#i'm totally sane about this man

[sparkles-oflight]

I would like to talk about Kris' hair

Thank you for coming to my Tedtalk

[izzylayy]

ARGHHHHHH CALEEEE ARGHHHHH

Gentle and calm Cale

[memorydragon]

When you sit down to read an old childhood favorite book and expect covid flashbacks, but don't expect very Loud subtextual commentary about the AIDS epidemic that only put up the most token attempt to camouflage it so the book could actually be published.

[sansaorgana]

SER GWAYNE HIGHTOWER NSFW ALPHABET

PAIRING — Ser Gwayne Hightower x fem!Reader

AUTHOR’S NOTE — When I tell you that the brainrot is real, then I tell you that the brainrot is real! By the way, this is the first time I have ever written any "alphabet" for any character! 🙊🙈🙉 The Reader here is Gwayne's wife because that was the most comfortable for me to write. I'm lucky I don't have any uni classes or a job at the moment, so I can simply girlrot and produce content. 💀 Like a normal, sane person would do... Right?!

WORD COUNT — 2,520

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

A = AFTERCARE (what they’re like after sex)

If you had sex in your chambers and he’s not in a hurry to go somewhere, then Gwayne keeps you close, rubs your back and kisses your forehead. He might just stare at the fireplace in silence or listen to you talk about something. Or he might join you in court gossip because I strongly believe Gwayne would love to engage in such activities with his Lady Wife. But if you had sex in a hurry or outside your chambers, then he still would want to show some affection to you, even if it’s just a kiss on the forehead.

B = BODY PART (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Gwayne loves the eyes. His and yours. He thinks so much is stored in them and he keeps his gaze intensely on you to know without words what you’re feeling and what you’re thinking. Exchanging side-eyes together is one of your love languages whenever you’re in public, so in private the eyes also matter the most. He loves to get lost in yours and smirk at how they get hazy when he’s fucking you. But to answer THE question – asked if he prefers your ass or your tits, Gwayne would look at you as if you were insane before answering: “both”.

C = CUM (anything to do with cum, basically)

Considering the fact you are married and he is the eldest of Otto’s sons and his heir, he needs his own heirs as well. He needs boys to carry on The Hightower surname and girls to create powerful alliances through marriage. Therefore, he usually cums deep inside of you and stays still for a while, making sure the seed takes. However, I don’t think he would push his Lady Wife to have one child after another, so in those periods of times when you are not trying for another little Lord or Lady Hightower, he enjoys cumming on your soft thighs or belly. He likes to see his cum on you that marks you as his and his only. 

D = DIRTY SECRET (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I totally think he sometimes wonders how it would be like to sleep with another man. Maybe he even has such experience from his past when he was younger, before meeting you. Either way, I don’t think he’d share it with his Lady Wife eagerly considering the social norms and all that.

E = EXPERIENCE (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I would say Gwayne’s pretty experienced. Perhaps not as much as those Lords and Knights who spend every night in the brothels but he had his adventures there when he was younger like men back then usually did. He probably also had some affairs with maids or young ladies at the court but without any serious intentions since he knew that one day he would have to marry a woman his father chooses for him.

F = FAVOURITE POSITION (this goes without saying)

Missionary because he wants to see your eyes for the reasons described above. But he also loves to fuck you from behind in the early mornings when you’re his little spoon and he bites on your shoulder and peppers your jaw with kisses as he thrusts into you. I don’t think he feels the need to be in control all the time, so he enjoys it when you ride him and use his cock for your own pleasure. During the quickies, he likes it when you’re trapped between his body and the wall with your skirts pulled up and he gets to fuck you standing up – showing off his strength.

G = GOOFY (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Gwayne can be serious when he’s very focused on fucking you properly but most of the time he loves to laugh here and there. He even makes teasing comments that make your eyes roll and chuckle. I wouldn’t call him goofy but he just treats sex like fun.

H = HAIR (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s not very hairy overall and his body hair is light and thin (have you seen his eyelashes?). He is a very clean man as well.

I = INTIMACY (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Gwayne can be very romantic to his Lady Wife. He holds your hand to intertwine your fingers together and squeeze them while making love to you or eating you out. He kisses you all over your face and whispers sweet things and praises while you take his cock and he definitely likes to surprise you with a romantic bath once in a while, so you remember that he still cherishes and loves you after all the years of marriage.

J = JACK OFF (masturbation headcanon)

Gwayne doesn’t do it often because now, when he’s married, he simply doesn’t need to. When he’s away from you it’s usually because of the important duties that keep him too occupied to think about sex anyway. But when he occasionally jerks off, he thinks of you and remembers all the fun times you shared together.

K = KINK (one or more of their kinks)

Dirty talk and I mean it. That man’s mouth just never shuts. I also think he is obsessed with eating pussy. He worships it and it doesn’t matter how – he wants you to sit on his face but he also loves to get on his knees and bury his face between your legs underneath all the folds of your dresses. He’s eating you out like there’s no tomorrow. Another thing that spurs him on is choking – he loves to squeeze your throat slightly but he also loves it when you do that to him when you’re in control. It increases the pleasure and releases the tension he often feels due to all the responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. Since he is focused on producing heirs with you, he also has a slight breeding kink.

L = LOCATION (favourite places to do the do)

His favourite place is your chambers because you can get as loud as you want there and fuck in any position you want to but he loves a risky quickie here and there all around the castle as well. Gwayne is also a fan of having sex in the bath, he loves it when you ride him there and the water splashes out onto the floor and your tits bounce right in front of his face. After the tournament he might take you right there, in his tent after his squire has helped him to get rid of his armour. He also has a thing for fucking you in places that are reserved for the servants – in the stables, in the kitchens… If someone sees you… Then, so what? They are only servants anyway and he’s not ashamed of the fact he’s fucking his Lady Wife properly. Let them talk.

M = MOTIVATION (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you tease him – with slight bickering or a revealing gown. That makes him all riled up and all he can think of is to put you in your place and claim you. But also when he watches you being adorable with your children, he instantly wants to make another one with you – when you sit with a babe on your lap, telling them stories or showing them new things. When you’re spending time with your daughters in the nursery, playing with dolls together. Or when he sees you encouraging your sons during the sword training because you are such a devoted mother that you try to show up during those practices once in a while as well, even though it is usually not something that Lady Mothers care about. Another thing that makes him desperate for you is when you show loyalty to him and his house. When, during the events, you straighten your back, raise your chin high and defend him during an argument with other Lords or you make a remark about The Hightowers being such a powerful family… He just wants to carry you to your chambers and show you how much he appreciates a loyal wife like you.

N = NO (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Gwayne would never force you into anything. You are his Lady Wife and he wants you to feel comfortable and safe around him. One of his duties is to take care of you and he treats that oath seriously. He might get whiny when you say no to something (he’s spoiled, after all) but never pushy.

O = ORAL (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Like I have described earlier – he is obsessed with eating pussy and he’s doing it like a starved dog. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t like to receive. He likes it very much and when you are eager to do it on your own, then it’s even better and it makes him smug. It especially drives him wild when you swallow his cum or choke and gag on his cock.

P = PACE (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on the context and occasion. Gwayne can be fast and rough – pulling your hair and spanking your ass while he’s thrusting into you and claiming you. But he can also be slow and sensual – holding your hands and covering your face with tiny little kisses while rocking you on his cock. He’s a versatile man.

Q = QUICKIE (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Like I have said before, he likes to take you in the halls, kitchens, stables, tents… But it’s not like he’s always like that – it’s only sometimes when he’s very desperate for you or simply just for fun and for some additional risk that makes it more exciting and keeps your sex life more interesting despite all the years of marriage.

R = RISK (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Gwayne likes to risk getting caught by the servants because it makes him smug and cocky. And when it comes to trying new things, he likes to experiment a little with you. Like, when some of his friends tell him about their exciting adventures in the brothels and a new, fun position, Gwayne will want to try it out with you later – but only if you agree to that. Same to you – if you asked him about trying out something new that you have read about in some dirty book or heard from one of your friends, he will most likely agree. But it can’t be anything too dangerous because he wants sex to be fun for the both of you.

S = STAMINA (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

No more than two rounds I’d say, but he can make them last a long time and he certainly enjoys making you cum multiple times during them as he watches you with a smug grin on his face, getting drunk on all your facial expressions and the sounds that you make for him while you reach your peaks.

T = TOYS (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I’m not sure if they have any sex toys in Westeros but, to be honest, I think he would be willing to try out those not very extreme ones. After all, sex is supposed to be fun for you, so if something can make it even better, then why not? Gwayne also doesn’t seem to be a man who gets jealous over such things because he’s very confident about himself and his skills.

U = UNFAIR (how much they like to tease)

It’s Ser Gwayne Hightower, of course he likes to tease. And it’s bringing him twisted pleasure to do so. Sometimes, when he has time and a mood for that, he might tease you for a few days with a smirk and little touches here and there, dirty words whispered into your ear… Until you’re a whiny, begging mess. That is good for his ego and he gets to tease you about being needy for him.

V = VOLUME (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Well, his mouth never shuts as he either talks dirty to you or makes some comments to make you chuckle. When it comes to moaning – he does that but not very loud. He is a much bigger fan of the sounds that you make and when he imagines others hearing how good he’s pleasuring his Lady Wife, he would rather them to hear you than him.

W = WILD CARD (a random headcanon for the character)

Whenever you’re having a babe and your breasts swell with milk, Gwayne keeps staring at them all the time and he always makes excuses to touch them or suck on them. He says it’s to help you release the pressure but he actually enjoys it more than he’d like to admit it. He loves to see your nipples leaking out with milk and he loves the sweet taste of it. There’s just something about you being a mother to his children that really turns him on.

X = X–RAY (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His cock is slightly bigger than average – nothing spectacular but also nothing he’d feel ashamed of or insecure about. He’s long and thick enough to make you cum a multiple times and you always need a moment to adjust to his size and it makes him feel pretty proud.

Y = YEARNING (how high is their sex drive?)

It depends on how busy he is. When he has many responsibilities, then he might settle down for once or twice a week in the evening or early morning, just to release some tension. But when he’s got more free time, he would want to have sex with you every day – only if you are in the mood as well, of course. He’s trying not to neglect your needs even when he’s busy, though.

Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If it’s sex in the evening, he would fall asleep after a while of caressing your back or talking. He wouldn’t doze off immediately because he loves to feel your head on his chest as he plays with your hair in silence or to gossip with you. He often discusses important matters with you after sex as well – asking you for advice when it comes to ruling over Oldtown and things like that. And only after this little ritual, he allows himself to fall asleep with you in his arms. But if you had sex during the day – especially a quickie – then he’s not falling asleep. I don’t think he takes naps during the day, although sometimes he would want to just cuddle up with you and rest. However, his duties are too many.

MASTERLIST

[vitaminkyeom]

till death do us part

noun. [ˈdɛθ] for as long as we breath.

a series on horrors of love.

CURRENTLY WRITING : Alice in Wonderland [Jeonghan x Female Reader]

COMPLETED (1/13) : Telephone [Mingyu x Female Reader]

message or send me an ask to be in the taglist!

A/N || This series will start from October and run till November end. This is my first horror series in this blog and i was wondering whether or not to write this because i'm so bad at writing horror fics so please give it lots of love! i hope you all enjoy this series.

↬ Seungcheol in  ❝ Stitches And Hearts ❞

╼ PAIRING || Seungcheol x Female Reader

╼ GENRES || Frankenstein! AU, Horror, Romance

╼ SUMMARY || When life snatched away your lover from you, you were completely heartbroken. But there was no way you were going to let fate decide your life so you took matters into your own hands.

Or, in which, you were driven mad by grief but sane enough to get him back.

╼ WARNINGS || TBA

╼ WORD COUNT || TBA

↬ Jeonghan in  ❝ Alice In Wonderland ❞

╼ PAIRING || Jeonghan x Female Reader

╼ GENRES || Horror, Romance, Angst

╼ SUMMARY ||  You wake up with your memories wiped out in a lonely house with a few other people, all in the same position. As you all try making your way out, you start finding out disturbing truths that maybe should have been left alone.

Or, in which, wonderland wasn't so wonderful when you realised what had exactly happened.

╼ WARNINGS || TBA

╼ WORD COUNT || TBA

↬ Joshua in  ❝ H(a)unted ❞

╼ PAIRING || Joshua x Female Reader

╼ GENRES || Horror, Romance, Witch AU, Neighbour!Joshua

╼ SUMMARY || Moving into the cheapest house you could get your hands on was definitely not number one on your bucket list but maybeyour hot neighbour could make up for it.

Or, in which, history repeats itself but maybe it never died in the first place

╼ WARNINGS || TBA

╼ WORD COUNT || TBA

↬ Junhui in  ❝ The Painting ❞

╼ PAIRING || Junhui x Female Reader

╼ GENRES || Romance, Horror, The Picture Of Dorian Gray AU, Serial Killer AU

╼ SUMMARY ||  Wen Junhui was the most perfect man you could have ever fallen in love with and there was nothing more you could ever ask for him. Except, maybe wonder why he would never let you in his house.

Or, in which, maybe the man you were in love with was not as beautiful as he seemed.

╼ WARNINGS || TBA

╼ WORD COUNT || TBA

↬ Soonyoung in  ❝ Spirited Away ❞

╼ PAIRING || Soonyoung x Female Reader

╼ GENRES || Ghost AU, Roommate AU, Romance, Angst, Horror

╼ SUMMARY ||  When you moved in with Kwon Soonyoung, you were a bit skeptical about rooming with a random stranger. But that totally changed when you finally met him and began to fall in love. Except maybe he wasn't who you thought he was.

Or, in which, your feelings were temporary, just like him.

╼ WARNINGS || TBA

╼ WORD COUNT || TBA

↬ Wonwoo in  ❝ Lights Out ❞

╼ PAIRING || Wonwoo x Female Reader

╼ GENRES || Vampire! AU, Horror, Romance

╼ SUMMARY || All you wanted to do was loosen up a little after your exams. So what best place to relax other than a club right? Especially if there is a handsome stranger offering to buy you drinks.

Or, in which, your one night stand goes horribly, horribly wrong.

╼ WARNINGS || TBA

╼ WORD COUNT || TBA

↬ Jihoon in  ❝ Deep Sleep ❞

╼ PAIRING || Jihoon x Female Reader

╼ GENRES || Incubus!Jihoon, Horror, Romance

╼ SUMMARY ||  You knew you were a deep sleeper and that one day you would get into trouble for it but if you could wake up energetic the next day, who were you to complain? Until you started getting nightmares when you moved to your new house.

Or, in which, your nightmares were plagues by the same damn man.

╼ WARNINGS || TBA

╼ WORD COUNT || TBA

↬ Seokmin in  ❝ Death Do Us Part ❞

╼ PAIRING || Seokmin x Female Reader

╼ GENRES || Horror, Romance, Succubus!Reader

╼ SUMMARY ||  Lee Seokmin was everything you had ever wanted in a man. Unfortunately he was too far away from your reach physically. Quite literally.

Or, in which, you were going to have Seokmin to yourself, no matter what.

╼ WARNINGS || TBA

╼ WORD COUNT || TBA

↬ Mingyu in  ❝ Telephone ❞

╼ PAIRING || Mingyu x Female Reader

╼ GENRES || Horror, 911 Operator!Mingyu, Romance

╼ SUMMARY ||  Working the night shift as a 911 operator was hard as it is and the last thing Mingyu needed was those calls from his ex-girlfriend. Whom he had not seen in years. For obvious reasons of her being dead.

Or, in which, Mingyu kept getting calls from his ex girlfriend claiming that she had murdered him.

╼ WARNINGS || TBA

╼ WORD COUNT || TBA

↬ Minghao in  ❝ Jekyll ❞

╼ PAIRING || Minghao x Female Reader

╼ GENRES || Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde AU, Horror, Angst, Romance

╼ SUMMARY ||  You had loved your blind date because Xu Minghao had put in so much efforts in both the dates he had arranged. Until his personality did a complete 360 degree on the third date. And you had considering breaking things off with him until you found a 'help me' note in his handwriting in your handbag.

Or, in which, the man you like might be playing Jekyll and Hyde with you.

╼ WARNINGS || TBA

╼ WORD COUNT || TBA

↬ Seungkwan in  ❝ Porcelain ❞

╼ PAIRING || Seungkwan x Female Reader

╼ GENRES || Porcelain Doll AU, Horror, Romance

╼ SUMMARY ||  When Seungkwan's girlfriend goes back to her grandmother's house for a few days, he expects continuous messages from her. But instead of that, all he gets is a gift from her. A porcelain doll.

Or, in which, Seungkwan thinks you gifted him a doll from your grandmother's collection.

╼ WARNINGS || TBA

╼ WORD COUNT || TBA

↬ Vernon in  ❝ Sabotaged ❞

╼ PAIRING || Vernon x Female Reader

╼ GENRES || Horror, Romance

╼ SUMMARY ||  There was something off about your boyfriend's house. You just could feel it. Determined to find out you decide to spend the night in his house.

Or, in which, you find out secret's you were never supposed to find out and now you'll have your revenge.

╼ WARNINGS || TBA

╼ WORD COUNT || TBA

↬ Chan in  ❝ Reaper ❞

╼ PAIRING || Chan x Female Reader

╼ GENRES || Horror, Romance, Grim Reaper AU, Serial Killer AU

╼ SUMMARY ||  All Chan wanted to do was lead a simple carefree life, leaving behind his past now that he had met you. But you, you on the other hand had some other plans for him.

Or, in which, Chan thought you were the one without realising you were actually the one.

╼ WARNINGS || TBA

╼ WORD COUNT || TBA

[literaila]

three things

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: a fun trip to the grocery store (how do you raise children?)

warnings: a bit of anxiety, a bit too much of gojo

last part | next part

*

year one.

"no, satoru." 

how many times have you said that today? 

how many times has satoru pouted--like he's doing right now--and put back whatever he'd plucked off the shelf, grumbling something about how you hated him or you weren't his mom or how he was the one buying everything? 

oh, too many times to count. you stopped after five. 

megumi rolls his eyes with you, already familiar with this routine, looking at everything in the cart again with the same analytical eye he's had since you all walked into the store. you're pretty sure he's counting the total cost.

it might be cute--the way his frown deepens just a little bit after each new item is added--if it didn't worry you completely. 

because it's the first time you've taken the two of them to the store, and the first time you're trying to recall everything their eyes trail over, the things they want but neither of them will say.

you're trying to remember yourself as a kid--if you begged your parents for anything you could possibly want, or if you stood there and stared longingly. but your childhood has always been a dull memory you keep hidden in the attic of your mind. 

so you're not sure what to expect. 

because neither of them has asked for much, since the first night. tsumiki requested a notebook she could draw in, and megumi asked if you could get gojo to stop talking to him. 

the first which you did immediately, even letting gojo get her some expensive pencils to draw with, the second which you... tried. 

it hasn't been easy, the past few days. settling two kids into a dysfunctional house didn't exactly fit into your schedule for the week. 

"why not?" satoru demands, walking right along slide you, pushing the cart because you'd forced him to. "we need dessert." 

"there are seven different types of dessert already in there. i'm hiding at least three of those, by the way." 

"i'll find them," satoru grins mischievously, but waves a hand. "we've got two extra people in the house now. i'm not just shopping for me. do you want them to starve?" 

you roll your eyes, again. then pull on his hair, which he squeaks at. "you're only shopping for you. i've seen your pantries, you know. and i lived with you for three years. we all saw your grocery lists." 

satoru is about to say something, but tsumiki giggles. maybe at the stupid way his face looks. 

the way he's almost smiling, even in denial. how his eyes show from just behind his glasses, his brows moving like a separate entity on his face. 

you haven't really talked to him, the past couple of days. nothing beyond a question about megumi's technique, or where the two of them went to school. 

how long will it take before you finally ask him--

you look over to tsumiki, shaking your head at satoru and smiling back. 

"megumi doesn't like sweets much," she adds to you, easily.

you add it to the mental list of things you know about them.

you look at the little boy, and he nods, looking straight ahead. his shoes catch on the ground every couple of steps like they don't fit right. 

satoru gasps like this is an outrage. because not drinking straight sugar is offensive to him. 

"what?" he asks, stopping all three of you so he can grab megumi by the shoulders. "were you cursed?" he inspects the boy carefully, peering over the glasses on his face.

megumi seems to sink back with each glance of his eyes, his face turning red. 

"cursed to deal with you, maybe," you tell him, pushing him away from megumi. the boy fixes his hair--which had been pushed over his eyes--and glares at satoru.

"he doesn't like sweets?" the man repeats, mouth open, glancing at all three of you like he's not sure that any of you are sane.

"you say that as if you don't eat enough for all four of us." 

"i need the calories," satoru whines, fluttering his eyelashes at you. you ignore him--and the funny way you feel about the gesture.

you look at both of the kids, observing the two of you closely, and give them a look. a look as in, he's crazy. 

megumi swallows. "i like dango." 

"great!" you nudge satoru to keep walking. "we'll get some." 

"that's it?" satoru prods. "what about--" 

you pinch his hip and shake your head, glaring at him when he pouts at you again. 

you step on his heels as you walk through the aisles, still watching the kids with sharp eyes, trying to figure out anything they might want. 

tsumiki murmurs something to megumi every once and a while, but beyond that, they only walk alongside you and satoru, stepping out of the way of any other adults that pass by. 

honestly, you might as well have taken them to the park. they don't even glance at any of the shelves--except when satoru pushes one of them away to grab something. at least at the park, they'd be getting some fresh air. 

after you sigh in--what? frustration? disappointment?--for the fourth time, satoru gives you a look, raising his brows. you shake your head. 

he nudges you with his shoulder but doesn't say anything. whistling while he sneaks more sugar into the cart. 

after the fifteenth minute of this, megumi falls in stride beside you and you look down at him. his eyes evade yours, focusing on the necklace you're wearing instead.

"um, i have to use the restroom," he says to you, soft and embarrassed. 

"okay," you place a hand on his back, gently turning him around, "i think it's just over here," you say, listening as satoru follows along idly. 

"me too," tsumiki says, trailing on your other side. 

the store is almost completely empty, so you tell the two of them that you'll wait right outside the door, and lean against the wall, watching the both of them disappear. 

satoru is already looking at you. 

"what?" you groan, glaring at the doors. 

"what what?" 

you sigh. his voice is annoying. "why are you looking at me?" 

satoru is too close for comfort, his arm brushing against yours--uncomfortably of course because he is the worst--without a care in the world. "what's up?" 

"what do you mean?" 

"why are you acting weird?" 

"i'm not acting weird," you look at him, frowning. 

he's wiping his glasses on his shirt--like he can actually see out of them--and looking at you quizzically. "oh, so you staring at tsumiki and megumi like they're a science experiment isn't weird?" 

you ignore him and his stupid blue eyes. 

"if i was doing that you'd push me down a flight of stairs, but okay..." 

you sigh again, rolling your eyes. and then again. and then you relent because satoru's silence will inevitably break you. "they haven't asked for anything," you say, almost whining to him. "you told them they could pick out whatever they want." 

satoru shrugs. "so they don't want anything." 

"everyone wants something, satoru. especially kids." 

"everyone?" 

"yes. i'd expect you to know better than anyone," he laughs but you frown. "it's a human trait." 

he smirks, leaning down towards you. "what do you want, then?" 

you scoff, flicking his forehead. "i want them to feel comfortable. and i want you to stop bugging megumi." 

"but he makes it so easy," satoru says, pretending to be innocent.

"you're the adult, here," you say, even though you don't really believe it--nor should you. "act like it." 

"all the kid does is scowl," satoru complains. "i'm just trying to make him comfortable." 

"by invading his space?" 

"you stare from far away, i stare from up close." 

"you antagonize." 

satoru grins, crossing his arms, very pleased with himself. he's silent again. 

the past year has almost made you forget that satoru knows you like this. he's always known how to keep you talking, how to read your face and your hesitant glances. 

it's not like time could make him forget. it's not like you've forgotten anything about him. 

"you aren't worried?" you ask, after a second. 

"about the kids?" 

"yes," you say, obviously, "that we're already messing something up." 

he gives you a dubious look. "it's been four days." 

and he's right. you can't expect to understand either one of them after seventy-two hours of merely knowing about their existence. but you don't know how to treat kids like these, because any mistake you make--anything you say--will inevitably come back to haunt you. 

"it's--" you shake your head. satoru doesn't worry about anything, so you don't even know why you're bringing it up. "it's like when you play with someone else's kid and feel like you're breaking some unspoken rule. except this time we're the ones making the rules. there's no one to tell us if we mess up." 

"i think megumi would tell us," satoru answers, almost sarcastically. 

"he's the kid, idiot," you groan. "he doesn't know." 

"rude," satoru is still grinning. "what could you have messed up, at this point? all you've been doing is asking them questions. that's pretty straightforward." 

"maybe it's too much, too fast." 

satoru snorts, shaking his head at you. "grocery shopping?" 

"everything." 

satoru raises a brow at you, watching as you deflate. you feel like each move you make takes a little more air out of you, and who's to say when you'll finally run out? 

how many mistakes do you have to make to finally get it right? 

and you know--and you know that he knows--that it's not just about them, but about you. is this too fast? is this too much?

satoru rests a hand on your head. "you're too in your head about this." 

"well, i have to do it for the both of us." 

he ignores that. "if they need something, they'll ask," the words are soft, genuine. he's completely sure like he always is. "you made it clear that we're just here to help. it's been four days." 

you sigh, nodding reluctantly. 

"we'll figure it out," he says, simply. "you don't need to worry about anything. i mean, i'm here, so..." 

you push his hand away, glaring. "megumi doesn't even talk to you." 

"hey, yes he does." 

"to call you a freak, maybe. or tell you to shut up." 

"don't be jealous of my relationship with megumi. we're bonding." 

you roll your eyes but find a laugh making its way out of you. 

he's always been good at this, too. making everything seem easy. 

when tsumiki comes out of the bathroom door, she smiles at the sight of the two of you still there--both talking animatedly, with similar glares in your eyes. she settles in beside satoru, copying him as she leans against the wall. 

"you think i'm great, don't you tsumiki?" satoru asks her, goading. 

she nods immediately. 

you snort and look away while tsumiki giggles when satoru leans down to smack a kiss on her cheek. 

something inside of you warms, just briefly. 

and then megumi comes out, rubbing his hands together. unlike tsumiki, he glares at satoru and chooses to stand beside you. 

"okay," satoru clasps his hands together. "are you both ready to go?" 

"um," you turn to him. "satoru we haven't--" 

megumi nods immediately, looking a bit brighter at the prospect, and tsumiki furrows her brows, questioning. 

"great! both of you pick out three things that you want and then we'll leave." 

megumi glowers. 

"three things?" you clear your throat. "they need more--" 

"three things," satoru repeats, looking right at megumi while he says it. some words pass non-verbally between the two of them. you might have to tell satoru not to talk to megumi about anything without you. "we'll get everything else we need." 

tsumiki runs alongside megumi and grabs his arm, which he allows, though you watch his eyes roll. 

"go on," satoru shoos them away, smiling all proudly. when they're gone, he turns to you again. "there. now you don't have to worry about picking something they like." 

and he reaches his hand to grab yours, as a simple habit. 

satoru has never tip-toed around the line of physical contact. even with shoko, even when she would push him off.

something passes between the two of you. holding his hand is familiar; egged on by four years of standing alongside him. 

you try not to flinch away from the contact. 

and, sure, satoru probably just lost both of them in the store, and you don't actually have everything else you need, or know what those things are, but he's smiling at you. 

he's trying to be reassuring. 

so you smile back and let him hold your hand. 

"we'll figure it out," he whispers to you, and you push the cart this time while the two of you try to find the children he just lost.

*

later that night--after forcing satoru to put away the groceries with the rest of you--megumi lets you sneak into his room with a (third) bag of candy that satoru grabbed last second, acting like you wouldn't notice. 

"where's the best hiding spot for this?" you ask him, looking around.

it's pretty doubtful that satoru would risk going into megumi's room just to look for it. and, you're sure, that megumi probably wouldn't let satoru open the door, nonetheless go through his things.

the boy points at his dresser and moves some clothes so you can hide it at the bottom of one of the drawers. he doesn't even question your motivations.

as you back out of the room again, you make him promise not to tell, and, for a single second, megumi smiles back at you, crossing his heart. 

*

next part

[hrefna-the-raven]

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Horror masterlist - Masterlist - Misc. masterlist

RZ Michael Myers x female nurse reader

Part 1 - 2

Words: 1476

Warnings: smut (18+)

Summary: Michael has escaped Smith Grove's Sanitarium...

Reader: short female reader, female genitals in smut scenes

The voice echoing in his mind persisted, urging him to go to Haddonfield but the back door he was sliding open was miles away from it, for today he listened to another power rising from deep within. Stepping inside, he found himself standing in the kitchen, his eyes drawn to the assortment of sweets and candies neatly arranged on the countertop. A faint smile curled at the edges of his mouth, knowing that you had purchased each one of them according to the list. Right next to it, neatly folded, was a black witch costume with a small hat resting atop of it.

You were sitting on the couch, engrossed in the movie "Bates Motel" when a continued cold draft caught finally caught your attention. With a grunt, you switched off the TV and lifted your body from the comfort of the couch, making your way towards the kitchen. Your fingers fumbled in search of the light switch, and as it clicked on, your gaze shot up, landing on the tall masked man standing at the counter, his fingers gliding over the tiny hat from your costume. You immediately recognised deep blue striped pants and the torn dirty gray bathrobe that seemed tiny hanging on his imposing figure.

"Michael!", you shouted in shock and total disbelief.

Your body froze for a moment. It was something else seeing this mountain of man standing in your kitchen, close to midnight, all alone and far away from the security that Smith's Grove provided. How could he even be here? Did he escape? Just as you wondered why nobody had informed you about the escape of the patient you mainly took care of, the sharp ringing of the wall-mounted phone next to you startled both you and Michael. Without diverting your gaze from him, you reached out and grabbed the phone, placing it against your ear and waiting a moment before speaking.

"Hello?"

"Oh nurse, heavens! I'm glad I was able to reach you. Michael has escaped, he killed several on his way out."

There was a pause on the other side as Loomis waited for your reply. Any sane person would have freaked out while being trapped alone in their home with the sanitarium's most infamous patient. The doctor on the other end of the line was you're only chance to call for help and as the thoughts of what any sane person would have done in that moment flashed before your inner vision, your body had its own surprise in store for you. Your hand gestured for Michael to close the door behind him while you shot a warm smile at him before focusing back on the phone call.

"Oh my god, that's terrible! Did someone alarm the police? Do you know where he's headed?"

Michael blinked in disbelief as you faked a shocked tone while the traces of your smile still lingered on your lips. His eyes never left your figure, his hand fumbling behind him to close the door. The enigma that was you continued to surprise him, eluding the expectations formed by the cruel world around him, only to grace him with the kindness he not only thought lost after his mother stopped visiting him. No, you continued to surpass it and as he stood within your kitchen, he almost felt a sense of home, carrying his thoughts to the one he had back then as he briefly wondered where his little sister could be now.

"No I haven't seen him. Why would he come here? Have you checked in Haddonfield where his sister lives now?"

You winked at him, feeling freed from your confidential oath as he was technically, officially, not near you to overhear such information. Michael felt stunned at your response. Back in the sanitarium he had wondered more than once if you'd be able to peak into his mind as you always seemed to understand him so well and now you had answered the very question that had been lingering in his mind. A strange sensation burned underneath his skin as if he wanted to...wanted to kiss you. His breaths grew heavier and his hands pressed tightly against his sides, trying to hide the trembles.

"I'll keep a look out but I'm sure he won't waste any time coming here. You too. Goodnight Dr Loomis."

You hung up the phone and turned back to Michael, taking a few hesitant steps into his direction.

"So...uhm...what brought you here? You could also have tried to find your sister."

A small shivering breath came from behind the mask before Michael slowly pulled it off his face and pointed at you. Your brows furrowed for a moment and you contemplated on the possibilities before answering cautiously.

"Me? You came here because of me? To see me?"

He nodded, placing his mask on the counter beside your costume and sank to his knees, arms outstretched, waiting for you to approach him. He was aware that you probably knew the circumstances that led to his escape, Loomis would have surely informed you how much blood stained his hands tonight. And yet, you chose to send the doctor straight to Haddonfield all the while wearing a smile on your face. You had a choice tonight and you chose him. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes when you wrapped your arms around him, exhaling relieved at the shared closeness. It had been a long time since anyone had chosen him, and now here you were, gently cradling his face, your gaze filled with nothing but affection. His heart ached beautifully as the feeling of home nestled within. He leaned in closer, his lips pressing on yours in a, first, tender kiss that quickly morphed into burning passion he couldn't control any longer. Strong hands slid beneath your butt and you gasped when you were lifted onto the counter. Long fingers wrapped around your shorts and panties, tearing them off with such force that they were flying off to the corner of the kitchen.

"Michael!", you shrieked in surprise but your legs parting on their own betrayed your desire.

Michael groaned at the sight of your wet folds before him. Not only had you chosen him, but you were also willing to surrender yourself to him, to be his. He silently vowed to worship you as the angelic being that you were, grant you the pleasures of the heavens you descended from. Gently, he positioned your legs over his shoulders and leaned forward, his face coming tantalisingly close to your cunt and you could feel his breath fanning over your wetness. A deep, sinful moan escaped your lips as his tongue pressed flat against your swollen clit. His fingers dug deeper into your flesh as your sweet taste began to fill his mouth, igniting a feral hunger within him. His sloppy licks grew faster, sucking at your clit in between before shoving three fingers into your dripping entrance. You cried out in pleasure as he kept thrusting into you, pushing you fast towards the edge of your release. The man between your legs had nothing in common with the shy calm patient from the observation room, the one standing between your legs ate you out like a starved man, worshipping you for the loyalty you showed him. Your fingers entwined in his hair, urging him closer as you bucked your hips and cried out his name, panting and finally coming undone while pure bliss washed over you. Michael mumbled something against your folds before rising and using his sleeve to wipe away your juices from his face. You still breathed heavily, chuckling as you hopped off the countertop, searching for your pants in the kitchen corner.

"That was....wow....I-I should return the favour", you spoke softly, pulling up your pants.

As you glanced up, a short gasp escaped your lips as you discovered Michael already standing beside you, his arms sneaking around your waist as he placed a tender kiss on your forehead.

"Later", he murmured, his voice coarse and deep, "let's sleep."

Those little words, so simple and yet the desire that gave birth to them ran so deep. Michael never truly had someone, his dark thoughts being the only company he ever knew until, one day, you stepped through those doors in the Sanitarium. He had always wondered it how would to be to lie down in bed with someone, not a single worry in his world as only happiness seeped through his body and the warmth of your touch lulling him into slumber. You led him upstairs and cuddled up to him on your bed, slowly sinking into a blissful sleep in the arms of Haddonfield's most feared man. Michael caressed your arm, eyelids growing heavy as he drifted off, one final thought lingering before surrendering to the irresistible lure of slumber. Home...

Feel free to reblog if you enjoyed the story 😊

[rie-092]

OURS.

[ yandere! stanley snyder and xeno houston wingfield ]

summary: your good ol' yandere but this time it's a jack of all trades and a mad scientist.

note: ahhhhh! i just finished reading dr. stone and i'm dying to make a yandere headcannon out of this duo! and this is the prompt! i want to add senku here but i decided to make a separate headcannon for him! then i'll do wind breaker next and the manhwas that i read during my christmas vacation and while i'm drowning with my school works then your requests! yeyyyy! (I'm just escaping from the reality, pls don't mind me.)

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

Have you ever wondered what it's like to have a super genius and talented best friends? Like having best friends who excel with everything they do and give you an inferiority complex. Well, you should ask (reader) because that is her everyday life with Xeno and Stanley.

No offense; you really adore both Xeno and Stanley. But sometimes, you couldn't help but be jealous of their talents, brains, and skills. You spend countless nights studying and training to be able to catch up to them. But you always end up falling behind.

While Xeno always ends up getting a perfect mark on every test. You, on the other hand, were in the middle rank at your school. While you tried to follow every training that Stanley was doing, you always ended up with a broken bone, scratches, and bruises.

But you don't have to worry! Xeno and Stanley was always here for you! Do you remember the serial kidnapping case that happened in your school before? And how all of the victims was those people who talk shit about you? Well, you thought it was just a coincidence. But you see, Xeno needs some test subjects for his experiments. And man, Xeno hates hurting animals at all. So why not use humans? Pretty fun, if you ask him. While Stanley who happened to be free during those times did all the physical works in exchange of hearing the desperate pleas and seeing the blood of those people.

Oh, you also don't have to worry! Since those two knew how to hide their traces. Xeno just needs to mix some dangerous drugs and then boom! They can watch how the body dissolves along with the other evidence. A pretty fun sight, to be honest.

Meanwhile, Yandere! Xeno is the total opposite of Stanley. This guy doesn't even hide his tendencies that well. Don't blame him; you're too loveable! He really likes how you always try to catch up to him and Stanley all the time. (It's just a secret, but he really likes it when you cry—it's one of his secret pleasure.)

Anyway! They are both possessive and obsessive. Stanley is overprotective and overbearing, while Xeno is manipulative. Wow, yes! You are stuck in the middle of this mess. But you don't have to worry! Just like the center of the storm, both Xeno and Stanley are always calm and collected when they are around you—but please don't ask why they are practically clinging to you when you are around, please. You are the only thing that keeps them sane.

Oh, are you wondering why Stanley seemed to always know where you were? Ask Xeno. Because that little sly fox planted some tracker on your stuff that he gave to you as a gift. There are some who contain the chips who can measure your heartbeat, temperature, and voice recording so he can be aware of who you are talking to.

Are they a jealous type of yandere? No. Because you see, they are both aware of how dense you were. So aside from them, you unconsciously shut down every advance of your friends, acquaintances, and colleagues. Which is a good thing, according to Xeno.

A few months before graduating in highschool. You made up your mind on becoming a doctor, thanks to Xeno's advice. And the two of them were more than happy to help you.

They both like how you gain the world's attention with your skills and wit. You easily became one of the best doctors in the world. And man, they are so proud. But when you suddenly said that you wanted to go to Japan and become a school doctor—they lost their minds.

Are you going to abandon them? No way in hell. Over their dead gorgeous body, okay?!? Have they done something wrong? No, as far as they remember, they only shower you with love and affection—okay, they are a little overbearing, but—!!!

When you assure them that you will only stay there for five years and will finally move in with them. They finally calmed down. Okay, deal. They will shut up for now. But they swear that they will surely visit you every month!

Spoiler alert, you've got yourself a pretty cute lettucehead student who somewhat recognizes your abilities and follows you around. Okay, sure, he sees you as an older sister—nothing more and nothing less. Sure, he spends his time in the clinic whenever he's not in the lab room, but it doesn't mean anything at all. Sure, he somewhat ends up tearing up the love letters that students leave on your desk and taking the chocolates that they give to you. But it doesn't mean anything at all, okay?

Anyway! When the petrification happened and you were stuck in Japan without your lovely “best friends,“. Let's just say that they became worse after they were de-petrified. You were not there. They don't know what happened to you. What if your body got destroyed into pieces? What if they will not be able to revive you even if they try? What if—

Let's just say this time they won't be as lenient as before. They will make sure that you stay with them this time. Even if it means they have to tie you down with them or lock you up.

“saving the world? no, love. you always comes first. while everything else is secondary.”

“you know that i don't want to hurt you, baby."

[of-solitude-past-and-present]

Warnings: branding (of reader), as well as typical yandere themes like abduction, mentioned murder, mentioned violence, and threats.

There are also slight spoilers for the main quest (Idk how the quests are organized yet HAKDHD I didn't pay attention. But I'm at the point where I have to get to union lvl 21 to continue the main quest, so no spoilers for those quests).

ALSO HI LADIES here's your yearly fanfic. The drabbles are in chronological order. Its nearly 2.9k words total. Goodbye now.

Scar is a busy man who, by the nature of his work, can't settle down in any one place for too long.

It's what is keeping you sane, honestly. You only have a certain dramatic, scarred, card-wielding bastard on your couch (or, as is becoming more frequent, next to you when you wake up) for a few days every once in a while. His visits are irregular and unpredictable, just like he is. 

That doesn't make it much better, though. He seems to take pride in being a pest. Scar loves attention, and unfortunately, he's not above being annoying to get it. From monologues about the great Lament to asking you about tragedies that seem random, until he openly admits to being the culprit so he can tell the story, there's little he won't do to keep your eyes on him. None of it is anything that would be helpful to the authorities, of course, but there's not much to avoid talking about there. The Fractsidus has always made their ideals quite clear, after all.

One of the first things you do when you find him, relaxing in your living room like he owns it, is threaten to tell the higher-ups about him.

"Alright, then. Go right ahead!" With a seemingly carefree smile, he crosses his legs on your couch, feet on the table and all, and gestures towards the front door.

You narrow your eyes at him and back away, not tearing them away for a second. He snorts and gives you a small, sarcastic little wave and an ingenuine closed-eye smile.

Your back hits the door behind you, so you're forced to turn around to undo the deadbolt. Right as you do, though, a strange, bright red blanket of cards spreads up from beneath your feet, encasing you in a dome. You blink, and you're under a red sky on a desolate, floatibg island. Whirling all around you is a maelstrom of decimated buildings and pillars.

You whirl on your feet, and your eyes land on him, standing only a few feet away from you with one hand on his hip. A muted sense of anxiety thrums uneasily in the back of your mind. Your eyes meet his, one red and the other a dull gray, and you think you finally understand how a deer in headlights feels.

"Are you going to kill me?" Your voice is eerily steady and calm, belying the anxiety and adrenaline rushing through your veins. It sounds alien to your ears.

He outright laughs in your face and leans in close. "What reason would I have to lie?" he asked. "If I did want to kill you, I'd just tell you. There's nothing you could do to stop me." He places a hand on your head and ruffles your hair, undeterred by your instinctual flinch.

"Remember this. With the new Lament growing ever closer, nobody has the resources or time to spare to keep a simple civilian, like you, safe from someone like me." Scar's tone lowers towards the end with a dark promise, and his smile sharpens into a smirk.

He turns on one heel and walks away. With a snap of his fingers, the chaotic scenery melts away to reveal your simple living room once again. "Consider that a warning. Even if you did tell anyone, do you think they could do anything that would help you?" He looks over his shoulder at you, his dim, empty eyes flashing dangerously.

"Think about the price they would have to pay for your own desperation."

Night has long since fallen, but you're still out and about. It's not that you have anything left to do, it's just... when you go home, you're going to have to see Scar again. If you have to listen to another of his monologues, you might actually try to kill him. It's not because you're a little scared of him. Of course not.

(Your eyes still dart around nervously, jumping at any flash of red you see.)

You check your phone for the time, only to find it's just past midnight. Everything is closed, and you're really not sure what to do now. Maybe you should just suck it up and go home. The thought has you slumping your shoulders with a defeated sigh.

A hand clamps down on your mouth, and another strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against a firm chest. In a panic, you kick and flail and try your best to scream, but it's all futile. They drag you into the alleyway behind you anyway.

"Relax! It's just me," Scar purred, the hints of a laugh tinging his voice. His breath fans against your ear. "I've just noticed... You've been spending so much time out and about, it's like you’ve forgotten about me. Consider my feelings hurt."

Scar pulls the both of you into one of his all-too-familiar crimson portals. You try to pipe up with some snide comments or annoyed curses, but his hand only presses more firmly against your mouth.

"Ah-ah-ah." He moves his hand into your sight from your waist just to wag a claw-tipped finger at you before he places it back, securing you against him again.

It's only a few seconds before a wall in your bedroom comes into view and the red light of the portal behind you disappears. All of a sudden Scar falls backwards, pulling you helplessly along with him. You make an embarrassing, surprised little squeak on the way down, reflexively clinging to him until you both land on the bed behind you.

He lets out an amused little chuckle and rolls over, putting you both on your sides with his chest pressed against your back. He buries his face in your throat with a sigh and finally frees your mouth so he can hold you close like a plushie.

"I know what you were trying to do," he murmurs into your ear, a threatening undertone to his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat before you can stop it. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was just busy."

His lips dance across your skin, and you can feel his smile against your throat. "You don't think I'm gullible, do you?"

Well, dammit. So much for that. You try to look at him to gauge his reaction, but his arms only tighten around you. His face is hidden in your neck anyway, so it's a lost cause.

"I'm... sorry?"

"As long as you don't try it again, dollface."

For a few months, maybe a year (depending on the timing and your temperament) Scar doesn't think he'll need to kidnap you. You're somewhere safe, in a place where he can come find you whenever he pleases. Why bother? Besides, it's nice watching you go about your day.

Unfortunately, he slowly comes around more and more over time, making this outcome inevitable. There are two primary factors. The prophecy is the first; his free time dwindles more and more as it nears its fulfillment, and the idea of having you available at any given moment becomes a more alluring prospect day by day. Alternatively, you're too desperate to get rid of him, and he decides it would be easier to isolate you, away from any "pesky helpers," as he would put it.

Scar tosses the idea around in his mind for a few days before he makes his final decision. He won't even keep it a secret from you, either; he tells you this casually in the spur of the moment, in a bid for your attention. Maybe you seem disinterested, too busy paying attention to something else. Maybe you've realized his "weakness," as you might call it, and tried to give him the silent treatment. Either way, what you do can push him towards a decision a little early. He usually takes great care to reign in his impulses, but with you, he doesn't have to. An ordinary citizen like yourself would have quite a bit of difficulty getting away from him, after all. He finds your helplessness freeing, to a degree.

"I've been thinking lately," Scar trails off, clearly fishing for your response.

"You can do that?" It's out of your mouth before you can think to stop it. You almost regret giving him what he wants, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. At the very least, you can focus on the dishes you're washing instead of sparing him a glance.

He snorts, but otherwise doesn't acknowledge your comment. "I think it's about time we take our relationship to the next level. Don't you?"

Your head snaps in his direction. "The hell does that mean?" you demand. Your face twists in a mixture of confusion and slowly dawning horror, an expression the bastard revels in. His toothy grin widens, and with a flick of his wrist, he produces a card out of thin air to idly spin and flip between his fingers.

"It's been really nice spending time with you here, you know? But unfortunately, duty calls, and I can't always spare the time to come visit." Scar sighs dramatically with an exaggerated frown, resting both arms on the back of your couch. "It's such a shame. I'm sure you miss me, don't you?"

You uneasily turn back to the dishes, putting another on the drying rack and picking up a new one. "Not really. Don't you have any friends to talk to?"

"And there's the other point!" You refuse to look at him, but you can hear his footsteps as he leisurely saunters to the kitchen. You try to focus on scrubbing off a particularly stubborn patch of grease on your pan. "You can be so hard to deal with sometimes! It makes me wonder if all the effort I go through to keep you happy is worth it."

You furrow your brows, a frown tugging at your lips. The moment you move to speak, a red-tipped finger comes from behind to press against your lips in a shushing motion. "Now, now, dear. No need to tell me it isn't true." His face leans into view from over your shoulder with a smile. "Besides, I'm sure you'll be just as excited for this as I am."

"Excited for wh-"

Scar cuts you off without words, making the world spin as he turns you around to face him. Your pan falls with a clatter, and suddenly you're faced away from the window above the sink and looking up into his face, split by an ear-to-ear grin. His pupils are blown wide with excitement, lit up by a manic glint in his usually dull irises.

"You're coming with me. You have three days to write out your will and say goodbye to the people you care about," he spoke, his voice rough at the edges and trembling with suppressed amusement. His hands rest on the edge of the counter on each side of you, caging you in. "Try to run away or tell anyone, and I'll kill them all. Obey, and they can live."

Scar leans in so close that his nose brushes yours, with a stare so intense you would have thought his eyes were glowing. "We have a lot of things we can do with their bodies. Would you like to see what a Tacet Discord born of human flesh looks like?"

You can't tear your eyes away from his intense, bright stare for even a second. With slow, trembling movements, you shake your head.

"Now that's what I wanted to see." Scar leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips, only pulling away after a long moment. "Not so hard, was it? I'm sure you'll be alright, there's no need to be scared!" He brightens up in a flash, any trace of his previous threats gone. He licks his lips as he turns away from you.

"All that being said, I'm sure something similar will happen to your family in the true Lament, so it doesn't matter. But if it makes you happy, I don't mind leaving them be in the meantime." Scar looks up at nothing in particular, summoning another card to toy with idly. His spare hand rests behind his back.

"Isn't it boring how the world is stagnating?" Scar starts up again. "Chaos, as orchestrated by the great Threnodians, can create a form of equality impossible to achieve with our current status quo..." His voice turns fuzzy in your mind as you tune his droning out. Three days? Where is he taking you? What about your life?

You take a shaky breath, bringing a hand up to tug at your hair. Wasn't there anything you could do? All his talk of controlling one's own destiny flashes in your mind, mocking you. Would you ever see your family again?

You only realize that Scar has noticed your breakdown when he places a hand on your shoulder and pulls you close. "Aww, don't cry," he murmurs, wiping away tears you didn't even realize were falling with a thumb. "It's not so bad, I promise." His lips stretch into a facsimile of a comforting smile, and he strokes your hair in an attempt at comfort. He pulls your face into his shoulder, periodically shushing you.

You stay like that for a few minutes, and when he deems you suitably stable, he moves to lean on you with one arm on your shoulder, the other outstretched before the both of you in a grand gesture. "Don't worry, just imagine it. Wouldn't it be lovely, being safe and sound by my side in my new world?"

"Not at all. Are you sure you don't hate me?" You mumble, your voice rough and tired.

He rolls his eyes. "Darling, I could never. Oh well, I'm sure you'll come around." Scar shrugs it off. Suddenly, he snaps his fingers, and his eyes flash, as though he had remembered something important. "Oh, by the way, the rest of today is the first of the three days. Would you like to get a head start?"

Fuck.

One day, Scar returns from one of his excursions with a plan in mind. Without a word, he sits you down in the makeshift infirmary of his Fractsidus hideout of choice for the week. For once, he refuses to answer any of your questions, instead opting to gather a few medical supplies from around the room. When he's satisfied with the collection—bandages, ointment, and a bottle of painkillers—he sets them down on the table next to you.

"Did you get hurt out there or something?" You cross your arms and lean back in the uncomfortable metal chair. "Don't expect me to bandage you up." If that growing smile is anything to go by, he knows you're just trying to cover up your sense of unease, but he doesn't call you out on it.

"You wound me. But to answer your question, not quite."

The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. What could he have planned?

Scar isn't going to let you theorize for too long, it seems. He kneels in front of you, one of his signature ram skull cards held flat against the palm of his hand. He ignores you as you flinch away, tensing up, eyes darting between him and his hand.

"What are you doing?" you hiss. Scar chuckles in lieu of a response. His hand drifts up to the side of your throat, pressing his palm—and the smooth side of the card within it—firmly to the skin of your throat. As if reading your mind, his opposite hand lands on your opposite shoulder, keeping you in place before you can try anything.

With a wink, a sharp-toothed grin, and a faint flash of red from beneath his hand, he sears the card's image into your skin with a flash of white-hot pain. The rest is a blur. All you can remember are your cries as he presses your face into his shoulder, stroking your hair as he shushes you.

Now you sit on the couch, with a cup of (instant, but still) hot chocolate in hand and soft bandages around your throat. Scar crosses one leg over the other and slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close.

"Why?" you ask simply, with not even enough energy left to look at him.

He hums in mock thought, making a show out of considering his words. "Well, there's really not much to it," he shrugs with one of his characteristic smiles. "I was just thinking of something more... permanent, today."

[sky-high-standards]

Yandere police officer x reader

Yandere police man~ Who was your childhood friend and had known and loved you longer than any of your other friends.

Yandere police man~ Who vowed to protect you always and promised he'd always look after you.

Yandere police man~ Who never liked how you always made you friends so quickly but the thing that kept him sane was knowing that he knew more about you then they'd ever know.

Yandere police man~ Who became a police officer solely to truly be able to protect you from any sort of harm and would always stalk keep an eye on you while he was on patrol.

yes and keeping an eye on you totally includes watching you sleep and change from your window

Yandere police man~ Who is furious to find out you have a partner that isn't him and finally snaps.

Yandere police man~ Who uses his high position to frame your partner for a crime they didn't commit and gets them thrown in jail.

oh (partners name) did that I'm so sorry you have to go through this sweetheart how could they do such a thing :(

Yandere police man~ Who comes up like your knight in shining amour after your partner is in jail consoling you and comforting you.

I'm so sorry sweetheart but don't worry I'll always protect you and I'll do anything to keep it like that~

sry this is just a draft may delete it

[velvetures]

Hi!!! I saw your post about taking some requests so I thought that I'll give it a shot. If it's possible, could you maybe do a Captain Price one? I haven't seen a story about him yet on your page, so I hope that this request can finally add one to your masterlist.

So here it goes: A Price x virgin!reader one. I feel like he's the type of guy to be really gentle and slow when he realizes that the reader is inexperienced, mostly due to his calm and caring nature. But once they start to get comfy, he'll get kind of rough in some way? And aftercare, I just know that this man would be an expert at it. Would help in washing them up in a tub or even cooking them a meal after. I could see that he's also a sucker for cuddles and just being close to them in general.

So yeah, I really hope that you'll consider this request and possibly write something out of it. If not, that's totally okay!!

Side note: I just wanted to say that I love your stories and that it brings me comfort, too:))

I Knew, Sweetheart

A/N: I'm so sorry this is so fucking looonngg!! I just couldn't get it right and I ended up going for "better is more" in the hopes that it'll hide the god-awful writing. :( Anyways, please don't burn me at the stake. It's my first Price fic, and I've still not got his voice or character dialed in. Summary: Reader is Price's gf, and while they've been together for a little while... sex hasn't come up. Nor the fact that the reader is a virgin!. Reader goes about bringing it up a little unconventionally, and things progress. T/W: virgin!reader, fem-reader, NS/FW 18+ ONLY, p-in-v sex, fingering, unprotected sex (don't do that IRL), established relationship, a little bit of an age-difference?, cursing?, first-time anxiety?, aftercare, probably missed something else. proofreading is for people w/ friends of which I have none.

John Price set himself apart from most of the men that he often worked alongside when it came to matters of his personal life and the ways in which he operated. A lot of people would often make jokes, saying it was nothing more than his being an “old man” who couldn’t adjust to the newer ways of life. But fuck, he wasn’t that old when it came right down to it, and yes he liked going along with the traditional ways specifically when it came to relationships, at least when he had the chance to. He’d been a lot younger at one point, not seeing how detrimental his actions could’ve been affecting the women he associated with or spent a few hours in bed with just to leave without another word sent their way.

Captain Price knew he’d made many mistakes when the heart was involved. He threw away a lot of advice he’d been given growing up -some good and some bad- all because he thought he knew better or had enough intelligence to figure it out as he went. Much of that changed when he started realizing that he wasn’t fulfilled in the slightest. For a few years, he was bitter over the emptiness. Not understanding where it came from or how the fuck he could get rid of it. Unraveling layer after layer like a frayed pair of jeans, John kept questioning how he’d come so far just to be that alone. Praying his mistakes hadn’t destroyed his chances of finding a little sliver of humanity outside of his work to motivate him. Keep him sane in the most bitter of hours, and soft when everything and everyone else around him kept adding brick after brick into never-ending, emotionless walls.

Then you showed up out of nowhere, sitting on a barstool in one of the pubs he frequented when he had some time away from his work. Close to home and nowhere near busy enough to call a bar or club; John immediately thought you looked like you’d taken a wrong turn and wound up in an old man’s hangout. It took him a few hours of watching out of the corner of his eye to finally weigh the options of being shot down, or possibly making something out of a whole lot of nothing. His offering to buy you a drink led to taking a few puffs off of his cigar outside. From there he learned just about everything about you within the first few weeks of seeing you or calling here and there.

You liked to talk, a lot. Something John was thankful for since he developed a bad habit of just staring at your pretty face instead of listening like he knew too. Fuck it made him feel ten years younger. And that was something else that made your relationship feel unusual to the Captain. More than six years in age difference didn’t sound all that significant on paper. Yet it was more interesting than either of you thought it would be initially. Aside from just simple pop culture references and enjoyment of music and other low-stakes things, your lives were on different paces. John was stable… at least as stable as his work allowed for. While you’d finally got the job you’d been dreaming of, and hadn’t been working for a full year when you met him. Everything all together challenged John, and you as well, with figuring out what you wanted from each other. How you planned -or wanted to- go about making that happen. And if being serious was something that you shared an interest in.

A few months of going on dates and John walking you home was traded for him sharing half the dresser drawers in his bedroom with you. He was gone nearly all of the time, which put a damper on things but he liked having peace of mind that you were safe and in his home. Besides, it was a short drive from his house to your work and you could stop paying half your paychecks on rent and start saving it up for anything you really wanted. At least… anything John hadn’t already bought or given you. Well… there was one thing John hadn’t given you. And it began gnawing at your mind harder and harder every time he went away for a mission and came home without the slightest inclination to do more than give you a kiss.

John Price still hadn’t asked or hinted at wanting to have sex with you.

At first, you thought it was refreshing. Seeing a man old enough and patient to understand that sex wasn’t just given but earned. Yet every time you thought there would be a moment after a date or a ‘welcome home reunion’ where he’d finally bring up the topic, your expectations fell short. Plenty of excuses floated around your brain, including the more rational ones: he was just very respectful. While others were much more self-conscious and saddening: he was getting it somewhere else, or he could see that you weren’t experienced. The age-old struggle of being a virgin past the age of eighteen.

Too old for half the population, and far too young and inexperienced for the others. Sheltered didn’t describe you. You had toys and knew how to give head as well as having been on the receiving end. But going “all the way” eluded you by some miracle or curse. Looking at John in comparison to yourself was just as attractive as it was intimidating. You knew better than to think he didn’t know his way around the bedroom. He was just too smooth. Far beyond any man, you attempted a relationship previously. You wanted to think he respected you, but at the same time, waiting for much longer for him to make a move just felt like another eternity you lacked the patience and confidence to endure. So after a long night of overthinking and wondering how you could even go about bringing it up, you made a decision that when he got back home from his latest mission, you’d be the one to bring it up.

God your hands were sweating. He was supposed to have been home two hours ago and there was still no sign of his truck in the driveway or a single message from him on the phone you had gripped between your damp palms. Everything had been just fine all day, until the sun began to set over the hillside in the backyard, leaving you less than six hours away from John coming through the door. Worried didn’t even begin to explain how your stomach was tied in knots with a low burning fire in your throat. John had been nothing short of perfect -save for being gone so often- and you knew there wasn’t a single reason for you to be so overwhelmed at the mere thought of being an adult and asking him to have sex with you. Of course… You made up your mind to omit that you’d never done it before and just hoped the Captain would be too preoccupied with something else to notice.

Noticing the details quickly got turned around on you when the front door creaked open on its hinges and you hadn’t the slightest clue that John was standing halfway through the threshold with bags slung over his back and a small look of curiosity on his face. His pretty little thing, sitting on the couch with her arms wrapped around her bent knees and a deep stare somewhere far away from the both of them. He had to admit it wasn’t the first time he had caught you sitting with your eyes “comfortable” as you liked to call it; however, it was the first time he’d seen you wearing something quite that lacy for no damn good reason before.

Some kind of black, strappy, and frilly little number. It hardly left anything to the imagination, and John had to force himself not to go into deep thought about how you’d even got into the thing without instructions. It made your figure that much more eye-catching, and after staring at nothing but rain and mud for two weeks you were a sight for sore eyes. Even a Captain had to admit his biggest weaknesses to overcome himself and improve, but he wasn’t sure in that second if he could ever overcome -much less forget- how divine you looked. Honestly, he didn’t even know you owned it to begin with. But by the way, you kept spinning your phone in your hand, he had the vague gut feeling that you had something on your mind. A little more than dinner or fussing over the possible injuries he could’ve sustained while gone.

“Waiting on someone?” He asked lowly, trying his best not to startle you too much. Right away your eyes locked on his and widened. Almost like a little rabbit cornered by a fox and no hole to scurry into. He watched a flash of sudden panic overtake you and how quickly you reached for one of the throw blankets at the end of the couch to hide behind. Price chewed his tongue, forcing himself not to smirk at you at the moment. Wanting so badly to tease you a little bit for looking so sexy in that bodysuit, but acting nothing short of the little shy church girl getting kissed on the cheek for the first time.

“J-John,” Your voice sputters on his name a bit, forcing a smile to his face. He couldn’t help it after being away for this long without the chance to hear you even over the phone for a few minutes. “You’re home a little late.”

He nods, guilty. “Delayed flight. Weather kept us from movin’ out on time.”

Careful, he dropped his bags off at the front door without the slightest concern about how long they’d sit there. More important things were swirling around in his head. Trying to decipher if you were planning something and just backed out, or if you just needed a little bit of coaxing to not be so shy. Hostage negotiation wasn’t something he thought would ever come in handy when it came to interacting with you, yet John found himself rounding around the chairs on the other side of the living room from you, and planning each step he made to ensure he didn’t spook you. That lingerie wasn’t for nothing, and he desperately needed to know what you planned on doing with it.

He licked his lips, taking a steadying breath. “What’s under the blanket, sweetheart?”

You swallowed thickly, “N-nothing… I thought - I hoped it’d look nice,” Fumbling pathetically for an excuse, you finally spit one out all under the very soft and lightly amused eyes of one John Price. “It doesn’t fit.” The second it left your lips, you internally cursed yourself.

John’s eyebrows raised, instantly grabbing onto that loose thread and pulling on it. “I’m sure you’re wrong about that…” He came closer, standing just in front of you on the couch with his hands on his hips. “Come on, why don’t you let me have a look? I’ll give you a second opinion.” His words made your heart stutter, and you weakly shook your head in response.

“I should just return it.” You mutter, scooting over to the side of him and attempting to sneak off with your protective blanket.

You’re not even close to getting away from John when he chuckles, one arm curling around your shoulders and the other getting a firm grip on the material you’re hiding under. Naturally, you don’t exactly fight to get away. But a furious blush breaks out over your cheeks and neck, feeling the preverbal trap tightened around your throat. He’s turning around and sitting down on the couch with a nonnegotiable silent order for you to take a seat straddling his lap. That alone is enough to drive you up a wall with anxious feelings. Not that you’d never sat on his lap before -actually it was quite common- but under these circumstances, there was a lot more than just a little bit of heat passing between the both of you. Very slowly, John found the edge of the blanket and slipped a hand under, searching out for your skin and eventually landing on a little bit of the lacy material stretching in a high cut over your hip. You can actually see his eyes darken, tracing along the hemline and mentally picturing what was under his fingers. Touch alone was making you squirm, avoiding eye contact and trying to keep quiet so as not to embarrass yourself even more than you already felt.

“Oh, sweetheart… fits like a fuckin’ glove.” He whispers lowly, hand palming your asscheek and toying with the thin little string that disappeared into the cleft.

“It’d be a shame for you to get all dressed up… go through all this trouble… then not let me see your hard work.” His voice lulled slow and steady, swaying your fears just enough for you to feel your head nod up and down a couple of times before letting the blanket fall off your shoulders and pool on Price’s lap. The front of the bodysuit had been well-hidden up until now, with you sitting so lady-like in his lap. But the thin straps just crossing around your tits and holding them up without a single stitch of material covering them totally, John thought he’d been shot right through the chest. Between the innocent look in your eyes, and that damned outfit making you appear about as sinful as hell, he couldn’t keep from letting out a low growl and squeezing your ass just hard enough to make you gasp.

“This is what you were trying to hide?” His breathlessness couldn’t be masked, nor could the frequent shift in his eyes between your practically bare chest and eyes. John chuckled, hands drifting towards your hips and up to rest on each side of your ribs. Pushing your tits together just a little bit, almost bewitched by the sight of you like that on his lap. “Oh, you’re such a pretty girl…” He muttered, almost to himself.

Shifting in his lap, you tried to keep your growing arousal and nervousness under control. Each touch set you on fire, and with John moving this slow you couldn’t be sure you’d live long enough to see another day. It was too good feeling a man actually appreciated a woman in front of him. Not just finding the small bits and pieces he preferred and overlooking the rest. You knew being nervous was natural, but the more John rubbed and soothed, it was getting harder and harder not to whine or ask him for just a little bit more to satiate you. Right away, John’s eyes darted up to you, and something you couldn’t quite describe flashed through his eyes just long enough for him to lip his lips and sit up a little straighter, pulling you to sit straddling just one of his thighs.

“I think I know what you want, sweetheart.” He smiled so damn affectionately that it made your heart jump. “But just so I know… why don’t you go ahead and tell me, that way I don’t miss anything. I don’t like to disappoint.” Toying with the zipper of his sweater, you suck in a nervous breath to steady your nerves.

“I want you to, have sex with me.” You hardly whisper the second part, still drawing your own attention towards anything minute that could serve as a focal point with your body shaking so badly.

“Hmm…” His thoughtful hum sends shivers up your spine, and the feeling of his hands massaging your hips makes it hard to breathe. “So I was right,” A smile crosses his face. “Well then, how about you go ahead and take care of this.” He growls a little, his fingers slowly tracing over the barely-there strip of fabric covering your core, already soaking wet with your arousal. Your little moan slips out before you can even try to cover your mouth, and John’s fingers slip away like he was purposefully trying to be mean and deny you a taste of relief.

“John, please…” You whimper, hands resting on his shoulders hoping he’ll take mercy on you.

He just shifts down to rest against the couch a little more and bounces his knee a few times, sending jolts of extreme sensation right up your clit into your lower stomach. You didn’t get it at first… what he wanted you to do. But now you did, and John almost grinned when he saw the realization, followed by the shy look you gave him. Encouragement was needed, and he was more than happy to deliver. Slowly rocking your hips back and forth along his pants, purposefully having settled you on the side that his thigh-holster was strapped to, adding two extra ridges that instantly began working to overstimulate you. It was too good, and not enough. Pushing your inhibitions just a little further out of focus and forcing you to really focus on how nothing more than his thigh was getting you to a release quicker than any toy or trick you’d tried on yourself. Impeccable alone, it was his low voice right in your ear that made everything outside of John Price holding you on his lap disappear.

“Doin’ so good, sweetheart…”

“Making me feel bad for not helping sooner… If I would’ve known how needy you were.”

“That’s it, love. Keep going, want you to let go. Right on my lap, then I’ll take care of you.”

His lips suffocated your moans and whimpers, swallowing each little pleasure and claiming it as his own. John hadn’t taken his time like this in years, but damn it was special seeing you -his pretty little thing- so needy and whining his name. So sensitive to the texture of his cargos that he was actually wondering if you could withstand something more… purposeful. God, he hoped you could. He wanted to tase you so bad after feeling just how wet you were. Fuck, even the dark khaki color of his pants was getting darker with each little jerk and grind of your hips. Thighs twitching and clenching around him like you couldn’t get the right angle, and were slowly getting more pathetically and innocently frustrated. He needed you hungry though… wanted to ensure that this was done properly. And if it meant withholding from you just enough to make sure you were desperate, he’d bite back every urge he had to give you everything right away.

John knew right away that you were a virgin. Either by just his ability to read people or by the way that you didn’t particularly use sex appeal to draw him in right when you first met. You weren’t innocent of how you looked though, and always dressed and acted much to the benefit of being seen as the valuable woman Price always believed you to be. Yet it didn’t escape his curiosity as to how you’d been able to slip through the grasps of so many disrespectful and predatory men who would’ve done anything to have taken their chance at you. Fuck, he was thankful beyond belief. He hated thinking that you could’ve needed to experience pain or discomfort at any point… but he never asked you simply out of respect and the knowledge that at some point the topic would come up. Only, it didn’t come to fruition quite like he expected. In fact, he never imagined that you’d had your first orgasm with him riding his thigh while sitting on the couch in his house. He wouldn’t change it for a goddamn thing, though.

In the moment, he’d wanted nothing more than to hear you. After hearing so many little whines and pleas for his help, he knew you’d sound so beautiful. But his own intentions fell to desire when he crashed his lips to yours, taking those cries of pleasure for himself. There would be plenty more to come for him to bask in the sound of. The first one though? He needed it. It was his to taste and keep forever. Alongside the taste of your pleasure, he relished in your shaking legs and the harsh bite of your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to feel through two shirts. He felt your desperation just as deeply as his own, and while his cock straining against his zipper was not totally lost to his attention, John could easily stave off his own needs to make sure you were satiated just as thoroughly as deserved for coming on his pants like the good little things you always were.

“Good girl… You did so good for me, sweetheart.” His rough voice rumbled against your ear as his kissed you softly.

Petting your hair and rubbing his other hand down your quivering thigh. As much as he wanted to keep you right here and not disturb your come-down, he wanted you in bed. Needed to see you laid out like he pictured when jerking his cock after weeks of pent-up stress needed a release. Fuck he wanted to take you slow in his bed and wake up in the morning with you wrapped around him and the smell of sex on the sheets. Before you could really even catch your breath, John had you spread out on the bed with him staring down at you almost astonished. You were just as affected, seeing the heavy outline of his dick parallel to his zipper and ending just at his belt. His eyes caught your lingering, and he chuckled, biting his tongue with his back teeth before squeezing himself and shrugging like it wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever seen him do. The little gasp you let out only gave him that much more confidence to keep teasing you as much as he’d been.

Slowly, painfully, stripping off one piece of clothing at a time and letting it drop to the floor. Eyes locked on yours like he was getting off to how you reacted to each little inch of skin that was bared to you. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought he enjoyed all of the attention on him. When in reality, he was just mesmerized by how in awe you were of him, looking like a war-torn soldier with his scars and hardened body. You were holding your breath for the moment he pushed his underwear down off his hips, standing downright predatory with his fist tight around the base of his thick and glistening cock. If you ever had a moment of hesitation about doing this with John, they dissolved in that single moment. Because your next movement was to reach your hands out, wiggling your fingers for him to come closer.

“What would you like?” He asks, coming to stand at the foot of the bed just out of your reach.

“You.” You answer a little plainly, making him chuckle.

“Not quite specific enough, sweetheart.” His eyes drop to your body hugged in that black outfit and he bites at his cheek. “But as much as I love you in that, I’d like to see you take it off.” A very easy request. Had it not been for your inability to reach the little snap at the back that kept you tied into all of the lace and straps. So, you very politely raised up and sat on your knees with your back to John and gave him the sweetest look you could manage.

“Give me hand, Captain?”

He nearly ripped the fucking thing off.

The moment he had your seduction tactic of clothing balled up in his fist, he felt the first little surge of his common sense holding him back a little bit. Base instinct screamed for him to sink into you as quickly as possible. But feeling your hands rub over his chest and your shy little kisses to his neck reminded him of circumstance. Pinned against your belly, his cock twitched in response to your teeth grazing accidentally over his collarbone. You were about to whisper an apology when John wrapped a hand around your throat to tilt your head up and suck hard just under your jaw. He liked when you did that… The thought gave you a little bolt of satisfaction. One that progressed into your hands sliding down his stomach until your fingers curled around his thick shaft, earning a warning sound of a moan deep in his chest.

“So fuckin’ soft…” He murmured against your shoulder, kissing it hotly and slowly rocking his hips against your hands. Teasing himself. Edging closer to try and raise a little bit of resistance so he wouldn’t spill his load on the bed long before he was damn well ready. Your silky little hands spreading his arousal over his length only lasted for a few minutes before John was pulling you away with heaving breaths and a flush breaking out over his cheeks.

“Too much?” You ask a little giggly when he lays you back and crawls up to kneel between your spread legs.

His reaction is one of raised eyebrows and a devilish kind of smile that makes you feel like you just made a little too accurate of a joke to be laughing. John gives you a little warning ‘tsk tsk’, shaking his head like he could try and hide the lust and affection swirling in his dark eyes at the sight of you giggling, and all spread out for him like a five-course meal the Queen of England couldn’t afford to buy. A wiser man might’ve believed himself worthy of you, enough that his dirty hands could touch you and try to give you pleasure in the way they assumed to know best. Yet John leaned over you with the knowledge that he was one of the most unworthy men on the planet, and you had so much grace and love inside of you that it didn’t matter. One little touch and you could cleanse him of every blood stain he’d not been able to clean or sinful act of revenge he couldn’t resist committing. Above all else, you’d decided in all your innocence of the world that you trusted him with your body as much as you’d already handed over your heart and mind.

John kissed you. Hard. With everything he had to offer in return for the invaluable

With that, he’s, hauling you up against him. He wants you laying right on top of him so he can sleep soundly with you right against him. He’s very quick to give you more praise and ask again if you’re feeling okay mentally and physically. You mention feeling just a little insecure, despite all of his very purposeful care throughout the whole process, but Price won’t have it.

Right away he’s kissing you softly, hands rubbing over your back and butt affectionately. Letting you know just how special he feels that you trusted him, as well as just how lucky he was to find someone like you in the first place. Holding the back of your head and gently cradling you against his lips; Tongue licking into your mouth and groaning softly when you mirror his movements, even going far enough to nip at his tongue. Using that same little hint of him enjoying your teeth on him. Just like before, you’re met with another warning sound of a growl, and John is pulling back and moving his head between your legs with a careful watch on your reaction.

“Can’t wait any longer, sweetheart.” He kissed your inner thigh sweetly. “Please let me taste your sweet little pussy.”

His words shock your body, and your head falls back with the little bit of erotic pleads overwhelming you. God, it was making you drip onto the sheets feeling him so close yet waiting for your answer. Pathetically, you couldn’t get the word ‘yes’ out of your mouth for a few long minutes. Just enough time for him to lovingly suck bruises onto your inner thighs and mean you scream out his name, squirming under his hands to try and get some real relief.

John takes pity on you, stopping long enough to let you catch your breath. “Come on pretty girl. Just say the word… I’ll make you feel so fuckin’ good.”

“Yes, yes, yes… please. I need more!” Your airy pleas fall like angel’s trumpets on his ears, as his mouth descends hungrily onto your cunt.

Licking through your slick folds and growling your own name back against your core with the sweet and alkaline flavor. Your hips buck up and you cry out, feeling his tongue lash over your clit for the first time and right away he’s got one forearm over your hips to hold them steady with the other hand held tight with his fingers intertwined with yours. His mustache tickles against your skin and you can feel him resting his head against your thigh, almost like he’s getting comfortable for an extended stay with his tongue in your cunt.

Another orgasm is ripped from you without warning less than ten minutes into John’s unyielding assault on your sensitive clit. And it’s this time that John ensures your thighs can’t wrap around his head for the sole purpose of hearing your loud and raw scream of his name. Blissed out, and shaking once again, John smiles against your pussy; Lapping up any remaining release he’d missed mere seconds before and feeling the dull pressure of your heels digging into his back.

“God, you’re so good for me sweetheart,” His praise blows cool air over your folds and you jerk a little, whining when you feel his lips return back down to you. Slowly, teasingly, he began all over again just as he did the first time.

It takes a couple seconds for you to realize he doesn’t plan on stopping. But when you do, crying for him to stop when he begins using his thumb to tease your clit while his tongue fucks slowly in and out of your clenching hole. John almost laughs, darkly and amused with your little cries and moans. Feeding off of your pleasure just to give it right back to you in the direct motivation of making you come on his tongue and fingers this time.

“F-fuck - John! Sh-shit,” Your stuttered voice falls into an unabashed groan when he teases his finger at your entrance, and slowly slides it deep into your fluttering pussy, squeezing around it tightly. Hungry for more, and weeping with each small curl of the digit hitting on your upper wall.

Your eyes roll back, and you attempt to push John’s head back to try and ease the stimulation, just to feel his hand holding you back and in place. It’s maddening, feeling so good that it’s almost bringing tears to your eyes, having already come twice -more than you typically gave yourself- and no sign of him letting you escape.

God, John was pushing you to the boundary of everything you knew about your own body, as well as giving you the first, raw, experience of just how good sex could be. Lifting your head up just to try and get a small glance at him, you catch the sight of his eyes, fiery and intense looking right back up at you with your own come soaking his mustache and the entire lower half of his handsome face. You clench around his digit again, being pushed that much closer to the edge just at the visual alone.

Your third release came as quickly as the first two, this time resulting in the delicious stretch of John’s three fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, literally slurping up your release; Almost dragging it out of you like he couldn’t stand the thought of not swallowing every drop. He whispered your name so gently as he came to rest on his forearms overtop of you, kissing your forehead with his wet lips and feeling his hair stick against your sweaty forehead.

“Sweetheart…” his tone had softened to the smallest whisper you’d ever heard from him. “Are you sure you want this? We can stop here if you’d like.”

Opening your eyes to see his handsome face and the slight of his hair in a total mess, you knew getting away with not mentioning your lack of experience was impossible. Your John… wasn’t nearly as unobservant as you’d wanted him to be. Without more than a tired little smile, you nodded. Raising your head weakly just far enough to kiss him gently, tasting yourself against your lips and feeling the slight quiver of his breath.

“Please, I want this. I want you John.”

Initially, no matter how much he’d taken care to prep you there was still a deep stretch as his thick cock began slowly entering you. Sweetly, he worked you through each little discomfort, giving you kiss after kiss and running his hands through your hair. Distracting from the little sting that had never been present with your toys, and praising you until his hips pressed flush against yours.

“Fuucckkk yes,” Price couldn’t hold back the loud groan as he looked down to see your pretty little cunt taking every last inch of his dick and squeezing so hard he could barely think straight.

“Takin’ my cock so good… Such a pretty girl, my good little thing…” His murmurs and curses slowly devolved the further you progressed.

Your body slowly adjusted to the intrusion and the gentle thrusts John made the moment you began squirming and pleading with him to move through your little hiccups. The unusual feeling of John moving inside of you slowly began to coax moans and praise from your mouth every time the crown of his cock rubbed deep against a swollen, textured, spot inside of you that built up pressure so quickly that you needed to wrap your legs around his hips to keep them from shaking uncontrollably. Each stroke got harder and harder, with John eventually pounding his cock deep inside of you, moaning and using one arm to wrap around your waist to hold your lower body still so he could bring both of you closer.

“J-John…” Your voice jolted with each snap of his hips as you tried to warn him.

Feeling that familiar yet almost destructive power of another climax rushing through your lower body. Convinced you didn’t have enough left in you to come again, you felt tears pricking your eyes, overwhelmed with immense pleasure skyrocketing you towards a final orgasm you kept denying until John’s fingers reached between you and expertly began rubbing tight circles around your clit, violently tossing you into whited-out vision, and muted hearing.

Above you, John found his own release and shared it at the same time as yours. Fisting the bedsheets to keep from grabbing ahold of you too tightly and bruising you; his cock getting squeezed so tightly from your climax that it was almost painful to stay seated inside of you. With so little arm strength left, he fell nearly full-weight on top of you and only propped himself up by his elbows to keep from suffocating you.

Utterly wrecked, and feeling more than you’d ever experienced more than you’d felt in your life, it took minutes before you could open your eyes and actually have enough of the mental capacity to realize that John was gently stroking your head, kissing your forehead and your nose, and holding you tightly to him as the strong muscle jerks and twitches in your body began to die out.

“You here with me?” Low and comforting, you smile dazedly with your eyes heavy and trying to focus on him.

You merely nod your head yes and give what you assumed was a ‘mhmmm’ but might’ve sounded more like a small animal being choked or drowned. Naturally, John’s lips spread into a very happy and amused smile, cupping your cheek with his hand and pressing a kiss to your lips softly.

“Come on, sweetheart…” John whispered, pulling your head up to his chest and gently easing himself out of you with a low sigh.

You’re once again lifted up and whisked away, this time, into the bathroom just off to the side of the bedroom where John carefully sits you down on the edge of the bathtub and starts running hot water with the lights dimmed low. Certain he’s got everything for your bath within your reach and the water is high enough for you to really sink down into in and relax, he gives you a soft kiss and promises to return after just a couple minutes.

He returns before you even work up the desire to wash your hair, and immediately takes over the task of getting you cleaned up himself. In between the lulls of soaps, and conditioners, John will pose quiet questions, asking how you’re feeling and wanting to know if there was anything that hurt you physically or was bothering you mentally. His care was intense and very personal, giving you much more confidence and comfort after having such a draining experience. Of course, you felt fantastic throughout, but when he asked if you were tired, there was a feeling that he already knew you were and expected you to tell him how he could best support you.

Other than letting your head rest against his chest. Leaving not one inch of your body neglected, from your face to your feet. Throughout the process you watch through sleepy eyes, seeing a very peaceful sort of look on his face while soaping you up and helping you rinse off and step out of the slippery bathtub into a warm towel you could only assume he’d thrown in the dryer just for your comfort.

Holding the towel around yourself, you peck him on the lips and smile, too tired to really say anything of real value. However, you’re certain John understands by the way his arms wrap you up and hold you tight to his bare chest while running his fingers through your wet hair, helping get out some of the little tangles your conditioner couldn’t quite take care of alone.

“I love you, John. More than anything.”

He drops a kiss on top of your head, rocking your weights back and forth in the dimmed light of the bathroom. Admiring your little form in the darkened silhouette of his much larger one.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

“You’re my best friend.”

He chuckles, finding that so very endearing.

“You’re mine too.”

yeah... the "you're my best friend" part, me and my husband do that <3 so.... that's a thing.

[elventhespian]

So like... it's a Thing in all fandoms where fans sort of latch onto fanon versions of characters and their dynamics with each other that are actually completely off-base, right? I don't know if this phenomenon has an official name, but I've seen it so many times and it's fascinated me every time. Especially when a character's popular fanon selves don't end up just diluted from their source material, but straight up OPPOSITE their canon portrayal.

So one of my "favorite" variations on this was how the early PotC fandom used to get Will EXTREMELY wrong, especially in comparison to Jack, and it made finding in-character fics SO. DAMN. DIFFICULT.

I've talked about this MULTIPLE times before, as have several other fans. It's a dead horse being beaten. But basically certain prevalent takes on fanon!Will have in the past leaned towards a personality that was very patient and grounded and even demure to contrast against Jack's off-beat personality and Elizabeth's fiery rebelliousness. Because Elizabeth has the drive to push back against social norms, Will became the foil who fell back to his pre-pirate version, reluctant to break rules unless she pulled him into it, even in post-CotBP timelines. Likewise, Jack was the one with the WTF decision making, while Will was more rooted in reasonable decisions.

And by their appearances, archetypes, and certain elements of their world views, you'd THINK that's how it works. When we meet Will in the governor's foyer, Will is so lovestruck and doe-eyed and subservient to the governor, I think that people thought that's just Who He Is. Especially because he often acts as Jack's straight-man foil in the comedic elements. Straight-laced. Rigid. Even boring or timid.

But if you actually pay attention to the movies, it's very much the opposite. In canon, Jack's USUALLY the level-headed one who just happens to have chaos follow him, because of the way he can wield it. He thinks in long run, tries to solve problems with words and as little fighting as possible as often as he can. Ideal situations for Jack are more like a thief--he wants to be in and out of the job as silently and slick as possible. The scenarios he's in are insane, because the way he throws other people around with those scenarios is kind of insane, but he himself remains largely cool and collected.

That's Jack.

THIS is Will:

Canon!Will starts out literally so impulsive and rash, Jack has to physically manhandle him at certain points to keep him from blowing up his plans--and then still gets taken out because he underestimates his listening skills and impatience. Will corners Jack into what is functionally a cage match to the death by sanely locking the door with his sword and very nearly wins. He is constantly at 11, constantly demanding things be done faster, more directly, and at the same time quietly scheming behind Jack's back almost from the get-go. He does flashy jumps and flips off of things because using the stairs is too slow or whatever. He shows up in DMC yelling at Jack to give him his compass at the point of the sword, and insisting he'll get Davy Jones' key by just "cutting down everyone in his path."

Even when Will mellows out significantly in AWE, there are remnants of this contrast still there. Jack's plan for leading Beckett to Shipwreck Cove seems to have been a very reasonable and underhanded effort to deliberately make sure Elizabeth is inside the Cove while Will is on Beckett's ship, in command of the Compass. Meanwhile Will's plan was to leave a breadcrumb trail of vulture-sea gulls feasting on dead soldiers' corpses.

What I'm getting at is, yeah, Jack's a charismatic "rogue" and Will's a "romantic hero" TECHNICALLY. Jack makes quippy jokes, and Will glares and scowls and WTFs back. But not only are they are both more alike than people give them credit for, they are also totally opposite their roles' traditional personalities in ways that the fandom tends to overlook.

TLDR; Jack's crazy, Will's a sweetheart. But Will is also a manic gremlin, and Jack doesn't always know what to do with him about it, so they often end up something like this:

And more fans need to play with this fact, the end.

[therealvinelle]

Can I hear your opinions on rita skeeter?

You know how some stories have that only sane man, the one person who isn't impressed by our dashing main characters or who's living in a different genre and rated story? The one, typically a fan favorite, character who has a fundamentally different perspective. They can also, shortly put, be the "this is stupid and you're stupid" character.

The NBC Hannibal show has Freddie Lounds ("I'm a bad, bad man", Will threatens her. He is then surprised when she runs a feature on the FBI hiring a creep to come to crime scenes and pretend he's a serial killer.) The Vampire Diaries had Elijah (he isn't a great example of this, but legacy fans will remember all the jokes about how the reason the writers never put him in episodes was because he'd have solved all the characters' stupid problems within twenty minutes and there would be no plot for the rest of the season. Elijah was perceived to be living in a different type of show than the rest of the teen drama cast), and there are some who think that this was Snape for Harry Potter.

They are wrong.

Rita, my dove

Let's take a look at a few things Rita prints over the course of canon, where we have an insight into what actually happened and know precidely what she printed. I have my copy of Goblet of Fire with me, it's in Norwegian so I'll be translating back to English but I trust that's alright.

The Quidditch world cup incident

What we know happened:

The British Ministry was responsible for the event. It was highly prestigious, with foreign leaders attending and people from all over the world camped out near the stadion. After the first match there's celebrations, which turns into a riot. Tents are set on fire, people are chased through the camp grounds, and there's total chaos where nobody knows where their loved ones are. The riot soon turns into a homage to Voldemort, with rioters in Death Eater uniforms tormenting the Muggles living nearby and someone putting up the Dark Mark.

Arthur Weasley, who works in the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts (which is admittedly part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement), is sent to make a statement on the Ministry's behalf to the terrified witches and wizards hiding.

What Skeeter reports:

Headlining "TERROR AT THE WORLD CUP" (me translating), with an image of the Dark Mark, Rita Skeeter writes (this is Arthur skimming): "Ministry blunders... culprits not apprehended... lax security... Dark wizards running unchecked... national disgrace..." (original English from the wiki)

A full section (and this is me translating again): "If the terrified witches and wizards who waited for information while they hid in the woods had hoped for any sort of reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sorely disappointed. A department spokesman, who only showed up long after the Dark Mark had appeared, claimed no one had been injured but refused to give further information. It remains to be seen if this statement will quell the rumors that several bodies were seen being recovered from the woods an hour later."

Verdict

All of this is accurate, except the last sentence.

Nobody was killed in the incident. However, Skeeter was acting on the information available to her, and she makes it clear this last part is unconfirmed. Further, I'm going to come out in her defense and say that Skeeter, writing an article critical of the Ministry in a community with a very loose sense of free speech, can't take Arthur Weasley at his vague word and should refer to her own sense of judgement when deciding whether the rumors are credible enough to print or not.

As it is, a riot in a crowded area at night with people who dressed like Death Eaters, where the Dark Mark was fired into the sky, where mass panic erupted, in a world where children can produce deadly magic with their wands, could easily have led to casualties. I don't think it was a far leap for Skeeter that people might have died, and the Ministry didn't want to admit as much.

Notice her phrasing (and yes, I know you're reading my translation) when she talks about the Ministry: "It remains to be seen if this statement will quell the rumors that several bodies were seen being recovered from the woods an hour later." Not, "It remains to be seen whether the rumors that several bodies were seen being recovered from the woods an hour later were true.", or any type of phrasing indicating that the truth will out. Only rumors that may or may not be quelled.

Knowing that the Wizarding World doesn't appear to be a functional nor accountable democracy, that things like statistics likely don't exist (who will be your statistician if there is no basic math education? How will wizards interpret statistics if they don't understand basic maths, what use are error margins and percentages to them? This is important, because without statistics there is also no need to collect numbers - how many students take the core classes, how many are employed after X years, how many citizens die in a given year and of what causes... you see where I'm going with this), and that Arthur gets so defensive when reading legitimate criticism of his Ministry (not even his department or jurisdiction, mind, and Skeeter anonymized him), indicates a fraught understanding of governmental accountability and transparency.

In other words, who can say if anybody died that night. Arthur himself had gone to bed with his family as soon as the chaos was under control, and there was no tally after the riot, no controlled evacuation, nothing. Skeeter wasn't wrong for publishing what she herself clarified was speculation, either way I'm hard pressed to see her as a villain for putting the Ministry under pressure, in fact I have to wonder if this kind of pressure is necessary to get them to admit things they'd otherwise shove under the carpet.

Back to Arthur Weasley. In response to this article he says to his family (me translating again): "Molly, I must go to the office. Killing this is going to take some time."

Now, I know real governments have to cry over scandals that take time to move past as well: however, what are people upset over? What's the scandal?

Oh, yes, that the Ministry wasn't able to prevent a riot at a large sports event, flubbed completely once it had begun, and failed to give the people any kind of useful or timely information. All of that is true. The only part that isn't true, would be dispelled if they'd only put out a statement saying "no one was killed". The only reason why one such statement wouldn't work is if Ministry statements are not considered trustworthy - and this is where we return to the above.

So far, so good on Rita Skeeter, and so bad on Arthur who, going by this section, questions the Ministry less than Bellatrix Lestrange questions Voldemort.

Interlude: Percy and the vampires

While the article about the World Cup is read, Percy jumps in with an anecdote about Skeeter.

"That woman is always out to slander the Ministry," Percy said angrily. "Last week she claimed we waster our time fooling around with cauldron thickness when we should be extinguishing vampires! As though it is not expressedly stated in Guidelines for treatment of non-wizard halfhumans that-"

I'm not going to make any guesses as to what precisely Skeeter's criticism was, because Percy is angry and venting to his family, which doesn't make him likely to present her argument fairly. Who knows what, specifically, she criticized and why and what she asked for in her article. What we do know is that she questioned Ministry priorities and resource allotment, and Percy takes it personally, he gets angry about it. Hostility and defensiveness is the gut reaction.

More damningly, "that woman is always out to slander the Ministry" implies no one else is doing it.

Your star is rising, Rita.

Oh no, post got long

And this is the part where I'd go on to her interview with Harry and subsequent articles, and later on Dumbledore, but I'm realizing that would make this post a very long and decentralized mess.

Will cover it in follow up posts: today is for Rita vs. the Ministry and how the Weasleys think Muggles are so quaint with their democracricy and freedom of speech, teehee that's silly.

[jolluxstrait]

MIX 1

Paring: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: fluff, reader has hair but no other physical descriptions, mutual pining?, can be read as whatever gender desired, no use of y/n

a/n: first fic iv written in several years, feels good to write again. Based off of a prompt, see below. enjoy!!

[They're stuck on a road trip, and she's singing her heart out, while he pretends to hate it, but when she falls asleep, he quietly turns her playlist back on]

—

When Charles Xavier called you and Logan into his office, you had no idea what would come of it. He proceeded to explain that there was a special mission for just the two of you; going up into southern Canada to scout a possible Brotherhood hideout. When Charles offered the Blackbird to you both to use for said mission, you lept at the idea. However, Logan was quick to dismiss it.

“Yeah, no, not happening. The last time I was in that death trap Scott damn near got us all killed.”

You shoot him an annoyed glare, despite knowing that he's right. Scott Summers is good at many things, but piloting that jet is not one of them.

“Yeah, but Scott won't be flying it so there's nothing to worry about!”

You chime in, sounding hopeful that this will somehow convince Logan. In all truth, you don't want to spend any more time with the brooding man than you absolutely have to. The trip in the Blackbird would take around five hours in total. Five hours is not ideal, but doable. 

“I don't care, I'm not getting back into that thing. I'll drive us.”

His voice is stern and serious as he speaks, his tone making it clear that he's not backing down. You let out a huff of annoyance at his stubborn attitude, internally grumbling to yourself over spending the next ten hours in Logan's old beat up truck.  It's not that you didn't like Logan, quite the opposite, actually. But you knew, deep down, that the two of you would never work out. He was too much of a loner to ever even consider letting someone get close enough to love him and you didn't think that you could handle the rejection from him anyway. So you buried your feelings away in the farthest corner of your mind and committed yourself to just being friends with the grumpy man.

—

The two of you have been on the road for the past three hours. It's been a long and painfully quiet trip so far, the only saving grace being the soft sounds of the radio, humming quiet country tunes that float around the cab of the truck. It's the reason you're still sane, honestly. You stare out the window, head resting in your hand as your elbow is propped up on the side of the door. The scenery has been nothing but tall trees and empty roads since crossing over the Canadian border. 

Logan taps his fingers gently against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song that's currently playing. The sound is an ever present reminder of the silence between you two. To your surprise, Logan is the first to break the ice. 

“You're not fallin’ asleep over there, are ya?”

His voice is gruff as he speaks, a hint of curiosity in it. He continues to keep most of his attention on the road, only glancing over when you respond. 

“No, just watching the trees go by..”

Logan nods his head at your answer, knowing he would be doing the same thing if he wasn't driving. 

“You can change the station if ya want.”

You perk up at his offer. It's not that you didn't like country music, more that it wasn't your favorite. And honestly, after the last three hours, you were kind of tired of it. You take him up on his offer, shifting your gaze from the tree-filled scenery to the truck's radio, clicking through the stations, pausing on a few only to change it a couple minutes later. 

“There's nothing good on right now.. do you mind if we listen to a CD? I figured I'd bring some since you insisted on driving.” 

Despite your genuine question, your tone was a bit pointed, still slightly annoyed at him for wanting to drive instead of fly.

“Sure darlin, whatever ya want.”

Logan gives you a simple shrug, gesturing to the CD player. Even though he was acting very nonchalant about it, he was genuinely curious about what you liked to listen to. He was also hoping that the change in music would give him a much needed distraction to how focused he was on you in the passenger seat. Every rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, every subtle movement of your body as you shift to get comfortable, the way your scent lingers in the air like smog as it completely takes over the original smell of cigars and leather that usually permeates the cab. It was incredibly distracting and he found himself stealing glances at you every couple minutes. 

You rustle through your bag for a moment, soon pulling a small CD case from it, taking a few moments to flip through the thin plastic sleeves until finally settling on a plain gray CD with the words “MIX 1” written on the top in black ink. With a smile, you pop the CD into the truck's CD player. A couple seconds of silence falls over the inside of the cab before an upbeat punk rock song rings out through the speakers. Logan doesn't try to hide his surprise, looking at you with wide eyes and a raised eyebrow. 

“This really the type of music you like?” 

“Yeah, what's wrong with it?”

You glance over at Logan, narrowing your eyes at him. Of course he wouldn't be into the same music as you. All this time on this round, dirt filled planet and he never bothered to broaden his music taste, only sticking to what he knew, what was familiar.

“It's damn noisy is what's wrong with it.”

It's a simple and straightforward answer, exactly what you would expect out of him. He wrinkles his nose as the next song plays, another similar sounding tune from the same genre.

“Yeah well, you said I could listen to whatever I wanted, so you're stuck with it.”  

You roll your eyes at him as you start singing along to the second song. You run through the whole CD, getting more into the music with each passing song. Logan, despite keeping up his annoyed facade at your singing and choice of music, is absolutely enamored with you. He steals glances at you every so often, watching as you smile while you get lost in the music, his heart rate increasing at the sight. He takes in every moment of you like this, carefree and having fun, committing it to memory.

Logan knows he shouldn't feel this way about you. He shouldn't want to spend time with you as often as he does, shouldn't want to reach out and grab your hand or brush a stray strand of hair from your face, or find any excuse to touch you. Yet, the urge to do so is ever present. He knows that there's no way that you can feel the same way for him that he does about you. He's not sure if he could even bring himself to let you in, not wanting to taint you with the darkness and trauma he keeps bottled up inside. So he pretends to be indifferent towards you, to always keep you at an arm's length away for your own safety. He subtly shakes his head, pushing his meandering thoughts to the back of his mind as he forces himself to focus on the road. You let out a soft sigh as the CD pops halfway out of the player, signifying that it has reached the end. Logan doesn't move to push it back into the player, keeping his gaze on the road ahead of him. You take that as a sign that he's had enough. 

“Alright.” You say, settling back against the leather passenger seat. “It's your turn to pick the music.”

Logan glances down at the radio, reaching up without a word to click the button a few times as he searches through the stations. Finally, he settles back on the old country station. You let out a soft chuckle, not at all surprised that this is what he decided. After about thirty minutes of the quiet music, Logan sneaks himself a glance at you, raising his eyebrows when he sees you asleep in the seat next to him. A small smile tugs on the corners of his lips at the sight of your gentle breathing. He can't help but notice how calm and peaceful you look in this moment, a stark difference from earlier when you were singing your heart out to your music.

Without thinking, he reaches his hand over to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He pauses as his fingers are mere inches from the strand, hesitating for a moment before finally giving in and gently moving it out of the way of your face. His touch is featherlite, making sure not to disturb you in any way. Logan takes one more good look at you before turning his attention back to the road. As the radio station starts to fizzle out of range, he brings his hand up to change it, noticing your CD still sticking out of the player. With a soft push, he watches as the CD slides back into the slot, the same upbeat punk rock song playing moments later. He turns down the volume a bit so as not to wake you, tapping his fingers to the rhythm of each song on the steering wheel as he lets the CD play. It's still noisy, but knowing that you like it, and the images from you singing your heart out to it earlier are making Logan see the genre in a whole new light. 

[belokhvostikova]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | The realities of life come hurtling down with no mercy, and the progress you believed to have achieved crashed and burned right before you. But for once, Eddie Munson is there to give you the one thing you’ve been yearning for: stability. Because Eddie Munson loves y...

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, brief alcohol consumption, brief mentions of drugs, depression, bullying, strained parental relationship, mentions of parental abandonment, mentions of parental death, mentions of driving under the influence, and mentions of childhood abuse and neglect.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | And that’s the end! I truly will not be able to formulate the right words to express just how utterly thankful I am to all of you who have shown your support and love on my first series! I am forever grateful, thank you. I love you all! Also, I had my little Breakfast Club moment at the end. Also, I added a small allusion to Shrek, I'M SORRY! I was watching it while writing.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭

“Hmmm…”

Surely—only in the logistics that was Eddie Munson’s mind, of course—anyone could decipher the underlying “fuck off” that was spoken into that quiet, drawn out hum that Eddie’s sleeping state grumbled out from the comfort of his bed. But it was evident that his uniquely catered Eddie Munson language got lost in translation, because whoever was creating that grating, jarring, and abrasive knocking clearly was not smart enough to interpret his message, he came to the conclusion. Totally not because it was just a sleepy murmur… totally not. Nonetheless, the corrugated wood of his front door was rattling harshly under the fervent hits of bare knuckles, seemingly also bringing awareness to the repeated request to tighten the door hinges from Uncle Wayne to his forgetful nephew, though that ask fell quite redundant on deaf ears- well, until now, of course. 

Maybe if Eddie waited long enough they’d go away.

No, they didn’t.

“Fuck me, man.” He complained with a yawn. Truthfully, Eddie would like to say his slumber came about under the guise that it had been a long day, I mean, hey, rule number four of the Munson Doctrine specifically states a tired man deserves a restful hours long nap, should it ever be brought up with complaints from another party member. But the honesty of the inner workings of his mind actually proffered the idea of sleep to fill the gaps in which you were not in his company. After you had left his trailer, Eddie had plopped on his bed with a pained groan of pure longing for you to just return and stay with him forever. He missed your pretty face. Your mawkish voice. Your saccharine smile that just made all his insides turn into a mush of gooiness. Sleep gave him the ability to close his eyes and transport his subconscious into another reality where you were laying delicately in his arms, eyelashes kissing your cheeks, lips pushed into a pout as they smushed against his naked chest with little breaths tickling his skin, and you were just losing all your worries in the solace of his heavy arms wrapped around you in protection against all the evils of the world that could hurt such a beautiful person. And also, sleeping through the evening allowed Eddie to stay up all night, which for whatever reason enabled his mind to formulate the most insanely creative ideas of his upcoming campaign, because, honestly, who could conjure up the idea of hooded cultists who hail a so called Lord Vecna at two in the afternoon? Not anyone sane, that’s for sure. The ominous hour of 3:00 a.m was a profoundly better time for ingenious ideas to flow. So, might as well kill two birds with one stone. But that’s all besides the point. 

“Jesus shit, dude, fucking relax.” He aimed against the knocking perpetrator. Eddie groggily stood on wobbly legs, the sensations of pins and needles nestling into his toes, as his bare feet trudged their way through piles of clothes and thrown magazines. 

Reaching the doorway of his bedroom, his movements came to a halt, he needed a good stretch before cursing a neighbor out for disrupting his peace. He had his bets that it was surely the recently converted Jehovah Witness that lived three trailers down, who made it her mission to “condemn the devil within and save him from satan.” One time, Wayne even caught the middle-aged woman sprinkling holy water around the Munson trailer during the time Eddie decided to practice his guitar just a little too loud. His tired muscles burned with the extensibility of his reaching movement; back popping with a deep arch, elbows cracking as his arms turned up to the sky, and a waking yawn to resume his conscious breathing. Padding his way to the front door, his left hand rubbed the dry remnants of sleep from his eyes, as his right hand eased the harsh reddening imprints of his jeans on his abdomen with hard scratches. He really should have taken off his belt before a nearly two hour long nap.

The rapid knocking was really starting to piss him off. It had been reaching the five minute mark, couldn’t people pick up the point that someone didn’t want to be bothered? “Oh, my god.” Eddie sighed with a heavy breath, clinched eyes to attenuate the pounding headrush that coincidentally became worse with every deafening knock. His heavy hand slammed onto the door knob with a cruel twist.

“What the fuck is wrong with- oh.” It was you. Fist frozen in the air, but it had quickly fallen from the opening of the swinging door. You flinched at the sudden ambush. “Sh-shit, sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you.” 

“No, I’m sorry, I, uh, I can leave, I shouldn’t bother-”

“No, no, no, no.” The sound of your quiet, nasally voice had upset his stomach with worry. “C’mon in.” His body moved for your entrance. Upon seeing you in the glowing lowlight of the yellow lamps across his living room, Eddie was able to make out the redness of your eyes, followed by your creasing eyebrows that seemed to find no moment of peace to relax. “Is- is everything alright, sweetheart?”

He hadn’t meant to upset you further, but his gentle prodding question seemed to elicit your pent up emotions, and your face immediately crashed into the palms of your hands, as tears began making their pounding way out with choking sobs that you attempted to conceal. Eddie had no hesitation rushing his arms around you, where your stature had just given up in the embrace of his warm body. Your drenched lashes seeped through your fingers, spreading their salty wetness across the expanse of his naked chest, his lips pressing into the crown of your head, where he inhaled the sweetness of your lingering smell that he was just dreaming about merely two minutes ago, and his large hands raced around the canvas of your back to give you the comfort neither of you were ever privileged with as lonely children. 

You were in utter distraughtness…

-

Four Days Earlier

That following Tuesday after your return to Hawkins High you got slapped in the face with the biases of privilege, as Jason Carver smiled at you after leaving the front office from a meeting with Principal Higgins during the school day. Believing your hopes of finally having the world align to the imperative need of justice you felt were deserved for Eddie Munson, others… and yourself came to be too good to be true after Ms. Kelly had called you into her office. Before you, it was Martin Valencia, sophomore, who detailed the accounts of when Jason threatened the boy because he stood too close to jock’s locker. Then, Nathan Werner, senior, lamented the numerous times Jason and his posse would throw bits of food at his lunch table under the guise of just “messing around.” Tracy Owens, freshman, spoke of when unsolicited comments about her body were hurled against her when she stepped out of her comfort zone and wore a dress she felt pretty in. Because of Jason’s words, Tracy never wore that dress again. Then it was you. Ms. Kelly had used the term “anonymous tip” to explain your visit to her office, but Eddie Munson’s name was written all over it. Unless, of course, a bystander had felt bad for the agenda that was being pushed against you before and prior to your suspension, but that wouldn’t occur in the bubble of Hawkins High. No, you knew this nameless hero came forward—completely unbeknownst to him, funny enough—with the purest intentions of explaining your hurt to invigorate the importance as to why he cared so much about you that it reflected in his actions. Why he couldn’t bear to see you pained by the abhorrent actions of angry men, because he’d been there. He’s fallen victim and he’s victimized. But that wasn’t who he was anymore- it wasn’t who he ever wanted to be. So, Eddie Munson spoke. Even though he didn’t want to throw your name out there without your permission, his words were clear enough to pick you out. 

Subtly may not have been in his skillset, but at least compassion was. Even if he was still learning. 

Truthfully, you were wavering between the feelings of anger and relief upon initial arrival. While the notion of speaking to a licensed counselor for the guidance and understanding the troubles within seemed essential for your progress, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being cornered when your name echoed through the intercom. You wanted to speak on your own terms. Choosing when and how. And the abruptness of your visit felt more like an intervention, though Ms. Kelly was firm with her assurance that your personal feelings were not going to be psychoanalyzed without your consent, and you were merely appreciated for any input you could provide about the bullying that was from Jason Carver. 

So, as Eddie Munson had done, you spoke. Finally.

But the reality of life came crashing down as you were humiliated with the fact that all that strength you mustered to be vulnerable about the hurt and pain inflicted onto you by a schoolmate ultimately meant nothing in the eyes of the authorities when Jason Carver ultimately got off scot-free. Despite her best efforts, Ms. Kelly presented the finding of what’s been going on with the rightful opinion of suspension as consequence, but her professional judgment had proved to mean nothing when Coach Monaghan had reminded Principal Higgins of the upcoming semi-finals that their star player couldn’t miss. 

Jason Carver’s suspension declined into two days of detention. 

Reality, too, had devastatingly slapped Ms. Kelly in the face. No title. No profession. Not even her degree could trample the opinion of a white man with a promise to bring home a trophy. She was a woman, a woman of color who resided in the rurality of Indiana. This had been the verity of life for Ms. Kelly. For Chrissy Cunningham. For you. Looped and controlled into an endless cycle of becoming puppets for puppeteers who felt that a total of four inches between their legs somehow made them superior. 

But who were you guys to let them have a say in the show?

Chrissy Cunningham had made her strong decision to leave a relationship that hegemonized her will. You were on the course to liberate yourself from the appalling titles that tried to demean your worthiness. And Ms. Kelly would have her power when principal evaluations would circle at the end of the school year. Retirement would be hurtling early for Principal Higgins. 

“It fucking sucks doesn’t it?” Eddie Munson had found you on the bleachers after cheer practice, as everyone but you began clearing out for the day. Marinating in your sweat under a blistering sun surely would be enough to send you to the showers, but on days like these, simply sitting and reflecting was enough to just be… enough for the day. 

You didn’t even have to ask to elaborate, as he sat down next to you. You understood. “I took a picture of you and your friends and I got a week of suspension, ugh.” You threw your head back, as he chuckled at your exasperation. 

“That was totally out of jealousy, looked way too sexy in that photo, of course, it pissed Higgins off.” That was able to get a sweet giggle out of you, and Eddie swooned at the sound.

“Well, it was a very… nice picture of you.” You smiled, before containing an even bigger grin with a bite to your lip, which had Eddie piquing with surprise. 

“Wait, really?” He sprung up, his back jumping into the straightest posture it ever had been before. “Because, y’know, I was totally just kidding, but you- you just admitted that I was sexy-”

“I did not say those words!” You protested with a bubble of laughter.

“Nah, nah, nah,” Eddie waved his finger in your face, “you can’t take that back, sweetheart, you totally think I’m sexy.” He puffed the lapels of leather jacket, which was surely too hot to be wearing in the spring weather. 

“Oh, whatever.” Your effusive voice too giggly for the faux groan of annoyance you attempted to portray, but the fluttering butterflies stewing in your belly were ready to contradict any reservations you planned on having with him; your body was clearly ready to open itself up to him. 

“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t try to deny it, it’ll do you no good.” He smirked. Soon, a prodding tongue peaked from his lips to indicate his venture as to how he was going to convey his next words correctly without turning into a nervous mess. Maybe it was still too early to ask you his impeding question. Maybe you would flat out say no to his face. Maybe hearing and processing the rejection was needed for his progress. Maybe- just maybe, you would actually say yes and his throat would constrict with anxious nerves. Maybe he should just take the leap. “Y’know, some scientists actually say that tagging along with the ever so devastatingly handsome man you think is sexy to, I don’t know, say, the Hideout tonight at ten, is actually a good way of dealing with, y’know… tingling feelings.”

Oh, he was so close to being smooth, but he was internally dying at his poor choice of words that had you dying of laughter at him. Maybe if he squeezed his eyes tight enough he’d get sucked up into a blackhole and he wouldn’t have to relish on the fact that he just uttered the words “tingling feelings.”

“Aw,” you beamed with amusement, “like a date?”

If Eddie Munson couldn’t suave his way out of embarrassment, he sure could joke his way out of eternal misery. “Woah, no!” He fervently shook his head. “I believe that’s something that happens when two people like each other. And, c’mon, that’s totally not us. We’re buddies!”

“Oh, right.” You nodded along to his sarcastic logic that made you gush inside. “Well, that’s actually really good, because since we’re friends we can tell each other about our secret crushes, right?” Eddie’s lips completely folded within themselves to hide his ebullient smile. “See, there’s this guy, pretty tall, he’s got this whole Van Halen wannabe hair-” you couldn’t contain your giggles as his mouth dropped with dramatic flare, and his hand held his heart with pain.

“Kirk Hammet, this dude would prefer Kirk Hammet.” Eddie corrected matter-of-factly.

“Ugh, he's got this Kirk Hammet wannabe hairstyle-”

“Much better, keep going.” He chimed in with approval and encouragement.

You could only playfully roll your eyes in retaliation. “Anyways, he’s also super funny- oh, a fully decked out metalhead, and, you know, just a little bit… sexy.” Eddie got full merriment from seeing you suddenly shy away from the revelation, just belting a trading laugh at your banter. “So! As a friend, Mr. Munson,” you pulled him back to the topic, “do you have any tips on how to get him on a date with me?”

“Well,” Eddie tittered with a breathy sigh, “hypothetically- theoretically- if it ever were to randomly occur- just in case he were to ever ask you out to, say, the Hideout tonight at ten, I personally think you should go with him.” He rejoiced proudly.

You giggled before sincerely smiling at him. He was so unbearably cute. It stung to have to turn him down. “I’d love to go with you, Eddie, but…” his grin had slowly began to drop, “I’m still very much grounded and confined to my room. It’s school and practice, that’s it.” You despairingly reminded. 

Eddie let out a disappointed breath through his nose, nodding to affirm his understanding, though mumbling a small “prick” at the allusion to your father. 

“I’m really sorry, Eddie, maybe another time we-”

“No, no, no, sweetheart.” He interjected. “Don’t apologize or try to, like, make it up to me, it’s not your job to do any of that, it’s okay.” Eddie managed to speak out with a small smile. Though it wasn’t a direct no, he was accepting it, letting it be spoken without interference from his anger. This was a part of his learning. This was a part of his growth. 

“The day will come for us.” You reached for his hand, and his eyes stayed connected to the delicate movements of your small fingers playing with his ringed ones, as he situated himself in the intoxicating sparkling feeling that was igniting just from touching your skin. “You know, when we can properly go out… as friends who don't like each other.”

Eddie chortled a smile. “Totally platonic." He joked. "Buddies even. Like brother and sister-” Your suddenly scrunched face of cringe had Eddie immediately reeling back his words. “Wait! Wait, no! Too far- too gross, I took it too far, I’m sorry! Sweetheart, I’ve never spoken to a girl before!”

“Eddie!” Your cheeks burned with laughter.

-

Eddie’s chest was heaving heavily under your crying face, as he attempted to minimize his panic for your sake. He had just dreamed of a perfect reality in which you came back into his arms, filling in that empty hole in his heart with all your love and care that he fully intended to return three times greater. But this isn’t what he wanted- how he wanted it to happen. You, pained by some evil that hurt you to the point of sobs, he hated seeing it. His hands raked over your head, trying to smooth the shaking mess that you were, before cupping your hot face and maneuvering you away from the comfort of his chest. “Honey, you gotta tell me what’s wrong.” His thumbs smeared the tears that tainted your cheeks. “Okay? Are you hurt? Something happen? Did someone- did he touch you? Please!” His round eyes frantically roamed your face for answers, but he was only met with sniffling sobs. “C’mon, baby, please just breathe and tell me what’s wrong.”

You fervently shook your head. “I-I can’t go back- back home. P-please, Eddie, don’t make me go back.”

“No, no, no, no, I won’t.” He shoved you back into the warmth of his body, arms cascading around your trembling figure to ease you into peace and safety. “It’s okay, just stay here with me.” He cradled your head into the crook of his neck, where you simply let yourself get lost in the engulfing waft of cheap cologne and cigarettes. “Just stay here with me.”

Minutes had passed where he took responsibility of gently rocking your conjoined bodies side to side with ease in the middle of his living room. He didn’t prod any further, simply letting your emotions cry out in a safe environment, where they would be understood and appreciated for their strong efforts of being vulnerable. Maybe then, he’d ask. When your breathing settled, when your eyes didn’t sting with fuzzy vision, when air could properly heave in through your nose and out from your mouth, when you could gather your thoughts and articulate your words, when you could just be okay. 

Just as you always dreamed. 

It was devastating that a kind person like you couldn't be granted a simple ask: to just be okay.

Eddie felt your lips move, as you mumbled into his chest. He delicately pulled away to see your wet face, “What?” 

“I-I said, um, I didn’t bring- I don’t have anything with me, l-like clothes.” You sniffled, as you wiped your noise with your sleeve.

“Oh, uh, okay, that’s fine, do you want to borrow some of mine- it’s okay, really-”

“I promise it’ll only be for one night!” You worried interjected. “I-I’ll leave first thing in the morning, and I’ll figure something out by then-”

“Okay, no.” Eddie immediately stopped your rambling. “You have to tell me what the hell is going on, sweetheart, you’re scaring me.” His hands firmly gripped your shoulders, so he wouldn’t be tempted to bring you back into his embrace and possibly wash over the issue at hand because he had you in his arms again. As much as he really wanted it, he really needed to know what was hurting you to the point of sobs and desperation.

“Eddie, my dad…” You had begun to blubber with a sense of shame, because in all honesty, you were embarrassed about the unfolding events of your life. Normalcy, why couldn’t you just be someone normal, be someone with a normal life, with normal parents, with the stability of just being loved and understood and not followed by animosity? What- what could possibly be so wrong with you that people hated you? How terrible of a person were you that you were deserving of all this hatred? “He kicked me out, h-he doesn’t want me!”

In a matter of days, your progress- that progress you were so proud of for enduring, was taking a steep hit to rock bottom, where you felt you were just going to rot in the depths of nothingness, where no light of life could revive you. Everything you had ever worked on was slipping into the abyss at high speed, and the breaks were refusing to stop.

You were crashing into despair.

-

Two Days Prior

The balmy Thursday afternoon felt like a breath of fresh air in comparison to what was Tuesday’s scorching humidity that had been suffocating the small town since the coming of spring. Though slugging through Hawkins High’s poor excuse of a courtyard alongside Chrissy Cunningham to reach the end goal of the football field for practice felt exceedingly unbearable, after your confiding revelation brought forward an onslaught of urging requests from your bubbly friend: your father would be going out of town that Friday.

“Come on, just do it!” Her hand tightly gathered around your arm, where you became suddenly aware of just how strong she was, as her insistent movements left you shaking in her grasp. “It’s not like he’s going to say no, he's the one that asked you out first! I mean, your first date together, that’s so cute!” She swooned.

“Not a first date.” You quickly interjected. “Very much a friends hanging out thing.” It may have been easy to joke about it that earlier Tuesday, but suddenly reveling in the idea that it could very well be considered a date—hell, it was—had your tummy stirring with queasiness. 

“Oh, please.” Chrissy laughed. “You guys can tiptoe around your feelings all you want, but everyone knows it’s so obvious. What’s so wrong with admitting it?”

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just…” Last time the admission of feelings came about, Eddie Munson had drunkenly confessed the entirety of his problems in your bedroom in the dead of night. And while you both have accomplished the responsibility of recognizing that moment of brutal vulnerability as a stepping stone to receiving help, it doesn’t derail from the fact that whatever was brewing between you and Eddie Munson was built on a foundation of troubled minds fueled by hatred and anger. The fear of potentially reverting back to the people you both used to be kept shouting at you in the depths of your mind. It was cemented that as a couple, your relationship couldn’t reflect that of a sweet high school romance- no, you and Eddie Munson were not granted that privilege of peace, and your relationship would be stalked into a corner where all the bubble worlds of Hawkins, Indiana would unite together to yell, stab, slaughter, and shoot you both down with the lasting promise that neither of you were wanted in their town, especially not together. And this wasn’t a matter of if it were to happen- this was going to happen, bound to by the reality of life, and when it does, would Eddie Munson stick by your side or run? “…I just don’t want anything bad to happen, Chris.”

“Okay, look,” she stopped you, and watched every other cheerleader in front of you walk with notice of you two behind, “I know what this is about.” She huffed with certainty. “You’re scared you’re going to end up like me and Jason.”

“Huh?” 

Oh, Chrissy Cunningham, she truly did have a caring heart. “It’s okay, I promise. But I can assure you guys are nothing like me and Jason, so that won’t happen.” It had just dawned on that she actually had no grasp as to what had occurred between you and Eddie. The yelling, the even more yelling after the cafeteria incident, the inebriated word vomit- nothing. She genuinely knew nothing about the gravity of the situation. And it truly was not her fault, in fact, you liked that she didn’t know the extent of it. What happened between you and Eddie stayed between you and Eddie.

So you simply nodded along. “Uh, yeah, I mean, I guess.”

And bless her, she was there to help you. “Look, Eddie is nothing like Jason, okay? He doesn’t care about what people think or say. He tried really hard to make it up to you for whatever he did, I don’t know, but either way he really tries. I mean, he literally hunted me down just to make sure you were okay. What has Jason ever done? Ask you what my favorite color is so he could act like he knows me and win me over?” She laughed with a scoff. “Please don’t let the people in this town dictate your happiness. Eddie likes you for you, and you two deserve to be happy with each other.”

She may not have had the clearest indications as to what was actually pestering your mind with fear, but her intentions of helping did place clarity on the uncertainty that was Eddie Munson. Her words and his actions truly illustrated the assiduous effort Eddie was enduring for the sake of his and your’s stability. Trust is a profoundly scary skill to embark on with another person, but the basis of security and love that would blossom from assurance in one another was a journey so devastatingly beautiful, it would heal the longing within both of you. 

Eddie Munson laid his cards out with a terrifying layer of vulnerability. If he was doing it- working through the painful excursion into trusting you, the least you could do was reciprocate the effort. You were ready to trust Eddie Munson.

“Yeah,” you nodded with a soft smile, “yeah, I know, Chrissy, thank you. I’ll be sure-”

“To tell him?!” She perked up with a squeal. “You’ll tell Eddie that you can go on the date?!”

You chortled in disbelief. “Yes, I’ll tell him, leave the energy for practice.”

“Do it! Do it now!” She begged you, once again, your limbs were taken into her grasp and she was shaking you into oblivion. “Please!”

“We’re literally on our way to practice right now, I’ll do it afterwards.” You giggled, as you dragged her to catch up with the rest of the girls.

“But what if he leaves before us?!”

Eddie Munson had surely not left before you guys. It had occurred in the split second after Coach Hannigan had aggressively blown spit through her whistle to call for a break mid session, that instead of running to the designated drink cooler that became quickly surrounded by sweaty cheerleaders, you instead ignored the blatant thirst that burned your throat to dedicate a couple seconds of your time to run to the football field’s gated entrance. It was then, you caught sight of the still parked van that belonged to your metalhead, heating up in the blistering sun in the same parking spot it reserved when Eddie first arrived at school that early morning. Now, assuming you saw correctly, Coach Hannigan’s watch had indicated the time in which Eddie’s scheduled meeting with Ms. Kelly was surely to be over with. Why was Eddie Munson seemingly hanging around the halls of Hawkins High, especially when he made his disdain for the school very public, you weren’t sure. And with complete honesty, there was a part of you that wished he would have just gone home, so you wouldn’t be faced with the nervousness of having to ask him out. In retrospect, you knew just how much Eddie would like hanging out with you, and that warmed your heart, but the chances of him potentially saying no still lingered on a low chance. And that, in itself, was terrifying. 

Practice had come to a hurtling end far quicker than you had anticipated, and Chrissy Cunningham was wielding all cheer captain authority to make sure you were placed in front of a shower head before they all got claimed by girls ready to leave. She’d even tasked herself with the responsibility of locating where the man was lurking, which evidently came to your dismay when her intelligent skills proffered her return in four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Your shirt hadn’t even been placed on by then. And as wonderful as it would have been to discredit her “he’s in the drama room, I heard him playing music in there,” with your logical, “that could be anyone, Chris, you don’t know that it’s him,” you knew she was right. One day, you’d thank her for this, but right now, you were urging her to just let it go. 

Chrissy Cunningham had used that newfound strength of hers to all but push you into the direction of the drama room, the one you hadn’t stepped foot in in a little over four years when you were asked to build sets for A Midsummer Night’s Dream for your elective art class during freshman year. And Chrissy had been right. Music was drowning its way through the closed doorway of the prop room, where the distinct screaming voices of men surely indicated itself to be muffled metal music which was in particular interest to Hawkins’ local metalhead. There was no turning back now. Chrissy had even assured to lay your father out with an excuse of “girl problems” to explain your unwanted lateness to the punctual man. 

So you stood in the empty hall, long after the dragging time of school hours, with your fist hesitantly making your presence known to the man on the other side. You opened the door shortly after, where you came face-to-face with a confused Eddie, who’s features quickly melted into a sickly smile upon landing on you. His fingers worked quickly to turn down a dusty radio that had once been squashed under theatrical masks and vibrant feather boas in the corner of the room. “Hey, sweetheart.” And it was then you wondered why you had been nervous all along, when his simple greeting seemed to have placed you into ease with no uncertainty from your body. 

“Hi,” you closed the door behind you, as he stood from throne King Duncan once sat during Hawkins High’s very first—and last—remediation of Macbeth, when Kevin Kavaugh’s baby face held no grip to the fake beard that once belonged to a Santa Claus costume and it had slipped off during Act 1 Scene 2. Not to mention when Lady Macbeth had to die a scene early because Carly Bennett hurled her lunch due to the numerous eyes awaiting her to speak her line. “Um, sorry for interrupting.” 

Eddie Munson wasn’t having any of that, as he rounded the table he was once sat at to meet you in the middle. “No, no, my time has gotten much better since the mere second you walked your pretty self in here.” He smiled down, with a grin that just made your face heat and gain the inability to look him in the eyes.

And it was because you were shying away, refusing to meet his teasing stare, your eyes caught sight of the work he’d been displaying on the table behind him. “What are you working on?” You invited.

“Just settin’ up for my campaign tomorrow night.” He notified, as he sat half of his bottom onto the edge of the table with crossed arms. 

Taking in his words, you finally peered up at him with round, crestfallen eyes. “Oh.” You heavily sighed. “So, you’re going to be busy all night tomorrow?”

“Yeah, basically.” He nodded. “DnD campaigns can last for hours, which is why I’m settin’ up early. Still gotta meeting with Ms. K, so I don’t wanna waste any time. Figured putting everything up would be easier. Finish with counseling and head straight into DMing, y’know, Dungeon Master n’ all.” He proudly pointed at himself. 

And your obvious response of another despondent “oh” had clearly railed Eddie into a small frenzy of concern. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He suddenly stood again. “Are you okay? 

“No, no.” You quickly assured him into ease. “I was just, um- it’s stupid really, well, it doesn’t matter s-since you’re busy and I don’t want to disrupt your plans, but, um, I just thought it would be a good idea to go out- or hang out, you know, tomorrow, like, together or whatever to the Hideout like you wanted.” Mrs. Crosby, your Public Speaking teacher from the tenth grade, who used to parade you around as a model student who spoke so clearly and concisely with confidence, would surely be disappointed at the sentence you just uttered. 

Not Eddie Munson, though. No, in fact, Eddie Munson was grinning ear to ear with a teasingly amused smirk at your sudden shyness, something his insides were melting and reveling in, especially knowing he was the cause of your flusterness. So you surely didn’t appreciate his, “Holy fuck, that was the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Refusing to let him see your heated face, you hid away in the comfort of your hands with a whine. “Stop!” But his snickering laugh was failing to cease. “You’re being mean!”

“Aw, no, c’mon, sweetheart, let me see your pretty face.” He smiled, gently grasping your wrist at an attempt to pull them away.

“You’re not helping by saying that.” Your muffled complaint had him chuckling, as he worked to pry your hands away, leaving your face vulnerable to his lovesick smile. 

“There she is.” And for a split second, everything was quiet. Neither of you spoke, but rather lavished in the couple seconds in which you both peered at each with mesmerized eyes, because though it was never verbalized, neither of you could believe that you had each other. Eddie cleared his throat. “Um, could you ask me that again?”

You giggled in disbelief. “Are you trying to torture me?”

“Of course, not.” Eddie laughed. “But this is quite literally the first—and probably only—time a girl will ask me out- let alone one as gorgeous as you, so c’mon, hit me with it. I wanna bask in the feelings.”

“Oh, god, you’re ridiculous.” You delicately chuckled, but Eddie was still awaiting your invite with a large smile to ease you into your words. You sighed with a grin that matched his, and gave him your full attention as you looked up into his dough eyes. “Will you, Eddie Munson…” you trailed off into a small giggle, “…go on a date with me tomorrow?”

“Yes, absolutely.” And that answer, you weren’t expecting. 

“What? No!” You quickly interjected. “Your campaigns tomorrow, you can’t go.”

Eddie laughed, “Isn’t there a game tomorrow you’re supposed to be cheering at? When exactly were you expecting to go out with me when we’re both busy?”

“Uh, well, yeah, but the game doesn’t start till six, I figured we’d go to the Hideout before then, you know, after school?” You reasoned your thinking, but Eddie still couldn’t contain his chuckles.

“Y’know, you really are so fucking cute, sweetheart.” He smiled. “Nobody goes to the Hideout in the afternoon, it’s a bar, more of a nighttime thing.”

You scoffed incredulously with a lingering beam. “Oh, well, excuse me, you’re the one that suggested it in the first place. I’ve never been, I was just trying to be nice and go along with your request.”

“Oh, I know, honey, you’re just the sweetest.” He softly spoke, as he stepped closer, leaving you to truly crane your neck to meet his smile. “So, after my campaign, after your game, we’ll go.”

“Yeah?” God, Eddie Munson was truly baffled by the idea that you, someone so utterly enthralling who had the purest heart of good and acceptance, was questioning the validity of his statement of wanting to go out with you. He should be questioning you- questioning the world of what granted him the right to get to know or even go out with you. But this was a part of his journey. Eddie Munson was deserving of good things, and so were you. And while the both of you could easily fall into an endless hole of overthinking your worthiness for each other, it would ultimately do no good. As the wise words of Chrissy Cunningham once said, you and Eddie Munson were deserving of happiness. And you both had been put through too much to let that chance slip away because of fear. Eddie was told to face it, and he was. You were strong enough to do the same.

So, Eddie Munson confirmed your questions with an affirming nod that spoke everything he needed to before he took a deep breath. “Are you sure it’ll be okay? I don’t want to put you in a dangerous position.” His fingers gently touched the tips of yours, where they met on the old wood of the table.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.” You softly spoke with a delicate smile. “I actually wanted to tell you that my dad will be leaving town Friday for work, so… we can have our day.”

“Perfect.” Eddie whispered into the air, and you watched his large eyes flicker to your lips, where they linger just long enough to spark the atmosphere with palpable tension. It had dawned on you just how close he stood, chest puffed to yours, where his wrinkled band t-shirt gently caressed the basic top you had changed into, and this spark was heavily enticing your lips to just finally give in to all desires and crash into peaceful bliss- but not right now. As Eddie’s head slowly leaned in, you had to reel back. For now, at least.

“Um,” Eddie immediately halted his movements from the clarity of the moment, and drew back.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat, “so, sorry. I didn’t mean to make you-”

“No, no, it’s okay.” You reassured him away from his worries. “But, um, it’s just my dad’s waiting for me.” And the silky curve of your lips proffered him the understanding that you wanted him, too. Just as much. And when it was right, the moment would come. 

“Yeah, okay, so, uh, after my campaign- or your game, whichever one ends first, just meet me by my car and we’ll go on from there. That sound like a plan, sweetheart?”

You could only muster a little “mhm” through your bitten lip before turning to the door. “Unless, of course, you’d like to stop by the game and actually see me cheer? I know there’s absolutely no way you’d actually rather play a nerdy little game surrounded by smelly props.” Eddie could visibly see your sarcasm oozing out of your teasing smile, and it truly made him battle his internal restraints to not run up and swoop you into his arms with a loving kiss. God, you were the one torturing him, and you had no clue in the world. 

He winced before pointing a stern finger at you. “Don’t make fun of me, sweetheart, you’ll make me lose all self-control, and there would be nothing stopping me from dropping down on my knees in front of you and-”

“Eddie!” You chastised with a flustered face of hot cheeks that had him dying of laughter with a shit-eating grin. 

“Oh!” He smiled, “By the way, my freshmen, way smellier than any props in here.”

Eddie Munson was truly a piece of work.

-

Your snotty sobs had deliquesced into the quiet hum of Eddie Munson’s shower, where hot water burned your skin, as it felt like a deemed punishment for what you had just put Eddie through. He had taken it upon himself to reclaim countless times that your visitation was something he welcomed with open arms, and to let out all that was needed for you to be okay, though his reassurance did little to distract you from obvious trauma dumping you just proliferated into his life. It was no different than Eddie Munson bawling his eyes out while his intoxicated mind spewed the pain and regret of his life, in fact, that may have been even more severe than what you had transpired, but it still didn’t derail you from the notion that crashing into him with all of your hurt couldn’t be well for his mental progress, and you loathed the idea of what you were doing to him.

When your tears had finally subsided into small whimpers, Eddie had still held you tightly in his grasp, processing the information of what your life had just turned to- probably thinking far more than you had been able to. 

“Look, I’m really sorry, Eddie, I don’t mean to-”

“Hey, sh, just take a minute, okay?” His hand continued to smooth down the back of your head.

Though, your rampaging thoughts were quickly manifesting into a jumble of words that were torpedoed out of your mouth. “No, really, Eddie, I’m sorry, I swear it’ll only be for the night, or I can leave if you want me to, I-I just- just- can we just be here for a minute?”

Eddie’s arm tightened around your waist, and his hand securely cradled the back of your head, where he just gently whispered, “of course,” into the air, and your arms finally linked themselves around his neck for the safest embrace either of you ever felt. 

Seven minutes had passed by with no interruptance to the peaceful quietness you and Eddie had cascaded between the both of you. Your tears had damped the warm skin of his neck into a sticky, itchy residue that had you wanting to pull back, yet you weren’t entirely ready to leave his body. And it was even more evident he had no plans of letting you leave, as his hands refused the budge from the firm hold they had against you. When you eventually made the decision to carefully move away, Eddie saw how the obliterating uncomfortableness you were currently suffering through: reddened eyes with humid skin that mixed terribly with your drowning tears and sweat from the spring mugginess of the night. Eddie had delicately brushed everything away from your hot face and neck, where he was finally able to see your beautiful face shining past the pain of your expressions. 

Being so exposed, you truthfully felt so gross. The moment of transparency, where you just stared at his concerned face that longed to keep you away from the troubles of the world, made you feel like an utter failure, because for once, you couldn’t solve your way out of a problem. No homework, quiz, test, or exam could amount to the complexity of mental and emotional health, and while you managed to keep your mind distracted from the issues of your life, your efforts ultimately could not lead you straight to being okay, and you felt like a failure.

“I’m sorry.” You harshly rubbed your eyes with a deep sniffle. “I’m such a mess, I don’t mean to drag you into this.”

“No, you’re not, honey please stop apologizing, everything is fine.” He cleaned your face with a heavy hand swiping your cheeks. “I want you here. I want you talking to me.”

With a trembling sigh, your sore voice croaked. “So it’s okay if I stay here- it’ll be just for one night, I promi-”

“Yes, of course, it’s okay.” He cut off your apologetic rambling, because even though you hadn’t explicitly spoken the words I’m sorry, he knew it was drenched in your cramped sentences. “But I’m gonna really need you to work with me here, sweetheart, and tell me if he laid his fuc- if he put his hands on you? Did he, baby?”

“No.” That was the succinct answer he needed to hear, and a small breath of relief washed over him for a second. “W-we, um, we just started yelling and-and got into this big fight, where I just screamed at him, you know, about everything, and t-then he just kept yelling back, and he got so angry.” You heaved heavily. “Eddie, I don’t have anywhere else to go, um, I-I’ll figure something out, I just- I really can’t go back there.”

“No, no, don’t go back.” He ran his hands over his face. “Please, just stay here as long as-”

“No, Eddie, I can’t do that to you or your uncle.” You pursed your lips with slumped shoulders, feeling awful for taking advantage of his living situation for your accommodation, but Eddie would be livid to hear you keep denying yourself safety.

“Stop, don’t even try it.” He firmly stopped you. “Just, for once, let me help you. You’ve done so much for me, you deserve to let me just fucking help you through this, sweetheart. Please.” You relented. There was no point in making this situation harder for yourself, and you desperately just wanted to have some tranquility in your life, and Eddie was offering the biggest hand to you. Closing your eyes, you just agreed to his loving aid with a soft nod of acceptance. You once laid your bed out for Eddie Munson when he was at his lowest, he’d be damned not to give you that in return. 

“What do you want right now? We can talk- or just, like, completely avoid it, but only for a little bit, don’t keep it inside, that’s what Ms. K said- oh, uh, food! Are you hungry? Have you eaten dinner yet? Maybe like a cup of water? I can order some food, you don’t really want me cooking anything, but I have like a shit ton of pretzels-”

“Is it okay if I shower?” You quietly interrupted.

It was hot, suffocatingly hot. The months of spring brought an awful draft inside trailers that were not equipped with the proper protection for the incoming heat wave that would engulf Hawkins, Indiana. When winter hit, freezing families bundled together dreaming of the day warmer weather would mitigate numb toes and shivering bodies, but when that dream would come, sticky skin of sweat and hot flashes that made it feel like you were burning in an oven made the poor civilians of Forest Hills Trailer Park yearn for winter to come back. Just stuck to suffer yearly.

And you were sweltering.

-

Twenty-Two Hours Prior

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Honestly, how crazy would it be for Eddie Munson to rub his Black Ice Little Tree air freshener onto his jacket to mask out any potential bad smell? It’s not like carried his cologne around with him at all times, let alone for dates he doesn’t even go on. Plus, he always wondered if that Old Spice smell was too much. Last time, he became oblivious as to how much he wore, and Gareth Emerson couldn’t stop the ongoing sneezes that occurred whenever had Eddie stepped within a two feet radius of the poor kid. Safe to say, Eddie Munson learned two sprits was enough. But he had only applied his cologne this morning, what if the smell was gone? What if he still terribly smelled like that cigarette he smoked just before Hellfire started? Or what if he smelled like the illegal greens that resided in his lunchbox, after having to spend an extra five minutes rolling joints for Naomi Rahman after she explicitly stated she thought his service came pre-rolled. He knew he should have charged her extra for the free labor. Shit, what about his breath? Was he going to kiss you today?! Were you going to kiss him today?! Does he even own chapstick? And his hair, how come it looked so frizzy in the murky reflection of his rear view mirror? Was it always this frizzy? Why the hell do people let him walk out of the house like this?! 

Eddie slumped back in the old seat of his van with a groan. This was going horrible- granted the date hadn’t even started, but still. He couldn’t do this. How are you even supposed to act on a first date? Shit! This is Eddie Munson’s first ever date with a girl- a gorgeous girl- the most beautiful fucking girl he’s ever seen for crying out loud! How the hell do people do this so casually? You were probably cool as ever.

“Oh, my god, Chrissy help me! I'm freaking out over here!” As much as you’d like to scream, your devices only left you whispering fervently, as you and Chrissy Cunningham had snuck away into the corner of the locker room, where your cheer bag had been precisely fitted with three pairs of earrings, two necklaces, two pairs of shoes, and three dresses; however, despite being intricately picked for the sole reason that they were the best dresses you owned, you began hating them upon closer inspection. It’s lovely how the mind works, isn’t it?

“Would you relax?” Chrissy huffed, shoving her frayed bangs away from her eyes. “You’re stressing me out, and I’m not even going on the date. And it’s not like this is going to be your first, you’ve been out plenty of times.”

“Three.” You sternly corrected, with the high wedges in your hands acting like a scolding finger, as you pointed them towards your friend. “Three is not plenty. And as if I cared what those guys’ thought, this is Eddie. He, I actually do care about.”

“Aw, that’s so cute.” She giddied out a squeal, which could only be met with your eye roll. “No, but seriously, Y/N, it’s Eddie, you know he’s, like, totally obsessed with you, I don’t think he really cares about what you’re going to wear.”

An underlying “I know” was spoken into your sigh, as you put down the shoes, and simply looked at everything laid out on the old locker room bench. “So,” you took a deep breath, “any of these will be fine for the Hideout?”

“Wait,” Chrissy’s eyebrows raised into her forehead, “you’re going to the Hideout? Why’d you bring heels? That place is totally, like, a rundown-beer-old man kinda place. Not a heels and dress type.” She stressed. 

Just when you were beginning to calm down... “Well, how was I supposed to know?!” Came the whisper yelling. “I’ve never been! How do you even know?!”

“That’s where Jason and Andy always bought their booze from for parties. The owner is totally like this desperate guy who always wants money, and, well, he sold so they bought.” She quickly explained, groaning at the memories of having to sit in the back seat with the numerous boxes of cheap beer, because Jason Carver was that much of a douche he made his girlfriend move to the back for his friend to claim the front. “But, anyways, just wear your cheer shoes, it’ll still look cute with your dresses, especially the green sundress one.”

“But my sneakers are so scuffed up, they’ll look messy.” You whined. If only Eddie Munson knew how much thought you were putting in just to see him. He would think it was so cute.

You were then met with a Chrissy Cunningham deadpan that had you snapping back to reality. “Y/N, get real, Eddie’s probably wearing that t-shirt he doodled on with markers. I highly doubt he’ll judge you for a scuff mark on your shoe.”

Eddie Munson’s wristwatch ticked at 10:25 p.m. The last straggle of students, teachers, and town goers were slowly evacuating the emptying parking lot, as the numerous cars prompted the small bit of traffic that would occasionally occur in Hawkins that wasn’t directly correlated to the Fourth of July Fair. With the tiniest bit of a pep talk that honestly made him feel a little lame, Eddie exhaled deeply before making his way out of the car. Four weeks ago, Eddie had walked in on Dustin Henderson intently watching “Sixteen Candles” in the comfort of his own living, after Hellfire’s designated room got invaded by a bombardment of paint cans and set designs for Ms. Kathey’s drama club, insisting that her “Our Town crisis” was far greater than any campaign Eddie’s club had to host. Wanting the brownie points, Dustin took it upon himself to impress his Dungeon Master by proffering his house as an alternative, though when Dustin had muttered the words “mi casa es tu casa” he hadn’t anticipated Eddie Munson to just meander in without a warranted knock, leaving the kid vulnerable with his movie playing loudly in the background. Now, Eddie Munson was still a proudly proclaimed asshole back then, so the situation gave him great leeway to blackmail the freshman into doing his dirty work- by that, he meant his science homework. But now, there was no science homework, and Eddie Munson was instead trying to replay the foggy memory that was Jake Ryan leaning against his red car in the coolest fashion, as Samantha Baker stared in awe. He wanted you to stare at him in awe. He wanted to be cool. With the exception of the cool sports car and confidence, of course. 

But when the back doors of the gymnasium had opened and the harsh light of the beaming lamp post illuminated your figure upon entrance, Eddie Munson had been apotheosized. Long gone was the air in lungs, as when his eyes landed on you, it felt like a sucker punch to his stomach, and any confidence he was trying to willed by mimicking the acts of Jake Ryan had abruptly slipped his mind, and Eddie began fidgeting in place. Chrissy Cunningham had completely gone unbeknownst to Eddie as she waved you goodbye, the janitor, Charlie, who was currently dumping a barrage of trash from the gym was left unnoticed by Eddie, everything- every little thing that wasn’t you didn’t matter in this instance. 

Just you.

You had shyly approached him with a soft smile to your lip that had Eddie’s heart fluttering in his chest. “Hi.” That simple greeting was enough for Eddie Munson to officially say goodbye to the conviction he once held when he flirted with you just yesterday. 

How you were able to fuel his charm with giddiness one day, and then have him melting into a puddled state of flusters the next day was beyond the knowledge of modern science.

“H-Hi.” His voice rasped into the night air, which had you softly giggling. 

“Um, I hope this is alright?” You smoothed down the creases of your dress. “I didn’t know- uh, is this appropriate for, like, the Hideout?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry.” He cleared his throat, eyes following your body up and down, before reverting back to your eyes out of respect. “You’ll totally be, like, the prettiest girl who’s ever walked in there- well, I mean, way more than pretty,” he awkwardly corrected, “because, um, you look r-really beautiful. You are really beautiful, Y/N.”

Your eyes had lit up and twinkled under the night sky. Briefly looking away to compose the ever growing smile on your face, you finally peered up at him. “Thank you, Eddie.” You delicately spoke, following suit of eyeing him. “You’re really beautiful, too, you know?”

Unfortunately—or very fortunately for your entertainment—Eddie had sucked in a deep breath, far bigger than he had anticipated, out of shock from the words he just heard, leading him to hurtle into a fit of uncontrolled coughing. “Sorry!” *cough* “Don’t know what’s wrong with me.” *cough*

“Are you okay?” You laughed, your hand gently being placed onto his chest with small rubs to ease his derailment. 

“Totally your fault.” *cough* “Why do you have to be so- ugh!” Eddie heaved, as his back straightened, and the clearing of his throat helped alleviate his little fit. But how could someone blame him in the first place? Not once, in the twenty years that Eddie Munson had been alive, has he ever heard someone call him beautiful. It was the great juxtaposition of Eddie’s life, because that’s what society told him. Eddie Munson was far from beautiful. Freak. Criminal. Errant. Disgrace. What would be so wrong with believing the town’s word, that he really was everything terrible in the world? They believed, so he believed it. Eddie Munson spent the entirety of his childhood wondering where he went wrong to continue to be degraded, and then turned his early adulthood into becoming those things, because why try to change the people’s opinion. It was already cemented into the books. Eddie Munson was a shame.

And you had just casually waltzed into his life and ruined that. Ruined his pessimistic beliefs. Ruined is cynicism. Completely ruined the agenda placed against Eddie Munson, because, for once, someone outside of his personal friends and family wanted him.

You wanted him. And in the Munson Doctrine, the newly indicted rule states your word triumphs all. Because you gave him meaning. You gave him a chance. For redemption. For love feelings. For everything. 

“My fault? I have no clue what you mean by that.” You giggled against his blushing state. “But you’re lucky I didn’t have time to call you sexy before your little aneurysm. I was totally ready to sneak that one in there-”

“Okay!” Eddie clapped his hands to cut you off. “You are trouble. Into the car, before you fucking kill me out here.” He left the last part to quietly fuse into the night sky with mumbling lips.

Eddie Munson’s hand had lingered on the small of your back, where he guided you to the passenger side of his car, and opened his chariot for your voyage (his words). Your cheer bag had found the floor of the back side of his van, where remnants of trash you once saw when Eddie Munson graciously stole you away from your house as per your request still nestled in the same spot they were once discarded. Eddie was quick to appear on the driver's side, and his van lit up with the last bit of life it had within her, where he began trailing behind the last of students leaving Hawkins High.

Eddie Munson was going on his first date ever. 

“Wait, stop, go back.” Eddie’s finger halted on the knob of his radio, ending his knit-picking ministries of finding the perfect channel for his music taste. It was always a mystery why he continued this routine. Eddie knew anything from the local channels would never play his preferred choices, but the procedure always developed the same: switch between channels, condemn the local radios, reach for whichever one of his tapes was closest. Except for tonight, of course, you interrupted his precious routine. “Go back, please.” You sang with the most satisfied smile, as Eddie—with his skeptical, squinted eyes—begrudgingly gave in, turning the knob ever so slightly to the left.

It was David fucking Bowie.

“Yay! I love his music! Keep it there.” You gushed, as his voice began drowning into the small atmosphere of Eddie’s van, and he, so predictably, protested your personal taste in music. 

“Nonononono.” His hand immediately reached back for the radio. “I am not losing you to some British dude with weird hair. Pass me my Sabbath tape.” Now, full transparency, Eddie truly could no care to bash your taste of music. In fact, he, himself, occasionally bobbed along to the voice Bowie every once in a while. It was just something about bickering with you that made his tummy tingle, that he just couldn’t help himself. He liked your little offended face.

You gasped an offended gasp, as your hand playfully smacked his away from the premises of the radio. “Um, excuse me, isn’t Ozzy Osbourne just another British guy with weird hair?” You giggled. 

“Woah, woah, woah, now, babe, you better choose your words wisely here, alright?” Eddie chortled. “He’s British metal, it’s the only acceptable form, this though…” he exaggeratedly grimaced, as the lyrics to “Changes” belted out from the speakers, “This is just lame.” He teased, while you dramatically scoffed. “Sounds like it belongs in some weird cartoon movie with, like, ogres and shit.”

You guffawed at the oddity of his opinion. “That’s literally right up your alley, sir. And, in my humble opinion, Mr. Dungeon Master, I believe orcs are far more lame.”

If it wasn’t for your presence in the vehicle, Eddie Munson would have swerved off the road and crashed into the nearest tree. His wide eyes and flushed cheeks swiftly met your laughing face, before distracting himself with the attention of the road, clearing his throat to prevent the impending cough that was inevitable ever since he met you. Your name calling was now sparking another tingling feeling inside him. “You… ugh,” Eddie grinned with red cheeks, “You are trouble.” He bit his lip, as he just took in the sight of your head falling back with laughter. God, you were so comfortable. So comfortable with him. “And for your information, orcs are not lame, in fact, because you said that, I’m changing this terrible song-”

“No!” Your hand had seized his, fingers lacing tightly to prevent his movements, and you locked your entangled hands into the soft plush of your thighs. Eddie Munson’s mouth fell agape. You really were trouble.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll do whatever you say.” He rushingly mumbled out for your amusement. 

“Just enjoy the song, Eddie.” Your thumb caressed his hand, and you felt him tighten his hold on you. “Expand your horizon, and I promise to listen to all the screaming men you want me to.” You turned up the song, but Eddie didn’t have the heart to protest your want. Not when you looked so damn perfect enthusiastically singing your heart out, with your hand in his, with his skin grazing your thigh, with you in the front seat of his car, where he could picture you sitting to the end of time, because it looked so natural.

You and Eddie Munson were natural.  

Chrissy Cunningham had entirely been correct. For the past twenty years since its start up, the Hideout had indefinitely established itself as a rundown-beer-old man-kinda-place. There had been a reason why Jason Carver was so insistent with Chrissy Cunningham staying in the car during their retrieval for cheap beer. Eddie Munson had soon fallen to regret ever bringing you here. Unabashed stares from men had been glued to you the second you and Eddie had made your presence known within the bar. Eddie had wished they were merely targeted at him for the simple reason that the regular goers were shocked to see the metalhead, who dedicated his Tuesday nights playing loud music on the stage, with a pretty girl who they deemed to be out of his league. But it would be stupid to think of that, when the stares had obviously been directed to the young girl in a pretty dress, someone these men had grossly dreamed of. Eddie had attempted to shield you from the many perversions aimed against you, as he directed you to a table farthest away from the small crowd that lingered at the bar. 

He felt like a complete asshole when he watched you coil into yourself, arms cramping over your tummy once you situated yourself onto the rustic chair. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Eddie had leaned in to immediately apologize. “I should’ve put more thought into this, I just couldn’t afford anything like Enzo’s, but we can absolutely leave if you want.”

“No, no.” You assured him with a small smile. “If this is the place you like going to, I want to enjoy it with you, too.”

“You…” His head dropped in disbelief at the person you were- at the person he got to experience this moment with. “You’re too fucking nice to me, sweetheart.” He sighed. “Really, let’s leave if these assholes are making you uncomfortable.”

But you had sternly shaken your head. “I don’t know when it’ll be the next time we get to hang out like this. I don’t want to let anyone ruin our night, Eddie. I-It’s okay.”

Eddie could see right through your smile. You were devastatingly uncomfortable, but your words held so much truth, you genuinely did not want to leave, sacrificing your consolation for a special moment with Eddie. Because this was your chance- your opportunity to be with one another, and given the hardships of reality, who knew when something like this could be offered to you and Eddie again. 

He had immediately shrugged off his jacket, passing the heaviness of leather and denim over your shoulders for you to take lead in letting your arms get swallowed by the sleeve. “Take this, princess, at least.”

You adjusted his jacket around you, before sitting up and beaming at him. “How do I look?” You rhetorically spoke with a giggle.

Eddie Munson was about to cry. His fist clenched tightly out of sight beneath the table, and he blinked harshly to get rid of the invading tears that were about to come forth. Why did he have to react like this? What were you doing this to him? Why did you have to give him the time of day after everything he’s put you through? The sight of you- your hair, complementing the perfection of your features, because you meticulously styled it flawlessly just for him; your eyes, sparkling in the low light of the bar with such happiness, because you were looking at him; your cheeks, plumping with such liveliness, because your alluring lips were curled into a heavenly smile, because of him. Eddie Munson wasn’t deserving of good things, so why the hell were you opening your arms to him? Accept it, accept it, accept it, he forced himself as a reminder. Accept your care. Accept your passion. Accept your love feelings. You were putting your life at risk wearing the jacket that branded Eddie Munson. But you were doing it with the greatest smile he’s ever seen. 

You wanted him- you wanted Eddie Munson.

“You look beautiful, Y/N.”

Your lips folded within themselves to contain your beaming smile. “You’ve already said that.”

“Because it’s true.” He spoke with such conviction.

Your hand snaked under the table, where you met his tense fist, but your delicate fingertips ignited them to unfold and relax with comfort, where fingers just mindlessly played with one another. “Thank you, Eddie. And thank you for asking me out… first, at least.” You giggled. “You know, before you held me against my will to ask you out?”

Eddie let out a guttural laugh. “What are you talking about, princess? You practically hunted me down and begged me- no, pleaded with me to just finally take you out. I’m just for the food, of course.”

“As if.” You scoffed with a playful roll to your eyes. “But, you know, now that you mentioned it, I am desperately hungry for food. What is there to feed me?”

“Alright, Ms. Y/L/N, this fine establishment offers us some very stale nachos-”

“Sounds delicious.”

“Some burgers made with the fakest of meat, and just drenched in grease from a stove that’s never been cleaned-”

“Very appetizing.”

“And, of course, three-day-old cheese fries with, y’know, just a sprinkle of dust for flavor.”

“Ooh!” You perked. “That! I want cheese fries, please.”

“Then cheese fries she will get.” Eddie stood with a lingering chuckle, getting ready to place in your order. “You wanna pick your poison? I can get it for you.” He pointed towards the bar.

“Whiskey old fashioned.” You smiled confidently.

Eddie blinked back in surprise. “That really your usual?” He interrogated with a flabbergasted laugh.

“No, I’ve just always wanted to say that.” You giggled with amusement. “That’s what my dad and his friends say when they come over and invade his liquor cabinet. I’ve never drank before, so I’ll just have whatever is your favorite.”

Eddie Munson had instantly fallen back into his seat with a gaping mouth of shock. “Sweetheart, you let me bring you to a bar, and you don’t even drink?!”

You retaliated with a deadpan shot directly at him, and your hands finding your hips like a scolding mother. “Eddie, how hard is it to believe that I just really want to go anywhere with you, that I don’t care where it is?”

“Uh, very.” He answered too quickly. You could only laugh in return, gently smacking his bicep.

“Just go get my drink, please.” You failed to sternly convey, as your effusing voice spoke too bubbly to be austere. 

“I’d be a terrible influence to let you indulge in beer, and an even worse person for letting your first be from here. How about a soda?” He crooned affectionately.

But you, of course, protested so eloquently with crossed arms. “It’s never a bad thing to try new things.”

Bits of yellow liquid had toppled over the rim of the thick glass, as your cup of beer fell heavy against the wooden table with a loud clunk. Eddie stood smiling next to you, sliding the drink to be perfectly stationed in front of you. He had returned far quicker than you had anticipated. “Here you go, Evel Knievel, go crazy.” He jabbered, urging you with a nod to his head, as an act of support. Your round eyes peered through your lashes and connected with his. With a confident grip of the overly large cup, you brought the drink to your face, getting a whiff of something not too bad but not entirely pleasant, either. Possibly overestimating yourself, your lips engulfed a section of the rim and you happily accepted a hefty swig of the beer. Eddie looked down at you expectedly, because as he prophesied while ordering your beer, your nose had cutely scrunched into a multitude of creases, becoming the biggest telltale sign that you surely did not like it. Eddie had laughed but pitied you as if you were a lost puppy, “Aw, you want me to get you a soda, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please.” You grimaced, though ever so politely. 

“It’s okay, good thing I only got one, I figured you wouldn’t like it.” He chuckled, as he slid the beer over to his side, and brought the cup to his mouth, where his mouth rested upon the gloss stain of your lips. If this was the closest Eddie Munson would ever get to kissing you, he would take it. He gladly took a gulp with no reaction. You envied him. “I’m proud of you for at least tryin’ something you wanted, pretty girl.” He lovingly pinched your chin, before leaving to retrieve your soda.

-

Eddie’s pajamas felt soft in your hand. They were his finest pair—no holes, no stains, no loose threads—coming from the back of his dresser, because five months ago, Eddie had shrunk them in the dryer. Nothing too drastic, but they clung to his body in ways he was too uncomfortable with, and if a certain pair of pants or a t-shirt didn’t provide him the privilege to move about freely, the back of the dresser they went. But he honestly wasn’t kidding, they were his finest pair of pajamas. Entirely because they hadn’t been in Eddie Munson’s possession for too long to be worn to demise. And now they sat neatly folded on the toilet, awaiting to replace the soft towel that was wrapped around you tightly. 

It felt wrong. Having to leave your skin to dry out in the humid atmosphere of the Munson’s bathroom, as you truly left with nothing in your hands, but the clothes on your back and the shoes on your feet. Despite the shrinkage, his pajama pants had still managed to pool around your ankles, even with the stretchy waist clasping at your stomach at an appropriate height. And his t-shirt had been no different, sleeves long enough to get caught in the crease of your inner elbow if you ever chose to bend your arms. Dio, written boldly across and attended with an unsettling depiction of a creature to embody the tone of the album cover. You’d ask Eddie about it some other time. And he would gladly answer. 

Your hand had become coated with a warm layer of water, as it swept away the condensation pestering the hanging mirror. Red, your eyes had still been stained with the dreaded redness of tears and exhaustion. But at least, the last bit of hot water for the Munson’s managed to circulate your blood back to your drained face, and the tiniest sliver of liveliness could be detected if anyone chose to inspect close enough. Eddie Munson would be that person. He always had no problem staring at your face.

Turning the brass door knob, the waft of a cooler breeze from the trailer’s air conditioner cascaded goosebumps along your arms. It’s quiet. Your hands tightly clenched around your balled up pile of clothes, as you begin your slow movements to the kitchen. But the stove light continued to be the only thing keeping the kitchen company, as Eddie was still nowhere to be seen. The washer had been stationed to your left, where the clean clothes of Eddie and his uncle resided in a basket that had yet to be folded. Choosing to follow suit, your denim shorts were folded in half with delicacy, placed onto the metal washing machine, with your shirt joining soon after, ready to grab first thing in the morning. Because that was a promise you were holding, you were truly not ready to take up any more space in Eddie Munson’s life, not when he had his own issues to understand. He didn’t need yours as a cherry on top. Even if his persistence told you otherwise, that he’d have you living with him in a heartbeat. 

Hearing a muffled shuffle coming from the end of the hall, you paddled your way to the doorway of his bedroom, where Eddie had caught you through the creaking sound of his door opening up to your face.

“Hey, um, feelin’ a little better?” He finished up smoothing the wrinkles of the newly spread bedsheets, something he retrieved from the back of his closet. Though, they hadn’t shrunken. He honestly had just forgotten about them, until ten minutes ago. You nodded truthfully, the corner of your lips barely tugging upward, but enough to make your dry skin feel tight with the movement. “Um, oh, your room for tonight.” He opened his arms to showcase the myriad of posters that would be staring you down while you slept. “Clean sheets n’ everything. Hotel Munson, if you will, best service in town. Especially that continental breakfast, don’t miss it.”

That managed to turn your facade into a real smile. Something Eddie loved. “I can’t take your bed.” You spoke so quietly, someone could have thought you were whispering him a secret. “You’re already doing a lot by letting me stay here, Eddie.”

“No, please take it.” He walked up to you with an earnest voice. “Honestly, take anything- I’ll give you anything, Y/N, just please.”

You stared at him with longing eyes that just pulled at the string of his heart. “Will you sleep with me?” You sighed softly. 

Eddie Munson had fervently shaken his head with all purpose in the world. “I’ll give you anything, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Eddie. For everything.”

“You’re the only reason why I’m getting better, sweetheart. Thank you. I’m devoting my life to you.” He smiled solemnly at the breathy giggle he managed to squeeze out of you. Progress was progress, and this was the start. “Although, I checked, and I don’t have any ice cream here to help. But I can go to the store real quick-”

“Eddie, it’s okay.” You assured him with a tender hold of his forearm. “Really.”

“Okay.” Eddie accepted with a sigh. “Um, is it okay if we talk now? I don’t want you keepin’ anything to yourself, honey. I wanna hear your voice.” Eddie's hand had engulfed yours, urging you to follow his small steps to the made bed right behind him. He had dropped with ease, letting you stand between his spread legs, where his other hand had joined your united ones, and both sets of his fingers began toying with yours languidly. “Please.”

You slowly took up the empty space next to him. What was three inches of space closed to be touching thighs, when Eddie had snaked his arm to grasp onto your hip and pull you as close as possible. The worry of whether the move was a step over your boundaries had quickly dissipated in Eddie’s overthinking mind, as the close proximity had prompted you to lay your head comfortably on his muscular shoulder. 

But before Eddie could think of laying against your head in return, you had quickly chosen to turn your face to the wall where a large burgundy blanket had taken the place of an actual curtain over the window. It was behind him, where his back was turned to. Because you didn’t want Eddie Munson to see your face right now. You shielded away. And he would let you. As long as he got to hear your voice. 

“If I look at you I’ll start crying.” You quietly mumbled against his shoulder. Because you look at me with all the care in the world, and my father doesn't. 

“It’s okay, baby.” His lips fell onto the crown of your head and made no judgment to move, even long after his lips had already puckered to plant you a deserving kiss of compassion. “Take all the time you need.”

Come Monday afternoon, Eddie Munson would thank Ms. Kelly for guided lessons on how to be a therapist. Even if that was far from her intended goals with him. But as long as it was helping you, he’d facilitate his newfound skill. 

“Being with you, Eddie…” you took a deep breath,  “…you just make me realize so many things.” Both of your arms had bear hugged his bicep, keeping him as close as humanly possible. “My dad, I wish he would just get help from someone for me.” Like you did. “I wish he would get better for me.” Like you did. “I wish he would just care for me.” Like you did. “I told him. I told him everything. About what he’s done. How he treats me. How I feel. Everything, I finally said everything, Eddie.” Your voice began wavering with a stinging throat. Because even if you had chosen to peer away from Eddie’s sympathetic face, it wouldn’t steer you away from the hurt of losing everything you’ve ever known. “I stood up to him, Eddie.”

“I’m proud of you, baby.” He whispered into your head, his hand working to grab a caring hold of your thigh. “So fucking proud.” I wish I had the strength to do what you did when I was younger. 

But you had finally picked up your head and cried at him with glossy eyes and a frown so deep it felt like a knife in his chest. You harshly began shaking your head. “He yelled at me, Eddie. He screamed so much.” You began choking. “He didn’t want to hear about how I felt. Eddie, he was blaming me. Said it was my fault. For everything.” You agonized. 

“No, no, no, sweetheart, none of this is your fault, alright?” He cupped your hot cheeks securely in his hands. “None of it is. Don’t you dare listen to a word that asshole said, okay?”

“But, Eddie, he’s right.” You sobbed. “I just can’t- Eddie, I should have left you alone that night.” The club picture. Eddie couldn’t believe it. You were blaming yourself for everything that had occurred. You didn’t even have to verbalize it for Eddie to understand. He knew what was about to come out of your mouth. 

If I didn’t bother you, you would have lived your life. 

If I didn’t bother you, the school wouldn’t have been so disgusted with me. 

If I didn’t bother you, my dad wouldn’t have been so ashamed of me. 

Eddie Munson’s face had dropped stunned. So blankly, he just spoke, “Don’t fucking say another word, Y/N.” And maybe that had come out far harsher than anticipated, but he had indicated it with such love, he honestly didn’t care. Eddie Munson wasn’t going to tolerate another hateful word to be said about you. It was the reason Jason Carver still sported a faded yellow bruise on his cheek. It was the reason why he spent hours killing himself over the nasty words he once screamed at you. Eddie Munson wouldn’t dare be alive to hear you speak horribly about yourself. The men in your life had already terribly decided to do that to someone so far from deserving it. Including him. And processing the horrid regret of feeling appalled by his actions, he was going to be the first to understand that hearing these words come from yourself was going to hurt ten times worse. For him. But especially for you. The rage coursing through his body, he was desperately trying to handle it. But someone was hurting you. And Eddie Munson was fighting all restraints to not end up with a murder charge by the end of the night. “If you sit there and tell me straight to my face that he made you believe any of this was your fault, I’m killing him.”

You sat still, blanking your round eyes at him in disbelief. Though jarring, his words- his entire shift in demeanor had snapped some sense into you. Because you believed him. Everything he had just uttered came with a harsh truth. How Eddie had managed to speak the scariest words, yet so clearly convey his adoration for you was truly unbeknownst. To you. To anyone. But not to Eddie. No, because Eddie was beginning to understand his feelings for you were drilling deeper and deeper to the point where he’d jump to any matter to protect you. He would have done anything to go back in time and confess it to you the moment he first spoke to you. But it was too late. And now, all he could do was devote his life to you. Just like he said. It wasn’t a joke. 

So, you whispered, “It wasn’t my fault.”

“Do you believe that?” His eyes frantically scanned yours in search of certainty. “Because everything that's happened has been my fault, sweetheart. Not yours. And I need you to understand that. Do you?” His words were so firm, it felt like a parent lecturing a child. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you that first day in the cafeteria. I shouldn’t have been an asshole the night you took my picture. I shouldn’t have crossed the line when it came to Jason. I shouldn’t have called you those disgusting names. And I shouldn’t have fucking scared you, and dumped all my bullshit problems onto you.” Eddie’s eyes were beginning to burn with a gloss coat of tears, but his face remained stoic, not wanting to deter you from the purpose of his words just because of his emotions. Because he knew you would. Eddie Munson knew you cared about him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, and I’m so fucking sorry every piece of shit person in this fucking town has blamed you for my mistakes, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Ed-”

“No. Don’t fucking make yourself believe that it’s okay.” He pleaded. “It’s not. None of it is. I know you’re happy that I’m getting help, I am, too, but if there’s any part of you that still hates me, then hate me, Y/N. That’s okay. It’s okay to be fucking angry and sad about everything me and everyone else put you through. You don’t have to be this selfless person who excuses everything that’s ever been done to you for the sake of normalcy, sweetheart. Don’t fucking do that to yourself. Be mad at me. Be mad at your shit excuse of a father. Be mad at fucking everybody. You deserve to have your feelings heard. And if your dad isn’t going to be the fucking one to do, I will. I swear I will, princess.” He swore with all urgency. “But only if you want me to.” Eddie huffed, as he longed into your sorrowful eyes, and cemented his proposition.  “You’re going to sit here and tell me if you want me to make it up to you. I don’t care if we’ve already been on a date, none of that matters, except how you truly feel. It’s your choice. You get to decide. You choose.”

Eddie Munson had laid out his cards. For once, the decisions of your life were in your hands. Not your father’s. Not anyone’s, but yours. And maybe that was the entire reason as to why you took Hellfire’s picture in the first place. Everyone had made their decisions about Eddie Munson and his friends. Exclusion. Ostracism. Rejection. Everything had been chosen for them. Eddie Munson’s life and character had already been set in stone by the people of Hawkins, Indiana. And you had recognized it when Principal Higgins made his decisions. So you took back that power. You disobeyed the expectations of a small-minded town that bred conservatism and conformity. You made your choice. You took his picture. You did what was right. Everything that has happened has been a result of you making your own choices. No one likes when a teenage girl is capable of breaking the decisions that have been set for her. Because that makes her a powerful woman. 

That makes her you.

So you made your decision. Firmly. “I want you to make it up to me.”

And Eddie Munson accepted it. “I will.” He so effortlessly agreed. “Now, c’mere.”

Eddie had taken a hold of your legs, and moved them around his waist, where your body crumbled into his lap, arms holding on for dear life around his neck. He moved until his back uncomfortably hit the frameless wall, where lumpy pillows only gave him support, but Eddie Munson wouldn’t dare to move. This was him listening. A large hand splayed across the canvas of your back to sooth, and another keeping your head secured in the solace of his neck. This was him making it up to you. Because though you weren’t speaking, your cries were articulating the anger you bottled. “I hate him. I hate him” You choked. 

This was your power. And Eddie Munson was accepting it with loving arms.

-

Nineteen Hours Prior

You’d been laughing for nearly three hours. 

Eddie Munson’s bottom was beginning to feel the numbing sensation of his ass giving out for having been sat for too long. But he couldn’t leave. He didn’t want to. Not when you were uncontrollably laughing at the stupid jokes he made, because he was bringing joy to your life. And it was a real laugh. Not a cute one that would be gently let out for fear of being judged for having experienced pure happiness. No, you were being loud. And sincere. And Eddie Munson loved hearing it. 

“That’s so not fair.” You whined finishing the last bit of cheese fries that stained the lined parchment paper with grease within the basket of stray fries—all too small and soggy to be enjoyed. And there was no dust. “You can’t just casually mention you turn up this place with your five fans cheering you on.”

Eddie had, of course, playfully exaggerated the weekly experience. When asked about Corroded Coffin, he had put on his bravado act, one like the most famous rockstars do during interviews in Hollywood, and braggingly told you how crazy the local five drunks act upon their arrival. “I mean, I’m a total smokeshow, babe, can you blame ‘em? Autographs, pictures, I even have groupies lining up at our tour bus.” Eddie Munson loved making you laugh. 

“What do you mean I can’t mention it, you’re the one that asked about it?” He crooned, as he took a large gulp of the water he ordered after he downed the beer you had discovered to hate. 

‘Well, yeah, but you’re just rubbing it in my face.” You laughed. “I’m bound to my room, I’ll never get a chance to see the Corroded Coffin live. I wanna be the sixth drunk to come watch you perform- well, with my soda that is.”

God, you were too fucking cute. “Don’t worry, baby, I got my sweetheart back home, I’ll bust her out one day for a personal live show from yours truly. She’ll love you.”

“Mh, feel like I’m meeting the parents.” 

Eddie’s face scrunched with a wince. “You don’t wanna meet my parents, babe.” He chuckled. “Everything that’s wrong with me is because of them.” Sometimes if he laughed about it, he’d forget how much the truth hurt. “But, uh, Ms. K, said I shouldn’t think like that- think that I’m like them, y’know?”

You nod your head to affirm him. It’s true. Eddie’s not like them. Even if you’ll never meet them. You know he’s not like them. “Do you believe that?” You quietly asked.

The tone of the night has shifted. “Tryin’ to.” He concisely answered. “I mean, every time I looked in the mirror all I saw was my old man, been thinkin’ I was like him for the last ten years of my life, so it’s not easy to just forget it, but I’m workin’ on it.” There was a small lingering smile on his lips by the end of the sentence. He was proud. Proud of himself. You could tell. 

“That’s good, Eddie.” You softly spoke with a caring smile to let it cement that you, too, were proud of the person Eddie Munson was becoming. “I also feel like I’m like my dad- well, actually I kinda just know I am.”

Eddie didn’t speak for a second. His hand had managed to sneak under your stool, where he had taken a hold of your cushioned seat—torn with its years of usage—and pulled you close until the legs of your chair screeched their way against sticky wood tiles that covered the floor and finally hit his chair with a clank. You were close. “I don’t know if you’re aware, sweetheart, but you’ve never chased me out of your house with murder on your mind.” And luckily his comment was lighthearted enough to keep you at ease with your underlying feelings, providing you laughter where you would usually cry. “I don’t think you’re like your dad, honey. Not even in the slightest bit.” He whispered closely to your face.

And surely, a smile was on your face. Not because this was a topic you loved to rave about, but for the mere fact that you wanted to tell Eddie. You felt comfortable- safe with Eddie. You wanted him to know your secrets, one you hadn’t even told Chrissy Cunningham. “I have a little brother.”

In retrospect, it had been an odd thing to simply blurt out in the midst of a semi-serious conversation, so you didn’t find blame in Eddie when he squinted at you with confusion. But out of respect to you, and with no judgment ahead, he chose to follow suit. “Oh, uh, I didn’t know you did.” 

“I didn’t either, until about two years ago when my cousin, Cassidy, told me.” You admitted, a tight lip smile being the only readable tell to your face. And with a heavy sigh puffing out of your cheeks, you had continued. “She, uh, she said his name is Levi, which I thought was pretty cute. And then eight months ago, my cousin also told me that my mom just had twin girls. Jasmine and Maddy. I know their names, but I don’t think they know mine.” Comprehension was quick on Eddie’s part, as it didn’t take a rocket scientist to dissect your words. Your mother had abandoned you. Started another family. “I’ve always felt like I was too much like my dad- too much of a perfectionist, too focused on work, that I just reminded her of him. It was probably why she didn’t bother coming back for me.”

And Eddie heard it. The small crack in your voice when you finished speaking. You were stopping yourself from explaining any further, because the thrush of abandonment was crashing into you at full speed, and you didn’t want to cry on your first date with Eddie. It was why you took the last sip of your drink as a distraction. It was why your eyes averted away from his gentle gaze and willed all strength to focus on the American flag that was nailed onto the wall above the bar, so your eyes could be strong enough not to bawl. 

But then you felt the warm metal of Eddie Munson’s rings touch the skin of your knee, before the rest of his hand followed soon after to hold a tight grasp of your body. Of course, you looked back at him. How could you not? “Y’know, you’re pretty fucking incredible, Y/N?” He spoke with a profound smile to his face that personified all his adoration for you. “You’re quite literally the smartest person I know, and I know Henderson, sweetheart- but don’t tell that little shit I think highly of him, it’ll get to his already big head.” Eddie smiled, as he watched your frown develop into a giggle he could listen to forever. “And you’re so fucking nice. Like the sweetest thing on this planet. Got such a kind heart, taking that photo of my club, putting us in the yearbook, having the patience for everyone, and…” His eyes burned into yours, as his heavy hand squeezed your knee, “…giving me a second chance when I sure as hell don’t deserve one. Don’t waste your time wallowing on the idea that you could be him. You’re not, sweetheart. And you know it. I was dumb enough to start acting like my old man, but luckily a pretty, little thing whipped me right into shape.” Your blood had circulated to your cheeks, and he could definitively see the effect his words had on you. He was grinning ear to ear. God, how you hated Eddie Munson. “And because of her, I’m not rotting in a jail cell like he is. And I sure as hell won’t be, either. You’ve got too much kindness in your heart, you’re nothing like you dad, baby. Just because you came from him, doesn’t mean you are him. And you’re much smarter than me, sweetheart, so I’m sure that beautiful brain of yours will figure it out faster than I did. You are nothing like your dad, Y/N.”

And you accepted his words with certainty, letting them play on your mind as a reminder that Eddie Munson didn’t see you as everyone else did. There was a time he did, but he’s learned. You’re far greater than the expectation placed upon you by everyone else. You were spectacular in the eyes of Eddie Munson. 

“Eddie,” his name lingered on your tongue for a bit, “um, your dad’s in jail?”

Eddie nodded. And then, he told you everything. 

On the night of January 1st, a mere hour into the new year of 1976, the Munson family had spent their holidays in the cold, sterile atmosphere of Hawkins General Hospital. Eddie Munson, innocent to it all, was supposed to hit double digits that year. Exciting, it was all he could rave about on the way to Aunt Shirley’s house. Something in Eddie Munson’s tiny mind had proffered the idea that turning ten meant he was a man. Someone who was strong, and could grow muscles overnight, and used their strength to fight. A real man. Fight like his daddy… fight his daddy. He was ready for it. But the older Munson, as it typically occurred, had fallen under the influence after he stationed himself amongst the other men of the family around a cooler of beer that was empty by the time the clock struck twelve. Eddie’s mother had been insistent on driving. But when she asked for the keys, his father had made a big show of how a woman oughta learn to stay in her place, and humiliated enough, she didn’t try again. No one stopped him. No one said anything. Then the arguing began in the car. Icy roads and intoxication was a death sentence that the Munson family would learn devastatingly quickly. Eddie remembered nothing of that night except for the last scene that played in his head: his tiny soon-to-be-man hands gripping tightly the worn seat belt, with fear wracking through his small body, as daddy was swerving into the wrong lane. But it was the stop sign that changed everything. Passed with no regards, a pick-up truck had collided into the passenger side. His mother’s side. It was five hours later when Eddie Munson had woken up with a gentle tap on his shoulder. “You okay, boy?”

Uncle Wayne. “Where’s mom?”

At the very least, it was quick. Pronounced on scene. The agony of her life wouldn’t have to continue any longer. “She said you could have a couple sleepovers at mine. How’s that sound?”

Arriving at 10:43 p.m, Eddie Munson hadn’t anticipated keeping you around until 1:30 in the morning. But that was the beauty of it all, wasn’t it? Laughing about the miniscule things in life, sharing interests that drastically revealed how different you were—he was dark, you were light—and confiding about the scariness of childhood that should have been happiness, like little children sharing secrets on the playground. Much to Eddie’s dismay, you began organizing the table, stacking cups with bits of residing beer, soda, and water; stealing napkins to dust off crumbs and soak up water rings; and finishing it off with throwing the numerous balls of paper into the empty basket of what was cheese fries. You were ready to go. And Eddie couldn’t blame you. You had just cheered through an entire basketball game, he should have considered the exhaustion you were fighting against just to see him. But you’re not entirely done with your moment with Eddie. It’s not likely you’ll have another one given your circumstance. 

Standing from your seat, you secured his jacket around you. “Ready to go to your place?”

You always found it amusing how your words could make his eyes bulge, just as they’re doing right now. This may have been Eddie’s first rodeo into the world of first dates, but he wasn’t oblivious to the actions that occurred after the date. In fact, he may have even rented a couple “movies” that followed the same plotline. And they always seemed to end the same way. 

“W-what? Uh- I, um, what?”

“Your place.” You reiterated with a teasing smile. “That’s where you said your sweetheart currently is, and well, I’m pretty sure I was promised a personal live show.

“O-oh, right.” He swallowed thickly. Eddie Munson felt like an ass for having his blood begin to circulate to a particular area of his body, when all you wanted was to hear him play. But also, could you blame him? He didn’t know what he was doing. “Um, you wanna hear me play?”

“Of course!” You beamed brightly. “Like I said, Eddie, there’s a lock outside of my bedroom door bounding me to my room. By the time I leave, you’ll probably be off giving actual autographs, and taking photos, with a long line of groupies waiting for you. You’ll forget about me then. And I want my show now.” 

You were insane. Eddie Munson could never forget about you. Not even if he wanted to. Not even if he tried. You were burned into his mind for life. Just like he wanted. 

Eddie wouldn’t know it unless he asked, but his assumption landed on the fixation that this was probably the first time you’d ever cruised down Mulberry Street to get to Forest Hills Trailer Park. I mean, genuinely, what reason would someone like you ever have coming down to this side of town? But Eddie stopped himself. He shouldn’t think like that. Still, the fear of judgment plagued his mind, as he anxiously took numerous glances to see your face- see your reaction. Because driving down Mulberry Street, there were no meticulously planted trees of uniform formation, but rather invasive species of plants and weeds that suffocated the dark woods. Where a sophisticated sign—lined with an array of beautiful rose bushes, and a bright light that spotlighted the fancy lettering of Pinecrest Acres—named your neighborhood, Forest Hills got nothing, only accounting for rusted trailers and dirt roads that the townspeople would use as an indicator for where you ranked in reputation. Apparently to the civilians of Hawkins, Indiana, poverty shunned you away from the title of an All American Perfect Community. 

But everytime Eddie had briefly gazed at your face, he was met with a small smile of bubbling excitement to the point where your teeth had sunk into your reddening lip for the majority of the car ride over. You seemed too occupied trying to find the perfect rhythm to head bop to the songs Eddie had chosen for the departure from the Hideout—especially after the whole Bowie debacle—to focus on the evident income gap between the two of you. Or, you simply did not care. Either way, Eddie liked both options. And truthfully, you were having a hard time head bopping to the blaring voices of Iron Maiden. One day, Eddie Munson would teach you how to properly head bang, and you would complain of getting a headache, but for now, you were simply arriving at his humble home for what would be the first of many times.

Eddie had huffed out a lung to reach your door before you could. Actually, you saw him ferociously sprinting, and slowed your movements for his awaited opportunity. And you’re glad you did. Because when Eddie opened the door for you, he met you with a beaming smile of proudness for his gentlemanly actions. “M’lady.” He offered his ringed hand. “This is my, uh, castle.” He showcased his trailer with a sarcastic chortle of amusement to the reality that his home was far from a castle, and surely you could see that in the flickering blue light of the wooden lamppost. 

“Thank you for bringing me, kind sir.” No grimace. No scowl. No look of disgust. You genuinely did not care for the elephant in the room. 

Of course, you wouldn’t. Eddie knows the kind of person you are. 

The creaking screen door was held open by the expanse of Eddie’s back, as he worked the house key of his crowded keychain into the doorknob of the front door. And upon the first step inside, you were inundated by the warmth of a cozy home, the snug smells of carpet and blankets infused by the obvious smell of lingering cigarettes, and glowing by golden lights of shaded table lamps. Had you spoken about it, Eddie Munson would have learned you envied his home. Because that’s what it felt like. A home. One where you could tell he had a lot of laughs over meals with the closest he cared for. Your house was like a museum. It’d been three years since you and your father ate at the dinner table together. And it was cold. He liked it cold. You were yelled at for touching the thermostat in search of warmth in an empty house. 

“Sorry, uh, maid took off.” He made a quick round disposing of the trash that decorated countertops. 

“Do you live alone, Eddie?”

“Uh, nah, my Uncle Wayne, remember I told you about him? It’s his place. But he works night shifts at the plant, so, yeah.” He smiled, standing by the trash can with his hands at his hips, watching your eyes circle around living space. Again, no judgment in sight.

“You guys have a lot of mugs.” You giggled, taking a minor step forward to peer at the array of colorful ceramics displayed by the handles with proudness. 

“Yeah, Wayne used to hit the interstates as a trucker, had a thing for hats and mugs. Used to take the piss out of him by just getting him more.” Eddie chuckles. “But then he started expecting them, so now the old man’s got a lifetime supply comin’.” 

Your heart warmed at the sentiment. “Which is his favorite? Yours?”

Eddie’s heart warmed at the question. “I gotta Garfield cup. He’s got an Odie one.” You wanted to learn about his uncle’s favorite. Eddie would one day eventually tell you over breakfast that he actually hates the taste of coffee, but doesn’t start his day without a cup full of that Garfield mug. Something about drinking coffee made him feel like an actual adult. Granted, he was still consuming it out of a cartoon character mug, but the irony is what made Eddie Munson so special. Because he still hadn’t catched on, and asked why that was so funny. A grown man wanting to feel like an adult by drinking coffee out of a Garfield mug.

“Aw, like the bobblehead in your car! You guys must really like Garfield.” God, you remembered. 

“It’s the one thing I would watch when I first moved in with him.” Eddie laughed at the memories. A lazy cat who was enthused about hot lasagna was wonderfully able to ease the pain of his life circumstances. Of course, Uncle Wayne would continue to put it on. 

You slowly walked up to Eddie with an endearing smile. “That’s really cute. I’m glad your uncle is a good guy.” Not a lot of people were in either of your lives. It was an unfortunate thing to be grateful for. But you were. And so was he. 

“He is.” Eddie nodded with a gentle smile. “Gave up his room for me.” He jerked his head to signal down the hall.

And gave him that sweet giggle that melted his worries away. “Is that an invitation?”

“C’mon, sweetheart.” He ardently agreed, as his hand entwined with yours and led you to his bedroom. 

And if Eddie Munson could be objectified as an element of interior design, his room would be the most fitting aesthetic for the Munson persona he loved to flaunt around. Though, if you ever told him that, he’d just laugh and say it was a standard metalhead’s room. But you liked the way you thought of it. How every poster—the ones you would admit were kinda scary, and he’d tease you about it—or clutter of amps and wires amongst the heaps of dirty or clean clothes were personalized to Eddie Munson and unique to his taste, even if it was typical in company with the scene he followed. 

And then you saw it. “Ooh!”

“Wait! Don’t touch her- it.” 

Fingers mid air, you stopped and turned around to face Eddie, who stood with a cringed face that was heavily targeted at himself. “Her?” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Eddie caught up to where you stood in front of his desk, taking the hand you were about to use to touch his precious guitar, and holding it firmly within his grasp. “No one touches the guitar unless it’s me- or unless you’re worthy.” He declared. 

“Worthy? Who are you, Thor?” You teased right in his face, that had him scoffing and rolling his eyes. 

“No.” Eddie childishly snided in your face. “It’s just that- wait, you read Marvel Comics?” His head tilted back, face churning with suspicion, as he eyed you. 

Now, it was your turn to snide at him, “No.”

Eddie laughed in your face unabashedly. “Oh, you so totally do, sweetheart.” He giggled. “Nerd.”

“Oh, whatever.” You crossed your arms with sass. “It was a long time ago, and they were my dad’s collection. It’s not like I roleplay practicing alchemy with my little gaggle of friends.”

Eddie Munson winced for you. “At least I have friends.” Your mouth dropped in disbelief, and Eddie guffawed loudly in your face. He was kinda right. But he was also kinda the reason why you lost them in the first place. 

Though, you had to hand it to him, you walked right into that one. “You are mean, Eddie Munson!” You joined in on his laughter. “So, so mean. I-” You stopped mid sentence, well, actually it was the faint thud you heard outside that stopped you mid sentence. A thud? Slam? Pound? You don’t know, but you heard it.

“What?” Eddie questioned your sudden confusion. 

“You didn’t hear that?” You hit him back. “The noise outside?”

“There’s lots of noise outside. It’s outside, babe.” He could only giggle at the incredulous look you threw him. “Probably just the neighbors, or Cronkers. It’s night, gets her zoomies n’ all.” But before the question of who Cronkers was could leave your mouth, the front door to Eddie Munson’s trailer pushed open, and that, you both surely heard. Eddie’s head snapped to the door of the bedroom, concealing either of you from the incoming sound of the living room. Eddie had surely made a hand signal to stay, but as if you would, you blatantly ignored his unspoken declaration, and followed right behind, fitting your hand within his with a tight grip. “Hold on, sweetheart.” He quietly whispered, as opened his bedroom door and entered the long hallway of the trailer.

“Ed, how many times do I have to tell ya to fix those damn hinges-” Wayne Munson had stopped.

You and Eddie Munson had stopped. Hand in hand. In the kitchen. Fully seen. 

“What are you doing here?” Eddie hadn’t meant for it to sound so disrespectful. 

“Last I checked, it’s my house.” Wayne huffed back, watching his nephew nod his head in an apology. “What are you doin’, son?” And though the simple question had been directed at Eddie, Wayne Munson’s eyes had fallen on you. Standing shyly behind Eddie, his hand in yours.

“I, um- after my campaign, I just went on, uh- Wayne, this is Y/N.” Eddie simply cut straight to the point. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

Wayne Munson had surely remembered that name. “The girl that nearly got you arrested?”

Your eyes had doubled in size. “What?”

“No!” Eddie immediately blurted out upon seeing your worried face. “No, you didn’t, I promise.” He directed to you before turning to Wayne. “She didn’t, none of that was her fault. That was all Jason’s bullshit- and mine. Not hers, Wayne.”

A pregnant pause linger amongst the three of you. It was painfully awkward. Eddie watched Wayne watch you, while you couldn’t muster a stare back, merely peered at your dirty sneakers where your toes were uncomfortably tensing inside, thanking god you hadn’t chosen the heels you proffered to Chrissy Cunningham. 

“So, uh,” Wayne had cleared his throat, “what are you two doing at this hour? Did I, uh, interrupt-”

“No, sir.” You interjected politely. Your hands had worked fast to peel off Eddie’s jacket, as it somehow felt incriminating, feeling as though it could have possibly alluded to anything inappropriate. It hadn’t in Wayne’s eyes, though as precautionary measures, you still shoved it back into Eddie’s hands.  

“Look, Wayne, um, why are you home so early?” Eddie managed to ask.

“Well, some incident at the plant occurred, just sent us all home until it cleared up.” Wayne shrugged off his work coat to hang along the rack of hooks by the door. The older gentleman had sauntered his way into the kitchen, standing directly in front you. “It’s awfully late, hon, you eat anything, yet?”

“Um-”

“We ate at the Hideout.” Eddie answered for you, grabbing the attention of his uncle. 

“Well, that surely ain’t food, is it?” He rhetorically asked, making himself chuckle with gruff, before turning back to you. “Ya like pancakes?”

“It’s two in the morning.” Eddie chided.

“I wasn’t askin’ you, boy.” Wayne tsked back. And like clockwork, he once again directed his attention to you, humming as a way to ask again.

“Yeah, um, I do, sir.” You meekly answered, attempting to conjure a nice smile that didn’t reveal how awkward you felt. 

“Great, let’s have us some breakfast, then.”

Wayne Munson had lost his intimidation in a matter of ten minutes. Much amusement came about witnessing the atrocity that was Eddie Munson attempting to crack eggs without stray eggshells, then complaining about the icky sensation of gooey egg whites when the inevitable occurred, and he searched for shells within the unmixed batter. You and Uncle Wayne had stood back to watch it play out, whispering teasing comments about the boy, as though he couldn’t hear. He did. Then proceeded to complain about that. Then the toppings debacle came about, one that had you reeling with laughter, as you played along with Wayne. You said “maybe blueberries.” He suggested  “a little cinnamon.” And in the background, Eddie’s small voice offered “chocolate chips.” But in the grand scheme of things, the joke came when poor Eddie was blatantly ignored for you and Uncle Wayne’s entertainment, so when you piqued “ooh, chocolate chips.” Wayne had smiled “that’s a great idea, you should come over more often.” Eddie’s mouth dropped to the floor with disbelief. But he loved it. Eddie Munson loved seeing you with his only family so much. 

“You sure your folks won’t mind you being out this late?” Breakfast had been served in the early hour of 2:27 a.m, and the small kitchen table within their residence had been bombarded with a stack of pancakes with all the fixings. 

“No, sir, they don’t mind.” You lied with a smile on your face, as Eddie watched you from across the table intently. 

“Good.” Wayne stuffed himself with a bite. “I’m not lookin’ to have the police roundin’ us up.” He laughed. “‘Specially not when my boy’s almost graduatin’ this year.” And watched as Wayne smiled at Eddie, providing a firm pat to his shoulder that had his nephew feeling gratified. 

“Y/N’s the real star.” Eddie pointed his fork at you. “Valedictorian and she’s finishing on her first try.” You giggled with a heated face from the sweet attention. 

“Really?!” Wayne turned to you. “That’s incredible, darlin’, I’m real proud of ya!” That felt nice. Too nice, to the point where your heart had suddenly stopped for a brief second to recuperate. “Folks must be real proud, too, huh?” No. They weren’t. Your father nearly screamed at you to tears the day you were suspended because the daughter he raised was becoming a failure. And your mother never cared to stay long enough to learn of the fear you were enduring. 

You could only extend a tight-lipped smile with a small nod, and Eddie’s face dropped seeing you seethe in the uncomfortableness of the reality of your life. Every passing minute that Wayne Munson spoke, your smile grew faker and faker, and Eddie watched it transform every time. But Eddie was helpless. Every diversion of conversation amounted to nothing, as the fact of the matter was that Wayne Munson was a good guy- a genuine one who shamelessly showed his support for nephew in every topic of conversation. Wayne cared for Eddie like a son. Wayne loved Eddie like a son. He showed it when he spoke. So clearly. And it cemented in you deeper that your father couldn’t bear to do the same with his own daughter. 

Eddie couldn’t handle the pain behind your smiling eyes. He called it the second you took the last bite of your pancakes. It was the first time Eddie Munson hadn't finished a meal. His priorities too focused on you to satiate his appetit. “It’s, uh, getting pretty late, I wanna get her home, Wayne, she’s had a long day.” He’d politely interrupted his uncle's question of wanting more orange juice. 

“Yeah, go on, and let her get some rest.” Wayne smiled at you, as you stood from the table. “I’ll take care of the dishes, hon, don’t worry.”

“Thank you for everything, sir.” You sincerely beamed back. “Really, I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Lovely meetin’ you, too, darlin’.” Wayne gathered the litter of plates and cups. “Hope to have you back soon.”

“Hopefully.” Hopefully. 

You hadn’t even been able to process the breath of fresh air you inhaled from the humid outdoors before Eddie began rushing out his apologies. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, was that too much?” He rushed. “I swear I didn’t know he was coming back home early. And the conversation- if anything made you uncomfortable, I’m so fucking sorry-”

“No, Eddie, stop, don’t- don’t ever be sorry about that.” You smiled. A small one, but an authentic one. “I’m sorry that I worried you. You didn’t even get to finish your food.” Eddie sighed, shaking his head to refuse your apology that he felt was unnecessary. “The breakfast was nice- you guys were nice. I loved spending the day with you and your uncle. It made me really happy, Eddie.”

“Really?” He came out so strained with disbelief. But your fervent nod cleared all his worries. You loved it just as much as he did. 

“Your uncle is really kind.” You smiled. “I’m happy you have someone like him, Eddie.” Before he could respond, you took it upon yourself to throw Eddie into a secure hug that had him immediately snaking his arms around your waist tightly. “This has been the greatest night ever. Thank you for letting me learn about you.” Your lips brushed his ears in quiet whispers. 

Eddie closed his eyes, inhaling a sweet smell of your perfume, enclosing his arms stronger. 

Eddie Munson had just gone on his first date. 

-

“Sweetheart?”

Just as it occurred last Tuesday, when Eddie Munson had gone into his drunken hysterics of guilt about who he was as a person, where you once cradled him into a peaceful sleep to mitigate the pain of realizing who he had become, Eddie Munson was now doing for you. Your eyes had given up when stinging tears finally put them to rest in the comfort of Eddie’s neck. Your breath was steady. Where your lips gently grazed the sensitive skin of his neck, Eddie turned to softly place a delicate kiss to your hot temple. You were finally getting your rest. A sense of what stability could be like. With Eddie Munson. 

“Honey?” It was quiet as a mouse in Eddie’s room, the only sound to be accounted for was the whirring of the air conditioner that was working overtime. It would surely break by the end of the week. 

In truth, Eddie was hungry. You would probably complain of hunger, too, had you been awake. Dinner had been long forgotten. But even if the rumble of his tummy did place some discomfort, Eddie didn’t want to move. But what he did do was ever so slightly shimmy his body down his sheeted bed, until his back was finally within comfort, aligned to the mattress, and Eddie simply rested. With you clinging to his body like a lost child, Eddie laid back, and closed his eyes with rest. His hand had mindlessly found its way beneath his shirt that you wore, letting his fingertips graze upon your back with dainty touches that had you stirring against him. 

“Shh, baby, just go to sleep.” He whispered against your ear. “So proud of you for getting it all out.” His hushed voice felt like tiny kisses against your warm skin. “You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart. Don’t ever think that you’re not.”

Wavering between the boundaries of sleep and awake, you could hear Eddie loud and clear. Failure, the feeling that consumed you and sent you spiraling had all been wrong. All of it. You weren’t a failure for experiencing the inevitable setbacks of life. Though it may not be the explicit goal, one of the best accomplishments can be as simple as refining naivety. It was okay to profess. You’d become fixated on the achievement of results, that you blinded yourself to the repercussions of a grand high, believing it to be the end goal. Just like the great pioneers of science, physicists to biologists, the ones whose intelligence you aspiringly admired, they knew to recognize the failures of a hypothesis as discovery not a mishap. Because learning what didn’t work for yourself was a profound revelation of merit. Indulging yourself into a state of purgatory—eating three meals, decluttering your room, working your body to a purifying sweat—was great, and an admirable start, because it may have worked for the moment, but not in the long run. And you were learning it the hard way. But that was okay. 

That night, Eddie Munson wrapped a soft blanket around your clinging bodies, and for once, a restful night of sleep was casted upon you two, because two hearts of lonely children were experiencing the strength of love and recovery, and you two were healing. 

-

Two Hours Prior

It was the turning of locks and an abrasive single knock to your door that you had become accustomed to for the past week that told you dinner was here. It had also been the only form of communication your father ever cared to give you now-a-days. On either ends of the kitchen island, you both stand. You watch him intently, and like usual, he’s in a rush to leave, pulling styrofoam plates of hefty take-out from wet plastic bags of condensation. The question’s on the tip of your tongue. Maybe for once, things can change. Things can be like Eddie and Wayne.

“Hey, um, dad?” Not a word of acknowledgement. He didn’t even look at you. “D-Do you, uh, maybe want to eat together? Like, at the table?” That. That was all you were asking for. “Please?”

It was supposed to be simple. All you wanted was simple. Your father slammed his plastic utensils to the counter. “Do you really think someone like you deserves that?” Your face dropped. 

“I-I just wanted to have dinner with y-”

“After everything you put our name through, you think I’d want to have dinner with you?” It was supposed to be simple. “I’ve got men in my office, their kids who go to school with you, asking me what kind of nutcase I’m raising. Do you know what they think of you? What they think of me?! How you’ve ruined our reputation in this town?! Are you that inconsiderate?!” Your tears started welling. It was supposed to be simple. “Do you not realize how humiliating it is having a daughter like you?! I’ve done everything to give all that you need in life, and this is how you repay me-”

“You left me, dad!” 

The tense atmosphere fell silent with nothing but huffing breaths. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You. Left. Me.” This it was. You were saying it. You were going to say everything. “I- Being around you s-scares me, because it feels like you don’t care- I know you don’t care. You don’t care about me, dad.” Maybe it was something you’ve known all along, but simply refused to accept it. Downplaying the emotional hurt, because others had it worse. Who were you to complain? And your father even spoke it. Titling himself Father of the Year for never laying a hand on you. Some dads did that. But he was the villain for wanting what’s best for you. For the family. He was disgusted with you. “I-I just want you to care! Why? Why don’t you care about me?”

“I never left!” He heaved. “Your mother is the one that left us- gave up on us! Not me! I stayed when I didn’t have to! Don’t tell me that I don’t care when I fucking stayed!”

“You were never there, dad!” You cried. Anger, you wanted to be angry, show him how angry you were, but you were crying like a child, reflecting the one that had been abandoned for years. “When mom left, so did you! You were never here for me! You’re fucking gone to me, dad.” You whimpered the last words out, immediately hiding behind the comfort of your hot hands, as burning tears smeared against your face. 

“Don’t-” Your father scoffed with disbelief. He turned away, because facing the reality of neglectful actions would have put him at fault. Something he did wrong. He couldn’t be wrong. He just couldn’t. But his daughter was pleading with tears in her eyes, that poured out years of hurt by the hands of everyone. By the hands of him. So, of course, he couldn’t look at you. Not when his face began to strain with stress to control the stinging of his eyes. “I- You don’t know how much I gave up to give you everything! Everything I do is for you!”

“Locking me in my room was for me?! Never congratulating me for anything was for me?! Forgetting my birthday every year was for me?! Stop- I- you know, dad. You know that you were never here.” Your voice constricted with the agony of loss. “Y-You’re supposed to be here. For me. And I just want to tell you things, I want to tell you everything, but-but I can’t because I know you don’t care. And I just want you to. Even if it’s just a little, please, dad, please just care about me.” Everything had become horrifically pathetic. The desperation. The yearning. You hated the way you sounded. But it was how you truly felt. “I just want you to be okay. I just want you to get help- help me get help, so we can be okay together.”

Had your eyes given you a second of peace from the blurring pricks, you would have seen it. The slightest sight of a quivering chin from your father that could have maybe- just maybe given you the infinitesimal chance of hope for the best. Because it showed that he felt something. Even if it was minute to the onslaught of your escaping feelings, at the very least, it was something. Something to show that he might care. Deep down. Just might. 

But then he spoke. So calmly. So earnestly. And it made you want to vomit from the sickening impalement. “I was perfectly okay until you became my problem.” You were no longer a person to him. He cleared his throat, his reddening eyes penetrating you with the utmost frightening look of disconnection. He was gone. “I hope someday you realize your mother didn’t just leave me, she left you, too. And she didn’t care to come back, Y/N. Not even for you. So, go ahead and yell about how I don’t care, when she clearly didn’t care about you, either. Make me out to be the bad guy, Y/N. But when you do, I want you to stop and think for a second about how much of a problem you were to make her leave. But I fucking stayed.” That was the irreconcilable wound that burned into your skin. Changed everything forever. “If you think you have it so bad with me, leave. Nothing’s stopping you. In fact, I want you to. Let’s see how willing mommy is to open up her arms for you. Just don’t come back when she doesn’t. Because she doesn’t care.”

Your father was thirty-four when your mother left. A decade later, his daughter was taking the same steps through the front door. The slam of the heavy door finally ignited the single tear to stream down his face, before his fingers swiped away the vulnerability. Perhaps somewhere in the back of your mind, your dad had long died, alongside the dream of amends. And maybe you had known it all along, but refused to accept the ugliness of it all. But you didn’t regret it. You couldn’t find yourself too. Though, you couldn’t believe you finally said. Everything. You hated him. You hated everything about him. As each thought cemented, your legs took you closer to him. Eddie. Without thought. Without warning. Your mind knew where to take you. Your body trusted to follow. Because just as you saw him once, you knew he could see you. 

It was why his gentle words opened the busted seams of your heart, “Is- is everything alright, sweetheart?” It was why his arms held no hesitation to bring you to him. It was why he provided you the necessities to be comfortable. It was why he was making it up to you. 

It was why you woke up in the arms of Eddie Munson that Sunday morning. Because Eddie Munson saw you. 

-

You hadn’t blinked for three minutes. 

The stained linoleum of the kitchen floor were all your eyes could focus on, as the morning sun attempted to bleed through the curtained windows of the hot trailer. You had sat so stiff in the wooden chair. Where you once nearly choked on the tooth-achingly sweet bite of pancakes from a comforted laugh, you had now been stuck quiet in the depths of loneliness, attempting to find the right words to say. 

Eddie’s eyes had bleared open, despite the resistance of dryness, when his hand had clutched around air. Heavy hand patting around, all that caressed his palms were the wrinkles of his sheets, now cold where the warmth of your body had now rested. Eddie had felt gross to admit it given the circumstances, but it felt nice- so fucking nice to hold you so dearly. To have his nose be invaded by the smell of you. To have his hands squeeze the curves of your body for comfort. To have your breath fan him with warmth even if it was boiling outside. Eddie would gladly burn to death if it was at the hands of your calm breathing, so steady and tranquil, so angelic and beautiful. 

Rushing out of the containment of his strewn blankets, his knees had popped with the abrasive movements as his feet steadied themselves among the scratchy frills of the lining carpet. Had he given himself a second to ease the tiredness of his body, Eddie Munson would have had an alert mind, and wouldn’t have startled you with the deafening creaking of his bedroom swinging open. But he did, and he would soon apologize. But not before he showered you with the needed support for the conversation you were carrying. 

Phone tightened in the small grasp of your hand, you locked eyes with Eddie from down the hall. And he heard you speak, so soft and frail, closely into the receiver. “Something bad happened, Chrissy.” Eddie rushed to your side, once your face contorted to the pained scrunch that killed his soul to witness. Had you looked at the ticking clock on the wall, you would have known time was breaching seven in the morning. Chrissy Cunningham’s voice sounded so groggy with fatigue. You felt even more awful. But Eddie’s hand had landed on the small of your back, his rough finger maneuvering gently against your tense body to mollify the ache of tensity. You stared at him with big eyes, as you spoke weakly into the phone. “I can’t go home, something bad will-” Your breath hitched. “I just- can I please stay with you for a little bit, Chris, I’m so sorry.” 

Eddie had pulled you in until your head landed peacefully against his chest. “Don’t be sorry.” He whispered against your head. 

When Chrissy Cunningham had her first argument with Jason Carver, she was spending the night at his house, when she suddenly turned up at your doorstep. It was trivial. Teenagers arguing over the discomfort of one’s lab partner being of the opposite sex. Despite its inconsequentiality, Chrissy had wanted to cut her sleepover short after the petty bickering. You had let her take up the other half of your bed for the entirety of the Memorial Day weekend with no complaints. Chrissy Cunningham would be damned to not provide you the same safety. Of course, she said yes. No questions asked. When the last goodbye was spoken, you’d lazily dropped the phone back onto the hook, before collapsing into Eddie’s tight embrace for security. 

“Let me make you some breakfast.” He pulled back to see your face. “Wayne should be home soon. I’m sure he’d like to have breakfast with you again. Couldn’t stop ravin’ about you last time.” But the short chortle that fell out of Eddie’s lips was short lived, as you suddenly began shaking your head in refusal.

“No, I don’t want him to see me, Eddie. Not like this.” You sighed. “I shouldn’t even be here. I don’t want to be a problem. This is twice in a row that I’ve been here without his-”

“Hey, hey, hey.” His hands drew down the length of your arms. “Relax, sweetheart, you’re not a problem, I promise. It’s my place, too. I want you here, Y/N.” Your heart could barely handle the words Eddie spoke, how much they contradicted the torment your father instilled. “Let’s just sit for a minute, yeah?”

“I-I can’t, I have to get my stuff, I need to head over to Chrissy’s, I still have so much work to catch up for school, I can’t- Eddie, I can’t.” Your hands pulled around the skin of your forehead, believing it to be the only remedy to ease the aching throb of your head. 

“Okay, stop, honey, you’re going to drive yourself insane thinking like that.” His fingers took a firm hold of your wrist to pull them away from your harsh touch. “I know it’s a lot, baby, and I’m so sorry for this bullshit that’s being thrown at you, but please just take a second to breathe. We’ll figure this out, I promise. Just one thing at a time, we’ll take it one thing at a time.” You nodded your head with a heavy exhale to regulate the needed alleviation throughout your body. “I’ll take you to grab everything you need, I can drop you off at Chris’, and you’ll eat there- promise me you will, because you haven’t eaten anything in a while Y/N, and once you finally rest, you can catch up on a bit of work. I’m sure Chrissy will like to help. And I promise, Y/N, I’ll be home, near this damn phone, so if you call, I’ll be here to talk to you. For anything you need, I’ll be here.”

Eddie Munson’s designation brought you to quiet tears. How could you ever see yourself as a problem, when Eddie Munson wanted to be there for you? 

Begrudgingly, you’d lost the comfort of Eddie’s pajamas when you retrieved your folded clothes from the washing machine, having to be tainted by the outfit that reminded you of the haunting memories of last night. Eddie hadn’t realized the severity of you truly wanting to leave his house before his uncle arrived, until he trudged out of the bathroom with decent clothes, and found you nowhere, until he peeked outside to the foggy morning where you rested against his van within the mist. In all honesty, the humiliation of having to face someone as nice as his uncle was the only driving point to leave so urgently. Bombarding his home when nothing had even been concisely established between you and his nephew. That was another lingering issue that twisted your mind to mush. Surely the events following up to today had pushed you both beyond the heavy definition of a friendship, or maybe it hadn’t, and this was simply the newfound experience of gaining a friend who was genuine in comparison to the ones you once had. 

“You ready to go?” His hand stationed upon your shoulder, where you turned to meet his sweet eyes that couldn’t keep away from your face. The ones that fluttered to every feature with precise dedication to each one; your eyes, your nose, your lips. 

How could he ever be just a friend when he looked at you like that?

The ride over had been nothing but a palpitating heartbeat drumming in your ear, as the contents of your belly stirred rambunctiously. Eddie noticed it every time he looked over. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Lips mouthing the words like a command to be followed, as you stared at the passing landscape as a distraction to the fear bubbling inside. Eddie’s hand snaked over to yours, stealing your attention, as his fingers interlocked with yours to never be let go. He smiled at you, a reassuring one, one that dissipated the heat that was consuming your body to a suffocating degree. Eddie was here. Your empty driveway had been the first sight your eyes landed on. Dead. You thought he was dead to you. But a gnawing persistence of disappointment crashed over you when you saw he was gone. Just a little bit. Because maybe on the off chance of believing he could change, you would have seen your father’s car parked in the same position it once had been when you left, because who would genuinely go to work the next day after their only child left them for good? But that was the ego of a man. That was the reality of your father. 

“Take all the time you need, or be as fast as you want.” Eddie squeezed your hand, as you stayed seated in his van. “Your choice, sweetheart, okay?” 

You nodded your head surely. 

The third stone to the left that lined the large bush of pink rhododendrons had housed the spare key to your house. Imprinted into the wet dirt, the key had embarked you into the coldness of your house, where Eddie followed closely behind. In the case of not being hounded with the threats of murder by your father, Eddie had taken the moment to really stare. Stare at the whiteness. The blandness. The minimal decorations. The large staircase. Uninventing as a house could be, Eddie felt unnerving about the thoughts of being stuck in such a lifeless place for years, proffering much needed appreciation to the cozy trailer he called home. 

“I just, um, I’m only going to get clothes, and some important papers. I won’t be long.” Your fingers curled around the cracked door of your bedroom, still opened from when you stepped out to have dinner. Still opened from when you just wanted to be together. When it was supposed to be simple. 

Your room looked different. Drastically different from the drunken eyes Eddie once scanned of your room. Gone were the miniscule details that defined the person you were. Eddie didn’t like it. At all. “Everything’s gone?” He hadn’t meant it to be perceived as a question, but the implications of confusion had taken over, and Eddie surely was looking for answers. 

You were quiet with your speech. “I was just trying to get better.” Given you had reached within the depths of your closet to recover a beloved suitcase, Eddie hadn’t seen the pain of admission to your wrongdoing. Just like your father, the reality of acknowledging where you had gone wrong burned your throat as you spoke. But you weren’t like him. Just like Eddie wasn’t like his. And you were strong enough to recognize your wrongs. “But, um, I don’t think it was enough… to actually help.” You weren’t like him. 

“You did something.” Eddie chimed in sincerely. “That’s more than most people do. You’re really fucking incredible to try something without having a shrink tell ya.” His finger circled to himself. And that’s what he wanted. A laugh, even if it was small, the corner of your lips were tugging to the sky. Even if he had to take a jab at himself. 

“Ms. Kelly is not a shrink. She’s a counselor. Genuinely a vast difference.” And even if it was stated with a little sass, he’d take your rebutting comments with ease, because Eddie Munson truly loved it coming out of your mouth. 

The offering of a hand had fervently been rejected by you, feeling as though you’ve sacrificed enough of Eddie’s time with the rampancy of your life. So, he sat back. With you by his side on the floor of your bedroom, Eddie quietly watched you fold items of clothes, each tailored to the style that suited you best. Shirts; small, large, short-sleeve, long-sleeve, of all patterns and colors. But you softly told him green was your favorite. And sweaters, my god, did it appear you love them most. While you ransacked your dresser, the very least Eddie insisted on was retrieving all that hung in your closet. Tight dresses, sun dresses. You’d briefly went on a tangent explaining how you loved the look of strapless ones, but the lack practicality really peeved you off. Eddie laughed when he heard you say peeve with all seriousness. And the shoes were the easiest. Sneakers, and, well, just mostly sneakers, they were the most important. Not very often will you find yourself sporting any form of stilettos while living at Hawkins. If those had to stay to be forgotten, it’d be okay. And ever the gentleman, Eddie noticed your hesitant approach to the last drawer, and quickly turned his head away to appear as if to be occupied by the minimalistic flower patterns of your wallpaper. Whether you realized his actions, or merely thought it was perfect timing, it didn’t matter, because Eddie Munson saved you the awkwardness, and you freely were able to stuff the last of your suitcase with the needed bras and underwear of your life. 

A moment of quietness rested upon you, as Eddie momentarily left your house to follow the back and forth momentum of loading his van with your personal belongings. Books. You had a lot of books, special ones that once lined your bookcase with perfect clutter. Eddie had seen the small lingering smile etched to your face, as your finger traced the spines of novels, big and small. So hearing you disheartenedly admit donation or selling to be the best options stung his chest with a residing ache. He mumbled with a small smile. “You should keep ‘em, sweetheart. They belong with you. And when you get your own place, they’ll be the first thing I’ll help you put up.” Eddie Munson had a delicate way of evanescing the affliction of reality. 

You had told him you’d be just a minute. And you had been. Sitting in the driver seat of his van, cool air blasting through the dusty vents of the AC, Eddie wondered what you did for that minute. Following the cliches of just about every coming of age movie where the main character leaves a childhood home, Eddie would have imagined you reminiscing through the various rooms you once stepped in throughout the stages of your life. But surely, that would take more than a minute. And you were out quickly. Because the reality of the matter was that you simply did not want to reminisce. Anything good of remembrance had been taken away from you by the tainted realization of what you meant to the people you cared about the most. 

It was cold. It was blank. It was lifeless. 

So, all you needed was a minute, and as promised, Eddie watched you close the door to leave that life behind. This was your beginning. Even if it wasn’t ideal, you wanted it- needed it. You let go of the deep breath that resided in your lungs the second your bottom met the cushioned seat of Eddie’s van. It was the first words he spoke, the only words he needed to say, “Are you okay?” You looked at Eddie solemnly. It was such a disgustingly polarizing question. One that had been haunting you for a lifetime. One that brought you to the precipice of collapse. One that felt as if you’d been driving yourself to delirium just to dissect. 

A small smile appeared on your face, as you softly answered. “I will be.” And for once, you could be sure of that. 

As a student of Hawkins High, Chrissy Cunningham had been all too familiar with the rampant yells of metal music that emanated from the grumling car of Eddie Munson. The student parking lot had been no different than her neighborhood street. So, Chrissy emerged on cue. It didn’t take you two seconds to jump out of Eddie’s car the second he parked along the curb of Chrissy’s house. Pacing off her porch, Chrissy met you halfway down her driveway before you crashed into her arms. Your arms had smushed into the straight strands of her hair around her neck, as she secured you firmly in a hug. It became helpless to try to fight the bombarding tears, and they came quickly, sinking into the cashmere collar of her sweater. Not a word was said between the two of you, as she merely held you in a tight embrace that provided the comfort you needed to relinquish the torment of your home life. “I told my parents.” Chrissy mumbled into your body. “Of course, you can stay with us.”

A choked sob escaped your throat. It was acceptance. 

Chrissy’s eyes opened to land on the man standing back. Leaning against his rustic van that was on its last leg, but he paid no mind, as long as it got you to the places you needed. To the places you’d be okay at. To the places you could run away and be together. Eddie’s heart lurched at the sight. Seeing you understand that you were cared for. No matter your parents, you had people. Even if it was just two. Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie Munson loved you. 

Shit, Eddie Munson genuinely, authentically, certainly, absolutely loves…

He swallowed the large lump in his throat. “Just hold her.” His lips mouthed, as Chrissy watched him. And she listened. Arms tightening around to safety. 

Stability.

-

Monday. Following in the footsteps of the lazy, pessimistic cat that Eddie and his uncle loved, you were beginning to revel in the same sentiment of despising the first day of the school week. Sunday had you were drained of all emotions. You wished you could put blame on sore muscles after having to move your items into the spare bedroom, though Eddie took that away from you when he told you to sit down, and did the dirty work himself. And Chrissy, of course, did the due diligence of multitasking between the playing chef and best friend. French toast was fried and topped with syrup and powdered sugar with a side of strawberries, while providing a shoulder to cry on, because it dawned on you that you had never been taken care of like you had been during the mere twenty minutes of that particular Sunday morning than you had been during the last eighteen years of your life with your own parents. 

The notion had solidified when all of that sunny Sunday, you received no call from a worried father about their gone daughter’s whereabouts, as one would expect. Nothing. Not even a knock at the doorstep just to make sure of your security. Absolutely nothing. 

And surely, a tumultuous home life would be reason enough to garner someone a day off from school to prolong the chaotic weekend, but most weren’t returning from a suspension due to insubordination, so that Monday you were playing catch-up. Exhaustingly. 

The myriad of conversations surrounding you within the main hall of Hawkins High was becoming discordant to your tired state. Your eyes blinked harshly to try to mitigate the drowsiness of the day. The clunking of your stubborn locker finally opening was enough to bring you just a sliver of energy to switch out a history textbook that truly looked the historical part for an agonizing book about calculus that was becoming your sworn enemy. 

“You tired?”

Your eyes turned to lock with his brown ones you’d grown heavily fond of. Eddie had sported a sly smile that played into his bravado, as he leaned against the lockers next to you. 

You winced at him. “Is it that obvious?”

“I woke up to your pretty, little, tired face yesterday morning, sweetheart. I’ve burned it into my mind forever. Of course, I’m going to notice.” Eddie liked that small shy face you pulled, attempting to hide your heated face away from his stare. But with your face peering away from him, you caught a glimpse of what reality was for you in school. Eddie followed your eyes to the sight that made your smile fall. Across the hall, Blake Decker had eyed you with a flagrant smirk after whispering to his buddy that if the freak could get you, so could he- the whole baseball team could. You were up for grabs. It was just a matter of who could score first. Three lockers down, Stevie Martinez had laughed at the question of how much substance the freak was supplying you after getting in your pants. Would enduring a little flirting with him get her a discount? He had to be desperate. And pointing at you from the water fountain was Carmen Mitchell, identifying you to her posse of youth group kids that were ready to snitch to Hawkins’ local pastor of someone needing Jesus. In a couple days, your father would be receiving advertising mail of encouragement to join the church. Luckily, you didn’t live there to countenance the proselytism from evangelical Christians. Eddie despondently sighed. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

Your head snapped at his contemplative face. So somber, but a tight-lipped smile was attempting to cover it. So, you smiled at him. Dignified. “No.” You told him firmly. “I want you right here… with me.”

His teeth found his bottom lip, as his cheeks became flooded with blood that rosied his pale skin. “I, uh-” Your giggling did nothing to satisfy the coughing he had to conjure to compensate for his dry mouth. Because you… you were squeezing his heart without realizing the severity of it. This was dangerous. Dangerous territory Eddie Munson was crossing into. But running away would be worse. He did it once, and it killed him. “Um, w-would you want to be with me Saturday night? Like, another date? A second one? I promise I’ll plan it way better than the first one.” He chuckled. “No more skeezy bars, I swear! And it’ll be the weekend, so I’ll obviously not be doing my homework, and I know you’ll be done with yours…” He shrugged with a teasing smile.

You laughed. “You should really be doing your homework, Eddie.”

“I will, I will.” His conspicuous stare to the far right let the fact be known that he was blatantly lying without a care. “If I do it, can this potential date be my little treat?” He perked. 

“Depends, what does this little treat entail?” You interrogated with a smile on your face. 

“Ah, well, unfortunately, sweetheart, details will not be disclosed for anticipation purposes.” He smirked. “Y’know, surprises n’ all.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Mm, the last time you concealed such details I almost wore heels to a rundown bar full of old men.”

Eddie blenched. “Sorry ‘bout that again, sweet girl, but I promise this time is different.” He assured. “I may be a sulking asshole who can’t handle my emotions and lash out at people because I’m too pathetic to deal with my own problems, but I definitely keep my promises.” My god, how far you and Eddie have come was mind blowing. Had you told your past self that the man you had a screaming match with just outside of school a couple weeks prior was asking you on a second date, you would’ve laughed in your own face. 

“Are you still hanging that over my head?” You giggled. “Because if I remember correctly you said far worse-”

“No, no, I know, sweetheart!” He adamantly agreed. “You’re wholeheartedly correct. And are you kidding me? That one-liner was the second greatest thing that’s ever come out of your mouth. I’m genuinely considering getting it tattooed right across my chest with no regrets.” He laughed. “That one sentence set me straight, honey.”

“Wait,” you invigorated, “if that’s the second greatest thing I’ve ever said, what’s the first?” Your head tilted with curiosity.

“Agreeing to go out with me. Twice.” He simpered. 

“‘Twice?’” You tittered. “I don’t remember saying yes to the second date.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie laughed. “I’m totally finishing my homework for this week, that’s a guaranteed yes from your part, trouble.” 

You pointed a stern finger at him with squinted eyes of skepticism. “Only if you finish your homework.” 

Thursday. Amidst the bustling thirty minute break from class, the cafeteria had flooded with an amass amount of students that proffered the freneticism that was Hawkins High’s lunch period. Chrissy Cunningham had been persistent to encourage your prospective application to Claire’s after Hannah Walsh was set for a nine month leave—whatever that meant. And Chrissy was resolute on the fact that working at the Starcourt Mall had far more perks than babysitting the Johnson’s circus of kids, especially after popping out their fifth. Insisted on the matter that it was aging you. Lovingly, though. And it happened to fall during her harangue about the employee discount that a book report was slapped in the middle of the table that stole your attention away from your friend. “The Last of Mohicans.”

“Wear something casual.” Eddie smiled, as you peeled your eyes from his homework and looked up to meet his satisfied grin. “I don’t recommend heels, but wear as you please. You’ll look perfect regardless.” But before you could get a word to even formulate, Eddie had turned his attention to an equally stunned—more so confused—Chrissy. “Will your folks mind if I pick her up at your doorstep Saturday night?”

“Oh.” Chrissy blinked. “Uh, no, they have a dinner party that night.” She smiled, and looked at you. 

“Perfect.” Eddie beamed. “I’ll see you Saturday night at seven?” Taken aback by his charm, you made the right decision to save yourself the embarrassment of trying to speak, and settled on a firm nod and beguiling smile that had Eddie flushed with giddiness. “Perfect.”

Saturday. It was the locker room scene all over again. Yes, being taken in by the Cunninghams had been something of extemporized means, but a week of residing in their guest bedroom—something they encouraged to just call yours—surely would have given you enough time to settle, right? No. Very much, an extremely hard no. Clothes of all sorts had been strewn about in a chaotic mess, made only worse, when you flung about shirts, pants, and shorts to find the perfect outfit. Chrissy had been defeated in a pile of cotton, cashmere, and silk as you dwindled your choices to two shirts that in Chrissy’s words “looked great, just choose one, he won’t care.” And she’d been right. Upon opening the door to his meticulous knocking, his eyes had brightened just as it occurred on the night of your first date. Your face- your everything had been magnetized to the golden rays of the setting sun, that just highlighted everything beautiful about you. And that was… everything. 

“Are you going to finally tell me where we’re going?” You elated, as you settled into the front seat of Eddie’s van. 

“Patience is a virtue, my darling.” Eddie smiled, as he took peeks to his right side. “Trust me, it’ll be better than the Hideout.”

“Benny’s?”

“Not Benny’s, but I’ll consider it for the third date.” He smirked.

“If you make it that far.” You joked, as your soft giggles infiltrated his ears lovingly. 

“Don’t worry, Y/N, I have firm plans of completing all of my homework for the rest of the school year. So, hate to break it to you, babe, but you’re kinda stuck with me.”

“Mm, wouldn’t be entirely opposed to that idea.” You teased. “Ooh, wait! Enzo’s?” You were beginning to catechize him, but were only met with a barking laugh from Eddie. 

“Sweet girl, I’m still terribly broke, but I appreciate your guessing.” He chortled. “Now, no more questions. Just sit back and relax, and let me handle things, okay?” 

And you did just that. Attempting to adjust to the loud music Eddie’s ears had already been accustomed to, he had taken it upon himself to provide you all the formation of said bands that played. Ozzy Osbourne of Black Sabbath once bit a bat’s head off on stage. Eddie claimed it was the most metal thing he’s ever seen. Oh, and Derek Riggs, the dude who made the album cover for Powerslave—declared the best album by Eddie, himself—for Iron Maiden liked to stick silly messages into the artwork. Eddie affirmed to show you whenever it would be the next you came over. Which then segwayed into a conversation of how Wayne Munson had been insisting on having you over again. He liked meeting one of Eddie’s “friends” as he put it. Eddie would never tell you, but all of Sunday, he had been teased relentlessly for having a pretty girlfriend. And despite his inexorable shield of “we’re just friends, she’s not my girlfriend,” Wayne Munson’s old ears were able to pick up on the mumbled “yet” that his nephew so hopefully spoke to himself. And thankfully, before any interrogation could progress from your part, you both had reached the outskirts of Mulberry street, and neared the woods. 

“Lover’s Lake or Skull Rock?” You asked, as Eddie’s van tracked over tire trails from previous cars who took the familiar succession. “Because one would show you have sentiment.” You smiled. “The other would show you definitely have a motive.”

“Definitely the first one.” Eddie laughed. He parked his trusty van at a small clearing, where twenty steps south, Lover’s Lake glistened under the illuminating sunset. “Because- well, last time we were here we cried like babies over ice cream.” He sniggered quietly. “And, uh, even though it was… heavy, it was still one of my favorite times with you.” Eddie had shyly began to play with the rings on his fingers, as he felt your eyes dawn on him. “Y’know, it was the first time I got to talk to you- actually talk to you. Explain everything to you. So, um, as part of making it up to you, you deserve to be taken out. Properly. Not a bar. No tears. Just you and me. Where we can just clear our minds together.”

When he finished, Eddie finally found the courage to peer his round eyes at you that searched for any validation that this was okay- that he was okay- okay to be with. And he found you smiling sincerely at him with devoted eyes that gave him all the tender care of the world. “I love it, Eddie.”

He smiled. You, you, you, you. How great would it be to hear the word “you” instead of “it” in that sentence?

Eddie whispered. “I packed a totally metal picnic.” He nodded to the basket that resided in the back of his van. 

And packed a totally metal picnic he did. Three feet away from the cooling waters of Lover’s Lake, a small patch of grass and dandelions had been covered by the soft blanket that lived in Eddie Munson’s van, as it’d been the only clearing that wasn’t smeared with muddy clay infused with dirt—an hour prior, Eddie had played landscaper to get rid of the dirt and sticks that claimed the best spot he found. Though, he had kept that part a secret from you. Something about hearing you gush about fate giving you the perfect area was too innocent to kill in his eyes.  

“Okay, so we have some totally cool beers, and by that, I mean one for me.” He pulled out. “And for you, sweetheart, a nice cold soda, because I care about your liver and taste buds.”

“Why thank you so much, kind sir.” You laughed, as you grabbed the drink. 

“No problem, princess.” He winked, before continuing his ministration. “Oh, and, uh, I saved you the future food poisoning I would have given you if I cooked anything, so Mrs. Latrowski kindly offered to make us some Fettuccine Alfredo.” Not kindly. He was now stuck fixing her hunk of junk excuse of a car for the next week. Without pay. “Don’t know if it’s really picnic-y, but I hope you’ll like it.”

“Of course, really, thank you so much, Eddie.” You scooted closer to have his thigh touching yours. He licked his lips, and focused his attention to the basket to conceal his reddening cheeks.

“But Mrs. Latrowski doesn't get all the credit, because I packed pretzels.” Two bags. Two comically large bags full of pretzels. “And, uh, Pringles, sour cream n’ onion, because that’s the only acceptable flavor. Oh, don’t worry, I balanced it out with some of Wayne’s watermelon that I stole. Don’t tell him.” He laughed, pulling out the tupperware of the uniquely cut fruit. “And I made us some PB&Js. And to top it off, some chocolate chips.” The half filled bag of Nestle's chocolate chips that were once used to make pancakes with you and his uncle were now being pulled out of his basket as an appetizer for your date.

And you loved it all.

-

The obnoxious door bell had rung for the second time that night. 

“Ugh.” Chrissy Cunningham groaned, as her plans of taking advantage of her newly single night were now being disturbed. Pausing in the middle of Sandy Olssen’s hopelessly devoted number to Danny Zuko, Chrissy begrudgingly removed the bowl of popcorn from her lap to wake her legs from being sunken into the couch. And then, some knocking. “Alright, I’m coming!” Her socked feet slid her across the glossy wood of the floor, as she dragged herself to the front door. “Yes-”

It was strange how much you looked just like your father. 

Chrissy’s face had been drained of all the blood in her system, and she closed the door to lessen the gap between her and the house. “Chrissy.” Your father cleared his throat. “I apologize for interrupting your night so late. Are your parents home?”

“N-No.” She softly answered. “But, uh, my b-boyfriend is.” Her heart beated out of her chest. For safety. 

“Well, um, is my daughter here? I’d imagine Y/N would most likely run away to your home than anywhere else- well, at least I would hope.” His mind reeled back to the morning he chased Eddie Munson out. 

“She’s not here, sir.”

“Right, well, if you’re ever in contact with her, please give her this.” He handed over an envelope that stuck to a folded piece of paper with tape. This was it. This was his goodbye. Chrissy cautiously took the hefty envelope, and nodded her head, speechless to it all. “Have a good night. Tell your parents I said hello.”

Not even a hello to you.

-

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have eaten all those chocolate chips!”

The dramatics of Eddie Munson truly played their part, as he laid back with his arms stretched out, and a groan to accompany his complaints. “I told you to slow down on those.” You laughed, placing a delicate slap to his bloated belly that simply elicited more moans. “Don’t die on me, you're my ride.” You joined him on the ground, where he turned his head to meet the tip of your nose. 

“Wow, nice to know how much I mean to you.” He playfully scoffed. 

“Are you kidding me? You mean the world to me, Eddie. Best chauffeur in town!” You laughed, as he rolled his eyes. “Even better since you can’t complain. You know, since you’re making it up to me?”

Eddie guffawed. “I asked you to let me make it up to you, not exploit me.” 

When the giggles had simmered down, you and Eddie were left simply staring into each other's eyes. You could see his stare soak up your features, following the contours of your face, and stationing at your lips. “You know you mean more to me than just a chauffeur, right?” 

Eddie nodded his head, his hair getting smushed in the space between his head and the blanket. “I know, sweet girl.” You both could feel it in your bellies, that stirring feeling of sparks igniting whenever you looked at each other. The excitement, sure, it was incredible to revel in, but the security, the security of when that spark would slowly die out, but not to a point of resentment, to a point where the nerves were gone, and you could be comfortable. Comfortable with the piece of mind that you had him and he had you. His shoulders scooted closer, nose rubbing against yours, and his breath fanned warmly across your mouth. “Y/N…?” Whispered into the air, the question didn’t have to be verbalized. You shook your head to give him permission. And Eddie leaned in.

That is until you screamed. 

“Ah!” You shrieked, jumping up to your feet. 

Eddie sat up with urgency. “What?! WHAT?!”

“There’s a worm by your head!”

“WHERE?!”

Your second date with Eddie Munson was ended by a stray earthworm that managed to squirm its way onto the blanket. But it’s okay. In the future, it would be a cute story to tell. And the car ride home was made even more entertaining when your jabs at Eddie became endless. The humidity of the night had frizzed his hair far more than usual, and watching his hands swat the strands crazily in fear of a worm creating a nest in there had your stomach cramping from laughter. Eddie would allow the teasing to continue if it meant hearing your laugh for just another minute. But he vehemently countered that you screamed just as loud in the first place, so you were in no place to poke fun. Arriving at the familiar doorstep of the Cunningham house, Eddie had sighed realizing another perfect night was ending far sooner than he wanted. But it had also been a reminder. The biggest sign of that two story suburban wet dream of a house was your newfound freedom. No longer were you shackled to the barbaric severeness of perfection that your vile father had subjected you to. You were liberated to live your life. Make your own decision. Be your true self. 

So dropping you off at your new home wasn’t exactly the worst thing for Eddie to endure, because he knew you were safe. He knew you were going to be okay. Eddie held your hand up the stairs to the porch, where the small, yellow light bloomed your features in the night. Staring down into your face was the single greatest thing Eddie felt privileged to experience. God, he loved it. He loved y-

“Thank you for another perfect date.” You beamed up at him. 

“Anything for you, princess.” He sighed a breath of relief, as he felt at ease in your presence. Preparing to have you leave was another thing to handle. “I’ll be sure to finish my chemistry homework to get you on a third.”

“It would be quite nice to see you walking for graduation.” You squeezed his hand. “Maybe your uncle and I can celebrate you with a late night breakfast.” 

“God, you really are the sweetest.” Eddie bit his lip, as he peered down at you. “I really hate that worm for ruining our moment.”

“Poor guy, we were probably crushing his home with our picnic.” You giggled. “Can’t blame him for seizing it back.”

“I can if he stopped me from kissing you.” Eddie allured you, as his large hand found your cheek to cradle in his palm tenderly. Thumb swiping your supple face, he had dragged you close against his chest. “But the bastard’s not here to stop me again.” 

“No, he’s not.” You softly laughed. 

Eddie smiled, as he whispered to your face. “So, can I kiss you, sweetheart?”

You delicately nodded. “You can kiss me, handsome.”

Nose brushing, your lips were colli-

“Y/N!” You jumped back with a squeal, as Chrissy Cunningham had abruptly opened the front door with exigency that caused you to separate from Eddie’s incoming face. Eddie knew what this was. This was the universe testing him. Seeing how fast he would resort back to his asshole ways, and yell at Chrissy Cunningham to fuck off for interrupting his kiss with the one girl he’s ever wanted to be with. But he bit his tongue, and fought the anger to subside, and simply chose to sigh dejectedly. “Sorry to barge in, but I really need Y/N.”

“Is everything alrig-”

“Yes, just come on!” She grabbed your hand. “Sandy just caught Danny dancing with Cha-Cha DiGregorio, come on! Eddie, you have our number, just call Y/N tomorrow, okay? Bye!�� 

“Wait, can’t we just get a minute-” Eddie attempted. 

“No!” Chrissy Cunningham was using that cheer strength to hall you into the house. 

“I’m sorry.” You quickly looked back. “Call me later, I had so much fu-” The door was slammed right on your sentence, and Eddie’s head fell against it utterly crushed. “Chrissy, what the hell? I was literally about to have my first kiss with Eddie-”

“Y/N, your dad came by.”

Your face had fallen like a sad child. “What?”

Chrissy had respected your wishes to leave you alone in your room. Alone with his envelope. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at the note attached to the delivered mail. Your fingers had a tight grip on the paper, your heat causing the thin material to crumple from the clamminess. Eventually, your shaky hands managed to attentively tear the taped letter away from the envelope. Just a folded notebook paper. The unusuality of the situation came about as the paper had been torn. Your father once yelled at you for not tearing a sheet by the imprinted seam. This was rushed, a message written with urgency. For once, not prioritized on perfectionism. You unfolded the frail paper.

“I know you’re angry, but everything I’ve ever done for you was exactly for this moment. I did all I could. Your mistakes determine your success.” - From, Dad

Your brows cinched with confusion. Setting his note aside, you harshly reached for the thick envelope, turning it around to read the address. Your heart sank to your stomach. Written in its bolden letters, there it was, the determining factor to your future: 116th and Broadway, New York, NY, 10027 Columbia University Undergraduates Admission Office. Far, far away. You wanted to go far, far away. Frantically tearing the sealed envelope open, your hands worked absentmindedly quick to unfold the professional letter. It was there. Right in your hands. But your eyes couldn’t fathom moving past the formal greeting that simply stated your name, and possibly seeing the rejection of your life. You knew how your mind worked. You knew how you were conditioned. A rejection is a failure. You would be a failure. And your father would be right. 

Columbia University

Office of Admission

Dear, Y/N Y/L/N,

No matter how close Chrissy Cunningham smushed her ear to the door, it was dead silent. Nothing. She was beginning to worry you may not have even been breathing. She may have respected your privacy, but she wasn’t oblivious. She knew better than to read your father’s personal note, but she very clearly read the return address of the envelope, and she knew what was about to unfold. Three years ago, sitting in the comfort of her bed with you by her side, you both stared at the ceiling with smiles on your face, and talks of the future. At the time, a young Chrissy Cunningham had gushed about going to Indiana State, because that’s where Jason Carver had prioritized to attend, after frequenting all their college basketball games with his dad as a kid. It’s where Jason Carver took Chrissy Cunningham on their first date. In the moment, she laid out the plans of her life: attend college, study pharmaceutical medicine, and graduate with a ring on her finger. Specifically his great grandmother’s. An heirloom so beautiful and of high value. And Chrissy Cunnginham would have wished it to occur on the night of their graduation, where both families met to celebrate the young adults on a new chapter of their life, and Jason Carver would have declared his chapter to begin with his wife. Chrissy had turned to you and asked “What about you?” And you answered honestly. “I just want to go far away.” You’d asked her if it would be possible. And she smiled and nodded her head. “I see you being successful. Somewhere big. Like New York. Where you can be you. I don’t think you’re meant to stay here.” And you had hugged your best friend tightly that night. Far away. That’s where you’d go. 

Chrissy flinched, as the door to your bedroom slowly opened. And there you were. She stared at you with big, wandering eyes. Yours had been stinging. Stinging with tears, and Chrissy's mouth was beginning to open to try to formulate a word. But then you spoke. Quietly.

“I got in.”

Chrissy gasped, as she brought you into a tight hug, arms securing you in place, as she began screaming in cheers and jumping up and down, forcing you to follow suit. “Oh, my god! Oh, my god!” You released your tears of joy, crying in laughter, as you began your intimate celebration with your endearing friend. “That’s incredible! I knew you could do it!”

“I can’t believe I actually did.” You muffled into her embrace. “My suspension-”

Chrissy pulled you away. “Hey, forget about that! You did! What Principal Higgins did holds nothing to how incredible you are! And they see that!” She effused loudly. “I’m so proud of you!”

This was you. This was your accomplishment. Not your father’s. This was all entirely you. 

“I’m proud of myself.” You giggled through the sniffles of a stuffy nose, as you wiped your eyes. 

“We have to tell everyone- my parents, they’ll be so happy for you! Oh, Eddie! You have to tell Eddie!”

Your smile became small at the realization.

Eddie…

You sucked in your lips, and simply nodded along to the rambling cheers she shot out a mile a minute. Eddie. That night, despite Chrissy's encouragement, you hadn’t told Eddie of your acceptance when he called you at 10:43 p.m. You just relished in his voice, humming along to the stories and thoughts he excitedly shared with you, as you savored his over-the-phone company. Because in a couple months, you would be gone. And the budding relationship that you and Eddie had worked so hard to come to terms would be gone alongside your presence. And that made your eyes well with tears as Eddie sweetly confided how much he loved spending time with you. Eddie claimed that night he couldn’t wait to do it for as long as you’ll have him. What he didn’t know was how quick that reality would come shattering in. So you just let him speak. Because no one had ever given Eddie Munson a chance to talk. And the one person who did would be gone soon.

So, you smiled through the ache and told Chrissy that Eddie was happy for you.

And you softly cried that night. Alone. Both happy and sad tears that wet your pillow before you fell asleep for the day. 

-

The next morning, Eddie had followed the sound of the patterned clink of his uncle’s spoon hitting against his valued Odie mug, as the older man stirred his morning cup of coffee to accompany the scrambled eggs and toast he’d just served himself. “Mornin’.” Though his back was turned, his nephew’s feet patting their way against the tile of the kitchen had become all too familiar. And like clockwork, a tired groan was the greeting in return. “What’s got you up this early?” He asked, as he turned around to see Eddie’s slumped body lean against the cold counter, as he did little to fight off the weariness. 

A single sock with a hole that let his toe peek out, while his other foot stayed completely exposed. But in Eddie’s defense, he was in no control of the insanity that was his sleep state, and that left sock was most likely tangled into his rumpled blankets. But the boxer briefs were entirely his fault. If he’d only learn how to properly use the dryer, his plaid underwear wouldn’t be constricting his thick thighs right now. But as much as Eddie didn’t know how to correctly do laundry, he also hated attempting, and he was down to his last clean pair. So, unlike his pajamas, he actually had to wear the shrunken boxers after scavenging for them in the back of his dresser. And for once, Wayne could see his nephew’s large forehead, as his bangs had lost the battle of Eddie’s sleeping movement. 

Examining his nephew’s look wasn’t something Wayne partook in on a regular basis, but seeing his state, and thinking of you- well, you liked Eddie. You liked Eddie like this. In the most abominable condition Eddie could be in, Wayne Munson could still picture you crooning so lovingly at him like the early morning of your communal breakfast. You liked Eddie for Eddie. 

“You.” Eddie’s voice cracked with dryness. “Why are you so loud?”

“Ah, well, I didn’t know it was a crime for me to make breakfast in my own home after workin’ the graveyard shift.” Wayne gruffed. “And what were you doin’ last night? Oh, yeah, havin’ fun with your little girlfriend, while your poor uncle worked.”

Eddie shot him a tired glare. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“I like you better when she’s around.” Wayne chuckled quietly. “Far less grumpy.” And a small smile managed to crack through Eddie’s fatigued face, as the home phone began to ring from the wall. Setting his breakfast onto the small kitchen table, Wayne sighed before picking up the call with a strong “Hello?” And then a hum. And then another. And then he turned to Eddie. “It’s for you, boy.”

Slapping the sleepiness from his cheeks, Eddie meandered his way over to the phone, where he took over for his uncle. Sporting the same fashion, Eddie could only give a hoarse “Yeah?”

“Hey! Good morning, Eddie!” Chrissy Cunningham. He had suddenly flinched the phone away, as her effused voice startled him awake. 

“Jesus, yeah, hi, Chris.” Eddie managed to grumble politely. “What’s up, everything alright?”

“Absolutely!” The bubbly cheerleader being a morning person? Oh, how Eddie envied her. “I just wanted to call you, because I think it’ll be a fun idea to plan a surprise party for Y/N.”

“Oh, yeah, sounds totally fun.” He sarcastically spoke. “But is it a normal thing to give Y/N a random heart attack in the middle of the year, or are we actually celebrating something for her?”

“Duh! It’s for her acceptance to Columbia.” She stated matter-of-factly. “She’s always dreamed of going to New York, and now she finally is! It’s incredible! And given everything that’s happened to her, I think she really deserves it, you know?”

Eddie Munson stayed quiet for a moment. “New York…?”

“Uh huh! Isn’t it great that she finally has a chance to leave this town! Really, I think a party is in need.” She laughed so casually. You were leaving? “Well, actually, that’s what I wanted to call you about, Eddie. See, when I thought about it, I realized she really only has me and you, so it can’t technically be a party. But maybe you could bring your friends around. You know, your club members? Is she also friends with them? I remember one of them came up to our lunch table one time. So, do you think-”

Eddie’s head began to pound, as Chrissy’s words were pacing through his mind. “Okay, okay, stop for a second, Chris.” He heaved out to rashly interrupt.

“Is everything alright, Eddie? Do you not think it’s a good idea? Maybe it’s too early?”

“I, um-” His throat felt heavy with constriction. “We’ll just talk about this later, I gotta go.”

Chrissy Cunningham stood no chance to Eddie’s rapid movements, and the phone was hung up before she could mutter another word. His hand had stayed tightly clutched to the phone, as he placed it on the wall. He was frozen. His eyes blinked oppressively, as he attempted to digest Chrissy’s words. Eddie’s heart pounded. You were leaving him. Oh, no. This is where the spiraling began. Ms. Kelly warned him of the possible triggers. He hadn’t expected one to occur so suddenly. Like everyone, you were leaving him. Suddenly, Eddie Munson was an eight-year-old hearing his father’s threats of abandonment because to his dad, he and his mother were no good and not worthy of anything. Then he was a nine-year-old walking in on his mother quickly packing a bag of her clothes. Her clothes. Not his. But his father came back before she could finish. And Eddie was stuck with the realization that his mother was ready to leave him behind for safety. 

“You alright, son?” Wayne’s voice brought him back to reality. “Want some breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

And that slam of his nephew’s door was all Wayne Munson got from Eddie for the rest of the day. 

Monday, you’d received the same fate. Hopping out of Mr. Cunningham’s car in the early hour of the school day, you peered around the bustling parking lot in search for a particular van alongside a particular metalhead. But your efforts came up empty, and the commencing bell stole you away from further prodding. By lunch, your neck was beginning to cramp with how many times you turned around to take a peek at the Hellfire lunch table. But the head seat was empty. And the rest of the boys continued their conversations. Perhaps he was sick. You managed to convince yourself of the idea to ease the disappointment of not seeing him today. But that became short lived when a call to his trailer after practice went unanswered, and the other line rang and rang until it cut you off. 

Tuesday, you followed the same routine. And you were left with the same nauseating feeling. Accompanying Chrissy Cunningham to her locker, you had carelessly interrupted her diatribe against Jessica Lewis’ ploy to turn the rest of the cheer squad to voting her captain. It’s almost the end of the school year, did she really think that would work? Ugh. But you had cut her off to ask if she’d talk to Eddie recently. Two absences in a row wasn’t particularly unusual for Eddie Munson, but your overthinking brain could ameliorate the gnawing feeling that something was wrong. You’d just gone on your second date with him, had he suddenly had a change of heart about his feelings for you? But Chrissy was useless. When interrogated, she quickly brushed it off as part of his usual antics of being against the school agenda. 

But Wednesday, you put your foot down. Three days absent. Four calls unanswered. And you were ready to panic. Marching past students, unwavering to their bumping shoulders and looks of disgust, you sat yourself in the chair in which Eddie Munson’s ghost was residing. The boys stared at you wide eyed. “Where’s Eddie? Why hasn’t he been here?” You had cut straight to the point. Mike Wheeler had reminded you of the fact that your boy toy wasn’t exactly fond of attending school, so it probably wasn’t a big deal. You rolled your eyes at him. Grant Goodman had suggested the idea that maybe his time was being taken up by the work of Reefer Rick to move sales. Ever since he’d been in jail, someone had to replace his position. And while plausible, the idea didn’t exactly satiate that agonizing fear. Then, Dustin Henderson proffered the idea that maybe he was just sleeping the days away. That’s when you realized the boys were just as useless as Chrissy Cunningham.

That afternoon, your fifth call was finally answered. 

Right before the start of practice, you wasted any lingering quarters from your bookbag to dial the numbers of the Munson household with the payphone provided by the courtyard of Hawkins High. When it picked up, you gasped of relief. When it was Wayne Munson, you felt awful for wanting it to be Eddie. You could only answer with a disheartened greeting when his uncle asked who was calling. 

“Oh, hey, darlin’.” He was so sweet. Wayne Munson was dwindling down to your last hope. “Nice hearin’ from you again, been pesterin’ my boy of when we can have you over again.” He smiled. “Everythin’ okay?”

“Hello, sir.” You attempted to pick up your tone of voice to not sound so crestfallen. “Um, yeah, everything’s okay with me, but, um, I’m more so calling for Eddie. I just- I haven’t heard from him or-or seen him, and, well, I just want to make sure he was okay. Is he?”

Wayne’s long sigh did nothing to aid your concerns. “Uh, yeah, kid, not entirely sure what’s up with my boy.”

“Is he sick?” You questioned. “Like, did he come down with something?”

“Nah, nah.” Wayne quietly confirmed. “Not that kinda sick, but he sure ain’t feelin good. Been in his room most of the time. This isn’t somethin’ new. Not the first time he’s gone through this cycle.”

“What do you mean?” You softly asked.

“Every once in a while, sweetheart,” he began, “Eddie gets these moments… these feelings that he locks himself in his room. It’s hard to speak to him. He doesn’t wanna talk. Most of the time, I can figure out that somethin’ is bothering him, but other times, these moments just happen. And, well, I just gotta wait for him to speak on his own terms.”

You swallowed thickly. Were you the thing that was bothering him? Did you send him into a depressive cycle? “Is he- is he okay?” In retrospect, it felt quite a redundant question to even bother with. 

“I think things are gettin’ better, kid.” Wayne earnestly answered. “He left his room today. Went to get some fresh air. It’s a start.”

“Wait, where did he go, sir?” 

“Not sure, didn’t say. Just told me he’d be back after clearing his mind.”

Clearing his mind.

Your brain perked with realization. “Uh, th-thank you for telling me, Mr. Munson.” You quickly thanked. “I’ll try my best to make sure he’s okay if I see him. Just thank you so much.”

Wayne released a breath of consolation. “Thank you for carin’ for my boy, darlin’. It really means a lot. To the both of us. To him especially.”

Lover’s Lake. Cheer practice had been entirely lost of care the second you hung up your conversation with Wayne Munson, and your mind had prioritized a journey to Lover’s Lake. Chrissy Cunningham would eventually tell Coach Hannigan that you were feeling sick when fifteen minutes passed, and you hadn’t shown up for practice. Because car-less and quickly exhausted, your trek to the sentimental location had become a near hour and a half long trip. One once thirty minutes with the most below average car became to feel like an eternity on tired legs. Having to run laps for practice tomorrow would become your death. Skipping through the center of town had proven to be easier, as sidewalks were provided for the entire purpose of walking. But turning into Mulberry street, a lack of pavement that wasn’t a cracked road made the experience worse. Your sneakers crushed the overgrown grass that met the street, as you willed all strength to persevere through the ache of sore legs. Not to mention, the slight ping of fear that would shoot through you whenever a single car would drive by. The scary decade of the 70s was enough to instill a precautionary guard. Eventually, the wooded trail that Eddie Munson once took you down came into sight, and your legs managed to exert underlying energy to guide you through the wooded path. About five hundred steps north, Eddie’s van became unconcealed through a horde of trees. 

Conscientiously stepping away from branches and newly sprouting weeds of tiny flowers, you quietly walked alongside Eddie’s van to approach the back doors that had been shoved open to let in the spring zephyr of the lake into his vehicle. 

And then, you delicately made your presence known.

“Hi.” Laying back against the shag carpeting of the back space of his van, arms crossed behind his head with eyes closed in peace, Eddie had automatically shot up at the diaphanous sound of your sweet voice. 

And he hadn’t meant to sound so rude, but he did, and your brows creased sadly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” You reiterated back with concern.

Eddie opened his mouth to speak, but his voice could speak up. But you could visibly see his urge to tell you all. One cautious step forward, Eddie hadn’t protested, so you continued your slow movements until you took a seat next to him. An evident gap purposely placed between the both of you. “I- um, how did you know I was here?”

“Kinda got the idea when I talked to your uncle.” You answered.

“My uncle? You called my- wait, how the hell did you even get here?” Eddie attempted to wrap his head around. 

“I walked-”

“You walked?!” Eddie abruptly interrupted, perturbed by the endangerment of your safety that was put at stake just for him. 

“Well, you scared me, Eddie!” You hit back, and Eddie had quickly quieted. No, no, no. Eddie promised himself- promised you that he’d never put you in a position to be scared again. And here he was screwing everything up, because his emotions were becoming too much to handle. It was so easy to resort to his old ways. So comforting to do something he was familiar with. And he hated it. Hated everything he was doing, because it was such an easy outlet to write his progress off as bullshit, and affirm the fact that he was an asshole, because he deserved nothing good in life. Before he could apologize, you began speaking softly. “You haven’t spoken to me since Saturday. Since our date. Why- what did I-”

“No, no, no, sweetheart.” He knew where you were about to spiral. “Don’t blame yourself, this is all me, please don’t- just please don’t think you did anything.”

You eyed him worriedly. “Then what’s wrong, Eddie? Can you just talk to me?”

Eddie took a deep breath, and his hand found his way toward yours, where he squeezed it tenderly. And then he looked at you. So longingly. “Y/N, I will always, always be so thankful that I met you and had you in my life.” Your heart began beating rapidly out of your chest, you were sure he could hear it. “Genuinely, you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. You’re so fucking kind. And you care- you care so much that for once in my life I actually feel wanted. You make me feel so good, Y/N.”

“Of course, Eddie, of course, I want you-”

“But that’s what’s so scary, sweetheart.” Eddie stopped you. “When you leave me, I’ll feel fucking destroyed. And I- it wouldn’t be good to depend my happiness solely on you, because I’ll be so awful.” His eyes stung. 

“No, Eds, I wouldn’t leave-”

“I know about Columbia, Y/N.” He simply inputted, that had your face scrunching with confusion. “Chrissy accidentally told me, she hadn’t meant to. But I know. And I know you deserve to leave this fucking town and go live your special life in a place where these bullshit people can’t hurt you. Leave me, sweetheart. You need to leave me.” He tried to smile through his tears, but it was ultimately failing. And you dropped your head to hide your hot face from seeing the man that was tearing your heart. “Before any of this gets serious, you need to leave me. I-I won’t have the balls to leave you, so just end this right here, sweet girl. Please.”

And maybe this is simply where the story of you and Eddie Munson was meant to end. In a matter of weeks, both of your lives and perspectives were altered for the better, as you navigated the heartbreaking moments of learning to be strong. Learning to seek help. Learning to listen. Learning to accept. Learning to love. Because when Eddie received that monumental call from Chrissy Cunningham, he felt as though his world came crashing down, because the thought of losing you became too severe to imagine, and he couldn’t feel that for someone he didn’t love. Experiencing the privilege of learning how to love you was the single greatest thing Eddie Munson had ever felt. Even if he couldn’t say it, he could feel it. He could feel it in the tight squeeze of your hand. And he’ll pay the price of having this moment with you even if he knew it would end far sooner than he wanted. Because it was for the best. You would get to live your life free from restraints, and Eddie Munson could look back at the incredible girl who endured hell with him and shaped him to be the better man he was today. Everything great about Eddie was only amplified ten times more because of your appreciation to his authentic self. You were so unfathomably beautiful, Eddie would forever hate himself to be the man that held you back from blossoming into the real world. Eddie never wanted a thousand admirers, he just wanted you. 

Pulling his hands from your hold, they moved their way upward to cradle the cheeks of your head, and he pulled your hiding face to expose itself right in front of his. Your wet tears burned the pads of his thumbs, because it hurt so badly to make you hurt. No, Eddie Munson never wanted to experience the pain of seeing you leave him, but for once in his life, he would just like the control of choosing who hurt him. And he liked his choice of it being you. You would do it so kindly. Eddie Munson willed himself to picture a world where you weren’t in his life, and what a worthless world it would be. But you were leaving regardless. And that worthless world would be an inevitable reality, so Eddie was choosing it on his own terms. As much as it killed him, you were meant to leave. And he wouldn’t place himself into a position to stop you.

His forehead landed against yours, and he shakingly smiled down at you through his tears. “You’re so beautiful, god you’re so fucking beautiful. I could never get tired of looking at you.” Oh, my god he loved you, he loved you so much, Eddie felt so lucky to love you. “You deserve greater things than me, Y/N. Everything’s going to be okay.” He whispered. “Leave me, and go get what you deserve, sweetheart.”

But your head began to softly shake no in the hold of his hands. “You don’t get to decide that, Eddie.” His faltering smile fell in an instant. “I know you’re doing what’s best. I know you’re making your own decision, but it’s my life, too, and no one- not even you can get a say as to what I deserve or what I should do.” Eddie’s eyes screwed shut. He knew who you were. He knew the perseverance you harbored. He knew the intelligence of your incredible mind. “How could you ever think me going to college would ever equate to me leaving you? How could you ever think I’d do that?” You asked. “You’ll still have me, Eddie, you’ll always have me. Even when I’m away.”

It was this time Eddie began fervently shaking his head against yours. “No, no, please don’t give me hope.”

“I’m not giving you hope, Eddie, I’m giving you my word.” A heavy breath released itself from his quivering lips, and pressed his nose against yours. “Make it up to me, and give me your word.”

He nodded vehemently. “I give you my word. I’ll never hurt you, just please don’t leave me.” A nine-year-old Eddie Munson cried out to you.

You smashed your lips into his wet ones, tasting the coating saltiness of his raw emotions becoming embedded into your body, as he firmly pressed your face into his to happily suffocate into. The spark, it had blown up into a blaring firework that screeched its way into the night sky and glowed its vibrant colors like the sun that once set. That was the excitement. But then the remnants of the sparks cascaded down tranquilly into the warm waters of a lake named after couples like you and Eddie, and had sizzled into peaceful nothingness. That was the stability. 

That was Eddie Munson. That was you. 

His lips had so tenderly massaged yours, as his nostrils opened up to breathe you in heavily. His thumbs had pressed into the plushness of your heated cheeks to keep you like this forever. Just in his arms. In his hold. Where you were safe to be yourself. Safe to make mistakes. Safe to be that mesmerizingly beautiful human being you were. The one Eddie Munson loved so much. 

Though much to his dismay, you were a human that needed to breathe, and Eddie had gut punched all the wind out of your lungs when his devotion poured into your mouth. You needed the tiniest bit of air. And gently pulling away, you and Eddie were left heaving against each other’s lips. 

“Eds.”

“Holy shit.” He mumbled, voice too congested with snotty tears, it made you giggle. “Don’t laugh at me, baby, I just had the greatest kiss of my life.” Eddie whined, which truly prompted more soft fits of titters. “Y’know, I’ve always thought New York was a cool place? Diverse city. Great job opportunities. Pretty gnarly bars to get my music some exposure. Wouldn’t be such a bad place to visit and stay periodically.”

Your sinking teeth did nothing to suppress the ever growing smile on your face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smirked. “But, I mean, it totally has nothing to do with you. I’m not even your boyfrie-” Your giggling mouth fell onto his once more, lips molding against his with such synchronicity, it felt like second nature to have his mouth on yours so lovingly. When you pulled away, Eddie groaned with a deep setted breath. “Mm, please let me be your boyfriend, sweet girl?”

You spoke against his lips with a smile. “Of course. Make it up to me, Eddie.”

“Anything for you, Y/N.”

-

One Week Later

“Um, what about “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” will that take your attention away from math?”  

Chrissy Cunningham had playfully smacked your swinging feet, as they moved absentmindedly to distract you from the dulling ache of your elbows sinking into her mattress and the headache that was AP Calculus. “Uh huh.” So distracted. Chrissy rolled her eyes, as she sat against the headboard of her bed, thumbing through movies.

It was a never-ending sleepover. 

“Weren’t your exams a week ago? Shouldn’t you be done with classwork? Or has this become your new definition of fun? Wouldn’t be surprised.” She laughed. 

“My exams may be done, but I was still gone for a week, and Mr. Fitzgerald was persistent with work during that time. Almost done making it up.” Your hand wrote and wrote, as the indent on your ring finger became deeper with every stroke of your pencil.

“Okay, well, will you just take one break for a second.” She pleaded with a mewl you knew would only get louder. 

You looked back at her with a knowing smile, before slamming your textbook shut. “Fine.” In true Chrissy Cunningham fashion, she offered you a small cheer. “Gonna go pee, be right back.”

Your friend nodded, as she watched you make your trip from her bed and out the bedroom door. And the second it clicked shut behind you, Chrissy was springing from her bed, and toeing to her window. Popping the latch, the night’s breeze flooded inside her room, and choosing to stick her head out of the window became a terrible idea, when Eddie’s face shoved its way into view, scaring the poor girl to death. 

“Jesus Christ, Eddie!” She whispered-yelled at the metalhead, as his sneakers secured him onto the tiles of her roof. The man was beginning to have a thing for roofs. 

“What the hell took so long?” He complained. It had felt like an eternity just waiting for the signal to arrive. Eddie Munson just hadn’t anticipated the signal to take over forty-five minutes to come. “The food’s going to get cold.”

“Well, sorry, but your girlfriend has a freakish obsession with schoolwork.” She protested.

And Eddie flashed a love sick smile. “She’s real smart, isn’t she?”

“Just give me my food.” Chrissy insisted.

“Give me a blanket.”

And the muscle of her arms had harshly hurled the balled blanket from her bed into Eddie’s face that had him stumbling on his kneeled legs with a huff from the impact of the hit. Eddie met her deal, and reached into the grease spotted Benny’s bag to pull out a double cheeseburger with extra pickles ordered directly by the cheerleader herself. Satisfied with her dinner, Chrissy ran back to her bed, allowing Eddie a moment to lay the blanket onto the roof and station the hefty bag of fast food alongside. Within a couple seconds, Chrissy could hear your incoming footsteps from the hall. 

“Okay, I’m back.” You strutted in, heading straight to her bed. “Ready for some-”

“Wait, wait.” Chrissy abruptly halted your movements, leaving you frozen mid climb. “Actually I have a change of plans for you.” She smiled. 

You peered down to her lap. “Where’d you get a cheeseburger from?”  

“Alongside being a chauffeur, I’m also a great delivery man.”

Turning around, Eddie stood confidently—hands on his hips, with a shit-eating grin shining from his face—with your impromptu date awaiting you. You smiled, and made your way to him. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Figured a pretty girl needed the experience of a third date.” He gave your chin an endearing pinch. “Greasy food from our first, picnic setting from our second, perfect combination for our third. And most notably, no worms around.” He climbed out of the window, and stood perched with a proffered hand out to whisk you away. Of course, you gladly took it, and Eddie helped you over the window ledge, and guided you onto the roof, where the moonlight descended like a mystical spotlight. 

“You know, some day, I’m going to have to plan one of our dates.” You teased, as you took a seat next to him. “Can’t have you do all the work.”

“Oh, no, I’ll absolutely do all the work, sweetheart.” He beamed a radiant smile at you. “Got a lifetime supply of dates set just for you.” 

Your arms circled around his neck, as you placed doting kisses to his cheek. “Thank you so much, I love it all.” Eddie had turned his head to meet your lips to enable his newfound addiction of kissing you deeply. It was tooth-achingly sweet seeing you both smile into your kisses. Your hand had managed to snake its way down his broad neck, getting caught in the chain of necklace, where you fingers toyed with guitar pick that accessorized his entourage of leather and chains. It was then, you felt it. Pulling away from his chasing lips, you took a better hold of his necklace, turning it to the side that stayed concealed against his chest, where your thumb rubbed your senior picture. Torn by the hands of Eddie Munson from Dustin Henderson’s yearbook, and meticulously cut to fit the backside of his guitar pick and stuck on with the tackiest of all glues for security.

“You still have this?” You crooned, as you peered into his eyes. 

His had never left yours. “Of course, baby.” He kissed your tilted chin. “Too corny?” He smiled.

“Absolutely not.” You laughed. “But I’m becoming quite jealous of the fact that I don’t have a photo of you- oh, wait, Chris has a polaroid camera!”

He groaned dramatically. “No, no! I’m not modelesque like you, pretty girl. It wouldn’t serve you any good.” He laughed, as he pinned you down to keep you from attempting to flee away for a photo opportunity. 

“Well, I still have the yearbook Nancy gave me, so should I use your senior picture or your club picture?” You giggled.

You and Eddie Munson had rescued yourself from the narratives that were propagated against you both. In the middle of nowhere, under a constant state of judgment from the breeding suburbia of perfection, Hawkins, Indiana had weaponized a young girl’s kindness to dehumanize the body that worked so hard to keep her full of life. A decade ago, you were running topless on the white sands of the beach, so liberated from the world’s retributionist opinion of what it meant to be a woman. But the bumps, curves, and expansion of your own growing body had been pitted against yourself forcefully by the nastiestness of society that reminded you you were a sexual thing, as you dealt with the first moments of womanhood at thirteen alone in your bathroom with an aching belly and a confused mind that couldn’t understand what changed so suddenly that you had to cover up the body that connected you to nature. Why was being a teenage girl something so terrible that other’s of all ages demeaned you? Why were you told to be so kind to everyone, but have it twisted to make you out to be something you weren’t? Why when you voiced your anger of being lied to by the world were people so freely allowed to label you with the dramatics of “being a woman?” Why were you left to wonder all these questions while everyone got to live their life?

Eddie kissed the creasing of your furrowed brows.

You and Eddie Munson had rescued yourself from the narratives that were propagated against you both. In the middle of nowhere, under a constant state of judgment from the breeding suburbia of perfection, Hawkins, Indiana had denigrated a young boy searching for acceptance, and villainized the enthralling qualities that gave him beautiful uniqueness of what it meant to be human. He was uncomfortable. He was nervous. He was ashamed of his own feelings, unable to not see the grossness of society that made him feel embarrassed to be alive. To show character. Forced into a dangerous pipeline to destruction, because horrid people—one’s meant to love him the most—enabled the environment where vile words of unworthiness were encouraged upon a growing boy who was being attacked by the cruelty of the world when he just seeked to be loved. So low in the hierarchy, it became so easy for the town to discard a living body to the ruins of society with no mercy. How horrible could his differences be for everyone to hate him? How terrible of a child could he have been to be left with bruises that never healed and tainted him to be a lost cause? Why when he played the part of a no good freak that they casted over him did everyone become disgusted with him? Why when he chose to seek help from the destructive patterns of his life was his worthiness still stepped on by his peers. Why was he left to wonder all these questions while everyone got to live their life?

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

But as noted, you and Eddie had rescued yourselves. Your time was not devoted to force the world to see you both as you truly were. That was not your labor. They saw you both for how they wanted to see you. But it wasn’t in your concern to care.

Not when he looked at you like that. Not when you looked at him like that. 

“I’m okay.”

"...𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡..."

- 𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐞

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | If you are someone who has followed along with my series and you'd love to place your input, please feel free to! Any critiques, comments, suggests are all heavily appreciated! Again, thank you so much!

@sierrahhh @harrysgothicbitch @niallerlover8022 @aunicornmademedoit @spring-picnics @sleepy-bunnie @eggo-segual @bambi-horror @aheadfullofsteverogers @sademoloser @freakymunson @princess-eddie @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @negativity4you @nope-thanks @allsortsedits @callingmrsbarnes @f0rgggg @hurricane-abigail @sweet-sunflower64

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[dodgedriftdietrying]

Dangers of the Job - Crocodile x M!Reader x Mihawk

Minors DNI

This is my first full on fanfic I'm posting on here. Mutuals look away plz. I'm nb but I'm following what trans male creators have said on here about writing trans masc characters in a non-triggering way. If I fucked something up, please lmk.

Scenario: Y/n is Crocodile's bookkeeper who has been training with and sleeping in the same bed as Mihawk while they're at the Cross Guild base. There is more context to this story, I may post it later, idk.

Tags:trans male reader, subbttm male reader, reader passes, pr0st1tution, meaning reader is a crocodile’s employee and sex is part of the contract,  size difference, reader is roughly 5’7”, mild choking, an@l, v@ginal soley referred to as “front hole”, threes0me, d0uble penetr@tion, clit referred to soley as dick but ‘rubbed’ is used, hair grabbing, butt plugs, creampie, stomach bulge, objectification, reader is plus sized, reader doesn’t like to talk during sex, safe sane(?) and consensual, genuine talk of boundaries, oral (reader receiving), hard dom/sub, biting, hickeys

Word Count: 4,575

Later that night, Mihawk walked back from the ‘bar’ tent to his own tent, passing by Crocodile’s oversized quarters on the way. As he did, a high pitched noise passed his ears. It easily could have been the wind, or the creaking of the tent poles, but the way the sound hit his gut told him he wouldn’t find the handsome little bookkeeper in his quarters when he got there. His observation haki told him the same. Daz was in his room in the front, snail phones on, record playing, dozing in and out of sleep. 

But Crocodile was laid out across his oversized bed, his ridiculous silk pajamas pulled down under his ass, with y/n, naked save for an overshirt, seated in his lap. He was still smoking, his hook traded out for the cigar holding attachment, while his flesh hand was wrapped around y/n’s thigh as he bounced up and down on his dick. One of y/n’s hands was dug into Crocodile’s forearm, the other had pushed up the bottom of his shirt to rest on his stomach. As Mihawk took all of this in, pausing outside the dark green tent, someone else’s observation haki touched his. The pointer finger of the hand enveloping y/n’s thigh lifted ever so slightly, making a ‘come hither’ motion, as the smirk behind the cigar widened ever so slightly.

Mihawk pulled Yoru off his shoulders, pushing open the tent flap and laying it on the plush couch of the entry room before stepping over the coffee table and through the curtain leading to the bedchamber. The syrupy moans coming from y/n didn’t stop, or even stall, and Mihawk quickly realized he had been dampening his footsteps, and with his eyes closed, mouth open and focus completely taken, y/n had no idea he wasn’t alone with his boss. Shame prickled over his neck, and when he met Crocodile’s eyes, the sleazy look on his face did nothing to quell his shame. Had he misunderstood his character? Was Crocodile really the type of man to A. fuck his employee and B. invite others to do the same without asking for consent? Nevermind the sidelong glances y/n had shot him while he was weightlifting, or the way he always burrowed closer in his sleep when they shared a bed, seeing him like this, completely lost in pleasure with his boss's cock buried in his ass, was a total invasion of privacy. 

Unaware of Mihawk’s inner turmoil, Crocodile moved his hand from y/n’s thigh to his throat, tilting his head back further. Fists clenching ever so slightly, Mihawk swallowed before speaking  “He better expect me, Crocodile” the words, meant menacingly, came out a little choked as he watched y/n's ass bounce just under the hem of the loose shirt he wore.

Y/n's eyes flew open and quickly locked on Mihawk's, the tears dotting his waterline tracking to the corner of his eye before falling up into his hairline. He stalled his movements, thick thighs quivering to keep himself up before Crocodile used his grip on his neck to force him back down to the base. A single wet squelch and a choked off whimper were both cut short when the mob boss responded, “Not expect, but he did encourage. He specifically asked if this aspect of his contract now extended to you. He was very excited at the prospect”

A throbbing heat started in his stomach at the thought, combined with the flushed, imploring face staring at him upside down. Mihawk took a few steps forward, coming to the edge of the bed, toeing off his boots then kneeling to get even closer. He moved up between Crocodile’s legs, until he was directly behind y/n. There was almost a foot of height difference between y/n and himself, but with him being seated on Crocodile’s lap, y/n had to crane his neck back to meet his eyes “Is that true?”

Without hesitating, y/n nodded, a short jerky motion so as to not break eye contact for a minute. Even with his obvious enthusiasm, tears of humiliation filled his eyes, threatening to fall immediately from his awkward position as his lips quivered. A slow, hungry grin spread across Mihawk's face as he ran his left hand from the junction of y/n's thigh up until it wrapped firmly around his neck. Crocodile moved his hand to allow that to happen, dropping his hand back down around y/n's thigh as he took a long hit of his cigar. Mihawk's other hand moved from his hip down, pushing the bottom edge of y/n's shirt up to rub a hot hand over his glistening dick and front hole. 

Gasping, one of y/n's hands flew to grasp each of Mihawk's forearms, his bitten short nails digging in as much as they could as his head fell back against his shoulder. Without pausing, Mihawk ran his hand further down, feeling the lube that coated both his plush ass cheeks, as well as his puffy rim where Crocodile disappeared inside him.

“Turn around” glancing up at that, Mihawk quickly realized he was not the one being spoken to, as y/n immediately moved into action. He pried his hands away from Mihawk's arms, urging them off of him so he could freely throw his left thigh over Crocodile’s wide midsection, then begin pulling his right across his legs. Mihawk aided his movements, taking the leg in hand and guiding it so the knee rested in the crook of his elbow. He grabbed the other, pulling it up over the large, still clothed thigh until it rested bent, with his knee leaning against Mihawk’s hip. Crocodile’s hand, which had been hovering in mid air, suddenly twisted into a handful of y/n's short h/c hair, pulling him back until he was laying back against his chest. Y/n was so small in comparison his head didn't even reach Crocodile’s collarbones as he lay all the way down. Planting the hand holding up y/n’s leg on Crocodile’s thigh, he grabbed the hem of y/n’s flowy sleep shirt and pulled it up, revealing his lower half in the flickering lamplight. He traced his eyes down y/n’s form, pausing at his stomach. Below his belly button a line of h/c hair traced down to his thick pubes. But above, there was a bump.

Mihawk’s already hard cock throbbed at the sight, and when he pressed down on it with his free hand, the moans that both y/n and Crocodile let out put a flush on his skin. It had been far too long. Pulling his hand down again, he ground the heel of his palm into y/n’s dick, pulling a gasping moan out of him. When he glanced up, Crocodile had finished his cigar, that arm now resting behind his head, propping him up so he could see what Mihawk was doing, the other still holding a handful of y/n’s hair, tugging it back out of his face. Two fingers slipped into y/n’s front hole easily, but he could feel the pressure from Crocodile’s girth through the thin wall of skin. The whole area was slick, his hole, dick and inner thighs coated in liquid. Mihawk has to wonder how long the two of them had been at it to get him to this state.

When a third finger slipped in easily, Mihawk quickly pulled his fingers out and sucked them into his mouth, getting just enough of the slick off to not leave embarrassing stains on his pants when he untied them and pulled them down just far enough to free his flushed red cock. Kneeing even closer, Mihawk took himself in hand, spreading precome over his dick before slapping it against y/n’s dick, watching the way it made his face screw up and his stomach jump. “Condoms?” he breathed, glancing towards the bedside table before meeting Crocodile’s eyes.

He just shook his head. “He’s been tested, and takes a birth control. Plus,” his hand finally released y/n’s hair and wrapped around his neck, completely covering him from jaw to collarbone “He likes being filled” 

Quirking an eyebrow, Mihawk lined his tip up with y/n’s front hole “He can’t speak for himself?”

A dark chuckle from Crocodile grated on his nerves “He doesn’t want to” that caught Mihawk’s attention, and Crocodile seemed to realize that, making a show of tilting y/n so he could rest his chin on his head “When we made this arrangement, he made it clear, he doesn’t want to talk, he wants to be used like a tool, and be put to work” With the final word, Crocodile squeezed his hand around y/n’s throat, pulling a whimper out of him as his e/c eyes rolled back. Mihawk liked the sound of that, and pushed the head of his dick in, ready to fulfill y/n’s wishes. It was a tight fit.

Y/n was small, compared to them both, sure. But he wasn’t a small man. His stomach jiggled with the thrust, but it still felt like there was no room for Mihawk inside him. His eyes moved from his stomach up to pin on y/n’s face, fighting the tight pressure as he fed in each inch, watching his eyes roll back and his mouth drop open until he was down to the base. He rested the heel of his palm below y/n’s belly button, and pressed down hard on the whole breath of his hand. Y/n screamed, legs thrashing, one hand jumping from being twisted in the sheets to grasp at his forearm again. 

“Alright, push him up” Crocodile blinked, out of it from the sensation of the pressure, but when he saw Mihawk hook his other arm under y/n’s other leg, he moved into action. Shifting his grip slightly, he pushed y/n up, forcing him to sit up and support himself with his arms. He let out little mewls and groans as he moved until he rested against Mihawk’s chest, panting. “Arms around my neck, y/n” He sluggishly complied, hands loosely grasping the other arms wrist. Without any warning, Mihawk hoisted y/n’s weight into his arms, and sank down onto his heels. Before y/n could finish screeching his name, Mihawk began bouncing him up and down on his and Crocodile’s dicks. 

In this position, the tightness inside y/n was alleviated slightly, making movement easier, but no less intense. Y/n’s slick was pooling around the base of his dick, and beginning to drip down his balls as they slapped against his ass. Arms tightening around his neck, knees pressed up as Mihawk’s hands grasped his shoulder blades, y/n opened his mouth against the side of his neck, panting and whining in time with the thrusts. Crocodile’s hand grabbed at Mihawk’s thigh this time, squeezing seemingly in appreciation of his movements. After only a few short moments, Crocodile grunted, dick throbbing as he spilled inside y/n.

The slick heat of his hole only deepend, making Mihawk duck his chin down and bury his teeth in y/n’s shoulder to muffle any embarrassing noises he may have let out. The noises coming from the hot body between them were neverending, and it was impossible to tell what exactly each one was in reaction to, just a constant stream of whimpers, moans and cut off chokes over the grotesque squelching coming from between his legs. Crocodile’s hand finally released him, and when Mihawk glanced up at him, his face was flushed and he made another ‘come hither’ movement towards him. Leaning forward, Mihawk forced y/n down until his back rested against Crocodile’s chest again, then released his grip on his shoulders, leaning back and dropping his legs in favor of wrapping both hands around his hips and began pistoning into y/n’s hole hard. Y/n just dropped, arms spreading out limply before his hands almost immediately twisted in the sheets and his head tilted back again. 

With one hand, Mihawk pressed the tips of his fingers against y/n’s dick, using his wetness to rub back and forth across it quickly. Somehow, y/n tightened more, mouth and eyes flying open and hands tugging at the sheets. His legs tightened around Mihawk’s waist, heels locking behind his back, as if he was going somewhere. Not slowing his thrusts or his hand at all, Mihawk barked “Choke him again” which Crocodile was quick to comply with. He closed his hand around y/n’s neck, just as he began to tighten impossibly more, walls spasming around Mihawk’s dick as he let out a breathy, gasping moan and came, legs shaking and head trying to force itself back even further. White covered Mihawk’s vision, pleasure drowning out any sound, and vision only coming back when his balls had finished throbbing, and his movements had stopped. Y/n was laying there, panting like they had just finished training, eyes open but unfocused. His lips were parted invitingly, but the thought of kissing him in front of Crocodile made Mihawk’s skin crawl. He pulled out, kneeling backward and bending his back to inspect his hole. 

The white of his cum immediately began dribbling out, mixing with y/n’s own juices as the trailed over his perineum and were forced to split around Crocodile’s dick where it was still buried in him. Desperate to get y/n back into his bed, Mihawk quirked an eyebrow, playing for nonchalant as he said “Do you plan to sleep in him?” Grinning, Crocodile moved his hand from y/n’s throat around to the back of his neck again, pushing him up. Mihawk quickly grabbed him under the armpits and pulled him into a sitting position.

“No, though that isn’t a bad idea. Just waiting until I could do this.” His hand finally free, he felt around in the jumble of sheets until he felt something, then dug through them to pull it out. It was a plug. Black, rubber, about 4 inches long and almost exactly the same width Crocodile’s dick was at the base when hard. He picked it up and rested its flat base against his lower stomach. Mihawk got the picture, and mentally counted to three in his head before lifting y/n up off all nine inches of Crocodile’s cock, quickly moving him backwards and sinking him down onto the toy. Y/n barely reacted, just mumbling something and shifting slightly before settling down. “Taking him back to your room?”

“I’m certainly not sending him to the clown cavalry tent like this” Crocodile grimaced at the thought. 

There was come drying on his soft dick and slick coating his balls, but he shoved himself back into his pants and got off the bed. Stepping into his shoes as quickly as he could without falling over, he moved around to the side of the bed where Crocodile had left y/n before trudging into the adjoining bathroom and pulling the curtain closed behind him. Mihawk heard the shower start to run as he scanned the room for y/n’s shoes, finding only a pair of bunny slippers in his size he shoved into his pants pocket before delicately taking y/n in his arms. 

He left the tent the way he came, awkwardly grabbing Yoru and holding it in his hand as he power walked back to his own tent, just beyond the tree line, completely out of sight of the whole rest of the camp. He first dropped y/n in the bathroom, setting him down on the toilet and fastening the curtain as he went to the kitchen, washing his hands before filling a jug with water. Once he did that he grabbed the container that held his good meats and cheeses, along with a box of crackers, which he added to a platter along with the jug. Finally, he filled a bowl with warm water and grabbed a clean hand towel out of the cupboard, placing them both on it as well. He brought the tray into his bedroom and placed it on the bench at the foot of his bed, pulling the slippers out of his pocket to drop on the floor before ‘knocking’ on the bathroom door by kicking the packed ground in front of it. 

“Come in” Came hoarsely from inside, and he pushed the curtain out of the way to see y/n on his feet, leaning back against the wooden counter that held the sink. Mihawk took the chance to take him in. He was still wearing only the loose collared shirt the fell halfway down his thighs, hair completely dishevelled, Mihawk’s bite mark dark on his shoulder, thick fingerprints already forming into bruises around his neck. His legs were shaking ever so slightly, fat quivering deliciously, and he looked up at Mihawk with a tired but still imploring gaze. Still hungry for more.  

Without a second thought, Mihawk dropped to his knee, putting his shoulder against y/n’s stomach and his arm around the back of his knees before standing, lifting him as if he weighed less than a loaf of bread. Because to him, he did. Y/n let out a deep “oof” followed by a strained chuckle, grunting with every step Mihawk took until he was thrown back down onto their bed, knees curling over the edge. 

Squatting down, Mihawk handed y/n the jug before going straight for the towel, dipping it in the bowl as y/n drank greedily. He stopped for a second, panting, just as Mihawk began wiping him down, starting at his lower back and working his way forward, around the base of the plug and finally up to his front hole. There he just scrubbed lightly, getting any moisture out of his pubes and off his inner thighs before standing and turning around, walking over to his wardrobe. His shirt came off first, linen replaced with snug cotton, before he took his boots off and then his pants and underwear, setting the pants on top of his dresser next to the shirt and throwing the rest into the laundry basket. He took the cloth and wiped himself down, gritting his teeth in an effort not to hiss at the overstimulating sensation. Finally he clothed himself in a fresh pair of boxers, and left the hand towel on the drying rack, kicking it until it was within reach of the edge of the bed.

Turning back, he saw y/n had moved, now seated against the pillows, jug half empty and now resting on the bedside table. He was staring at his hands folded in his lap, but when Mihawk knelt on the bed and moved towards him, his face flushed nicely and his shoulders drew upwards. Pushing y/n’s legs apart met little resistance, and he quickly found himself seated on his haunches, y/n’s legs thrown over his thighs, his holes visible from the way his shirt was pulled tight, but still not meeting his eyes. “So,” that got him a glance, but y/n acted like the action burned him and locked onto the middle of his chest, where the buttons of his shirt ended instead. “You like being used like a tool? More than that, you were excited at the prospect of being my tool?”

Y/n nodded, hands grasping the taut edge of his shirt. But after a second of silence, he mumbled something.

“What was that? You have to speak up, boy. And look at me when you’re talking to me, I know I’ve told you before.” Y/n complied, face burning.

In a small voice, he replied, “Property, I was excited about feeling like your property”

Something hot and heavy settled into Mihawk's bones, and he rested his hands on y/n’s thick thighs, squeezing ever so slightly. “Oh? And what makes you feel like that?”

Lips quivering, y/n looked away. Mihawk allowed it, too excited to hear the answer to stop him “This” he breathed, tilting his hand to point down the bottom of his tunic, at the base of the black plug settled against the bed “marks, c-collars, grabbing, like, manhandling, telling me what to do, h-hitting me when I don’t do it fast enough, that kind of thing” His voice faded into a whisper at the end, but Mihawk couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“And what don’t you like?”

Y/n only spared him a second of a glance before responding, “Pain besides open hand hitting, anything in public, like, doing anything I said around anyone but Sir Crocodile, girly nicknames, pinning my hands down, covering my nose, anything to do with feet…” Eyebrows furrowing, y/n finally met his eyes again, still blushing but less concerningly red “I-I think that’s it”

“Good.” With that Mihawk pressed an open mouthed kiss against his lips, pushing him back into the headboard. Y/n moaned immediately, lifting his hands to  grab at either side of Mihawk’s face. Pressing his tongue into his mouth, he ran his hands under y/n, pulling him down until his head was on the pillow, and his body was completely covered by Mihawk’s own. Y/n sucked on his tongue, throwing one arm around his shoulders while the other wrapped around the back of his neck. “Shit, you like marks?” pulling back slightly, Mihawk ran a hand up under his shirt. Y/n nodded, and he tugged on the hem “Can this come off?” Another nod, and Mihawk sat up enough for him to be able to do the same and pull it over his head. His chest was bare, save for two strips of black fabric that seemed molded to his skin, pulling each mound of his chest off to the side. Mihawk ignored that entirely, instead focusing on giving the bite mark on his shoulder some neighbors.

“You’re going to look like a whore” He growled, between bites on the junction of his shoulder and neck, “You’re gonna walk out of here tomorrow morning and everyone’s gonna know you like getting on your knees and back for powerful men” The whine that came after that said more than words ever could, the fingernails digging into his scalp doing the same. The air around their heads was quickly getting incredibly humid, both from y/n’s pants and Mihawk's spit and disjointed speech “That is it, is it not? You bent over for Crocodile because he was the strongest thing you could get your hands on, but now you want to be chained up by one of the most wanted men on the sea” He stopped his teasing to bite the side of y/n’s neck, releasing the skin from his teeth only to suck on it fiercely. By the time he released it with a wet ‘pop’, the skin looked almost black in the dim room.

He had to carefully watch his actions under Crocodile’s gaze, he trusted the man but not enough to drop his carefully curated persona, but with y/n he had no such convictions. He was strong, smart and incredibly useful, but he himself had said he had no plans for working on his own, so unless Crocodile became Mihawk’s foe again, he should stay within reach, at least as long as Cross Guild was in effect (so by their contracts, at least the next 5 years). And after that, he was such a man of honor Mihawk knew the only way someone could get details of Mihawk’s true nature out of him was through pain of death. There was the concern of Crocodile forcing y/n to tell him that information, but for once in his painfully long life he couldn’t find it in himself to care. So he didn’t try to keep up any facade the way he had to with the average one night stand. 

He openly panted into the side of y/n’s neck, pinched his dick and rubbed his flattened fingers over his hole, before pulling them back to lightly ‘smack’ the twitching muscle. Y/n’s whole body jumped as his fingertips accidentally slipped inside, but when he lifted his hand to repeat the motion, his hips jumped to meet his fingers, and he hummed in approval. “Sir-”

“Yes?” 

“Before, you-ah” Mihawk’s fingers sank into him, curling against his g-spot pointedly “you did the work, let me-”

“I thought you were a tool?” Mihawk pointed out, tone teasing and thumb circling his dick as his fingertips continued to curl inside him. “Let me use you, at least for tonight. We have all the time in the world for you to pay me back two fold” he didn’t wait for an answer, just pushed himself back until his head was hovering above y/n’s crotch. He moved his thumb off his dick to suck it into his mouth, pressing another finger into his front hole, the fit tight from the plug in his ass. Thinking of it, he lifted his head again as he settled down onto his stomach between his legs, “How long do you keep this in for? Until he needs you again?”

He shook his head, “He just likes seeing me with it, so I wear it as I leave. He doesn’t care, unless he tells me to wear it one day and I don’t. He did that earlier today-”

Satisfied with this answer, Mihawk pulled his dick back into his mouth, curling his fingers again rhythmically. He licked down, prodding his tongue in along with his fingers, looping back up to his dick. Time faded away, the only sound the moans coming from above him, the squelch of his wetness and Mihawk’s huffs of breath. It had been a long time since Mihawk had time to focus on someone else’s pleasure for this long. The clock on the dresser ticked by an hour, and y/n had come on his tongue 3 times, his legs being locked around his head so long a muscle cramp stabbed in his thigh. Hissing, he dropped his leg down, grabbing the meat of his thigh, kneading it in his hand. Mihawk sat up, sitting back on his heels and stretching his arms above his head. Meeting his eyes, y/n opened his mouth to speak, sitting up towards him, but Mihawk beat him to it.

“You’re gonna go shower, clean yourself out, then we are going to go to sleep.” Face immediately dropping from anticipatory to despairing, y/n tried to argue, but his mouth was squished closed when Mihawk grabbed him by the jaw and squeezed his cheeks together “Now, y/n. Do not make me ask again”. Y/n nodded sadly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed once Mihawk released his face, slipping his slippers on and padding out into the bathroom.

As he laid back on the sheets, Mihawk almost felt thankful to Crocodile for making y/n put so much weight in ‘serving’ him, and making it so easy to throw him off his balance. The begging that littered the last hour for Mihawk to ‘let him make him cum’ and to ‘serve’ him made him a little giddy. Some pleasure without ‘reciprocation’, and he turned into a mumbling, sweating, rosy mess.