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daycourtofficial · 1 month ago

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Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one - part two

Pairing: Eris x Azriel x reader | WC: 3.5k | warnings: mentions of violence

Summary: heading back to the townhouse to wallow in self pity is thwarted when Azriel follows you. Giving a part of himself to you, can some form of amends be made?

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You had to leave. You couldn’t stay there and look at Azriel and Eris. You felt almost like you were on trial, as if they were sizing you up to determine if you were worth their effort.

Eris - well, he didn’t act out of character from what you had been told about him. Azriel’s silence was the worst part of it all, waiting to hear him say something about wanting you, defending you from Eris’s gaze.

Instead you could hear the pause after Eris said he could convince Azriel to reject you. The callousness with how he regarded you was something you weren’t going to forget for a long time. Your chest was in pain, your heart crying out for the mate who hurt you.

You hurried down the hall, closing your bedroom door behind you, shoving a chair in front of it so Azriel couldn’t get in.

The house was silent, a fact you had appreciated only an hour ago, but now felt consumed by it. Was this how your chest would feel when Azriel rejected the bond - silent, empty, hollow?

You ripped open drawers, pulling out a bag and stuffing it with whatever clothes you thought necessary. If Azriel can pack a bag and go to a secret cabin, surely you can pack a bag and go somewhere yourself.

You had to get out of this house, at least to think, to get it all straight in your head. Maybe you could go to the Townhouse. Hardly anyone used it - you and Azriel would stay in it when Cassian and Nesta were particularly loud and longlasting.

A sharp pain shot through you at the memory - finding Azriel at the dining room table in the dead of night at the House of Wind, his shadows swirling around his ears, deep in thought. How his arms were strong around you, flying the two of you through Velaris. How the city glowed through his wings, the membranous skin so delicate and see through. How you had lingered in your bedroom door, foolishly hoping he might just kiss you.

The memory taints itself, your mouth filling with a bad taste. He had a mate when he had done that. It meant nothing to him.

He was your mate. But you weren’t his.

Tears started clouding your vision, irritating you more than anything. You wiped angrily at your face, clearing your tears just enough to see. It was chaos - you grabbed willy nilly from your underwear drawer, pulling out random pants and tops.

It was instinctual to grab for the stuffed kitty sitting on your bed. It was a birthday gift from Azriel. He was gone on a mission, but somehow the box was on your bed with a note that sat in your drawer.

‘He’ll keep you safe when I can’t’.

Damned stupid thing - didn’t protect you from this heartache. You grabbed it anyway, certain you’d want the comfort of crying into such familiarity.

You closed your bag, grabbing the handle before hustling through the house. You made it to the balcony, winnowing your way to the edge of the townhouse’s wards.

You sprinted to get inside, not wanting anyone to see the foolishness of this night on you. You made it to one of the guest rooms, shutting the door to seal yourself in. You sank to the floor, wrapping your arms around your knees.

It was then you noticed your mistake. The undeniable scent of pine hit your nostrils, making your eyes well up immediately.

He had been here recently, three days ago at most. Three days ago you would have given anything to throw yourself into a bed that smelled like him, to bask in the tangling of your scents as you slept.

This was great.

Your thoughts were a war in your mind, uncertain which direction to take. To stay here, to have his scent cling to you while you cried over him felt both cathartic and overwhelming. You could move to another room, but you’d have to get up off the floor and pick up your bag and that seemed like more effort than you could handle.

You sat on the wooden floor, tears streaming down your face. This was wrong. This was all wrong. You had never heard of anyone having two mates - the Mother loving someone so much she allowed them some choice in the matter.

Maybe they did exist, but the untethered, the unwanted mate got left out of history books.

That would be you. Too late and untethered, lost to history as someone who ‘was there but not important’. Was that what you would become to Azriel? A story for dinner parties?

‘I once had two mates..’

The thought made your stomach churn.

You sat crumpled on the floor for ages, practically melding into the floor board with each staggering breath. The heartache felt endless, neverending emotional damage at the knowledge you obtained tonight.

My mate’s mate.

What a gut churning title you had become.

Your fate was to remain here for as long as it hurt.

Madja wouldn’t need you for a few days, your planned vacation from work a slap in the face at how it all turned out. You couldn’t explain to her why you were back early, and you weren’t certain the old healer would even allow you back. Madja constantly expressed how important it was for healers to rest and take time off.

Hopefully sleep will find you sooner rather than later.

Pools of darkness curled around you, tiny slithers of shadow dancing in the puddles of tears littering the floor. One of them slithered up the air, catching a tear as it fell, cradling it. The shadow held your tear with such tenderness it threatened to consume you whole.

The moment was broken by the harsh knock on the door, a desperate plea of your name from Azriel’s lips sending chills down your spine. His voice was both a cloak of comfort and the source of your anger.

You wanted him gone, you couldn’t look at him now. What did Eris Vanserra possess that made him better than you for Azriel? Because he got to him first?

“Did something happen to your mate and you came to find the spare?”

Azriel made his sigh audible through the door before dark tendrils crept in from the crack beneath the door.

“We have to talk.” His voice was strong and unwavering, something you had to be to get through this conversation before you could let yourself fall apart again.

“What’s there to talk about? The Mother gave me a mate who is already mated to someone who can’t stand me.”

“That’s not true.” The shadows grew, forming a pool that Azriel stepped out of, looking down at you. Your gaze lingered on his shoes, a more formal pair than his leather boots and what he wore around the house.

Gods, you were pathetic for knowing that.

“What part of that is a lie?”

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath.

“It’s technically true, but-“

“See?”

“Let me finish.” His words were resolute in the darkness, the townhouse still in the silence following his words. “It’s true. I have a mate and he is… an acquired taste. He is quick to judge and even quicker to barb with his words.”

You waited, the glutton inside of you hanging onto his every word, the anguish hungry for more fodder.

“But you… I met you and you consumed so much of my thoughts. I thought it was a crush or merely missing my mate and looking for him in others.

“But it was you. I needed to be near you. I don’t know how this works, this has never happened before. But I want to try.”

That caused you to look up, to finally see the sincerity in his eyes, to let his emotion wash over you. The bond connecting the two of you was a wave, a wall of regret and hope and sincerity so strong it threatens to blow you over.

“Azriel, I have to trust you. You are my mate, I should be able to trust you. But you kept this big secret from everyone. Why should I believe you? What would make me more than just a cover up?”

Azriel huffed, a fight occurring behind his eyes as he mulled something over. He reached a hand into one of his shadows, his arm nearly disappearing in the darkness before coming out holding a leather book with a beaten cover. He extended the book out to you, waiting until you took it from him.

The leather was cold, the spine cracked as you opened it. Every page was filled with Azriel’s near perfect penmanship. Every page dated, detailed down to what he ate in a day.

“No fae has ever seen this.” His voice was soft and unguarded before he added, “not even Eris.”

Curiosity stood at the forefront of your mind, your fingers already flicking through pages as you sat up. It didn’t surprise you that he kept such detailed depictions of his days - you would have been more surprised to know he didn’t keep detailed records. What did surprise you was him sharing this with you.

You briefly wondered if his shadows made notes for him, allowing him to transcribe the details of the day in his own thoughts and perspective. You could see him at his desk, shadows swirling and floating next to his ear, singing a song to him no one else can understand. As you flicked through it, names jumped off the page at you, every member of the Inner Circle mentioned throughout the book at some point or another.

“I have more - I have loads more. This is where it began with us - me and him. It starts somewhere in that journal - about a quarter of the way in. When you finish that one, let me know. I’ll give you the next one.”

Azriel had such a hesitant look on his face - you were certain he wanted to say more. He even stepped forward, reaching a hand out as if to speak. Instead, he merely tucked a piece of hair behind your ear before turning and walking out, shutting the door behind him.

You got the silence you wanted, but now you have a piece of Azriel laying in your hands.

You had stayed up most of the night reading Azriel’s journal, accompanied by a handful of shadows that had stayed behind after he left. At first they felt like an invasion of your privacy or a lack of trust from Azriel, but they responded to you like they always had: twirling in your hair, brushing soothing strokes up and down your arms, helping you with minor tasks.

It gave you a sense of comfort you didn’t know you needed.

You must have fallen asleep at some point, likely at the end of the first journal. You woke up in a daze, the journal moved off the bed, likely an act of protection from the shadows. Your head was throbbing, eyes so heavy from all your crying yesterday.

You laid still, trying to discern any noise throughout the townhouse, making sure no one else was here before trudging out of the room. Your rumpled clothes didn’t bother you as you made it to Azriel’s room, knocking softly, cursed with the bond to know he was there.

Azriel looked beautiful in the morning light, his hair sticking up in places, disturbed by his sleep, or lack thereof by the bags beneath his eyes.

“Here, I’m ready for the next one.” Azriel grabbed the journal from you, his fingers brushing against yours in the exchange. A shadow swirled beside him, a pit of darkness Azriel plunged the journal back into, returning with a near identical one before placing it in your hands.

“How can you tell the journals apart?”

“My hands are extra sensitive.”

You nodded, accepting his answer, no matter how confused it left you. Had it been a joke you didn’t understand? Would Eris have understood it? Blood roared in your ears at the thought.

It was difficult standing before him, knowing the intimacy between the pages of the journal you just read. How he and Eris all but killed each other in a fit of rage when the bond snapped, a fight that left the two broken and bloodied, nothing resolved before they slunk off to their respective courts.

It was a chance encounter - Azriel had been on the border between Spring and Autumn, moving in a cloud of shadow, trying to parse out any rumblings from the Vanserras when the eldest son caught him in a ball of fire. The bond had snapped into place when Azriel had begun choking on the smoke, Eris’s heart nearly giving out in shock, dropping the flames around Azriel. Azriel had immediately lunged at Eris, mated protectiveness out the window as they wrestled along the forest floor.

Pages and pages were Azriel writing through all of his emotions, deep rooted anger at the Mother’s chosen mate for him. It was months before they saw each other again, the entries between those meetings full of thoughts and new evaluations about Eris.

His diction changed somehow, as if having a mate had so fundamentally changed him it was impossible to not notice Eris’s influence, even though the pair weren’t together. He still detailed his days, but they felt more like letters at a point, or as if he were telling Eris about his day in extreme detail.

The romantic subtext left you queasy.

The second time they saw each other was near the end of the journal, an act of instinct. Azriel felt hot, searing pain, shooting himself into the sky, making it to the Autumn border before he got his wits about him. He had landed in their previous meeting spot, crouching to hide amongst the brush to wait.

It was agony, forced to hide, the closest to his mate he’d been in months.

The sun broke through the trees when Eris finally arrived, surely feeling Azriel’s proximity deep in his bones. The Vanserra had not been kind - he was all teeth, clacking insults at Azriel. The shadowsinger took it, not truly knowing how to respond. He couldn’t stop the intense feeling of relief at seeing Eris, the emotion so overwhelming he flew away after several moments of Eris’s abuse.

The last few pages of the journal were full of question marks, Eris’s name, and attempts at finding some code in the insults the redhead had hurled at him.

The new journal laid in your hands, full of a story you wanted to watch unfold.

“Thank you for sharing this with me.”

Azriel nodded, “thank you for being the first person I trusted to share this with.”

You wanted to ask, wanted to know why Eris hadn’t seen it. The two had been mated for years at least, if their domesticity was anything to go off of. Feyre and Rhys were two of the only mates you knew and you couldn’t fathom them keeping their own journals and musings from each other.

Much less share them with someone else.

Azriel looked down at you, his eyes wanting to desperately share something with you, but it was impossible to know what it was.

You bowed your head before turning on your heel, hoping to find more answers in the book you held.

It was a few days before you decided to leave the townhouse, Azriel joining you without telling him that you were returning to the House of Wind. The morning you were going to go back, he had merely been standing in the foyer waiting for you.

Nesta and Cassian would be back in a few days and you needed a change of scenery. The townhouse had began feeling too small, Azriel’s scent no longer lingering on your sheets, making your heart ache in a new way.

The flight back had been slightly awkward, the silence filled with the sounds of leather as your mind and body battled, tugging back and forth between leaning into him and pulling as far away as possible.

You hadn’t seen Azriel since the two of you landed a few hours ago, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t around somewhere. You opened the balcony doors, sitting out on the lounge chair, looking into the vast and endless sky of stars above you. You were so small beneath them, your problems somehow miniscule but all consuming.

You had finished another journal, probably journal number five at this point. Not quite ready to exchange it for the next one, fresh air beckoned to you.

The air was cold, but not harsh as it filled your lungs. It helped clear your thoughts, the frigid temperatures helping slow down your overactive mind. You now had some idea of Azriel and Eris’s beginnings - you weren’t anywhere near their acceptance of the bond, but it was clear how every slope of Azriel’s pen had been in thought of Eris. He now rushed through his days, giving as much as detail as before, but now it felt like a necessary evil to get to the subject he truly wished to discuss: Eris. The door to the balcony opened, causing you to go rigid.

“Relax.” Nesta’s hard voice surprised you, expecting it to be Azriel. You turned in your chair, delighted to see the valkyrie.

“What are you doing here?”

“In my house?” She smirked, moving to sit next to you. “We came back from Day a little early. There’s supposed to be a rain shower tomorrow and Cassian didn’t want to fly in it.”

It felt like a lifetime had passed since you saw Nesta last, a little over a week ago. She seemed brighter, a likely side effect of spending any time in Day.

“And how is your mate?”

“Miserable. He got sunburnt.” You laughed at the mental image of a red and crispy Cassian, certain he was making it as much of a problem for everyone else. “Emerie had a good laugh about it.”

It felt good to be in someone else’s presence for the first time in days. You hadn’t realized just how isolating this past week had been, your only companion the shadow that remained tucked in your hair and the journal of your mate’s past.

“How was your week with Azriel?” Nesta’s tone felt accusatory, like she was fishing for something she already knew. If she had any notions about you and Azriel, she didn’t confess them to you.

“Quite lonely, actually. I’ve hardly seen him.”

“A pity.” She leaned back in the seat next to you, stretching out her legs. “Do anything interesting?”

“I’ve mostly been reading.”

Nesta sat back up, her interest focused back on the conversation. “Anything good?”

“It’s mostly history books - I’ve read a good bit about the Autumn Court. It sounds beautiful.” It was the truth - you couldn’t bring yourself to call it a romance, certain Nesta would want to know more about it. She slumpt down once more, her interest lessened as she sat back.

“What do you think of Eris?” The question slipped out, a byproduct of having been alone all week. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

“Vanserra?”

You nodded. “Is there any truth to what they say about him?”

“I’m not sure. He’s smart and slippery. I think Rhysand is slightly afraid of him because of that, but he’d never admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That if Eris so chose, he could certainly concoct a scheme and outsmart Rhysand.” You bit your lip, certain that with their mating, Eris had outsmarted Rhysand.

“What’s he like?”

“The most difficult fae alive.” She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed. “He’s a challenge on his best days.”

“Pity the fae mated to him.” Your words come out strong for the first time in this discussion, but some deep part of you knows it’s the biggest lie of the evening. If Azriel’s journals leave you with anything, it’s that Eris Vanserra is a loyal and lethal mate, prepared to burn the world for his mate.

Her brows were merely raised in agreement, silver set on every movement you made. You felt the scrutiny of her gaze, schooling your features to give less of your heartache away.

“Are you certain you’re okay?”

You shrugged half heartedly, trying to find some reason to explain away your melancholic state.

“Endless night skies leave me restless, sometimes. So many possibilities, I’m not sure where I’d end up.”

She stood up, taking in the same view as you, but seeing something completely different.

“Not all possibilities are good ones.” She turned on her heel, heading back inside, leaving you out in the frigid cold, alone and unsure.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

A/N: ahhhh!! Part two!! I’m setting some things up so it might feel like filler but I promise the next part will be juicy 👀👀

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-angst @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl @quiet-loser @thegreyjoyed @paankhaleyaaar

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124 @slytherintaco @userxs-blog @emryb

Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124

Thank your for reading ❣️

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #eris x azriel x reader #azriel x eris x reader #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #azriel fanfic #eris fanfic

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illubean · 9 months ago

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Bit of a long winded fluff/crack headcanon request: Illumi, Feitan, Chrollo, and Phinks developing the most infuriating crush on a gn! Reader who is just a lazy sopping wet dog of a person?

Reader will nap anywhere.

Will just kind of flop where ever they are when under too much emotional distress and refuse to move

Hell, sometimes they to be physically scruffed and carried/dragged to do social stuff and does the whole liquid cat thing where they go entirely slack just to be difficult. Overall reader's pretty reliable and will (begrudgingly) do just about anything the guys ask if incentivized, they're a surprising understanding and active listener, a highkey terrifying and precise combatant, and could probably be bribed to do anything from cuddle and never speak about it to horrible violations of the geneva convention for snacks and a nice nap afterward. They're incredibly easy to please and not that most/any of the guys would ever admit it but not being near them makes everything feel exponentially worse.

But they're also stubborn, incredibly low energy, and frankly seem a bit stupid on closer inspection to the point the guys are probably questioning "no- god- fuck- why???"

HXH Men with Lazy!Reader

Characters: Illumi Zoldyck, Chrollo Lucilfer, Feitan Portor, Phinks Magcub Type: Crack, Headcanons, Gn!reader

IM NOT DEADDD

Warnings: mentions of violence, mention of pregnancy like once

Illumi Zoldyck

if you didn't have any special nen or whatever he would've killed you by now out of pure frustration

you were set up in an arranged marriage because of your status, and at first Illumi could not care but surprise surprise he caught feelings eventually

and it was upsetting.

1) he was feeling something 2) IT WAS FOR YOUR STUPID ASS

ALL YOU DO IS LAY AROUND THE MANTION AND EAT HOT CHIP

you remind him of Milluki sometimes and that just makes him even more mad

every time you guys are sent on missions together he actually has to drag you because you refuse to do any type of physical labor

if he's feeling particularly nice he'll throw you over his shoulder instead

at this point Illumi is only sent on missions with you to make sure you actually do it

because otherwise you would never be anywhere on time...

you're able to handle your opponents just fine you just...rather not

which is part of the reason Illumi gets so irritated with you

you have so much potential yet don't utilize it

at this point the only solution he can think of is knocking you up (if ur capable of getting pregnant) and hoping the kids don't come out as lazy as you...

Chrollo Lucilfer

with him being the leader of the phantom troupe aka your boss you should probably listen to him without hesitation but your ass does not gaf

he's learned how to deal with you

he keeps candy in his coat pocket just as a bribe if you don't feel like doing something he's asking of you

when he runs out you begrudgingly do what he asks anyways but not without complaints

Chrollo doesn't really mind having to physically move you places himself, considering you do most of his bidding anyways

but that's only because he likes you <3

if you were anyone else he would leave them wherever and whether they get up and follow him back to base is up to them

and because he's so lenient with you you feel bad sometimes and end up sucking it up and walking yourself

he doesn't mind your laziness as much as the others because you get your job done and could probably beat him up if you wanted to so who is he to tell you how to live your life?

he never sends you on missions alone, he needs to be there to make sure you actually do it (no he doesn't he just can't be away from you for too long)

Feitan Portor

this man is on the verge of killing you.

what the hell is the point of Chrollo keeping you around if all you do is lay around doing nothing and talk back when asked to do something??

he swears you act like a 5 year old boy sometimes

when he needs something from you he will threaten physical harm but its actually just empty threats

theres no fighting within the troupe and no matter how much he wishes he didn't, he likes you

and surprisingly, his threats are incentive enough to get you up and moving

most of the time...

other times when you refuse to move or just flop onto the floor he is grabbing you by the ankle and dragging you the rest of the way to wherever you need to go

he doesn't care if you get scratched and bruised up, if you wanted to avoid that then you should've just gotten up and walked by yourself

sometimes to get you to do things the rest of the troupe offers you things on Feitan's behalf

"Hey if you get up and beat this guy's ass with us Feitan will carry you all the way home instead of dragging you" "Like hell I will"

after seeing you in action for the first time Feitan is even more upset that you're so insufferably lazy

you are quite literally one of the most valuable troupe members but you??? never want to follow orders?????? this is literally your job

you're lucky he likes you because if you were anyone else he'd leave you where ever you decided to lay down and let you die there

Phinks Magcub

this man is going to argue with you for DAYS

at this point he feels like you refuse to do anything just because it makes him mad

hes another one who tries using incentives but he never follows through with what he promises

when you ragdoll he will begrudgingly carry you wherever you need to go

this guy battles your laziness with loud, annoying and never ending complaints

and tbh? it actually works most of the time

he gets so annoying that ur like "FINE FINE I'LL DO IT JUST SHUT UP ALREADY"

if you catch him on a good day he'll carry you/give you a piggy back ride without complaints

sometimes he uses your laziness as an excuse just to hold you <3

sry this one is so short I cant think of anything

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shakespeareanwannabe · 6 months ago

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As You Wish, Chapter 18

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, angst, grief, sadness, reference to divorce, swearing. Buttercup and Jake are both flawed characters who make mistakes and lead messy lives. Please don’t judge them too harshly.

A/N: Two quick notes. First, I went back and edited Chapter 13 because I screwed up (apparently Jake and Buttercup got engaged twice and I didn't catch it. Oops!) Second, no flashback this time. I figured I had tortured y'all enough. Enjoy!

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, now

The ride to the airport had been quiet, punctuated by falling rain, thunder, gusting winds, and the tiny sniffles and sobs that Abby tried to quell by pressing her face into her mother’s chest. It took everything inside of Buttercup, every maternal instinct that drove her to protect her daughter against anything and everything that could possibly hurt her, Buttercup probably would have dissolved into tears as well.

Everything hurt more than it had 12 years ago. Leaving him then, she had been so numb to everything around her, so lost to the creeping darkness and horrific thoughts that had plagued her mind, that it hadn’t hurt. At least, it hadn’t hurt until she was sitting in the airport with her infant daughter and she realized that he wasn’t coming after her, that she had destroyed them so thoroughly that he wasn’t doing the one thing he had always sworn to do: fight for them. And she couldn’t blame him. Who would fight for the woman who had initiated a divorce because she wanted more than to be merely a wife and mother? Who would come running after the woman who was taking one of his daughters away from him? Something had splintered inside of her at that moment, her heart fracturing into a thousand tiny pieces.

Over the past decade, Buttercup had fought to put those pieces back together again. For her daughter, and for herself. Therapy and medication had turned her back into herself, and having Bob and Natasha’s strong presences had helped her find contentment. Not happiness, but something close enough to it that she was satisfied. The biggest pieces of her fractured heart had been sewn back together by the support system she had built in London, and though there were still little fragments floating around, she felt like she could finally live again. She had thrown herself into her work, into the characters and plots that swirled in her mind, and it had become her safe haven, a place where she had control and could guarantee a happy ending. And sure, every so often, one of those remaining needle-thin fragments of her broken heart pierced something inside of her, sending pain radiating through her healing heart and soul, like a piece of shrapnel that was too small to be removed but was still bothersome, but it was infinitely better than it had been before. Not perfect, but manageable.

Buttercup sighed as she settled further into her first class seat on the airplane, stabbing at her backspace button like it had done something to offend her. The words that had been flowing for over a week had now dried up, the warm glow of creativity now black and consuming as it surrounded her. Her characters, who so deserved a happy ending after everything they had been through, were falling apart and she couldn’t do anything about it. Every time she tried to fix the plot, it created a bigger hole. Every time she tried to alter some aspect of the characters, they became dull and lifeless, and she knew it was a reflection of how she was feeling. Every book she published held a small sliver of her soul, and it seemed that the ache in her chest was being transferred into her characters now, and she didn’t know how to heal them. She had barely been able to heal herself, and certainly not without help.

Somehow, over the past week, Jake had somehow found those needle-thin shards of her heart that were still causing her so much pain, and had started fitting them back into her ravaged heart. He had done it so gently, so quietly, that she hadn’t even realized he had done it until she had stared up into his smiling eyes that night as he held her close and she felt…whole. Complete for the first time in 12 years. Her feelings for him, complicated as they were, had slammed into her then. He had snuck up on her this time, not like the last time when he had been all bright colours and flash. No, this time he had eased his way into her heart in a way that seemed inescapable, undeniable.

Buttercup slammed her laptop shut and huffed, staring out the window. Her mind was too frazzled for work, her heart ached too much to focus on anything but him.

He doesn’t love you, she reminded herself firmly. You divorced him. You left him. You left Charlie. No amount of sweet, small, shared moments can make up for the clusterfuck you left for him.

A small voice inside of her whispered of the night they shared. Wasn’t that proof that it was more than just small moments? Wasn’t that proof that he cared? He had been so gentle with her, so caring. He had been everything she needed and more, reading her every move, knowing when to be sweet and soft, and knowing when to be rough and harder on her. It had always been like that. They had always been like that.

It was nostalgia, she argued with that voice. It’s like Nat said. A lot of divorced couples have one last fuck fest to get each other out of their systems. We never did that. That’s all that night was. The choked feeling in her chest made her feel like she was lying to herself, like every part of her knew that that night meant more to her than her brain could ever comprehend.

Stop it, she commanded herself. If he had it in him to forgive me for leaving the first time, I certainly burnt that bridge by leaving a second time. He doesn’t love you. How could he?

“Mum?” Abby’s tired and tearful voice broke through her hateful inner monologue.

“Yeah, babe?” Buttercup shook her head as though her brain was an Etch-a-Sketch and she could erase all those inner thoughts. She shifted her body to look over at her sweet daughter, curled up in the seat next to her. Bob was passed out across the aisle, reclined almost completely and taking full advantage of the first class seating.

“Could you pass me my headphones, please?” Buttercup’s heart ached even more at her daughter’s red-rimmed eyes. She had put her daughter through so much the past week, which was why she had to bring them home. No matter how much her feelings for Jake had bubbled to the surface, she couldn’t risk Abby or Charlie getting hurt again in the fallout.

“Sure, darling.” Buttercup’s smile was wan as she dug into her bag to retrieve the headphones. “Did you decide on a film to watch?”

Abby nodded, tilting her iPad for her mother to see. “Charlie and I made a list of all our favourite films. We’re going to watch them in order so that we can talk about them next time we videochat. First up is The Princess Bride. She said that it was her and Dad’s favourite movie.” Her weak smile fell slightly as she added, “She said that you and Dad used to watch it a lot.”

Buttercup nodded, willing the tears from her eyes. “Yeah…yeah, we did.”

“Have we never watched it because it makes you sad?”

The innocence of Abby’s question had a few tears spilling down her mother’s cheeks. “I…yeah, babe. It’s like…” She paused, trying to come up with a good analogy. “Remember when Heaven died?” Abby nodded. She had loved their dog so much that she thought the pain of her death would never go away. “Remember how you wanted nothing to do with her toys or her leash for a really long time?” Again, Abby nodded. “It’s kind of like that. The memories that come up while watching that film make me really sad, so it’s just easier for me to not watch it. It doesn’t mean I don’t love it, it just means that there’s a lot of feelings mixed up in the film. Does that make sense?”

Abby tilted her head, considering. “Yeah. I understand.”

Buttercup smiled softly. “My sweet, smart girl.” She pressed a small kiss to her daughter’s hair as Abby plugged in her headphones. “Enjoy the film, okay?”

Abby nodded before immersing herself in William Goldman’s fairy tale world. Buttercup clenched her eyes shut as she caught a peek of the pixelated video game that started the film, and turned towards the window. If she could sleep, she might feel better. If she could sleep, maybe she could dream of a less complicated world for herself and her daughter.

Buttercup yawned and rolled her neck as her small family sped through the streets of London towards their home. She had finally been able to fall asleep a few hours before the plane touched down at Gatwick. Luckily, Bob took charge of getting them through the airport, grabbing their luggage and steering them through customs before leading them to the taxi stand. She was so tired. Tired in her bones and tired in her heart.

“So, what did you get up to in the plane, Abby?” Bob asked, craning his neck to look back at them from the front seat.

“I watched a couple of films,” she replied with a small yawn. “The Lion King, a couple episodes of Friends, and then The Princess Bride.”

Bob chuckled. “That was your mom’s favourite movie.”

“Dad’s too…” Abby murmured, staring out the window at the rain soaked streets of London. Buttercup’s writer’s brain screamed about pathetic fallacy and the meaning of it all, while her rational side argued that a summer storm in Texas and a bordering on stereotypical rainstorm in London wasn’t exactly a sign.

“Yeah…” Bob sighed before grinning back at them. “That’s how your mom got her nickname. And why she got her tattoo.”

“Did you enjoy the film, babe?” Buttercup’s voice was hesitant but she could see the gap between herself and her daughter growing and she wanted to bridge it before it became more difficult to fix.

Abby nodded, a small smile on her face. “Yeah. It was really good.”

“What was your favourite part?” Bob piped up, sensing his sister’s struggles. “The sword fights? The ROUSs? The Pit of Despair?”

Abby giggled through a yawn and shook her head. “I liked the very beginning. When Buttercup realizes that every time Westley says ‘As You Wish’, he really means ‘I Love You.’” Abby shrugged shyly. “I thought that was really cute.”

Buttercup heard the sound of her brother’s laughter as he and Abby continued the conversation, but Buttercup herself felt frozen. It’s not that she had forgotten that part of the film. Admittedly, that had been one of her favourite parts as well, so much so that she and Jake had woven it into their wedding vows. The words As You Wish had been more popular than the words I Love You in their home, at least before everything had gone to shit.

But how many times had she heard Jake say those words the past week? At their romantic gazebo dinner, at the diner, after their water fight in his kitchen. He had stared up at her with those forest green eyes from between her thighs and murmured them against her skin that night, sending shivers up her spine and making her see stars. A dozen tiny moments where he had looked her in the eyes and murmured those words. Did he remember what they meant? Was he upset that she had forgotten?

The bridge of her nose burned as her throat clogged with grief and sadness. Had she just thrown it all away because she had buried her memories so deep that the meaning of his words hadn’t even registered?

By the time they got home, Abby was exhausted and bid her mother and uncle a quick goodnight before climbing the stairs to go to bed.

Buttercup watched her go, feeling tears well up in her eyes. She had fought them for the remainder of the drive, but now, in the safety of her home, she felt the weight of grief and anxiety crush her. The relief of being in her own home was drowned out by the screaming voice in her head that warned her that she had made a colossal mistake in coming home. The screaming in her mind and the tension in her body resulted in a massive migraine that made her head feel like it was going to explode.

The cool press of glass against her arm was a welcome relief, and she shot her brother a grateful smile as he handed her the glass of ice water. “Go sit,” he murmured, retreating to the kitchen.

With no energy left in her body to fight, Buttercup followed Bob’s instructions and flopped gracelessly onto the comfortable couch, ice cubes jangling in her glass in a way that sent a burst of fire through her brain.

“Open up.” Bob had never been the type to tease or prank his sister, so she eagerly opened her mouth for him to press the two Ibuprofen tablets against her tongue. Once she had washed them down with some of her water, he handed her the divided bowl of hard pretzel sticks and strawberry yogurt. It was only once she was comfortably situated on the couch with her snack that he sat at her feet, dragging her legs into his lap and pressing gentle fingers into the arch of her feet.

Buttercup wanted to melt into the couch with all her might. But despite her salty-sweet snack, her water, the pain medication, and her brother’s massage, she couldn’t. Try as she might, her brain would not cease the rapid-fire memories that had been torturing her since she had gotten into the airport taxi in Texas. Charlie’s angry face, Jake’s devastation, Natasha’s eyes begging her to stay, Abby’s sobs, and all the times that Jake had uttered those words: As you wish. Which really meant “I love you”.

“C’mon, kiddo.” Bob’s words were gentle and kind. “Talk to me.”

Buttercup couldn’t stop the tears that began to fall as she struggled to speak. “About what?”

“About why you insisted on coming back,” Bob urged, his green eyes soft. “About why you and Abby are clearly miserable here.”

Buttercup choked back a sob, pulling her feet away from her brother so she could curl up on her side. When they had originally moved to London and she had been dealing with single motherhood and her PPD diagnosis, Bob would massage her feet to help her release all her negative emotions. He’d even gone so far as to take a class in order to do it right, finding it helped not only his sister but his best friend too. But in the depths of her grief, she didn’t want to be touched. She didn’t want to be comforted. She felt like a monster, and she wanted someone to call her on it, to make her feel worse.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Her voice sounded ragged and defeated even to her own ears. “I thought coming back was the right move for everyone.”

Bob didn’t look even mildly shocked at the outburst. “Why was it the right move?”

“I…I don’t know…”

Bob rested a hand on her ankle. “C’mon now, kiddo. I’ve known you for forever. Talk to me. I’m a judgement free zone.”

Buttercup’s hand trembled as she took a sip of water. “We have responsibilities here. A home, school, work. People depending on us.”

Bob nodded. “Alright. That all makes sense. But if you’ll let me play Devil’s Advocate for a minute…” He held up a gentle hand at the look his sister fixed on him. “Kiddo, I could very easily take over the deed to the house on my own. Yes, it would feel empty without you and Abby, but I’m sure I would be able to handle it, at least until I would be able to get a job with an airline based out of the US.”

Buttercup was already shaking her head. “You shouldn’t have to uproot your life for us again.”

“I wouldn’t be doing it for you,” he soothed. “I’d be doing it for me too. I like it here, but I think I’m ready to move on.”

Buttercup sniffled. “Okay…but there’s still work and school.”

Bob shook his head with a small smile. “They have schools in Texas. And you’re the one who has a bunch of awards for your work. You’ve worked from home hundreds of times since we moved here. I’m pretty sure you could negotiate working an ocean away if you really wanted to. So, I guess the question is, why don’t you want to?”

Soft sobs filled the room for a moment, punctuated by the rasping sound of Bob’s hand smoothing over her jeans and rain beginning to tap lightly against the windowpanes.

“I…I’m scared, Bob,” she finally whispered, sounding so broken that Bob felt an ache in the bridge of his nose. “I’m scared of getting hurt again if we try. Our breakup was so messy, and we said things to each other that can never be taken back. All we did was fight at the end. I don’t want to subject the girls to that. Can you imagine how damaging that would be to them?”

Bob sighed, reaching forward and snagging a pretzel stick before dipping it into the strawberry yogurt. “You’re a good mom, kiddo. For the past 12 years, you have only thought about Abby and what is best for her. But what if moving to Texas is what is best for her? What if you give things with Hangman another try and it doesn’t fall apart again?”

Buttercup blinked back tears, wrestling with the baseball sized lump in her throat. “It…it feels selfish…I could hurt the three people I love most if we try again, and I fail.”

“I don’t think it’s selfish.” Bob popped another pretzel into his mouth and shook her ankle, not stopping until her eyes were solely on him. “It wasn’t your fault that your marriage failed, kiddo. You were sick, and Hangman crumbled under the pressure. He didn’t know how to handle it and neither did you. You didn’t get the help you needed until it was too late, and he didn’t acknowledge the problem until you were already gone. But you’re better now. And I honestly can’t believe I’m saying this, but so is Hangman. The man went to therapy, for Christ’s sake.” Bob chuckled lowly. “And you’re both older now. More experienced. I don’t think its selfish of you to try again when it could make all four of you very happy. I think that’s brave.”

Buttercup sniffled, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. “I want to be with him,” she murmured, and it felt like a weight lifted off her chest. It was her first time admitting it aloud. “But the divorce wrecked me. It took me years to feel like my heart wasn’t breaking anymore. I…I don’t know if I would be able to heal from that again.”

Bob smiled gently and leaned forward, plucking up her hand and squeezing it gently. “On the slightest chance that things don’t work out again, you would still heal. You’re stronger than you think. And you’d have so many people rallying around you to help you, just like last time. I know you don’t love accepting help, but we’d all be there for you again. And maybe part of the reason it hurt so bad the first time is that you weren’t just mourning your marriage. You were also mourning the daughter you left behind.”

Buttercup sobbed and crumpled forward, arms wrapping around her middle as Bob pulled her close and rubbed her back. “They both probably hate me now. And I don’t blame them.”

“Hangman doesn’t hate you,” he soothed. “If he hated you, he would’ve made you leaving an absolute nightmare. He probably would’ve threatened to take you to court or something. But he didn’t, did he? He let you go because he thought it was what you wanted. And Charlie…she’s still just a kid, Buttercup. She’s hurting and looking to lash out at someone. I can almost guarantee once she’s tapped out of anger at you, she’ll be giving Jake hell for not coming after you.”

A strange sob-snort escaped Buttercup as she rested her cheek against her brother’s shoulder. “You don’t think I’m crazy for wanting to be with him?”

Bob gently squeezed her shoulder. “I think he makes you happier than you’ve been in years. I think that, if you love him, you owe it to everyone to try again. I think that I want you to be happy.”

They both chuckled as Buttercup awkwardly wrapped her arms around him. “You really are the Best Older Brother, you know that?”

Bob chuckled again, adjusting his glasses as a rosy pink tinged his cheeks. “Yeah, well, that’s why they call me Bob.”

Buttercup chuckled, all watery and choked as she rested her head on his shoulder. She remembered when she made him that mug. She was probably 7 years old and had been looking for a Christmas gift for her big brother when her mom suggested making him something at a pottery class. The result was a misshapen blue mug with ‘Best Older Brother’ carved into it so that the first letters of the words lined up to spell BOB. It had made her giggle like a madman as a kid and her mother had been sure that Bob would leave it in the back of his closet. But lo and behold, he had been drinking coffee out of that mug every day since, unless he was on deployment.

“I still can’t believe that made that your callsign.”

He chuckled. “I still can’t believe you never spilled the beans to Hangman, even though he kept calling me Baby On Board.”

She shrugged. “I figured if you wanted him to know, you’d tell him.”

Bob nodded against her head and sighed. “So, are you going to tell him?”

Buttercup sighed, her head pounding. “Telling him I want him but that I’m scared to need him seems like an in-person conversation. And I can’t exactly just turn around and go back to Texas. My editors will be so pissed.”

Bob sighed. “You hold the power here, kiddo. Talk to them. Throw your award-winning weight around and make them listen. What’s more important? Making your editors happy or making yourself happy?”

Another sigh rocked through her as she cuddled down into the couch. She knew the answer, but she also knew that any steps she needed to take to prove herself needed to come after a good night’s sleep.

Buttercup sighed and shut her laptop, feeling more accomplished and more excited about her work than she had in a long time. After a good night’s sleep, a hearty breakfast, and a Zoom call with her editors and literary agent, she was ready to take charge of her life again.

She registered a soft, rhythmic buzzing sound and looked down at her phone. Bob was flying today and had dropped Abby off at her friend Brooklyn’s house before he headed to the airport, but for this to work, she had needed someone to pick Abby up, bring her home, and watch her until her uncle got back around dinner time.

Buttercup scooped up her phone and swiped to answer the phone call. “Bonjour, Genevieve.”

The soft purr of the supermodel’s French accent echoed through the receiver. “Bonjour, mon ami! I would be delighted to watch sweet little Abby for the afternoon while you are away.”

Buttercup sighed in relief as she grabbed her duffle bag. “Thank you so much, Gen! Since Nat stayed in Texas and Bob is flying today, I didn’t know who else to call. I wasn’t sure if you were on a shoot today or not.”

The answering laugh was bright and airy. “No, no photo shoot today, mon ami. I was planning on spending the day with Robert, but since he has to work, spending time with my favourite coccinelles sounds just as good.”

Buttercup felt her lips stretch into a soft smile. She hadn’t been sure about Genevieve the first time she had met her, but the French supermodel went far beyond any stereotypes and was now a close friend.

“Thank you, Gen. Abby should have her keys, but she knows the code to the lockbox if she doesn’t. You know where everything is. I’ll call home when I’m sure about what’s going on, okay?”

“Amuse-toi bien, chérie.” The cheerful goodbye came as Buttercup searched through her bag to make sure she had everything. Passport, a single change of clothes, last minute ticket purchased with all her travel points.

“Bye Gen,” she mumbled as she tucked her phone charger into the bag and hustled for the door, pulling it open and stepping out onto her front stoop.

She felt insane. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. But if she didn’t do this, she knew she would regret it for the rest of her life. She needed to go. She needed to talk to him. She needed—

“Jake?”

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millersamour · 17 days ago

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i don't want the world to see me - frankie morales x reader

A/N: this is totally me procrastinating school work and projecting onto fictional characters

just a lil something i wrote in November and totally forgot about it amidst all my finals so here ya go!

...is this whump?

Summary: Seasonal depression is kicking both of your asses and Frankie starts spiraling. You're about to give up on your crush when Frankie calls you to confess some things.

Warnings: frankie is big sad in this one, talk of addiction, mention of suicide, pining, idiots in love, angst, frankie and mc both have depression/SAD, no smut, it's all sad/fluff folks

word count: 1.9k

love the goo goo dolls <3

"And I don't want the world to see me 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand When everything's made to be broken I just want you to know who I am"

It's metronomic at this point. October arrives with a gust of wind carrying a despair that is only attractive this time of year.

It's always been a struggle for Frankie, the space between September and January: creating a perfect void that always consumes whatever success he thinks he's making.

He knew isolation was the catalyst. His therapist had said so on multiple occasions. But it was easy to do. It was easy to hide, trying to mask the irritability and the ache he felt in his ribcage.

He'd started a new job over the summer, night shift security at some storage place downtown. Now, it was even easier to snooze his alarm until the sun was low on the horizon, and the moon was slowly creeping in. But the work was good. He was awake most nights anyway, fighting off nightmares and the desire to self-medicate.

He liked to keep busy.

But it also gave him new excuses—reasons why he ignored Pope's repeated calls, Will's texts, and all of Ben's voicemails. He pretended it was his schedule that made it impossible for him to make it to movie nights at Santi's or any of Benny's fights. It had been almost a month since he'd sat at the bar, nursing a sprite, and watching as you played pool with the other guys.

Watching as your sister clung to Pope and glared at any guy who even looked at you. Frankie liked Lisa. She was a nurse and a single mother, which made her equivalent to a saint. But Frankie didn't think that Lisa was his biggest fan. He knew that her ex had similar issues to his own; that's why she was raising her son on her own. But Frankie had been upfront and honest since South America.

And he'd been completely sober for the last year.

But it was October, and Frankie was feeling lonelier than usual.

He was thankful that he worked most nights, sitting behind a desk, glancing at the cameras between episodes of The Office that he played from his phone.

However, it was Friday night, and Frankie had the night off.

He sat in the parking lot, listening to the music playing faintly from the speakers of his idling ranger. The rain pattered softly against his windshield, and he sighed, momentarily pulling his standard oil cap off to run his fingers through his curls.

He glanced back down at his outfit, dark wash jeans, and a dark blue hoodie. He checked the time again; 8:07 pm.

He knew they would be there, at the bar. They would all be around their usual table, Pope and Lisa laughing and whispering between each other. Ben and Will would probably be arguing about whatever Christopher Nolan movie Benny was obsessed with now.

Then there would be you. Smiling and laughing along, your eyes shining brightly as you argued with the boys or scolded your sister for sharing an embarrassing childhood memory.

The thought made Frankie smile.

But he still couldn't leave the parking lot. He could already hear the chastising, the way Pope would lower his voice and ask Frankie if he was okay. The way he knows, they would frown at any attempt he makes to conceal his issues with humor. The way you'd order soda all night and smile gently when you caught his eye.

It was a mutual understanding, a real friendship that you'd developed. But Frankie wanted more.

Your fingers dragged along the rim of your glass. You sighed gently because it was almost nine and Frankie hadn't shown up once again. It was the third Friday in a row, the third week in a row that he hadn't answered any messages, aside from the vague proof of life text he'd sent the group chat.

It was the same routine you'd had since moving in with your sister. It was how you met the guys: tagging along to the bar as Lisa's younger sibling. Her twenty-eight-year-old sibling, but younger nonetheless. Which had felt embarrassing at first, like you were a child without their own friends. But you knew now that Benny and Frankie enjoyed your company.

So, you'd spent most nights over the summer laughing with the Millers before making your way over to the bar to get a refill and get what little you could out of the former pilot.

But it was October now. And you could feel the time dragging on, watching the clock and forgetting to eat. The bar was a relief. a relief from work, from the mess of your personal life, and from the feelings that were a little too overwhelming lately.

But it was Frankie that you were excited to see each week, counting down the days and rewatching the office so that you could slip in a reference since he'd mentioned liking the show last time you'd spoken.

You had thought he also enjoyed your company. Santi had mentioned more than once that getting to know Frankie was difficult.

You knew he had been in the military and that they'd lost a friend not that long ago, Lisa didn't know much about what happened there either. You knew that he was sober. He'd offered a few details about his family, talking about his older sister and his nephews. He talked about his favourite songs and, if you got lucky, what it was like to fly.

He only talked about flying when it got really late, and it was just the two of you left, standing outside the bar in front of your car. His eyes would shine, and you'd see the tears on his waterline right before he blinked them away. You knew he had to have felt it too. The few nights where you'd stared into each other's eyes and admitted things you'd never told anyone else. And it had only been a few months, but you were stupidly in love with Frankie, and you'd shown up three Fridays in a row for the guy.

You were starting to lose patience. You could be at home, with a pizza, your cat, and Buffy. You finished off the diet coke you'd ordered and stole a few more fries from the table before hugging everyone goodbye, letting your shoulders drop as soon as you stepped into the parking lot.

You crossed the pavement to your little car, turned the key in the ignition, and waited for your phone to connect to the car's Bluetooth, just as the sound of your ringtone suddenly blared through your speakers, making you jump before seeing Frankie's name across your lock screen.

You panicked for a moment, realizing it was a FaceTime call, and you frantically checked your appearance in the rearview mirror before taking a deep breath and answering.

You answered and Frankie breathed a sigh of relief. You were sitting in your own car. Frankie knew you'd just left the bar. He could tell by the flush of your cheeks. You sat in silence for a moment, and he wondered if you had missed him the same way he missed you.

"Frankie?" You speak timidly into the receiver.

His name snaps him from his thoughts, focusing on the confused look on your face as you stared into your phone.

"Hey baby," it comes out rough like he hasn't spoken in a while, and he clears his throat before speaking again. "You headin' home?"

You lick your lips and nod.

"I was waiting for you." It comes out so quietly he almost misses it at first. But he catches the way your voice trembles as you pull your phone away from your face.

He sighs, a deep frustrated sound.

"Fuck baby…" He pulls his hat off, holding it over his face and groaning before placing it back on his head. "I'm really fucking this up. Aren't I?"

"What happened, Fish?"

And suddenly, for the first time in a long time, Frankie cries like a fucking baby.

The sound of Frankie crying has you panicking.

"Holy shit-Frankie- what's wrong?" It all rushes out, almost incoherently, "Where are you?"

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and you can hear him sniffle before he responds.

"At home... just sittin' in my car," he clears his throat again, "I was going to be there tonight, at the bar, but I just... I couldn't."

"Where'd you go, Frankie?" You bite the inside of your cheek and debate your next question, "It's been three weeks and you haven't said anything."

"I know, baby, I'm sorry, I didn't know how to explain it to you."

"It's one thing that you disappear on me, Morales, but it's even worse when everyone, including my own sister, is clearly aware of something that I don't know."

You watch as his head falls back against the seat.

"I've been sober for almost a year now." He declares the fact like it's something you're unaware of.

"Yeah, Frankie, I know."

"The last time I relapsed was last October," he huffs. "This time of year, y'know. It's part of the reason I started in the first place, with the drugs."

He pauses for a moment, and it hits you—what he's trying to say.

Without meaning to, you let out a soft giggle, and it's like you can feel Frankie's panic through your phone.

"Oh-fuck, Frankie, I'm sorry," You pull the phone closer to your face, "Are you trying to say that this whole time you've been avoiding everyone is because you're depressed?"

He's quiet again.

"...Yes?"

It's your turn to start crying.

"Whoa baby, what's wrong?" Frankie watches as you wipe the tears from your eyes, laughing at yourself.

"Frankie, I don't drink because I'm on antidepressants. It's the whole reason I moved back in with Lisa." You explain.

His brows furrow, and the look in his eyes, sad and tired, makes you wanna wrap your arms around him.

"Are you mad?"

"How could I be angry, Frankie. Honestly, I don't think you realize that it isn't that surprising."

He cocks his head to the side. "Whaddya mean?"

"Well I kinda figured, this time of year is hard for people like us."

"People like us?" He asks.

You bite your lip, considering your next words.

"I know what it's like when everyone in your life thinks that your biggest enemy is yourself." You pull your knees up to your chest and sigh. "Last winter I ended up in the ER."

Frankie's eyes widen for a moment.

"It wasn't on really on purpose. But it was right after the holidays. I wasn't talking to my parents and my roommate was out of town."

You pause for a moment.

"I was drinking a lot. Just way too much..." You huff. "So I get it, the not wanting to be around people..." You trail off, hoping he understands.

"It got worse and then my license got suspended." He speaks quietly at first, "I got into pills in college, y'know just trying to stay awake. But I kicked that before I went to boot camp."

You nod, silently urging him on.

"But the nightmares were getting bad. I'd been clean almost fifteen years. But I wasn't getting any sleep." He groans, like it hurts to say it out loud and you know it's something he hasn't told many people. "I started overcompensating, because it made me feel good. It helped me do my job. I needed to be able to do my job."

His eyes are sad, and tired. You've seen that same look in yourself.

"You don't gotta explain yourself to me, Frankie. We've all got shit. Bad things happen. Sometimes we're the ones who do bad shit. But you don't gotta be alone just because you're hurting."

He smiles, the corner of his lip quirking upwards. "Would you be up for grabbing a late dinner?"

"Text me the address." You bite your lip, holding back a smile, "And hey, Frankie?"

"Yea?"

"I'm really glad you called."

"Me too."

reblog and comment if you liked!!! lemme know if you'd be into seeing more of these two? <3

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physalian · 1 year ago

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Writing Exposition (Or Turning a Textbook into a Story)

Exposition concerns every facet of your work from character descriptions, backstories, and relationships, to world history, geography, religions/faiths/superstitions, politics, and current events. Whenever the author takes an aside to say “Joe, Bob’s second cousin, said ‘hello’,” the exposition is establishing that Joe is Bob’s cousin.

So shaming a story for its poor handling of exposition is like shaming a movie for bad visual effects. Yes, some of it is probably bad, but I guarantee that you did not notice every single VFX shot in the movie, and you weren’t supposed to.

Most examples of bad exposition occur when the following happens:

Informed Character A exposits to Informed Character B and tacks on “as you know” with full sincerity

Random Important Detail gets dropped in conversation that does not fit the tone or direction of conversation

Character suddenly monologues about The Thing unprompted

Convenient Breaking News Alerts

Character, out-of-character, begins monologuing about The Thing even when prompted

The pacing screeches to a halt so the Exposition Train can thunder past

Exposition exists to give information, and in order for a reader to understand a story, not all of it can or should be agonized over making perfect. Settings have to be established. Character names and relationships have to be understood. “Telling” over “showing” is, in my opinion, perfectly fine when the “showing” would take more lines, effort, and priority over a single inconsequential sentence. Heck, sometimes the “telling” is better than the “showing”. The trick to understanding when, how, and to what degree to give exposition is making it motivated.

What is motivated exposition?

See this post about character descriptions and the plight of the cliche “mirror” trope for unmotivated exposition.

Motivating your exposition means giving it a reason to exist where it does, prompted by the story you’re telling. Citing the “mirror” trope: I can have my character wake up and describe themselves to you, but in doing so, that rarely tells the audience anything more than just what to picture as they read. Or, I can have my character description spread out as those details become relevant. They’re describing their hair color and texture as it begins to irritate or distract them, telling us both what it looks like, and what our character thinks of it, and a little bit about their personality in how they treat it.

I can open the first chapter with a long-winded editorial about the long lost king destined to unite the shattered kingdoms, or I can wait until the tale becomes important to my characters to tell.

I can spin tapestries about politics before you’ve even met your hero, or I can wait until those politics begin to cause the hero problems and then invite the hero to talk about why those politics cause problems.

See this post about pacing and ensuring your scenes always do at least two things at once. Motivated exposition takes bland information’s singular purpose (to inform) and gives it flavor in coloring the personalities of the characters who give and receive it.

When to give exposition

Caveat: Not all front-loaded exposition is poorly-handled. Everyone loves the Star Wars title crawls because they’re a part of the episodic movie experience. Whether it’s a cheap way to deliver information is irrelevant.

Most prologues exist to front-load exposition and, because I love using Lord of the Rings as my shining example in every post, the trilogy opens with a lengthy speedrun of the main villain, some of the important pieces on the chessboard, the importance of the ring, the smeared reputation Aragorn must live up to and repair, and an idea of the stakes should the heroes lose. Not only is it a prologue, it’s a narrated prologue. There’s an impressive amount of information given in not a lot of time.

Last Airbender begins every single episode with a reminder about the 100 year war and the aggression of the Fire Nation and the purpose of the avatar.

With that said, prologues and title crawls are their own tangle of weeds.

As I said above, exposition should be given when the story gives it reason to exist. Don’t talk about the politics until you have a scene where discussing politics is relevant.

If you need to establish your cool, unique magic system, wait until you have a character using that magic and give it in little chewable bites. That character likely isn’t using every trick in the book right then and there. If they wrote Last Airbender as a novel and started explaining the other three bending styles the second Katara levitated some water, it would read sloppy and slog.

Or, leave the exposition as a mystery to be told later. Make your audience crave the hero’s backstory, piecing together little hints throughout the narrative until just the right moment comes along where your hero would realistically start spilling the beans about themselves. Have other characters frustrated at the lack of information. Have other characters missassume and be wrong about the information they think they know.

Have your characters crave knowledge about their world as much as your audience does.

How to give exposition

Exposition can be given three ways: Via the narrator, via dialogue, or via images or texts observed by the narrator (think news broadcasts or the front page of the paper, books, letters, videos, diary pages).

No matter which avenue you give exposition through, the less random it is, the less “hand of the author” the audience sees. Characters given a lucky break by a convenient breaking news alert is a mini deus ex machina —- the heroes do not earn their victory, it’s just given to them. They are not active in the plot making decisions, they are being railroaded by information as it falls into place before them.

Narrated exposition

The narrator’s internal monologue will interrupt the story to explain whatever needs explaining in that moment. The difference between it reading like a textbook and reading like a story is whether or not this information is important to the narrator.

Meaning, what does my hero feel about this new information? Katniss Everdeen in Hunger Games exposits the entire book because she’s alone for a fair chunk of it with no one to talk to, and she’s no stranger to the politics and history of her world. And yet, she has such strong feelings about everything she says that it doesn’t feel like she’s just giving information for the sake of informing. Everything she says and how she says it reflects on her personality and how she views her world.

Dialogue exposition

When Katniss is clueless about the tribute parade process and all the nuances of Capital life, how she asks about this information and how Effie, Cinna, and Haymich tell her also speaks to their personalities and biases about what they’re saying. In essence: Their exposition is in-character, and, thus, services their characters.

This is the complete opposite of when two informed characters exposit to each other information both already know for the sake of the audience because the author has no other way to give said information. A prime example is the hero happening to overhear two minions discussing The Plan dropping lines like “as you know” (which makes it worse every time).

The only time “as you know” works is when it’s in character. As in, the villain expositing to their minion they think is stupid and the minion reacting to that assumption appropriately. Or, the heroes are gathered to discuss The Plan and the leader of the meeting goes “as you know” because that happens in the real world. Bonus points if some characters are irritated by the redundant recap.

Exposition via dialogue also opens the door for lies, half-truths, and characters simply being wrong or blinded by their biases. Or, characters simply being ignorant of the world they live in. In Lord of the Rings, Gandalf is like 3,000 years old and has been all over Middle Earth. It doesn’t break the plot to have Gandalf exposit because he would realistically have witnessed or have deep knowledge about historical events and politics. Aragorn, too, is 87, and has ranged all over the place. He’s the future king and thus had better know his history and politics. Aragorn expositing makes sense.

Say what you will about Last Jedi but it has a prime example of nuanced exposition: Kylo Ren and Luke Skywalker have incredibly different perspectives on if/how Luke attempted murder on his nephew. There’s 3 sides to every story and the audience is never shown the truth. Had this been given in the title crawl, it would have lost much of its potency.

Dialogue also nurtures the relationships between the characters talking. Telling stories brings people together. If a character is sharing their backstory, why are they telling the narrator, and what does this mean to them as they tell it? If a soldier is sharing his grizzled leader’s backstory around a campfire, how does his relationship with his leader impact how he tells that story, what language he uses, how he sounds, the expressions on his face?

Third party exposition

Information given from an object can be incredibly hit or miss, depending on how hard the heroes worked to obtain it, and whether or not the object in question is meaningful to the heroes.

In the Assassin's Creed games, you abandon the gameplay in whatever historical era you're playing in to watch cutscene after cutscene of exposition (specifically referencing the Ezio Trilogy) by characters no one cares about, giving information that no one cares about, when we'd all rather just keep playing the game.

You can literally have a character read from a textbook, logbook, or daily minutes. What matters is how that info reads, and how the character responds to it. Is the information prejudiced or saturated with bigoted language? Is the mere existence of it where it is horrifying?

In the Mines of Moria (Lord of the Rings) Gimli learns that all his kin have been murdered by goblins once he sees their corpses all impaled with goblin arrows. Later, he finds his dead cousin’s crypt containing a dead dwarf cradling a book that tells of the downfall of Moria. The log entry isn’t finished, and the penmanship rapidly degrades as the dwarf writing it likely dies from his wounds, ending with the ominous, “We cannot get out, we cannot get out, they are coming.”

Had Gandalf warned Gimli ahead of time that all the dwarves were dead, or had they never found the crypt or figured out the owners of the arrows and simply were told “oh yeah we’re about to be attacked by goblins, I suspect they’re the reason Moria is a ghost town” that would have lost all emotional impact, and character development for Gimli.

This doesn’t have to be just objects, get creative! Have the hero watch a parody retelling of the Big Event. Have someone tell it like a ghost story around a campfire. Have it be a crazed rant all across live TV that no one takes seriously. Have six different characters remember it differently and all argue over who’s right. Have someone tell it poorly, thinking it “just a stupid rumor”.

When to withhold exposition

Satisfaction is the death of desire and sometimes uncovering the details of an enticing tidbit of information ruins whatever the audience had imagined to fill in the blanks. In terms of “showing” vs “telling” concerning worldbuilding, deciding whether to have a character speak about the information, or actually writing the scene they’re referring to, is entirely dependant on the story you’re telling.

If you are going to write a flashback, or describe a video of the event, that flashback and video has to be *packed* with as much information as you can cram in there as artfully as you can. Flashbacks and dream sequences take up space and entire scenes and settings need establishing so the audience isn’t floating in the ether trying to follow along. Which tends to mean that the meat of the flashback is barely half of the words you’re now forced to read.

Decide how important it is that the audience sees the incident as it happened, versus told in the aftermath through the biases and flawed memory of another character.

Sometimes the fewest amount of words pack the biggest punch. You can have a shattered soldier describe the battle of which they’re the last survivor in gory detail, or you can have them simply say “it was hell” and let the oomph hit in their expression, how their voice cracks, how vacant their eyes look. The injuries they sustained, the traumas visible in how they hold themselves. At that point, the audience can imagine whatever hell they want. At that point, what you are "showing" (the emotional and physical toll taken on the speaker) is likely way more important than the battle itself.

Concerning pacing — no matter how hard you worked on designing your politics and royal lineages and fantasy geography, odds are if that information isn’t important to your characters, it isn’t important to your readers. It’s not motivated.

I love trivia and fantasy maps as much as everyone else, but I like them on the wikis and next to the table of contents, not interrupting an engaging story.

And, give your audience credit where credit is due. How many fan theories stand on the basis of a few scant lines of narration or zoomed-in snippets of background characters (R+L=J anyone?) and pieces of costume? The mystery is what makes it fun, and I just watched the criminally disappointing second adaptation of the Lightning Thief completely robbed of that mystery every chance they had.

—

In short, the amount of exposition isn’t what makes it well or poorly handled, it’s how and when it’s delivered. Inception is my favorite sci-fi movie and the entire script is exposition, but the way it’s given is entertaining. Motivating your details to exist for a reason, to be given exactly when the time is right and not a moment before, is the spoonful of sugar helping the medicine go down.

Make it timely

Make it relevant

Make it important to the cast

Make it earned by the cast

Make it entertaining

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #exposition #writing

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blancheludis · 4 months ago

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Whumptober 2024 Day 7: Magic With A Cost

Fandom: Batman Characters: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Jason Todd Tags: Grief, Magic, Tim is a Witch, Self-Sacrifice

Summary:

Tim offers to bring Jason back from the dead. He knows magic always comes with a price and he is willing to pay it. A life for a life. It is not like anybody will miss him anyway.

All magic comes with a cost. Tim likes to think for him to have magic at all, he had to give up his parents' love.

When he was five and they just returned from a dig, he snuck into his father's study, just to get a glimpse at all the wonders from forgotten times they brought home with them. A small earthen vase called out to him and the stopper moved barely without any effort under his small hands. Wind rose and the echo of laughter rang in his ears although there was no one else around. Something came out of the vessel - cold and insistent and powerful - and dove right into Tim. The rest, as they say, is history.

Well, first, he spent weeks too sick to tell reality from the countless, visceral nightmares suddenly filling his head, feverish and fighting the force suddenly sharing his body with him.

His parents thought it was a curse. Tim never corrected them.

---

The death of a child is never a good thing, but something about Jason Todd dying pushes Tim's entire world off balance. He cannot sleep, he cannot eat, he cannot work. The magic inside him, always present, humming right beneath his skin and in his blood, grows demanding, pushing him towards something inevitable. Tim is unsettled by it, feeling for once more like a tool than a partner. And then, one night in the library, he finds out why.

---

The sky is a dark grey, as welcoming as the forbidding monument that is Wayne Manor as Tim walks up to the front door. This place holds a different kind of loneliness than his own home, a different kind of grief. His parents, Tim is sure, would not mind overly much, if he died. They definitely would not fall down a dark spiral of desperation bad enough to draw in all of the surrounding magic and subsequently call a witch with a handy solution directly to their doorstep.

Mere moments after knocking on the door, it opens to reveal Mr. Pennyworth, the Wayne family's butler. Tim has done his research. According to the servants' gossip in town, Mr. Pennyworth is the only person in the whole wide world who can make Mr. Wayne do something he does not want. In order to even get into the house, this is where Tim has to be most convincing.

"Good evening," he greets brightly and does not show any sign of irritation at the way the butler is subtly but disapprovingly looking him over.

Tim knows he is young and looks younger. He is small for thirteen years, too thin. Pale skin and dark bags under his eyes, thanks to the unsettled magic letting him get little rest, just make things worse. Otherwise, however, he does look like a normal boy from a respectable family and Mr. Pennyworth's scepticism is not appreciated.

"Master Wayne is not seeing visitors at this time," Mr. Pennyworth says, crisp and final, already moving to turn away.

Tim takes a small step forward. "He will want to see me."

Heat crackles under his skin, urging him forward. His magic has not been this insistent on anything in years. It has never led him astray, before, so he does not let the manor or its butler intimidate him.

"Young sir," Mr. Pennyworth says, too formal to be condescending. "Do your parents know you're here?"

Laughter breaks over Tim's lips, high and childish, along with something else, something darker that makes the hairs on the butler's arm stand up. It is not a trick, really, Tim does not have to pay anything for that effect. Magic loves him. He still has not made up his mind if he loves it.

Mr. Pennyworth stands up straighter, filling out his shoulders with a presence not befitting a mere butler. Gone are the last traces of the genial old man, replaced by something harder, something determined.

"Are you possessed?" No politeness is left in his tone. It rather sounds like he is one wrong move away from performing an exorcism himself, right here on the doorstep to his Master's home. Tim decides he likes him.

"Do possessed people usually give you an honest answer?" he asks, smiling just a tad too widely.

They stare at each other for a long moment, butler and child, duty and magic. Tim is not worried. Magic wants him here and it usually gets what it wants. It is also usually not too unkind about it.

"I will not allow any harm to come to Master Wayne," Mr. Pennyworth says slowly, not quite making it a threat.

Tim still nods briefly to show he has heard it. "It's a good thing, then, I'm not here for that. I'm here to give him something back that he lost."

Once again, there is laughter, but this time it is not Tim's. He does not move his mouth at all. These halls have seen many generations of Waynes and they just beg to be heard. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim thinks he sees a boy running, the shadow of a shadow, skidding through the foyer with a wide grin. Alfie, look. An exhale. A blink and they are alone again.

The butler has gone pale. He does not look at Tim anymore with even the distant kindness reserved for children. All he sees is a monster. "How dare you come here and wield our grief against us?"

Tim cannot help the small, bitter smile, but he inclines his head in an attempt to hide it. "What if I can bring him back?"

---

Mister Wayne's office, just like most of the halls of Wayne Manor, is dark and forbidding. Lack of light, dark wood and, most of all, their master sitting in the midst of it with grief clinging to every sharp angle, every small movement speaking of destruction, decay.

His eyes are piercing as he stares Tim down, who stands in front of the desk and repeats his proposal: returning the lost child back to life. A ritual he is sure he can do, even though the few books he found where not as instructional as he might have wanted. In fact, they all preached caution. But this is not Tim's idea.

Ever since stepping into the Manor proper, the magic inside him has expanded, pressing against the confines of Tim's mortal body, reaching a bit farther out with every breath. So, no, Tim does not know the how, yet, and he is still not clear on the why, but he is right where he is supposed to be.

"Bringing someone back from the dead is not straightforward," he explains, not losing any of his confidence. "Magic does not happen with a simple snap of fingers."

That, of course, depends. If he coated his fingers in something potent, if he were pointing at a source - but they are not talking about parlour tricks, here. They do not want to break but to mend. Building something always takes more than pulling it all down.

"How?" Mr. Wayne demands, flat and dark. Apart from a brief flash of rage, he has not shown any emotion since Mr. Pennyworth herded Tim into the office.

Beyond ritual circles and power sources and intent, the most important thing about every piece of magic is the cost. The one thing all the texts agreed on is that the cost of curing death is enormous, painful. There are options, of course, but Tim has already decided. He has never liked to depend on third-party sources. No, his magic wants him here for a reason and Tim thinks that is the simple part.

"Do you really want me to bore you with technical details?" Tim asks, tired without growing impertinent. The less he has to explain the better for everybody involved. "Every ritual is different and -"

Mr. Wayne cuts him off with a glare. "I want to know why you are here and what you intend to gain from it."

The honest answer is actually very simple. This house is calling for him, ghosts reach out for him whenever he turns his back, something is haunting his every step. As things are, he does not have anything to gain from this but rest, which is not the worst bargain he could get in a situation like this.

"Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Wayne? he asks, softly. "In fate?"

Unsurprisingly, Mr. Wayne scoffs. "I don't deal with such nonsense."

He would not call it nonsense if he could see Jason's memory flitting through the house, as real and fleeting as any of them who are still alive.

"I am here because of both," Tim says, having long since learned to ignore scepticism. Eventually, they all learn. "Your son is calling for help. I'm not sure whether he is asking for me specifically or if I'm just the first who heard him, but I know that I can bring him back."

Tim does not know any such thing, but he has come to trust in magic, to follow its lead. It is quite impossible not to when it never lets him forget its existence.

"Don't -" Mr. Wayne snaps, then swallows audibly, schools his expression into something neutral. "You can really bring him back?"

"Yes." This is not the time to show doubt. Things will fall into place at the right time, he has to trust in that.

Mr. Wayne breathes, never once looking away from Tim. "When?"

The house sighs in sudden relief, releasing some of the tension in the air. That is how Tim knows he has won the argument.

He cocks his head to the side. "I could bring him back right now, but I think you would want him to come back right." The last thing he needs is impatience or someone looking over his shoulder the entire time.

"Is there a wrong way?" Mr. Wayne asks, his shoulders tensing further.

Tim allows himself a small smile. "You want him to bring all of his soul back with him. All of his memories. All that made him who he was." He shrugs, making himself look more confident than he feels. "Simply animating a corpse would be easy. Giving back life is not." Easy is, perhaps, too strong a word but nobody needs to know that.

"How long?"

These things cannot be rushed, otherwise they will end up with even more grief. And possibly more bodies than intended. Dead ones. "I need to understand who Jason is. I think he will tell me what he needs."

Immediately, Tim knows that this answer was too bold, too outlandish for Mr. Wayne, who is very much a nonbeliever in all things he cannot personally touch. Leaning forward, hands not quite curled into fists, he says, "If you're lying to us, if you're using our grief -"

"I won't ask anything of you, Mr. Wayne, other than that you will let me live here until the job is done." Before Mr. Wayne's expression can darken further, he adds, "I have my own home, my own money. I don't need anything from you other than the freedom to do what I have come here for."

The manor creaks as they look at each other in silence. The sound of the running steps of a child waft in from somewhere.

"Yes," Mr. Wayne finally allows through clenched teeth. "But you will share all your research with me and if I get even a hint of you doing something untoward, you will leave."

"Is that -"

Mr. Wayne stands, effectively cutting Tim off. "I already said yes. Now, get out."

---

Tim moves in without fanfare. He barely brings anything in terms of clothes or personal items. He does, however, ask for a place in the gardens to put up a greenhouse.

Magic always comes with a cost. It could be body heat or a drop of blood, life force in terms of years, willing or unwilling sacrifices. Life is in all things, though, and Tim has learned a careful balance of taking without killing, growing without culling. Plants, after all, do grow stronger if cut regularly, in the right way.

The gardens of Drake Manor are rows and rows of lush green and colours of all kind, ripe fruits and fragrant smells. When he walks his home, magic is all around him.

Of course, he does not have time to plant an entire garden in Wayne Manor, but he has this: a greenhouse full of his most potent plants and windowsills filled to bursting. Green is life much more than crimson is. Here, he can breathe.

---

The theory is easy. Build a summoning circle in which he has to pour enough understanding of Jason's essence to make it stick. A binding circle to make sure he will have enough time for the exchange. The usual physical offerings, both potent in magic and specific to Jason. And then, payment.

All magic has a cost, and great deeds of magic demand great sacrifice. This will not be done with a cup full of blood, no matter the origin. Tim could bleed an entire dragon dry and the fates would not be moved. No, the payment always has to match the demand.

To create life, he has to offer something equivalent. A life for a life.

There are a number of rituals and spells that are powered by human sacrifice. Tim has never dabbled in those, has never even read up on them beyond the basics.

His magic has led him here, has pulled him in with more insistence than ever before. He knows what that means.

A life for a life.

---

Tim keeps to himself and Mister Wayne is more than happy to ignore him. The house, however, is not. Long gone laughter rings out around every corner. Phantom flames flicker in empty fireplaces. Books fall from shelves in the library only to reveal dozens of handwritten notes in the margins. For once, Tim is not the only ghost that haunts a manor.

"I need to know more about Jason's life." Tim ambushes Alfred in the kitchen. "What did he do all day?"

He needs to know, but he does not like seeing Alfred age right before him, hollowed out by grief and memories he has not yet laid to rest.

"Sit down," he offers Tim, smiling despite himself. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

---

"I want to train with you," Tim says one morning after breakfast.

Mr. Wayne tends to avoid him and offering nothing but terse nods whenever he cannot. He does not ask about Tim's progress, does not offer any help that is not pulled out of him with great effort. It is clear that he has let Tim into his home out of desperation, but that he does not believe success is possible. Worse, every time he sees Tim is a reminder of his loss.

"No," Mr. Wayne snaps, alit with sudden anger. He has half-risen out of his seat, towering over Tim.

"It's what Jason did, right?" Tim asks, not showing any outward reaction to Mr. Wayne's intimidation tactics.

His fingertips burn, ready to throw Mr. Wayne across the room if he comes any closer or begins to act on his unspoken threat. Tim is small and young, but he is anything but defenceless.

"You're not here to replace him." That is more a growl than a human voice, somehow befitting the sharp-cut jaw.

Tim leans back in his seat, taking a sip of his coffee. "No. I'm here to understand him so I can bring him back."

Without another word, Mr. Wayne storms out. He does not, however, deny Tim when he appears, a few hours later, in the gym, eager to learn.

---

Tim is not sure what to make of the prospect of dying. He is young. He has seen nothing of the world. His parents do not love him, but he always hoped that, someday, somewhere, he could find love for himself, family. He wonders, now, why whatever was in that vessel spared him, gave him the gift of magic. He wonders what is so special about Jason Todd that fate asks Tim to die for him.

He learns about Jason, learns that he can be jealous of a dead boy, learns that life can be really, unfathomably unfair. He does not find a satisfying answer to his question. With time, however, he thinks it will at least be a worthy exchange. Jason has so much to offer the world. He has people waiting for him. Tim has nobody but himself.

Magic buzzes restlessly inside Tim as he refuses to let it out. Without it, he is entirely human. Entirely breakable. Bruce does not seem to care. He never tires, he never makes mistakes.

Tim could still wipe the floor with him if only he would let go. He does not. Instead, he gets thrown down on the mats more often than he can count.

"Again," Bruce repeats a thousand times.

At night, Tim goes through an unholy amount of arnica and hamamelis and heat sucked right out of the flames in the fireplace so that he can move without too much pain the next morning. His magic purrs, glad he has not forgotten it completely.

---

"Was he often hurt?" Tim asks one night when he is sure that Bruce is nowhere nearby. He nurses his tea, appreciative of its warmth.

Alfred looks up alarmed. "Master Jason? Why do you ask? What happened?"

His immediate worry is just as soothing as the tea, careful attentiveness instead of dismissive ignorance. Tim is not used to so much positive human interaction, he has to take care not to let his guard down too much.

"It's just - he has training with Bruce and then they fight out in Gotham." He shrugs. His intention was never to accuse anyone of anything. It is just intense. "He was just a boy, right?"

With too perceptive eyes, Alfred looks at him. "Are you hurt, Master Tim?"

Tim flinches back, taken by surprise. "No," he lies.

Although, is it really a lie if he asked for it? Bruce seemed tolerant of his antics in the training room and never once hesitated when Tim got back to his feet to face him again.

His muscles are permanently sore, not used to the exertion. If he would not heal himself, his bruises would have bruises because he never before had to dodge a predator coming after him with intent. His skin spans painfully over his bones, barely containing his magic. It is constantly simmering right underneath his fingertips. He could make sure not a single hit ever finds his target again. But that is not what he is here for. He wants to learn. Magic is not infallible.

Bruce is not hurting him for the sake of pain, but Tim has never had much need for physical fitness. This is like learning to walk, all over again, like getting on a bike for the first time and greeting the gravel of their driveway with his knees.

Of course, at the end of this journey, it will not matter whether his body is trained, whether he learned anything that could be useful for a life he will never have. At the end of this, Tim will be dead and Jason will be back in his rightful place.

Tim does need to learn about Jason, but a small, not insignificant part of him, does this for his own gain. Where is the harm in experiencing this life? Where is the harm in tasting something that was never for him?

"If something is wrong -"

Tim shakes his head quickly. He does not need Alfred to do something rash. "Everything's good, Alfred," he reassures easily. "I'm just not used to so much physical exertion, and I wondered. It was not an accusation. I know Jason was happy here."

Slowly, Alfred settles back into a more comfortable position. For a few minutes, they sit in silence, drinking tea.

"Do you see him?" Alfred then asks, as hopeful as he is cautious.

There is not a step Tim can take in this house without Jason's essence pressing in on him.

"He is not the kind of ghost I could talk to," he says and is glad for it. Otherwise, his task could be done much quicker, and he finds himself reluctant to let go just yet. "But his essence is here nonetheless. I hear most of his laughter in the kitchen."

Alfred's eyes turn glassy and Tim offers a smile, unsure whether he overstepped. Grief is a fickle thing, able to cause both comfort and pain.

"You're a good kid, Master Tim."

Tim does not know about that, but something preens in him at the attention nonetheless.

---

Bruce's temper is a minefield on a good day and he tends not to have a lot of those.

"What is taking so long?" he growls after having summoned Tim to his office. Once again, Tim is not asked to sit. It is eerily reminiscent of his first visit here, having to plead his case as if he is desperate to die for these people, as if his life is worth nothing at all on its own.

Tim looks at Bruce as he takes a moment to swallow his temper. It must have been a bad night, one where Bruce is haunting the house just as much as Jason is, just with less of a positive energy.

"I told you I need to-"

Bruce brings his hand down on the table, making Tim flinch. He has never before felt seriously threatened in this house, but he has seen what these hands can do. He knows what grief can do.

"I think you just want to take something that's not yours," Bruce accuses with burning eyes. "You want to take his place."

Deep breaths, Tim reminds himself. "Bruce. I don't want to take anything from you." On the contrary, he wants to give something back, to the point of self-destruction, even. He knows better than to say that, though. Bruce would not mind much, probably, giving nothing but token protest. Alfred might be the real obstacle there, and Tim does not actually want to spend time and effort on convincing people to let him die. "I can't tell you why I was called. But I'm not yet ready."

"Do you ever plan on being ready?" Bruce asks, his lips pulling up into something that is more of a threat than a smile.

Planning has little to do with it. Tim is willing to do what has to be done. Life, magic, all of it was a gift. He has not yet paid for that, but something in him tells him that this might be it. This is the universe coming to collect. Why else push him into the home of a dead boy? Why else give him a task that will mean the cost of his life? He is already getting more out of the bargain than he could have hoped for, these glimpses of what it means to be a family.

"Do you want me to go?" Tim asks softly. The magic in him stirs, stings underneath his skin. He breathes to calm it. He will not abandon his task, but he wants to do this the right way.

Bruce is not quick enough to pull his face into impassiveness, to fully hide the fear. "Are you rescinding your offer?"

"No," he promises, gentler perhaps than Bruce deserves. "I mean, I have an entire house just down the road. I don't have to stay here. I don't have to eat here. You don't have to see me, if you don't want to. I can try to get ready otherwise."

It would be harder, of course, but Tim would also not be distracted by liking this life.

"No." Bruce's reply comes too fast, too hoarse. "No. Stay."

Immediately, the pressure that has been building inside Tim releases. His magic is mollified.

"Do you want to spar? Take your mind off things?" Tim then offers, deciding a change in topic is needed and Bruce always seems to do better when he can punch out his grief. It is not how he planned to spend his morning but he is not completely hopeless anymore and has even begun to enjoy the exertion of it.

Bruce, however, narrows his eyes at him. "Alfred tells me you've been limping yesterday."

Traitor, Tim thinks without heat. He grins, careless. "Nothing some good old magic can't fix."

He expects Bruce to nod and be done with the topic. Instead, he carefully looks Tim over as if he can spot any bruises through his clothes.

"I don't want to hurt you," he then says, gentle and honest. It does things to the part of Tim that is still a child waiting for his parents to come home and love him.

"You can't." That is a bold-faced lie, but Tim does not stumble over it. They are talking about different hurts anyway. Physical pain is fine. Getting to live a life never meant for him, to experience love if only from the outskirts of it - that hurts. At the same time, it might be the most precious thing of all. "And if I don't train, then I won't get better."

---

After that first, not very promising meeting on the Manor's doorsteps, Alfred's behaviour in regards to Tim has improved immensely. He was never rude, no, but he has a way of wielding his politeness in a way that cuts. Slowly but surely, the sharpness drained out of his words and expressions, and his service grew from perfunctory to warm. Alfred is the soul of this house and Tim feels honoured to have been welcomed in.

"What is your favourite dessert, Master Tim?" Alfred asks one morning, attentive in a way that would befit more serious questions.

Tim smiles at him over the rim of his coffee mug. "Wrong question, dear Alfred. What is Jason's favourite dessert?" He cannot let the lines blur too much.

But Alfred is not going to let himself be deterred. "I do think you can take an evening off. This is about you."

Nothing is ever about Tim. Even the magic. It pulls and pushes, insists and demands. He is but a vessel. He broke that sealed vase and whatever was inside that now lives in him is always hungry.

Still, there is something endearingly earnest about the way Alfred looks at him. It is hard to disappoint him.

"I don't know," Tim admits.

A pause. A frown. "Well," Alfred claps his hands with too much cheer. "It is time we found out, then."

---

Things are coming to an end; Tim feels it in his bones. He is not a stranger anymore in this house. At times, his own laughter rings along with Jason's, creating a harmony that leaves him breathless.

He knows the manor's inhabitants as well as its halls. Bruce's silences, less broody now but filled with warmth. Alfred's quiet strength and endless capacity for love. He knows where to put his feet to remain standing when Bruce charges at him, knows the thrill of fighting, an intricate choreography. He knows the pleasant ebb and flow of conversations, of stories shared to entertain. He knows the feel of family, of love. Underneath it all, he knows all the places Jason fit.

"I'm ready," he says when they are half-way through breakfast.

Bruce stills. Which is not the reaction Tim expected. "You are?" Hesitation, questions in every angle.

Tim nods, smiling. He has been ready for a week now, but an unwelcome, selfish part of him did not want to admit it, did not want to give this up, and the magic let him. Now it is time to face reality, however.

Bruce looks at him, still strangely hesitant. "What do you need?"

More time, Tim thinks, but that is not part of the deal. He will not hurt these people further, not after they have taken him in and given him the greatest gift of his life.

"Today is the new moon. I will do it then. Later, I'll unearth the coffin. If you want to come, do it soon." The body has to stay inside, so it will not be disturbed before it is time, but Tim does not want to leave Jason in his grave when he cannot help him out, afterwards. "You need to stay inside when I do the ritual. I cannot be distracted." More importantly, the magic cannot be distracted. There can only be two targets for the ritual. Better not add any temptations.

"You -" Bruce's eyes are piercing, but Tim meets them calmly. "It will work?"

The magic purrs inside Tim, which he takes as an affirmative. Bruce still does not believe in it, though.

"I have not done this before, but I've done my research," Tim says, as confidently as he can. "Something called me here. I'm sure." Failure is not an option, anyway. He will not get a second try.

"Thank you, Tim." Bruce sounds breathless, at once anticipatory and afraid.

"Thank me tomorrow," Tim says, even while the words taste like ash in his mouth.

It is funny, really. The cost has been clear from the very beginning. He will not sacrifice any other human being, so the only viable alternative is himself. He has known that all along. So, why does he feel reluctant now? Why are his limbs heavy and his heart rate too fast? He is a willing sacrifice, a life freely given. Why make it hard on himself now?

He knows why, of course. For the first time in his short life, he actually has something to give up. Before, it was him in his parents' empty house, learning, doing magic feats no one would congratulate him for. Now, he has gotten a taste of what it feels like to be wanted, even if they want Jason, not him. The lines have blurred enough for him to feel the connection, the love.

But it is all right. He can do this. Today, he will say his goodbyes, he will thank magic and fate. He will be ready.

---

Tim makes a last round through the house, wanders in Jason's footsteps and, now, also in his own. He sits on his bed, runs a hand across his desk. In the greenhouse, he says goodbye to each of his plants. Alfred will take care of them, surely, so something of his will remain. In the kitchen, he steals a cookie and laughs when Alfred offers to make his favourites for dinner. He cleans himself thoroughly, body and soul, the last ritual he will do for himself. It is a good day, a good life. Tim is glad he got to taste it.

---

Magic makes it easy to unearth the coffin. It looks a bit damaged, but Tim does not know anything about the natural progression of coffin decomposition to think anything about it. He does not look in. Neither do Alfred or Bruce when they come by, briefly, before letting him do his work.

Calm settles over Tim as he prepares. He has brought his best supplies for this. No need to save them for later when there will never be a later. This is his masterpiece. He draws the runic circles with utmost care, going over each three times to make sure everything is perfect. He begins burning the incense as he places the physical anchors.

He watches the sun set, speaking a prayer of thanks.

---

Night falls and he is ready.

This is it. This is the culmination of months of work.

Tim's blood seeps into the runes, his bones creak in anticipation. His soul, at once ready and balking, hangs by nothing but a thread. With a deep inhale, feeling his body for the last time, Tim snaps it.

#whumptober2024 #no.7 #magic with a cost #batman #fic #tim drake #bruce wayne #jason todd #alfred pennyworth #magic #self-sacrifice #ghosts #my writing

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cleromancy · 7 months ago

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one of the most irritating things about the recent outcry from fake mia fans about jaymia is like. jaymia as a ship does significantly more for her character than the reverse. even just when you look at seeing red that's a *mia* arc, it's *about* mia, it's using jason as a means to explore and develop *mias* character

and when we talk about jaymia as foils, there's just... a lot more of mia that explores than jason. like, the speedy who lived vs the robin who died, that absolutely centers mias themes of surviving the horrors and then living with them-- living with trauma, living with hiv, living with having had to do meth (with the implication that she shared needles) to keep herself alive, living with having killed a man, living with both things having been done to you and making your own mistakes

its also such a fucking... these same people pretend that having horrible taste in men isnt a throughline of mias character. first she has a crush on ollie (significantly older, unavailable, has a bad personality), then connor (an improvement in that he's got a better personality than ollie does but hes also still significantly older and unavailable), and finally dodger (an improvement in that he's not that much older and he *is* available but like he's also still juuuust older enough to be a red flag and also kinda skeezy in general)... like an enemies to lovers romance with a boy her age (because jason *is* her age, hes 2-3 years older than tim and mias a year older than that) would be absolutely in line with her arc to a fuckin' T. and if not that then she would definitely wind up dating an antihero or something, someone else unpalatable and not squeaky clean because that's not what shes interested in

and seeing red is one of the only miacentric arcs that there even *are,* and jason is canonically, textually there to push her and make her think... the fact that these people refuse to engage with it on a deeper level is how i know they don't actually care about mia, because why the FUCK wouldn't you dig into that and use that as a launching point to explore mia as a stand alone character and not a green arrow supporting character? because thats very clearly what it's supposed to be

whether or not you actually ship jaymia if you engage with new earth mia as a character in any depth at all bouncing her off her canonical foil is... the extremely obvious, extremely intuitive way to explore her and engage with the themes of her story, and these chucklefucks CONSTANTLY keep dismissing it entirely out of hand as "oh its just because winick was obsessed with jason," when 1) hes one of the two definitive mia writers there even ARE and 2) that arc was EXPLORING MIA. IT WAS NOT ABOUT JASON. IT WAS HER STORY AND HE WAS JUST THERE TO FURTHER HER ARC (AND WAS VERY EFFECTIVE TO THAT END). LEARN TO FUCKING READ

#jaymia #jaymia text #and like you Can do interesting stuff with jasons character in jaymia dgmw but like #in terms of who does the most for whose development or arc. it intuitively prioritizes mia 100%#and so does their canon interaction #but also like Jason antis are not in any way engaging with the actual stories or characters on the page lol #theyd much rather make up a guy to be mad at than actually put any thought or analysis into female characters lmao #mia text #mia dearden #btw to be perfectly clear i love ollie!!!!! but he sucks a bit.

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killersfool · 1 year ago

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Chemistry | ELIJAH HEWSON

PAIRING: elijah hewson x original f!character

GENRE: mutual pining, high school days

SUMMARY: leah vazquez lives next door to the loudest band in the world—a band which includes the nightmare boy who’d asked her for help with chemistry homework. invited to a party by rob, a whole lot of truths come to light.

WORDS: 6.8k

WARNINGS: kissing, alcohol, mentions of smoking

Being next door to the loudest band in the entire world was enough to make Leah want to throw eggs into their garden. Every day, from the small hours of the morning to the late evening, she'd hear that bleeding guitars and those crashing drums. The summer holidays were meant to be a period of rest and relaxation but all she could hear were those three irritating boys attempting to cover Nirvana. She'd see them with their smiling faces and instruments, making their way to the garage every day. They resided at Rob's house. Leah's parents were friends with Rob's so there were many family dinners. This was the longest period of not having one. Leah was thankful.

Leah was sat at her desk, head pressed to a Chemistry textbook, trying to wrap her head around electron configuration. The whole lesson at school was filled with sarcastic comments. No one understood a word leaving the teacher's mouth. Funny thing was that Elijah Hewson was in her class. One of the idiots who made fun of her if she got an answer wrong. He'd blame a bad grade on anything but himself. His favourite pastime was talking, constantly speaking his mind, even if it wasn't necessary at all. Teachers loved him, girls snapped him, attempted to make him laugh. He sat down with all the 'popular' people. A huge table of liars and attention-seekers who looked down on everyone else. Leah would glance at them from her seat, see him on Snapchat for the majority of free periods. The only time he'd spoken to her outside of class was when he was confused on the Chemistry homework. She had been sat down in the study room, chair under the circular tables and textbooks scattered all over it. She was trying to simultaneously finish a sketch for art and do exam questions as revision. It wasn't going well.

Elijah Hewson pulled out the chair next to her, plonked himself down without even asking her if he could sit there. He dropped his backpack. Unzipping it, she gave him a glare, slid her headphone off of one ear. She muttered, "Make yourself at home." She wouldn't move her textbooks to give him room. Anytime she walked past him in the corridors, he wouldn't even bat an eyelid or turn to face her. Now, he was pulling out his day folder and pencil case like they were best mates. As if there was nothing weird about this at all. "You know there's about eight free tables, right?"

Elijah glanced up. Gum in his mouth, curls falling over his forehead, almost so long they were grazing the table. He hadn't heard a word she'd said. His airpods were in his ears, blasting music.

"Hewson?" She tried. She was debating running to the doorway, leaving all of her stuff there. She could make an excuse and hide in the toilets. They were grimy though. Most of the toilet seats had fallen onto the ground, none of the doors would shut properly because they'd all been messed with. The floor of each cubicle was always covered with liquid — probably piss. You'd think that now that they were in high school the hygiene would have improved but it was actually worse.

Leah was a lot happier in the peace and quiet of the study room. Now it was just her and Elijah. No one else. Too quiet. She was cold. It was a cool Winter day and wind was trickling through the half open window. She could hear younger students doing PE outside — bucket hall — all freezing in just shorts and a shirt.

"Oh didn't see you there," Elijah muttered. There was an obvious smirk playing at his lips and a lilting quality to his voice that he always used when attempting to be mischievous. He peeled his calculator from his bag and the dreaded Chemistry homework that had been driving Leah mad. An insane asylum would be her best bet at the end of the year. Why did she even choose the stupid subject? And, still, why the hell was this eejit still here?

"Do you get the homework?" Leah asked. She'd given up with being confused. Maybe he could offer her some guidance. He wasn't the greatest at Chemistry though. He'd barely scraped a pass in the last assessment.

Elijah bit down on the end of his pen, held it like a cigarette, pressed it against his lips a few times. Her eyes fell to his pink mouth: the cupid's bow, the shaving nicks on his chin, the shadow of a moustache above his top lip. Her artistic eye always overanalysed people. She'd never been so close to him before.

"Miss Lane's shite teaching fucked me up."

There it was. Blaming it on anyone but himself. The target this time was their teacher. Leah agreed with him. Miss Lane had squeaky shoes and an even squeakier voice. When she told people off, no one could take it seriously. Students would laugh under their breaths, hands over their mouths to keep her from seeing. At one point, Elijah pretended to fall over so that he could hide under the wooden table and laugh. He'd seen the layers of gum left beneath it, stuck his own one there to add to the collection.

"I thought you could show me how to do it, seeing as you know your stuff."

"I really don't."

"You really do." He flicked to the Chemistry section of her folder, pressed his finger onto the test they'd just done. "You got the highest mark in the class on this." He tilted his head, hair now splayed across his cheekbone. She'd never realised his eyes were hazel or how he tapped his shoes when he spoke — a nervous habit. Was he nervous?

"That was pure luck. The multiple choice questions were stupid. I guessed all of them. Just put CBA over and over."

"I guessed all of mine and got them wrong."

"That's rough." Leah sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

She pulled out the homework from her folder, along with a whiteboard and periodic table. Elijah moved his chair closer to hers. Her head was close to touching his bare shoulder. He had a Joy Division shirt on, leather jacket hung on his seat and jeans that didn't comply with the dress code. His luck of being a teacher's pet and Bono's son meant dress codes hardly fazed him. The only time he'd been sent home was when he wore a crop top — 'midriff showing is distracting, girls and boys'. He'd kicked a chair in the cantine and dramatically slammed the door behind him.

Leah couldn't understand how he was warm. There were goosebumps all over her skin, every hair stood to attention. Elijah put his airpods into his case. She glanced down at his biceps, the sun-tanned skin, the beauty spots, the freckles, his large yet nimble fingers. The tiny airpods make them all the more gargantuan. Skin was flaking away on his index finger — that's how she figured he played guitar. He'd been picking at it, dried blood remained there. His veins were prominent and nails neatly cut. His hands were like the ones she'd draw in her sketchbook. She was analysing again — way too much.

"So, where do we start?" Elijah's voice cut her staring competition with this rather big mole on his arm short.

"What about the first question?" Leah smiled to herself.

"Never would've thought of that one. Wow." Elijah scoffed. He read over the inked words. "Spin diagram for Magnesium? What the?"

"I'll show you."

The free period was basically an entire hour of Leah drawing weird arrows in boxes, trying to get Elijah to grasp the topic.

She didn't meet his eyes for most of the time. She didn't like the look on his face. He was studying her weirdly. She hated when he'd slouch back on his chair, legs apart, head thrown back in frustration. Or when he'd yawn but really over-exaggerate it to the point where she'd roll her eyes and kick his shin to wake him up again.

By the end, he understood the topic better than Leah herself. He was teaching her at that point. Taking the whiteboard and showing her that she'd done the whole order wrong. They finally completed the homework, checked answers with eachother then called it a day.

"Do you get it now?" Leah said. She finally looked him in the eye. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He liked her dark eyes, her saccharine smile.

"Yeah, thanks." He packed his things away, drank a long gulp of water. He then asked, shoes bouncing again, "Are you cold?"

Leah could feel his gaze on her arms. Being part Spanish meant the great gift of dark hairs everywhere. At least they gave her some sort of insulation, Biology had taught her that.

"I'm fine. It's always a bit chilly up here."

Elijah stood up. He tucked his chair in, placed his fingers on the back of the wooden seat, stroking his jacket. She watched his fingertips, as he scrunched the material in order to pick it up.

The room smelt of him. His minty chewing gum was one of the strongest aromas. He carried such a particular scent along with him everywhere. It was as if there was a fairy hidden in his backpack, sprinkling his cologne in each corridor, each classroom.

He stopped, squeezed his lip between two fingers, played with the earring in his left ear. He wanted to say something but wouldn't spit it out. Running through all the possible responses to the question, a computer testing different codes, an enzyme trying to find its matching substrate.

"You can have my jacket," Elijah murmured, quiet. "It's a gift for all of your help."

"What? Forever?" She made a face, almost like she was going to throw up. That was the last thing she was expecting he'd say to her. She thought he was going to insult her, tell her that she looked like shit. Mornings were not her favourite time of day.

"If you want it forever?" He laughed, an actually hearty laugh that she'd never heard before. The glowing smile staining his lips was very different to his concentrated face before. The last time she'd heard him laugh like this was when they did a practical. A titration. He messed up the experiment at least five times and couldn't stop giggling.

"You could buy me something from the cantine instead. Them brownies are lush. I'm starving."

"I'll buy you something too. Just put it on. You might freeze to death."

Elijah had left the study room in a matter of seconds. Leah was still extremely and utterly perplexed. His jacket was resting on the seat. She looked around, made sure no one was there then put her arms through the holes. It was far too big on her. At first it was freezing against her skin but it gradually warmed up. His scent clung to it. His lighter had been left in the bottom pocket. And some cash.

Moments later, Leah's friend came running through the door, Polly. She was holding some tissues in her hands. Without a word, she plonked this tissued contraption onto Leah's desk and said, "Hewson gave it to me. Said it's for you. Since when the shit are you talking that bellend?" Polly had her arms crossed over her chest. She then looked at Leah's jacket. "You weren't wearing that in form. Is it his as well?"

"Poll..." Leah took a deep breath. "He was just being nice."

"Elijah Hewson? Nice? He'd throw paper aeroplanes at me and Rick every Music lesson and detuned my bass before the concert."

"That was a year ago." Leah didn't know why she was defending him. She was delirious. Tired.

"Well he's a player, you know that don't you? Snapscore's like five hundred thousand, dated almost every girl in our form—"

Leah put her head into her hands. She couldn't deal with this. Maybe he had been pretending. Maybe that whole thing had been a cruel game to him.

Leah's eyelids were heavy and drooping. Her pencil had broken, her pen had run out of her ink and her ruler had cracked into two separate pieces.

Then she heard banging. Drums. Guitar. Bass. Then that stupid jarring voice that her ears would somehow cling to. Nirvana was playing in her headphones, a way to drown out the terrible cover she'd heard the night before. Smells Like Teen Spirit by The Inhalers was bedlam. Pure bedlam. She needed Kurt Cobain to cleanse her ears. They were probably filled up with blood.

It had been months since the Chemistry incident. As she expected, he didn't speak to her again.

"Leah?! Rob's family are coming over for dinner tonight! His friends are coming too. I'm not sure if you know any of them. I heard Ryan and Elijah are lovely boys." Leah's mum had just announced the worst possible thing to ever happen. Jumping out of the window seemed like a viable option, or just locking herself in her room.

"You coming, Lee? It's paella, your favourite." Her Dad knocked on the door. "I know you don't like all their music stuff but they're nice boys. It would be good to get to know more people in your year, wouldn't it, sweetheart?"

Leah couldn't say no to her Dad. Or his cooking. "Fine. I'll be down in a second."

She heard the doorbell ring, then the click of the door opening. Greetings poured out of mouths and footsteps crashed all over the place. She had seen the three lads leave the garage, climb over Leah's garden fence and knock on the back door. Not scary at all. Definitely not the slightest bit worrying. She hated how perfect her view was from the window. She could see how long Elijah's hair had grown across his face and the white vest pressed against his frame.

Opening her closet, she saw that horrible leather jacket still hung up. She'd left the money and the lighter inside of it. She hadn't worn it since that winter's day and never had the chance to give it back to him. She didn't even know if he wanted it back.

She shrugged a cardigan over her dress then walked down the stairs. What's the worse that could happen? Well, for starters, Rob was showing Elijah the culmination of baby photos on the wall of the staircase. She worriedly ran towards them and pushed Elijah's shoulders to keep him away. He was finding it all quite hilarious. He was pointing to one of her crawling around as a baby, cookie monster toy sat beside her.

"Really funny, isn't it?" Leah sarcastically said. They were thankfully metres away from those pictures. "Almost as funny as you guys practicing for ten fucking hours a day."

"Geez louise, Leah. What's gotten you so riled up?" Rob's blue eyes struck her. He was so tall now. She hated it.

"Your shite playing that's what."

"It's not that bad." Elijah snorted.

"We are shite, Eli, she's right." Ryan appeared, the drummer. Leah had never spoken to him before. He was in her maths class.

Down the hallway, Elijah and Ryan had a prolonged discussion about whether they were good or not. Ryan kept telling him: 'there's a lot of room for improvement.'

"We need a lead guitarist. One that's actually good. Sorry Eli. You're alright on rhythm but lead..."

"I'm leng at lead. Shut up."

"Chillax mate. Did I strike a nerve?"

"Fuck you."

If not for the familiar scent of smoked paprika, Leah would've walked away from them. They were both sat at opposite ends of the table, fed up with each other. Leah's parents decided to sit in the garden to leave the four teenagers to their own devices. Rob was the only one making conversation. He was asking Leah about school and how she was finding her subjects. They weren't really close friends in school, but they'd gotten to know eachother through all the weird family gatherings. His buzz cut made her laugh every single time she saw him.

"Are you going to the party? Anna's one?" Ryan alerted Leah with a jab of his fork against his glass. A high-pitched note rung out.

"You really think I'm mates with Anna?" Leah had to put her cutlery down to laugh. She then started to scrape the rice around on her plate. She'd seen Rob's countless Instagram stories of her parties. Those red plastic cups and boys jumping on top of one another. She'd see all the worst people in her head, all bundled together in one sweaty room, twisting bodies dancing to terrible grime music. That was her vision of hell.

Ryan awkwardly looked between his friends.

"Uh.. we could bring you as a plus one," Rob offered.

"She was disrespecting our music ten minutes ago, is that really a good idea?" Elijah reminded his two friends.

Leah took a short sip of her coke, feeling the condensation of the bottle grace her skin. She watched the three boys whisper and argue. Her parents seemed to be relaxed in the garden, the complete opposite of the thick tension between the inner four walls. The sky was a pale shade of blue. Each passing cloud was larger than the last. There was one that looked a lot like Elijah. Even had the irritating strand of hair that he always left to fall over his forehead.

"I'll go if you put some decent music on." Leah could not handle the songs the partygoers had on their Instagram stories.

"Will always picks the music. He'll get pissed off if we change it." Ryan was unsure.

"Let's piss him off then." Leah downed the rest of her coke.

Anna's party was as messy as Leah expected it to be. Meeting Rob beside the park by Anna's house was already an ordeal. Her mobile data wasn't working properly and the massive house was in the middle of nowhere. The park had neon green swings with murky water dripping off of them. Leah felt bad for any kid in the neighbourhood. Although she doubted that anyone sane lived on that eerie, cobbled street. She was sure she'd knock on the door and a vampire would be there, floating midair with pearly white fangs. But no, it was Anna, the pick me girl of the year. Even when she had a boyfriend, she'd be all over the boys, whispering in their ears and putting on a baby voice whenever she wanted their attention. Leah couldn't comprehend the bee-like swarm of boys always huddled around her. Overhearing any of the conversations between them was enough to make Leah want to vomit.

"Rob! Hey!" Her baby voice came out as she trapped the tall boy into a bear hug. He looked uncomfortable, stood like a penguin. "And... Leah?"

"Hi." Leah tried to bring her hand up to wave but felt like a right numpty.

Anna could definitely see through Leah's fake smile but still said, "Come on in. The more the merrier I guess."

Music booming, teenagers jumping up and down, smell of alcohol thick through the air. The house was huge. Insanely. They were in the richest part of Dublin but still... Leah had to stop to take it all in. The multitude of people squished together made the house seem smaller. Cramped and sweaty. Leah could see faces from school every few steps. Most people there she'd never seen before. She didn't like it.

Rob led her through the kitchen, the living room and out to the garden. There was a swimming pool dug into the ground.

Dark, wet curls caught her eye. An iridescent smile. Elijah.

He was in the pool next to Ryan. They were splashing water onto eachother and messing around with floaties. Rob pulled off his shirt, trousers, leaving him in just boxers and jumped in. Cannonball. Water flying all over Leah's pristine, white dress. She bit back a shout or an insult. He laughed at the mess he'd created.

Elijah pulled himself out of the water. Leah wouldn't even glance in his direction — she could see how girls turned their hands to catch a glimpse. She didn't like how she found him beautiful. It was a problem. She would draw him on summer evenings. When her cluttered desk was looking down on her with disdain. There were times he'd leave the garage with a cigarette in hand, sat down on Rob's rope swing and blew smoke away. His silhouette would be dark but sometimes — when the fairylights strung along the fence lit him up at the perfect angle — she'd be able to see the intricacy of his features. She would sketch him. A way to drag her thoughts away from homework or any kind of stress pent up during the day. It had turned into an almost daily habit. It was the saddest hobby known to man.

She ran straight back indoors, into the kitchen and grabbed the first bottle she saw. Didn't read the label, didn't check the percentage. She'd never properly had alcohol before. It was strong and weird and disgusting. She almost drank the whole bottle before a wet hand pulled the bottle away.

"Holy shit, Leah. That's way too much." It was him. The fountain of her inspiration. The embarassing muse. The wet-haired, dog out of water, hazel-eyed boy who now had an arm around her shoulders.

"I can drink as much as I want, dickhead." Leah pushed him away. His white shirt was glued to his chest and a denim jacket clung to his shoulders. His eyes scanned along her face, checking she was okay. She was attempting to reach for another bottle. He stopped her.

"Could we have a walk?" He breathed. "That will clear your head better than this will." He shook the transparent liquid around, contents splashing.

Leah felt the hand on her spine. Her backless dress meant that his calloused fingertips were cold against her. He'd never touched her before. She could sense how his hand caressed her gently, massaging to calm her down. The drink was already making her senses more heightened, making her focus only on his touch, how his lips were moving as he whispered, how her shoes crashed against the floor. Her body felt too heavy and the room felt too big. The music was becoming more bassy, slowing down until it was like she was moving in slow motion.

Elijah didn't even wait for her response. He knew that she had to be taken somewhere quiet. He managed to guide her to the gazebo in Anna's garden. It was unoccupied, thankfully. He had to peek over the door to ensure that he wouldn't walk in on anything weird. Leah sat down at the end of the wooden hexagon, stumbling around before she plonked herself down, legs stretched out completely. Elijah sat down opposite her. He watched her hold her head between her hands and groan.

"Why do people like drinking that? It's —" She couldn't even speak properly. Her words were slurring, the lights above her were simply hues of colour, Elijah was a blur.

"You drank half a bottle of vodka, love. It's not the tastiest first drink." Elijah couldn't believe what this evening had turned into. The boys had been fools for dragging her along. She'd be much happier at home, doing whatever she normally did on a Friday evening. He pictured her sat down at her desk, headphones on her ears and paintbrush in hand. He would purposely leave band practice to see her through that thin piece of glass. His view was far from remarkable and his excuse was slowly getting less believable but he missed being able to see her every day. Across the cantine, across the chemistry classroom or at the weekly assemblies. He would make it his mission to look for her in any crowd — no matter how big or how small.

Leah, the smartest person he'd ever met, the most geniune person stood on the soil of this very earth (in Elijah's most accurate opinion) was now sprawled helplessly across the splinter-inducing wood, eyes glued shut and teeth chattering. Somehow she was always cold. Elijah couldn't understand her at all.

"Are you hungry?" Elijah attempted. He knew his chance of a response were almost nil. But he'd try anyway. Anything to get her to talk, to open up to him. He'd been an idiot for distancing himself from her for the past months. She was an angel. Especially with her flowing white dress and endless black hair, he couldn't look away, couldn't even take his mind off of her.

He pulled out a box of pizza from under his arm. He'd stolen it from the house before they went outside. He slid it across the wood. She took off the lid. It had pepperoni all over it.

"You know I'm a vegetarian?" Leah grinned at his kindness. He seemed so proud of himself. His features drooped down at her comment.

"Sorry," was all he could manage to reply. He closed the box and moved it away.

"You can eat if you're hungry." She nodded towards the pizza.

He scratched his head. "I'm stuffed. Just ate about five slices of cake. It's my birthday."

"Shit? Is it? Seventeenth of August, right? I still remember those primary school birthday hats they'd give us. I wish I had one I could give to you."

Leaning back, he watched her smile as she reminisced. Those days felt so close yet so far away. He could hardly remember anything about primary school. Maybe flashes of teachers, or the world book day's where everyone would come in the strangest costumes, fingers crossed they'd win the prize. The birthday hat was something that had completely drained from his head, down to the sewers of memory. But Leah bringing it up made him remember when the teachers forced them to do a 'birthday dance' infront of the entire class. It made everyone dread their birthday every single year. People would skip school just to miss it.

"Do you remember on your eighth birthday Bono came in for a singalong?" Leah couldn't think straight anymore. She was spouting random thoughts out now, just hoping to get a reaction out of him.

He rolled his head back, adams apple shifting as he scoffed. "Don't even."

"I'm never going to let you live that down."

Elijah knew that his face was warming up as Leah looked at him. She was staring. Eyes drifting along his skin, biting down on her bottom lip. Then she was crawling towards him, seemingly finding it very difficult to move and plonked herself next to him.

"I never gave you your jacket back," she muttered. Her head was on his shoulder, her hair smelt like roses, strands were grazing his collarbone. Part of him ached to pull her even closer, to press his lips to her forehead but he was frozen. "Do you still want it?" She looked up at him, nose on his chin.

"I did leave my lighter in it, didn't I?" His whole plan at the beginning had been to plant that lighter in as a kind of bait. He wanted to have an excuse to talk to her, to ask her if she could give it back to him. He never built up the courage to go up to her. He was left borrowing Rob's lighter that hardly even worked. His final plan was to ask her when they got back to school, or to jump Rob's fence and try to muster up as much Romeo energy as possible. He'd imagined himself climbing up the pipe to her window, confessing how he felt toward her, how much she made his heart strain and palpitate. He had his chance now. To use the bait he'd created. To follow through and actually be honest with her. To tell her how he hadn't stopped thinking about her since he got full marks on that homework, only due to her help.

"You did." She recalled. He was warm. His chin was stubbly, his perfect mouth was centimetres away.

"I think I should take you home." Elijah's final decision was to make sure she got a good night's sleep. She was about to drift off there and then. He would let her. But he knew she wasn't comfortable.

"No...no don't. This is nice." She closed her eyes. He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her. She traced his bicep softly. His cells weren't working. His brain wasn't working. She was killing him. Beneath her he was just a mess of flesh and bone, breathing into her skin, moulding into her touch.

He stroked her hair, fingers raking through the layers. Her dark eyelashes were long and blinking.

"I think I've got splinters." Leah pulled up her hand to find a thin piece of wood piercing her finger. It was swollen and red.

Elijah held onto her hand and tried to squeeze the piece out. It wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. She was seething against his arm until finally he caught it between his nails and threw it out of the gazebo.

"Thanks." She sucked onto her finger, draining the metallic flavour out. "I think that's our sign to get out of here. You should be in there having fun. It's your birthday. Go on. You're seventeen! You can listen to Dancing Queen and relate to it on a whole other level. I'm not ruining today for you."

"I'll walk you home first."

"No you won't. I'll go on my own."

"I'm going with you. End of."

"Hewson—"

"Come on. Get up. We can listen to Dancing Queen on the way there." He took out his airpod case from his jean pocket.

Leah gave up with arguing. He was being polite. Offering to keep her safe. It made her warm and fuzzy inside. In truth, if she'd tried to go home on her own, she would've gotten lost amidst the crooked streets of Dublin. It was hard enough to make her way their in daylight. Now, in the darkest part of the night, it would be all the more difficult.

Elijah helped her to the front door. He ignored any of the people called his name, only focused on finding the way out. It was hard to squeeze through the amount of people in there. He had to ensure he kept her close or he'd lose her.

"Eli? Leaving so early?" Anna caught the pair as he opened the door. She looked between the two of them with two raised eyebrows. "Is she drunk? She looks pissed. Holy shit. Are you okay taking her or do you need any help?" Anna had lost the baby voice. She actually sounded concerned... how strange.

"I'll get a taxi. It's okay." Elijah thanked Anna for inviting him. "I'll see you at school."

"See you. Make sure she gets home safe."

"I will."

Elijah had to carry Leah from the taxi to her front door. He was pacing back and forth with her in his arms, trying to figure what to say to her parents. He had to ring the doorbell about five times before they answered. Her dog was barking extremely loudly and kicking at the door. She looked so peaceful as she slept, her skin a ghostly white under the bright light of the entrance.

The lurid red door shot open to reveal two stupefied faces. They were both in pyjamas. Leah's mother grabbed onto her daughter, falling into hysterics with tears stinging her eyes, "Is she dead? Oh my God. Dear Jesus—"

"No! No, Mrs Vazquez. She isn't dead!" Elijah worriedly shouted. "She's just very tired." Definitely tired. Not black out drunk.

Her Dad took his daughter from Elijah with a kind smile. She was still wearing his jacket. "Thank you, my boy." His strong Spanish accent rang out though Elijah's ears like a sweet melody.

"No worries." He stepped away from the doorway, glad to see the family back together. The puppy had been biting his jeans like they were slippers. It was a wild beast. Probably not suitable for domestication. It'd be better off in a forest with a pack of wolves. It was tiny though. Pocket-sized.

When the door closed, Elijah sat down on the bottom step leading to the house. His head fell into his lap, his thoughts were far too loud. He wanted to bang his head down onto the pavement. He wanted to scream out curses up at the clouds. He wanted to lay out his heart on a silver platter and deliver it straight to Leah's bedroom. Everything was driving him crazy. The whistling wind, the flashing streetlights, the honk of cars at the roundabout.

He walked to Rob's house. Tomorrow he would become Romeo. Tomorrow he'd either fuck everything up or make things the slightest bit better.

Leah awoke with a a burning headache. She couldn't feel the pillow beneath her head or the duvet on her body. Her bedding smelt of Elijah. She was wearing his jacket. She was still breathing in that scent that followed her everywhere.

Then a knock at her window. She gasped and pulled open the blinds. She looked up. It was that face again. Hewson. He was outside her fucking window. How long had he been there? How the hell did he get up there? Too many questions. She didn't want to move. She didn't want to leave him there, probably not in a very stable position. She unlocked the window. He crawled in.

"What the fuck?" She rubbed a hand over her eyes. There was too much light shining into the room. She was a vampire. Sat down in her very own coffin. Probably just seeing hallucinations. Until she was proved wrong by the bed dipping under his weight. He'd made sure to peel off his shoes and throw them onto her floor before he jumped down. The springs squeaked, silence echoed.

Leah knew she looked a mess. Her hair was probably frizzy, eyebags made her look like a zombie, there was sleep in her eyes that she was trying to pick out.

"Thank you for taking me home," she said. Why was he looking at her like that? It was 9 in the morning. Grey clouds brimmed the sky. Birds sang in Rob's garden. A few were eating from his bird feeder.

In just a white vest and sweatpants, Elijah seemed so bare. He was always in jeans or band shirts. This was different. Too intimate. She was glad she wasn't in pyjamas.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" He finally opened his mouth. She blushed beet-red, her eyes wide.

"Hewson, the actual hell?" She tried to wrestle with the fact that this was real life. That he was actually sitting only a metre away from her. That the eyes watching her weren't just part of a daydream. He had just said that. He had just scanned her whole frame and let those six words fall from his mouth like they were just milk to a cup of coffee, a sugar cube to a cup of tea. Something you don't even think about doing, something you just do without overthinking it.

"What's that on your wall?" He pointed up at one of the drawings above her bedpost. It was one of him. He was sat on the rope swing, smoke curling around him, lips around a cigarette.

She jumped to the side, leant back against it to keep it covered. This was not happening. This was not happening. She should've left him out there in the cold. Why did she even open that window?

"Is that me?" He tried to look over her shoulder.

"What are you talking about? You? Where?" She tried to laugh. It came out as a very nervous laugh.

He started to properly laugh. He tried to catch her off guard by throwing a pillow at her. She dodged it. That left the painting in perfect view.

"Elijah... it's not what you think it is." She saw him smile up to his ears. A cheshire cat. Elvis-like. Cheesy. His eyes crinkled at the corners, dimples forming. "You're just always there. I know it's creepy—"

"It's not." They were sat like they were the night before. But this time he had his head on her shoulder. "You're not only really fucking smart but also great at painting."

She was still blushing. More with every passing second. His hands were warm against her thighs. He just let one hand linger there. She stared at it. The dextrous fingers, the veins, the rings.

"Thank you," she managed to whisper. She kissed his forehead without even thinking about it. His heart was pounding. "Why are you here?"

"Why do you think I'm here?" He watched her grab her duvet, threw it over them. The whole room smelt only of her. He wanted to stay in that position forever. Feeling each movement of her shoulder, feeling her heartbeat against his ear, feeling her play with his hair.

"To embarrass me." She was referring to the painting. She pulled it off the wall and dropped it beneath her bed. Her plan was to throw it into the fireplace and watch it burn.

"That and something else." Elijah was now tracing over her silky dress, along her stomach, across her back.

"What's that?" She felt the weight of him drift away. He moved back to look at her.

"For you."

Then both of his hands were on her cheeks. They were cold. Her skin was boiling. Still bright red. He'd never seen her blush like that. Sure, whenever she got an answer wrong in class, she might stare down at the textbook and have a little splatter of pink graze her ears. But this, this was completely different. He lowered his head, parted his lips. He was taking his sweet time. She grabbed onto his vest and pulled him straight onto her, making their lips crash together in the movement. Hands on his waist, nose bumping into each other, his smile wide in the kiss. She couldn't believe what this had all turned into. Thinking was one of the most difficult things to do as Elijah Hewson pulled her onto his lap to get her even closer. His mouth fell down to her neck, peppering kisses along her collarbones, tasting her skin like it was a delicacy that had never once been tasted before.

"Leah! Are you awake! Breakfast is ready!" Knocks crashed on her door.

Elijah and Leah both stared at each other with complete terror in their eyes. She jumped off of his lap and dragged him straight into the closet, leaving him to pull his lighter out of the leather jacket. He also found that extra cash that she'd never used. He left it there for her instead of taking it.

Leah's mum gave her daughter a pointed look. "What was that about last night?"

"Nothing, Ma. I was just at a party. I got really sleepy."

"I bet you had fun with Elijah. You're always talking about him—"

"Ma!! No I don't." Leah snorted. Her words came out really loudly.

"Ever since primary school you've been talking about him. Don't lie, Leah. He's a handsome boy. I get it."

"Ma! Stop!"

"Breakfast. Chop chop."

Leah nodded. She stared at the closet. "Let me just get my clothes on."

Her mum looked around suspiciously. "Alright."

The door closed. Leah wanted to lock Elijah in the closet. She knew exactly what the look on his face would be when he got out.

He jumped out as quickly as possible.

"None of that was true. She's a compulsive liar."

"Sure, sure." He rolled out of the closet and jumped back onto her bed.

Then they were kissing again.

What he wouldn't tell her was that he had liked her since he was eight. Since the stupid Bono singalong. She'd wished him happy birthday as they stood in the lunch queue. Plastic trays in their hands, trying to look for their friends in the crowd of seated people, glancing over the dessert options with excitement. He had never known he could smile so much. Or so widely.

#elijah hewson #inhaler dublin #inhaler fanfiction #hewson #ryan mcmahon #bobby skeetz #robert keating #inhaler #inhaler band #eli hewson #imagines #inhaler imagines #inhaler oneshots

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bexleyfix · 1 year ago

Text

Ending Our Friendship

(Stranger Things AU)

Prom photos are posted at the end of the story!

WARNINGS AND TRIGGERS: 18+ ONLY (ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS) NSFW... Mature sexual content, suggestive situations and discussions, smut, pining, angst, fluff, swearing, smoking, drinking, mentions of drug use.

RELATIONSHIPS: Eddie Munson x Y/n ♡ friends to lovers; Gareth, Jeff, Doug, Dustin, Mike, Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Max, Lucas, and El are side characters.

Copying, translating, or posting my work as your own is expressly forbidden. I do not give my permission. Reports with credit to me are encouraged.

°°°°°🤘°°°°°

What can I say about Eddie Munson? Well... he's eccentric, erratic, rambunctious, sarcastic, definitely an attention whore... irritable, obnoxious, unruly... long story short, he's kind of a dick. A menace to society whose name, behavior, interests, and all-around heavy metal image have earned him the reputation of 'Town Freak'. But it's an erroneous label born out of prejudice and arrogance, and one he most certainly doesn't deserve.

I'm not exactly a favorite among my peers either. My thrifty style, music taste, and shy demeanor make me an easy target for the ignorant fucks who dominate the high school hierarchy, and so does my association with The Hellfire Club. And since Eddie's a close friend of mine, I'm empathetic. I don't blame him for his behavior, 'cause I know it's a defense mechanism, a way of taking the torment bestowed upon him by the oppressors of Hawkins and turning it into some whimsical public attraction to hide his internal suffering and keep people on edge.

In any case, Munson's a pest. A huge, irritating, aggravating pest... a giant, perverted, flamboyant...... oh... who the fuck am I kidding? Whatever he is... I want him. I want him like a fat kid wants cake. I want him so goddamn bad that every time I lay eyes on him, hear his melodic, raspy voice, or even catch wind of his name, I feel like I wanna hurl. Fuck butterflies, that sexy son of a bitch makes me feel like I have a full-blown professional wrestling match ensuing in my gut. But could I tell him? Of course not. He doesn't see me as relationship material. I'm just 'one of the guys', permanently embedded in the friend zone, and if he ever found out my true feelings it would have grave repercussions on the whole dynamic of our collective friendships. So, I'm forced to put on a face, pretend that I'm immune to his charm, bottle up my feelings, and let them eat away at my insides.

In the four years I've attended Hawkins High not a day has gone by where Eddie Munson hasn't invaded my every thought, innocent or otherwise. Even when our interactions were non-existent, or nothing more than a hello here and there, I haven't been able to escape that scrumptious motherfucker's temptation no matter how hard I try. Ok... so I don't actually try that hard. Fuck it... I don't try at all... but I pretend to.

Eddie makes it a point to bother anyone he damn well pleases, but I seem to be his favorite prey, and I'll be damned if he doesn't get some sick perverse pleasure from incessantly teasing me. It's normal for he and I to playfully flirt and sexually tease each other. He knows he can get a rise out of me without the added contempt he gets from everyone else, but it's a game to him, just a game, one that I secretly love to play, but recently it's gotten a lot worse, and it was becoming unbearable.

Robin Buckley's the only one who knows my true feelings. She's been my best friend since we met in band freshman year. Being a bit of a loner herself, she and I just clicked. She too can't seem to find the courage to approach her respective love interest (our bandmate, Vickie), but Robin's reasons are more justified. Even still, we both live each day in a loop of self-induced torture. Robin at least gets a weekend reprieve, but not me. Sharing the same friends as Eddie, my torture is continuous, resuming every weekday morning in first-period art class, and today was another typical Friday. At least... that's how it started.

~~~~~

"Alright, guys. Today, I'm gonna meet with you all individually to see how you're doing on your projects for the year-end show. And for those of you who've decided to procrastinate... Mr. Munson, I'm looking at you... I need to ok your idea and make sure you have ample time to complete your work, and that your subject matter is appropriate."

"Aww, come on Mrs. S. You know I always finish my work on time." Eddie flashed the teacher a debonair smile.

"You better... if you finally wanna graduate. But your last project wasn't exactly school-friendly." She smiled back in jest.

I remember that project. The perfect example of Eddie's outlandish shenanigans. He'd drawn a Boris-style rendering of himself all but slaughtering his least favorite jock dipshit. But Mrs. Schwagert's one of the coolest teachers in this school, and unlike most, she's not quick to judge her students, including Eddie. She has a way of connecting with all of us.

Eddie scoffed playfully before spouting off an equally playful retort. "That hurts, Mrs. S. I thought you of all people would understand that I took an avant-garde approach, conceptualizing the fight against tyranny in today's society."

"Well, be that as it may, Mr. Munson, your tactless display of violence toward another student won't be tolerated, so I'd like to meet with you first."

I smiled to myself as Eddie exchanged playful banter with our art teacher, gawking at him like I do most of the day until their meeting was concluded, and like clockwork, he resumed his position right up my ass.

"Hi, there!" He proclaimed in his best baritone imitation of Freddy 'Boom Boom' Washington from 'Welcome Back Kotter'.

I closed my sketch pad and looked up. "Now, the Sweathog part I get, but Washington? I don't see it."

"Ok, how 'bout Barbarino?"

He started shimmying back and forth in proper Barbarino fashion and I burst into laughter.

"Um... the hair, maybe, but you're not exactly a chick magnet. You're more of a mashup between Epstein and Horshack. Quick-witted, but super annoying."

"Fair enough." He plopped into the open seat next to me. "So... does that make you Hotsy Totsy, my little... Bunny?"

Oh yeah... every day Eddie makes it a point to devise a new moniker for me that starts with the next sequential letter of the alphabet. Today we were back to B.

"Not quite. I don't have a kid or moonlight as a stripper." I gave him a cheeky smile.

"You sure about that? You look like you belong on a street corner in that outfit."

I scoffed. "It's not that bad."

I looked down at my clothes. Ok, the v-neck crop top and fish nets, sure, but my skirt covered my waist and it wasn't that short. Suddenly feeling self-conscious I wrapped my sweater around myself, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Whatever you say. I'm certainly not complaining."

He looked me up and down with a Cheshire grin, and I rolled my eyes.

"Don't you have someone else you can pester? I'm busy."

"Doing what? More doodles that you refuse to share with me? What do you draw in there anyway? Is it your secret crush? Ooo! Is it me?"

He could not be more spot on. My sketch pad was filled with doodles of his mouthwatering, metalhead physique, as well as some more risqué renderings that I may or may not imagine him doing to me like... all the time. So of course, I lied.

"You wish, Munson."

"Oh, I do, Bunny. But if it's not me, then who is it? That Ian Astbury guy, or uh... what's his face... that wrestler? The one who looks like a roided up Tom Selek, um..." he snapped his fingers in recognition, "oh, Scott Hall? Wait!... It's Harrington isn't it? I know you two are chummy, and I wouldn't blame you. He's a dreamy hunk of hairy beast, but I'd have no problem being your dirty little sidepiece."

Eddie cocked his head to the side, flashed me a suave smile, and wiggled his eyebrows. He was such a dork, but he was right... about the chummy part anyway. Steve Harrington is my friend, which is a fucking miracle in its own right seeing that before he and Robin started working together, I never got a second glance from the 'King' of Hawkins High, but it turns out he's a gentle soul, and not the egotistical, jock douche we thought he was. But Robin puts it best, our friendship with Steve is platonic with a capital P.

"Hmm, as tempting as that sounds... I think I'll pass."

"Ok, suit yourself. Gareth would kill me if I tried to lay a hand on you anyway. Sisters are off limits."

I wasn't actually Gareth's sister, but I've lived next door to him since we were kids, and our families are super close. I do love that dumbass like a brother, but like most brothers, he's an annoying shit with a big mouth, so he has no idea how I feel about Eddie.

"Speaking of your lovable, surrogate little brother, you comin' to watch us practice tonight?"

"I wouldn't exactly call what you guys do, practice. All you do is fuck around and rip on each other the whole time."

"True, but you keep us in check, so you have to come over."

"Oh, I have to, huh? What if I don't feel like it?"

"Well, then I'll be forced to wait 'til Tuesday to waste my sexual prowess on girls who won't give me the time of day, resulting in me crying myself to sleep, again."

He popped out his bottom lip and gave me puppy dog eyes. Goddammit!

"Uh-huh. And... why do you suppose that is?"

"Well, probably because they don't know how to handle my natural charisma and raw animal magnetism. If they knew what they were missing, they'd be all over me."

"Is that right?" I leaned toward him provocatively, making sure to flaunt my cleavage. "And uh, what exactly are they missing?"

He was visibly frazzled, just how I wanted him. He swallowed hard, trying to make eye contact but unable to peel his gaze from my tits.

"Um... let's just say, that when it comes to the utmost in sexual pleasure... I'm your guy."

"Mmm... that good, are ya?"

"Oh, Bunny. I'm first-rate."

"And you think I... would be able to handle you?"

"Maybe..." He swallowed again. "There's only one way to know for sure."

"Is that so?" I looked him over seductively. "Sounds like that'd be one hell of a time."

"You have no idea."

I nodded slowly and smiled, our faces separated by mere inches.

"I suppose I don't." I stared at his lips, watching him squirm uncomfortably in his chair, and I went in for the kill. "Well, Mr. Fantastic, how could I refuse an offer like that?"

I leaned closer as if going in for a kiss and SMACKED him square in the forehead.

"OW, SHIT! SON OF A..."

I sat back in my chair as he pressed the butt of his hand to his forehead.

"I've gotta hand it to ya, Munson, I didn't think your persistence could be any more annoying, but you proved me wrong."

"Ok, I get it. No sexy time from Bunny. Way to crush my ego."

"I thought you'd be used to it by now. You can keep laying it on as thick as you want. I'm not sleeping with you."

"Y/l/n! I'll meet with you now. Get back to work, Mr. Munson."

"Yes, ma'am!" Eddie gave Mrs. S. a salute.

"Saved by scholastic decree. Catch you on the flip side, Fabio."

I smiled slyly, grabbed my sketchbook, and made my way to Mrs. S's desk as Eddie yelled after me.

"Let me know if you change your mind."

"I won't."

Without turning around I gave him the finger. I caught the faint sound of his chuckle and smiled to myself.

~~~~~

With my Walkman blaring, I navigated my way toward the cafeteria through the crowded hallways of Hawkins High, trying not to get knocked around like a pinball when Robin came running up to me in true motormouth fashion.

"Hey-gotta skip lunch to finish my history assignment-try to find a date for prom-meet up with you later-love you-bye!"

And like that, she disappeared into the sea of students before I could get a word in. This meant I'd have to sit with the Hellfire Club today, so I took a detour and headed to their table.

"What's the haps, nerds? Mind if I sit?"

I got lazy waves from the older boys, but Dustin and Mike immediately perked up and flashed me bashful smiles and enthusiastic waves, which I returned in kind.

"I've got a seat for you right here."

Eddie patted his lap. I smiled seductively, walked toward him, and squatted as if about to sit. The look on his face was priceless, but just before my ass made contact with his lap, I straightened up and crushed his dreams.

"Ooo... fat chance, fucker. Scoot over bro."

I nudged Gareth, plopping down in the seat between him and Eddie.

"Well, played, Bunny."

"Bunny? Are you still playing that stupid letter game?" Gareth asked.

"Unfortunately."

"You know you love it."

I flashed Eddie an unamused smile and started digging into my lunch bag.

"No Buckley today?" Gareth asked receiving a shake of my head as confirmation. "Hey, that girl Becky from band asked me to Prom."

I had a mouth full of food. "Mm, I like her. She's super sweet."

"Prom? You're actually gonna attend that monstrosity?"

"Why wouldn't I? Becky's hot. Just 'cause no one will go with you doesn't mean I have to sit at home with my thumb up my ass."

"Oh, sweet burn."

Mike gave Gareth a high five, and I couldn't hold back a laugh at Eddie's expense.

"Wheeler, it's not wise to upset your Dungeon Master."

Eddie flashed Mike an evil grin and Mike's face fell. He quickly turned his attention back to Gareth.

"El and I are going too. Do you guys wanna ride with us? We're getting a limo."

"Thanks, man, but we're hitching a ride with Buckley, Harrington, and Y/n."

"You're going too?"

Eddie looked at me somewhat perplexed.

"Mm-hm." I continued to eat nonchalantly, watching Eddie laugh in disbelief.

"With who?"

I furrowed my brow. Was that a hint of jealousy in his tone? Nah, couldn't be.

"Myself... and..." I waved my finger in a circle around the table to indicate everyone sitting there.

"You're all going?"

"Yes, killjoy. Nothing is stopping you from coming with us. It's a Masquerade theme this year. It'll be fun."

"Fun?! Bunny, I have no desire to attend the masquerade of forced conformity." He smiled smugly.

"Well, we do. So shut your face."

Still sensing the piercing glare of a pair of deep brown eyes, I lifted my head slowly to see Eddie smiling at me, elbow on the table and chin in hand.

"Yes?" I droned.

"Whatcha listenin' to?"

"Music," I retorted, jerking back when Eddie tried to steal my headphones.

"Why so secretive? Isn't she secretive?" Eddie addressed the younger boys of the group.

"Eddie, she probably just wants to eat her lunch in peace," Dustin answered.

"Pshh, then she's at the wrong table," Mike joked.

I shot them a friendly wink.

"Who's side are you guys on? You gotta crush on her or something? Well, you can both stop kissing her ass 'cause she's too old for you."

"I don't. I have the sweetest girlfriend in the world, and she's a genius."

"She's not very smart if she's dating you."

"Shut up, Jeff." Dustin threw a carrot at Jeff and Eddie chucked a pretzel at Dustin and Mike.

"Jesus, you guys are such dicks. Stop tormenting them. Dusty, is Susie coming?"

"I wish. Her dad'll never let that happen. I'm goin' stag... again."

"Don't worry, I'll save you a dance." He smiled bashfully.

"Jesus, this is torment. I'm surprised you're not going with Harrington." Eddie addressed me before turning to Dustin. "You know she draws erotic pictures of him in her sketchbook, right?"

"What?!" The whole table exclaimed.

"I do not." I shoved the side of Eddie's head.

"Do you really?"

"Of course not, Dusty. Eddie just refuses to let go of his nonconformist pride and have a little fun, so he's taking his frustration out on me. You know Steve and I are JUST FRIENDS!" I emphasized, staring daggers at Eddie before turning back to my food.

"Then show me the sketchbook."

"Fuck off, Munson... hey, what the..." Before I could react Eddie swiped my headphones and put them on. "Give 'em back, asshole!"

"Goddamn! This is some heavy shit. What is this?"

"It's your face meeting my fist if you don't give 'em back."

He held me at arm's length as I tried, and failed, to reclaim my headphones, but I soon gave up, crossing my arms over my chest in a huff.

"Ok, fine! It's 'The Raging Wrath of the Easter Bunny'."

"Hahaha! WHAT?"

"It's a demo. The band's called Mr. Bungle. They're from Eureka."

"Well, isn't that fortuitous, 'cause my little Bunny is definitely raging and wrathful today."

He screwed up his face, mocking me. I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Where did you get this?"

"I'm a tape trader, remember?"

"No. I'd definitely remember you telling me something like that."

"Well, maybe if you weren't so busy running your mouth all the time, you'd actually hear what other people have to say."

"This... this is fuckin' brutal. It's like, black metal meets speed."

Eddie was in his own little world. I threw my hands up in disbelief and shook my head.

"See. Didn't hear a damn thing I just said."

"You gotta make me a copy of this."

"You know, you're awfully demanding today."

He shot me a wink and handed over my headphones. I swiped them out of his hand giving him the evil eye.

"I figured you'd be listening to that goth or glam bullshit. What other cool stuff you got?"

"I've got a lotta cool shit. I got this in my most recent haul along with a demo from Guns 'N' Roses, and one from Faster Pussycat. But they're both glam bullshit," I emphasized sarcastically.

"Glam. Gay L.A. music, you mean."

"Oh, whatever, asshole. Axel Rose has some killer pipes. And Kelly Nickels, the bassist from Faster Pussycat... total YUM! He was actually in the running to be the bassist for W.A.S.P. Bet you didn't know that, did ya? UGHH! I swear, what I would give to be the center of a Blackie Lawless and Kelly Nickels sandwich." I scanned the horrified faces at the table and froze. "Um... sorry... I forgot I'm not sitting with Robin." I took a huge chug of my drink and averted my gaze, dying of embarrassment.

"Isn't Kelly Nickels that guy you said looks like Munson?"

I choked on my beverage, hacking, and coughing, leaving no room for subtlety. Stealing a glance at Eddie I saw his smug grin. I had to think fast.

"Uh, I did not say that, Gareth."

"I'm pretty sure you did."

"Well, you're wrong." I smacked his arm, wanting to crawl into a deep dark hole and die.

"Uh-huh... I knew it. You do wanna fuck me."

"Ugg! Munson, get over yourself." I stood up and collected my shit.

"Aw, come on. Where you goin'?"

"I've lost my appetite." I spat at Eddie. "Catch you later, losers." I turned to Dustin and Mike. "Not you two. You guys will always be my little cuties."

I scrunched my nose, kissed Dustin's head, and mussed Mike's hair, smiling at their giddy expressions, then I waved at Jeff and Doug, stuck my tongue out at Gareth, gave Eddie the finger, and left. I could still hear him laughing as I walked away.

Eddie's eyes followed you as you walked away. "Dude, you're gonna bore a hole in her back if you stare at her any harder."

"Hmph, she totally wants me," Eddie said smugly to no one in particular.

"Munson, just ask her out already and put us all out of our misery."

"That would negate the sister rule, Gareth."

"She's not my sister, so if you wanna give it a shot, be my guest. But you gotta stop comin' at her guns blazing, or she's gonna kick your ass."

"Now that I'd love to see."

"Jeff, if I want your opinion, I'll beat it outta you."

"Whatever, Munson, but Gareth's right. If this is your idea of playing it cool, it's not working. You need to stop being so rash... with all of us. She sees right through it, and it looks like it's starting to get to her."

Eddie thought about it for a moment. Maybe they're right. He loved his little sheep, and picking on you was his favorite pastime, but he was being an inconsiderate ass.

You've consumed Eddie's thoughts since the day Corroded Coffin started practicing at Gareth's house. He knew who you were. Being a year older than Gareth you'd already attended Hawkins High for a year, but you never actually spoke to one another until that fateful day in the fall of '83. You heard the commotion in the garage and decided to stroll over. That's when you two were formally introduced, and you permanently imprinted on his mind and his heart. It was the first day of the rest of his life, but you weren't yet 16, and he'd just turned 18 and he was not gonna open that can of worms. It didn't stop him from playfully pestering you every day. And when you turned 18 a few months back he bumped it up a notch, but lately, he's noticed that you've been on edge and not as receptive to his teasing. Was it losing its luster for you? Were you genuinely annoyed? He couldn't let that happen. You were too important to him, but there was only one way to find out, and he knew exactly where you'd be.

~~~~~

I entered the clearing in the woods and hopped onto the picnic table, hoping to spare myself any more embarrassment or harassment by finishing a cigarette before Eddie showed up.

I wasn't pissed at him, just pissy in general. He's been making it so much harder to mask my feelings and my sexual frustration with blatant denial, and I was starting to lash out, which made me feel incredibly guilty. I could try asking him to stop, but then he'd know something was up, so suffer I will. But it was evident as Eddie came strolling into the clearing that luck was not on my side today.

"Ah, shit... can't I have a moment's peace?"

"You're not escaping my sexy mug that easily, Bunny."

I smiled sarcastically, arms draped lazily over my knees. I watched Eddie park his ass next to me, pull a soft pack of Camels from his vest pocket, shake one out, and trap it between his lips. (Jesus, why when it comes to this man does my mind turn something so innocent into filth?) He flicked his Zippo shut and took a drag. Resting his forearms on his knees and clasping his hands together, he studied my face.

"What, do I have something in my teeth?" I started rubbing them with my finger.

"No."

"Then why are you staring at me?"

"'Cause you're sexy." He smiled slyly, taking another drag.

I exhaled heavily, leaning my forehead on my palms, visibly irritated.

"Ok, ok. I'll stop. I was actually wondering what you're doing for Schwag's class."

I whipped my head around, confusion written all over my face. Was I just transported into a parallel universe? Not only did Eddie stop teasing me on his own accord, but he's making small talk.

"What?"

"What are you doing for Schwagert's class?"

He flashed me a sweet smile, which is so unlike him. It was strange but refreshing, and it was stirring something inside me. I suddenly felt nervous, and uneasy... and kinda horny.

"Hey, you ok? You look like you're having some kinda... internal struggle. I promise I won't laugh if that's what you're worried about. I'm genuinely curious."

I was staring at him like he had three heads.

"Um, no... I um... I'm gonna do a portrait series."

"Self-portraits?"

"No, I hate self-portraits. I was actually considering drawing you if you wanna sit for me... and if you can keep your trap shut for a few hours."

His face fell. "You... you wanna draw me?"

"Yeah. Emphasis on the 'shut trap'." I took a drag from my cigarette as an embarrassing thought occurred to me, followed by more word vomit. "I mean, n-not like nude or anything." His smug ass perked right back up.

"Well, I'm not opposed," he said looking rather assuming.

"Dude, seriously."

He just kept laughing. "Ok, ok... but why me?"

"I don't know. You just have this... look." My eyes finally met his.

"I have a look?"

"Mm-hm."

I looked away sucking on my cigarette. Eddie was seemingly deep in thought and started playing with his rings.

"Um... what kinda look?"

"Not a bad look."

His head snapped up and he smiled mischievously.

"Really?"

I rolled my eyes. "Slow your roll, Munson... but yes. Your look, it's... well, it's distinctive and commanding. Good or bad, you can't deny that you have this... charisma... that makes you impossible to ignore. I wanna capture that." I was expecting some perverted retort, but it never came.

"Well, uh... that's... extremely flattering. I um... I didn't realize you saw me that way."

I couldn't read his expression, but the wrestlers in my stomach were at it again, powerbomb after powerbomb, and I felt the need to cover my tracks.

"I do. I mean, n-not like in that way. I can ignore you if I want to. You don't make it easy... b-but I can..." I rested my elbows on my knees, held my fingertips to my forehead, and sighed. "You just... your look is particular, that's all I'm saying." Shit, this was so embarrassing.

"Uh... o-kay?"

"So... will you do it?" I still couldn't look up.

"Absolutely! Just tell me when and where."

My head shot up. "Wow, um... ok, great... w-we could do it tonight if you want?"

I screwed up my face, immediately wanting to shove my foot in my mouth.

"Bunny, we can do it on this goddamn table, right here right now." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Jesus, I set myself up for that one. You know I didn't mean it like that."

He was giggling like an idiot. "Sorry, I couldn't pass up that opportunity."

Sorry? He never apologizes for his behavior.

"Ok, what the hell is up with you?"

"Whatta you mean?"

"I mean, you're being relatively polite, and making small talk. It's not like you. Did we transport to Bizarro World or something?"

He chuckled. "Just call me Eidde." He smiled bashfully. "I don't know. Maybe I'm trying to turn over a new leaf."

"Ok?" I shot him a sideways glance, but he just sat there, smoking his cigarette, smiling. "Well, we can start tonight at Gareth's." He nodded in agreement. "So what're you gonna do? Did you think of more ingenious ways to flaunt your hatred for Carver?"

He let out a huge belly laugh. "Um, no... Mrs. S. shot down my idea for a sequel. I'm probably gonna do an installation so I can incorporate my music."

"Oh! I like that idea. It's a shame about the sequel though. I was impressed with the original, but I'm biased. Carver's a douche with a capital bag."

We chuckled staring at each other for a moment.

"Yeah, well, it's nice to know someone appreciates my artistic talent."

Eddie placed his hand on my knee and gave it a little squeeze, but instead of shirking it off, I patted it, but he pulled away rather quickly, looking like he didn't know what he should do with his hand.

"So, you're really agreeing to help me?"

"Yep."

"Just like that? No... proposition or outrageous demands in return?"

"Well, since you suggested it..." His smile was wicked.

"Jesus, why the hell do I keep opening my big mouth?"

His grin widened. "Since your big mouth is already open, how 'bout a big sloppy blowjob... or I'll settle for a big wet kiss... or... we can cut right to the chase and finally fuck." He nudged my shoulder.

"Jesus, you're hopeless. Is that all? Do you want my first born too?" (Fuck! I did it again!)

"Well, I can cum inside you when we're fuckin'."

I shoved him so hard, I knocked his giggling ass off the table, but I welcomed the distraction of his laughing fit because the thought of him cumming inside me made my cheeks flush and my thighs clench involuntarily. If spontaneous combustion is truly a thing, consider me Spinal Tap drummer number seven. Luckily the position in which he fell and the time it took him to climb back onto the table was enough for me to collect myself.

"You're a fucking pervert."

"I know, I can't help it."

"Well, try." He nodded. "Why don't you agree to come to prom with all of us instead?"

"Um... that doesn't exactly benefit me. So, no... it has to be option 1, 2, or 3."

"Ok, then I guess I'll pick option 4, none of the above."

"Then you can't draw me."

His expression was serious. I didn't know how to react until he snickered and cracked a smile before erupting into full-on laughter. I smacked him upside the head and he yelped.

"You're such a dick, Munson."

He was still rolling, trying to catch his breath. "Ha! Uh ha, hmm... ok, fine, you can still draw me, but prom? That's really not my thing."

"You're missin' out."

"On what? Shitty music and jock scrutiny? No thanks. But I do wanna ask you something."

We locked eyes. His expression was foreign. He's never looked at me like this before. It was like... adoration mixed with worry. Was he nervous? He looked nervous. Or was I nervous?

"Does um... does my behavior bother you?"

I looked at him quizzically. Why would he care what I thought?

"Um... no. I mean, you definitely know how to push my buttons... and sometimes I just wanna strangle you... but you're one of my best friends. I understand your humor. But you do need to lay off the boys."

He looked only partially relieved. "Fair enough. I just... well, you're a cool girl... and I really enjoy our banter, but you seem a little on edge lately, so I just wanted to make sure. I've never had a female friend as accepting as you, so I don't wanna push you away."

I stared at him in shock, like maybe his three heads would sprout horns. He seemed genuinely worried about upsetting me.

"Ok, is this like, a reverse invasion of the body snatchers or something? Who are you?"

We both laughed. His smile was huge, and so fucking gorgeous. Then I saw it. The subtle movement of his eyes falling to my lips. Did I just see that, or did I imagine it? I felt lightheaded and my heart was pounding as he slid closer, smiling as he scanned my face. (Headlock, shoot off, drop down, leapfrog, hip toss, cover, and 1... 2... 3... wrestler pinned... insert pyro explosion here)

I think I stopped breathing, and then... (Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrringggggggg) Our heads swiveled toward the school. Ugg! That fucking bell. We turned our attention back to each other. Eddie let out a heavy breath, suddenly bashful, and awkwardly backed away, and I finally took a breath.

"Um... we... we should probably..."

"Yeah, um... I'll... I'll walk you back."

~~~~~

We walked through the hall in silence, still smiling, occasionally stealing glances at each other. I had no idea how to process what just happened. What did just happen? Was it even anything? I looked at Eddie. His smile was so bashful, almost innocent. It was so fucking CUTE I wanted to hug him, squeeze him, and call him George.

That's it... we were definitely in Bizarro World.

~~~~~

Sitting on the couch in Gareth's garage, my pencil flowed over the pages of my sketchbook with ease. Eddie was my fucking muse. It's amazing what I can accomplish when I'm drawing a willing participant. But when 'practice' was over, I had the misfortune of being a part of the most fucked up conversation in the history of conversations.

"Is that the latest Hustler? Ooo, toss that over here." Eddie wasted no time flipping through the pages.

"Jesus, you guys have a one-track mind."

"That's the pot calling the kettle black. I know for a fact you like to read those cheesy smut books."

I threw an empty beer can at Gareth. "Way to sell me out, asshole."

"Smut books, huh? A bit of a dirty bird aren't ya, Bunny?"

"This coming from the man who has a pile of nudie mags under his bed. And don't give me that 'I read the articles' excuse."

"I do read the articles."

"I'm not talking about letters to Penthouse." I smiled cheekily.

"She's got you there, Munson," Gareth said.

"Ok, my deviance is a surprise to no one, but this little dirty bird seems to be hiding more than just doodles. So, Bunny... what're your other guilty pleasures?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

I flashed him an irritated look. "Eddie, if you think I'm gonna tell you that you're outta your goddamn mind."

"Awww... come on. Don't be a prude."

Gareth, Jeff, and Doug turned their attention to Eddie, probably expecting me to kick his ass. I turned to look at him and sighed. He wasn't gonna let this go, so I figured I'd have a little fun with him.

"Alright... you really wanna know?"

Sitting on the edge of the couch, nodding like an idiot, a stupid grin spread across his face, Eddie anxiously awaited my reply.

"I wanna know."

"Me too."

Jeff and Doug, my peanut gallery.

"I'm not sure I do."

"SHHH! Shut up, Gareth. No one cares what you think."

Eddie was too preoccupied to notice Gareth giving him the finger.

"Ok... fine. If you really wanna know, I'll tell you."

Eddie took a sip of his beer. I could see the excitement in his eyes, so I exhaled heavily.

"Yes, I like smut novels. I draw a lot of erotic pictures, and I too read Letters to Penthouse. I also enjoy watching porn."

All four of them were frozen in place, Eddie in mid-swig and the other three with their jaws on the floor. Eddie swallowed hard before speaking.

"Like, what kinda porn?" He asked sheepishly.

All four boys were waiting impatiently with bated breath.

"Ok, um... well, the softcore, romantic stuff is my favorite, but I do enjoy a bit of hardcore." I gauged Eddie's reaction. He was mesmerized, eyes glued to my face as he took another sip of his beer. "I occasionally enjoy some girl-on-girl. Threesomes are so hot. Two girls and one guy, one girl and two guys, it doesn't matter. Like I said, I'm down for a Blackie/Kelly sandwich. Oh, and voyeurism. I love the thought of watching people fuck while I touch myself... really gets me goin'."

Eddie spit out a mouthful of beer and the others were all in a daze, mouths agape, processing everything I just said, but it was Eddie who broke the silence.

"And... how exactly did you pick up these little... hobbies?"

"Dude, I'm a shy, introvert, outcast... we're as freaky as they come."

"It's always the quiet ones," Doug said in disbelief.

"Mm-hm. Well... now that the cat's outta the bag, I have a date with my VCR and a naughty VHS. Later, losers."

(Suck it, Munson!) I gave a triumphant smile, winked at Eddie, turned on my heels, and headed to my garage making sure to shake my hips as I left.

Eddie sat staring at the ground. "I don't know about you guys, but I need a cold shower after that one."

"Me, too."

"Me three."

Eddie looked at his friends, who were all still in shock. "Do... do you think she's serious?"

He jumped off the couch and bolted after you.

"Hey, Munson, wait... MUNSON!" Gareth sprinted after Eddie and grabbed his arm before he could make it to your house. "Dude! Seriously? She was just fucking with you."

Eddie bowed his head in defeat and followed Gareth back to his garage. He sat down and resumed staring at the ground adjusting his crotch uncomfortably as Jeff and Doug grabbed their gear.

"You guys outta here?" Gareth asked.

"Yep. We'll see you tomorrow."

They waved goodbye and made their way to Jeff's car. Gareth turned his attention to Eddie, noticing his frustration.

"Munson, just fuckin' tell her."

Eddie threw his head back against the couch and rubbed his hands over his face, groaning.

"Come on, Gareth. You know I can't."

"Why?"

"'Cause we've got a good thing going. If I confess my love and she doesn't feel the same I'll lose her forever, or at the very least things'll just be incredibly awkward. But I can't stop fucking thinking about her." Eddie looked toward your house. "You know her better than I do. What should I do?"

"Ok, here's what I do know. If she's willing to take your shit... there's gotta be somethin' else there. No one's crazy enough to tolerate your dumb ass unless they want to, but if she does have feelings for you, she'll never make the first move, so I think you should approach her. I also know that she was lying at lunch. She can deny it all she wants but she really does think you look like that Kelly Nickels guy. That's gotta count for something."

Eddie smiled to himself. "Maybe."

"Well, either you tell her, or I will, 'cause all this pining shit... it's really fucking irritating. And swallow your pride, man. Ask her to prom. You know you'll have fun with her. Go ask her now. She's probably sitting in her garage."

Eddie let out a huge sigh. "Alright, man, but the whole feelings thing... let me test the water... if she seems receptive then I'll spill my guts."

"Good luck, dude."

Eddie gave Gareth a bro handshake, grabbed a couple of beers, and shuffled toward your garage. When he got close enough he heard you talking, probably on the phone. He knew he shouldn't listen but the devil on his shoulder convinced him otherwise, so he leaned against the corner of your garage just out of sight.

~~~~~

"Oh, come on, Robin. He was asking for it."

"Yes but when you do that it only riles him up more."

"Him? What about me? The flirting and teasing have only gotten worse. I can't fucking take it anymore."

"Exactly. You know how he is. If you keep egging him on you're only making things worse for you. Just tell him how you feel."

"Robin... you know I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because... he's my friend."

"And?"

"And... if he rejects me... things'll be super awkward. And if he still wants to be my friend I'll be forced to suppress my feelings just to maintain some sort of normalcy around him, and I'll be no better off."

"Did you at least ask him to the dance?"

"Not exactly. I suggested he come with all of us, but you know how he is. He's too proud to 'give in to the masquerade of forced conformity'." I said in my best Eddie voice.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you. Just keep dropping hints. Maybe he'll get the message."

"I hope so. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. I want to be with him so fucking bad, but I don't wanna lose him."

"I understand, trust me I do."

"I know. Well, I'm gonna go watch my movie, take my mind off shit. Tell Steve I said hi."

"Hey, Dingus! Y/n says hi! He's waving at you."

"Nice."

"Well, we love you girly."

"Love you guys too."

I hung up the phone and stared at my open sketch pad, utterly lost in Eddie's image.

Eddie's eyes were wide with shock. He could only hear your side of the conversation, but he had no doubt who you were talking about. Jesus H. Christ! You have feelings... for him. You pretend you don't but you do! This... this changes everything! So why was this dread still lingering in his chest? Nerves maybe? He had to say something, but he didn't want to come on too strong. Act casual... yeah. That's what he'll do... just... act casual. After silently syking himself up he took a few deep breaths and decided to make his move.

"BOO!"

"JESUS CHRIST!" I jumped out of my skin, nearly falling off of my stool. "You think you're funny, asshole?"

Eddie was doubled over with laughter as I sat there clutching my chest.

"Hahahahaha! Ohhhh, no... I think I'm adorable."

"Ugg! I hate you so much, Munson."

"Awww, come on now. You know that's not true. May I come in?"

I released a heavy sigh. "Sure... whatever."

"Here, a peace offering."

He handed me a beer.

"Thanks."

We sat in silence for a moment as he checked out all the drawings hanging above my desk.

"Jesus, you're amazing. I love your style. The way you see the world, it's just... incredible."

"Thanks." I smiled bashfully.

He motioned to my open sketch pad.

"May I?"

"Sure." Ahhhhhhh! His smile makes my fucking insides liquefy.

"Oh, Bunny... these are fantastic! I've never looked so good." He flashed a cheeky smile and flipped to the front of the book.

"Nice try. You won't find anything. This sketchbook is strictly for school projects."

He let out a breathy laugh. "You caught me. I wish you'd show me your personal drawings. You're so passionate about your work. Like I am with my music."

"Maybe someday, Munson." I flashed him a sweet smile.

"Um, you mind if I turn on some tunes?"

"No, go ahead."

He started fiddling with the record player.

"Looks like your old man was listening to Clapton. I'll just leave that on."

"Works for me."

He positioned the record player needle and shuffled back to his chair.

"So... what's on your agenda for this evening... besides hardcore porn... and me?"

He smiled wickedly, pulled his smokes from his vest pocket, and went through his routine.

"Not fucking you, Munson."

I loved hearing him laugh, or talk... or move... or fucking breathe. Whatever the hell he was doing... I loved it.

"So, do you actually watch all that stuff, or were you just fuckin' with me?"

"Uh..." I eyeballed him hesitantly, but his expression was calm, and not flirtatious, so I gave him this one. "Yeah... I do."

He raised his brow and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Well... that's um... that's hot. I was just gonna head home, get high, and play guitar, but now... I think I'm gonna have to rub one out. Care to turn it into phone sex? Preferably while you're still watching porn?"

(JESUS CHRIST! I know what I'm drawing tonight) I rolled my eyes. "Dude! What is with you? You've been so lewd lately. Like, more than usual." He smiled cheekily and stared at me. "No! No phone sex, no fucking, just... no!"

His whole body shook with laughter. "Ok, then I guess I'm goin' solo. So, if you're not gonna watch porn, what are you gonna do?"

I shook my head. "I'm gonna watch 'Help'."

"Can't say I've seen it."

"Really? It's a super corny Beatles movie."

"Oh, I know what it is, I just haven't seen it. Is it good?"

"I love it. It's one of my favorites. I watch it with my mom all the time."

"Speaking of the lovely Mrs. Y/l/n, where are your folks?"

"They're visiting my grandma this weekend."

"Well, that's a shame. I'll just have to schmooze your mom next time. So... was tonight's session enough to do your project, or do you need me to sit for you again?"

(Ok, what the fuck?) "Alright dude, what's going on? You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Oh, come on. For the past few months, you've been... I don't know... a lot more perverted, but today you're trying to incorporate small talk and some semblance of courtesy. So what's going on?"

"I don't know. Maybe I want you to see a different side of me, so I'm talking about things that aren't strictly sex oriented."

"Yeah, but why?"

"Well... maybe I like you."

"HA! Hyeah, right. If you don't wanna tell me the real reason, just say so. You don't need to make shit up."

"Who says I'm making shit up?"

I tried to play it cool, not letting on that the instant those words left his lips Hulk Hogan leg dropped King Kong Bundy.

"Uh... I am."

"Why? Is it so hard to believe that I could see you as more than just a friend?"

I scoffed. "Yeah, a fuck buddy, maybe."

Jesus, it felt like an Alien was about to punch through my chest. I reached for my smokes and lit up trying to thwart my anxiety.

Eddie nodded solemnly, but when 'Wonderful Tonight' started to play, he set down his beer and held out his hand.

"Wanna dance?"

I must've looked like a deer in headlights.

"What?"

"Come on... dance with me."

I snuffed out my cigarette looking at him hesitantly. He grabbed my hands and pulled me up, threw my arms around his neck, wrapped his around my waist, and pulled me close. He started swaying us back and forth, his head nestled next to mine, but when the chorus hit I got ballsy. Knowing this wasn't bound to last, I decided to live in the moment. I leaned my head on his shoulder, squeezed my arms tighter, closed my eyes, and started playing with his hair, but to my shock and delight, he tightened his grip around my waist and leaned his head against mine, grazing my back with his fingertips. We embraced silently for several minutes, and all I could think was that I could die happy at this very moment... and then he had to go and fucking ruin it.

"Go to prom with me?"

His voice was so faint I wasn't sure I heard him correctly. I lifted my head, our eyes lingering on each other's faces, and I scowled, about to lose my shit.

"What? Ok, now I know you're joking."

"I'm not joking."

"Eddie, stop it. This isn't funny."

I broke away and went to shut off the record player, ready to scream. We just held each other so fucking tight, and there was something about the way he touched me. Probably just wishful thinking, but it seemed like we had a moment.

"Al-alright fine. Don't believe me."

"Why should I when you've been shitting on the idea all day?"

He was silent. I slumped my shoulders, released a sigh, and faced him. "Ok, fine, don't answer me. I'm gonna go watch my movie."

Eddie was chewing on his thumbnail, his other hand in his pocket, and he was staring at the ground nodding. He actually looked disappointed, and I had to admit, I felt kinda guilty. I didn't want him to leave, but this charade had to stop.

"Hey, um... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. You don't have to go. I just... I want the nonsense to stop, ok? If you want you can watch 'Help' with me."

His head shot up so fast I thought he'd have whiplash.

"Um, yeah, ok. Your parents won't mind?"

"No, they know you. It's not like we're fuckin' or anything."

"Well..."

"DON'T... say it."

Signature Munson, never missing a beat. Jesus, my emotions were bouncing back and forth like a game of Pong.

~~~~~

We were on the couch in my basement, which also doubled as my bedroom. It was a pretty sweet setup if I say so myself.

"You're right. This is a really weird movie. Not as trippy as 'Tommy', but still pretty bad."

He pulled his arms up to shield himself from my slap but was unsuccessful.

"Oh, shut up. It's awesome and you know it. And so is 'Tommy'."

"No, you're right. I do like 'Tommy'. Ann Margaret's hot." His smile was so goofy.

"So is Roger Daltrey," I smirked. "Ooo, I love this part. Paul using the girl as a guitar."

"Ooo, that looks like fun. Come 'ere."

"What?" He reached for my arm and pulled me across the couch. "What... what're you...? Hey! Hahaha!"

"Come on, sit on my lap. Put your hand on your hip, hold the other arm out... there we go. Now... I play."

I was dying of laughter as Eddie played my arms like a guitar and started singing along to 'Another Girl'.

🎶For I have got, another girl

Another girl who will love me till the end

Through thick and thin, she will always be my friend

I don't wanna say that I've been unhappy with you

But as from today, well, I've seen somebody that's new

I ain't no fool and I don't take what I don't want

For I have got, another girl🎶

Eddie stopped playing, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled my giggling ass against his chest, continuing to rock me in time with the music, only this time, when the song ended, I stayed put.

"I thought you didn't like The Beatles."

"I never said that. I just said I never saw this movie, but my mom used to listen to them too."

I smiled, taking the opportunity to rest my head back against his shoulder and wrap my arms around his. I felt his hair tickle my neck, so I looked up and found him smiling at me. Our faces were so fucking close. I smiled back and he leaned down and kissed my cheek.

"W-what was that for?"

"Just felt like it. I'm having a good time."

"M-me too."

There was that look again. The same one from this afternoon at the picnic table. That look of adoration, but this time with a little something extra. And there was no bell. Nothing to break the trance. I couldn't look away as he scanned my face and brushed some stray hair behind my ear, his hand now resting on my cheek. A flash of eyes to lips, and then...

NOTHING!

He returned his arm to my waist and turned back to the TV.

(Mother... Shhhh... Jesu... what the... oh... SON OF A BITCH!!!) I couldn't even think a coherent sentence, so I turned my attention back to the movie. I must've been squirming too much because Eddie pulled my legs across his lap, which was a way more comfortable position, and I allowed myself to cuddle into his chest. I was so tired I should've passed out, but I couldn't shut off my brain.

"I love this song so much."

I started singing along with John Lennon to 'You've Got to Hide Your Love Away'. Eddie joined in, and we smiled at each other as we sang, and again he rocked me to the music.

🎶How can I even try?

I can never win

Hearing them, seeing them

In the state I'm in

How could she say to me

"Love will find a way"?

Gather 'round, all you clowns

Let me hear you say

Hey, you've got to hide your love away

Hey, you've got to hide your love away🎶

We couldn't peel our eyes off each other.

"You're voice is beautiful."

"Thanks," I whispered.

We stared a few moments longer before my nerves got the better of me, and I returned my head to his chest.

"You know, this whole album is like... a metaphor for our entire relationship."

What? Did he really mean that? Most of the songs were about want, need, and... love. I didn't know how to respond, so I didn't. I just buried myself deeper into his chest in reply, and again his arms tightened around me.

By the time the movie was over I could no longer keep my eyes open. The warmth of his body and his musky scent were so comforting.

"Hey, Bunny... you sleepy? You want me to leave?"

Without opening my eyes I shook my head, clutched onto his shirt, and whispered, "No... please don't go."

I have no idea where my newfound boldness was coming from, but Eddie didn't protest. Instead, he enveloped me in his arms and rested his cheek on my head.

"I won't, Bunny."

I smiled to myself as Eddie shifted us so we were lying down facing each other, my head still buried in his chest and his arms still wrapped tightly around me. I managed to open my eyes and look up. He was smiling, watching me, and like a moth to a flame, my hand found his face, my fingertips lightly grazing his features as my eyes followed their trek... his pale cheek, covered by little grains of stubble... his plush, pink lips, which parted slightly at my touch. He closed his eyes and leaned into it until my fingertips trailed to his cute, button nose, his forehead, and back through his hair, where I buried them behind his neck giving him a little scratch.

"Mmm, that's... that's nice."

He released a faint moan and slowly opened his eyes. They were glossy, wanton, and... unsure. His lips formed a sincere smile, and he started repeating my previous motions. His fingers explored my face, eyes following suit.

"Go to prom with me, Bunny."

His voice was so low, commanding even.

"Eddie, why?"

"Because I wanna spend time with you."

"You already spend time with me."

"I know, but... I just wanna go with you. Please say yes."

I sensed nothing but sincerity in his gorgeous eyes, and his voice, so I willed myself to whisper, "Ok... I'll go with you."

"Yeah?" His smile was enormous.

"Yeah."

He cuddled closer and kissed my head. (Flying elbow drop, off the top rope, straight to the gut) When I looked at him we were nose to nose. He nuzzled mine, lips parted. It was almost like a silent plea, begging me to close the gap, to finally let him taste my lips for the very first time, but I was frozen. His lips ghosted mine. I was practically cross-eyed staring at them, but he wouldn't take the plunge. I felt like I was trying to will him with a Jedi mind trick to just do it already, but the force is not strong with me, and he just lingered... the fucking tease.

"Have sex with me," he whispered, smiling playfully.

"What? No." I poked him in the gut, and he giggled.

"Come on. I know you want it as much as I do... and I think it's time we do something about it."

My brow furrowed, eyes darting back and forth in disbelief across Eddie's face. Who does this mother fucker think he is? I mean, I do in fact wanna fuck him, but that's not the point. It's the principle of the thing. I pushed his chest hard and got off the couch ready to lay into him.

"Hey, what---?"

"That's all I am to you, huh? Some... perverted game or prized sexual conquest? Do you have any respect?"

"What? N-no, that's..." he stood up and gripped my arms, "it's not like that at all."

"Then why do you keep pushing this?! I can't..."

I started to cry, unable to finish my sentence. I wanted to smack him, kick him outta my house, just... anything to make the pain stop, but I was so exhausted from this charade and all the mind games that I didn't have the strength to fight him anymore, so when he pulled me into a tight hug and kissed the top of my head I didn't fight him. I just let him hold me as I balled into his shirt.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I'm just... not very good at this, so I'm going about it the only way I know how, and... well, I'm failing miserably, and um... Jesus, I don't know how the hell to do this."

"Do what?" I mumbled.

He pulled me back so he could look at my face, and caress my cheek. His expression immediately softened, but he looked uncertain and extremely nervous.

"Um, hhhhh... something I should've done a long time ago. I wasn't lying earlier. I like you... a lot... but it's more than that... I'm uh..."

"Eddie... what're you doing?"

There was a brief silence. And then... it happened...

"I'm ending our friendship."

And just like that, he closed the gap and encased my lips with his. The sweet pressure of it, the subtle transition of tongue against tongue, the soft, gentle strokes of his thumbs against my face. It was perfect. I couldn't speak, but I needed reassurance. I slowly broke the kiss.

"Hyou... you're serious... aren't you? You're not just saying all this so I'll sleep with you?"

Now he looked like he wanted to cry.

"Y/n, no... you know me better than that. I'm just... a big oaf, but I would never take advantage of you. I just... I wanna be with you. And yes, I... I really wanna fuck you... but not as a buddy. I want you to be my girl. We don't have to do a damn thing. I'd be elated to just hold you for five minutes, but I need you to know this. I--I'm in love with you."

(DDT into a flying body press, followed by a sit-down drop to the gut) I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stop the onset of tears. Oh my God... oh my God, oh my God, oh my God... oh my FUCKING God! I opened my eyes slowly. We were nose to nose. He flicked his tongue lightly against my lips, and the bastard fucking smiled.

"Munson... hyou-- you're fucking evil." The words came out with my breath.

"I know..."

He cupped his hand under my knee, wrapping my thigh around his hip, and with an arm around my back, he pulled me flush against him. HOOOLY FUCKING SHIT! I could feel how hard he was as he ground his bulge against my aching cunt. My fucking eyes rolled into the back of my head and my breathing hitched. Jesus, Fuck! He was playing so dirty. I wanted to curse him out, spew every obscenity known to man and then some. When I opened my eyes, he was smiling devilishly.

"But you still wanna fuck me... don't you?"

I nodded involuntarily, as if I no longer had control of my body, and Eddie's tongue shot into my mouth. His kiss was hurried, and vivacious, our faces smashed so close together it hurt... but I didn't care. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and without parting he hiked me up by my thighs and carried me to my bed.

He fell onto the mattress with me on top of him, shifting his body under my weight, continuing to breathe new life into me. His hands found my ass, greedily squeezing before gliding gently up my sides, lifting my shirt. The touch of his hands on my bare skin sent shockwaves up my spine. I broke away just long enough to grab the bunched fabric and rip it over my head throwing it to the floor. Like he couldn't function without them, he found my lips again.

"Mmm, mhh, hhhh... Bunny, I know I joke, but I'm not fuckin' around. Are you sure you want this?" He smoothed back my hair and searched my eyes.

I smiled brightly, tears flowing freely. "Eddie, I want this. I want you."

"Yeah?" He asked, just to be sure.

When I nodded he crashed his lips to mine, drinking them in, savoring them as I've wanted him to for so fucking long.

He rolled me onto my back, trailing hot, wet kisses down my neck, licking softly between my breasts. The heat of his breath was like fire on my skin, and it burned so good. He gently tugged at the front of my bra freeing my perky tits, stopping to admire me.

"Jesus H. Christ... you're so beautiful."

When he finally took a hard peak into his mouth, my back arched, my brow creased, my teeth clenched, and I sucked in a breath of praise, shaking from the stimulation.

"Mmm... Jesus, you're nipples are sensitive. Have they always been like that?"

"N-no... hoh--only when I'm... really turned on. And I-- I've been waiting... so long... for you to touch me like this."

I gasped as he gently flicked my nipple with the tip of his tongue, trailing it up my neck. He placed a chaste kiss on my lips, cupped my cheek, and kissed my forehead tenderly before leaning his on mine.

"My sweet, beautiful Bunny. I've been dreaming of touching you like this for ages, and I wanna take my time with you... to make our first time together last, but I don't think either one of us is gonna make it." He let out a breathy laugh. "Just seeing you, hearing you... knowing how you make me feel, and... knowing how you feel about me..."

He was shaking with urgency, lip quivering, running his hands through my hair, brushing my face with his fingertips... he was manic... and it was beautiful.

"Eddie... I know... there'll be time for all that. I just wanna be with you now."

He exhaled, eyes still shut tight, and he nodded before claiming my lips in a passionate kiss.

"Mhhhh... you're sure about this? About me?"

I gave him a sweet pout, cupped his face, and pulled his forehead to mine.

"Eddie... I want everything with you... and only you."

His whimper was resounding, muffled by my own as we kissed feverishly.

"Mmhhh, Y/n... are you safe? Can-can I take you raw?"

His expression was sweet. He was watching, waiting, yearning as he searched my face.

"Eddie, yes... I love you."

The instant the words left my lips he ravished mine. I ripped off his shirt and tossed it away, quickly locking lips again as he rushed to undo his belt. Without parting we both fumbled with his jeans only bothering to push them just past his hips, and in seconds he was pushing himself inside me. I sucked in a sharp breath, and he was shaking, mouth agape, eyes shut tight as he buried himself to the hilt.

"Ohhhhhsweet... Jeeesus!" He stilled, little broken moans reverberating throughout his chest as we got used to each other.

"Eddie, it's ok... I'm-I'm ok, uuh! Hyou--you can move."

He exhaled heavily and slowly started thrusting, adjusting to the tight space.

"GodDAMN! Hyou, mgghh... you feel better than anything I could've imagined. So soft, so warm... so fucking tight! Jesus, you're perfect."

He leaned his forehead to the crook of my neck as he picked up his pace. I was moaning like a harlot, my eyes rolling into the back of my head. It was pure fucking bliss. I wrapped my legs around his hips, holding him so close.

"I... I couldn't take it anymore." He breathed out. "I--I've been in love with you... since the day we met. Needed this... needed you... so fucking bad. Haww, uhhhh, FUCK!"

My heart skipped a beat. His thrusts were steady, almost prolonged, like he didn't want to consider the notion of this moment ending.

"Eddie, mhhh... I-- I've been dying to hear you say those words."

He lifted his head to look at me, and he was beaming, smoothing my hair back.

"Mhh, my angel. You... you doin' ok? You feel good? Uhhhh."

UGGGG! He was so fucking sweet.

"Eddie..." I ground my hips into him, coaxing from him a delicious guttural moan. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, but I grabbed his face and forced him to look at me. "I'm loving this. We're finally together. Please... don't stop until you make me yours."

He stared at me as if he wasn't sure I was telling the truth. I placed a small kiss of reassurance on his lips, and they turned up into a huge smile. If I didn't know any better I'd say he was about to cry. He immediately claimed my lips, wrapped his arms around my back, and started to move faster. His movements, his touch, his eyes... they said so much, and nothing at all. He made me feel so goddamn good I began to come undone.

"Eddie... I'm-I'm close."

"Uhhh, that's my girl." He immediately rolled us over so he was on his back. "Fuck me, Bunny. Make yourself feel good, ungghh, mhhh yeah, just like that. Hoh, oh fuck! Cum... cum for me, Bunny."

I pressed my hands, to his chest, spread my thighs wide, and fucked him hard until all I could do was throw my head back and scream his name.

"Eddie, oh, ohfuck, FUCK! EDDIE!!!"

I came hard on his thick cock. His body tensed, and I knew he was done for, but I continued to grind and swirl my hips.

"Eddie, I wanna hear you, feel you. Cum inside me, baby. Please... cum for me."

I have never heard a more beautiful sound in my life. He pulled me down, rolled us over, laced our fingers together, and held them above my head, as he ground his hips into mine.

"Mm-Y/n, I'm-I'm gonna fill you up... make you mine. Uhhhhh, fuck... FUCK!"

He gave one more powerful thrust, and his body shuddered. Making the most lewd, yet seductive sound I ever had the pleasure of witnessing, he pumped me full of his seed. Once he was finished he collapsed onto his side, his chest heaving, covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Uhhh... mhhh, h-holy shit..."

He smiled, met my blitzed-out gaze, and started laughing. I placed my hand on his cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. When he opened them he let out a content sigh. He reached for me, wrapped his arm around my waist, and pulled me into the spoon position. Looking down at me, he tilted my chin with his finger so he could see my face. He smiled brightly as an equally giddy smile crossed my lips, and he kissed me, squeezing me tight. I couldn't describe the happiness I felt.

"Eddie?"

"Yeah, Bunny?"

"How did you know?"

He chuckled. "I heard you talking to Robin earlier."

"You were eves dropping?"

"Guilty as charged. I knew it was wrong, but I'm glad I did it."

"Hmm, me too. Do you really wanna go to prom?"

"Not particularly. But I'm not about to let you guys have all the fun without me, so I'm willing to damage my hard-earned rep for you. I just wanna be with you, Bunny."

He placed sweet, wet kisses on my bare shoulder.

"Well, you're one hell of a dancer. Surprised the shit outta me." Mhh, those fucking giggles.

"I know a thing or two." He took his arm from around my waist, laced our fingers together, and held them close to my chest. "I also knew I'd get you to fuck me."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Eddie Munson... you're such an ass... but don't ever change." I turned my head to look at his smiling face, and he kissed me passionately. "Mmm, so... why didn't you tell me you liked me? I was on the verge of imploding."

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I asked you first."

"Hmm, m-hm, hmm! Well, I wanted to. Gareth was my number one cheerleader... but I was too chicken shit. I couldn't stand the thought of losing you if you didn't feel the same way. But when I heard you talking to Robin... it was like... a weight lifted from my shoulders. I love you, Y/n... so fucking much. I fell in love with you the moment we were introduced... but you were so young. So when you turned 18, I just..."

"You started laying it on thick. Jesus, I can't believe I didn't put two and two together."

"Yeah, well... it seemed to have the opposite effect I was going for. Apparently I came off a lot more irritating than charming, so Gareth and Jeff told me to dial it back, and that's when the small talk started."

"I can't believe I was so blind."

"You and me both, Bunny, but now it's your turn, so fess up."

"Hmm, then let me up. I need to show you something."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, just for a moment. I promise."

Eddie kissed my knuckles and reluctantly let me up. I retrieved a stack of sketchbooks and made my way back to the bed. I plopped down and placed the books in front of him.

"Go ahead."

He rolled onto his side, and I watched as he opened them and scanned the pages in disbelief.

"Are-are these for the project?"

"No. Look at the dates."

He checked them all, page after page, book after book.

"You... you've been drawing me since freshman year?"

"Yeah. That's why I never let you see anything. I know that's kinda creepy, but I just..."

"Uh... this one's far from creepy. We are definitely doing this later."

He pointed to one of my more risqué drawings, smiling mischievously, and I blushed.

"Anyway..." I exaggerated, "I couldn't keep my eyes off you. I've been crazy about you since my first day of school. And when we finally started hanging out, and you began teasing me all the time, I fell for you... hard, but by that point I was deep in the friend zone, and it seemed like you only thought of me as one of the guys. I didn't wanna jeopardize our friendship either, so... I hid my feelings. I thought if you knew the truth... that our banter, the flirting... everything... would all end, so I played along. But when the teasing got worse it became excruciating, so I started lashing out. But I love you, Eddie... with all my heart, and after what we just shared... I've fallen even harder."

I was balling like a baby, and when Eddie trapped me in his arms I melted into him.

"Hey, don't cry, Bunny."

I chuckled through sobs. "They're happy tears, Eddie. Just years of pent-up emotion and sexual frustration finally being expelled. And I really dig the name Bunny. You can call me that one all the time."

"Done. My sweet... soft... beautiful... raging... wrathful Bunny." He kissed my lips between every word. "Mmm, mhh. Can I spend the night?"

"What? Oh, fuck no! Get your shit and go. I got what I wanted." I smiled playfully.

"Hey now, there's only room in this relationship for one asshole."

"I beg to differ."

He wiggled out of his jeans, pulled me down with him and we held each other close. It took mere minutes for us to succumb to the exhaustion. It was the best night's sleep I've had in a long time.

~~~~~

Prom night had finally come. My house was abuzz as all the girls gathered here to get ready while our parents socialized. I was a ball of nerves waiting to see what Eddie had in store for me.

"Alright, look up and hold still... now close your eyes." Nancy lifted my chin and proceeded to apply my eye eyeliner.

"Thanks for doing this, Nancy. Robin and I aren't really make-up girls."

"Don't mention it. You're much less fidgety than Robin."

Nancy was such a sweet girl. Another perk of being friends with Mike and Steve.

"There we go. Hand me your lipstick."

I did as she asked, and she proceeded to apply.

"So... how are you and Munson dealing at school? Blot."

I opened my mouth and clamped my lips down on the piece of toilet paper Nancy was holding.

"Well, we had our fair share of jock harassment on Monday, but I nipped that one in the bud."

"Yeah, Jonathan and I dealt with that crap too. Just let it roll off your shoulder. People eventually get bored. And how about prom? I never thought I'd see the day when Munson would attend."

"Yeah, he feels like he's going against everything he stands for, but if you ask me, I think he's secretly enjoying himself. He won't tell me a damn thing about his outfit, just that I needed to wear black and red. Steve took him shopping, but Eddie swore him to secrecy. All Steve would say is that once he showed Eddie that he could look good and keep his metalhead flair he was very receptive. Steve was proud of him."

Nancy flashed a sweet smile.

"Nancy! Y/n! Get your asses up here! The boys will be here any minute!"

"Keep your panties on Robin, we're comin'!" I took a deep breath as Nancy put the finishing touches on my make-up.

"Ok, all done."

I took one last look at myself in the mirror. My hair was huge, but it fit the theme, and my make-up looked amazing.

"Nancy, you're a miracle worker. I appreciate it!"

"No problem. I love these colors on you. Too dark for my taste, but they suit you."

We smiled at each other, put on our masks, wrapped an arm around each other, and squeezed each other's shoulders.

"Well... you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Nancy took my hand and we headed upstairs.

~~~~~

"AHHHHH!!! You... look... amazing. Eddie's gonna flip his shit."

"Thanks, Robin."

"Alright girls, get together. I want some pictures. Make sure you have your masks."

"Mom, wait. Where's Max and El."

"We're right here!" Max yelled, dragging El behind her.

We all gathered in my living room in front of the fireplace, pushing and shoving, trying to get situated.

"Alright, girls. Everyone look this way. One... two... three!"

"Cheeeeeeese!" We all chimed in unison.

We appeased our parents with several photos and that's when we heard the horns.

"Ooo! They're here. Come on let's go!"

Robin grabbed my hand and yanked me toward the front door. Standing in the driveway we watched as two limos pulled up the street. Girls and mothers alike joined the reprise or 'ooo's' and 'ahh's' and 'wows' as the boys piled out of the limos dressed to the nine. They were all so handsome.

"I don't see Eddie."

As soon as the words left my lips it was like the parting of the Red Sea. All the boys moved to the side to reveal Eddie in a devil mask wearing all black save for the red paisley vest and the trim that lined his leather waistcoat. It was gothic steampunk meets metalhead pirate. When he removed his mask he was smiling.

"Someone catch me, I think I'm gonna faint."

Robin grabbed my arm. It was like time stopped, save for Eddie and me. I stood there with my jaw on the ground, eyeballing him up and down as the boys made their way toward us. It was like watching a slow-motion male model montage. When Eddie was finally in front of me he pulled a single long-stemmed rose from behind his back and presented it to me.

"My lady."

I took it hesitantly, unable to speak. I just gawked trying to find my voice.

"You um... ha! Good God you look... so goddamn fuckable," I managed to whisper.

He chuckled. "Hmm, later. I see you followed my instructions. You look absolutely gorgeous. And the bunny mask? Excellent touch."

"I like yours too. Is that your way of protesting your participation in the forced social conformity?"

He chuckled and nodded. "I thought you'd appreciate that."

He claimed my lips with so much passion I forgot we were surrounded by a giant group of people, including my parents.

"Alright, alright. Break it up you two."

We broke apart in protest. Eddie looked at the ground sheepishly, and I pawed at my face, making sure my make-up wasn't a mess.

"Um, sorry Dad."

"Yeah, I'm sorry Mr. Y/l/n. She's just..." Eddie turned to look at me, "so beautiful."

"Mm-hm, she's also my little girl, so mind your manners." My dad held out his hand to Eddie, which he shook happily and with much relief. "You clean up nice, Eddie."

"Thanks, Mr. Y/l/n." They smiled before my dad clapped Eddie's shoulder in approval.

"Oh, get outta the way. Let me take a look at you, Eddie." My mom cupped his cheeks and gave him a once-over. "You look so handsome."

She trapped him in a hug, kissed him on the cheek, pulled back, and smiled.

"Thank you, Mrs. Y/l/n."

He kissed my mom's hand, making her blush, and then she ran to her next victim.

"Gareth Emerson, get your butt over here! Ooo, and who is this pretty lady?"

My mom's voice trailed off and Eddie and I laughed, focusing on each other. After several minutes of socializing and more pictures, I reminded my parents that we were all spending the night at Steve's, and then we finally made our way inside the limos and headed to Hawkins Hall.

~~~~~

The prying eyes were everywhere, but to our surprise, they were out of delight and not hatred.

"Bunny, is it just me, or have the jocks backed off lately?"

"Yeah, I may've had something to do with that."

"Oh? How's that?"

"Well, Monday was the last straw, so I told Carver that if he doesn't shut his dick licker and leave us and the other outcasts alone, the whole school would find out what he and his goons do in the locker room when they think no one's looking."

"Hahaha! What?! Are you serious?"

"Mm-hm."

"And how, pray tell, did you come across that juicy bit of gossip?"

"Well, it pays to have an ex-jock as a friend."

"Wha... Harrington told you this?!"

"That I did, my good man." Steve appeared out of nowhere and clapped Eddie on the shoulder. "Y/n came to the video store a few months back practically in tears, and I was pissed. I can't stand those assholes either, so... I figured that information might come in handy."

"Harrington, I could kiss you."

"Please don't."

They both smiled, and with a chuckle, Eddie patted Steve on the back.

"Thanks for the help, man. You're alright."

Steve gave Eddie's shoulder another pat and proceeded to escort Robin into the building. ~~~~~

I'm surprised none of us passed out from exhaustion. We sat only to eat. The rest of the time we were on the dance floor regaling each other with our moves.

Lucas was a break dancing and moonwalk prodigy. Dustin is a master at the worm. Max and El can replicate any Madonna move known to man. It was a fucking riot. We were cracking each other up with the more ridiculous dances, like me catching Eddie with the fishing pole, Steve and Robin doing the sprinkler, Steve, Eddie, Jonathan, Robin, me, and Nancy doing the library dance from 'The Breakfast Club', all the younger boys doing the Robot, and the lot of us doing the running man. Eddie even had a chance to flaunt his usual shenanigans, which meant dancing on top of a table. That was until Mrs. S. came over and made him get down. And me being a closet disco nerd was forced by Robin to do John Travolta's dance from Saturday Night Fever. I was so fucking nervous, but the cheers, and accompaniment of several other students who also knew the dance, including Robin and Chrissy Cunningham, helped my fear to dissipate. And of course, the majority of the student body performed Michael Jackson's Thriller. At the end of the night, to no one's surprise, Jason and Chrissy were crowned prom king and queen.

It was almost surreal. For the first time in... well, ever... there was no anger or animosity. Everyone in the building was getting along, and when it came time to leave, Chrissy made sure to find me and tell me how much fun she had dancing with me. She gave me a sincere smile and a big hug, but the strangest thing of all was when Jason confronted Eddie, but instead of disdain he offered a handshake thanking him for the entertainment. Eddie accepted his hand and congratulated him on winning prom king, and they actually smiled at each other. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I wouldn't have believed it.

When it came time for the after-party at Steve's house, Eddie and I took the opportunity to slip away and head back to his trailer so we could be alone.

~~~~~

We devoured each other like animals as we made our way through his trailer to his room. Feverish, sloppy kisses, lips and chins and necks, back to lips, until he pulled away, revealing a malevolent smile.

"As gorgeous as you are in this dress... I've been waiting all night to get you out of it. Off... now."

I did as he commanded, slowly peeled off my dress, and let it fall to the floor. My black lace bra and panties, stalkings, and garter belt were all that remained.

"Jesus Christ, you're stunning, Bunny."

Eddie stared at me with a carnal desire, drinking in the sight of my body, removing his clothing until he was shirtless. He advanced toward me slowly and started running his hands gently up my sides, and around my shoulders so he could unclasp my bra. I stood completely still as he dropped the flimsy article to the floor. He backed away slowly, his eyes glued to my tits. When he met my gaze I made a show of removing my panties, but when I tried to remove my stalkings he grabbed my hands.

"No... leave 'em on. The garter belt too. You're perfect just like this."

Eddie was breathing heavily, blackness consuming his eyes. He leaned forward to trap my nipple between his lips, sucking, licking, teasing each one in turn as I cradled his head, my needy whines and mewells filling the room.

"Mrrmm, Eddie... hyou-you're gonna make me cum."

"Mhhhh..." He released my nipple with a pop and straightened up. "Not yet, Bunny. I wanna taste you first." He gently cupped my tits and licked at my lips until I took his tongue into my mouth. "Hmmm... can I taste you?" He whispered his words, his hot breath sweeping across my face.

"Hhhhyes."

Before I knew it I was on my back, and Eddie was licking a slow, soft trail down my stomach. He latched his lips to the tender flesh of my waistline and sucked a deep purple mark into my skin.

"Mmm... you're mine now, Bunny. I can finally take my time with you."

All I could do was moan at his words. He kissed his mark, knelt on the floor in front of me, and pulled me to the edge of his bed. I could feel his hands, the cool metal of his rings, smoothing gently over my inner thighs, spreading them. I caught the sound of an inhale and felt his warm breath against my wet heat when he exhaled.

"Oh, Bunny, your scent... I need it all over me. On my fingers... my face... hmmm, my tongue. Look at me." I lifted my head long enough for his eyes to silently ask for permission. I gave him a shy nod, but instead of diving in like I figured he would, he lingered, took a quick taste with a flick of his tongue, and savored.

"Mgghh, Christ, that's so sweet."

The instant I felt his fingers slip into my folds I shrieked. His touch was gentle, massaging my thigh with one hand as his fingers barely grazed my inner lips and my clit. It was at that moment I knew that he was hell-bent on torturing me, teasing me, prolonging my pleasure until I was ready to burst. He wasn't going to give me what I so desperately wanted, not until I was begging for it, for him... and I would. I would do anything this man asked of me if it pleased him. When I felt the tip of his finger trace light circles over my clit I wanted to cry. I had a moment's reprieve when he stopped to lick his fingers clean.

"Mmmm, hhhhhh, Bunny, you taste like heaven... but if you don't stop squirming I'm gonna have to pin you down."

"Eddie... wh-why are you being so cruel?"

"Oh, Bunny... I've only just begun."

He blew a light stream of air on my clit until I whined, then he licked me gently from my dripping hole to my hard bud. I was thrashing around, trying to quell the sensation, only to have my thighs pinned to the mattress, by his strong, unyielding grip. Using the tip of his tongue he lightly teased the sensitive skin of my lips, and toyed with my swollen clit until I was sobbing from the pleasure. I tried to touch my sensitive nipples, to rush my release, but he reached up, locked his hands around my wrists, and held them at my sides so he could use his forearms to pin my thighs, then he flattened his tongue and licked from my ass to my clit. I screamed in frustration.

"Eddie, for fuck sake, please! Please let me cum."

He ignored my plea, continuing to fuck me with his tongue until he was ravenous. His pace not letting up as he devoured my pussy like he was starving.

"Holy fucking shit, Munson! Stop... please, just, just fucking stop!"

He halted immediately, breathing heavily. When he took a hand from my wrist to wipe his face, I made my move, twisting violently until I was free of his agonizing hold. I got to my knees, grabbed him by his belt, and pulled him roughly onto the bed, pushing him onto his back. I crawled up his body, straddled his head, and sank my cunt onto his waiting mouth. He dug his fingers into my thighs, the pain shooting through me, but I didn't care. I could finally get what I wanted.

"Mhhhh, Eddie... Yes, YES!" He moaned at my praise, sending chills up my spine. Fuck! The things this man can do with his mouth. I tangled my fingers tightly into his hair and fucked his face. "Munson... hoh... shit, SHIT!!! Hyou... you're gonna tell me... every dirty detail... about how you learned to do this... so fucking well! Fuck, I wanna cum for you!"

He moaned into my pussy. I could hardly control my breathing as small high-pitched whimpers escaped my lips. I was so close to the edge.

"Mhhhhhh..."

The vibrations of his moans, his caressing lips, and the flick of his tongue against my clit were making me buck even harder as his painful grip on my thighs held me steady. I've never felt pleasure like this. He was too good, I could feel a sensation so incredibly earth-shattering building inside me. He must've felt it too 'cause he reached up to tease my nipples, as he feasted, lapped, licked, and sucked at my dripping pussy. My whimpers were loud, shameless, and FUCK were they warranted. I was plunged into a realm of pleasure and bliss, and Eddie was the cause. I let go of his hair, cupped his hands over my tits, and ground my pussy against his face as I experienced the most intense orgasm in the history of sex.

"OhhhhhhFUCK!!! Oh... GOD!... Eddie, EDDIE... Holy SHIT!!!"

"Mmmm, that's it, Bunny. Mhhhhhh."

I continued screaming his name as he greedily sucked and lapped at the sticky mess that poured from my pussy.

"Mmmmm! Fuck! You're taste... it's so goddamn satisfying! Hhhmm!"

He lapped once more at my overstimulated clit. I tried to steady my breathing as I climbed off of him, collapsing onto my back. Breathing heavily he turned his head to look at me, rolled onto his side, and propped himself on his elbow so he could stare at me. His eyes trailed up and down my body, so I decided to tease him. He was in the perfect position to watch. I put my knees up and spread them wide, dipping a finger into my still-dripping folds. I coated it with my slick juices and ran a trail of cum up the middle of my body before raising my finger to his lips. He let out an adorable whimper before sucking it clean.

"Mmmmm... Jesus Christ... you're fucking intoxicating."

He shifted his body, hovering above me so he could trace the trail of cum with his tongue, then he pressed his weight against me, kissing me deeply, passionately before he got to his knees to unbuckled his belt. He undid his pants and pushed them off. Once they were on the floor with the rest of our discarded clothing, he leaned over me, the head of his throbbing cock pushing against my heat. He took my hard peaks into his mouth once more gently teasing my sensitive nipples with the tip of his tongue. The soft tickles were too much to bear, and I almost came, only to be denied. He sat back on his heels, his knees spread wide so his massive erection was standing at attention between my legs, but before he could pull me toward him I quickly got on all fours facing him and wrapped my lips around his swollen head.

"Ohhhhhhhhh..." he breathed out.

He started convulsing as I used my tongue to toy with his slit. I sucked his head into my mouth and slowly swallowed him whole until my nose was touching his coarse, dark pubes. He brushed his fingers through my hair, holding it back so he could watch as I took him in and out of my mouth.

"Oh, Bunny... uhhhhyeah... suck me, beautiful... just like that... ohhhhhh."

Still sitting on his heels he leaned back, braced himself on his hands, and spread his knees wider. I pulled all the way off of him before sucking him into the back of my throat.

"OH!! God...DAMMIT!!!"

I swallowed hard around him, releasing him to catch my breath, and sank again, slurping and gagging as he used one hand to hold my head, and I loved every second of it. When he let me surface for air his chest was heaving. I grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed as I vigorously sucked his tip. He sucked in a hiss, his breath catching in his throat, chest heaving as I started to work him faster. His vocals just made me more feral.

"Oh...SWEET JESUS!!! You're... you're fucking phenomenal... Uhhnnggg..."

My strokes and his breathing became more erratic.

"Oh, oh, fuck! That's my good girl, my good Bunny, mhhhhh... keep-keep going. Take me deep. OhhhhhhFuck! YES!"

With his fingers clenched in my hair and his cock lodged deep in my throat, I sucked his soul through his dick. His body was shuddering, jolt after jolt of sexual electricity, until he pulled my head up.

"Jesus Christ! That-that's so fucking good, hhmhh... but I don't wanna cum yet..... HOH! GODDAMN!"

His whole body tensed as I licked him from balls to tip, sucking his sensitive head one last time. When he opened his eyes he caught my smug smile, threw his head back, and started laughing.

"That was payback, you teasing fuck."

His laugh morphed into a heady moan as I trailed my tongue through his pubes, over the wiry muscles of his stomach until I was on my knees, teasing his hard nipple with my tongue. He caressed my head tenderly as I suckled before he forced it up and shoved his tongue down my throat.

"MmmHmmm... hhhhhhh. O-ok, I get it. I've met my match. Now lie back baby girl."

With his knees under my thighs and my hot wet cunt begging to be filled, we made eye contact.

"Oh, Bunny... you're so gorgeous it hurts. Are you ready for me?"

"Munson, if you don't put your dick inside me, like yesterday, I'm never speaking to you again... now fuck me!"

I threw my head back and whimpered as Eddie grasped my thighs and plunged his cock deep inside me.

"Oh, FUCK! Munson! PLEASE!"

I stared at him through half-lidded eyes, mouth agape as I rubbed my tits. With every powerful thrust I became more and more excited... and so very close to another intense orgasm. He used a thumb to tease my sensitive clit. I arched my back, my tits moving up and down with every heavy breath. He dug his fingers into my thigh, still teasing my clit as he continued to pound into me, willing me to scream his name.

"Oh... FUCK! EDDIE!!! Oh my God. I'm gonna cum!!!"

"That's it Bunny... take my cock. Wanna, MRRGGG! Wanna watch your sweet pussy gush from what I do to you. I want it all over me."

"Oh, that fucking mouth, Munson!"

"You mean this mouth?"

He wrapped his arms around the small of my back, leaning down to lick and kiss my navel, then he lifted me upright so he could claim my tits again, licking and sucking as he held me close, his course hair rubbing against my clit as he fucked up into me. My walls started to clench around him, so he laid me down and ran his hand from my tits back to my clit.

"Scream for me, Bunny... scream my fucking name!"

He commanded me, letting his head fall back as he fucked me and continued to rub circles around my clit with his thumb.

"Oh... holy shit, Eddie! EDDIE! Oh my GOD!"

Screaming, I clenched the sheets and a burst of liquid sprayed all over his abdomen.

"YES! OHHHHHHFUCK!!! I'm-I'm gonna bust. C-can I come inside you?"

"Yes! Do it!"

He slammed into me one last time and his whole body tensed.

"Ohhhhh, Fuck!!! God.... DAMMIT!!! HOHHHH, ohhh my gorgeous girl."

His fingers dug into my waist until he rode out his release and collapsed on top of me. I threw my limbs around him as he poured all of his emotion into our kiss. I was on the verge of tears.

"Munson... I love you. I love you so much." We hugged each other so tight. "Hyou... you can do that to me forever if you like."

He looked up, still breathing hard, and smiled. Staring into my eyes with all the love in the world, he brushed some hair from my face, placed one more passionate kiss on my smiling lips, rolled us onto our sides, and pulled me tightly to his chest.

"Hmm, my beautiful, raging... wrathful, Bunny. I love you more than life itself. Ending our friendship was the best decision we ever made."

•••••❤️❤️•••••

Thank you for reading! Be excellent to each other, and get your Munson on!

🤘