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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 3 months ago

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Don’t Go Blindly Into The Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Meanwhile there is a darkness growing in Ketterdam, and it seems a killer may be stalking the streets of West Stave. An unknown evil is closing its jaws over the city, and it’s starting to feel like nowhere is safe.

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus @i-need-help-this-is-my-obsession @devoted-people-hater

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: implied trafficking references, implied violence, implied death references, threats, implied abuse references, abduction references, separation from family/loss of family

AO3 link

Chapter 56 - Nina

Even after mulling on her words for a few days and giving herself the time to assume that some smaller details may be over exaggerated or entirely fabricated, Nina was still feeling pretty sure that the rumours Siobhan had heard were complete and utter nonsense. Squallers flying, she’d said, and Tidemakers turning to mist? Please. Whatever this drug was, Siobhan had no name for it from whatever hearsay she’d picked up on, and however the story was being spun, this was not the truth. It couldn’t be.

Though the disbelief hadn’t stopped Nina from asking around, had it?

Her contacts in Ketterdam weren’t extensive but they could be considered reasonable enough for her purposes; she was trying to start a conversation to find out whether anyone knew the whereabouts of Wylan’s friend Anya, anyway, so she reasoned that if she was already talking she might as well bring the rumours into it too. And people had heard of it, she started to realise. Jurda parem, they were calling it. She supposed it made sense if it had some link to jurda, the little blossoms were stimulants and to Nina’s understanding it sounded like this - obviously fictional, she promised herself - drug was as well, but it was that second word that bothered her. Parem. A Shu word, she knew. Without pity.

There was nothing solid anyone could really give her, so it was probably just some melodrama that would blow over within the month, but for some reason Nina couldn’t shake it.

The hunt for Anya had been less fruitful. Anyone who had heard of her - which so far was only one Fabrikator from the other side of town, though there was a Squaller at another house on West Stave who’d said he knew someone in the Geldin District who might be able to find out more - could only tell her that they’d heard nothing of the girl since her indenture to Councilman Van Eck came to a somewhat seemingly abrupt end. That was hardly unusual around here; Nina doubted anyone would think twice about it.

Nina could have just waited a few days to see if the Squaller’s contact managed to find anything for her, but she desperately wanted to be able to give Wylan news - even just of progress in searching, if not anything concrete. She thought he needed to hear something good.

“The staff are mostly too well paid to bribe,” said Inej, speaking Suli, as the pair walked down East Stave together, “But I managed to gather a little gossip,”

It had been three days since the de Baal job, and the sun had briefly returned to Ketterdam in between the recent rain showers but the air was still cold and Nina was wrapped snugly into her coat. Inej usually, and to a casual onlooker would have done today, seemed resistant to the weather, but more than once on this walk so far she’d tugged on her long sleeves to pull them over her palms. Nina wasn’t sure if she was cold or if something was on her mind. She wondered if she should ask, but she didn’t want to pry.

The ground was still wet and the cobblestones were slippery underfoot as they strolled, but Nina had been watching Inej with close attention for the past ten minutes and was yet to see her slip or struggle with her injured knee. Good. Inej had neglected to mention it since a few nights ago, the night of her birthday, when she broke into Nina’s room at the White Rose in tears. Nina still wasn’t sure if she’d seen anything in particular when she’d been scoping out the WIllow Switch, or if it was all just too much for her to keep it under wraps any longer. Hopefully, after what Nina had told her that night, Inej wouldn’t feel like she had to keep it buried anymore; if she wanted - needed - to talk, Nina would always be there.

“Apparently there was quite a shouting match the day she left,”

Nina raised an eyebrow.

She’d asked Inej after her fruitless initial attempt at tracking Anya down, if she could try to find out anything about Van Eck sending her away, only if she had time and only as soon as she had a chance. Nina glanced at her watch - it had been about ten hours.

“All I could gather from the servants was that she and Van Eck were briefly alone, and then she ran out in the main hallway shouting for Wylan. They said that she tried to attack Van Eck and the guards had to pin her down,”

“She attacked him?”

“Well,” Inej shrugged, “The servants are also spreading that the reason Wylan left was because he got caught in a sweaty romp with one of his tutors, so I’d probably take their words with a pinch of salt,”

Still, Nina thought, that seems like a development. Nothing that happened in that house ever seemed to quite make sense.

“Do you think…?” Nina hesitated, and glanced at Inej to see that she was staring up at her, patient but expectant, “He wouldn’t have… killed her, would he?”

Inej paused for a moment, her head cocked slightly to one side as she considered. They had both stopped walking for this moment, and Nina found herself rubbing the soft lining of her coat between her thumb and forefinger as she watched Inej’s mind turn. Inej had pulled her sleeve right up over her palm.

“No,” she said, decisively, shaking her head, “No, I don’t think he would have. Where’s the money in that?”

Inej turned to make another step and Nina made to follow her, again trying to study the younger girl’s gate until she looked up and - catching Nina off guard - asked lightly:

“Did you know that Elodie has ten siblings?”

Nina blinked.

“Really?”

“Well, eight living siblings; five older, three younger. She was telling Jeluna about them,”

Nina frowned, nodding slowly. She wasn’t sure where Inej was going with this.

“She’s never met the youngest, her mother was pregnant when she came to Ketterdam,”

Eleven children. Saints, some women were bloody stronger than Nina was.

“I thought…” her voice drifted, thinking of what she had told Inej at the Slat when they’d spoken quietly about Elodie before.

“Her parents?”

Nina nodded.

“I think so. The way she talks about it all, at least, makes me think you were right. It sounds like she all but raised her younger sisters alone; a six year old and a one year old. They… they won’t remember her, will they?”

What was she trying to get at, here? Nina tucked her thumb inside her palm and began to work it against her skin in comforting, repetitive circles. Her earliest memories were all at the Little Palace in Os Alta; groups of small school children, raised by teachers and nurses and in a way each other, peering on tiptoe through the windows of the Palace to see the older Grisha rushing about below on their important missions. She remembered her early lessons, with Healers and Heartrenders alike in their little chairs where some were still so small their feet didn’t touch the ground. She remembered, at least for the most part though maybe the finer details would be lost on her, the dormitory she’d lived in before she was old enough to move into a double room, split with one other student when twelve and deemed an inappropriate age to make them stay with the tiniest of the others, or to have to change in the space shared with so many. She remembered the Civil War, the evacuation of the school to Keramzin, trying to calm the littlest ones from crying even as she had wanted to simply give in and start sobbing herself. She remembered the Darkling’s army finding them, and damn everything straight to hell if she didn’t remember the Shadow Fold. She remembered having her own bed chambers upon her return, and wondering whether she’d reached the age the school deemed proper for it or if there were simply less Grisha than rooms left over.

But Nina didn’t remember the arms that had held her before she could walk. She didn’t remember who had fed her before she sat in a dining hall with dozens of other children. She didn’t remember who dressed her before she learned how to herself, or who gave her the clothes she had travelled in the whole journey to Os Alta. The journey, at least to her faded recollection and a little child’s mind, had been incomprehensibly long, and she had spent it - though this part she no longer remembers very clearly - sat on the bench of a carriage with her legs pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around them as she glared over the top of her knees at the man and woman in the fancy, colourful coats. In her tiny fist she had clutched a handkerchief, someone from wherever she had come from must have given it to her, and with all her minuscule might she tried to keep it safe and secret. But as soon as she arrived at the Little Palace she was led to a small, strange looking room, given a pile of clean clothes, and told to change. She didn’t have a kefta yet, of course, and the children didn’t exactly have a uniform - though there were certain rules expected of them - but they were not allowed to keep the clothes they had arrived in.

“It’s a plague precaution,” the woman in the pretty coat had told her, kneeling down so they were closer to the same height, “We just have to be safe, you understand that don’t you?”

Nina didn’t remember this by now. She didn’t remember nodding at the woman slowly, even though she didn’t really know what that meant. It sounded scary. Everything was scary today.

“And look at these new clothes,” she’d smiled, holding up a blouse that was a crisper white than the one Nina wore beneath her cardigan, clearly much newer, “Aren’t they pretty?”

If Nina really searched her mind, she could bring to the surface some vague snippets of that day. She could remember that her cardigan was a thin, woollen thing, of comfy navy blue. When she took it off she did her best to fold it in front of her to lay it on the table, though it probably looked a mess, and she could remember the golden embroidered crest on the too-small-to-put-anything-in breast pocket. A school uniform, then? But surely Nina had been too small for that, yet? What else could it have been?

She could remember, as well, the embroidered black stitches on the inner tag of the cardigan, that matched the tag of her blouse and skirt and the label inside her shoes; the letters of her name in neat, threaded lines. But she couldn’t remember who had sewn them.

She’d washed all over and then dressed in the clothes that the woman with the pretty coat had left for her, and had then been walked hand-in-hand through the doorway to an entirely new world. That was when they found that she was still clutching her little handkerchief, refusing to give it up. She might have cried, she didn’t remember by now, but plague precautions were plague precautions, Nina needed to be a big strong girl now, and her tears were not appropriate for a future soldier.

“You are special, Nina,” someone had told her - the woman with the pretty coat? Someone different, in a different coloured coat? There were so many of them, all so tall and strong and busy. Nina had never felt smaller, “You are part of the Second Army, now. You are forever part of something bigger than yourself. Isn’t that special? Isn’t that exciting?”

Nina smiled, nodded, let them take her hand and lead her on. She trained and studied and dedicated her entire life to Ravka, to her home, to the country that would love her forever, to the Second Army of which she would now forever be one small cog in the grand machine. She was Grisha, she was special, she was a soldier of the Second Army. That meant something.

They took the handkerchief and burned it, along with the clothes that someone had embroidered for her. Someone for whom Nina had not even done the courtesy of a memory.

“I suppose so,” she said quietly, without looking at Inej.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been happy at the Little Palace. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to be part of the Second Army. But for whatever reason this had been bothering Nina lately. The lack of the Before.

“My little cousins will have forgotten me, won’t they?”

Oh. That was where she was going with this.

Nina finally turned to see Inej, who was staring fervently ahead in what looked like an effort not to drop her gaze down and start studying her boots. She couldn’t really say anything. She just slipped her hand around Inej’s and squeezed it tightly. What could she say?

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storms-path · 2 months ago

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FFXIV Write 2024 Masterpost

Well, there it is once again. Another month of prompts completed, this time with so, so much lizard. The prompts were very kind to her this month, as was Dawntrail in general, and it was really nice to give her some positive development and flesh out more of her relationship with her mother. But of course I couldn't resist a few bad ends, a few dips into another timeline entirely, and a race across the stars for fun and profit.

Day 1 - Steer

Arashi engages in some tourism, much to Sanda's annoyance.

Day 2 - Horizon

Arashi gains a new title following her first Arcadion victory.

Day 3 - Tempest

The gang tangles with Byakko.

Day 4 - Reticent

Y'shtola bares her soul to a... confused audience.

Day 5 - Stamp

Fareena finds her mother in the ruins of Dalmasca.

Day 6 - Halcyon

Arashi's always been a sulky person, especially as a kid.

Day 7 - Morsel

Before the clash with Titan, Stalwart notices a strange dish.

Day 8 - Clean (Extra Credit)

Recovering from Ultima Thule, Arashi takes a bath.

Day 9 - Lend an Ear

Stalwart and Y'shtola have a long overdue conversation.

Day 10 - Stable

Arashi finds her chocobo. Violently.

Day 11 - Surrogate

While Arashi recovers, Sanda takes up her sister's mantle for a while.

Day 12 - Quarry

Arashi chases down Valigarmanda as it attempts to flee.

Day 13 - Butte

Arashi suffers from nightmares and sleepwalking. Ryne comes to find her.

Day 14 - Telling

Continuing from the previous prompt, Arashi and Thancred talk.

Day 15 - Presence (Extra Credit)

Sanda tries and fails to make sense of her feelings towards Zero. The feeling is mutual.

Day 16 - Third-Rate

A dramatised re-telling of the liberation of Ala Mhigo.

Day 17 - Sally

Lyse struggles with a difficult problem. Arashi "helps." Continues from prompts 13 and 14.

Day 18 - Hackneyed

As the Eigthth Umbral Calamity looms, Arashi, Sanda and Lyse make a desperate escape.

Day 19 - Taken

Fareena chases after Nael van Darnus, leading her into the heart of Garlemald.

Day 20 - Duel

Alisaie and Arashi come to blows.

Day 21 - Shade

Arashi goes down into the Aitiascope to confront a ghost.

Day 22 - Linger (Extra Credit)

Following Sphene's defeat, Sanda finds herself unable to celebrate properly.

Day 23 - On Cloud Nine

Fareena is a menace to society.

Day 24 - Bar

In a very different timeline, Sheriff Storm sizes up a newcomer to her little watering hole.

Day 25 - Perpetuity

The last will and testament of Arashi Washi, Warrior of Light.

Day 26 - Zip

Arashi engages in a Wacky Race.

Day 27 - Memory

As the Rising kicks off, Fareena drinks alone.

Day 28 - Deleterious

Arashi insists she's alright following her defeat of Valigarmanda. Nobody is willing to take her word for it. Continues from day 12.

Day 29 - Sunrise (Extra Credit)

Arashi and Stalwart talk for a while, but are interrupted by news of an ambassador's imminent arrival.

Day 30 - Two Heads Are Better Than One

Arashi and the ambassador talk about very serious things. Continues from the previous day.

And if you want to go through the whole thing at once, I also posted it on Archive Of Our Own.

And that's all there is to it! Definitely an easier set than last year, but I chalk that down to my job situation improving in leaps and bounds and, most importantly, giving me some damn room to breath. I still have a few ideas I'd like to work on, though (I didn't touch Pictomancer at all). Maybe I'll work on them in my own time. Maybe I'll wait until next year. Who can say?

Either way, this was a fantastic month and I'm glad I participated once again. And well done to everyone who participated as well, no matter how many prompts you managed or how proud of your prompts you are.

You did good. I'm proud of ya.

#ff14 #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2024 #arashi washi #sanda washi #fareena hagen #stalwart mountain #heavensward spoilers #stormblood spoilers #shadowbringers spoilers #endwalker spoilers #dawntrail spoilers #the actual list of characters would flood the tags so just check my ao3 for it

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scrollsfromarebornrealm · 2 months ago

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Prompt #20: Duel

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When he’d first started to plan for his and Riven’s escape to the outer wilds, Sebastian had honestly not considered the possibility of…adventures. If anything, the original plan had been to hide while Riven regained her health. Once she’d done that (and Astrid’s dogs had been thrown off their scent) they would pawn her bridal dowery and flee all the way East. Far East.

Instead they were up to their arses in dust, tumbleweeds, violence and…friends. None of which was currently helping Sebastian’s situation. The brunette jumped off the train platform and down onto the tracks, reloading his gunblade as he did so. Spinning around, he pulled the trigger to activate a ring of fire—and just in the nick of time, as his opponent came at him with an upwards slash.

This was supposed to be a damn transport job! Not a fucking gunbreaker duel! Not that he’d had any choice in the matter. Bandits had decided to attack one of Van Baelsar’s trains, and Sebastian just had the unfortunate luck to be in the area when the snafu had kicked off. He’d been picking up Klynt’s ‘payments’ from the few connections she had left out in Westwind. Then one of the local gangs—he didn’t know the name but he knew the colors, red and white—had quite literally came riding into town, shooting, hollering, and casting magic. The Black Wolf’s men had been quick to respond, but the bandits had reinforcements, and soon the entire area resembled a small warzone. Sebastian had fought his way to the train station, all he needed was just a few more yards and his bird was waiting for him.

But then a masked and white-clad gunbreaker had jumped him—and before Sebastian could reach for his magic, had fired off a spellbreaker round. It’d broken Sebastian’s staff and scrambled his aetherical senses. As the brunette had tried to recover, the man had charged at him with a killing blow—and Sebastian found himself with no choice.

.....

Thancred wasn’t meaning to kill. Frighten yes, not kill. Nor had he expected the Red Dogs to be so…overenthusiastic. Minfilia would have words for him certainly.

He also hadn’t expected his quarry’s fighting ability to be on par with Rostik’s. Thancred charged Sebastian, grunting as Lionheart was deflected off a bright blue shield. Sadler was no longer in his ill-fitting suit, instead he was in black and red leathers. As Thancred stepped back to recover, Sebastian charged forward, unleashing a flurry of strikes that the gunhand was forced to parry.

He’s good! As good as me! Spotting an opening, Thancred charged—now it was Sadler’s turn to parry and be forced backwards. Their gunblades struck against one another repeatedly, imbued cartridges exploding to little effect. Lionheart could resist their effects—and the same could be said for Sebastian’s weapon. Roughly the same length as Lionheart, the blade was deadly keen and sported intricate carvings on either side. Thancred evaded a swipe, flipping backward to catch his breath and size up his opponent.

Bozjan-style gunblade, Bozjan-style techniques. The weapon was new to Tural and not too popular. Gaius had his own version—but it was more of a gun with a sword strapped to it, and his fighting style was vastly different. From the way Sadler wielded the blade and his movements, he’d mastered the tenets of the gunbreaker’s art for quite a while. Thancred couldn’t help himself, a smirk made his lips curve beneath the fabric of his mask.

“Not bad for a city boy.” He said, letting his accent change—inflection on the consonants, not the vowels. Sebastian narrowed his eyes, drawing back into his own ready stance.

“I’ve no quarrel with you, but you’ve just put me in an untenable situation.” He said. “Therefore, I unfortunately have to kill you.”

“Unfortunately! That’s one I haven’t heard in a while.” Thancred replied. Reaching for a fresh cartridge, he flicked Lionheart’s chamber open.

“Though speaking of unfortunate—I’ve a quarrel with you, I’m afraid. And while killing you would solve the matter; I’ll settle for the Dustwatch clapping you in irons.” Gunblade loaded, Thancred spun the chamber shut and pointed the weapon at Sebastian.

“A man’s good name is sometimes the only thing he has out here.”

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#ffxiv #FFXIVWrite 2024 #FFXIVWrite

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kitmon · 2 years ago

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S'That Metal? | Eddie Munson x Fem!Musician!Reader

Series Masterlist

Summary: A new neighbor just moved in a door down and Eddie can’t reign in his curiosity.

Pairing: Eddie Munson (Stranger Things, 2022) x Fem!Musician!Reader

Chapter: 1/? [wc: 6.3]

Part 01

Tags: swearing, Eddie falls and hurts himself (talk of aching pain and soreness), probably some bad guitar talk because I’ve only been playing for a few months, reader is a bit mean but, I mean, she’s totally justified, Eddie's kinda a creep but he has innocent intentions, vague discussion of a parent with terminal illness

Author’s Note: It's here! Finally a full first chapter of S'that Metal? I know it took me literally forever but I hope that despite the long wait you guys will enjoy it. Thank you to my lovely @queenimmadolla for beta reading as always now please enjoy!

Chapter One: S'that Metal?

The sun is hanging low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the tops of the pine trees that decorate the edge of Forest Hills, indigo darkening the east as day gives way to night. Eddie’s van rumbles along the dirt road as he pulls into the lawn, tapping his fingers over the steering wheel while the sweet licks of Saxon’s Graham Oliver blare through the speakers. He flips the ignition off and steps outside, skipping to the front door with a satisfied smile over his lips as he fumbles with his ring of keys.

Another successful Hellfire session, he thinks to himself as he inserts the right key into the lock. Though the freshman can be rowdy at times, he enjoys their enthusiasm and it makes nights like this, where a devastating blow is dealt to one of his obstacles, all the better, with cheering, celebration, and pats over the shoulder. He couldn’t care less if they destroyed his entire fleet with one critical hit, as long as they were having fun, he was doing his job as Dungeon Master.

Just as he’s about to push the door open with his shoulder, the familiar sound of a whining guitar could be heard nearby. He looks to the trailer situated next to his uncle’s. A moving van has been parked in its lot since yesterday morning and the front lawn, even now, had boxes, empty and full, littering itself. That isn’t what interests him though. It’s the muffled voice of that guitar, piercing the paper thin walls of these shitty trailer homes.

All the more curious, Eddie pulls the key out of its socket and pockets it in his leather jacket. He takes a few wide steps towards his neighboring trailer, attempting stealth but really only achieving looking like a complete dork. His steps are soft and as he moves closer the sound becomes much more clear. He’s pressing his ear against the side of the mobile home and— is that Whiplash?

He’s turning his head to stare at the wall in disbelief, eyebrows furrowed as if it could quench his confusion. He notices a warm light seeping through a window only a foot overhead and he begins whipping his head around to try and find something that could operate as a temporary step stool. With the natural light of the sun nearly gone, the star having hidden behind the tall pine trees to the west, he can hardly see anything too far away but he can make out the outline of a thrown out milk crate, holding a few empty liquor bottles and soda cans. He reaches for it and dumps out all of the contents onto the dirt and he swears that the next morning he’ll collect it and throw it in the trash but as for right now, he just needs to see who or what is playing that song.

As he takes a step onto the crate, the blue plastic of it groaning under his weight, he can barely peek his eyes over the window’s sill but it’s enough to see the makings of a very small kitchen. Just past the small bar he can see into the living room and that’s where the sound’s coming from. He can see your figure cradling the guitar— a sleek cherry red Jackson Pro, he could make out with some difficulty from his position— held up tight against yourself. Your eyes are focused on the lower length of the fretboard as you chew at your lower lip in concentration, your fingers gliding across the strings with a mastered practice and as a particularly intense part of the instrumental kicks in, you start to curl in on yourself, really feeling the music as you shake your head to the sounds of the solo screaming and crying to the will of your fingers.

Eddie watches, spellbound by the way that your picking hand flicks up and down with a practiced precision and as he’s leaning on the tips of his toes to try and get a better look, your eyes fall to the window in passing before doing a double take, your eyes wider as they fall upon half of Eddie’s face. You both share a panicked look, your fingers halting over the strings as you drop your pick, the thin piece of plastic slipping from your fingers and disappearing into the jungle of your shag carpet. In the frenzy of being caught, Eddie’s foot slips and the crate is tipping over, sending him tumbling to the ground.

As the image of his eyes to the top of his head disappears from your sight, almost in a flash, you’re detangling yourself from the guitar strap and setting the instrument so that its propped against the coffee table before you’re jogging into the kitchenette and leaning over the sink to try and see where he went. You climb onto the counter, your knees and shins resting awkwardly with the dip of the sink, and push the window open.

As you poke your head out, you see the mysterious set of eyes and unruly bang-ed figure writhing in the dirt and rubbing at his hip. He looks like the wind has been knocked out of him as he groans and begins to prop himself up on his elbows, lifting his head to catch your eyes.

“Who the fuck are you?” You question, your words strict and serious.

Eddie whines at the embarrassment of it all before giving you an answer.

“Uh, I’m Eddie… Eddie Munson,” he clarifies, before pointing to his trailer, only a bit away. “I’m your neighbor.”

Your eyes flick to his trailer next to yours before scanning over his figure and determining how much of a threat he actually poses.

“Is looking through people’s windows normal in this town or is that just a you thing?”

Eddie chuckles as he lifts himself back up with creaking joints and a pained grunt.

“Uh, no,” he laughs, “I just heard you playing and um…yeah, I don’t have much of an excuse for, uh… peeking through your window.”

“Okay,” you mumble to yourself before speaking, “Well, don’t let it happen again, weirdo.”

You reach for the handle along the window to close it before Eddie interjects.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Your hand falters as your gaze falls back to him.

“I just— Was that—” He huffs a sigh before asking, “Were you playing metal? Like heavy metal?”

As he asks the question he mimics shredding on the guitar, wiggling his fingers like he’s hammering on a fretboard.

You puff your cheeks up with air and blow out a sigh, rubbing your fingers over your forehead as the absurdity of this situation causes a mild migraine to bloom out from your temples.

“What? Are you gonna file a fucking noise complaint or something—”

“No, no! I love metal! Just— fucking look at me!” He chuckles, dragging his hands over his frame to draw your attention to his Dio t-shirt and ripped jeans adorned with his glinting chain catching the low moon’s glow. He’s lifting his hands to tousle his disheveled head of hair and show off the length and the volume of his curls. “I just didn’t know that anyone in this park cared for it. You just moved in, right?”

You squint your eyes before tossing your attention from left to right, seemingly confused by his curious line of questioning.

“Yeah.”

“Cool, cool. I’m Eddie, by the way,” he says, throwing his hand up in a curt wave.

“You already said that,” you notify him, your voice dull and devoid of any humor, and his hand balls up into a fist before slamming into his thigh as it falls in disappointment.

“Right,” he laughs at himself under his breath before sucking his lips in towards his teeth.

“Ok, well, this really has been a lovely chat but I have work in the morning, so, bye.”

He tries to protest you leaving but his voice catches in his throat as you’re slinking back into your home and slamming the window shut behind you.

“Welp, “ he sighs to himself, “screwed that one up big time.”

He ambles back to his trailer and brings his hands to rub over his tailbone and backside, groaning with each limped step he takes.

Late in the morning, the minutes inching towards midday, Eddie croaks a grumbled hum, tucking his hands and rubbing his face into his pillowcase before arching his lower back in a strained stretch. He flops his stomach back onto the mattress as it shakes with his weight and groggily brings his arms out from where they’re bundled beneath his sleep-flattened cushion to lift him up so he can brush the tangled strands of hair out of his eyes and away from his mouth.

After a bit of dawdling, he’s pried his sweaty limbs away from his sheets and makes himself a bowl of Froot Loops. He takes large spoonfuls into his mouth and drips a bit of milk over his chin before wiping at it with the back of his hand. As he walks back into his room and stalks towards his guitar, hung lovingly over his vanity, he notices the snapped little e string he marred a few days earlier during a night of mindless fiddling, accidentally turning the knob too tight while forgetting what's clockwise and what's not. The string hangs sadly in a loose ringlet and he sighs, reminded by the sight that he needs to go into town and buy a new pack before his next rehearsal.

The bright white glare of the September sun peirce’s Eddie’s retinas and makes his face scrunch up in distaste at the shift in lighting, hand lifting to shade his eyes as he skips down the few rickety, weatherbeaten steps. He fiddles with his keys and twirls the ring around his index finger, making jaunty steps towards his van. As he fingers through the keys and hums a violent tune to himself, he looks over his shoulder and chances a glance at your trailer. In the window, there’s a note; a hastily torn away yellow pad page, the message reading in bold black pen, “USE THE DOOR, WEIRDO.”

His lips curl in on themselves and he bobs his head in silent embarrassment as he takes his key and jams it into the lock.

Eddie swaggers into Marty’s, the bell above the door tinkling with his presence. His head travels from left to right, looking around, hiking the sagging seat of his pants up by the belt loops as he enters. He makes note of the wall adorned with strings of varying purpose, some meant for cellos and violins, others for basses and guitars and as he makes to step towards it, something stops him. His eyes travel to the minimal practice room and, behind the glass, he finds you, a warm, mild smile stretching your cheeks as you sit next to a little girl on the piano bench. You’re speaking to her, instructing her, encouraging her, all of which he fails to hear through the barrier as you point your finger to the keys and demonstrate the proper notes and tempo. There’s a clear joy overcoming your features as you watch her adhere to your advice, surely improving if it incites that reaction but, as your eyes wander and you look over your shoulder, your smile falters at the sight of him.

With your lead-like stare, his muscles contract as if faced with the threatening glare of a starved tiger, shoulders tensing before he tries, as inconspicuous as possible, to turn back to the strings and pretend as if he hadn’t even noticed you, let alone been enthralled by the foreign image of your easy smile.

Your hardened and, frankly, frightening expression shifts as you placate said smile back onto your face and address the child once more.

“Keep practicing your scales, Sweetie. I’ll be right back, okay?”

She nods her head at you dismissively, too focused on biting the tip of her tongue as her untrained fingers do decently well at replicating the D major scale you’d demonstrated to her. You stand up from the bench and push past the door, letting it fall slowly so as to not disturb your pupil. That gentleness dissipates instantly and all that remains is the annoyance that has been irked out of you by this guy’s persistence.

You stalk up to him and see right through his attempt at nonchalance, his fingers stupidly toying with the packaging of the banjo strings. He catches you, in the corner of his eye, standing next to him, arms folded and eyebrows set as you confront him.

“Are you stalking me now or something?” You do little to hide the impatience that laces your voice.

“What? No! No,” he laughs anxiously through the last word, the slip not helping his plea of innocence as he does his best to school his nerves. “I just— I had no idea you worked here, I just need some new strings.”

Your eyes cut him up like a steel switchblade before you turn to the wall and scan the various gauges, styles, and materials.

“What instrument do you play?” You ask despite already dropping to crouch down, becoming eye level with the guitar strings.

“Uh, guitar, the, um, electric kind,” he informs, leaning over your shoulder, all too intrigued by your process.

“What kind of music?” You’re entirely focused, astoundingly unbothered by Eddie’s childlike nosiness and lack of spatial courtesy as your fingers graze the plastic and the paper packaging, your eyes running over the names and brands printed in wild to mild fonts.

“Metal, mostly.”

“You’ll probably want a thicker gauge.” It’s muttered under your breath and, as quick as a viper, you snatch a fuschia package and shoot up from your place low to the floor, wordlessly stepping towards the register. He stares dumbly after you before scrambling to catch up. You ring him up and pop open the drawer, your hip taking the brunt of the unforeseen force, the mechanism delayed and unreliable as per usual.

“Your total is eight fifty-six.” There's none of that anticipated customer service charm as you deliver the line.

He surges into a disarranged scrabble of hands patting at his vest and front pockets before finding his wallet stashed in the back of his pants, kept close by the glittering chain that strings across his hip. He produces a 20 dollar bill and savors the way your fingers brush the joint of his, cold as they may be, like a kid in middle school, excited by the mere acknowledgement of a crush.

You go through the motions, flipping the bill clips up, placing and exchanging cash while scooping coins into your palm with your fingers. His eyes wander and he feels inclined to speak, to talk to you in hopes of hearing you talk back.

“You know, I’m actually in a band.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets and feigns nerve, the plastic face tested against the unimpressed and blatantly uninterested look you flick to him as you sift through the smaller bills in your hand.

You hum to acknowledge him, looking back to your cash, flicking the clips up in the drawer and laying the extra bills back, “You’d think with that experience you’d know how to pick strings.”

You offer his change out to him and press the dollars into his palm, letting the avalanche of coins spill from your fingers into the divot made by the crumpled paper.

“Hey! I know how to pick strings,” he defends. Your body shifts as you eye him, callous disbelief coating your features. “I do!”

“Mmhm,” you lean over the counter, elbows bracing themselves against the turquoise-speckled laminate, “And how long did your last ones serve you before they gave out and couldn’t stay in tune anymore?”

“I dunno, about three weeks?” You hiss at that number. “What? What’s wrong with that?”

“Just tells me everything I need to know.” You roll your lips in towards your teeth and give a listless shrug as you shut your drawer.

“Well maybe you don’t know as much as you think you do,” he challenges, taking your place over the counter, the leather on his forearms creaking as he adjusts himself. “Come to my show.”

He points over your shoulder at the corkboard hung behind the desk, advertising various events and services. You turn and find the handmade flier stapled to the board, lifting your hand to take the purple paper into your fingers and snatch it down from its place to examine the details. You flip the paper to perhaps find more on the back, noticing the bleeding of the black marker through the page, the ink making up the spiky, tendrilly name of the band, the font making the words hardly legible.

“Corroded Coffin?”

“Mmhm, we’re playing a show Tuesday,” he informs, his dorkish smile wrinkling his cheeks. “You should come, see how much you really know.”

“I’m busy,” you shut him down, leaving him with a dumbstruck expression painted across his face as you start to step towards the practice room, able to hear the faint tinkling of “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” played slow and choppy yet discernable from within.

Eddie’s quick to recover and calls after you, “So, I’ll see you there at eight?” It was phrased as a question but was spoken as an expected reality, entirely delusional yet charismatic in its dog-like hopefulness.

You turn your head over your shoulder, hand ready to twist the knob as you catch his impish grin, all teeth and obnoxiously cocksure.

You begin to correct him, “I said—”

“I’ll save a seat for you.” He’s backing up, heading towards the door, fingers occupying his back pockets.

“Wait! I didn’t—”

“Don’t be late!” He’s already out the door, the bell signaling his exit. You huff a peeved breath before directing your attention back to the flier you still held in your hand. You flip it open from being folded and rub your finger over the date and time highlighted near the bottom of the page. You shake your head in disbelief at yourself and step back into the practice room.

The bar maintains the mellow mixing of drunken grumbling and ice clinking into crystal glass. The floor is spare of any people save for the few slouching elders that nurse their drinks close to their chests and stare blankly into the wood grain of their tables. The atmosphere exists as if through syrup, moving glacially and almost frozen in time while Eddie and his bandmates make the most noise and the most movement as they ready their equipment.

Eddie adjusts the mic stand, fiddling with the knobs, and despite it not being very hard to tell, he lifts his head and lets his eyes scan over the bar, deflating when he realizes you’re nowhere to be found.

Eddie’s pulled from his scrutiny of your absence by Gareth calling. “Eddie, could you help me with this?”

“Uh,” his eyes are weary of leaving the door, afraid you’ll pop in at any moment and then leave before he could approach you, “yeah.”

The flier crinkles in your hold as your thumb makes an ineffective swipe over the material to smooth out the folds. You shift over the prickly cushions of your couch, the spines of feathers stabbing you as you chew at your lip and continue the silent debate you’ve been having. You drop the flier into your lap as you fall back into the cushions and regret it with the wave of tiny stabbings you receive.

This is stupid! You hardly know the guy, and even that is being generous towards the status of your relationship, yet you’re wasting your time wrestling with yourself over whether or not to attend his gig! That doesn’t even take into account the fact that he was peeking through your window less than a week ago. The answer should be no. And it is! The answer is no! You’re not going.

“Baby!” Your head snaps to the right and you stand at attention, ready to bolt towards the end of hall if need be.

“Coming, Mom!” You jog down the corridor and push past the door to find your mother out of bed and crawling along the floor in search of something

“I’m sorry.” She sits back on her calves and directs an apologetic look your way. “I dropped the remote and it fell under the bed.”

You rush to her side and slide your arm under her own, taking her frail, cold hand into your free one as you gently help her stand before guiding her to bed.

“You know you’re not supposed to be out of bed,” you scold with no real malice behind your words as she slips under the covers, “I would have helped you.”

“I know, Babe, but I don’t like to bother you.” Her eyes are glassy and pleading as she stares at you.

“You don’t bother me,” you reassure, kneeling to reach your arm under the bed, fingers running blindly along the carpet until you feel it under your palm. “I don’t mind helping you.”

You reemerge and hand her the remote, her hand shaking as she takes it gratefully. As she flips through the channels, your eyes slip over to her bedside table, finding the glass of water you’ve left out for her untouched.

“Have you taken your meds yet?” You turn to her, eyebrows ruched, and watch as her features go pouty.

“They taste like chalk.” You giggle at her dramatics as you place the flier absentmindedly on the bed and begin organizing her doses for the evening, popping open the orange bottles and pinching out a few pills.

“I know, but they’ll help you feel at least a little bit better,” you persuade as the small tablets slip through your fingers, plopping one or two, sometimes three, into the organizing tray.

The flier catches her eye with its hammy graphic design choices and she reaches out for it, eyes roving over it as she asks, “What’s this?”

You turn and find her with the advertisement, going a bit cagey and sheepish as you dismiss it. “It’s nothing, just a local band playing a gig tonight.” She brightens at that, eyes glowing as a smile threatens the corner of her lips.

“You should go!” She encourages, turning back to the paper, smiling down at the clearly homemade graphics. “You hardly go out anymore.”

You give a lighthearted scoff to her unintentional ribbing as you hand her the tray, “I go out!”

She side eyes you with a deadpan expression, “Work doesn’t count.”

You shake your head, a humorous smile testing your lips as you hand her the glass of water. She remains persistent.

“Baby, please go.” She accepts the drink but holds off on drinking, cradling the dish in her lap. “I want you to have fun, make friends, I don’t want you to have to be cooped up in this stuffy trailer like me.”

You chew at your lip, peeling off the long-dead skin before leaning forward and taking the flier, folding it up and stuffing it in your pocket. “ I just…” A deep sigh. “I like being here with you. I don’t need a party, I don’t need friends, I don’t need to go out. I just want to stay with you.”

Her mouth shifts and her eyes fall to her quilt before she plasters a tender smile on her lips and gazes up at you, reaching for your hand and rubbing her thumb to soothe the tension in your brow away. You tentatively look at her and she concedes, “Alright, then we’ll stay.”

You smile in thanks before dropping your eyes to the floor where your socked-toes burrow into the shag, communicating through the squeeze you give her hand. She squeezes back.

Their set began 20 minutes ago and as Eddie opens a song with his cool voice, fingers playing over the strings to the simple riff, you were still yet to arrive. Despite the obvious naivete of it, Eddie can’t help but let his eyes wander over the room, from wall to wall, stage to entrance, looking for your frame, your stern features. His fingers fly near-mindlessly from chord to chord as he sings, eyelids dipping to where his lashes tempt the height of his cheeks, lips ghosting over the mic.

Their set list is rather tame, consisting of familiar rock tunes and a few of Eddie’s more ballad-like numbers, a far cry from the band’s usual dark magic and cryptid descriptions of witch-like sanctums, with the expected girls, sex, and drugs dabbled in there, all of which is a bluff to the actual experience of any of the band members. But a gig was a gig and money was money, even if the glory of it was cheapened by the sanitary wash over his artistic voice.

At this point, he’s sure you’re not coming. You had said you wouldn’t be so he wasn’t sure why he even convinced himself of your appearance anyway. As he lets his fingers roam over the strings, he supposes he just wanted to know you better; you were someone like him, someone who liked metal and someone who liked disrupting the natural order of things and there were few of those in Hawkins.

His eyes fall to the planks of the stage as his vocals fall away and he puppets the strings of his guitar, playing a languid solo that matches the passionate intensity of the song itself.

As he bends the strings and sustains a note, he lifts his eyes to the door. It remains still, unopened, untouched and it’ll remain that way for the rest of their set. Even when they’re recoiling their cords over their hands and under their elbows and clipping their hardshell covers closed, he can’t help but allow his eyes to flick to the door, tongue darting out over his lips in a nervous tick.

When he slams the door to his van shut and drives far from the bar, as the minutes tick by into hours, despite his better judgment, he lets himself feel disappointed.

A rainfall of clutter trickles onto your carpeted floor; old concert tickets, jewelry, long-lost guitar picks, and other useless trinkets fall in a frenzied and disorganized flurry from your vanity drawer. You scrounge like a starved raccoon, pushing through what feels like a bottomless pit of stuff that isn’t what you’re looking for. You crawl to your bedside table and give the cabinets the same treatment and still no luck. Even in the lone sock you keep in your underwear drawer there’s nothing, not even a single crumb.

Your last blunt’s long gone and your stash from Michigan has been all used up; no bud left in sight. You huff and fall against your dresser, back leaning against the varnished wood as the metal adornments dig uncomfortably into the flesh of your back. You’d have to leave for your shift in 20 minutes and you dread the work day with no herbal relief. You sigh towards the ceiling and help yourself stand, tiptoeing over the piles of clothes and mountains of miscellaneous junk to steal a five minute shower.

It’s a slow day. Nobody ever comes in on a Wednesday and the shop is filled with the dull tap and scribble of your ballpoint pen scratching against the yellow pad paper, broken intermittently with the various noises that accompany your restocking of product. Marty does the same as you, making notes on his clipboarded printer pages before taking the item and slipping it onto the wall to hang.

Marty’s nice, father-like in the way he cares for your well being yet friendly as he jokes and talks of irresponsible endeavors, encouraging adventure and dismissal of the status quo. He’s understanding and frequently nonjudgmental and he’s lived in this town from the time you moved away to now so you figure your question isn’t entirely a long shot.

“Marty?” He grunts down at you, not distracting himself from writing and then placing, writing, placing. “Do you know any suppliers?” Your behavior is rather nonchalant for the nature of the question; voice subdued, eye glued to your notepad as it exits your mouth and rests out in the open. The noise that your simultaneous work makes comes to a stop and forces you to cringe as you fear you’ve made the mistake of asking an older person to allocate you weed. Your eyes twitch over to his shoes and you wait for his inevitable response; a clearing of the throat, a “you’re fired,” anything. But he surprises you.

He does clear his throat and continues making the mechanistic chatter of his chores before he speaks.

“Depends, what needs supplying?” The lilt in his voice seems to incline towards your cause and you follow in his lead, continuing your restocking.

“Relief…” You swallow but elaborate, “of the plant variety.” You look from the corner of your eyes from your crouched position at his legs.

“I may know a guy, I could call him up for you if you need.”

You have to restrain yourself from squealing like a little girl but make your ease known either way.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, pressing your forehead to an empty expanse of wall, “you’re a lifesaver, Marty, you have no idea.”

“It’s no problem, here.” His hand offers you a scrap piece of paper with a few directions scrawled onto it. “Meet him there and he can hook you up with whatever you need.”

Your eyes scrutinize the street names and the directional instructions until you come to a suspicious realization.

“The middle of the woods?” You ask as your eyes flit up to him a bit in disbelief.

“The guy likes to be safe,” he shrugs.

“I like to be safe too, Marty,” you assert.

“He is, kid, I promise.”

You sigh and forfeit your guard, “Okay.”

Mourning doves coo from the branches of the ash trees above, the smell of wet earth radiating up with each step you take as you trudge over the littered foliage carpeting the forest floor, not entirely sure of the exactness of your whereabouts or if you were marching straight to your deathmaker. But you press on, the twigs and graying leaves snapping and crumpling under your shoes as you notice the trees beginning to thin a bit, the light of a semi-open clearing appearing like a holy beacon that you find yourself gravitating towards. Through the cipher-ish lining of trees you make out the silhouette of a person standing idly by with their back turned to you, form tucked close, hands under armpits, as they hope to ward off the autumn chill that bites at unwrapped skin.

Your unhoned crunching alerts the stranger to your entrance, head perking up from where he’d been making trenches into the dirt with the toe of his sneaker, turning his whole body to meet you. You still as your eyes meet honeyed brown, irked as you watch that stupid, lordy smirk consume his face, his demeanor shifting into that arrogant slouch he displayed to you at the music store.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you mumble under your breath.

“Who’s stalking who now?” He haughtily inquires, chin raised and arms crossed over his chest.

“I am not stalking you,” you growl, already fed up with his antics. “I’m here to make a deal.”

You step towards the table and slip your legs over the bench to sit. He watches, studying you as you rub your hands together between your thighs, shivering under your light coat and burrowing your running nose into the mohair of your scarf. He swaggers towards the table, taking heavy confident steps before seating himself and saying, feigning aloofness, “Missed you at the show last night.”

“I told you I was busy.” Your voice is curt and serrated.

He pulls his lunchbox from its place next to him and places it on the table, beginning to pop the latches as he continues to stoke the fire.

“When I came home the lights were off in your trailer,” he relays his observation, rummaging around in his container of contraband.

“Jesus,” you laugh, all humor drained from the sound. “What is with you and spying on me!”

“I wasn’t spying!” He throws his hands up as he tries to defend himself, a clear plastic baggy with a few pinches of weed piched between his fingers. “I’m just curious! You pop up out of nowhere, you don’t talk to anyone! You know, us misfits, we need to stick together.”

“I am not a misfit,” you differentiate through a clenched jaw.

“Then why don’t you ever talk to anyone else?” He pushes as if it’s just built into his nature to be this maddening. Your eyes follow the eighth of an ounce that hangs between his index and middle finger, dangling it so close, almost taunting you with it.

“God, you see me intermittently for about a week and suddenly you think you know me! Look, I only came here for the weed and if you’re not gonna deliver, I’ll find someone else.” You begin extracting yourself from the bench, ready to leave this whole mess of a transaction behind.

“Okay! Okay, I’ll stop asking questions!” He yields, calling out for you. You eye him warily, unsure if you can endure much more of him before he emphasizes his words by dramatically zipping his lips shut and flicking away the key, wiping his hands free of any invisible evidence.

You sit back down and he tosses the baggy in front of you and you smile to yourself, things falling back in order. You pull your wallet from your coat pocket and flip it open to examine the bills inside. “How much?”

“Free of charge.” Your face falls and you halt your sifting.

You lift your face, features once again filled with scorn. “Listen, I don’t know what you hope to get out of this but I’m not flashing you for free weed or giving you a weak handjob, okay?”

His eyes go wide and he makes to argue your assumption.

“No! No, can you ever just accept that maybe people want to be nice to you?” He huffs. “It’s an apology, for looking through your window and assuming shit about you.”

Your eyes dart from the bag back to his gaze, unwilling to fall into whatever trap he may possibly be laying out for you.

“Would you just take it? Look, I’ll even throw in a free palm reading,” he wagers with a cheeky tilt of his head.

“You can’t read palms,” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him as you shake your head.

He shrugs and juts his lip, “Who’s to say.”

You still don’t take the baggy and maintain your chary, distrusting enamel.

“Watch,” he begins as he slowly reaches for your hand, giving you enough time to pull away if you wanted to as if he hasn’t given you enough reason already, but you don’t. You let his inhumanly warm fingers draw your frozen ones towards the center of the table despite your instincts warning you of the ramifications of allowing him any closer.

He unfurls your hand, takes the bag of weed, and places it into your palm before curling your fingers over it and pushing it back towards you.

“In that hand, I can see peace and relaxation in your future.” He looks up at you through those wispy lashes of his, his flirty smile twisting your stomach as you avert your eyes and focus on the loose thread in your sweater, coiling and uncoiling it around your middle finger to distract yourself.

He reaches out for your dominant hand, the heel of your palm resting against the edge of the table before he leads you by your fingers to where the other had rested and unwinds it just the same. He rubs his own furnace of a palm over yours to untense the muscles and have your fingers rest in an unmanipulated state before drawing his fingers over the lines of your hand.

“Here, I can see a stubborn tendency, but the line bleeds into something soft and gentle.” You hold off on your scoff and settle for rolling your eyes as the trail of his fingers running along the streams of your palm tickles you.

“And here, I can sense a heavy burden and a looming fear.” His eyes peek up at you and as much as you know that all that he’s spouting is unfiltered rubbish, you feel your heartbeat quicken and your breath hitch as you have to restrain yourself from snatching your hand away and running as far as you could.

He draws the tips of his fingers towards yours and squeezes the appendages, rubbing his thumb along the joints, somehow sensing your unease and attempting to soothe that ache.

“And here, I can tell that you have terrible blood circulation,” he jokes as a dorkish smile dimples his cheeks.

Your body softens, slipping away from that state of panic as it shifts back into your unimpressed detachment, dragging your hand away as you call an end to the games. “Okay, that's enough.”

With the reason for attending this appointment held safe in the confines of your pocket, you figure it’s time to take your leave. You stand and turn towards where you came from, taking a step and hoping it leads you back to where your car is parked. You don’t get very far before he’s calling after you.

“That’s the wrong direction!”

You roll your lips into each other before turning and heading more South, miffed about his being correct.

He chuckles after you, the deep, throaty sound rattling his chest before he packs up his box and mingles for a second, sliding his foot over the trench he’d made, making the ground flat again before he walks in the opposite direction as you, shaking his head as he replays the softened, bashful tinge you’d spared him, over and over, all the way home.

Taglist:

@dadsbongos

@maraschinocherry3

@idkidknemore

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #joseph quinn #eddie munson x musician!reader #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #S'that Metal?

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taterstories · 5 months ago

Text

The Debt (part 5) written by: Tater

Now it is finally Monday and Jeri, and I woke up and I am super nervous about going back to work. What am I going to tell all my coworkers about why did this to my body. Jeri went off to the Java Lava and I started to get ready for work because I did want to look good and since I looked like a girl, I wanted to hold my character and look the part. So, I made sure to do my makeup and hair to the best of my abilities and my clothes are on point. While I was getting ready, I had a text from Donte saying that he had a job for be after work and he would send me details later in the day. Once I had my look on point, I put my little wallet and keys and everything in a purse that matches my outfit, and I went to the parking garage. I got in my car for the first time in over a month. It is nice to drive but different with boobs and a BBL. I drove to the Java Lava to see Jeri and to get my coffee. When I walked in Jeri saw me and promptly gets me my coffee and a chocolate muffin and tells me to have a seat. When Jeri got a chance, she came and sat at my table with me. She told me that I look great, and I am going to be amazing at work today and blow everyone away. It helped some with my nerves, but I was still uneasy about going in walking like this. She gave me a hug and a kiss, and I went out to my car to go to work.

When I got to the garage for the building, I work in I just sat there in my car just telling myself it will be ok. I finally build up the courage to go in yes what am I kidding I just did not want to me late. I walk in and the security did hassle me a little because I do not look like my picture on my card, and they retook my picture and made me a new ID and but were cool about it. I go up the elevator to my office and it had not been touched I put my stuff in there and walk out. When I walk out my secretary Vivian was there and looked and asked who I am and what I am doing in Brandons office. I lean over her desk, talk with my old manly voice, and say I am Bandon, but I am now Brandy. She was surprised and told me to go in my office and we talked. I told her I have just felt like this and had the opportunity to get it all done at once do I took it. I eased her suspicions, and we walked out. I then went up to the next floor to my boss's office to show off the new me. I get to his office I told his secretary to tell him Brandon is here to see him, and she looked at me with wide eyes. I gave her the condensed version of what I had told Vivian. I had to wait for my boss to get off a phone meeting and he had let his secretary to let me in. I walk into his office, and he stared at me I told him it is Bandy now and gave him the same reasons I was giving to everyone else for my change of look. But I think he already knew the real reason I am the way I am now. He had mentioned me having debt to pay.

I went the entire day without issue just had to explain my situation to a lot of other people, but everyone supported me the way I am. I was really feeling empowered as a girl now and I was having a great day with my job. After 5pm came, I walked went to walk out of work and I saw the instructions from Donte. The text says to go out to the garage and go to the top floor, there would be a black van there. I walk out of and stop at my car first to drop off my things. Then I walk over to an elevator and go to the top floor. When I get off the elevator there is only one vehicle on that floor, and it was the black van. I was nervous about this encounter I was not sure who it was going to be or what I am going to do. I walk over to the van and the driver's door opened and one of Donte's men got out and it was the same one that took me on the solo date which set me somewhat at ease. He opened the passenger side slide door and helped me in then closed it behind me. There was a curtain in the middle of the van so I could not see who else was in there. there was a bulkhead blocking off the back to the front of the van with a chair facing the back of the van. I took a seat in and sat there, and the curtain slid to the side to reveal who is in there with me. I looked at the man and it was no other than my boss. I swallowed and I was scared I didnt know what he is going to do to me.

My boss came over and stood in front of me and told me that after I went away, he had talked to Donte and was aware of what I was doing and why. When he heard how good I looked now he had told Donte that he wanted a piece of the action. So, he then unzipped his pants and pulled out his boner of 6 inches. I look at it and he grab is the back of my head and my hair and pulls me to it and it goes in my mouth. So, I just have no choice but to suck it, and he is enjoying this way too much. Then he pulls it out and tell me to stand up and turn around and kneel on the chair. I am shaking nervously, and I do as I am told. Then he lifts my pencil skirt and pulls my thong aside and reaching under and groping my dick and balls. Then he places his wet slobbery dick up against my ass hole. I look back at him with his hands around my hips he pulls me to him pushing his dick into my ass I wince, but it is not that painful with it not being anywhere the close to the biggest cock I have ever taken. Once he breaches my ass, he feels the green light to start fucking my ass hard. He fucked me for a few minutes and then he came I feel his dick fill my ass with warm cum. He pulls his dick from my ass and spins me around, so I am now sitting in the chair again. He then sticks his cum and shit covered dick in my mouth to make me clean it off. Then he reaches down and pulls my dick out of my panties and strokes it. He let me lean back in the chair as he stokes my dick and I just stare into my boss's eyes with pleasure. The stokes me faster and faster picking up pace till I cum all over his hand. Then he makes me lick my spunk off his hand. He bangs the bulkhead signaling to the driver that he was done, and the door opens, and he get out handing a folded stack of cash to the driver in a solo hundred-dollar bill as a tip for him. Then the driver hands me some wet wipes and tell me, "Stay in here Brandy and clean yourself up and I will drive you to your car."

The van started moving I could feel the van going down the rams of the garage. When we reached my car, the driver got out and opened the door. He helped me out like a gentle man and handed me a 50-dollar bill and said, "He tipped me and so I think you deserve half since you did most of the work, and my name is Derek by the way." I looked at him with grateful eyes and say to him, "Thank you Derek, I really appreciate you watching my back." He nodded and I got into my car to drive home to Jeri. When I get home to, I walked off the elevator and went right into Jeri's arms I hugged her, kissed her, and told her what had happened in the van. She told me to not let it control me and that if anything if he tries to pull anything on me that I have all the control. That I can tell his wife and I can tell everyone in the office that he is gay and enjoys having sex with trans girls. But now I think about how the atmosphere would be like at work with my boss and how would he treat me. Should I tell him right away that I will tell everyone his secret or should I keep it to myself for a while. As I spend the evening with my love Jeri, I must think my life is turning out to be a wild ride.

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secretswiftymarvelfan · 2 years ago

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The Demigod From Asgard - Steve Rogers x Reader (Part 84)

Summary: Bruce gives making a time machine a go with surprising results, luckily Tony had a change of heart

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Language! Angst! Alcoholism! Grief! Thor’s POV?

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist / Masterlist

Chapter 84: The EPR Paradox

It was only a few days later when Bruce said he had worked this whole time travel thing out, or at least he said he did. So they decided to test it, Scott volunteering to be the test dummy since he had quantum realm experience.

Steve had already dropped JJ off at school and was in the hanger of the Avenger’s compound making sure that if it went wrong the entire state of New York wouldn’t loose power.

“Okay, here we go, time travel test number one!” Bruce announces “Scott fire up the uh, van thing”

“breakers are set,” Steve says as he walks back over to the group “emergency generators are on standby”

“good because if we blow the grid, I don’t wanna lose uh Tiny here in the 1950s,” Bruce says gesturing over to Scott with his thumb.

“Excuse me?” Scott says looking up from his helmet that he was fiddling with.

“he’s kidding” Nat chuckles reassuring Scott “you can’t say things like that,” she tells Bruce.

“it-it was a- a bad joke” Bruce stammers, Steve and Nat exchanging a glance when they heard the hesitancy in his voice.

“you were kidding right?” Nat asks quietly once Scott had walked away.

“I have no idea! We’re talking about time travel here, either it's all a joke or not of it is” Bruce points out “we’re good” he says loudly to Scott giving him a thumbs up “get you’re helmet on”

“Scott I’m gonna send you back a week, let you walk around for an hour the bring you back in 10 seconds, make sense?” Bruce asks turning to Scott.

Scott waves his hand dismissively “perfectly not confusing” he states.

“good luck Scott, you got this” Steve says giving him a nod of reassurance.

Scott gives him a proud smile back “you’re right, I do Captain America” he says before disappearing into the van.

Steve waits with bated breath as Bruce counts down ready to pull Scott back. The machine whirs and someone appears out of it, but it wasn’t Scott, it was a ten-year-old boy.

“uh guys?” the boy says looking down at his arms “this doesn’t feel right”

“what is this?” Steve mutters in shock.

“what is going on?” Bruce says at the same time, worry in his voice.

“who is that!” Nat exclaims in confusion “is that Scott?”

“yes its Scott!” Boy Scott exclaims before being sucked back into the machine.

“what’s going on Bruce?” Steve asks moving to get a better look just as an old man appears out of the van.

“oh, my back!” old man Scott complains.

“hold on a second,” Bruce says getting more worried by the second “can I get a little space here?” he asks looking at Steve.

“yeah, yeah, yeah, can you bring him back?” Steve asks moving away from the controls to stand by Nat, this really wasn’t going to plan.

“I’m working on it” Bruce promises, pressing multiple buttons and hitting the controls, sending the old man back into the machine.

The next version to appear was a baby, both Steve and Nat looking at it in shock, this was going very wrong fast.

“it’s a baby” Steve states in disbelief.

“its Scott” Bruce points out.

“As a baby!” Steve argues getting agitated now.

“he’ll grow!” Bruce reasons.

“Bring Scott back!” Steve states leaving no room for arguments.

“when I say kill the power, kill the power,” Bruce tells Nat.

“oh my god” Nat mutters running off to the power breaker.

“and… Kill it!” Bruce shouts.

Nat shuts off the power and the van spits out the grown version of Scott they all recognised. One that looked very shellshocked and disorientated.

“Somebody peed my pants” he muttered still frozen in shock “but I don’t know if it was baby me or old me… or just me me”

Steve blinks a couple of times before looking over at Bruce who throws his arms out “Time Travel!” he exclaims almost too proudly.

Steve rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he turns away “what? I see this as an absolute win” Bruce continues.

Steve didn’t though, he saw it as a complete failure. One that made him angry and upset all at the same time. Of course, this wasn’t going to work, why did he ever think it would?

“Nat, help Lang out” Steve orders as he walks past her.

“wait Steve where are you going?” Nat asks her brows furrowed in concern.

“to get some air,” he says his voice a little snappier than he meant it to be.

As Steve walked through the compound corridors he was hoping his anger would dissipate but it only got worse. He wasn’t angry at Bruce though, Bruce had tried his best and Steve knew that. He was just angry at himself for getting his hopes up. He should have just listened to Tony when he said it wasn’t going to work and it was too dangerous. They could have just lost Scott and were extremely lucky that they didn’t.

Once he got outside he looked out at the lawn his eyes immediately falling on the memorial to the fallen. In an instant, all of his anger was gone and he just felt complete despair. He was this close to getting you back and he failed. The only saving grace was that he hadn’t told JJ about the plan, he’d hate to get his hopes up and then have to tell him his mom wasn’t coming home.

Putting his hands on his hips Steve dropped his head taking a deep breath trying to get his emotions under control. He counted to 10, reminding himself of all the good things in his life right now before taking another breath and looking back up. As he did so he heard the sound of an engine roaring, looking over to where the sound was coming from he spotted one of Tony’s Audi’s driving into the compound.

Steve frowned as he watched the car approach, unsure why Tony would need to visit. Steve stepped forward as the car rounded the corner, stopping just past Steve, before slowly reversing. Tony’s face remains neutral as he rolls down the window.

“why the long face?” Tony asks “let me guess he turned into a baby”

Steve lets out a small huff, nodding his head “amongst over things yeah, what are you doing here?” Steve asks.

“It's the EPR paradox,” Tony says as he climbs out of his car “instead of pushing Lang through time, you might’ve wound up pushing time through Lang, it’s tricky, dangerous, somebody could have cautioned you against it”

“you did” Steve sighs not missing the irony.

“oh did I?” Tony says acting innocent “well thank god I’m here, regardless I fixed it,” he says holding up his hand to show off a bracelet-like device.

Steve frowns slightly trying to process what Tony had just said, it sounded like he was actually going to help. But after what just happened he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“a fully functioning time-space GPS” Tony explains confirming what Steve believed.

Steve couldn’t stop the smile that broke out on his face, nor did he want to. He knew Stark would be able to do it, but he honestly didn’t think he’d change his mind and Steve was very happy to be wrong.

“I just want peace” Tony reasons holding up a peace sign “Turns out resentment is corrosive and I hate it”

“me too” Steve agrees with a small nod of his head.

“we got a shot at getting these stones, but I gotta tell you my priorities, bring back what we lost, I hope yes, keep what I found, I have to at all costs, and maybe not die trying, I’m sure you understand,” Tony says nodding his head.

“I do” Steve agrees before holding out his hand “sounds like a deal”

“let's get JJ his mom back” Tony sighs as he shakes steve’s hand.

“thank you Tony,” Steve says his voice barely above a whisper as he feels a wave of emotion crash over him.

Tony gives him a small smile before nodding his head towards the boot of the car, Steve follows Tony watching as he opens the boot. Tony lifts up something covered in a blanket, a stuffed toy dog on top before tilting it to reveal Steve’s shield, rebuffed and repainted.

Steve sighs as he looks down at the shield, the one he gave up over 7 years ago now. He never thought he’d see it again, he never thought he’d be Captain America again. A part of him didn’t want to be Captain America again, he’d stopped all that for JJ, even when people referred to him as Cap now it felt wrong. A part of him felt like he no longer deserved it.

“Tony I don’t know” Steve mutters.

“why?” Tony asks frowning slightly “he made it for you, plus honestly I have to get it out of the garage before Morgan takes it sledging,” Tony says flipping the shield so the straps were facing Steve “I’m surprised JJ didn’t find it when he last was over”

Steve sighs slipping his arm through the straps the familiar feeling of the shield on his arm washing over him. One that made him realise he never really got closure on that part of his life, and maybe it was why he felt like he still needed to fight when he was living in Wakanda with you. While he doesn’t regret his choices, and having to step down from active duty to look after JJ, he never got to make the active choice to retire. Maybe doing this last mission would give him that closure, so he could finally retire, this time with you.

“thank you Tony” Steve says, knowing just how important it must be for him too.

“will you keep that a little quiet? Didn’t bring one for the whole team and I’ve learnt that mistake from Morgan’s kindergarten class” Tony says before turning back to his boot “we are getting the whole team yeah?” he questions.

“we’re working on that right now” Steve nods “we’ve already sent word to the guardians and Rhodey”

“what about Thor and Clint?” Tony asks as they head inside.

“that’s where it gets complicated” Steve admits with a sigh.

“I get Clint but why is getting Thor complicated, surely you guys being technically brothers helps?” Tony points out.

“I haven’t seen or spoken to him in 3 years, and we didn’t really end on good terms” Steve explains with a sigh.

“what happened?” Tony asks frowning.

“we got into an argument, he was drunk and lashed out at JJ and then me, I told him not to visit until he sorted himself out hoping it would snap him out of it but he said he never wanted to see me or JJ again, he blames me for what happened, that I broke my promise to protect her” Steve explains his voice catching.

“Shit” Tony muttered stopping to turn and face Steve “you know he probably doesn’t right? He probably blames himself and took his anger out on you, and unfortunately JJ”

“I know, but we’re gonna need him and I don’t think he’ll agree to it if I ask” Steve sighs.

“well, who can we send instead?” Tony asks.

“Bruce and Rocket, they’re the ones closest to him” Steve sighs.

“well let's hope the build-a-bear wins him over” Tony mutters

Thor woke with a large snort, scratching his belly as he let out a large yawn and stretched in his bed. He sat up rubbing his eyes when he spotted a half-finished bottle of ale on his bedside table. He quickly grabbed it taking a couple of swigs, not even cringing at the warmth and flatness of the drink, just grateful for the numbing sensation it gave.

He pushed himself from his bed, grabbed a pair of sweatpants that had Cheeto dust smeared on them and pulled them on. He then made his way out of his bedroom, kicking past the dirty laundry and discarded bottles as he went.

“Morning Thor!” Korg called out as Thor passed the living room.

“Mornin Korg” Thor mumbled as he drained the last of his beer, chuckling the bottle to the side.

Thor shuffled his way into the kitchen grabbing a box of pop tarts and ripping open a packet. He barely waited for them to warm up in the toaster before taking a large bite, crumbs falling into his beard and onto his bare belly.

“this thing working yet?” Thor grumbled as he walked back into the living room, hitting the top of the TV.

“nope, but the Xbox works still” Korg grinned holding up the remote.

“blasted cable guys” Thor huffs.

Later on in the day Thor was rifling through the cupboards trying to find a snack when he heard the front door open and someone call out a hello.

“are you here about the cable?” Thor says walking back into the living room “the cinemaz went out two weeks ago and the sports are all kinda fuzzy and whatnot” he mumbles grabbing another bottle of beer from a bowl of ice.

“Thor?” the guy says behind him.

Thor sighs turning to face the cable guy, blinking a couple of times when he realised it wasn’t a cable guy.

“boys! Oh my god!” Thor exclaimed loudly, rushing over to give the Hulk a hug “Oh my god its so good to see you!”

He then turns to spot Rocket standing behind him “hey come here you little rascal!” Thor chuckles grabbing Rocket and rubbing the top of his head as he hugged him.

“yeah no I’m good, I’m good!” Rocket shouts pushing Thor away.

“Hulk you know my friends, Miek and Korg right?” Thor says pointing over to the pair sitting on the couch.

“hey boys!” Korg greets, waving over to them.

“hey guys,” Bruce says “long time no see”

“beers in the bucket,” Korg says pointing to the ice bucket “feel free to log on to the wi-fi, no password obviously,” Korg says before frowning and pointing at the TV “Thor he’s back! that kid on the TV just called me a dickhead again”

Thor frowned knowing exactly who Korg meant “Noobmaster” he growls before storming over.

“yeah noobmaster69, called me a dickhead” Korg confirms passing Thor the headset.

“I am sick of this! Noobmaster hey it's Thor again, you know the god of thunder, listen bud if you don’t log off this game immediately I am going to fly over to your house come down to that basement you’re hiding in rip off your arms and shove them up your butt!” Thor growls “oh yes that’s right, go cry to your father you little weasel” Thor taunts before passing the headset back to Korg.

“thank you Thor,” Korg says gratefully.

“let me know if he bothers you again okay?” Thor tells him.

“thank you very much I will” Korg nods.

Thor turns back to the others who had a looked of shock on their faces “so you guys want a drink? What are we drinking?” he asks “I’ve got beer, tequila, all sorts of things” he says using Stormbreaker to pop the top off his beer.

“buddy,” Bruce says gently moving over to Thor “you all right?”

Thor scoffs “yes I’m fine why? Why? Don’t I look all right?”

“you look like melted ice cream,” Rocket says making Thor laugh.

“so what’s up? You just here for a hang or what?” Thor asks taking a sip of his beer.

“We need your help,” Bruce says “there might be a chance we could fix everything”

“what like the cable?” Thor asks before burping “cause that's been driving me bananas for weeks”

“like Thanos,” Bruce says, Thor's jovial mood disappearing in an instant as grief and regret rolled over him.

Thor’s hand shakes as he moves to grab Bruce’s jacket “Don’t say that name” Thor says his voice barely above a whisper, shaking with emotion.

“uh yeah we don’t actually say that name in here,” Korg says as he stands from the couch.

Bruce moves to rest his hand on Thor's arm “please take your hand off me” he asks gently.

“Now I know that guy might scare you” Bruce starts.

“Why would I be?” Thor scoffs shaking his head at the idea “why would I be scared of that guy? I’m the one who killed that guy remember? Anyone else here kill that guy? Nope” Thor says shaking his head, voice still trembling “didn’t think so”

“Korg why don’t you tell everybody who chopped Thanos’ big head off?” Thor states pushing past Bruce.

“um, Stormbreaker?” Korg says confused.

“who was swinging Stormbreaker?” Thor counters.

“I get it, you’re in a rough spot okay? I’ve been there myself, and you want to know who helped me out of it?” Bruce asks his voice gentle.

“uh oh uh was it Natasha?” Thor asks his words slurring together.

“it was you,” Bruce says putting his hand on Thor’s chest “you helped me”

Thor walks away from Bruce once more “so why don’t you ask the Asgardians down there how much my help is worth?” Thor says pointing out the window, slumping down into a nearby chair “the ones that are left anyway”

“I think we could bring them back,” Bruce says.

“stop” Thor mutters shaking his head “stop okay, I know you think I’m down here wallowing in my own self-pity waiting to be rescued and saved but I’m fine okay, we’re fine aren’t we?”

“oh we’re all good here mate” Korg confirms

“so whatever it is that you’re operating we’re not into it” Thor states “don’t care, couldn’t care less, goodbye”

“We need you pal” Bruce sighs.

Thor scoffs shaking his head “he sent you here didn’t he? Captain America” Thor spits “it's his fault we’re in this mess, his fault that-“ he says his voice catching at the end.

“look Thor I know you and Steve aren’t really on speaking terms right now” Bruce sighs.

“he banned me from seeing the only family I have left!” Thor growls, blinking back the tears “and he didn’t even come here to ask me himself”

“would you have said yes if he did?” Bruce asks.

Thor scoffs “of course not! I’d never help that liar”

“okay” Bruce sighs “but would you do it for Y/N?”

Thor blinks a couple of times trying to stop the tears from falling, glancing out of the window as he composed himself “of course I would, I’d lay down my life for her, she’s my baby sister” he says his voice weak.

“then do it for her, help us bring her and everyone else back,” Bruce says gently, thor looking back over at him.

“We have beers on the ship” Rocket offers after a moment of silence.

“let’s go,” Thor says pushing himself up and grabbing a hoodie from the floor.

It took a couple of weeks but between the three of them, Bruce, Tony and Rocket had built the time machine and suits for everyone to wear when they travelled through the quantum realm. Things had been a little tense between Steve and Thor but they had come to a mutual understanding that they shared a motive, to get you back and Steve hoped once you were back you’d help sort Thor out and all the bad blood would be gone.

Today was about to be the first official test run of the machine, due to the limited amount of Pym particles they only had one shot. It was supposed to be two test runs but Scott had an accident and now there was only one, it was also why Clint had now stepped up in his place.

Steve stood with Bruce, Nat, Tony, Thor and Scott as Clint walked up onto the machine. Steve had barely slept last night worrying about this mission, part of him wanted to be the one to go but he knew it was too risky. He just prayed to every god out there that it wouldn’t fail, he didn’t want to fall at this hurdle.

“ready Clint?” Bruce asks, earning a small nod of the head from Clint as the nanotech helmet forms.

Bruce begins the countdown and everyone watches as Clint disappears. The ten seconds he was gone felt like a lifetime, Steve’s heart racing when he reappeared with a shout on his hands and knees. Everyone instantly rushes over, Scott with a plate of orange slices on hand.

“Hey, hey look at me, you’re okay,” Nat says as she helps Clint stand.

“yeah, yeah… it worked” Clint mutters breathing heavily “it worked,” he says chucking a baseball glove to Tony.

“hell yes, it worked” Tony smirked holding the baseball glove up victoriously “now to Steve’s favourite part, mission planning” Tony smirks looking over his shoulder at Clint.

“let’s call it a day today and get some rest, especially you Clint” Steve says nodding over to Clint who still looked shaken up and emotional “we’ll start fresh in the morning, everyone get brainstorming in the meantime,” he says before glancing down at his watch “I’m gonna head off, pick JJ up from school, see you all in the morning”

“give JJ a big hug from me” Nat calls out as Steve turns to leave.

“uh yeah me too,” Thor says burping slightly.

Steve’s lips twitch upwards at Thor’s efforts, relieved at the thought that maybe the friendship they had was salvageable, and JJ would have his Uncle Thor around again.

Steve nods “I will, see you in the morning” he smiles.

Once he got to the school he stood in his usual spot, hands in his pockets as waited for JJ to come out. He glanced around at all the other parents that were here for pick up, Steve’s mind beginning to wonder how their lives would change if they succeeded in getting the stones. The family and friends they’d have back in their lives.

“Daddy!” JJ shouted grabbing Steve’s attention.

A wide smile appeared on Steve’s face when he saw JJ’s excited expression, the little boy running straight over to Steve. Steve let out a small oofh at the impact of his son hugging him tightly.

“I thought Roberta was picking me up today?” JJ asked looking up at Steve.

“Well I managed to finish work early today so I thought I’d pick you up instead unless you wanted Roberta instead” Steve playfully teased ruffling up JJ’s hair.

“Nooo!” JJ laughed pushing Steve’s hand away “I’m happy it’s you”

“I’m happy it's me too bean, now c’mon give me your backpack” Steve smiled holding out his hand.

JJ passed Steve his bag, before quickly grabbing Steve’s free hand “I like Roberta but I like it more when you pick me up” JJ says as they start walking back to the car.

“I like it too bean” Steve smiles down at his son.

“why has it been Roberta then?” JJ asks making Steve frown slightly.

“what do you mean?” Steve asks as he opens up the car door and helps JJ up into his seat.

“you used to pick me up loads, but now Roberta does” JJ explains as Steve does up his seatbelt.

“well I’ve just been very busy at work recently so I’ve had less time to come and get you, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to, trust me bean I’d rather spend the afternoon with you than working” Steve explains.

“Roberta says you’re doing something very important,” JJ says fiddling with his fingers “is it Avengers stuff?”

Steve purses his lips and lets out a long sigh trying to work out how to explain what he was doing, he didn’t want to tell JJ that they were working to get everyone back, just in case it didn’t work.

“kind of, we’re working on a project that will hopefully help a lot of people” Steve explains.

“Are you fighting baddies?” JJ asks frowning in concern.

“no, no fighting, just a lot of research and paperwork, super boring stuff,” Steve says quick to reassure him.

“oh okay,” JJ says nodding his head slightly as all the information sunk in.

“Everything is fine I promise but look it's been a while since we’ve had some fun together so why don’t we go out for ice cream” Steve offers, smiling when JJ’s face instantly lit up.

“yes please!” JJ beamed.

“Great, let's go then” Steve smiles closing the door before climbing in and starting the car.

A couple of hours later Steve and JJ arrived home, JJ ran inside as quickly as he could to go say hello and play with Scout. The two of them headed outside to the backyard for a game of fetch. Steve watched with a smile on his face from the kitchen window as he unpacked JJ’s bag.

“knock, knock” Roberta calls out as she opens the front door.

“in the kitchen” Steve calls back as he empties out the rubbish left in JJ’s lunchbox.

“you guys are home later than I expected” Roberta comments as she walks into the kitchen, giving a quick wave to JJ through the open back door.

“yeah well I’ve been so busy lately that I thought we should spend some time together, took him out for some ice cream,” Steve says shrugging his shoulders.

“well it’s a good thing that boy has the appetite of an army, otherwise his dinner would be ruined” Roberta chuckles before her face turns serious “speaking of busy how is everything going?”

Steve bit his lip to stop himself from smiling “it's actually going really well, the first test run was a success, we might actually pull this off” he says keeping his voice low.

“that’s wow, that’s amazing,” Roberta says shaking her head in disbelief.

“I know, and I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up because it still could go wrong but, by October JJ could have his mom back” Steve mutters smiling to himself.

“I believe in you Steve, if anyone could do it it’s you” Roberta smiles putting her hand on his shoulder “does JJ know?”

Steve shakes his head “no, I told him I was working on something that would help a lot of people out but that’s it, I just didn’t want to tell him and get his hopes up, especially if it goes wrong, he’s gone through so much already I couldn’t bare to break his heart” Steve sighs.

“of course, so what’s the plan now?” Roberta asks.

“We’re all meeting tomorrow to discuss when and where we're going to get the stones, we only have enough Pym particles for one trip each and none of the stones are going to be easy to get so we don’t want to spread ourselves too thin” Steve sighs shrugging his shoulders.

“you’ll work it out, now I have a pasta bake in the oven, do you two want to join me?” Roberta offers with a small wink.

Steve lets out a small sigh of relief because after everything today he really didn’t want to cook “that would be amazing thank you Roberta” he smiles.

“it's fine, from what I heard I’m gonna have competition when Y/N gets back” she winks before heading out the back door towards her house.

Sharing is caring so please reblog if you enjoyed this and maybe even leave a comment to make my day!

Series Masterlist / Masterlist

I don’t have a tag list so follow @secretswiftymarvelfanlibrary and turn on post notifications for updates!

#NiamhWrites #the demigod from asgard series #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #captainamerica #captain america x reader #captain america x y/n #captain america x you #marvel #mcu

33 notes · View notes

laeorinel · 1 year ago

Text

FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 19 - Weal

A teeny tiny bit of wolcred if you're looking for it. No real spoilers as such aside from the names of a few places. Set vaguely post-shb.

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Thancred tensed against the thick metal cable that bound him as the Centurion landed another blow. Gods, how long had they been at this? It had to be getting close to four hours by now.

Spitting more blood on the floor beneath him, he could almost imagine the weals and welts forming from the Centurion's blows. It was hardly the worst beating he had ever received or the first time he was captured. Still, he imagined the moment a certain Au ra saw the state of him, she would go on the warpath, regardless of what he or anyone else said.

"Scared Eorzean?" taunted the Centurion, bloodied fists by his side as he waited for a response or an order.

"Hardly. I've been hit harder by milkmaids in Ul'dah," muttered Thancred, doing his best to sound bored even if the beatings were starting to take their toll.

"Then perhaps a new approach is needed, " said a man behind the Centurion. Egnatius van Arvina, commander of this castrum and warden to all those imprisoned here. The man exuded confidence, but that was easy to do when the one person in the room who posed a threat was bound and shackled. The Garlean moved over to a console behind him, lights flickering to life over the few cramped cells tucked away in the back of the room. Thancred glared at the man as he saw the state of the prisoners. He had not been the first to be beaten black and blue by the Centurion.

"You infiltrated our castrum looking for these rats, did you not? I'm curious how well they would hold up to punishments meant for you. Decimus has already corrected them once before. I am sure another lesson will only serve them well."

"I would advise against that," muttered Thancred as he tried to lean back as far as he could in the chair he was bound to, which was not much.

"Why? Because you will kill me? Please, you and I know full well you cannot break free of those restraints. Your empty threats do not concern me." said Egnatius as he moved around the room, circling the chair Thancred was bound to.

"Oh, no, no. You misunderstand. I am not the one you should be frightened of. You know who I am and who my allies are. Tis only a matter of time before they find me. Before she finds me." Thancred turned as far as he could in his chair to try and keep eye contact with Egnatius.

Egnatius leaned over Thancred from behind, clawed gauntlets resting on his shoulders, the metal digging into exposed skin. As he spoke, every word was dripping with venom. "Ah, yes. The rabid bitch of Eorzea. Your precious Warrior of Light."

Thancred bit down on the inside of his cheek at the insult; he could not lose control, not now. He had to keep them distracted for just a little bit longer. "How charming. Well, that 'bitch', as you call her, is someone I know very well. She is known for having a bad temper, and I, for one, would not want to be on the receiving end of her wrath."

Releasing Thancred, Egnatius continued moving around the room. He seemed entirely confident he was in complete control here. "Is that so. I'm shaking in my boots. She will not be able to find us, you realise. Few know of this Castrum, and fewer still know how to breach its walls."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but if you believe this is the first time she has had to break into a castrum, you are sorely mistaken. She has become a rather dab hand at it. Meridianum, Abania, Fluminis, Marinum, there may even be a few more I don't know about."

Just a little bit longer. All Thancred had to do was keep Egnatius talking and keep him distracted. "Not to mention, of course, she knows where this place is. I am here, after all. Do you truly believe I would have infiltrated somewhere without telling my allies first? Like you said, few know about this place, so we needed to get someone inside first."

"But that would...you mean you intended on being captured?"

Well, keeping him distracted did not mean he could not mess with the man, Thancred thought, his typical cocky grin on his face as he spoke. "Of course. Come now, you did not think capturing me would be that easy, did you? You lot have been trying for years and have never once got close. It was honestly rather pathetic. I practically had to hand myself over to you for you to even stand a chance, and even then, you nearly fumbled it somehow."

"Why?"

Thancred gestured with his head towards the prisoners. "It is simple. You had prisoners we wanted to rescue. This was the best way to do it, with as few lives lost as possible."

"I could have had you killed on sight. You had no way of knowing I would take you captive."

"Of course I did. You Garleans are nothing if not predictable, especially you, Egnatius. You see value in people, but only after you have broken their wills and made them your puppets."

Thancred could practically feel the man's glare, even if he could not see it behind the helmet, as the Garlean pulled a pistol from the holster on his belt. "And what is stopping me from killing you here and now?"

Thancred stared down the chamber, not even flinching. "Nothing, except if you surrender, things will go better for you, and you know it. The Warrior of Light is not above reason nor mercy. Harm me or the prisoners, and I cannot guarantee you will walk away alive...or in one piece. The same goes for the rest of you." If his research into Egnatius held any weight, he knew the man would cut and run before killing anyone. The man was a coward to his core. Someone who believed themselves in control at all times and struggled to know what to do when that control was clearly taken away.

"Now, if my estimations of how long I have been with you lovely chaps is correct, she should be making an entrance any moment now. We did agree on four hours of no contact before she unleashed hell."

Before anyone could say anything further, the ground shook beneath as an explosion ripped through the complex. Egnatius's soldiers quickly pulled up feeds from various security drones around the Castrum, showing the breach in the outer walls. Egnatius stared at the monitors in disbelief. While there had indeed been an explosion, it was not of the ceruleum tanks as he expected. They were still intact. No, the explosion had been one of pure destructive magic, practically melting the Castrum's walls, and right in the centre of the breach, he saw one person standing there menacingly. The Warrior of Light in all her fury, ice and fire churning around her.

Despite Egnatius believing he had an iron grip over his soldiers, he watched as they scattered to the winds, laying down their gunblades and practically surrendering on the spot. The Warrior walked on unimpeded, with a few resistance soldiers following her. More explosions followed as she blasted through the rest of the castrum's defences and inner walls.

Thancred could not keep the smirk off his face nor stifle the feelings of pride, awe and relief. Not that he ever had any doubts. She had never failed him. Egnatius, meanwhile, at least had the common sense to know things were not going in his favour, calling a retreat before swiftly leaving the prison cells and castrum behind. He would be a problem for later.

Thancred let out a sigh of relief as the soldiers retreated. Eventually, he heard the explosions stop, silence filling the prison cells. He could vaguely hear muffled voices in the distance getting closer, along with hurried footsteps. Soon enough, he heard the sound of metal creaking, and the temperature in the room rose dramatically, then lower just as quickly. The steel door to the cells shattered into large chunks at the dramatic shifts in temperature, not that Thancred was focused on that all too much. His attention was entirely focused on the Au ra who stepped through the door.

Samara swiftly moved over to Thancred, her staff disappearing in a flash of aether and being replaced by his Gunblade, which she used to cut through his bindings. The resistance soldiers that followed her quickly went to work, rescuing the prisoners from their cells.

Thancred leaned forward heavily as he was freed, trying to loosen up the cramped muscles in his arms and back. He saw Samara crouch down next to him out of the corner of his eye before he felt her hand on the side of his face, ever so gently tilting his face towards her. The concern in her eyes was evident, as was the underlying anger. She had never liked this plan from the word go. No words were said as she gently traced her fingers over the various cuts and bruises on his face. He felt the faintest touch of healing magic before pulling his face away.

She looked at him quizzically as he rose to his feet, taking his Gunblade from her. "My wounds will heal in time. Do not waste any more aether on me, not after that display at the wall. I know something that destructive drains you, and we are not out of danger yet. Now, let us be away before Egnatius returns with reinforcements."

#ffxiv fanfiction #ffxivwrite2023 #ffxiv write 2023 #thancred waters #thancred x wol

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agwitow · 1 year ago

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Rubble lay strewn across the street, mostly from the recently exploded machine, but also from the buildings and vehicles that had been damaged when the thing blew. In the midst of the mess, two people stood, glaring at each other.

One was a young hero, new to the city and the job. His midnight blue costume looked like spandex molded to every curve of his body, but was actually a high-tech, impact-resistant, semi-bulletproof fabric. Which meant the impressive pecs and abs and other visible muscles had been sculpted to look that way.

The other was a seasoned villain, practically a fixture of the city by this point. Her silver-and-teal coat over a black bodysuit made of a similarly high-tech fabric as the hero's costume was tattered and burnt from the fight and subsequent explosion.

"I'll be taking you in, Sea Witch," the hero said, a smug grin on his face.

She snarled, "You haven't bested me yet, boy."

His grin turned into a grimace. "I'm a man. One who is going to drag you to jail."

She brushed blue-green strands of hair out of her face and sighed. "You can't even quip well. How did you ever pass the hero certification?" Without waiting for a response, she made a flinging gesture toward him and a rush of water burst from her hand, slamming against his quickly raised arms.

Arms crossed in front of his face, he forced his way through the rush of water one step at a time, only to stumble and nearly fall when the water suddenly stopped.

Lightning jumped from the newly formed clouds overhead, striking the ground mere inches away from him. It singed his hair and left a burnt, metallic taste to the air, but since his eyes had already been closed against the water the bright flashes didn't blind him.

He stomped on the newly broken concrete and grabbed one of the chunks of rocks it kicked up before hurling it at the villain.

The Sea Witch dodged to the side and the rock slammed into a truck behind her. Well. It slammed into the truck, through it, and into the van behind, leaving both utterly destroyed.

"I've endangered no citizens," she snapped at him. "You're not allowed to use lethal force."

He smirked. "I feared for my life." Another thrown rock clipped her arm before barreling through the corner of a building, sending bricks and steel and mortar flying, and leaving a hole big enough to ride a bike through.

Even the glancing blow had shattered bone and, if it hadn't been for the suit, she would have had, at best, a chunk of skin and bone ripped out.

"Besides," he added, strolling towards her as if he'd already won. "You tried to dump tons of polluted water on this neighbourhood. That endangers citizens plenty."

"It's no worse than what they've done to the people of Millford." Her voice was strained from the pain, but she still swept a hand toward him and clenched her fist. A swirl of water wrapped around him, spinning in a tight globe that encompassed his entire body. The speed of the water was almost as good as a telekinetic's force field, and the lack of oxygen could quickly render someone unconscious.

He strained against the water, already low on air after the surprised gasp her attack had elicited. Pushing his hand into the stream of spinning water was like having his skin sandblasted -- and that was through his suit that should have stopped most things from affecting him. But he wasn't super strong for nothing. Inch by painful inch he forced himself out of her trap.

During that time, she'd fled to the wreckage of her machine in search of the ridiculously expensive core that would have transported the polluted water from Millford to the upper class streets of the capitol. Her fingers had barely closed on the silver-chased glass cylinder when a hand grabbed her by the hair and threw her backwards.

"Stupid bitch," he said, his voice rough from coughing up water. "Who cares about Milltown, or wherever. It's just a dumb little town."

She spat out a mouthful of blood, unsure if she'd bit her cheek or tongue when she'd hit the pavement. Maybe both. "I care," she snarled. "And so should everyone else."

"Whatever," he said with a shrug. "My job is to protect people and take out scum like you."

Her laugh was strained as she struggled back to her feet. Looked like she'd also broken a rib or two. "Then protect the people of Millford, you dimwit."

He shrugged again, closing the distance between them and grabbing her by the throat. "They haven't offered to pay, and even if they did, I doubt they could beat the governor's offer."

She spat at him, blood and spit splattering against his cheek. "You're no hero."

He smiled sweetly, his fingers tightening as he lifted her off the ground. "I've a governor and half a dozen city officials who'll say otherwise."

She clung to his arm with her good hand, trying to keep from strangling as she hung in his grasp. "Bas-tard. I'll make - you - pay," she gasped out.

He laughed and gave her a shake. "Why should I be scared of you? You don't even kill people."

She glared. "You're - about to - wish - I did." With that, she let the cylinder fall from her other hand and shatter, creating a ripping vortex that tied the ground at their feet to the polluted river running through Millford. It would only last a minute at most without the machine, but that would be enough to flood the street and his lungs.

It wouldn't kill him - as soon as the vortex closed he'd be able to cough all that water up again and she'd be out of energy to do anything more - but it would be enough to make him experience the devastating effects that water had on people.

And that would be almost a better outcome than her original plan.

Prompt #3411

“Why should I be scared of you? You don’t even kill people?”

“You’re about to wish that I did.”

#writing #writeblr #short story #original fiction #fantasy #superheroes #supervillain #fight #injury #swearing #anti hero #anti villain

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manicpixiedreamcurl · 2 years ago

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The More You Give ❧ (Part IV)

Pairing | Eddie x reader

Warnings | 18+ minors and blank blogs don’t interact, bullying, once again Eddie flirts with bullies, sex shaming, discussions of anxiety, dom!eddie increasingly present, fingers in mouths and other places, oral (f and m receiving), first time blow job, cum eating (a theme of this story now as much as shyness, apparently). New named characters, hopefully it’s clear who’s important and who’s not.

Word count | ~11,700

A/N | I’m late! It’s late. Thank you for the patience and the very encouraging messages. It’s wonderful to hear that people are enjoying this fic.

Taglist

Previous Chapter

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Your fingers twist and pull at your scrunchie, turning the stretchy patterned cotton around your wrist. You think about May’s face; one you know better than anyone else’s. Long eyelashes, pink smile; friendly and warm. You can keep her that way if you just say everything right.

Eddie is kind to me, you imagine yourself explaining. I like him and I want you to give him a chance.

You hum as you cross the street, not entirely happy with how that sounds.

Eddie is kind to me. That works. I think it would be really nice if you’d speak to him, so you could see how wonderful he is.

You chew your lip. You are getting ahead of yourself. Even if, by some miracle, you can explain properly, even if May accepts that Eddie is important to you now, she still won’t ever want to be seen with him. May likes being popular, and people hate Eddie Munson.

It doesn’t matter that he’s the Eddie who made you a mixtape after one date, Eddie who doesn’t mind speaking when you can’t, Eddie who holds your hand and kisses you sweet. It doesn't matter because he is Eddie Munson. The way he dresses, the music he listens to, where he lives, the game he plays, how he makes money, who his parents were. He’s like a ticked list of everything people don’t want to understand.

To think, now, that you ever let yourself believe he was anything other than lovely makes you ache with regret. You think of that word you found in a Welsh poem; hiraeth, like nostalgia, like homesickness. A sinking feeling, the realisation that you should have followed through every time you thought that people might be wrong about him.

You saw him hold doors open, take Jeff under his wing, play his guitar exactly the way he likes even in the face of relentless mocking. You knew. Knew he was funny, knew he was interesting, knew he was kind. Knew that, somehow, life would be better if you just spoke to him.

What would you be like, now, if you had?

For a second, you’re sure you must be thinking about him too hard, because you can hear the howl of the music that plays loud from his van. But there he is, pulling up at the corner, looking both ways until he spots you and waves wildly like you might not recognise him otherwise. The tyres of Eddie’s van screech as he makes the turn, again when he halts next to you on the sidewalk. “Thought I’d lost you,” Eddie laughs, leaning over to open the passenger door for you. “Hop in, sweetheart.”

Eddie waits for you to climb up into his van to press a chaste hello kiss to your lips, so casual and domestic it makes that longing to have had him earlier worse. He watches you buckle your seat belt and get yourself comfy with an excited grin, clearly waiting until he has your full concentration to say what he desperately wants to say.

Eddie peels off from the sidewalk the second you are settled and looking at him expectantly.

"Guess who met your Dad this morning!”

You blink. “You went to my house?”

“Of course,” he says matter of factly, peeling away from the sidewalk. “Why do you think I’m here? I’m gonna be driving you to school from now on.” You almost fight the smile, but let it show when Eddie continues. “At first he thought I was there to mow the lawn? Had me all the way to the garage before I realised. My guess was he wanted an expert opinion on the quality of the grass.” Eddie grins conspiratorially, laughing at his own joke. “But I explained that I was there to pick up his beautiful daughter. Thought he was going to attack me with the weed whacker.”

You shake your head, giggling at the image of your cardigan clad, slipper wearing father wielding such a weapon against Eddie. You look him over, giving yourself a moment to gaze at his handsome profile. “But you’re miraculously unharmed.”

“Oh yeah, it was no problem. Just turned on the signature Munson charm, you know?” He gives you a dimpled smile. “Then he told me you’d left early to catch the bus so I had to abandon my new best friend and speed on over to find you.”

You like him especially like this. The way he weaves fantasy with the truth so easily, refusing to let reality get in the way of a good tale. He’s a better storyteller than anyone you’ve ever met, so much so that you don’t know exactly how much of this account is real. You won’t know unless you ask your Dad.

You probably won’t. Eddie’s version is better.

You watch his adorned hands while he drives, steady on the steering wheel. Your gaze drifts up his lithe arms to his face, bathed in Summer light. His dark hair is shades lighter like this, flyaways made golden by the sun. “Eddie?” He hums a questioning tone, eyes on the road while yours are fixed on him. “Are you really going to drive me every day?”

“Well, yeah. I thought I would.”

“You won’t…miss a day?” You’re not trying to dissuade him, but one thing you have known about Eddie for years is that he is prone to arrive late, if he makes it to school at all.

“Princess, if there comes a morning that I am not ready and waiting for you with this, your carriage, know that I will have been slain by dragons.”

You are so desperately fond of him. “Really?”

“Nothing but talons and fiery breath will keep me from your door. I promise.”

The van slows to a stop, but you’re too occupied by him to question it. Eddie looks serious, even as he makes such a whimsical promise, and you know he wants you to believe him. Heart fluttering, you lean over to kiss his soft cheek, leaving a little spot of pink gloss on his skin that you wipe away with your thumb.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You grab his hand and bring your clasped fingers to rest on your knee, cherishing the warmth of him, the weight and feel of him. You sigh, chest sore at the loss of all the times you should have held this hand before. Your fingers find the smallest of his rings, this one is less chunky than those on his left hand. The stone at the centre is dark, flecked with grey. Eddie lets you twist it smoothly, run the pad of your first finger along the textured metal. When you look up from his hand, Eddie is already watching you. You give him what must be a sad smile. "I wish-"

“I think I speak for all of us-” You jump at the voice along with the door at the back of his van opening. Feeling caught in an intimate moment, you fight the urge to drop Eddie’s hand, instead squeezing it tight to get out the sudden nerves. Into the van climbs three boys. Eddie’s friends; including Jeff, who waves at you while the youngest, dressed in a sleeveless flannel, establishes his disbelief at your presence. “-when I say I did not think for one second you were serious about getting a girlfriend.”

Your face heats, the word fluttering around your brain like a swallow diving and gliding in Spring; girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend.

You don't chance a look at Eddie, even though you see him glance at you in your periphery. You can't, not when the desperation would read so clearly on your face the second you get a real glimpse of him.

You watch the three boys shuffle and sit together along the bench seat in the back. Arms and legs squish together, and soon elbows appear to try and gain ground. Protesting grunts and curses sound even as Eddie starts the van.

When Jeff widens his legs in the middle, forcing one boy almost off the end and another to slam into the door at his side, a final frustrated groan sounds. “You know, Monday's are supposed to be my day riding shotgun."

“If you’ve got a problem, Gareth, I'm sure your Mommy would let you ride in the front every day of the week.”

“I-” You rub the gem of Eddie’s ring with your thumb in a circle. “I’m sorry I took your seat.”

Gareth’s eyes seem to light up as if he’s spied an opportunity. “Well, you didn’t exactly take my seat. It was given away before he even picked you up,”

“Gareth-” Eddie starts, a warning sound.

“If you think for one second,” Gareth says, voice matching Eddie’s unique tone almost to a point. “That a woman like that is sitting anywhere but by my side you’ve lost your God damn minds.”

The three of them giggle like real schoolboys until Eddie’s head snaps around like a cat locating its prey, silencing them in an instant. Something about the tension in his jaw, the intensity of his eyes makes you feel warm between your legs. It also makes a long quiet, mischievous part of you want to push him a little bit.

“When- when was this exactly?”

Four sets of eyes turn to you; one incredulous, the other three shifty like they’re weighing up the consequences of being the first to speak.

“Friday,” the final boy says, eyes darting to Eddie whose face is swiftly turning pink. “He said you were going on a date, that he might be driving you after. Never seen him so excited. And hey, looks like it went well, Eds?”

“You know something crazy?” Eddie grits. “I could've sworn I just heard Matthew’s voice. But that's impossible, because he’s dead to me.”

“Eddie!” You chide, watching his sweet, angry face, his lips set in an unintentional pout. This time, the kiss you press to his cheek is long, and in full view of his friends. Your heart pounds as you do it, aware of their eyes right on you, but it's entirely worth it to see Eddie’s pink cheeks darken further. You tap your feet a little, your own face heating while you rub the back of his hand with your thumb. “I was excited on Friday, too.”

You expect he might glare at his friends again when a chorus of ooh’s starts up behind you, but instead Eddie settles back into his seat, trying and failing to fight a happy grin, his dimples appearing even as his eyebrows are pulling together in an attempt at keeping up his anger. He squeezes your hand tight before he lets go to make a turn, then reaches out again immediately to take your palm back in his.

“Hey, have you done any of the Chemistry homework?” Jeff asks, head appearing in the front, hiding Eddie from you.

“Yes,” you nod, remembering the brutal questions you’d spent the rest of your Sunday on after returning from town with Heather. “In between bouts of tears.”

“Jesus. I know. Do you remember ever being taught anything about retention factors?”

You shake your head, humming the negative. “We weren’t.”

“What does Mr Brown get from that? I mean I thought he wanted us to say, hey, you old bastard, you never fucking taught us this. But literally last week Jessie told him we hadn't learned molecular orbitals when it was on the test, and she got detention.”

“Note to self. Don’t do AP Chemistry.”

“I really don’t think that’s a choice you’ll have available to you, Gareth.”

“Hey! I got a B+ on the last assignment-”

“I’m your lab partner!” Matthew cries, smacking his friend on the shoulder. “I wrote the whole thing!”

You watch them sitting uncomfortably together on the small back seat, arguing from either side of Jeff, whose stone faced grimace makes you giggle. When you turn back, Eddie is stopped at the lights and gazing at you, looking proud.

You shrug bashfully, because talking to Jeff isn't so impressive. It's always been easier to speak to people who understand what it’s like to lose your words.

You feel eyes on you when you jump from Eddie’s van in the school parking lot, uncomfortable prickles crawling up your neck. When you catch the eyes of two cheerleaders you rarely speak to despite sitting with them every day, you see their lips moving, smiles turning, and hear your heartbeat in your ears.

Then it’s just Eddie, eyes level with yours, close enough you could count the long dark eyelashes that frame them. “You alright?”

You nod, giving him a brave smile. Your fingers twitch, wanting his hand again. “Okay. I have to, uh, meet somebody. But I can leave you with the guys, right?”

You nod again, wanting to tell Eddie that you’ve always liked Jeff, that you think you could like Gareth and Matthew, too. Suddenly you’re thinking about your own friends, and how hard it will be to explain this arrival on top of your dates with Eddie over the weekend. A part of you wants to beg him to get back in his van with you. You could drive to his trailer, hole up in the room that smells like him and hide in his arms.

Another part wants to grab his face and kiss him in front of anyone who might be watching, scream at anyone who might hear that you've been waiting for this joy for what feels like your whole life.

But you are stuck here, in an uncomfortable place between the two.

“Eddie, will you-” You swallow, pressing the toe of your shoe into the tarmac.

“Just tell me what you need, sweet thing. I’ll do it.”

You could cry at how earnest he sounds, how much he means it. Instead you step forward and press your face to his shoulder, wrap your arms around his lithe waist in a hug. You hope he knows you want to give him more, that you’re trying for him. When Eddie’s hands come round your shoulders, giving your body a tight squeeze, you’re sure he does.

“Hey, you wanna come to my place after school?” You nod into his shoulder, sighing happily at the thought of time spent with Eddie removed from pestering eyes. When you force yourself from him, he gives you a final once over. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Mm.”

As Eddie walks away, you feel a bump on your shoulder and turn to find Jeff grinning at you. He raises an eyebrow and you find yourself covering your face and giggling. “Stop!”

“I didn’t say anything!” He bumps your shoulder again while you walk to the door, past intent stares and whispering mouths. You grab the hem of your skirt, crumpling the fabric in your fist. Next to you Gareth and Matthew are talking about a new album they like, as if people turning to look at you over their shoulders don't matter one bit. Jeff speaks soft. “Hey, you wanna compare the homework before first period? I found an old textbook in the library and I think I have the right idea, but if you’ve given it a try, too-”

Your name comes in a distinctively curt call, the way your Mom used to say it when she found you playing in mud and pretended not to be angry. Your heart drops, toes curling your shoes. May’s expression is tight, eyes fixed on you to avoid looking at the boys you are surrounded by.

Your mouth opens to speak, but what do you say here? Introduce them? Apologise? Fabric twists in your shaking fingers while you look up at Jeff, knowing that you need to be left alone with your friend now.

“Let’s go over it another day,” Jeff says, giving you a brace filled smile and May a quick worried look. “See you later.”

Gareth and Matthew follow the farewell, and you’re left alone. Looking at May's face, you can't help but feel guilty.

She knows.

“You went on a date with him?”

Oh. She knows.

You pull your sleeves over your hands and nod, trying to remember the words you were rehearsing this morning, trying to picture how this scene could play out in a way that ends with May’s smile. You are left empty by the disappointment, the exhaustion in her expression. You just twist your sleeves in your thumbs. “How did you-”

“Tracy's boyfriend works at the diner in town. He didn't know your name, but he told her the freak was there with that one girl that never says anything and well, it wasn't that hard for her and everybody else to work it out." She shakes her head, shrugging incredulously. "Were you even trying to hide it?” You shake your head, wanting it to be a proclamation that of course you weren't hiding, that you didn't want to hide Eddie one bit. Instead, it feels like the action of a scolded child admitting fault. “It’s like-” she starts, touching her forehead as if it’s aching, then clasping her hands together in front of her chest. “It’s like you’re determined to make life difficult for yourself.”

“May-”

“I mean, of everyone, everyone in school, you pick Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson. What is the aim here, exactly? To tank what reputation you have left? What are you going to say to Caroline at lunch when she asks about this?”

Caroline, something of a Queen Bee in the cheer squad. May has been trying to impress her for years. She's half the reason May joined cheerleading, why she saves up for those weekend trips instead of drinking smoothies and gossiping with you and Heather. Caroline is also the reason May is embarrassed of you more often than not, these days.

Caroline thinks you are strange. She has told you to your face. Conversations with her are limited to sharing the answers of your homework, asking you to do her makeup before a competition, comments about your silence, the fact you can’t look her in the eye, the way you fidget with your clothes.

You could probably ignore it, if you didn’t know it hurt May just as much because of her association with you.

“Oh wait, you won’t say anything. You’ll just sit there and wait for me to explain it for you. Well, I really don’t think I can do that. I mean, do you even know how much time I spent defending you after the Andy thing?” She waits, and you realise she’s expecting an answer. You shake your head and you feel pathetic. “It took up entire practices sometimes. But I did it, I defended you, just like I always do. No, guys, you don’t get it! She hurt cause Andy embarrassed her and she’s shy! Too shy to even try talking to any of you instead of just hanging around all the time, but not shy enough to avoid dating Eddie fucking Munson!”

It’s your longest shame. The memory of the first time you found it hard to speak to someone is hazy, but you know you were young, and that the dread involved in talking to new people, important people, popular people, has never gone away.

You sniff. “I- I’m not trying to make it hard for you.”

“Of course you aren’t!” She cries, exasperated. “But you’re not putting any effort into making it easy for me, either.”

“I didn’t- It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I was- I wanted to explain everything.”

“What? So I could defend you properly?”

“No!” You cry, reaching for her hand and feeling relieved when she lets you take it. You stare at your fingers holding hers, your matching pale blue nails. “No, May. I hate that I made you feel that way. I’m sorry that you’ve had to defend me. I’m sorry I've left you to explain, but this- I wanted to explain it myself so you could try to understand.”

“Try to understand what? Why you need to date Munson?”

“Yes. I know you don’t like him but he-” Is perfect for you, makes you feel safe, touches you like you’ve been waiting for. “He’s kind, May. And it’s like he- he knows how to talk to me when I…you know, get quiet.”

Her gaze snaps to you. You feel her fingers flex like she wants away from your touch. “And what? I don’t?”

"No, you do, May. You and Heather, you’re the only ones who ever really have. You know that. But, some of the others, like with Andy. It annoyed him.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but it gets annoying.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, nodding your understanding.

“I’m sure Andy didn’t mind it in the beginning either.” May says. “Give Munson time. He might not like it so much when you’re six months in, still barely talking and all you’ve let him do is fucking dry hump you.”

You wince, hating to think about everything that happened, hating that she knew all that before you told her, hating that thought that Eddie could ever act the way Andy did. The tears that have been building finally start to spill, and you drag a sleeve up to your eyes, sniffing desperately and looking up to try and stop the pooling.

You hear May sigh, feel her squeeze your hand in what you’re sure is an apology.

“Okay. Fine. You like Munson. You told me that before and I should have taken it seriously but instead I sent you out into the woods to talk to him alone so, wow, I guess this is my fault.” You’re not sure if she’s joking, not sure what she wants you to say to any of that. “But I’m not justifying it to the cheer girls, okay? I mean it. If they want you gone, you’re sitting at the freak’s table for the rest of senior year whether you keep dating him or not.”

There is a single moment, fleeting in your mind, where the thought of that brings you relief.

She’s not wrong. You let your worries be taken up with explaining it to her, but you find yourself answering questions from just about everyone else all day.

A boy in Spanish you’ve never once spoken to, asking if you really got a ride to school with Eddie Munson this morning. Your desk partner in Math who always copies your answers passes you a note asking if it’s true you’ve been secretly dating for months. A freshman in the hallway whose brother you babysit asks if the freak is your boyfriend now, if you’re going to try and sneak him into her house when her parents are out.

Yes. No. Sort of. Of course not.

Maybe you should feel prepared when you walk into the cafeteria, ready to be questioned. One look at Caroline's picture perfect smile and your packed lunch is shaking in your trembling fingers.

You spy the empty seats directly opposite her as you approach. Like it's planned, like she wanted to keep your options closed. Instinctively, you look over to the other side of the cafeteria as you sit, wishing Eddie were with you and not at the head of his table, gesticulating with his hands with each beat of the story he’s telling his friends.

“Oh, my God. It’s true.” Your gaze snaps back, feeling caught out even though you weren’t trying to hide. Caroline’s own eyes move from where she had followed yours to your face, eyebrows pulled together like she can’t believe somebody so strange as you could be real. You stare at her chin, shaking your knee under the table. “You are dating Munson.”

“Yes."

You hear the chair beside you pull out, see May sitting in your periphery with a light smile. “Hi, girls!”

“Did you know about this?” Caroline asks, gesturing to you with her head like you’re a red wine stain on a white shag carpet.

“God, no." She did warn you, but it still feels like a betrayal, still hurts your chest like one. "Not until Tracy phoned yesterday.”

“I mean, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised,” Caroline replies, widening her eyes and smirking. “If anyone was going to have a thing for the freak.”

You would like to be strong. You would like to sound eloquent and speak with finality. Instead, you force out quiet words. "He’s kind.”

It’s as if you didn’t say anything at all.

“Is this because Andy broke up with you?” You glance over down the table at the curious face of another girl, her hair tied back in the familiar green scrunchie. “Like is this you trying to make him jealous?” You flinch, shaking your head, but she continues, voice half a giggle. “Cause I mean, I think you may have picked the wrong guy.”

“I’m- I’m not trying to make anybody jealous.”

“My God. Imagine being jealous of Eddie Munson,” Caroline laughs, earning herself a chorus of agreement.

“Have you seen that van he drives?”

“He's been a senior since I started high school.”

“I had to go to his place once to pick up. You know he lives in a trailer, right?”

“Yes.” You answer, the judgement of his home, cosy and safe, filled with Eddie’s presence, so personal that it lends you a moment of defiance.

“Oh, you've been?” Caroline again, her pretty blue eyes set right on you. She tilts her head, hair falling in a smooth wave over her shoulder. “What have you been getting up to with that boy?”

Your heart pounds in your ears as dread settles. She's looking at you like she knows every salacious thing you have done in Eddie's bedroom, like she was standing over you during every intimate moment, and is now excited to share. Taking a breath, your mouth opens even as you have nothing to say.

“I think it’s cute.”

Erin Maclean sits with a forkful of salad ready to go into her mouth, grinning to the side. Clearly she's happy to have interrupted Caroline's excitement at having caught you out. You suspect displeasing Caroline is a bigger motive for Erin than any righteous feelings she might get from defending you.

She has been one step out the door of being able to sit at the table for months, since everyone found out she slept with Caroline’s boyfriend at a party, a perfect high school scandal that made its way round the school and culminated in Erin being shunned by the whole table…until she threatened to quit cheerleading entirely. More talented than any of the others, her tumbling won the cheer team second place at regionals.

Even Caroline's influence wasn't strong enough to go up against the desire to win. Now they content themselves with iciness to Erin's face and talking viciously behind her back.

You judged her at the time. It was only later, after Andy, that you saw the hypocrisy. It was like he had no part in things going wrong. Then the injustice became clear, that cruel insults are written about Erin in bathroom stalls months later, while the boy involved, the only one of the triangle who cheated, suffered a single week of pouty silence followed by a public reconciliation that flicked the single spot of dust from his reputation away for good.

You stare at Erin now, amazed at the ease in her voice, the way she plays them all to her tune.

“It’s kinda like," she waves her hand in the air. "Who’s that teen actress with the red hair?”

“Molly Ringwald! I love her!”

“Yeah! They’re like Molly Ringwald and the punk guy in the Breakfast Club.”

“Don’t spoil it! I haven’t seen it yet!”

“Damon finally watched Sixteen Candles with me last week, it was so romantic.”

Just like that, the discussion has moved past you, to someone else’s much more suitable boyfriend, one worthy of their time. You feel your bottom lip shake with the beginning of relieved tears, blinking them away when you find Erin’s gaze.

She gives you a close lipped smile, but she looks sad with it. The sweet relief you were feeling is dulled by the pity in her eyes.

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

By last period, you are exhausted with answering questions and explaining yourself to people who have never before taken an interest in you. You drop yourself behind a desk and let your head fall forward into your notebook, hoping that hiding your face will prevent any questions from the students filtering into the History class. You filter out the chatter, your head noisy enough on its own.

Gentle fingers brush at the hair on your temple, and when you turn your head, you find Eddie squatting down beside your desk. At once, the sight of his tender smile soothes the tightness in your chest. You gaze at him, the features of his handsome face, and know that every question, every moment of frustration, will be entirely worth it if he will keep looking at you like this.

“You okay, sweet girl?”

You almost nod, almost lie, but the truth comes easily with Eddie. “I’m tired.”

“Needed to talk to everybody and their dog today, I bet,” he says, rubbing the curve of his finger over your cheek. This time you do nod, realising he must have experienced the same thing all day. Eddie sighs, as you had. “'S my fault.”

That makes you sit up straight, registering the guilt in his expression. “No, it isn’t.”

Eddie’s eyes follow your movement, and he gives you a dejected smile. “It’s because of me.”

You shake your head, hating that even more, hating that he thinks he’s the problem when just the sight of his face is what makes the real problem disappear from your mind.

“It’s because of us,” you correct, thinking about reaching out to curl a lock of his hair around your finger but curling your fingers into your palms instead. “And I-” You look away from his eyes, focusing on his forehead so you can say it. “I kissed you first, remember?”

Eddie’s face goes from concerned to soft in an instant, eyes wide and shining as he tilts his head, face splitting into a smile. “That’s true.”

“Move, Munson,”

You both glance up at Mark; stocky, scowling, clad in green and white. Shaking his head, Eddie looks at you and rolls his eyes. “If only the class were set up in some kind of grid system, then he could get round me so easily.”

You giggle softly until Eddie is shoved with a knee, almost toppling him until he grasps your desk, looking up again in disbelief.

“I said move.”

“Well, if you insist.” Eddie straightens up, taking a step right into Mark’s space to wrap his arms around the back of his neck and swing them round like they’re dancing. He waggles his eyebrows, tilting his chin up with a grin. “This is so romantic.”

“Jesus-” Mark pushes Eddie away from him, sending him crashing back into his seat in a way that must hurt, not that Eddie's laughter would give it away. “You are a freak, Munson.”

“Don’t talk to me like what we had wasn’t special!” Eddie calls after him, adjusting himself in his seat and pouting at you. “They always run.”

You rest your chin in your hand, in awe of him. Eddie looks like he's already moved on. He can deal with cruel words and physical intimidation like it’s all a joke, when an off tone on a single word can leave you wringing your hands all day.

Eddie sighs, resting his own head on his hand opposite you. “You know, I really wanna pass this class, and if I’m gonna pay attention, you’ll have to stop that.”

You hear the teacher starting up at the front of the room, but you have to ask. “Stop what, Eddie?”

He tilts his chin up. “Lookin’ so pretty.”

You make distressed sound like you want him to stop, but you can’t fight the cheek aching smile that sits on your face the whole class.

When the final bell rings, you are desperate to get out of the building before anyone new can approach. You find yourself grabbing Eddie's hand the second your bags are packed, half dragging the giddy looking boy through the halls and then outside to the safety of his van.

When the doors are closed and you are speeding away, listening to Matthew and Jeff argue about what should be on the stereo, hearing Eddie snapping at them and starting up a Dio tape without further discussion, you feel you can breathe properly for the first time since you got up this morning.

Eddie grabs your hand the second Jeff and the others have jumped from the back of his van, the three of them calling out goodbyes to both of you by name. “Still happy to come back to mine?”

You nod, wanting that desperately. “We could do the History homework.”

“Shit. I told you I wanted to pass that class, didn't I?”

“Mm hmm.”

"Always setting yourself up, Munson," he mumbles, sighing. "Okay, Princess. For you, I will sit with you in close proximity to my bed and…do homework with you.”

“It’s always easier with two people. May and I-” You cut yourself off, reminded that you don't entirely know where your longest friendship stands. Telling her did not go at all how you’d planned. You’ve annoyed her, something you’ve been doing more and more recently. But maybe it hurt her, too, that she found out from somebody else.

“I guess you told your friends?”

“Mm,” you sigh. “I didn’t get to tell May the way I wanted to.”

“Right. Just checking, you think there’s anything you could have done that would have made her cool with this?”

You consider that, opening and closing your mouth a few times before shrugging. “I don't know. But I wanted- I mean, my plan was...” You squirm a little, finding your new favourite thing to play with, the gem set into Eddie's ring cool to the touch of your finger. “I wanted to tell her why I…like you so much.”

You expect a little tease. Nothing terrible, but Eddie brand mischief at least. Instead, his shoulders roll back like you've given him a bout of new confidence. He glances at you after turning the sharp corner into the trailer park.

“I’m still not entirely used to that,” he admits. “You know, three different people came up to me today, asking if you were really my girlfriend.” You sit with him when he stops outside his home, pressing one shoe to the top of the other.

“And what did you say?”

“I told them it had nothing to do with them and it was weird as hell to be asking when they don’t even know me.” Eddie gives your hand a squeeze. “And then some guy called Jeff says, what are you talking about Eddie, we’ve been friends for years? So I thought I’d tell him anyway, cause I sort of wanted to talk about it.” Eddie’s face is serious, looking into your eyes. “Told him I hadn’t asked, but I am going to."

“Okay,” you whisper, heart fluttering. Eddie watches the way you sit up in your seat, and brings your hand to his lips to lay a soft kiss at your knuckles.

“Not yet though,” Eddie says, tone suddenly lighter as he opens the door at his side, hair flying behind him as he jumps out of the van. “Gotta be at just the right moment, you know?”

You blink after him, close to a huff, but the sound of his boyish laugh is so sweet that you find yourself climbing out and jogging after him to keep yourself close, where you want to be.

The TV is on in the space of the living room, but Wayne is standing in the kitchen. Water sloshes. You hear the sound of scoured metal against a pan over the serious voice of a newscaster reading headlines.

“Hi Wayne!” Eddie calls, removing his jacket and throwing it on the couch unceremoniously.

“Afternoon." Wayne catches you standing at the door when he looks up to greet Eddie and gives you an acknowledging nod. "Hi again.”

You wave briefly and give in to the temptation to hide, pressing the side of your face to Eddie’s arm when he takes your hand. "We have homework. For History."

Wayne nods again, glancing between the two of you. "Not a problem. Just cleaning up after my breakfast. You want coffee or anything?"

"I do. Sweetheart?" You shake your head, the urge not to be a bother always present. Eddie bumps your hip with his. "I can make one how you like it in case you change your mind, mm?"

"Okay, Eddie." You let go of him reluctantly, feeling out of place watching him and Wayne fluidly move around each other in their kitchen.

"You wanna get us set up at the table?" Eddie asks. You nod, glad to have been given a task to stop you standing in the middle of the room feeling at odds. You sit at the little fold out table by the kitchen, retrieving your History folder, notebook and pencil case from your bag while dishes clink and coffee is poured to your right.

"You two got a lot of classes together?" Wayne asks, setting the washed pan on a drying rack next to the sink.

"Not this year. This one's working for college credits in a bunch of subjects."

You smile at the pride in Eddie’s voice, digging a toe of your sneaker into the floor.

"You heading to college next year?" Wayne is asking you directly, leaning back on the counter and drying his hands on a kitchen towel. You nod, hum a little positive sound. "Where you headed?"

"Mm, my friends are probably staying in Indiana...”

Wayne’s face is serious, edging on concerned. “Didn’t ask about your friends. Wanna know about you.”

Your face heats. You glance at Eddie, who is already looking over his shoulder at you like he knew you’d need him. He gives you a little smile, an encouraging nod, and you glance back at Wayne. “I mean, I guess I might just stay with them. But, I don’t know, I might try for NYU?”

"She's gonna write about old poems in other languages. That’s right, isn’t it, sweetheart?" Eddie places your mug down on the table and throws himself down in the opposite chair, immediately searching through your open pencil case. You see his eyes widen in delight, landing on a pale blue pen with a fluffy top that you sometimes play with when you’re in class and the teacher is calling on people to speak. Eddie presses the softness at the end to his face, strokes it up and down his cheek. “Why aren’t all pens like this?”

You watch him adoringly while he tickles his own neck and laughs softly to himself.

"It was nice seeing you again," Wayne says, suddenly closer. When you turn to him, feeling sheepish that you had, for a second, forgotten he was there, he's giving you a small, but genuine smile.

You realise that you've been caught. You can only imagine the way you look at Eddie, especially in the moments he acts like this, sweet and silly and him. Maybe your expression showcases it, the fact that you’d rather look at Eddie than anything else.

"You, too.” You mumble, clearing your throat to try and get the next words out more clearly. “Thanks, um, for letting me work here."

"Course. Anyone my boy wants around is welcome. You take care. I'll see you later, Eddie."

Eddie finally pays attention, bringing the soft fluff down from his chin and grinning. "Later, Wayne."

You smile shyly when Wayne’s out the door, remembering the last time he left the two of you alone in this trailer, Eddie’s hands and mouth exactly where you wanted him most, where you are fighting against the want for him now.

You search through your pencil case for a slightly more practical pen. “I thought, maybe, we could do the questions together? I can start at five if you do one, and we could meet in the middle?”

Eddie’s head tilts, his hair falling across his mischievous face. “You actually wanna do the History homework? It's not due till Wednesday."

"But you have a gig tomorrow."

Eddie considers this fact for a second, then leans his head back and groans into the air. He slumps, bum sliding forward on his seat until his body is a diagonal line from the back of the chair to the floor. He looks so much like a grumpy little boy with his big pouty lips and wide eyes that your heart aches a little even while you’re close to laughing at him. "I hadn't considered this,” he sighs, arms crossing over his chest. “You're really gonna make me do my homework all the time, aren't you?"

"Oh. I mean, I thought-” You suddenly feel a little silly, find yourself playing with the paper of your notebook, curling up the corner of the top page with your thumb. “I guess I thought it would be nice. But I can- I’m happy to go home, next time.”

Eddie shakes his head decisively, grasping the table to help sit himself up. "No, Jesus. I don’t want that. I’d choose doing my homework with you over doing anything else without you. Always.” He rests his elbows on the surface, leaning in close enough you can smell the smoke and the mint of his breath. “I guess I’m just wondering how much of the time we’ll spend on homework is time I could have spent with my tongue inside you."

The space between your legs pulses with sudden heat, leaving you rubbing your thighs together. You could curse him for having this amount of power over you already, that he can say something so casually that leaves you with the beginnings of an encompassing ache. Eddie is grinning, proud of himself, watching your eyes keep darting from his face to the table and back again, searching through your blank mind for a reply.

“But you call the shots here, sweet thing,” he acquiesces, satisfied by the shadow of regret on your face. “Question one, you said? I’ll get right on that.”

You watch him write his name at the top of the paper, leaning over the table. The concentrated look in his big eyes as he reads the question, his pink tongue coming to rest at his top lip. His soft hair is asking to be stroked as well as pulled. The pale column of his neck begs for kisses. The curve of his arms and the tattooed skin peeking out from his shirt want your tracing fingers.

“Stop it,” you mumble, pressing a toe to the end of one of his Reebox under the table.

“Stop what?”

You tilt your head. “Mm. Looking so pretty.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. Me? He mouths, pressing a palm to his chest as you nod. That hand moves to drag some of his hair across his face. Eddie plays it up, but you know that you have made him genuinely happy because, when he is done fluttering his eyelashes, his gaze moves to the table and he looks, for a second, earnestly shy.

“Well, I guess I’ll try. But no promises.”

Eddie writes quick, once he’s settled. As you finish your first question, he has written his answers for two. Your agreement, to work on the third question together, gives him a moment of pause that his busy brain latches onto. It drags him on to the next activity as soon as he’s written his last word, and then he’s offering you more coffee and searching through the cupboards for a preferred snack. He even disappears into his room for a minute, emerging with a mug he’d used yesterday that he throws in the sink before returning to his snack hunt.

It reminds you of the way you’ve seen Eddie in class sometimes. Deeply focused, then suddenly playing with the ends of his hair, drumming a distracting beat, doodling on his notebook around the beginnings of what must have been good notes.

It’s only when you’re finished with your own questions and reading through his that you bring him back to the table. It doesn’t take much, just an exclamation of, “Eddie, that’s a really good point!”

He is sitting down opposite you the next second, looking just as pleased at that as he was to be called pretty.

The second your pens are down from writing the final answer, Eddie is round your side of the table and pulling you up from the chair by your forearms like he wants to run away from the books and paper in case you suggest any more work. “That was exhausting,” he says, walking backwards to keep his eyes on you, briefly tripping over a discarded magazine but otherwise walking with practised ease. “You do that all the time?”

You giggle to watch him throw himself back on his bed and give a tired groan as if he’d just written ten thousand words and not five short paragraphs. He toes off his shoes carelessly, kicking them from his feet while you kneel to tug at your laces

“You really never do your homework?” You ask, loosening the tongue of your left sneaker and pulling it off before shifting to the right one.

“I try. Sometimes. I just, y’know, get bored,” Eddie says above your head. “Then I get distracted, and I can’t get back into it.”

“Well, we can work together, now.” You finish with your other shoe and look up at him from the floor, finding Eddie’s gaze intent on you already. You swallow, glancing at his knees, bare through denim, spread apart from each other on his bed. If you shuffled forward a couple of feet, you’d be between them.

“Yeah?” Eddie’s shoulders roll back, hands behind him on the bed. “You gonna keep me motivated? Reward me when I’m good?”

A shiver runs up your back, the ache that had never truly gone away now roaring its presence. It is a strange feeling, to know that Eddie likes looking at you on your knees, that he must like the thought of what you could do for him, positioned like this. And then, to still feel unsure. Maybe you’ve misunderstood. Maybe you haven’t and doing what you think he wants would be a mistake anyway. You don’t know what you’re doing, and he won’t like it. If he does like it, if you’re good at that, what would that say about you?

Do you ask to do it? If he asks you, what do you say back? You know he likes the things you say to him when he is touching you. But to beg and praise and thank him when your body is alight with the pleasure he gives happens naturally. It happens without the involvement of your brain, when your ecstatic body tells your mouth the things Eddie wants to hear.

What do you say when you are the one giving? When your brain is working full tilt to ensure you are doing everything right?

You look briefly between his legs, the metal buckle of his belt, the black denim that hides him from you, and you are both wanting and scared. You find his eyes, and they are kind.

“Eddie,” you whisper.

“C’mere.”

You clamber up to him, almost a familiar position now to be sat in his lap with your knees bracketing his thighs. You bury your face in his shoulder, letting yourself be soothed by the softness of his shirt against your cheek and the smell of him; smoke and weed, his cheap and pleasant aftershave. Eddie hums low, stroking a hand down the back of your head, massaging gently at your neck.

“I wish-” You mumble, regretting it immediately, the end of the sentence too embarrassing to say. You think he might prompt you, but instead he keeps rubbing at the back of your head with his thumb, his hand a delightful warm pressure on your neck. You breathe in the boyish smell of him, mind settling on Eddie who is kind, Eddie who won’t judge, Eddie who wants to look after you.

“I wish I could talk like you.”

“I’m not sure this town could handle another person who talks the same shit I talk, sweet thing,” he laughs. “Besides, I’d miss the way you talk.”

You hide your whole face in his shoulder, voice coming out muffled. “But I mean…in bed.” Embarrassment crawls up and down your spine to be saying this. “It’s like it’s easy. You just make me all- make me so-”

You unconsciously wiggle on his lap, a desirous little movement that doesn’t escape Eddie. He huffs a soft laugh into your cheek. “I make you so…hot and wet in your little cunt?”

You squeeze your eyes shut even though the world is already hidden by his shoulder against your face. “Eddie,”.

“You know, it’s probably easier than you think.” Eddie’s big hand locates yours where it was pressed to his chest, bringing it up to his lips to kiss your palm before he lowers it. “Cause, you? Fuck, sweetheart, all you need to do is say my name.” Eddie presses your palm to his crotch, where you can feel him, thick and hard under the zip. “Say it again.”

He lets you curl your fingers, getting a feel for the girth of him, the length hidden by denim. You turn your head from his shoulder, glancing up at his face to find that the warm brown of his eyes has vanished behind pools of black. You whisper. “Eddie.”

You feel the excited twitch of his cock at the sound of his name from your lips. He is hot and ready against your palm, and the thought of touching him more, seeing him like he’s seen you takes over your brain. “Eddie,” you murmur, earning yourself another twitch, followed this time by his soft lips on yours. Your shoulders release their tension, content to feel Eddie’s mouth, to taste the promise that you are allowed to get things wrong because it’s him. You gasp softly when he releases you, your eyes fluttering closed when he dots kisses over your face, breath heavy when your palm rolls tentatively over his swollen cock. “Eddie, I want-” Your throat protests, and you pause to build yourself up to it again.

“Do you want my mouth?”

Your pussy throbs, the memory of Eddie’s tongue at your entrance, how soft his lips were kissing your clit. “Oh. Yes, please.”

“S’fucking sweet,” he says, grabbing your hand from his crotch. “Lie back, baby-”

“Wait,” you gasp, tightening your legs on either side of him to keep him from turning you over. “I want- I want to-”

Your toes curl, wishing again you could be more like Eddie, who offers his tongue with the same ease as a cup of coffee.

Eddie strokes his thumb over your wrist, feels your racing pulse under his fingers and shakes his head, soft hair moving with him. “You don’t have to do anything, baby.”

“I know,” you answer with certainty, chest warm. It’s the knowing you don’t have to that makes you want to. It’s the fact that Eddie doesn’t expect you to offer anything more than what you’re willing to give that makes you want to give so much.

You can’t say it, not how you want to, but you can still tell him.

You turn your wrist out of his hand, grab his own. Your heart pounds when you curl three of his fingers down. You clasp his wrist with both hands, hoping they can keep each other steady, and bring his fingers to your lips. Chancing a look at Eddie when your tongue flicks out along his rough pads, you find his mouth hanging loose, eyes blinking and intent on your lips. He tastes like his last cigarette at the tips, like skin further down. You breathe heavily through your nose as you press your head forward, sliding along his warm fingers until your lips meet the cool metal of his rings. Your tongue curls naturally around the length of the digits, and the noise that escapes the back of Eddie’s throat when you suck gently stokes the heat between your thighs, the sticky feeling of cotton pressing to wet skin.

“Okay,” he breathes, face flushed. “Okay, shit.”

You pull back, dragging the soft inside of your lips along his skin, and Eddie makes a low groan in the back of his throat, one of his legs shaking between yours. “Will you-” His voice breaks, a soft squeak at the last word, and you hear him clear his throat desperately through your heart beating in your ears. Eddie sighs, speaks soft. “Open your mouth a little for me, sweet thing.”

It takes you a second, still wrapping your head around the satisfying feeling of your mouth being filled, the taste of Eddie’s skin, the ability to speak taken away. Your mouth opens wider as soon as the request registers in your brain. You let Eddie press his fingers deeper, your eyes fluttering at the smooth glide over your tongue. Just as you get a taste of the metal of his rings, your body protests the depth, our fingers twitching at the gagging sound your throat makes. You blink away the first spring of tears as Eddie coos softly, tilting your head so you’re looking right at his intent gaze, his gentle pout. He draws his fingers in and out of your mouth, skating along your drooling tongue.

“Just wanted to see what I’m working with, mm? My girl wants my cock in her mouth, is that it?”

You try to make a positive noise, but it comes out as any other sound would with your lips wide open like this. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. He gives another deep prod with his fingers, grinning when your prepared throat lets him in a little deeper before protesting with a short gag.

Eddie pulls his fingers from your mouth and grasps your cheeks with his wet hand, the curve that connects his forefinger and thumb sitting at your chin. “I think you’re gonna be a natural. You wanna get on your knees for me?”

The tears that had sprung up from your gagging pool a little more at the relief of Eddie taking over. You’ve told him what you want without words, he understood, and now he’s going to give you it. “Yes, Eddie.”

“Okay, baby.” He helps you off the bed, kicking shoes out of the way and replacing them on the floor with one of his pillows, making you feel soft for him even as you’re trembling in anticipation. Your head feels light when you sink down, settling your knees on the pillow before you look up at his flushed, smiling face. “Comfy?”

Eddie’s fingers push back stray hairs from your forehead when you nod, his thumb rubbing soft over your cheekbone. “You can stop any time, you know that, right?” Another nod from you, your hands coming to rest at the inner seams of his jeans, feeling the radiating warmth there. “Even half way through, even right at the end, okay?”

“Yes, Eddie.”

“I want a God damn recording of you saying that,” he groans, leaning down to capture your lips in a quick kiss wet with your spit and his. “I’d play it on a fucking loop everywhere I go.”

You hum, body tingling in a mix of excitement and worry. Waiting to touch Eddie, wanting it to be good for him. Knowing he’ll help you, hoping he doesn’t mind. Chewing your lip, you rub your hand up his thigh, staring at his face the whole time. You find him hard and straining still, a soft whimper edging from his mouth at the pressure of your fingers.

“Baby, I’ve got to-” He groans at the back of his throat. “Can I take it out?”

You nod quickly, the ends of your fingers rubbing the bulge of him as Eddie attacks his belt, his desperation to get it open making his fingers clumsy, fiddling with the clasp until he starts shaking his knee in exasperation. You hear the gentle clink of the buckle when he finally succeeds with it, followed by the differing metallic sound of his zip.

Eddie’s hand disappears under the grey band of his boxers, and you feel his fingers slide under yours through his pants. His shoulders shake, like he’s been waiting for this relief, like it was hurting, when his hand jerks under the cotton. You stare at that place, the thick, dark curls of hair that peak out from his waistband, the movement of his hand under shifting fabric. Your tongue peeks out to wet dry lips.

He laughs softly when he catches the anticipation on your face, dimples appearing at his cheeks. Eddie sounds like he’s only just realised what’s happening. “Fuck. Fuck. You want my cock in your mouth.”

Your cunt clenches and you find yourself nodding, watching his hand drag his cock out from his jeans, pulling his fist over the thick length in a few quick strokes. “You ever seen a dick before?” You shake your head, eyes fixed on the round, smooth end of him that peeks out from folds of pink skin when his hand glides back. “Shit, man. It’s fucked. I know it’s fucked but that’s so hot.”

His hands speeds up, drawing out some liquid from his tip, pooling at his slit. A primal part of you resents being made to watch, your fingers digging into his thigh in protest. Eddie’s body shakes up his back. “I’m sorry, baby. ‘S all yours.”

The fear that he might leave you on your own to work out what to do rises and falls away when he grabs your hand and shows your where to touch him. Eddie wraps your hand around him at the base, and you feel the twitching you’d only known through fabric, now directly in your palm, along your fingers.

You swallow as Eddie guides your pace, feeling the soft skin wrapped around firm flesh. “A little tighter, baby- yeah, yeah, shit. Wait, fuckin’, shit, spit on your hand a little. S’better if it’s wet.” It’s like a call and response, the way you take barely a second to spit into your palm and return your hand to glide along his cock. It is easier, your hand moving smoother. “Twist a little at the end.” You follow his advice, turning your hand at his tip, and he groans through his teeth. You watch more cum leaking from him, dripping from his slit, pooling within the skin that covers his head every time your hand moves up towards the end of his cock.

You hardly expect it yourself when your tongue lathes over the end of him. Eddie cries out above you but you hardly notice, considering the new taste of him, musk and salt like the sweat on your top lip after a long run. Strange and new but not unpleasant. Your tongue peeks out again to lap softly at his head, licking away pooling cum and leaving the head of him wet with your spit, unknowingly teasing him beyond what he can handle.

“That taste good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, voice strained. You look up at him with wide eyes and hum positively, any thoughts of embarrassing desperation miles away when Eddie is watching you like this. “You gonna let me fuck your mouth now?”

Your pussy throbs when Eddie brushes your hand away from his cock, grasping the base with his own ring covered hand and tapping himself against your tongue. The wet dirty sound of it, the feeling of his spongy head bouncing on your tongue makes you squirm, opening your mouth wider so he has the space to take it how he wants it.

His cock glides easily along your wet tongue until his head, heavy and warm, is past your lips entirely. “If you- if you cover your teeth you can- yeah,” he laughs when you instinctively bring your lips over your top teeth to suck at the swollen flesh filling your mouth, Eddie’s big hand rubbing at the length still exposed to the air. “Was right, baby. You were fucking made for this.”

Eddie seems torn between letting his head fall back on his neck to focus on the feel of you, and remembering every detail of how you look on your knees for him; eyes wide, mouth stretched open. His face keeps disappearing and reappearing, thrown back then staring down. You keep sucking gently, enjoying the weight of him on your tongue, the constant drip of salt slick from his cock. Praise from Eddie has your clit twitching, and you think distantly about dipping your fingers into your panties to rub at the swollen button. But you want Eddie’s tongue more, the thought of it making you whine around his cock.

Eddie’s hips buck, his cock pushing deeper until it hits the same place his fingers had prodded, your throat clenching in protest. You pull away from him, leaving him wet with drool, to take a breath. “M’sorry, m’sorry,” he breathes, stroking the back of your head with one hand and pressing his tip into your mouth with the other. “Get back on my cock.”

You squirm as you take him back inside, bobbing your head in time with his hand moving along his cock. You rub his thighs, still hidden in his jeans, feeling the ocassional twitch under your fingers from him fighting the urge to ignore your protesting throat and fuck himself deeper. “We’re gonna do this all the time now, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, wanting this feeling again, as much as he’ll let you have it. Sitting at Eddie’s feet, making him feel good, the heavy thickness of him filling up your mouth.

“Yeah, we’re gonna train you up, baby. ‘M gonna help you take it deeper till you can take my cock in your tight little throat. Till I can feel myself here.” He rubs a thumb over the hollow of your neck, pressing down like he’s imagining massaging his cock through the skin. “That sound good?”

You groan, feeling desperate now. Your panties are uncomfortably wet, your hips grinding into the air in the search for friction. Wanting him to cum, wanting him to cum now, you reach up to brush his working hand from his slick cock, replacing it with your own, trying to replicate his pace and jerking him into your bobbing mouth.

“Shit,” Eddie gasps, both hands threading through your hair at the scalp, a tight painful grip that only makes your core throb, encouraging you along. You feel his cock twitch desperately in your mouth, under your fingers. “So warm, so fucking good on my cock, you’re unbelievable. This can’t be real. You’re a siren- a fucking succubus, you’re gonna kill me- fuck!”

Eddie’s ramblings make you more desperate for him, things only he would say, pushing you to take him deeper, the head of him finding the tight beginning of your throat. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum now.”

He pulls his cock from your mouth rapidly, leaving your hand to work him through his orgasm. You watch wide eyed at the twitch along his cock, his heavy balls underneath, followed by ropes of white cum from his tip. It covers your hand, warm and thicker than what had been dripping onto your tongue.

You rub a thumb over the end of him, taking the last clinging drop before you bring your hand to your mouth, licking tentatively. The taste is almost familiar now, the texture new. “Holy shit-” You lap at it on your hand, a mix of curiosity about your own ability to taste and swallow him and the knowledge that boys are supposed to like it when girls do this. With anyone else, you might be worried about seeming desperate. You don’t mind Eddie knowing that you are.

You gather spit in your mouth to help you swallow down what was on your hand, blinking at his softening cock for a second before kissing at what is left there. Eddie hisses, eyes closing tight while you lick up the rest of it.

“You swallowed everything, sweet thing?” Feeling a strange, salacious pride, you show him your tongue, wet and clear of his cum, only for Eddie to grasp your face and lick along the muscle, groaning into your mouth at what is left of his taste there. “Okay. Okay, come up here, I’m gonna- fuck. Have to eat your pussy.”

Eddie tucks himself away in his boxers, and then he’s hauling you up to him, dragging your dress up and off before pushing you down on his bed. Eddie lacks all the gentle finesse he’d brought to this yesterday. Gone is the boy who rubbed his cheek against your thigh while playing with the edge of your panties. He tears this pair down your legs like he’s angry at them for being there, pressing his face to your cunt like he needs the taste of you the same way he needs air.

“S’fuckin wet,” he groans, dragging his tongue from your entrance to your twitchy clit. “Imagine that. Sweetest fuckin’ girl in town, and getting on your knees for me leaves your cunt sticky.” His lips wrap around your clit, sucking at the sensitive nerves until your toes curl in your frilled socks. Your hands find his hair, stroking through the soft, broken curls at the top of his head. Teeth brush your clit, your hips flying up against his face and your fingers grasping his hair tight enough it must hurt.

Eddie spits, saliva pooling at your wet entrance to ease the way for his fingers, sliding through your slick and his to target the delightful spot at the end of you.

“Eddie,” you cry, the build of it so much more intense than any time before, his fingers fucking your tight cunt while he sucks ungracefully at your clit. You gasp, high and desperate, your thighs closing around his head. Your fingers dig into his hair, keeping his wet mouth between your thighs while your hips roll desperately, using his outstretched, lapping tongue for your pleasure while your pussy clasps around his invading fingers. Your high is a quick, overwhelming thing. You feel it gush wet around his hand, the sounds of him playing with your hole increasingly sloppy until you’re keening, batting at his shoulder with tears in your eyes.

Your tense limbs loosen when Eddie’s mouth leaves you, tensing up for just a second at the final kiss Eddie gives your clit to feel the excited twitch of it against his lips. He crawls up your body, laying kisses on you at every level. Your mound, stomach, breasts. The hollow of your neck. His face is wet with you, leaving damp spots all across your skin. When his eyes are level with yours, his hair brushing the sides of your face, you reach up to tuck some of it behind his ear.

Eddie laughs softly, his breath warm and humid on your face. “Congratulations,” he breathes. Eddie presses his sweaty forehead to yours and the world becomes his big soft eyes. “You’re going to be in every wet dream I have for the rest of my fucking life.”

You hum, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to pull him right down on top of you, stealing more kisses from him while his body weighs down on yours.

“How do you feel?” He asks, big hand rubbing your hip.

Another hum. Strange is the answer. To have been so in a moment just minutes ago, wanting something so desperately, and now to wonder what that wanting says about you. And then to resent that wonder, wanting to be present where you are, pleasured and cosy in Eddie’s bed, in his arms.

“Liked it,” you assure, looking from his cheeks to his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Felt so fucking good for me,” he breathes, leaving you chewing your lip bashfully. Eddie shakes his hair over your face, tickling your cheeks until you’re smiling and tucking it back again. Eddie kisses your forehead, your nose and your cheeks. Then your eyes, chin, jaw, back to your nose, soft lips scattering kisses over every bit of your face, leaving you giggly and breathless, clinging to him even more, needing him like this. He sighs into your mouth at the end. “Be my girlfriend.” Eddie’s eyes close tight the second he says it, face embarrassed while you lay under him, a picture of adoration. “I didn’t wanna ask like that- shit. Don’t answer.”

“I want to be your girlfriend, Eddie.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, as if you aren’t stroking a hand over his face like a lover, rubbing his eyebrow with your thumb to ease the tension at his forehead. Your heart aches at his sweetly concerned expression. “Cause I can ask better. I can make it romantic, you know?” He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, chews at it cruelly while he stares at your contented face. “I want to deserve you.”

You shake your head. A better speaker would be able to lay out all the reasons he already does, that anyone half as good as him deserves anything, everything they want. You are left with something more simple. “I- I just want to be yours.”

It seems to work just as well. Eddie’s sigh is long and shuddery. The release in his shoulders is the loss of a long held tension that you are trying to rub away with gentle hands.

Next Part

#eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #tmyg

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