass before fixing an intense stare on you. “Did you fall? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, sucking in a breath and releasing a broken sob. “I – I thought you were gone.”

Danny’s shoulders dropped a bit. “I’m sorry for scaring you.” He reached out and set a hand on your shoulder. “I would never leave you, okay?”

You nodded, and he dropped his hand. He let you take a few breaths and calm down a bit before he stood to his feet.

“I think we should go back now. It’s getting dark.” He stuck out his hand, pulling you to your feet when you slipped your hand into his. “Do you remember our secret handshake?”

“Yes.”

An easy grin graced his features once more. “Good, you can show me when we make it back home.”

He moved to leave, but you pulled him back. Your hand fell from his and pointed down at the frog. “What about the frog?”

“What about him?”

“He doesn’t have a name.” He stood back and looked at you expectantly. “I think we should call him Rex.”

Danny nodded, pretending to be lost in thought for a moment. He tapped his chin with the tip of his finger before smiling down at you. “I like Rex. It’s cool.”

Your smile returned, and you skipped out of the clearing, grabbing Danny’s hand as you went. That’s how it was, and that’s how it should be, when an older brother is so near – when another’s presence soothes the quiet that only loneliness can bring about. Your tears had dried and a glimmer of tranquility returned to the noises in the air and the stillness of the environment. A feeling of safety returned soon after, too, and the discomfort of fear had fallen without your notice.

His word was enough: I would never leave you.

You half expected him to scare you like he had when you were children. To step around the wall and stumble towards you, completely oblivious to your worries and concerns about his whereabouts. You would berate him, maybe smack his arm or chest for sending your nerves into overdrive, but you would most likely pull him into a hug and look him over for any bruises. You kept glancing in the direction of the street, waiting for an arrival that would never come.

“Where’s Danny?”

“Honey,” your aunt tried, giving your uncle a sincere look that read: Please answer your niece.

He ignored her too, setting his hands firmly on his son’s shoulders and giving him a nod. He looked at his son intently, probably trying to reassure him with just one look. With the state the world was currently in, words were starting to fail. All anyone could do was offer some sense of familiarity in gestures and in looks.

But that wasn’t enough for you. It never would be.

In desperation, you moved to grab at your uncle’s shirt. “Where is he? Where’s D–.”

Your uncle stood abruptly, whipping around to face you. You were nearly chest to chest as he leered down at you. “He’s not coming back.”

Your response was immediate, taking a step back as if someone had punched you squarely in the chest. “Wha– What?”

A long, silent moment went by. You could just make out the screaming crowd now nothing but a soft, inaudible sound to your ears. Your uncle dropped his gaze. He looked almost guilty for not being able to offer you the reprieve you were obviously searching for – the answer he just couldn’t give you.

“He’s not coming back, kid,” he said, softer this time. “I– I’m sorry.”

He turned, picking up his son and grabbing his wife’s arm to hoist her up with him. Your aunt held her daughter close to her chest, unable to meet your eyes. There was another moment of silence between you all. They stood there, uncertain. Your uncle refused to meet your eyes for longer than a second, flitting his gaze from you to the street behind you. It was the sound of another military vehicle that finally made him straighten his posture and look you in the eye.

“You need to get out of here. It’s not safe out in the open.”

He turned to jog further down the street, in the opposite direction of where you’d all entered originally. That’s when your aunt offered you a sincere look. “Come with us.”

You made no effort to move. Your feet were cemented to the soiled street; Your eyes still glued to your uncle’s distressed countenance. His words were the only thing you heard: He’s not coming back.

“C’mon, Lorraine. We need to go.”

“We can’t just leave her here, David.”

The military truck came louder now just as the backdoor to the bar slammed open. A man stumbled through the door and landed in a heap of tangled limbs on the ground. A low growl escaped him as his hands fisted the concrete, and he doubled over, twice, in obvious pain. His brown hair was awry, fingers caked in something you couldn’t quite place. The back of his shirt was ripped in various places, and his veiny flesh was exposed; skin long since too inhumane to not deserve the look you gave him. Your eyes blown wide and jaw slack.

The man’s head snapped up, wild eyes looking directly at your aunt.

“C’mon, Lorraine!” Your uncle shouted louder, backing away and pulling his son tighter to his chest. “We gotta go now!”

Your aunt stayed there, frozen in fear. You took a step back, foot catching in a small puddle and sending the man’s horrid attention barreling toward you. The break in harsh scrutiny was all your aunt needed. She took that moment to hug her daughter close and sprint after your uncle. Their retreating footsteps hit like lead to your chest, every step sending you reeling backward as your chest heaved with something closer to alarm than fear.

The man shrieked, scrambling to his feet and running toward you. For a moment, your eyes slid to your aunt and uncle’s distant figures just over his shoulder. A part of you half-expected them to chance a look back, to answer their curiosity about you and your wellbeing. But they didn’t. They didn’t spare a single look, even when they turned sharply and disappeared around a corner.

A deep pain began to throb, harsher now, from the spot Danny had been gripping your arm. The man was within arms length now, hand reaching out to grab that same arm – the arm Danny had held protectively in place.

Your body reacted quicker than you did. You weren’t sure you would’ve reacted at all, if not for the slightest inkling, the slightest hope, that Danny was still out there, somewhere close. Who would come for him if you didn’t?

With a surprised yelp, you turned on your heels and sprinted toward the street entrance – toward the street Danny disappeared down not even thirty minutes before. Gnashing teeth and a horrible stench followed you closely, squirming and throwing itself at you like an animal. You had made it only a few feet in the street before the man tackled you to the ground. Pain erupted from your knees and elbows as you fell with a sharp cry.

A hand pulled your hair, clothes, arms, just about everything fingers could find purchase. You twisted sharply, coming face to face with the man. His teeth came dangerously close to your face and, on instinct, you brought your forearm up to his neck, pushing him away with as much strength as you could muster. You gritted your teeth, but a scream soon ripped from your throat as his upper body pushed further and further down on you. Closer and closer until –

A shot rang out, and the man’s body went limp.

–

Austin, Texas. September 2003.

The finality of acceptance had still escaped Joel. Maybe that’s why it was so easy for him to take anything in that moment as truth, no matter how outlandish it might have been.

Two white coats rushed by, stopping mere feet away. Even among the chaos, their conversation was easy enough to overhear.

“I have a dad asking after his kid.”

“Everyone’s asking after someone.”

“Yeah, but she was here when they arrived. Apparently lost her in all the confusion.”

“Take him to triage. A lot of missing kids there. We just revived one.”

Joel looked up at the new truth being presented to him – a truth that was far easier to accept than the one bombarding his current experience. His feet were carrying him away from his spot of refuge before he could even think. In fact, he wasn’t thinking. He was scanning for her. Curly hair. Eyes looking for him as much as his eyes were looking for her.

We just revived one.

If there was a possibility she was here, he was willing to take it. He had already accepted that possibility as fact without his own notice. His heart was elated and his chest was rising just at the thought. It was easier, fairer. And in no way was he preparing, or thinking to prepare, for the inevitable crash that always took place when attempting to deny reality.

“By nine, Dad.” Sarah hopped out of the truck, slamming the door behind her. She went to Tommy’s side, hand clamping down on the opened window and eyes boring into her Dad from where he sat in the passenger seat. “You said nine.”

“I know, I know.”

She opened her mouth to add something, but the bell cut her off. She huffed in resignation before pointing at the two of them, each in turn. With a growing smile, she waved and ran towards her school, throwing a quick “Don’t forget the cake!” over her shoulder.

Just as Tommy pulled out of the lot, his eyes slid over to his brother, and his face twisted into a wide grin he couldn’t hide even if he tried. “Jesus, that kid loves you to death.”

At that, Joel couldn’t hide his own smile, even if the weight of Tommy’s words felt heavy on his shoulders. “Yeah, I know.”

A content quiet fell between the two as Tommy maneuvered out of the school lot. Once he was back on the road, his eyes drifted toward his brother a few times before he shook his head. He always did that when something was on his mind but didn’t know quite how to approach it. Especially when it was Joel he was trying to approach.

“I tell you what, Joel. You gotta cut back.”

Joel was no stranger to the topic Tommy was attempting to bring up. He knew he was working like a madman again, picking up projects and stumbling into the house late at night often long after Sarah had put herself to bed.

Still. He acted oblivious. “What do you mean?”

“Sarah, man. You gotta cut back. Spend more time with her. I know you mean well. You want to provide for her, protect her. I respect that, Joel. Hell, everybody sees and respects that. But she’s still young. Still needs you. It won’t be like that always. She’s got a bright future ahead of her. Nothing’s going to take that from her. From you. Nothing’s going to change that. You don’t have to work so damn hard just to keep it that way.”

Joel didn’t say anything, but he offered his brother a brief nod when he glanced in his direction. They both knew he was right.

“Besides,” Tommy continued with a teasing grin, “you need to get a hold on her before she gets too much older. If she’s anything like we were, they’ll be hell to pay.”

Joel grunted. “Nu uh, my Sarah’s too smart. I ain’t worried ‘bout nothing.”

“You say that now.”

“And I’ll say it then.” Joel nodded decisively. “It’s like you said, she’s got a bright future ahead of her.”

“I know, brother, I know. All I’m saying is that you should make the most of it now. These years will be gone before you know it.” Tommy turned to look at him, more intensely this time. “She’ll be gone before you know it.”

The children were many, but the number that resembled her were few. The child they had revived was a boy no older than four and had been revived for reasons unbeknownst to Joel. The inevitable crash of secret humiliation and embarrassment at his own deception led him to a corner, away from the frenzy and uproar in the camp. Two soldiers stood, with their backs toward him and weapons drawn, with their heads on a swivel. But they paid no attention to Joel. Even with the cool metal resting in his hands, safety off and finger poised at the ready. They still paid him no mind. He might as well have been a dead man.

Should’ve been, anyway.

On my life. Not yours, babygirl.

With that thought, he was ready for anything that might come after. Truth be told, he was more than ready. He wanted to pull the trigger, so he did.

But he flinched. Even before the bullet had left its chamber, a part of him was wholly certain that any shot or amount of lead was not meant for him. It was a destiny he was never meant to share, no matter how much he wanted to.

–

Chicago, Illinois. September 2003.

Four pairs of hands were on you and hauling you to your feet before you could reassess your situation any further. The body slid off of you as you were pulled to your feet; its weight made a sickening noise as it thumped to the pavement at your feet. You were being dragged to an armored truck filled with people – men, women, children. Greedily, you scanned the faces for the only one that mattered. Maybe they’d got him. Maybe they’d saved him, too.

There were a lot of people, but none resembled Danny.

Finally, something broke – anger, bitterness, nauseous … mostly anger. You dug your heels into the pavement, nearly sending one soldier tripping over his feet at your sudden protest. You took the moment of surprise as an opportunity to rip your arm free from his grasp, shoving him away and clawing at the hand still clamped firmly around your other arm. You tried desperately to free yourself, scratching and pulling like your life depended on it. Like Danny’s life depended on it.

“No!” You shouted. “No! Get off me!”

Your doorknob rattled before your brother let himself in, closing the door softly behind him as if he hadn’t already made a world of noise just by entering.

“Jesus,” you started, sitting up in bed, “don’t you know the first thing about knocking?”

“I’ll knock when you stop stealing my sweatshirts from my room.”

Childishly, you stuck out your tongue and crossed your arms. “Fair.”

Without missing a beat, he took three long strides toward your window and looked out, smiling down at something. Undoubtedly his friend’s car, waiting for him in the driveway. “I’m heading out.”

“When are you not?”

“Just open the window for me when I get back, alright?” You got up to join him by the window as he opened it. “I won’t be too late this time.”

“I’m starting to think you like asking for trouble.”

He turned to smile at you – soft, mischievous, winning. Your brother could just as easily ask to leave the house, but he preferred sneaking out. He was defiant just to be defiant, doing so in a way that still made him agreeable and likable. Roping you into his mischief was like a sibling rite of passage, as he put it.

Despite yourself, you smiled back before watching him clamor out of your window. He crouched on the roof, turning to flash you one last smile. “Don’t forget my knock.”

“Three knocks.”

“Always three so you know it's me.” He winked.

“You say that like anyone else would be knocking on my window at one in the morning.”

“You’re right. Because you’re lame.”

“Go before I push you off the roof.”

He grinned widely before turning and inching his way toward the edge. He immediately stopped when you called his name.

“Danny,” you said softly. He looked over his shoulder. “If anything ever happens, don’t be afraid to call the house. I’ll come get you myself if I have to.”

“What could possibly go wrong?”

“I’m serious, Danny.”

“Relax. I know my fearsome sister will always come to my rescue.” He gave a mock salute before jumping down to the lawn. He ran toward the idle car before turning back toward you, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting, “Three knocks!”

When the soldier had recomposed himself, he walked back toward you and yanked your arm, much harder this time. Your outburst drew the attention of the others on the vehicle. A mom pulled her child closer to her, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was still out there, missing, and not a single person seemed to give a damn.

“Get off me!” You screamed again, voice breaking as a tear slipped down your cheek. In frustration, you sent a swift kick that the soldier sidestepped easily. “Get off me!”

One soldier finally let you go as the other wrapped his arms around you, pulling you off your feet and carrying you the rest of the way to the awaiting vehicle. Your struggle was rendered useless as he carried you with ease, tossing you onto the truck like you meant nothing. You probably didn’t, not to him and not to anyone. But you knew you meant something to Danny, and you weren’t going to go down without him. Not without a fight.

You pushed off the bed of the truck, attempting to scramble off of it and back onto the street. “Danny!” You shouted, pushing a stranger out of your way and making a quick jump for it. “Danny!”

You were sure you were still calling his name, even when the butt of a gun connected with the side of your forehead.

–

Austin, Texas. September 2003.

The sound of a weapon firing draws a lot of attention. Namely from uniformed soldiers who were to make sure all civilians had been thoroughly searched and weapons properly confiscated before entering the medical camp. The mistake was sure to cause one of them trouble, which is probably why they tackled Joel with such ferocity. He was on the ground and surrounded by military and medical personnel before he could blink.

Tommy was shouting his name again, parting the crowd roughly as he clawed his way to his brother. White bandages gripped in his hand. He was searching for him, relentlessly, before catching sight of the commotion. All the while, Joel was calm. The realization hadn’t dawned on him yet; the adrenaline of the deed he was trying to commit had not yet worn off. He was delusional with the loss of will – his volition having been stripped from him through no effort of his or anyone else’s.

For a second, he let himself believe he was dead. Like some instinctual force hadn’t just caused him to flinch.

Someone hoisted him to his feet; all while someone, most likely Tommy, was shouting, “Don’t shoot him! Don’t shoot him!”

A doctor stepped forward. She flashed a light in his eyes. “Sir. Sir? Can you hear me?”

A trickle of blood slid past his peripheral. It dawned on him that the commotion around him was real – it was happening – and his unfocused eyes finally snapped toward the soldier gripping his arm. His unfeeling expression hidden under his helmet felt familiar. Too familiar.

“Joel,” Tommy warned. He knew his brother well enough to predict his intent. He stepped forward, cautiously, trying but failing to shoo the soldiers and doctors back. He momentarily looked between the wound on Joel’s head and the discarded gun on the ground. He hesitated, partially, but hesitated all the same. “He ain’t sick or nothing.” Tommy turned from the doctors back to Joel. “Joel, listen to me, brother. Let’s get you patched up, alright? Let’s ge–.”

Joel was swinging before he knew what he was doing. He lunged, kicked, and swung wildly, nearly ripping himself from the awkward grip now three soldiers had him in. They were strong; non compliant. They wrestled with him for a moment before another doctor ushered him away.

“Here,” the doctor was saying, “bring him over here.”

“Careful, I said he ain’t sick,” Tommy butt in, grimacing at the hold they had on his brother. “Joel, calm down. Everything’ll be okay, Joel. Just — Just calm down.”

The soldiers were dragging him to a nearby gurney. A few medical personnel were preparing a syringe somewhere off to his right. He sure as hell wasn’t going down without a fight, and every single thing he was doing was an indication of that. Somewhere, deep down, he could hear his brother. Calling for him to stop. Calling for him to settle down before they did something to him. But he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Maybe they should do something to him. Put him out of his misery. Or subject him to the same fate they subjected her to. It was a cruel thought that they’d spare him – that they’d do everything in their power not to hurt him in the way they hurt her.

They were wrestling him onto his back when his mouth finally caught up to his actions.

“My daughter!” He shouted. “My daughter. You took her.” He leered in the face of the nearest soldier, tears glistening in his eyes. “You took her.”

A needle was being pressed into his skin when a third voice spoke to him, calmly. Another doctor. “Don’t worry, sir. We’ll find her. I’m sure, wherever she is, she’ll be alright, if she’s not already.”

His next protests were weak as his body suddenly relaxed. His eyes fluttered just as Tommy came into view at his side. Tommy just stared at him. Horrified. Guilty. Sad. They both looked at each other, eyes mirroring one another and telling stories neither one of them were ready to say aloud.

–

2023.

The consequence of grief and sudden loss might be unique to the individual, but it is imminent for all individuals. No one can measure the actions or reactions of another. Neither can blame be given or taken away. The repercussions of any event are often cyclical, far outweighing descriptions or explanations. In any one situation, one might fall and another might rise. Or perhaps one and another might both fall.

With loss, it’s typically the latter.

Joel’s gruff appearance was unmistakable to the people in the Boston QZ. Unsurprising. Like the rumor that swirled around about him after the day’s shifts ended and the people could return to their nightly rituals of whatever placated their poor souls — beer, pills, sex. The former two either stolen or traded for rations.

The rumor didn’t spread far — not past a block, maybe a sector at most. It was a cautious one. A woman told of her inability to toss a child’s body to the flames during her shift. An unforgiving job. A thankless act of service to the QZ that meant discarding the ones killed at the hands of those in authority — by Fedra. Infected. Suspected. Guilty (or not). Didn’t matter. Her story was one that stoked plenty of bitter, angry people who already hated the QZ for their wrongs and misdoings.

But it was Joel who stoked their feelings too — feelings of fear and avoidance. Wordlessly, he had tossed the lifeless child into the awaiting flames with as much absence of emotion as he always displayed. Unfeeling. Unapproachable. Never spoke a word but was somehow enough all on his own – enough to cause others to steer clear, to look away whenever he came around.

The only one that could tolerate him, that could placate him, was Tess. Something she could use to her advantage and soak in the pleasure of.

Nearly a thousand miles away, you were pacing wordlessly outside a freezer in the back of a restaurant in downtown Chicago. A bitter cry had long-since been muted by the sounds of grunts and a flurry of punches before a familiar face stepped out. He didn’t say anything, even when he walked right by you and wiped his hands on a dirty rag.

You did as you always did — followed at his heels. “I don’t trust this guy, Dallas. He’s lying.”

“You never trust anyone.” His face was serious, but his voice carried humor. You rolled your eyes.

“And for good reason. He’s been lying since I found him by the old medical camp near Lincoln Park.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

He turned to look at you, eyes boring into yours for a few seconds. You were dropping your gaze before the intensity of it all could get too thick. For a moment, your attention bounced around the small kitchen. Your ears caught the quiet voices of your group outside — a good mix of men and women.

Dallas turned fully, tossing the rag on the floor and standing in front of you with arms crossed over his chest. “What were you doing near the old med bay?”

“I told you.” Your voice had a dangerous edge to it. You shifted your weight to your other foot and finally met his gaze again. “I ran an errand.”

Unconvinced, Dallas nodded. “You were looking for him again, weren’t you?”

He commanded and barked orders well. You usually followed them — usually. But even he wasn’t stupid enough to mention his name aloud to you. Your sibling’s name was never spoken again after you revealed to Dallas that dark night twenty years earlier. But Dallas knew this was about him. He could tell in the way a muscle in your jaw jumped, and you looked away briefly.

He chuckled. Dark. Low. “Look, I get it. You haven’t been back here in years, and I figured the thought of finding him’s been tempting you since Arizona. But you keep putting the group at risk, and I’ll have to abandon you.”

You snorted. “As if you’d leave me behind.”

“Watch me.”

He was grinning, a certain humor in his tone that wasn’t in the least bit light or airy. There was nothing indicating that he wasn’t as serious as his darkened eyes meant to be. Something twisted in your stomach, heart plummeting, as your smile dropped at the thought. Only a moment went by before you forced the feeling away, choking the thick emotions down until the only thing you could feel was cold metal being pushed into your hand.

“If you don’t trust him,” Dallas muttered, stepping closer to you as he pressed the gun into your limp palm a bit firmer, “then end it.”

You swallowed quietly, taking the weapon and testing its weight without once looking up at him. You could feel him hovering over you. His heat dripped off of him and pooled at your feet. Deep. Menacing. Unforgiving. His request wasn’t the first time, and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. But this time, this one time, some part of you felt off. Something tugged at your lips until you unknowingly frowned down at the tigger your finger hovered over.

Maybe it was the mention of him. Maybe your emotions were too high and your willingness finally waning. Maybe it was the sister waiting back at the old medical camp, looking for the brother you helped kidnapped and now held hostage in some worn-down freezer.

“Is this really necessary?” You asked. “If he’s really lying, we can still use him.”

“And have them get to him? He’s a damn liar, sure, but he’s a traitor first. He knows what we did.”

“Yeah, but he did the same to them.” You finally looked back up at him, gun held loosely at your side. “For us. Remember? What else did we expect? For him not to turn on us, too?”

Dallas was quiet for a moment, a long moment. But the way he was peering down at you, with hooded eyes and clenched teeth, didn’t change for a second. “I’ve never stopped to question you. We are the only two here. I never left you.”

You knew what he was referencing. Suddenly the group just beyond the thin white door separating the kitchen from the dining area seemed too close, too imposing. Every person in your group was a new face. Their voices were still unfamiliar and discomforting to hear. Your old companions were either dead or dying, snitching to Fedra for brownie points or taking their chances on their own, and Dallas was all you had left...

He measured the look on your face before leaning in further, adding, “Now’s your chance to prove your loyalty to me.”

Your eyes snapped up at him, mouth now partially agape. Everything you had done leading up to this point had been erased by that measly sentence. Your actions, however gruff and unforgiving, were whittled to nothing before your eyes, and you were made out to be a fraud. Weak. Someone incapable of returning the favor of protection or dishing it out in the first place. The thought made you sick.

With a low huff, you spun on your heels and walked determinedly back to the freezer. You threw open the door to find your old partner, Brett, tied haphazardly to a chair surrounded by two of your guys. At the sight of you, his eyes were blown wide and head shook furiously from side to side. He was shouting something: No. No. No— please, no. But you were already gone, doomed to proving what you had already proved time and time again.

It only took one steady aim before you pulled the trigger.

Your men stood, jaw slack, as Brett’s body fell with a sickening thump. Your knees suddenly felt wobbly as adrenaline seeped from your body in waves, nearly doubling over as a pain hit your chest. You sniffed, waving the barrel of the gun between the two men before pointing it in Brett’s direction.

“Clean this up.”

Perhaps — for you and for Joel and for anyone else — the mind and body’s first instinct is denial. Perhaps sorrow cannot be given a true voice. Perhaps acceptance is far more brutal than the precious time one can spare living a half truth. Whatever the reason, manifestations of pain and suffering matter little when grief goes unnoticed and the heart unattended.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #tommy miller x platonic!reader #the last of us #thelastofus #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #fanfiction #joelmiller #tommymiller #tlou #the last of us tv show

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lurkingshan · 1 year ago

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Conflict in My Ride

Oh my poor sunshine babies. In this episode, Tawan finally finds out that Por is a cheating, manipulative, good for nothing trash man, and even worse, that Mork has known that for a long time and kept it from him. It’s the first time the trust has been broken between them, and while Tawan forgives Mork quickly, you can see that Mork really understands how deeply he fucked up and will learn from this.

My Ride was written by the same team who did La Pluie, and just like in that show, the conflict in the romance was carefully constructed and given the appropriate scale for the type of story they’re telling. La Pluie is a big damn Romance dealing with a fantasy mythology and some hot-headed and stubborn characters, so there they needed to go big. In My Ride, we have a much quieter slow burn between very gentle characters, so the conflict was built to match.

And so in this episode we see Tawan:

Realize something really fucked up is going on, and that Mork knows about it but won’t tell him

See with his own eyes that Por is scum (and his boyfriend, Top, is a manipulative asshole too)

Tend Mork’s wounds in the aftermath of the fight but still ask for space

Have himself a little sad boy cry and lie down in the rain

Forgive Mork immediately upon recovering from his emotional outburst and then return the care Mork gave him by cooking him food

Have himself another good cry and ask our favorite uncles for advice on maintaining a good relationship

Contemplate whether he’s ready to delete Por from his life (hit the fucking button Tawan)

Tawan is a kind, even-tempered, and well-adjusted person, so that’s about as mad and dramatic as he’s ever going to get. He doesn’t need any grand gesture from Mork—he knows him well enough to know why he kept the secret and he can forgive him easily. And crucially, he’s already comfortable enough with Mork to ask for the space he needs to process and feel confident Mork will give it to him and it won’t damage their relationship. After his initial surprise, he isn’t really upset to wake up naked in Mork’s bed because he knows Mork would never take advantage. Even though he has caught Mork hiding something, he still trusts that Mork respects him and has his best interests at heart.

And on Mork’s side of things, you can see how much he regrets not coming clean with Tawan about what he knew. He got caught up in his protective instincts and anxiety about his own motives and lost hold of his logic. He should have known not to trust Por to handle this appropriately, and especially once Top started fucking with Tawan, he should have fessed up. He has now seen that Tawan got very hurt anyway (in a much worse way than he would have hearing this from Mork) and heard directly from his uncles how important honesty is in a relationship that matters to you. It’s all right there on his face in the aftermath—he has learned his lesson and he won’t be making this mistake again.

I love the quiet way this all played out. It felt exactly right for this drama and these characters. And now that we’ve moved through the major conflict, we can spend our final week watching Mork and Tawan get on the same page about what they want from their relationship.

(Tagging watch pals @bengiyo @neuroticbookworm @wen-kexing-apologist @callipigio @manogirl @chickenstrangers @gabrielokun @sliceduplife @troubled-mind @blmpff @rocketturtle4. Can’t believe we only have one week left!)

#my ride #my ride rewatch 2023 #la pluie #thai bl #shan shouts into the void

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symphonyofsilence · 2 years ago

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The Sons of Fëanor: headcanons & hot takes: part 2: Maglor (Part1: Maedhros)

So apparently I can't be normal about this family. And this post, too is a very, very long-ass one.

So here we go:

There was always something tragic about him (something so magic about him). He was very emotionally intelligent and had great empathy. From his early childhood, he could sense his father's sorrow and fears. His grandfather's grief and codependency and the spot that would always remain empty in his life, he could also understand his grandmother's exhaustion and trauma and emptiness and how she was pressured by the man she loved even in death and eventually betrayed by him, his step-grandmother's sense of not belonging and never being enough and always living under Míriel's shadow, his aunt's and uncle's hurt at being again and again rejected by their brother and feeling ignored by their father. If an elf loved another elf and that love was not returned he would feel their pain. He would always put himself into others' shoes, and he would pour poetry into the void and he would turn pain into ballads and make meaning or meaningless beauty out of loss. He would even write tragic tales in his head for strangers. And he himself had the dissatisfaction and an inner battle of a perfectionist who knew things could always be better. His mind had more to offer the world and the world had more to offer him. Permanent dissatisfaction was built into him and that was tragic.

Most of the sons of Fëanor were both cocky and insecure. Being popular princes, pampered from the moment they were born, and each having their own specialties and being nearly the best in them boost their confidence. But also always living under Feanor's shadow knowing that they would never be as good as him made them insecure. Maedhros escaped this by being good at something Fëanor was not good at; being a politician. And he decided very early on that he did not have an interest in any smithy work. So not being as good as Fëanor at it was not a problem for him. Maglor didn't have any interest in smithy work or politics. So he didn't care about them. He didn't feel inferior to anyone. He knew he was the best at music, and this gave him confidence.

Despite not liking smithy work, he would go to his father's and grandfather's workshop and work beside them and his little brother, 'cause they seemed like they most enjoyed themselves there and Maglor thought that people were lovely when they were in their element and doing what they loved and glowed with the delight and energy of it. He also believed that he should show at least mild interest in the interest of his loved ones. Except when they had trash taste in music. He would not hesitate to disrespect their taste and he would NEVER listen to those kinds of music.

He was Mama's boy. He would play for her while she worked. Usually, when he wrote a new ballad he would sing it for her and she would give very helpful feedback.

He loved his dad and enjoyed a limited amount of time with him every day, but after that limited time, his dad would get quite overbearing. It was the same with almost all of his brothers.

Clearly, he was closest to Maedhros among his brothers. I explained my headcanons for their relationships here. I headcanon that Maglor was the good cop to Maedhros' bad cop when dealing with their little brothers' shenanigans, especially in Beleriand. I also think that Maedhros was his best friend. He had many acquaintances but very few true friends. Maybe people assumed that they were his friends but it was not mutual. His definition of 'friend' was much deeper. He felt like he could not be his true self with most people. He had to be a lot less deep than he was.

He disliked small talk and talking about trivial matters such as other people's lives and family dramas. So he disliked court and its tedious balls or councils or other things. But especially balls. He felt like people were most fake in the balls and he quickly recognized and vehemently disliked fakeness in people. He preferred to just play in balls but as a prince, he was mostly obliged to socialize. So he had to look polite and do small talk but usually, people got the feeling that he wanted to be anywhere but here and cut the conversation short. He was not good at faking and his smiles and polite conversations looked most forced.

Aside from Aredhel who was beloved by all the sons of Fëanor, among his cousins he was best fond of Finrod. He felt like he could easily talk to him and he would understand him. He had the soul of a poet and the deep thinking of one. He had his own beautiful outlook on life even if it wasn't always one with Maglor. Maglor liked to hear them and learn from them. He had kind eyes and the sweetest smiles and he was so nice and pure he couldn't be real. Maglor highly valued kindness. After them, he liked Fingon. The time he spent with Fingon was usually due to Maedhros and Fingon & Maglor were seldom alone but Fingon always brought energy and delight with him and had a great sense of humor, the wildest tales, and crazy ideas. He listened to Maglor's poems and tunes with great enthusiasm and always loved them and gave the kindest compliments. Even in Beleriand, he was a source of positivity and the very definition of "sunshine".

I've had some headcanons about Maglor's wife, but I read @dramatic-dolphin's headcanons about her & I loved it. So Headcanon accepted. (their version of his wife's personality was kinda similar to what I had in mind for Caranthir's wife. But I realized that it would be better for Maglor's dynamic with his wife so I kinda changed my headcanon for Caranthir's wife's personality.)

I think neither Maglor nor his wife liked the drama of the court. So they kinda separated themselves from everything and lived together somewhere away from the drama, until Fëanor was banished and Maglor thought that not siding with his father and going with him to banishment would look bad for Fëanor in the eyes of the public. (Even though he thought that what Fëanor did was too extra). And his wife agreed. In any case, she liked Fëanor. He was a very good father-in-law. He treated his daughters-in-law like they were his own daughters. (He & Nerdanel would really like to have a few daughters. But since that didn't happen, daughter-in-law, it was then.)

He did not joke like his other brothers. But his sense of humor shone through when without intending to be funny he was very seriously complaining about something.

Always had the finest wines.

The popular "artistic" style (Shawl around neck and looser robes and loose hair) originated from him.

While Maedhros, Caranthir, and Curufin had their fathers' proud pale grey eyes, and the rest their mothers' blue, Maglor had very big, deep, sort of sad, or at least burdened blue/grey eyes. His face was softer than that of his brothers (though they all had killer bone structure. Sharp cheekbones and jawlines.) He didn't have the generally haughty look that the rest of them naturally had without even being particularly haughty at the moment.

Very soon he was on par with his brother and his "fairest of the Noldor" cousin, Finrod, in popularity among the eligible young gentlemen of the Valinor, due to his "tortured artist" aesthetic.

He was not confrontational, he found most of his family's personalities too strong and thought that they'd start a fight over the smallest disagreements and he was too tired to put up with pointless fights. So he was the avoidant type. He would only argue with Maedhros because they were very close and close friends, especially siblings argue all the time. (Thus only arguing with Maedhros over kinslayings after all the rest of their family were dead. And the hosts of Fëanor & Fingolfin not having any interaction while Maglor was acting as regent while tension was building between them) Their arguments got worse and worse after the Kinslaying at Sirion. It was as though Maglor was emptying all the fights he had kept inside himself during all his years with the rest of the family on Maedhros. And Maedhros gave as good as he got.

Calm and mild-mannered as he might have been, he still had an aura of undeniable authority and was someone that anybody knew should not be crossed. His anger was frightening. Suddenly he'd be as cold as ice, with murder in his unyielding, icy stare.

He had an easy grace and a sense of nobility, calm, and serenity in him that he kept until the last of his days. Even when he was at his most deranged inside. The more he saw loss and defeat, the serener he looked. By the end, he looked like some kind of a mythological deity. Wise, calm, burdened, and powerful, he was the true embodiment of what the other races always had in mind when imagining the elves. But everyone at all times was aware that if he wanted, he could set fire to realms and few could stop him.

After Doriath, he did not sing or play anything for a long while, only after the Death of the Ambarussa, he sang in their lament. The saddest song anyone except Mandos had ever heard until that point. After that, he sang lullabies for Elrond and Elros. And then started teaching them music. And then started to sing and play again. But he couldn't compose anymore. If he forced himself, he could come up with something. But they all felt forced to his ears. None of them were satisfactory. It was as though he was losing...his music. Something essential was lost inside. He couldn't pinpoint it. But it felt lost.

I think what most likely has happened to him is that he has faded by the third age. Elves in better condition wouldn't make it in Middle-earth without a ring of power for that long. It's kinder for Maglor if he hadn't lived to see Elros' death or what happened to Celebrimbor.

Maglor's view of himself was shattered. He saw himself as a kind, gentle, mild-mannered poet and artist. He saw himself as a genuinely good person. And he was. He didn't think he was built for killing. At first, he'd say that he was a noble warrior, fighting to keep the peace and avenge his grandfather and thereby keep his family's honor. He was a tragic figure who was forced to do what he did not love but had to be done. But he could not forget the first kinslaying. And after Doriath, he desperately said to his brother who, too drown in his own misery, didn't seem like he was listening: "I wasn't a murderer! I was a poet!"So after the kinslayings, he doubled his efforts in helping others in any way he could, being as understanding and as nice and gentle as he could be, and doing any good he could. It wasn't pretense. He didn't have to force himself to do any of it. He was a kind person inside. He wanted to be good. What he did pained him. He hated himself for it all. And so all that hate, rage, and resentment inside, towards mostly himself, and then the world, made him the most ruthless and dangerous of warriors on the battlefield. He was unstoppable. The very air around him felt hot as he fought with one sword in each hand with agility, ferocity, and precision. His grace, elegance & natural rhythm of movement was such that even his fighting looked like dancing.

Deep inside, he blamed himself for never going to Angband to rescue Maedhros. When he saw his brother's broken, pitiful state for the first time after Fingon rescued him, his guilt worsened. Especially because Fingkn rescuing him proved that he COULD be rescued all this time. So he directed all that rage at the host of Melkor who did that to his brother & murdered them with viciousness. The same would happen to anyone who meant Maedhros harm. & until Maedhros' last moment in life, Maglor would never leave his side.

Elrond and Elros came into his life at the exact right time. He was so done with everything. He had lost all of his brothers except one. And almost everyone in his family. For nothing. And would probably never see the ones alive who he left in Valinor. And even if he had a chance, he wouldn't have the face to see them. Even though he needed his mother like never before, he was afraid of finding out what she would think of him now. He couldn't bear to see the look that he thought she would have if they ever come eye to eye again. Letting Nerdanel down pained him so, so much. He thought that she was living a dreadful life in Valinor due to her association with them alone, let alone that she had lost all her family except her parents. And he could not live with the horrible guilt he felt over everything. Elrond and Elros were above all two children that he had orphaned and who needed protection. He took them in due to pity. And then maybe some responsibility and guilt. Later, on some very bad nights, he might have subconsciously thought that they were his chance at some sort of redemption. But he'd push those thoughts back. (Though Maedhros would insist that that's how Maglor thinks of them.) And they were children who needed him, so he had to go on for them. But very, very soon, they were just Elond and Elros. Lovely, precious children. He could easily tell them apart. They each had their own unique qualities, behavior, and expressions. Each endearing. Each great. Children he loved to see happy, carefree, flourishing, and reaching their full potential. He loved to care for them, teach them, protect them, and spend time with them. Children he'd love to see one day maybe becoming kings and lords and healers and musicians, marrying and having their own kids. Even if he had a foreboding that he wouldn't be there when these happened. Children he loved with all his heart. Children, he'd do his best for. He'd be his best for them. Dare he say, his children. Maedhros would remind him that considering those children family and maybe even keeping them close might put them under the curse of the House of Fëanor. (though Maedhros himself subconsciously against his best efforts considered them family), that they had their own parents, and he was the reason that their parents were not there to raise them. Maglor would push the guilt he deep inside felt even deeper and answer that their parents had a choice to put their children above Silmaris. And they made their choice. (Just like Fëanor did.) And that even if Mandos & Eru wanted to harm Elrond and Elros, he would fight Mandos and Eru.

Near the end of the first age, he developed OCD. His intrusive thoughts were many. (Like something happening to Elrond & Elros, or to Maedhros. Or like thinking that he had always been a moral coward, who could save his family by stopping them, but didn't, etc.)

At first, Maglor imagined that it was his filial and honorable duty to avenge his grandfather and king, take back what was stolen from his family, and follow his king and father. And even though deep inside he was scared of the Valar's verdict for his house and the doom they laid upon them, still he thought that the Valar were wrong and his father was right and being damned and abandoned by the gods and going to war with Satan because the gods were too cowardly to do so was the height of epicness (he used that in of his motivational speeches before battles when speaking about the grandeur of the Noldor). But immediately after the kinslaying, he realized that this whole thing was too much for him. Even though he firmly believed that the Silmarils belonged to them by right, and they had every right to want to avenge his grandfather and that he took the oath of his own accord, and even though he blamed the world (Melkor, the Valar, the house of Thingol, though he understood where the latter was coming from, he didn't think it gave them the right. I talked more about it here) the more the kinslayings and the losing war dragged on, the more he put blame on his father and brothers for taking the oath, coming to Middle-earth, and continuing to pursue to oath at the expanse of others. His brothers shouldn't have pursued the oath, but if they did, he couldn't leave them alone. He was just being loyal. He couldn't possibly leave his family by themselves at this point. Could he? (He felt the looming of the oath over themselves and he feared the everlasting darkness, whatever it was. And he feared that if they don't take back the Silmarils, his dead family who couldn't fight for themselves now would be condemned to eternal darkness. His family making the choice to fight FOR him relieved a lot of the burden. Though, he wouldn't admit it.)

But the last time, when Maedhros convinced him to invade Eonwe's camp, even though still a lot of his motivation was that he can't leave his only brother alone, as he ascended to Maedhros' proposal and sealed the deal, prepared to go, and carried on with the plan, at that time, he KNEW all of it was his own choice. He had the chance to go back at every step, and Maedhros even said that he wouldn't mind (to which Maglor sharply replied how dare he even suggest that, interrupting Maedhros before he even finished his sentence) but at every step, he chose to carry on.

When it all was over, and he could HEAR Noldolantë playing in his mind,, played with an orchestra of intruments that he did not have even one of them in hand, and some were perhaps not even invented, with the crash of the waves playing along with him in harmony, in such a trance that he did not even realize what he was singing, or maybe even that he was singing aloud, while singing with everything he had, screaming his heart out, and KNOWING that he was singing all he had ever kept inside, from moments ago when his brother jumped into the chasm, to Eonwe letting them go, to Elros and Elrond who must be mourning them right now, to Sirion, to Doriath, to Nirnaeth, to when he first saw his older brother's broken body, to his father's death, to the burning of the ships in Losgar, to the first kinslaying, to the years of the trees when he first met the love of his life, to when he first held Celebrimbor in his arms, to when his mother had taken his reluctant father's hand and made him dance with her on his birthday because Fëanor's birthdays were reserved for visiting his mother in the gardens of Lorien and mourning her and he didn't want a grand ball so Nerdanel said that it would be a little party between them then,to the grand balls in which everyone, all his family, his parents, his brothers, his cousins and aunts and uncles were dancing gracefully and happily around the hall, to when after the party he and his brothers, wife, sister-in-laws and cousins snatched the drinks and went to the beach and lit a fire and had their own little party, to when his father held his hand as he mounted a pony for the first time, to when his mother carved him a little wooden horse as he he laid in her lap,...He knew that he had finally given the world the best he could give.

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