#she would let me use the tv without the theatrics

[patron-saint-of-emesis]

my mouth hurts. im tired and cant nap :( im abt to go into the living room so pathetic and sad like mom pleeeeeeeasssseee let me and the boys use the tv for the two towers please if i dont watch lotr ill die i had dental surgery today. and then i just gotta yank the boys away from mtg. which i can do by going pleeeeease i had dental surgery ill die if i dont see faramir within the hour :(((

[justmeinadaze]

Secret Underneath Part 7 ( Steddie X Plus Size You)

Warnings: Older (Mid thirties) Sugar Daddies Steve and Eddie/ Young (Early to mid 20s) Baby Fem Plus Size Reader, SMUT, slapping (brief), reader just letting out some aggression with Daddy's help, dirty talk, etc. FLUFF, they love her and tell her so a lot.

ANGST (because I'm me), the discuss more about what happened with the fallout of Gina and how they reacted when it came to Y/N. More insight into why the guys and Gina split (she's not a good woman). Reader does a thing at the end, I'm not calling it a cliffhanger but it could be construed as one.

Word Count: 5342

Series Here/ Donate to Me

“Would either of you like more coffee?”, your mom asked as the pot in her hand hovered over their cups. 

“Oh, no ma’am. Thank you though.”, Steve politely smiled as Eddie shook his head to answer her question as well. “The breakfast was delicious, sir. Thank you for allowing us to join you and your family.”

“Ok, calm down, son. That’s not the way to suck up to me and her mother.”

Both boys glance your way as you try to stifle your giggles behind you mug as you sip your coffee.

“I think I’m starting to see where princess gets her sarcasm from.”, the rockstar grins.

“Yeah, we spoiled her too much.”, you mom teases as you stick your tongue out at her reply. 

“If I may ask, what would be the way to suck up to you because we love Y/N very much and we would do anything possible to earn all three of your trust and acceptance back.”

The room became silent as Steve’s words hung in the air. 

“To be fair, honey, when it comes to us, our first experience with you is hurting our daughter. We didn’t even know she was seeing anyone again.”, you mother relayed as her eyes flicked towards you. “Everything we know about you is either from the tv or her when she came home crying.”

Eddie’s eyes squeezed shut as her words pierced his heart; they never wanted to be the ones responsible for your pain. 

“You may not like hearing it but it’s true. You have to accept what you did to her first before you can move forward. A thousand years of marriage taught us that.”

“Oh my God.”, your father sighs. “You calm down to. Everyone at this table is so theatrical. I need back up. Where is Mya?”

“Mya is probably knocked out but I’m sure she’ll be around later.”, you smile. “There’s a lake behind the house here if you guys want to go for a walk.”

“Yeah, we’d love that.”

***

“If you’d like after this, we can run to your hotel and grab your clothes so you can change. You can stay in our house to if you want.”

Eddie’s palm balances just under your own as you hold your arms out while walking along the bank of the water. 

“We don’t have to. I mean…we don’t want to over crowd you or make you uncomfortable.”

“Said the men who were asleep at the foot of my bed this morning.”

“We were worried about you.”, Steve replied as he carefully traveled behind you to make sure you didn’t fall. 

“Well, I’m offering but if you’d be more comfortable in the hotel I’d understand. My family and Mya can be a lot.”

As you jump down, the metalhead guides your decent making sure you’re alright before you three continue moving forward. 

“They are a part of you and you aren’t a lot.”

“Not enough to be open with me.”, you grumble before you watch their heads hang. “I’m sorry.”

“No, um, no reason to be. You’re right.”

“Can I ask…what’s been happening since I left?”

“Jesus, fucking everything.”, Steve sighs as he takes a seat under a tree and you both follow him down with you in between. “I have no idea how she’s doing all these interviews at one time. We can barely get through one in general without being exhausted.”

“Gina and her lawyer have been making the rounds on daytime talk shows and sites like TMZ. Our lawyer says that tactic works in our favor because she either puts her foot in her mouth or contradicts herself so we can use that in court.”, Eddie exhales heavily. “All we’ve done so far is make that statement on Harrington’s social media which everyone has picked apart already.”

“Did that do anything for you?”, the mogul asks as his gaze shifts your way. “We were hoping that referencing you that way in our statement would help keep all that chaos away a bit.”

“I wouldn’t know since I haven’t looked at my phone. The only reason I know you said anything is because I had a weak moment and scanned your profiles on my computer.” Your head hung for a moment before you sarcastically chuckled and looked his way. “Now Gina’s interview saying that you’re only dating me because I’m the opposite of her, that was an accident. My mom was watching her morning shows and…”

“She’s not entirely wrong.” Your head swiveled towards Eddie as you waited for him to explain. “You ARE the complete opposite of her which is another reason we love you. If we wanted another Gina we could have just stayed with her.”

Your eyes closed at the words “we love you’, not quite ready to believe and accept them just yet. 

“So, yeah, did you guys have a lake like this back in Hawkins?”

“Y/N—”

“We should probably get you to your hotel so you can change and get your stuff.”, you interrupt as you hastily rise to your feet and dust off your pants. 

“Baby—”

“No.”, you growl as you put up your hand to cut him off. “No, Steve. You both don’t get to call me that right now. Don’t let this whole thing fool you. I’m still incredibly angry with you and it’s going to take more than a conversation and a meal with my parents to get me back.”

Silently the three of you walk back to your house but your mom’s loud voice cuts through the winter air as you come around the corner. 

“…and after the things she’s saying about MY daughter?! Gina Frost can go fuck herself!”

Eddie moves first, powerwalking forward and placing himself between a well-dressed man and your mother. 

“If I were you, Daniel, I would get in your car and go back to New York.”

“Are you threatening me, Mr. Munson? I’m not a woman you and your friend are dating so I imagine not.”, the man responds sarcastically. 

The rockstar angerly steps towards him but you hastily grab his arm and in return he stands up straighter to make sure you’re shielded with his body. 

“Is this Miss Y/L/N? I just need to talk with you if you’re able—”

“She’s not involved in anything between us and Gina. If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with our lawyer.”, Steve defends, placing himself beside his friend to block the man from you and your family. 

“Trying to silence another woman, gentlemen?”

“No.”, you answer for them as you push forward. “They don’t speak for me nor would they ever try. You have one minute to say what you want before my father gets involved and trust me, you thought my mom was combative?”

“Can I at least have a minute alone—”

“No. 55 seconds.”

The man reaches into his pocket and hands you a card that you pass to your mother around your protecters. 

“I’m looking for some more character witnesses to corroborate Gina’s statements—”

“Oh, honey, I’m the last person you should ask because from what I’ve heard our experiences with these men have been very different. 30 Seconds.”

“Are they? How was the charity event? They used to bring her every year.”

“She was their partner. Try again. 25 seconds.”

“It took them awhile to do it. Even longer for her to move into their apartment. How long have you three been together?”

“Who says we’re together? They’re my friends. 15 seconds; you better make them count.”

“Gina was their friend for years before they got together and before they started lavishing her in gifts and all that material bullshit. How long was it until they started doing the same with you? This case was started almost 7 months ago. When did your friendship with them begin?”

Your eyes blink as your jaw tightens and you try to hide the doubt that hits your heart at his line of questioning. 

“Time’s up. Get off my family’s property now.”

##################

You sit quietly as you stare vacantly out the window while both men quickly change and place themselves on the bed in front of you.

“What are you thinking about, Y/N?”, Steve asks with a soft tone as both men’s eyes constantly scan you over with concern. 

“I don’t want to believe him…”

“But you do?”, Eddie follows trying to hide the pain in his voice. 

“I can’t help it. You hid things from me and then you fucking left! No, you expected me to be ok with you disappearing for ‘some time’ which is way worse.”

“Fuck me her lawyer is fucking good.”, the mogul breathily laughs as he shakes his head. “Yeah, the case was started two months before we met you but do you know how long we were separated before we ever considered trying to find a partner again? Eight months. Eight months of alcohol filled days and hiding in our apartment because the idea of going out sounded exhausting. Eight months of watching her plaster her pages with pictures of her tongue down other men’s throats after deleting everything that had to do with us.”

“When we got served those papers, we spiraled even more.”, the other boy continued. “It finally got to the point where I told him we needed to try and get back out there. We started slow going out to bars or parties and we met so many women, Y/N. They would fucking beg to come home with us but we could never do it.”

“Not the right target?”, you sass but regret it immediately when their hurt and anger filled eyes meet yours. 

“We told you when we first spoke with you that we aren’t into ‘yes’ girls and that’s all they were. We went to the site and it was a bunch of the same shit.”

Steve pulled out his phone and ran his fingers along the screen until he found what he wanted and began reading. 

“Please Daddy. I’ll do anything to be yours especially if you can afford to get me something as expensive as your shoes! I’ll do whatever you want.”

“I’m not really into the threesome thing but if you show me your faces I can pick one of you and give you the best sex you’ve had in your life.”

“I’d love to meet you but we may need to go to the mall first. You can’t take me out in cheap clothes like the ones you’re wearing.”

Your eyes rolled as you listened to what the other Babies had said to them hating that women like them existed especially since you knew a lot of “Daddies” preferred that. After pushing another button on his phone, a high-pitched giggle filled the room.

“Stevie! Answer the phooooooone! Ugh, fine. Whatever. I just wanted to call to tell you guys I won’t be able to make it tonight for dinner. My friends are doing this thing and its sooooo stupid. Do, um, do you think you can send me $300 so I can have some real fun? I promise I’ll make it up to you two! Love you!”

“Steve, I’m out here fucking waiting for you. Why aren’t you here? If this is about me saying I didn’t feel like sleeping next to trailer trash tonight, Eddie knows I didn’t mean it. I was just…you know how I am when I get upset and he promised to take me with him to that interview with Kimmel so I could meet him backstage! It’s not my fault I got wasted and made him miss the stupid plane.”

“Fuck you both! I’m fucking done! I needed you this weekend and neither of you were there! The fucking press and people on the street are calling me a fucking whore and TMZ is making the rounds with my fucking mugshot! You’re going to regret throwing me away! The least you can do is send me some money for the hotel since I can’t go fucking home now.”

“Wow…well she sounds like a winner.”

“Stop it.”, Eddie rumbled in his Daddy tone that had you unintentionally sitting up straighter. “We’re trying to explain something and this is serious, Y/N. Every Baby we talked to reminded us of her…except you.”

“And it’s not because we were targeting you or needed you to show how, I don’t know, how fucking amazing we are or some shit because we aren’t. We’re flawed and sometimes we can definitely be assholes but I swear to God, Y/N, we never meant to hurt you. These past few months have seriously been the best of our entire lives. I offer to pay for things and take care of you because I love you. No, hey, look at me.”, Steve scolds when you avert your gaze at his declaration again. 

“It’s not because we need to establish a relationship quickly or whatever Gina’s lawyer is preaching. You have never tried to take advantage us and selfishly we took advantage of that by commanding you to wait in your apartment without telling you want was going on. That’s never going to happen again, baby girl, and I don’t care what I have to do to make sure it doesn’t.”

“Trust us, sweetheart, the speed of this relationship startled us to. We constantly asked ourselves if we were moving too fast even though we told you we needed to go slow. But like Steve said everything we do is because we love you… I love you.”

Your eyes took them in as they spoke, fully absorbing what they were telling you. 

“Is there anything else I should know about you and her?” After exchanging a look, they shake their heads. “Please don’t lie to me.”

“We’re not, baby, we promise.” As tears cloud your vision, you close your eyes to try and suffocate them as they betray you, falling down your cheek. Ringed hands cup your face as a forehead presses to yours. “What can we do, Y/N? Tell us how we can help, princess.”

“I want to be mad at you.”, you whisper.

Eddie’s head straightens, understanding what you need. 

“Then be mad. Let it all out, baby. You aren’t at home and we’re on the top floor. Shout, scream, hell, hit us if you need to. Just like you we know the word and we know when to use it.” Still seeing trepidation in your eyes, he clears his throat as he stands to his full height. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be a little baby.”, he coos with a mocking tone that has you standing to match him. 

“I’m not being a baby!”

“Oh really, little girl? Sound like a baby to me.”

Your palms reach out to shove him but the rockstar quickly bounces back as you push at him again a bit harder.

“M’NOT a baby! I have every right to be angry with you!”

“Yeah, ya do, baby! Let it out! Tell me why you’re angry with us!”

“I was ALWAYS vulnerable with you and more than accommodating but you both couldn’t do the same with me! You hurt me!”, you screamed as you began punching his chest with your fist barely moving him in place. “You made me feel like trash! You took me out and treated me like a queen but as soon as things got hard for you two you threw me away!”, you began to sob. “You gave me hope that I could finally be fucking happy after what Holden did and then with one letter you ripped it all away!”

Dropping your arms to your sides, they watched as your body shook as the tears continued to flow. Abruptly, you turned to leave but when Steve’s hand reached out to grab your wrist, your palm reeled back before smacking him hard across the face. 

The mogul didn’t say at word or let you go as his head swiveled back and his forehead fell on yours. Your eyes remained zeroed in on his chest as it heavily rose and fell with each angry pant, matching you own as the intense energy hung in the air. Again, you slapped him but it wasn’t as hard as before. Repeating your actions, the force of your palm connecting with his cheek became less and less until you were just cupping his face in your hands. 

Your lips roughly attach to his as a small whine leaves your throat at the taste you missed so much. A needy atmosphere replaces the old one and Steve’s strong palms grip your thighs as you jump up to wrap your limbs around him. 

Tumbling onto the bed behind you, the mogul desperately tugs down your jeans and panties as you fumble with his belt before reaching into to his own pants to free his cock. The two of you groan into each other’s mouths as you collect some of your slick with his tip and guide him into your entrance.

Hovering above you, Steve delivers a couple of slow but deep thrusts that have your eyes rolling shut and your fingers threading through his hair when his entire body presses against yours. 

“We’re so sorry, honey.”, he whispered breathlessly. “Mmph—ah, fuck—we didn’t think…fucking stupid.”

You shook your head and pushed his closer to your neck as your legs clung to him tightly.

“It hurt me the most be-because…Jesus Christ, Daddy, just like that.”

“Because why, baby? Tell Daddy.”

Your pussy clenched around him as his heavy pants rippled through your ear making you mewl as he pumped into you at a harder pace.

“Because I love you to, Steve.”

The moan that rumbled through him was one of the most beautiful sounds you had ever heard as he thrust into you so fast the bed shook aggressively underneath you. Keeping his arms secure around you, the man pushed up onto his knees, bringing you with him as he continued to thrust upwards as your palms held his face and his eyes locked in on yours. 

“Please…again…”

“I love you, Steve, so much.”

“Oh shit.”

As he pressed his head into your chest, you felt his release begin to paint your insides and at the sudden action your body trembled as you came.

When you glanced his way, Eddie couldn’t wait any longer, having been stroking his cock at the display before him and desperate to feel you in his arms again. Pulling you off his friend, he stepped out of his jeans and threw of his shirt, positioning you onto all fours with your ass in perfect view for him. 

The rockstars fingers dug into your thick hips as he slid himself inside you and leaned over to lay his chest against your back. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, we missed you so much. I promise we will—mmm—never make you feel like that again. You deserve the world, baby.”

With your eyes close, your mouth blindly searched for his and he obliged as your lips passionately mingled together. 

“I-I love you to, Eddie. Fuck, Daddy, please… harder.”

Pushing up onto his palms, he pulled his cock all the way back before slamming back into your cunt hitting that soft spot inside of you repeatedly that had you a moaning mess. His sweaty forehead was resting on the side of yours and as you opened your eyes, you watched as his gorgeous features contorted into pleasure as he picked up his rhythm.

“That’s it, Daddy. M-Make me cum.”

You couldn’t help but smirk when his nose scrunched in focus as he did what you requested. Falling completely on top of you, your hand quickly grabbed his as your pussy quivered around him and you whimpered as the coil snapped in your belly. The feeling was almost too much for Eddie as his pace sputtered and he grunted against your skin as his release filled you. 

After gently pulling his softening cock out of your now sore but content body, Eddie rolled you onto your back and continued to kiss any part of your neck and face he could reach until a second set of lips joined him on your opposite side. 

“I forgive you.”, you mumble causing their movements to stall before they raised both their heads to look at you. “I forgive you. I’m sorry I broke your rule about googling you. I only looked up your lawyer’s information. I swear I haven’t be looking up information since—”

Steve’s palm over your mouth cut you off.

“We understand. That rule was bullshit anyway… Another way for us to hide Gina.”

“We looked through your socials.”, Eddie revealed as his hand brushed some of your hair away from your face. “We had never done it before because, like you said, we wanted to learn about you from you but when we couldn’t get a hold of you…”

“Did you find anything interesting?”, you tease making both men smile.

“There’s a video on there one of your kids tagged you in where they were joking with you about slang or something. They seem to really love you.” Eddie’s grin grows when you lightly giggle. “Y/N, we’re sorry about not updating you more on our case. It didn’t even occur to us how this could ripple out and affect your job.”

“We’d hate ourselves if we were the reason you lost something like that.”

“I forgive you.”, you repeat before continuing. “I do have to make it clear, though, that this can’t happen again. I meant what I said, I do love you both but I’m not going through all of this again. I…refuse to.”

Their lips kiss your cheeks as they hold you tighter to them. 

“This is never happening again, sweetheart.”

“We promise, honey.”

#####################

As you step out of the shower at your house, you smile as you listen to Eddie’s cackle echo through the house at something your dad said before Steve’s lighthearted tone tried defending whatever was said. 

Glancing towards the drawer by your bed, you let out a heavy sigh before reaching in and grabbing your device to scroll through the screen. 

All of your socials had tags attached that you assumed were people claiming the “mystery woman” was you and the comments everyone was saying in response. There were a ton of emails from news outlets asking for you to say something or give them a quote to confirm it was indeed you that went to the charity event with them but thankfully nothing from your boss or the school. 

You saw a bunch of texts from Mya, your mom, and surprising your ex who assured you he wouldn’t say another to the press even though a few got his information as well. 

Going through your voicemails, you skipped passed reporters and the couple from Gina’s lawyer that you couldn’t care less about until a familiar voice followed through your phone. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”, Eddie chuckled with a slight slur in his tone that told he was probably drunk at the time. “I just wanted to call you myself because…Because I was thinking about you. I think about you a lot…like all the time, Y/N. Even before all this bullshit with our ex… I would be in the studio with the guys and be like ‘I wonder what pretty girl is up to?’ You’re so beautiful, baby, inside and out. I had a dream about you last night. I was back home in my trailer and I heard you screaming outside. I ran to find you b-b-but I couldn’t. I started panicking like ‘She’s gonna think I didn’t try…try to come save her.’”, he sobs making your heart break at the sound. 

“No matter what, princess, I’d be here for you. I love you so much. I’ve never loved anyone as much I love you… Fuck…I shouldn’t leave t-this on your machine. Pfft, Machine. Like it’s the 90s still.”, Eddie laughs at his own joke. “Anyway, um, yeah…I just wanted you to know…that we miss you an we love you, baby. We so sorry…”

The rest of the message was his heavy breathing where you assumed he fell asleep making your grin grow as you wiped one of the tears that fell. Pushing the button for the next message, Steve’s gravelly voice followed. 

“Hey, Y/N. Um, I’m so bad with these things. Eddie’s a lot better with technology than I am but I’m so desperate to hear your voice, honey. I miss the sound so much and not just your voice but your cute little laugh or even the adorable way you sneeze with your entire soul.” When he laughed you giggled along with him. “Jesus…we really fucked up, huh, baby girl? When I was a kid, I would watch women come and go from my dad’s office and I would think ‘I’m never going to be like him. If I had a good woman like my mom at home I would never hurt her like this. I would never make her feel unloved or unwanted.’… We understand if you need some space… I just…I just don’t want you to think we’re doing ok without you. We love you, Y/N.”

When you selected the next message, you have expected it to be another declaration of love or an apology from the guys but when a high pitched sigh came through grating your ears you were surprised. 

“I hope I’m calling the right number. I’m usually a texter but I felt like something like this required a call. My name is Gina Frost and I am Eddie and Steve’s ex. Listen, honey, for your own good, leave them now while your heart is still intact. I spent years trying to be what they wanted me to be and it was never enough. The first time I stood up for myself was when I left them and they dragged my name through the mud! They are great at twisting the truth to fit their narratives. Don’t get pulled in. Would you be willing to meet with me so we can talk?”

You growled at her tone and accusations as what they told you, her voicemails on their phone, and what she said about you on national television swirled around your head.

Opening your Instagram, you uploaded three images with different captions. The first was from the night of charity event that Stephanie took of you three before you left the apartment with you in-between them and their arms wrapped around your waist posing with their other hands pushed in their pocket. Your grin stood out as you laughed at their insistence to not smile in pictures so it looked “sexy yet intimidating” while showing you a demonstration. 

“My name is Y/N Y/L/N and as a lot of you may have noticed I am the woman that went with Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington to the event last month. I have known these men for a few months and have been in an intimate relationship with them for some time. For my privacy and because of the things being said online by Miss Frost, they tried to protect me by referring to me in the media as ‘just a friend’. I hope that notion alone goes into the column that they are not the lies that people have said about them. I love them both with every fiber of my being and I have never felt safer in my life then in these men’s company.”

The second image was a video of you and Steve sitting in your living room on the floor where you were trying to put one of your face masks on him while he kept making jokes to keep you laughing. 

“Why is it, cold?!”

“Because, you dork! It good for your skin now stop moving.”

When he playfully sticks out your tongue to lick your wrist as it grazes his lips, you can’t help but lean back on your knees as your tummy shakes with almost uncontrollable giggles. 

“Steven! Stoooop.”

“You want me to stop being adorable? I can’t do that, honey. That would be like asking me to stop breathing.”

“Steve Harrington is one of the kindest souls I have ever met even going overboard sometimes. I thoroughly believe that if he could move heaven and earth with his own two hands just to see me smile he would. He has never once asked me to change who I am but has himself adjusted his own personality to make me comfortable without me even asking. I love him as is but he can be stubborn when it comes to people he genuinely cares about. 

Your third video had Eddie straddling your waist while pinning your wrists to the floor. The power had gone out due to a storm so you three had been passing the time anyway you could think. While play wrestling, he got the upper hand and leaned down to kiss your lips. 

“Woooo! And Eddie Munson wins by a landslide!”

While he pretends to be praised by a nonexistent audience, you wrap your arms around his waist and push your chest against his bare one, flipping you both around till he was underneath you. 

“Oh no! And with the cruel hands of fate, Eddie Munson is no more.”

You giggle as he closes his eyes and pretends to pass out before you lean down to kiss him, making him grin as his fingers tangle in your hair. When you go to sit up, some of your locks get tangled in the metal of one us rings and his playful tone promptly changes to a concerned one. 

“Oh, hang on, princess, I got you here. There we go. Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you or anything? Good.”, he beams up at you when your shake your head and the video stop as he leans up to wrap his arms around you in a big bear hug. 

“Eddie Munson is so sweet and caring. He’s very protective and does whatever he can to make sure I know I’m safe whether that be by making me laugh or holding my hand till I feel comfortable. He’s never belittled me or physically hurt me in any manner unlike men from my past. I love this goofy rockstar and there is no place I feel safer or more at home than in his arms. 

Gina Frost believes that these men chose me because I’m nothing like her and I genuinely believe that is the only thing she’s said with any truth. I would never hurt them the way she did and continues to do even though they are no longer in her life. They deserved better than you and I will do whatever I can to make them happy because they do that for me every single day.”

As soon as you posted your response, a small wave of fear rumbled in your stomach as the likes began to quickly fill up your notifications until you noticed the only two handles that matter when it came to your words. 

 “@thereal_EddieMunson liked your post.”

“@thereal_EddieMunson added your post to his story: “My princess is a queen 🤘.”

“@StevenHarringtonOfficial liked your post.”

“@StevenHarringtonOfficial added your post to his story: “I would move the stars in the sky if she asked me to.”

A wide smile paints your face as you blush and hastily get dressed to skip downstairs. 

“Jesus, child. Took you long enough. Were you writing your memoirs up there?”, you father joked as you came around to hop on a stool at your kitchen counter next to Eddie who was picking at the appetizers your mom had made while dinner was being prepared. 

As you reach for a slice of garlic bread, the rockstar leans towards you to kiss your cheek before taking your other hand in his and placing it on his lap. 

Steve, who was helping by cutting up vegetables, met your eyes across the marble and smirked as he gave you an adorable little wink.

###############

@aol19 @paradisepoisons @paleidiot @dashingdeb16 @lilaclazer @joannamuns9n @thwippyparker @emotionaldreamer @aactuaaltraash @alastorssimp @mygirlchaos @starksbabie @imagine-all-the-imagines @hardladyheart

[luveline]

jaaaade!!! I wish we could see more of eddie and reader alone!!! Would you be open to writing about another date without roan or maybe roan at a sleepover??? xoxoxoxoxoxo

hey!!! eddie and roan without the roan!!! cw suggestive (they are deprived of one another its not my fault (it is technically my fault))

It's disconcerting to come home from work when Roan isn't there. There are no cartoons playing on TV, no shiny black Mary Jane's at the bottom of the stairs, no red vinyl raincoat on the bannister. Eddie's instantly visible across the hall in the kitchen, though his back is turned to you, arms buried in the sink. He's wearing your Walkman, head bobbing to music.

You nip into the living room even though Roan isn't home to feed Lucky the fish. 

"Baby?" Eddie shouts, loud, like he's mad. 

You quickly close the fish tank and present yourself for scolding. "What?" 

He's set the Walkman aside. 

His shirt is one of those shirts that he uses for both everyday life and bed. There's a hole at the neckline, and a wet patch near his stomach from the dishes, and the whole thing comes off in about ten seconds. 

You gawp at him. Eddie can be forward, but this forward?

He bursts into boyish giggles. "Your face! What are you thinking?" 

"What am I thinking?" you ask, on the defensive instantly, because not being so gives him room to dig his claws in. "I'm thinking me and my boyfriend are home alone for the first time in at least a month, and he's just called me like a dog and stripped in front of me, and- Eddie! Get away from me, don't you dare!" 

He snaps out like a snake and his arms are around you python tight, pulling you against his bare chest unabashedly. 

"I'm not your boyfriend. We're to be wed, if you forgot. And… You are such a nympho." 

"I am not," you say, grinning with laughter even as you struggle in his arms to get away. 

"You are. I took my shirt off because it's wet, not to come onto you."

"Do you remember when you used to be nice to me?" you ask mildly. 

"No." 

"No, me neither. Be nice to me, Munson, or you can make your own dinner." 

"You're making dinner?" he asks, eyes widened in surprise. 

"Don't act like I never make dinner." 

"Sorry," he says, "it's not that-"

You pat his cheek. "You do always make dinner, though. 'Cause you're a sweetheart, through and through." 

"Well you clean the bathroom, and we know how gross it is. Roan's a little freak." 

"She's a witch. Her latest potion included at least a quarter of your hair mousse, by the way." 

He leans in close to your face. "I'll make you dinner for the rest of our lives, if you want me to." His romantic side quickly fades back into the shadows. "But if you're offering, it's definitely your turn." 

"Nice," you say wryly. 

He hums his agreement, gives you two quick but well-meaning kisses, and let's you go where he'd herded you to the front door. "I'm gonna put on a dry shirt. Bring your pyjamas down?" 

"Please, handsome, if you will." 

"Duh." 

You spirit into the kitchen and turn the oven on. Then you wash your hands, pull a sack of potatoes from the cupboard, and get to chopping. 

"We're having homemade french fries and burgers. Unless you don't want burgers?" you ask, not looking as Eddie returns to the kitchen. 

"That's not funny. You know I always want burgers." 

You shove all your skin-on fries into the colander and you and Eddie swap. "Wash them for me, please?" 

"I'm already feeling like you cooking tonight is a lie." 

"I'm not lying!" you say, pushing your pants down to your thighs. 

You step out of them one leg at a time and shake out your pyjama pants. Eddie looks at you for a second, turns back to the faucet, and then double takes hard enough to make his neck click. You boo at his theatrics and pull on your new pants before he can waylay you with his nice hands. You're excited for some 'private time' with him, more excited to fill the aching pit of hunger in your stomach, and he could likely seduce you with one well aimed touch, so best to get dressed. 

"You have the fucking hottest thighs-" 

"Don't, Eddie," you plead, already laughing. 

"I'm being so serious right now. Fuck, can I just squeeze one?" 

"That's not even romantic." 

"I'm not trying to be…" He sets the washed potatoes aside on the draining board and quickly scrubs his hands dry. "I'm being honest with you, if I don't get my hands on your legs tonight I'm gonna pass out." 

His methods are questionable, but it's nice to be hyped up like that, especially when he usually keeps it PG. "You look so pretty today," doesn't ever lose its potency even when he says it every day, but the rarity of his more salacious comments means that each one makes you wanna jump him. 

"I think…" you say softly, tipping the fries on to a sheet pan and drizzling them with olive oil. He waits for you to finish. "We can make a deal." 

"What kind?" 

"Kind where you take it easy tonight and let me spoil you, and I'll make it worth your while." 

He takes it easy. He sits at the dinner table and you get to talk about things you haven't been able to for a while, properly, like bills and work and worries you don't say in front of Roan. Then you move on, talking about movies and music and heading into Indianapolis soon like you always say you will for an author event Eddie wants to go to. By the time the burgers are done, you're elated, head swimming with Eddie. You love Roan and love your life with her in it, but, separately, you adore Eddie. Everything about him. Even the way he talks is important to you: bravado and genuineness interlinked, making for an animated recount of his thoughts and feelings. 

You place a plate down in front of him with a great burger and a heaping pile of fries, and then you grab a coke from the fridge and pour it into a glass for him carefully. 

"You want ketchup?" 

He squints at you. "I can get my own ketchup." 

You take that for yes and retrieve the ketchup from the fridge, putting it with his plate and glass. 

"Where's yours?" he asks, covering his mouth as he chews a fry. 

You slowly, carefully, ease your way into his lap, giving him time to refuse you. 

He doesn't. 

You sit with your side to his chest and feel perfectly content as his arm wraps around you to hold you in place. "The deal is I get to spoil you," you remind him, stroking a curl out of his face. 

"I thought you meant, like, dinner," he says. 

"I do mean dinner. Dinner and everything else. You know you- you work so hard, 'n' you think I don't notice, I bet, but I do. You're the best dad, the best to-be-wed," you drawl. "You're my fucking guy, so you'll have to excuse me if I wanna get you the ketchup out of the fridge, loser." 

"You're a fucking loser." He's beaming. 

You stare at him, smile bright no matter how hard you try to tamp it down. "I love you. Let me hand feed you French fries like a serf holding grapes over an ancient courtesan, okay?" 

He tilts his head back in wait. 

Eddie lets you feed him fries, and somewhere between them his hand ends up exactly where he'd wanted it, between your legs and squeezing at the doughy flesh of your thigh. He couldn't look any happier. 

"You know what else would spoil me?" he asks, nosing at the skin under your ear. 

Your breath catches, sure he's going to say something awful. "What, baby?" 

"If you ate your food." 

You snort, spell broken, and go to stand, but Eddie's hand slides high up your thigh and lingers. "You'll need your strength," he adds. 

You push at his chest with your hand, tempted to roll your eyes at his smirking and nerdy delivery. "Whatever, baby." 

It's safe to say you aren't so dismissive of his bold claims later that night. 

[trulybetty]

04 x dinner date - tim rockford x reader

prompt: dinner date pairing: tim rockford x reader word count: 701 notes: fluff, mentions of food, multiple mentions of potatoes, the flu, no use of y/n and reader is a blank slate summary: change in dining plans for valentines with tim

x. masterlist

“Would you stop apologizing,” Tim said as he pulled a clean t-shirt over his bare chest.

If you weren't hopped up on flu meds and your head didn't feel like it was stuffed with cotton wool you'd lament the loss of his naked broad shoulders. Then again, if you weren't currently sick and curled up in bed the two of you would be out for dinner at the restaurant Tim had been desperate to get into that had conveniently lined up with Valentine's Day. Two birds one stone he'd winked over breakfast when he'd confirmed the alignment of dates some weeks ago.

But tonight, instead of indulging in a romantic evening, Tim found himself taking care of you. He leaned over, pushing back the hoodie you'd pulled up over your head sullenly and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“You go,” you managed to get out between sneezes, “go on without me and come back and tell me how amazing the crispy mashed potato is,” you wailed, “like in excruciating detail.”

Tim rolled his eyes at your theatrics, “Too late, I already gave the reservation to Nell,” before he could carry on the doorbell interrupted him, “I'll be back, you okay to pause the dramatics until I'm back?”

You scowled as you watched him walk out of the bedroom until he was out of sight, you also weren't too sick to admire him in a rare sight of casual attire, sweatpants. Throwing yourself back against the multitude of cushions Tim had propped up around you, you flicked through the channels of the TV standing on the dresser at the end of the bed. It took a moment or two before you settled on some cheesy rom-com that Tim would with no doubt grumble about, but five minutes in be fully invested in the plot, asking questions and decrying the main character's motives.

The smell of food reached your nose before you caught a glimpse of him. He shouldered the door open, his hands balancing a lap tray overflowing with recognizable takeout containers from his favourite Chinese restaurant, and tucked under his arm was a bottle of wine. He placed the tray carefully on the bed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a corkscrew with skilled precision. In a matter of seconds, he removed the cork and began pouring wine for both of you.

“I'm sorry we didn't get to go out,” you said moments later as you sipped at your wine, tucked in at Tim's side as he managed to somehow make using chopsticks to eat noodles an art in a neat skilled flick of the wrist.

Tim chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at you. “Hey, it's not your fault you got sick,” he said, his voice warm and comforting. His phone buzzed from the bedside table and he reached over to pick it up, “It's Nell,” he announced, squinting slightly at the screen before a smile spread across his face. “She's thanking me for the reservation and... oh, she sent a picture of those potatoes you wanted.”

“Are they as amazing as they sounded on the menu?” you asked, “wait, I don't know if I can take it if they are,” you cried as you covered your eyes. 

“According to Nell, they're 'to die for,'” he read aloud, purposely ignoring your melodramatics as he turned the screen to show you the picture. The picture, a plate of golden, crispy rolls of mashed potato, artfully arranged and garnished, looking every bit as delicious as you had imagined.

You let out a dramatic sigh, sinking deeper into the pillows. “Betrayed by my own body,” you mourned through a hacking cough, as if your body wanted to hammer it home. 

Tim dropped his phone back down on the bedside table and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “Nell's already put our name on the waiting list for us, we're going to go there together, and we'll order so many of those potato things that you'll be sick of them,” he promised, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head.

“You promise?” you asked tucking yourself further into his side.

“I promise.”

[retro-vagabond]

So I wrote a fic for @batboysxprompts for Pumpkin. It's a #steddie Halloween fic. That became a little longer than I anticipated. Reminder I haven't wrote since high school and this was done on my phone notepad so I apologize for format being kinda meh. Anyway hope you enjoy and Happy Halloween!! 🎃:

He stands on the porch holding the horror tape he was asked to bring, fixing his glasses one more time. Almost hesitating to knock, he doesn't want to seem too eager, he told himself to ease into things with this. Eddie and him had found something in each other that clicked since the Vecna incident happened.

The kids were growing up finally free to roam without the threat of a ticking clock or whatever creature that stumbled into this dimension. They were out at a monster/horror double feature at the drive-in, Wayne out with Jim for beers and bowling, leaving him and Eddie alone for the night.

He could smell Wayne's famous chili through the door, as he raised and knocked. Eddie had invited him over for a surprise, he honestly wasn't sure what to expect, but a night in with him sure beat any Halloween rager that would be going on tonight.

It didn't take long before he was greeted with big earthy brown eyes and smile, pulling him in for a warm embrace, "I was wondering what was taking you so long out there big boy. C'mon I need your help, what we need is in the back of the van still."

"Back of the van-? What do you have planned?", he follows puzzled after letting go of him.

"Well I didn't want anyone to smash them before we had our fun with them!", opening the back doors to his van to reveal two big pumpkins. "I stopped at Merrill's Pumpkin Patch on my way home. Figured we could carve them, have some of Wayne's chili he left in the crock pot for us, and maybe watch whatever movie you picked out."

He looks at Eddie taking him in as he's nervously fidgeting with his hair, "This isn't to lame for Steve Harrington is it? This is probably lame. I mean we could do something el-"

"N-no no! This is actually perfect," he cuts him off to stop the self doubt. He rubs the back of his neck, "I've just never carved a jack-o-latern before."

"What!? How have you never done this before?!", he shrieks theatrically.

"Dad didn't like getting dirty, said mud would ruin my our clothes. Same with trick or treating, they were never home so I'd order pizza with the money they left and just watch movies until I pass out. Then high school happened, that stuff just wasn't cool anymore.", Eddie just pulls him into his side, gives him small kiss on the temple. He knows all too well what it's like to have a shit father too.

"Well we're going to change that Pumpkin make this our new tradition. Mom did this with me up until she passed, Wayne and I carried on with it after that, now I get to share it with you.", he reminiscences before pressing another kiss to my cheek and going in to grab a pumpkin to hand it to me and grab the other before closing the door.

"You're such a sweetheart, you know that? My knight in shining armor", I say as we make it into the house. "Only the best for you my liege," he smiles back, if their hands weren't full he playfully swoon into his arms.

Setting up at the kitchen table, Eddie had laid out newspaper and utensils to carve and scrape out the inwards. They come up with designs, Eddie of course meticulous with detail. When he sticks his hand to pull out the guts, it's definitely a weird experience. He has to remind himself that the Upside Down is gone that this thing won't bury its teeth in and drag him under.

He looks at Eddie, his tongue sticking out at the corner of his mouth and the look of determination is enough to push all those bad thoughts away. He's such a kid at heart, and he really loves this man for it. He settles with something that would make Laurie Stroude proud, which is fitting for the movie he brought. Eddie makes sure to save the seeds to rinse, salt, and cook for Wayne later. Tea lights are lit and put into the finished jack-o-laterns. Eddie has out done himself with a tall tower with a dragon wrapped around it. Light shines through the tower window. Eddie takes a snapshot with his Polaroid camera to preserve the memory.

They settle in with a bowl of chili that always hits the spot with this chill in the air. Steve will have to tell Wayne later this one was for the books as he sets his bowl to rub his stomach. Once Eddie finishes he picks both bowls up to set in the sink to soak and wash later. He hurries back to Steve on the couch resuming his spot cuddled up to him.

Steve laces their fingers together, bringing them to his lips to kiss Eddie's knuckles, "Thank you sweetheart, I really needed this."

"Anything for you pumpkin," he grins before pulling him closer to kiss him properly. They settle in for the night eventually dozing on the couch.

When Wayne gets home he smiles getting out of the truck. Lights dimly flickering in the pumpkins on the porch brings a warm smile to his face. Going in he's sure to be quiet, his boys asleep on the couch. Taking Steve's glasses off and putting them on a nearby table before pulling a blanket over the both of them. He's happy deep down seeing Eddie find someone who understands him, he was reluctant at first, but over time he could see Steve needed and loved him just as much. And with that he turns off the kitchen light and calls it a night knowing this house finally feels like a home.

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

All of Us Strangers

Did you ever watch a movie and early on suspect, or rather dread, there would be a particular twist at the end? If it doesn’t’ happen, you may be so relieved, you overvalue the film out of sheer relief. And if it does, you may be tempted to undervalue what just passed. And now that I’ve brazenly attempted to read your minds, let me say that was my experience watching Andrew Haigh’s ALL OF US STRANGERS (2023, Hulu). There’s some beautiful work in the film. If you’re old enough to have lost your parents, the scenes in which Andrew Scott’s lonely TV writer re-encounters them as they were just before their deaths are tremendously moving. Both Jamie Bell and Claire Foy are quite warm as the parents, and she is simply incandescent. The reunion is complicated by the fact that Scott is gay and comes out to parents whose minds are still stuck in the 1980s, but their responses make sense without falling into cheap sentiment. This is intercut with his growing relationship with Paul Mescal as a man Scott meets in his London apartment building. Their rapport is quite sexy, not because it’s graphic but rather because Haigh and his actors capture the way intimacy can grow between two people. In fact, one of the sexiest scenes doesn’t even involve touching. Scott is writing on the sofa and looks over to see Mescal sitting in another part of the room reading Auden. It’s the kind of sharing a lot of us yearn for.

Haigh has called this his most personal film. He even used his childhood home as the location for Scott’s. When he just lets the characters interact, it’s all quite lovely, even if much of the dialogue is more theatrical than naturalistic. But there are also places it feels over-planned. Some of the music choices — Blur’s “Death of a Party” when Scott is left alone in a gay bar, The Pet Shop Boys’ “Always on My Mind” when Scott and his parents celebrate Christmas together, Patsy Cline’s “If You Could See the World (Through the Eyes of a Child)” when they go to their favorite place from Scott’s childhood — are so dead on it’s a little distracting. You can feel yourself being manipulated. And eventually the reunion with the parents starts feeling like something out of BRIGADOON or IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE. It’s fantasy as moral lesson. Only in those pieces, the fantasy led to something healing. I don’t know how healing the twist in ALL OF US STRANGERS is meant to be. It feels like THE TWILIGHT ZONE as written by depressed existentialists.

[moonchildreads]

small town

Chapter 11 - True Colors

IN THIS CHAPTER: A pair of roller skates, fist fights in middle school, and James grows a soft spot for a rebel with a heart of gold [5.5k]

WARNINGS: graphic descriptions of a non-life threatening injury, mentions of past bullying, mild angst

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

Shining through I see your true colors

Saturday, May 3rd - 1986

“At what time did you say Eddie was coming over?”

“After lunch.”

“When’s lunch for him?”

“Dunno. Didn’t ask.”

James stood with his back to the window that opened up to the backyard, quietly drying the dishes Dottie was washing in the sink next to him. The TV was on in the living room but no one was paying attention, disembodied voices filling the comfortable post late lunch silence in the Burke household. It was a cool Saturday afternoon, the kind father and daughter would spend lounging around in the same space without the need for exchanged words, attending to their own books or puzzles or TV shows. James would eventually take an impromptu nap on the couch while Dottie painted her toenails or knitted one of her neverending projects. It was cozy and full of warmth, a perfect balance cultivated over the past eighteen years: never disturbed, always familiar.

It was to be expected, then, that James was a little apprehensive about having one Eddie Munson intrude on his weekends with his baby girl. He was all too aware that they were living on borrowed time; Dottie would soon leave for college and he’d become what he always feared, a lonely empty-nester waiting for his daughter to call him with updates while she grew up away from him. James didn’t hold any true resentment towards the younger man for occupying such a big space of Dottie’s life in recent days, but a part of him still felt this primal need to safeguard his child, even when he objectively knew there was no true danger to be on the lookout for. Eddie, with his wild appearance and predilection for theatrics, was kind-hearted and good-natured, and James was not enough of an idiot to not notice that Dottie was happier and livelier than she’d ever been whenever he was around. He could only hope that wherever their burgeoning friendship was leading them to, it wouldn’t end with his daughter pretending everything was okay while he heard her cry herself to sleep for a month straight. James wasn’t confident he could ever go through that. Not again.

“Can we go shopping next Saturday?” Dottie asked, unplugging the sink.

“Sure. What do you need?”

“A prom dress. I wanna get something in Hellfire colors, Gareth said it’d be fun if we matched.”

“Gareth asked you to go to prom with him?” James was surprised; she hadn’t mentioned the special occasion at all and even though he could tell that the blue eyed boy held a special place for her amongst her friend group, he wasn’t expecting this turn of events. Had he been worrying about the wrong boy all along?

“We’re all going together as a group,” she said, an excited smile on her face. “Hellfire Class of ‘86, y’know? Gareth said that if he gets his license his Dad is letting him borrow the car to drive us to Donny’s for dinner.”

“Who’s us?”

“Jeff and me. Eddie’s driving himself.”

“What happens if the guys get dates though?” he set down the last dry dish on the counter.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” she muttered, a hint of embarrassment tinting her cheeks. “No one wants to take the freaks to prom. It’s social suicide.”

“That’s a bit mean to say about your friends, don’t you think?”

“It’s not like I’m not a freak too.”

“Dorothy, you’re not a freak,” James frowned.

“By Hawkins High’s standards, yes, yes I am. The guys are freaks because of how they look and the music they like, and I’m a freak because I’m friends with them. That’s how it works here.”

He looked at his daughter as she dried her hands harshly with a kitchen rag. School in New York hadn’t been kind to Dottie, with her proclivity towards seeing the best in everyone even when they didn’t deserve it, leaving herself exposed to being taken advantage of on numerous occasions. While James had gone through Hawkins High as a wallflower and eventually left the small town relatively unscathed, Dottie, on the other hand, had always struggled to find her own place within social circles where she was surrounded by same-aged peers. He remembered going out with her to buy her junior prom dress, a gorgeous baby yellow Nadine gown she’d seen on her way back to their apartment from school, and how mesmerized by her smile he’d been when she came out of the changing room in the shop, twirling around to show off the big skirt she was clearly enamored with. He also remembered how she’d hurriedly denied liking the dress once one of her school friends, Jeannie, entered the shop with her mom and ruthlessly told her she looked like a Lemonhead. They’d gone home without buying anything, and Dottie ended up borrowing her friend Tracey’s sister’s old senior prom dress: a taffeta ruffled gown in bubblegum pink she’d ordered from a Montgomery Ward catalog back in 1984.

“You sure you wanna go?” James asked with a careful tone.

“Yeah! Yeah, I mean…,” she let out a long exhale. “It’s gonna be different this time, right?” Dottie stared at her dad with shiny, hopeful eyes.

“Of course,” he pulled her into a hug. “We’ll find you a dress you like, and you can go get your hair done if you want… You’re gonna have loads of fun, honey. You’ll see.”

“Jeff promised he’s gonna dance with me all night,” her voice was muffled by her Dad’s shoulder.

“I like that kid, he seems like a great friend.”

“He is! I used to think he didn’t really like me but I guess he was just quiet. He’s super nice when you get to know him.”

“Good, I’m glad. And you know, if you want to leave early and need a ride, you can call me, okay? I’ll pick you up whenever you want.”

“I know. Thank you,” she squeezed him tight for a few heartbeats and finally let go at the same time a low rumbling could be heard coming up the street.

They looked at each other almost comically when it became apparent that the strange purring was coming from the old ‘79 brown Chevy Nomad van that was currently pulling into their driveway to park just outside the garage behind James’ car. There were a few loud noises - a door closing with a bit too much strength, a frustrated groan - before the doorbell rang twice.

“Your student is here, Miss Burke,” James laughed, moving to put away the dry dishes he had left on the counter.

“You keep making fun of me but I’m getting professional experience before I even start college,” she said, heading towards the foyer.

As soon as Dottie opened the heavy wooden door, she couldn’t stop the surprised chuckle coming out of her mouth at the sight of her friend. Eddie looked absolutely frazzled: his hair was wilder than usual and his hands were full of tattered textbooks, a ratty backpack falling languidly from his shoulder into the crook of his elbow. He was frowning, his plush lips turned downwards into a slight pout at her unexpected reaction to seeing him.

“You look like a mess, Ed, what happened to you?” she asked, stepping to the side so he could come in.

“I’m sorry I’m so late, shit-” he exclaimed as he bumped his hip into the entrance table while he tried to step out of his sneakers without bending down to untie his laces. “Today’s been fucking cursed, I swear.”

“Come on, let’s get you a drink,” Dottie grabbed the books out of his hands to help him out. “Are you okay?”

“I’m so sorry, I was gonna drop by earlier but-”

“You are so not late, Eddie, breathe. You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack!” he inhaled and exhaled loudly at her command, finally looking at her for more than a few milliseconds.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, dummy.”

She led him into the kitchen and motioned for him to sit on a stool while she poured two icy glasses of apple flavored Kool-Aid, her favorite. He took a big gulp and saw movement from the corner of his eye, realizing he hadn’t even seen James standing a bit to the side, glancing at both of them with an amused expression on his face.

“M’sorry, sir, didn’t see you there,” Eddie said, extending his hand out for a shake.

“It’s alright, kid, you good?”

“Yeah, thanks. Been a hell of a day. Our water heater died this morning while I was showering.”

“That sucks, did you get it looked at?”

“Yeah, my uncle’s fixing it. We had to go buy some stuff so I was late for practice, Gareth had no mercy. He chewed me out for like five minutes,” he explained, rolling his eyes.

“Gareth needs to calm down about keeping a schedule considering he comes out of his house every morning with a piece of toast still hanging from his mouth,” Dottie deadpanned, making Eddie snort. “What happened to your bag?”

“Oh, the zipper kinda just… gave up?” he lifted the offending piece of fabric up for her to see. “Practice ended later than usual, and then I was late for lunch with Wayne, which made me late to come here so I just shoved everything into the bag and ran out. Honestly I was terrified you’d think I stood you up when you’re sacrificing your weekends to help me.”

“We said after lunch, this is after lunch. You’re fine, Ed,” she reassured him again. “I can totally fix this for you, it doesn’t look broken. Just need to sew here I think.”

“Cool, thanks,” he smiled, watching her inspect the zipper carefully. “I don’t have another backpack so if you could save this one, that’d be real nice.”

“I’ve got it, don’t worry,” she said, smiling back. “Ready to hit the books?” he nodded at her question. “We’re gonna go upstairs so you can have the living room,” she looked at her dad.

“Sure, let me know if you need anything,” James said, staring at their retreating backs, waiting patiently until they were climbing up the stairs before he pounced. “Just keep the door open, you two! Don’t need to be a Grandpa any time soon!”

“DAD! Jesus Christ!”

Eddie was so focused on reassuring Dottie that she didn’t need to apologize for her Dad’s embarrassing (but frankly very well timed) quip that he didn’t realize he had walked straight into her bedroom and plopped himself down on her desk chair until he was already there. It struck him then that he had never been inside a girl’s bedroom, not unless you were counting when Donny was still sharing with his baby sister Giulietta back in ‘82. Even so, this discovery wasn’t special because it was a girl’s bedroom; it was special because it was Dottie’s.

The first thing he noticed was that the place looked lived in. She’d only been using the room since January but it felt like she had been there for years, small mementos and important pieces of her life carefully curated and on display for anyone who walked in to see. There was a full-length mirror hanging from behind the door, a dresser with a brown record player on top and a basket with vinyls and cassettes, a small shelf with some books and trinkets, and a wardrobe tucked into a corner. She had a full-sized bed, its white iron headboard was decorated with dainty fairy lights and there was an array of white, moss green and baby yellow pillows arranged carefully on top of a delicate white and tan striped duvet. There were a couple more pillows on the window seat; Eddie could tell that the designs matched with those that were on the bed, like they were part of the same set and simply rotated their place in the room as they were needed.

It was, however, the cork board above Dottie’s desk that intrigued Eddie the most. In front of him, there was a handmade calendar with stickers decorating important dates: he could see finals week colored with pink highlighter and a red sparkly heart next to his name on May 15th, his 20th birthday. There was her college acceptance letter peeking out from under a Playbill for a play he’d never heard of (What kind of show is named The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas?, he thought, cheeks heating up), a hospital photo of her as a newborn being held by her smiley parents, movie ticket stubs for Back to the Future and The Breakfast Club. On the upper left corner there were more photos of people Eddie didn’t know with Dottie throughout various stages of her life: her chosen Aunts and Uncles, and her Grandparents, and a lot of kids that always looked significantly younger than her.

There were no pictures of friends other than two Polaroids mixed in with the rest of the faces of her loved ones. One of them was the photo they’d taken at school on her 18th birthday, the one where no one was looking at the camera that she kept insisting was perfect. The other one was a candid she’d snapped a rainy day in Gareth’s garage during a Wednesday band practice. Eddie remembered that day perfectly; the boys had been sitting on the floor, figuring out their setlist for their next show, trying to find a good place for the original song they wanted to try out. He’d looked up for a second, always searching for Dottie whenever she’d go quiet for too long and it was at that exact moment that she’d snapped the memory that was now pinned to her board. His insides flickered with something that felt very similar to hope.

“Okay, ready to start?” she asked, looking very comfortable perched on her bed, already having organized all her books and notes into neat piles while he scanned every corner of her room without moving from the chair he was sitting on.

“Sure. Wanna quiz me on Hamlet?”

“What’s that?” Eddie asked, sprawled on Dottie’s floor, pointing to a black canvas bag on the floor next to her wardrobe. They’d been working for around two hours and his attention span had its limitations.

“Huh?” she glanced up from the zipper she was sewing back up for him, half finished Psychology flashcards long abandoned to the side. “Roller skates. Haven’t used them in a while.”

“Why not?”

“I get stupid when I’m on wheels.”

“What?” he snorted. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not very balanced when my feet are not directly touching the ground. I’m shit at riding bikes too,” she tugged on the thread to make sure everything was in place before snapping it and began packing up her sewing box - which was, of course, an old tin of cookies.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’ve gotten better at it since we moved here but I get scared when there are cars around. I always think they’re gonna run me off the road or I’m gonna fall and they won’t have time to stop before they flatten my skull.”

“Wow. That’s dark as hell, princess.”

He pushed himself off the floor and grabbed the bag, tucking it under his arm before he twirled and offered his hand to her. She looked at him with a small smirk on her face.

“Eddie, sorry to break it to you but I don’t think your big ass feet are gonna fit into my skates.”

“I know that, but yours will. Come on, we’re wasting daylight!”

“I’m not embarrassing myself for your entertainment,” she said, crossing her arms.

“No one’s expecting you to be a pro, Dot. Let’s just have some fun, okay? My eyelashes will fall off if I have to read another word.”

“And what are you gonna do while I skate around?”

“I’ll borrow that pretty bike with the fancy basket I saw in your garage when I parked today and zoom around with you,” he said, hand still out for her to grab, fingers wiggling enticingly.

“Fine. But if I fall and make a fool of myself in front of all my neighbors, you are so dead,” Dottie grabbed his hand and followed him down the stairs.

“I’ll catch you, don’t worry about it,” he winked over his shoulder, and she hoped to all the stars in the sky that he’d think her tightly wrapped hand around his was getting sweaty only because of skating related nerves.

They had been outside for thirty minutes at most when it happened. The two of them had been careful to not wake up James, who had predictably fallen asleep while sitting upright in the middle of the couch, a WWI documentary playing on the TV at a low volume. Dottie sat on the steps to her front door lacing up her black skates and watched Eddie pull her bike out of the opened garage. It still surprised her that people in Hawkins didn’t lock their windows and left their doors open, and yet there was virtually no theft to be heard about. He helped her stand up, offering an arm for her to clutch onto as he guided her towards the empty street, bike tucked under his other arm. Once he was sure she was steady on her feet, he climbed onto his own set of wheels and the two of them began moving to opposite sides of the street, making a big loop at the corners and meeting back in the middle.

Dottie was slow, a little bit frightened whenever she spotted a bump on the road, trying to calculate all her movements long before she’d have to make them. Eddie moved lazily, enjoying the sun on his skin and the pretty girl that had agreed to goof off with him that kept letting out little yelps and victory noises depending on what she managed to do successfully.

“You got this, princess!” he encouraged her the third time they crossed paths. “Let’s pick up the speed a little bit, okay?”

“Okay!” she said, confidence building slowly.

They looped around the length of her street two more times, him showing off his control of the bike as he let go of the handles, her happy giggling making his heartbeat soar. Dottie didn’t want this moment to ever end, just her and the boy she had a crush on making each other smile, skin warm, worries disappearing into the soft breeze ruffling her hair. She felt carefree in a way she hadn’t felt in a really long time, not concerned with being weird or clumsy or looking dumb. Eddie never judged, didn’t ask her to quiet down, listened and even prompted her for more when she rambled excitedly about anything and everything. In the last month, he’d shown her what it was like to be truly accepted for everything she was, not only for what she could give or do for him. And it seemed unfair, really, that she had had to wait eighteen years to feel like this and it had only taken a handful of metalheads, two fifteen year olds and a strong-minded middle schooler to make Hawkins more of a home than New York had ever been.

Dottie was so focused watching the way Eddie was zigzagging around, holding the bike steady with only one hand, that she never saw the shiny red car suddenly appear behind her. The loud honk bursting her calm bubble startled her so much that instead of simply skating to the side, she attempted to run away and ended up tripping over her own feet, falling on her hands and knees, the speed she had finally acquired after so many loops making her slide up a few inches on the rough pavement. Whoever was inside the car didn’t so much as slow down at the sight of her little accident, choosing instead to speed up and yell “Get off the street, kid!” from their rolled-down window as they swerved just enough to avoid hitting her. Eddie, soaring heart plummeting down to his feet, hauled hell to where she was still kneeling on the floor, head hanging down between her arms and unmoving.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Eddie yelled at the driver when they crossed paths, anger dripping from every word. He got off the bike and dropped it onto her grassy lawn before rushing to her side. “Jesus, fuck, are you okay, darling?”

“Y-yeah,” she said, voice shaky, lifting her burning hands up to inspect her palms. “Shit-” she managed to get out before she choked on her own tears, blood and a clear liquid seeping out from the abrasion.

“It’s okay, it’s just a friction burn, it’s not terrible,” he said, grabbing her wrists and moving her hands gently to assess the damage. “How are your knees?”

She managed to pull her legs from under her body with his help, scuffed skates rolling around as she settled on her butt. She held back a pained sob when she saw the state of her still covered knees. The fabric of her sweatpants hadn’t been thick enough to cushion her fall entirely but had been coarse enough to add extra scratches to the soft skin, small droplets of red liquid blossoming against light gray cotton. Dottie touched her kneecaps over the pants and, while it burned in a way that hadn’t burned since she skinned both knees in the playground in elementary school, nothing seemed to be broken or damaged to the point of needing to go to a hospital. She only noticed how tense she was when Eddie wrapped his arms around her, her weakened limbs putting up no protest to him positioning her between his thighs, guiding her to rest against his chest protectively.

“You’re shaking,” he explained at her curious expression, worry noticeable in his tone. “What a fucking asshole, he didn’t even take his foot off the gas to check on you,” the way his chest rumbled under her as he spoke made the painful sting on her hands less unbearable.

“Told you someone was gonna run me off the road someday,” she said, hoping it would sound like a lighthearted joke but the tears coming out of her eyes made Eddie flinch. Her limbs felt like Jell-O now that adrenaline was disappearing and only the initial fear remained.

“I’m so sorry, Dot, I didn’t think-”

“It’s okay, I’m being silly,” she turned her head towards him and nosed his shirt in an attempt to stop the waterworks. “Could-could you help me get back inside?”

“Sure, darling. I’ll patch you up real quick, I promise,” he stood and immediately bent down to scoop her up, careful to not knock her knees against each other when he slipped an arm under her legs. “This okay?”

She nodded, her own arms wrapping around his neck, her palms turned outwards to not get his denim vest dirty with her blood. He carried her into the house like she weighed nothing, pure panic still thrumming through his veins, only focused on getting her cleaned and bandaged up. He kicked the front door shut behind them a little too forcefully, James running into the hallway, clearly having been startled out of his nap. Eddie stared at his face, already bracing himself for the yelling and the accusations he was so accustomed to receiving whenever other kids around him hurt themselves at a park or at school.

“Was that honk you two? I thought you were upstairs!” he ushered them into the living room. “Come, the first-aid kit is in the kitchen.”

“Why is it in the kitchen?” she asked, definitely not focusing on the way Eddie was holding her against his chest like she was precious cargo. “It goes under the sink in the upstairs bathroom.”

“Cut myself cooking a few days ago, never put it back. What were you doing outside? Weren’t you studying in your room?”

“We took a break while you were napping, Eddie was teaching me to skate faster,” she winced a little bit when her friend set her on the counter next to the sink.

“Yeah? Were you yelling at her from the lawn, coach?” James chuckled, getting a little plastic box from inside a cabinet next to the oven.

“He was riding my bike,” she said, watching as Eddie put a small amount of pressure on the middle of her palms where the skin wasn’t broken with his thumbs after curling and uncurling each one of her fingers carefully.

“Shit, I should go pick that up,” he muttered, looking up at her teary face when she snorted like he had said the funniest thing ever.

“Blood first, bike second,” she wiggled her fingers lightly to get him back on task.

“Okay, you’re right. Blood first,” he smiled back and moved to get the first-aid kit from James’ hands.

“You got her?” he asked the younger man, who nodded emphatically. “I’ll- I’ll go get the bike then.”

James looked at his daughter who was now blowing on the broken skin on her hands to cool down the burning while Eddie busied himself inspecting the contents of the kit, pulling out items and reading labels carefully before nodding shortly once whenever he found what he was looking for. He was halfway down the living room when he heard Dottie yell “FUCKING SHIT!” and held back a chortle, knowing his daughter had probably shoved her hands straight underneath the running water. He quickly brought back the bike into the garage and returned inside, parental anxiety making him question if he really needed to go into the kitchen to inspect Dottie’s injuries himself or if he could trust the rugged young man she was clearly smitten by. He settled on staying in the living room, dropping himself into an armchair where he had a somewhat good vision of the two teens on the other side of the passthrough window.

In the kitchen and unaware that he was being watched, Eddie had taken off his vest, jacket, and chunky rings, bunching up his sleeves to wash his hands and tying his hair up with a random red scrunchie he’d found in the fruit bowl next to the bread box. He made quick work on her now dry hands after her initial scream, distracting her with idle conversation while he applied the stinging liquid with a gauzy pad. Once her palms were covered with two big bandages (“You look badass now, like a boxer,” he had said, throwing a few half-assed punches to the air to make her giggle), he moved to her legs, lifting up one of her feet and resting her roller skate on his thigh while he undid the laces for her. Dottie felt her face heat up at the intimate nature of his gesture and tried to move her leg away; he instinctively grabbed her ankle and looked up.

“Y-you don’t gotta- I can do it,” she said, sure that her cheeks were becoming red under his attentive gaze.

“I know you can,” he smiled. “I want to help.”

He took both skates off and dropped them on the kitchen floor, kicking them softly to the side to make her snort when they rolled down and hit the garbage can next to the backyard door with a metallic clang. With her left foot resting once again on his right upper thigh, she tried to distract her thoughts from his hands deftly rolling her sweatpants up to expose the broken skin, his tongue out as he concentrated on not dragging the fabric against the damage again. She gripped the counter she was sitting on when he began gently cleaning her knee with the sharp-smelling antiseptic.

“Didn’t know you were an accomplished nurse,” Dottie joked, teeth grinding when he swiped the pad over the largest scrape, right where the bone was most prominent.

“Yeah, well,” he blew upwards from the side of his mouth to get his bangs out of his eyes. “Get into enough fights and you learn something.”

“You were a wild kid?”

“Actually, no,” Eddie snorted mournfully. “I was kinda scrawny in middle school. Like Wheeler but a lot shorter. The bigger kids liked pushing me around and stuff.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he grabbed an extra large bandage and began applying it with steady hands. “They used to call me dirty and shit like that. There was this big lice outbreak when we were 12, everyone blamed me ‘cause I’m the trailer trash.”

“Don’t say that,” she shook her head as he moved to her other leg.

“You know I don’t care about living there, but it’s what they call me. Can’t fight what I am, y’know,” he said, resigned, pushing the fabric of her right pant leg up. “Anyway, it didn’t matter that I didn’t have any lice up until like two weeks into the outbreak, even the teachers were sure it was me. So Wayne dunked my head in vinegar to kill all the eggs and a lady next door shaved my head with a trimmer. They stopped calling me dirty after that,” he kept an eye on her pained expression while he cleaned the last bit of damaged skin. “Began calling me egghead.”

“What? But that’s so mean!”

“You’d think so but as a 12 year old, it was better than getting swirlies multiple times each week.”

He applied the last bandage and began cleaning up all the bloody gauzes and wrappers he’d discarded on the counter. Dottie felt as if her heart was being squeezed while she watched him move around her kitchen. She couldn’t wrap her mind around any reasons someone would go out of their way to terrorize him, not now and most certainly not as a child. What had life truly been like for him if he had to learn how to bandage his own injuries before he even reached puberty? What were the teachers doing while this abuse was going on right under their noses?

“How did you get them to stop bothering you?” she asked, wanting nothing more than to track down those kids, now adults, and give them a piece of her mind.

“The summer before I began high school I grew up a lot. Like five inches maybe? I remember my knees hurt like hell,” he laughed, coming back to stand in front of her, resting his backside on the breakfast bar opposite where she was sitting. “Suddenly I was taller than everyone else, and I looked pretty mean too. My voice changed, started dressing how I wanted to instead of trying to fit in, learned to punch back. Guess it’s not that much fun to kick the freak if he kicks you back. They stayed away after that, mostly. Now they just call me names and start shitty rumors. ‘M not complaining though. Lot less injuries.”

There was a moment of silence before he felt Dottie’s legs wrap around his thighs, bringing him stumbling into her open arms. She tucked her chin on his shoulder and squished him with surprising strength for someone who had been trembling on the street outside her house only fifteen minutes ago. Eddie hesitated for a second before finally letting himself relax in her embrace, all the tension he’d been feeling since he saw her bloodied up on the ground leaving his body instantly.

“I’m sorry those kids were so mean to you,” she said, steel-toned but gentle. “You didn’t deserve that at all, and I’m so sorry the teachers didn’t help you get out of that situation. I’m glad you’re not getting hit anymore but if people say mean things to you, you tell me, okay?”

“You gonna be my knight in shining armor?” he joked, eyes closed, savoring the moment.

“Yes,” he could tell she was grinning when she said it. “Gotta take care of my best nurse.”

“Thank you, darling. Sorry I made you get on wheels.”

“It’s okay. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always will,” he muttered into her hair, feeling her nose moving against his shoulder, burrowing her face into his shirt like a cat that couldn’t get enough of his warmth.

“Come on,” she said when she finally pulled away. “Can’t let you fail Bio now that I know you’ve got a future in Medicine.”

“Okay, but can we get snacks first? I always get real hungry after a long shift at the ER,” he joked back, helping her get down from the counter.

When they padded their way up the stairs towards her bedroom again, jug of apple flavored Kool-Aid, pretzels and assorted cookies in their hands, James pretended like he had been doing the daily crossword all along. He was confident now after unintentionally eavesdropping on their conversation: he had nothing to fear letting Eddie Munson into his house, and even less into his daughter’s heart. Not that I have much choice in the matter anyway, he thought, fixing his askew glasses and really paying attention to the puzzle in the newspaper now, smiling to himself while he heard the soft voices and laughter coming from upstairs.

taglist (reply or send me an ask if you wanna be added!): @munsonology

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Nineteen (Part 2)

When I trudge out into the clinic waiting room the following weekend, Claire shoves her phone into her handbag and stands up to catch me in her arms as I fall into her for a hug. “That was rotten.” I groan. 

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Oh dear, is it still sore?”

I don’t answer, I just make a pitiful sound into her shoulder as my womb twinges with pains that I thought were limited only to the very worst and most cursed days of my periods, but the doctor told me it’s normal to experience it as my body adjusts to the IUD. This new, strange alien body will be part of me now for five years, a tiny T shaped piece of plastic that hardly looked capable of wreaking so much havoc on my innocent body when I obsessively googled photographs of it in the moments before the procedure. 

“It feels fucking horrible.” I complain. 

“I’m sorry, babes.”

“And it was a man.”

“Oh no!”

“He told me that I reminded him of Natalie Portman when he was digging around indiscriminately in my cervix.”

“They shouldn’t let any men near our vaginas.” She declares, and I grunt in agreement, a pathetic sound, muffled by the polyester of her pink puffer coat. Smoothing down the back of my hair she wonders, “Is there anything that’d make you feel better? We can stop by Big Tesco and get loads of snacks for you.”

“I’d like that a lot.”

And that’s what we do, even though I’m the one that has to drive us there because Claire still hasn’t applied for her licence, but she lets me wait in the car and rest while she does the mad dash around the supermarket as a consolation. She emerges with a heaping bag of far too much, but that’s what I like about Claire. Everything she does, she does all the way, to excess. She does nothing with reserve or restraint. It’s everything, all of the time, and it fills me with immense joy to see this shopping bag, Pringles and Kinder chocolate and big packets of chocolate biscuits poking out the top of it, promising me unlimited indulgence until the button on my jeans pops off and I am lying in a heaping mound of crumpled wrappers. 

At home she makes me some tea and settles me on the sofa in a pair of her impossibly fluffy slippers with the TV playing Dawson’s Creek while she goes upstairs to pack a huge bag for her weekend down the end of the road at Shane’s house. She makes sure I have enough of everything, painkillers, hot water bottles, blankets and fuzzy socks, and when she’s satisfied with my state of being and has ensured that I’m nestled perfectly in a cloud of fluff she waves goodbye to me at the door and tells me that if I need anything I can just text her and she’ll be right over. 

“What would I ever do without you?” I say. 

“You’d survive, babe.”

At eight o’clock that evening, Jude swings by after his nightly visit with Jen, who is now recovering at Michelle’s. He makes a ridiculous face when he sees me cocooned on the sofa, his bottom lip jutted out and his forehead crinkled up in almost theatrical sympathy. I note his extremely expressive eyebrows. He leaves his coat on a hook and comes over to deliver three quick kisses to the crown of my head. “Poor Evie.” He says, and he cups my cheeks in his hands as I look up at him with eyes that I know are big and soft and begging for reassurance, but I suddenly feel as though I’ve never yearned for something so badly as his sympathy. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Still sore.” I say. 

“I can’t imagine, but it looks like Claire has you taken care of.”

“She’s my guardian angel.”

“Good with this kind of thing, isn’t she?” 

I lift a hand to run it through his dark hair. “I missed you.”

“I know, it’s been hectic.” He drops to his knees on the floor in front of me, still holding my face and kisses me gently, lips brushing against mine until I feel formless and soft, but I have to pull back when he starts trying to incorporate some steamy tongue action. “No,” I say weakly. “Don’t try and get that going with me, I’m too feeble.”

“Ah, sorry, I got carried away.” He sits on the floor by my feet so that I can have the whole couch to myself, but he holds my foot in his lap and rests his back against my knees.

“How’s Jen doing?”

“Not as badly as you, apparently. I didn’t know that getting an IUD put in was such a brutal procedure.”

I snicker. “I get it, you think I’m playing it up for sympathy.”

“I don’t think that, I wouldn’t know,” He turns around so he can flash me a grin. “But you know, Jen has a shattered thigh bone and nerve damage and only one of you is sitting around cocooned in fluffy blankets and surrounded by half-eaten chocolate.”

I scoff. “Did I not tell you about the doctor saying I look like Natalie Portman right into my vagina?”

“You did.”

“What do you think about that?”

“He’s right a bit, no? I’ve thought that before actually.”

I bat him lightly across the back of the skull, and after he flinches he twists around to pepper my knees with apologetic kisses because they’re the only part of me that he can reach. “I’m sorry. I genuinely do feel bad for you, and I know that you must be really sore, and I’ve just burst into your apartment and started making fun of you.”

I sigh, “Maybe I am leaning into it a bit. I just like sitting around having an excuse to do nothing, to be honest. Do you think I’ve Munchausen’s?”

“Yeah.” 

“How’s your thesis?”

A grimace. “Coming. Let’s not talk about college for now, I feel up to my neck in it all. It’s nice to just get out of the house for a night. I want to do nothing too.”

“Well I was watching Dawson’s Creek if you feel like jumping in.”

“Is this the show about the teenagers with the insane vocabulary?”

“Exactly,” I snicker. “Do you want me to catch you up?”

“Yeah, yeah, please. Tell me everything that’s happening.” He adjusts himself so that he can lay his head on my thigh, and listens intently as I tell him everything, about Joey and Dawson and Pacey, Andi, Jen and Jack and everybody in between, and then we watch it together in comfortable silence until I’m sleepy enough to hit the bed. 

“You don’t have to go.” I tell him as he makes moves towards his Carhartt coat, and when he turns to me I can tell that he’s trying hard not to be too eager about the possibility of sharing a bed again. “If you want me to stay and keep you company, I can.” He says, and we are whispering. I don’t really know why, but I suppose it’s late, and something about the night makes it feel involuntary. 

“I’d like that if you would.”

“Well, of course.” 

“I don’t have a toothbrush for you.”

“That’s okay, I’ll use yours,” he breaks into a smile at my expression. “I’m joking, obviously I wouldn’t do that. Unless you really didn’t mind.”

“Would you actually do that if I let you?”

He considers this. “Maybe.”

I shake my head and start heading upstairs. “You’re sick, Jude. Sometimes I’m concerned about you.”

He follows. “It’s not really that sick, I’ve already invested serious hours into the inside of your mouth, how much worse could it be if we shared a toothbrush?”

“Because a toothbrush is full of the dirt and plaque someone has scraped off their teeth and gums, I can’t imagine voluntarily putting that into my mouth.”

He shrugs. “It’s a bit gross but, like, I don’t find the idea of it totally repulsive.”

“Well you can use your finger.” I lead him into the bathroom where he immediately pretends to grab my toothbrush from the cup by the sink. “You think you’re so cute.” I say accusingly, even though I’m really the one who thinks that, and as we brush our teeth next to each other I admire the way that we look together, and how I wouldn’t complain if I could see us like this, doing something ordinary together in a bathroom mirror forever and ever. 

“Nice room, Evie,” He says when we go inside, and I realise that it’s the first time that he’s seen it.

“Sorry about the clothes on the floor.”

“I don’t care about that. I like all of your things,” He saunters over to my easel in the corner, where there’s a half-finished pencil drawing. “This is lovely.”

I feel obliged to deny it. “It’s not.”

“Yeah, you’re right, it’s rotten,” He throws his eyes skyward. “I feel a bit sick looking at it actually, can we face this thing away from your bed when we’re trying to sleep?”

I laugh, and then immediately get a new twinge of pain in my womb, prompting me to clutch my stomach and tumble back onto the mattress with a self-sympathetic groan. “Stop.”

“Stop telling funny jokes?”

I make another noise, not unlike an injured animal and his face comes into frame above me. “Baby,” He says, and another, more fluttery feeling joins the ache inside me. “Do you want me to get you anything?”

“My hot water bottle.”

“Okay.”

“Can you fill it up again so it’s nice and hot?”

His mouth twitches up. “Yeah, of course.”

“Do you think I’m being a bad patient?”

“I do.” He dots my nose with a kiss. “But it’s alright, I’d probably be worse if it was me.”

When he goes downstairs to heat up the water I swiftly change into my pyjamas and crawl under the covers, switching on the bedside lamp and snuggling in with the duvet pulled all the way up to my chin. He comes back after a short while and passes the hot water bottle to me, and then I ogle him wholly un-subtly as he undresses down to his t-shirt and underwear and slots into the bed next to me. “All good?”

“Mhm.”

“Poor Evie,” He says, and makes a little clucking sound that makes me giggle. “You’re so soft. I didn’t think that you were a softie, you know that? I used to think you were a dark, mysterious, dangerous man.”

“I am a dangerous man.”

“Yeah, right.”

He gets up on his elbow to look down at me. “I still make you a bit nervous though, don’t I?” and he bites his lip, which sends a shiver right through me. I don’t know how he can do that, turn a moment of lighthearted banter and fun into something that feels immediately sexy and forbidden. My mind immediately goes to the last night we spent in the same bed, and though I could hardly see him then, I can imagine that he had that same look on his face then as he does now. 

“Do I make you nervous?” I ask, and he nods. “Yes,” and falls back on the pillow to stare up at the ceiling. I jolt when I feel his hand snake towards me beneath the covers, but he only wants to rest it on the hot water bottle that covers my stomach. “Did you do this because of me?” He wonders. “Like, the whole IUD thing. Was that for me?”

I feel awkward. “Maybe. I also, like, on Friday I got tested too.”

“Tested?”

“At the sexual health clinic. For STIs.”

“Oh, I should probably do that too,” He says. “Good idea. You’re prepared.”

“Should I not be?” I say anxiously. “I just thought that you were supposed to do that, maybe it’s not something we should even talk about, I don’t know, I just don’t want you to think that-”

“No, it’s fine!” He says. “You’re being smart and mature, we should have discussed this ages ago, I’m just- well, I’m glad that you’ve been thinking about it and you want it because I-”

“I definitely do. I know that we haven’t really addressed it much but I had the best time at your holiday house.”

“You did?”

“Yes, and I wanted to do it again, I just felt-”

“Nervous, yeah, me too.”

“I didn’t think that you got nervous about those things.”

“Of course I do.”

My hand lays on top of his. “Are you still?”

“Yeah, obviously. I still want you to like me afterwards, I don’t want you to freak out or not find it that enjoyable, I dunno. Of course I’m a bit apprehensive.”

I smile. “Well I think that’s nice.”

“All of that stuff,” He says after a minute. “The test, and the IUD, was it expensive? Because I feel like if I’m the reason that you did those things then I should pay you back for it.”

“No, it was free,” I say. “I have the medical card.”

“Oh. Well I would have paid, it that counts.”

“It does. That’s actually mad nice of you.”

“Sure.”

We say nothing for ages then, and I flick off the light as soon as I think he might be falling asleep, and he turns over to his side and curls his arm over me. “Goodnight, Evie,” He murmurs, and then I have a new thought. “Cyprus,” I whisper. “I never told you about Cyprus.”

“The island?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you have some facts about it that you wanted to share, or…”

“No. Would you want to go?”

“When?”

“Easter. To Claire’s holiday home. She and Shane are going.”

A pause. “But my thesis.”

“You have three weeks to really buckle down, right? And if you’re not finished you could bring your laptop with you, do you think?”

“Yeah, maybe, I just really have to get it done because I’m going back to Berlin to finish my studio work for the whole of May, and-”

“I know, and if you don’t want to come then-”

“No, no, I do, I really do. I’ll figure it out.”

“I think it’ll be really nice.”

“Yeah, it will. A bit of sunshine won’t hurt.”

“Exactly.”

“Picture it, Evie,” He says sleepily. “You’ll be swimming in the sea again, your favourite place to be.”

“And you’ll be with me.” I reply, and then think about that, and the warmth of the sun on our skin and the delicate breeze in our hair until I drift away into the most peaceful sleep with a smile on my face. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[stankycowboy]

“ severen van sickle . enough ! leave him alone. ” a hair brush flies in his direction , just barely missing his head. it serves as a warning — pick on someone your own size — one the family’s matron ( her aim impeccable ) didn’t care to repeat.

He hears the missile on its trajectory and knows he needn't flinch, but that does not mean the message is not received. It is very clear that the next would be a direct hit. Still, he turns his sneer upon her, challenging the Pale One as only he might dare. Most especially for her motherly tone. Theatrically stepping away from Homer, Severen fakes contrition. "No need to get yer britches all bunched" he says, spying the hairbrush and heaving it into the air with his toe. "Just teasin' on the ol' boy", he grabs it expertly and pulls it through his mussed hair, oil from dressing (or lack of washing), holding it back as he shapes it. A sidelong look is cast at Homer who is a mix of distraught anger. There was a nerve hit in the midst of Severen's torment, and even the usual one-liners don't come to his lips. This is the true indication that he has gone too far, and Severen feels a flicker of regret. Not enough to apologize, but his haughty attitude fades. Tossing the brush onto the low coffee table he carelessly collapses into an armchair, feigning nonchalance to hide the fact he is contemplating an act of repentance for his behavior.

"I'm goin'a bed" Homer mumbles, moving to the back of the trailer they have appropriated. They all know without it being voiced that he is going to sleep in the one room with no windows. "Need me'ta read yah bedtime story?" Severen asks, looking up from gnawing at a dirty nail with a smile. "Anything I have is past your reading level" Homer responds flatly, though it is the best evidence of his recovery. A severe glower is cast Severen's way, though Diamondback is glad to hear their elder on the upswing. "Ow!" The Savage One complains, leaning back to glare at her upside down. "I was bein' nice!" He declares defensively. The tv remote lies halfway between them both, having ricocheted off his skull. "Mmmhmm", she responds jaw set firm in disapproval. "It looks to me like you got some time on your hands, why don't you get the van prepped?" She lets her gaze fall back to the task at hand, repacking her duffel. "Pssh", he hisses air through tight pressed lips, pushing up out of the chair and back onto his feet. His spurs jangle noisily at the movement. "Use my name all you want, you ain't my momma". It is nearly the most childish thing he has said to her, and Diamondback has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. It still can't restrain the upturn at the corner of her mouth. As if realizing he has lost this particular match, Severen makes his own move to leave. His last reproachful act is to snag the cigarettes off the windowsill as he throws open the front door. They both know they were hers. With a roll of her eyes, Diamond sighs, shaking her blonde curls as she tucks away the last of her necessities. As cross as she acted, she can't help the deep swell of love that she has for her boys. The two miscreants her sons of a kind, whether either would admit to it or not. The feeling is warm and welcome. Funny, how she would not have expected it all those years ago in her human life. Zipping the bag closed, she takes it over to the pile already made by the door-- always prepared for a fast exit-- and does a quick survey of the area. Something catches the light by the armchair Severen was sitting in, when she approaches, she notices it is one of his trinkets. One of the fly fishing lures fastened beneath the Metropolitan Police badge. A wry smirk twists her mouth and Diamondback slyly tucks it away; a perfect bit of underhanded revenge. Absently, she wonders when he will notice, imagines the fit he will throw, the demands he will make when she (if she) tells him of her retrieval. Such a child. Now left by herself, she laughs quietly, sinking into the same chair Severen had occupied. Even inside she can smell him smoking the last of her Lucky Strikes, even if they were not his brand of choice. "Such a child" she voices aloud, thinking of his lure again with a snicker.

[nocturna-iv]

hi! What are your favorite scenes you've written for staticradio?

Hi luv!

Oh... I have a lot. I like to write things that I would like to read. And with Alastor and Vox there are many things hahaha.

From my December challenge: Classic and Better

This line:

“If Valentino is a problem, why don't you kill your darling?”

I really like the idea that Alastor doesn't understand why Vox is with Valentino and for him, the solution is extremely simple. It may not be the best line, but it cements Al's frustration in the story.

The whole dynamic between Rosie and Alastor. She knows Alastor so well and what he wants but she makes it so hard for him because someone must do it. But I like this line, Rosie's affection and Al's persistence.

“Alastor…” Rosie shot him a sharp look. “Don’t lie. Not me, my love. I know you too well to do something as stupid as trying to hide your interest in Vox that you disguise so well with rivalry.” “I'd rather you say it's a rivalry with interest.” He leaned in her direction and whispered confidentially. “That sounds better don't you think, cher?”

And every moment in the fic that one corner the other. There are many interpretations about whether or not Alastor likes physical contact, but I have the HC that due to the rivalry between the two of them and all the times they have faced each other, it's natural for them to be a breath away from each other, where invading personal space is more of a necessity than some power play.

In Let me give you freedom (It's an OT3, Angel/Alastor/Vox, where Angel coordinates everything so that Alastor and Vox are together.)

The idea that Alastor has Vox's scent memorized and can detect it in others.

“You know?” The Radio Demon cupped his chin, standing so close to Angel that their legs almost touched. “There is a very particular aroma that electricity has in the environment. I think you felt it too, right? Just before a thunderstorm starts, the atmosphere changes. You can smell it. That is the scent of ozone,” Alastor's finger slowly dropped to the edge of Angel's lower lip. “That scent is how I would describe one of the notes in the essence of Vox,” Alastor tilted his face, with that curious and dangerous smile. “That scent…” His thumb trailed down Angel's cheek. “…sometimes I can feel it in you, my dear. Like now. Even though you showered and used all your lotions and fragrances. That aroma of ozone hasn’t abandoned you and is unmistakable.”

There are many ways to write the dynamic of Alastor and Vox. But I like to think that they would always be bothering each other.

“Your life would be boring without me,” Vox responded. “You’re still a stone in my shoe.” “Lucky me, you turned out to have a masochistic bone.”

But I also like a happy Vox because he can be in love with his rival

“What? I don't get a goodnight kiss too?” Vox joked, following his rival with his eyes. “Don't ask for things when you haven't fulfilled your part of the deal,” Alastor responded in a singing voice, walking up the stairs. “You charge a lot for a kiss, old man!” Vox teased lightly, hearing the sound of static intensify for a few seconds. “What part of the deal?” Angel asked. “I promised Alastor something and I told him I would do it in a unique way,” Vox rested his hand on his chest, imitating Alastor's theatrics and getting a mocking laugh from Angel. “You know because I'm a romantic.” “Of course,” The other demon said sarcastically.

In Business Relationship

Vox could still smell the scent of night and electricity from that battle, their breaths evaporating into the air and buildings collapsing as collateral damage around them. Alastor had laughed under the radio static when it became obvious that for the first time since they had met, Vox had managed to get the upper hand. At that moment, where they were the pure embodiment of the Radio Demon and the TV Demon, there was no doubt that that laugh was proof that in the end, it was just Alastor, caught between Vox and the chaos. And he found himself joining in that contagious laughter, enjoying the bizarreness of that moment. Vox knew that every title and legendary power didn't matter because he was going to mark Alastor.

I have more moments because it is very entertaining to write about the two of them. But they would be spoilers for the fics.

I hope you like it and thanks for the ask!

[sarcasticdolphin]

“Purgatory” Todolf mafia au. Some sex. Also Tod .... was a bit theatrical in how he faked their deaths.

It’s raining on the island the day Tod flicks the TV on, going through the channels until he finds what he is looking for. Rudolf had been sketching the seagull perched on their balcony with no care for the rain.

There is something utterly odd about watching your own funeral. Rudolf abandons his pen and notepad soon enough, for Tod’s thigh as his pillow and Tod’s fingers working through his hair. It feels oddly divine.

The procession is over the top and gaudy and so very in character for his father. Rudolf actually had a will, and it had specified he only wanted a simple funeral, nothing like the spectacle on the TV. 

“It’s only been three months.”

Tod makes an affirmative sound, his fingers not stopping. Rudolf nuzzles into the touch like a cat.

“The law is 18 before they can declare me dead without a body.”

Tod scratches a particular spot and Rudolf purrs. “But they did find a body ... or as good as in their book.”

Rudolf turns to look up at Tod’s far too amused face, raising an eyebrow.

Tod continued. “They got a tip a few weeks back. That they might do well to look at the meat being fed to some big cats at a particularly sketchy zoo - if you can even call it that. Your dear friends and animal control raided the place. I’m afraid they found your blood in one of the tiger’s food bowls. As far as the world is concerned you are tiger dug, my dove.”

Rudolf pulled himself into a sitting position, straddling Tod’s lap. “Tiger dung? Really?”

Tod looks amused. “You only gave me one unit of blood to work with, Rudolf. Would you feel better if it was the lions?”

Rudolf scoffed. “And did you also feed yourself to the tigers?”

Tod pulled him in for a kiss, his expression amused. “No. That blood went to the lions.”

Rudolf rolled his eyes. His father’s eulogy was starting. He slid off of Tod’s lap and sat beside him on the couch, before rising and returning with a pair of beers.

“Shall we play a drinking game, my friend?”

Tod raises an eyebrow but accepts the beer Rudolf offers him.

“A sip every time my father lies.”

Tod snorted. “Do you want us to die of alcohol poisoning?”

Rudolf drank as his father proclaimed how much he would miss his darling son. “I haven’t seen him in eight years.” He muttered under his breath.

His mother is obviously crying (in contrast to his ever-put-together father) - but she doesn’t speak, just standing there like the perfect porcelain doll. Rudolf’s mood darkens.

The rest of the funeral does little to improve it. It is like his father specifically went out of his way to avoid everything Rudolf had requested in his will. He leaves before they put the empty casket in the ground.

It has stopped raining so he heads outside. The ocean is vast and blue before him, the white sand of the beach the same color as his skin. The first time Tod brought him here he’d gotten a sunburn all over his neck and face.

Rudolf turned back toward the house. Tod had a very particular aesthetic here - all the décor was white or pale blue, and all the furniture was white or tan. It was as far from the dark modern style he preferred everywhere else. Rudolf supposed he fit the white aesthetic well enough himself, looking down at the half-undone linen shirt and loose cargo shorts. White and a pale tan.

A gull lands beside him. Rudolf wonders if it was the same one from the balcony rail earlier.

A gentle hand on Rudolf’s shoulder marks Tod’s arrival.

“Now what?’

“We wait. Draw. Enjoy yourself.” Tod turns Rudolf in his arms and kisses him, deep and with a very particular intent. “Let me distract you.” Tod tucks a strand behind Rudolf’s ear and kisses his forehead. “Welcome to purgatory, my prince.”

“Will I ever leave?”

“In time. But you will never return there. Ich schlage vor, du lernst Deutsch.” 

Rudolf raises an eyebrow.

Tod merely smirks and picks Rudolf up, drawing a squawk from the younger man.

The walk back to the house is pleasant enough. Tod puts him down to dust the sand off their feet before hefting Rudolf once more, tossing him onto the bed this time.

Tod marks his neck with abandon. Why wouldn’t he? It’s not like Rudolf will face the stares of his colleagues on Monday. The black silk ribbon that binds his hands to the headboard is familiar enough. 

Tod takes him roughly at first - as Rudolf wines from the intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure Tod has trained him so well to enjoy - but switches to gentle rolls of his hips after Rudolf cums the first time. 

The kiss that comes as they cum together, swallowing the half whine that escapes Rudolf’s throat at the sensation, is somehow more possessive than any bite, than any bruise. 

They shower together, Tod’s hands never leaving Rudolf, before Tod spoons the younger man and hooks his chin over his shoulder. 

“Sleep. You don’t need to worry about anything.” Tod presses a final kiss to the little raven on Rudolf’s shoulder blade before they fall asleep together.

[chemicalpink]

Lonely Hearts Club ♡ BTS OT7

Pairing: female reader x OT7

Warning: smut. polyamory. kinda voyeurism (? like- how else are you supposed to make an 8 people intercourse work.

A/N: this has a very poor representation of polyamory ok. It actually contains everything that is not how polyamory works, but it’s in favour of the theme. This is my last work for the Electra Heart Series

Summary: January to December, do you wanna be a member? In this Lonely Hearts Club, do you want to be with somebody like us? 

Genre: smut

Word Count: 4.5k

“Where are you going Kookie?” Taehyung called from his spot cuddled on Jimin’s side without really tearing his eyes from the screen as they both watched some movie on the couch, a usual Friday night. 

Jungkook paused for half a second as he made sure he had everything in his pocket before heading to the door “Out”

“Out where?” Jungkook groaned loudly at the questioning, as if it were nothing common within their relationship, determined to extend the silence in the room long enough to be comfortably dismissed from the conversation.

“Out with that girl he has yet to come clean to” Yoongi mentioned as he made his way to the living room, bag of chips in hand and stuffing a few inside his mouth as he did “which by the way, I’ve told him a thousand times before, it’s not decent to keep on leading her on”

“I’m not” the youngest murmured under his breath, which earned him a pointed look from Yoongi, followed by the TV pausing and both of the other men to turn their attention to him “I’m not leading her on”

A hand was placed on his right shoulder from behind, making him startle, wide doe eyes in full display as Seokjin voiced his input in the situation “You’re going out with a girl that we all know likes you while being a relationship, Jungkookie” Seokjin made the most overdramatic pout “I’d say that’s leading her on, plus, placing us second”

Jungkook let out a heavy sigh, already knowing he was about to be very late to the date “You guys all said you were okay with me dating out of the circle”

“You know we’re messing with you, come on, you’ll be late for your date” he’d have to thank Namjoon for always coming to the rescue when Seokjin was being a little bit too much.

If someone was to tell him he would end up in a polyamorous relationship he would have laughed in their face. If someone was to tell him that he would end up in a polyamorous relationship with the six older men he was forced to share his college unit with, he would have crumbled apart right there and then, it was no secret whatsoever that he had the biggest crush on the six of them the moment he first saw them, call it gay panicking or whatever.

And you see, things were going smooth, at least as smooth as they could be when 7 people are dating each other, minus the stares when they went out in public, the questioning of their not so close friends and the constant battle royale when it came down to sleeping arrangements, it was smooth. Until you came along. Sure, after eight months of him joining the polycule, and people unable to think outside their monogamous mindset, a fair number of guys and girls had approached him, which was always meant to go in either of two possible ways:

First, and best, case scenario, they were only interested in a fling, a one night stand that ultimately turns into a somewhat friendly distanced greeting when on campus, it was a thing between the seven men after all, being able to casually date outside the circle and understanding that the strongest emotional bond was with their boyfriends at home, although… Jungkook was the one doing it most often, Jimin following him casually in indulging in the pleasure of casual sex from time to time.

Second, and the hardest scenario due to him having the softest heart (if having Hoseok cutting ties with his potential partners in more than one occasion is anything to go by) is when after the first scenario, people keep trying to get in touch with him, not that there’s anything wrong with it but he wasn’t interested, plus, when he went as far as explaining the whole polyamory situation, people would dismiss it as an non-existent relationship or worse yet, there was a guy that went as far as telling him that all he needed was to be ‘dicked down good enough’ for him to stop being polyamorous; Yoongi had gone and had a friendly talk with the dude when Jungkook went home that night crying (he might have sent the guy to ER but there’s really no way to know)

So really, third case scenario was way out of control for him, said scenario being you. Never asking anything too invasive, hooked up a few times and even made him breakfast one of them which ended up with Jungkook bolting right out of your apartment, thinking that was it and he’d never see you again but boy was he wrong, you had texted him after to make sure he was okay, had the most amazing round of make up sex (could it even be called that when you two didn’t even fight? and it was all just him being a moron?).

So here’s the thing, maybe his heart started picking up when he saw you, maybe he started feeling butterflies when you two made out on your couch, maybe the blurred line between being a casual hook up and falling for you had become no line at all, and soon enough his hyungs started pestering him that he shouldn’t play with your feelings. God how much easier would it be if you were a student at his campus, with the amount of talk about the ‘7 best looking guys being in a polyamorous relationship’ really would have done the trick, so that he could stop the inner fear of losing you that came with owning it up and telling you he was indeed not just bisexual, but in an eight month relationship with 6 guys.

So far, Namjoon had had the most serious talk with him ever since he was invited to join the relationship, then came Yoongi constantly bickering with him as a passive agressive way to get him to come clean, Hoseok aggressively cuddling him while whispering borderline nasty and teasing things to him while Seokjin, Taehyung and Jimin had made it their job to try and gatekeep him from you before any date with the theatrics of non existent jealousy. Deep down he knew it was wrong, so wrong of him to keep such a vital piece of information from you, then again, he couldn’t bear the feeling of seeing you being disgusted for his love choices, polyamory was one hell of a misunderstood topic, often overseen as being greedy and unable to choose. Which was a blatant lie. He had made a choice eight months ago, and it pained him to even think that if the time came, he would have to stand by it. He would choose the six of them all over again. No doubts in his mind he would choose them over you if it came to be like that.

What if he had spent a week bawling his eyes out at night after a date with you and quality time at home, people should mind their own business. And the men he loved the most in the world were proving to be deserving of his love yet again. He had cried one last time after thinking just how much they were meaning to go out of their way to keep Jungkook happy. They had kept him in their best interests when they decided that maybe, prior further consideration and a serious talk involving you and Jungkook, maybe an eight addition wouldn’t be so bad. 

“God I can’t believe we are not only condoning this behaviour but now we are endorsing it” Seokjin mentioned in one of his many overdramatic tones as he and Namjoon placed some delicious looking dishes out in their small backyard where they had all dressed up the place when little Jungkookie announced he was bringing you over.

Namjoon was quick to attempt to calm his boyfriend down while placing a small kiss on his lips “You’re overthinking” 

“Oh, I’m overthinking? How about Mr Jeon Jungkook who apparently can neither keep it in his pants nor grow a pair and tell someone that they are polyamorous, huh?” Namjoon really had to try his hardest not to burst out laughing at the way Seokjin’s words seemed to blend in together as they came out of his mouth in a flow that resembled a rap song “Don’t you try and gaslight me, Namjoon, I’ll have you know, psychology was my major before it was yours” 

“Doctor Kim has a beautiful ring to it” 

Seokjin did not stop a whole minute to stop placing everything out on the table as he kept on bickering with the younger “Don’t try to woo me Kim Namjoon, I know you only like the ring of it because we share the last name” 

Jimin walked out the exact moment they were blasting fiery heart eyes at each other, nothing out of the ordinary in their dynamic, “Seokjin-hyung, Namjoon-hyung, I think she’s here” the youngest of the three lend a hand for the whole table to be set in record time, already hearing an additional female voice that didn’t use to be there before coming from inside “I don’t think Taehyung’s on board with all...this” 

“What do you mean he’s not on board, we talked about it before!” if there was the slightest bit of panic in Namjoon’s eyes, he was one hell of an actor to have it covered up as soon as he sensed Seokjin stiff on his side and the whole room began to feel stuffy even when being outside.

“Tae says he’s not coming down for dinner” Hoseok announced as he popped his head outside “Y/N is talking in the living room with Kookie and Yoongi, she seems nice” before disappearing inside the house.

“I fucking told you all of this would come to bite us in the ass Joonie, eight people is one person too many” may Seokjin’s inability to read eye expressions be damned when Namjoon and Jimin tried to get him to keep his voice down before any more damage was caused.

A mop of black hair popped up from inside just the way Hoseok had done before, startling the three men outside when Jungkook spoke “Hey, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, totally” Jimin tried to fake a smile which ended up being the fakest smile he had ever put on his face, making the youngest squint his eyes at the three of them in a questioning manner, a few seconds away from dismissing it, Seokjin broke 

“Taehyung is not taking part”

“What do you mean Taehyung is not taking part?” Jungkook’s eyes widened almost comically but anyone could see the anxiety and panic rising in them, Namjoon ever the peacemaker in the relationship intervening 

“Tae says he’s backing down, but I’ll have a talk with him and-”

“I’ll do it” Jungkook shook his head as he took off back inside to the opposite side from which he came from; even with the whole uncertainty of the situation, it was sure not to head the right way it should have.

“That sounds lovely, I can just imagine” you said as Namjoon, who had just introduced himself, finished a random story about all seven of them “So.. you all live here together then?”

“Oh yeah, inseparable bond and what not” Seokjin, the oldest of the seven smiled somewhat uncomfortably at you, avoiding any type of direct contact. At first it really seemed to have taken the right turn, chatting with Yoongi and Hoseok after Jungkook left to see if anything else was needed before dinner, but then things started to shift, an unknown but uncomfortable silence filling the room every now and then, the way Jimin couldn’t stop fidgeting in his seat and Seokjin made little to no effort to not show just how uncomfortable he was. Jungkook had mentioned earlier that his housemates could be somewhat weird, without mentioning exactly how, but from the looks of it, it had something to do with dating within themselves. 

“Hey, do you mind if I use your restroom?” 

“Ah sure, upstairs, first door to the left” Yoongi answered with a tight lip smile on his face, everyone’s eyes discreetly following you in silence until your figure couldn’t be seen, probably out of earshot as murmurs took over the living room.

Not that you really needed to use the toilet but it would be nice to splash some cold water in your face if you wanted to even try and survive the rest of the night, but as you reached the end of the stairs, a room across what seemed to be the bathroom caught your attention, snuffling noises coming from the inside, and you really should stick to your own business, but how much weirder could the night go? apparently, exponentially weirder.

You reached the door that was conveniently slightly open, allowing you to take a peek inside, a guy sitting beside Jungkook  on the bed as he rubbed circles in the small of his back at the same time as he whispered things to his ear and you felt a pang in your chest, not really believing the whole sexual tension inside the room, perhaps your mind playing with you; up until the guy clearly nibbled Jungkook’s ear, a breathy moan escaping from his lips, your brain shortcircuiting between not understanding what was going on and finding it extremely hot.

“Tae no, you know I’m going out with Y/N” Jungkook said as the other guy moved around, seemingly placing a hand to his crotch in a playful manner, as far as the smirk in his face but obstruction of bodies allowed you to see from the door.

The guy’s eyes quickly turned to Jungkook in the biggest puppy stare you had ever seen, low voice above a whisper “Having someone around never stopped you before” 

“Please”

A heavier moan escaped from Jungkook’s mouth, hands immediately locking the guy around him as he straddled his hips on the bed “Do you not love us anymore?”

Whether it was whatever that was going on inside between the two of them, or the mention of love, that made you forget your compromising position, getting the feeling that you should stop watching and panicky closed the door, making your presence known, the world may never know, but there were thousands of thoughts running in your mind. Sure, Jungkook had never put a label on your relationship, and from time to time you had believed that perhaps there was something beautiful there, now coming to think of it, maybe his heart had always been occupied, as all those friends of yours that knew him from somewhere had once said to you, how it was the weirdest thing out there watching 7 great looking guys hanging out as if they were on a date, the unusual way they carried around each other. Not that it was bad, but i crushed your heart to know that you would never fit in, as much as you kicked it off with Jungkook and the sex was amazing, the dynamic between them seemed to put you as just a plaything for the youngest of them all.

“Y/N? Jungkookie wants to have a talk with you” you didn’t even noticed the shift of your surrounding, knowing Jungkook, how he most probably bolted right out of the room when they heard the door close forcefully, too absorbed in your thoughts, still too absorbed in your thoughts as Hoseok led you back down, sitting you down a few feet away from where Jungkook was seated, the TV playing a random programme in the back “You two do your stuff, we’ll be outside, feel free to join, okay?”

The TV Show echoed in the dark, it seemed like it had been hours since you joined Jungkook in his living room, wanting nothing more than cross the door and never see him again, but he was a great kid, you knew just how much he would blame himself over what were your insecurities and inability to speak up on the matter, on never questioning what game you two were playing, sleeping around, going on dates but not getting involved. Until he was the first one to speak up.

“I am in a polyamorous relationship, Y/N” he heaved a sigh, as if the world was lifting from his shoulders “Have been for the last eight months” 

Your heart sped up, the words unable to leave your lips, all tangled up on your brain “You should have told me before” you turned your face to where he was at the same time as he did the same “I would have understood”

“I don’t want to leave you”

“I know” which, you did know, time and time again he had made it clear that there was so much more to your relationship, although Jungkook wouldn’t express it out loud “I would love to have you… if there’s a way”

Jungkook’s doe eyes seemed to shine brighter at your words, although you could see tears forming in them “I don’t understand why would you want to be with someone like me” 

“Jeon Jungkook”  you scooted yourself to be closer to him, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder “Some people are so full of love they can give a way to a lot of people, I understand that” his eyes lighted up at your words, the tiniest bit of hope in them 

A hand was placed on your shoulder, softly grabbing the exposed skin, making you turn your head to see Hoseok, shadows playing on his face as he smirked down at you “Plus, love will never be forever, might as well have seven plans ahead, right Y/N?” 

You could feel a lump in your throat at that, images of what you had witnessed inside the bedroom with Jungkook and his friend still fresh in your mind, clearing your throat you hesitated “Uhm.. I really don’t know how to feel about all this Hoseok” but as soon as the words left your mouth you could see the rest of the boys joining the living room, as if you were some kind of prey you were after, the only source of light coming from the fairy lights in the backyard, illuminating them as they approached, hiding their true intentions in their eyes at the same time as their faces became darker, heart thumping inside your ribcage

“Oh come on, Y/N I saw you looking at Jungkookie and I outside our bedroom” Taehyung mentioned, which made you flush, fortunately going unnoticed by the lack of light, although he chuckled as he once again straddled Jungkook inches beside you, an all-too familiar image of the both of them as he grinded hard down on Jungkook’s crotch, earning him a groan from the youngest  “Seemed to me you were enjoying it a bit too much”

A firm hand underneath your chin turned you to face upwards by the slightest, a face that took you seconds to recognise as Yoongi’s too close to yours, grazing his lips with yours before he tutted and added a “Good girls are meant to share their toys Y/N” for good measure.

“Jungkookie here practically gave you up before asking you to join us” Jimin added as he took a sit beside you, body clinging to Yoongi who was still too close to you

“I just-” you turned your face to Jungkook, who was currently busy with his mouth all over Taehyung and Hoseok, both on each side of him as they seemed to get an equal amount of attention from the youngest, your lower abdomen firing up at the image and the prospect of you taking part in the dynamic “I guess it doesn’t really sound so bad”

“Even Seokjin is willing to give you a taste” spoke Namjoon as he walked into the area with Seokjin just inches behind him, nodding his head when you locked eyes with the eldest “But I bet you’ll be Yoongi-hyung’s favourite”

“It’s your turn to call the shots, Y/N”

Instead of a response, you pull on Jimin’s shirt until he leans onto you, capturing you lips in his in a kiss that seems to last just seconds before he is placing you on top of him, allowing Yoongi to take you previous spot, caressing you side so when you lean back to catch a breath, his mouth is on yours stealing your breath away; out of the corner of your eye you watch as Hoseok has his hand inside Jungkook’s pants “Sharing is caring, Yoongi” you remind him as he tries to have a second go, Jimin’s laughter underneath you hitting the right places as he frictions his front side up to you, earning a soft moan from your lips, which only turns to a second one when you feel two wet mouths on each side of your jaw, gently nibbling on the skin before they stopped to kiss right in front of you, tongues catching, groans escaping from each of Seokjin and Namjoon throat before they turned to look at you and retrieved to their original spot to entertain themselves.

“As much as I’d love to take her, I think it’s best if we let Jungkook welcome her into our dynamic” a soft laugh falls from Jimin’s lips as you quietly gasp when he places you on the couch, an awaiting Jungkook on your side, the blond man taking his turn with Yoongi a few inches away.

Jungkook’s eyes seem dazed, and he quickly finds your mouth, just the way he did all those times before, except that now it was somewhat different from them, in a room full of people, his boyfriends, yours soon to be; as he absentmindedly tongues your bottom lip to deepen the kiss, a single hand slides underneath the fabric of your shirt as the other grips around your thigh, slowly working its way to where you could already feel your panties dampening. Fingers dancing familiarly over your nipples, “God I don’t know what I’d have done if you said no to this”, you barely register his words so you just nod in agreement, desperately wanting him to touch you where you needed the most. Warm fingers find your folds, stroking them slowly, squelching sounds that somehow don't seem to phase the way the rest of the group keeps on having their tongues deep down on someone elses throat, changing partners everytime you look up. The tips of his fingers find your entrance, slowly working a pace in and out, pairing it with wet kissed to your exposed neck as you try and hold on to his shirt for dear life “You’re so wet already”

His fingers pick up speed, barely curling into that soft spot inside you. Hips lifting slightly as your head lulls back against his shoulder, peaking both Jimin and Yoongi’s interest from beside you, a clear interest in the action if the way their pants seem to grow tighter by the second “Hey baby, is Jungkookie making you feel good?” voice raspy, dark, but soft lips on your own as the youngest kept his pace with his fingers, stretching you open on the couch.

“She sounds so sweet I can’t wait to taste her” Yoongi adds as his hand reaches out inside Jimin’s pants, starting to stroke his member to life. And that’s when you see it. Namjoon and Seokjin, ever so reserved, in their own little world, sitting across from all the action, hands on each other’s bulge, not daring to look away from you. And it somehow stirs you in all the right places, mind set already on giving them the best show ever. 

Hands cup your breasts from behind you, softly massaging them, feather like kisses on the back of your neck as your shirt is lifted, bra forgotten and your tits are free for everyone in the room to watch and enjoy, a voice behind you, owner of the hands pinching your nipples whispering in your ear “I’m willing to forgive you interrupting quality time with Kookie”

You feel a pinching in your clit joining Jungkook’s fingers pistoning into you, making you reach your orgasm in record time in a broken mess of calling out Jungkook’s name. Hoseok’s instantly reaching for the waistband of your panties to pull them down “Well I’d say, dinner’s served,Yoongi-hyung” before said man is  leaning forward, Yoongi’s hands exchanging Jimin’s cock for your knees – holding your legs open. Yoongi’s tongue takes a bold lick over your slit before he’s diving in, lips attaching to your clit as the tip of his tongue flicks against it. Hoseok’s chin is rested on your shoulder,ocassionaly opening up your outer lips to allow the elder a deeper access to your cunt,  watching Yoongi’s  tongue fuck into you. You could feel Taehyung’s thick length pressed into your lower back, the slow lift of his hips dragging it against you. Soft groans from the friction falling from his lips, mixing with the husky moans that echo from around the room as everyone watched Yoongi intently. Your eyes find Seokjin and Namjoon across the room, both of whom have since pulled their cocks from behind their pants, glistening tips on full display as their large hands stroke over the base of each other, their  hips moving to match the movement of their hands.

The tongue between your legs moves swiftly, pushing past your folds and slipping into your entrance, lapping up the juices from your past orgasm as Hoseok leans down to share a wet kiss with him, then Jungkook, the three of them tasting you on their tongues. As Yoongi returns to his spot between your legs, he moans against your core like the taste of you is the most delicious thing to ever hit his tongue, the sound sending vibrations through your body that has your cunt tingling, not far from your next release. “Aah- Yoongi” you gasp, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair, pushing his face further between your legs.

“You gonna cum all over my tongue, huh?” his movements intensify, nose pressed against your clit, rubbing it precisely as it makes you fall apart in a rush of desperate pleas before he removes himself from his position, chin covered in your juices to which you can’t help but moan at the sight of as he licks his lips in delight. His lips capture yours once he’s on your eye level,  hand set on the back of your head to keep you still, mouth instantly flooded with your taste, pulling away with fiery eyes and a smirk. “Joon was right, you’re gonna be my favourite”

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 5

“Girls,” why don’t you finish your homework and set the table while dad and I talk for a minute?”

“Can daddy stay for dinner?” CeCe reached for his hand and looked up at you, a sweet but pleading smile on her face.

“Can’t actually, honey,” Luke informed. “I’ve got somewhere to be, so--this has to be quick, unfortunately.”

“Great,” you nodded, bitterness laced through your words. “Girls, just give us one second, okay?"

You made eye contact with Maeve, communicated a look that said please bring your sister inside. She did, she pulled her by the shoulder and offered to let her fold the napkins--her favorite part.

You shut the door one they were back in the house, turned to Luke and crossed your arms. “Why are you here?”

“To visit.”

“Okay, well, where have you been for the last six months? My dad died--you didn’t think to visit when they lost their grandfather?”

“I’ve been busy,” he whined, letting his hands slap against his legs as if you were nagging him unnecessarily. “Better late than never.”

“Not how that works, but okay.”

“Y/N--can I just come in, hang out with them for a bit?”

“You can’t just come in and out of their lives, Luke, whenever it’s convenient. You either show up with some consistency or you don’t show up at all.”

“So you’d rather them not have a relationship with their father than have one that’s maybe not up to your standards?”

You were back in your marriage, suddenly, back to the fights and the frustration that became a dance you knew all too well. “They’re kids, Luke! Their parents got divorced and then their grandpa died and we moved and now you’re just here on my doorstep. Where’s your girlfriend, anyway?”

You looked past his shoulder--his car was parked on the gravel, apparently he remembered the entry code for the gate. The blonde woman who dangled from his arm on Facebook and the motorcycle he rode were nowhere to be found.

“She’s at home. And she would love to meet the girls, you know.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“You can’t just show up with no notice and take them to meet some random woman you’re sleeping with.”

“Well, do we have to get lawyers involved in this, then? I’m pretty sure I deserve some level of custody over my own children.”

“Now you want custody? I mean--you literally didn’t reply to my calls about settling that in court when we actually got divorced so forgive me for thinking that meant you didn’t care.”

“I want to be able to see my kids, Y/N.”

“Okay--well maybe you can call me in the morning and we can schedule something instead of you showing up at my house.” You turned around to grab the doorknob, but before your hand landed on it, the door pulled open and Harry was stood on the other side with intrigue in his eyes.

“Harry--” you were about to tell him to go inside and stay out of it, but he stuck his hand out in Luke’s direction and smiled.

“Luke--nice to put a face to the name.”

Luke shook his hand but narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you?”

“No, you don’t. My name’s Harry.”

“You look familiar--” Luke mumbled this to no one in particular, but his eyes caught yours when you offered him a small smile.

“He’s a client of Jeff’s--he’s a musician.”

Luke made a face at that. “Okay--why are you here?”

“I live here,” Harry said. “With your children and ex-wife.”

“Harry,” you said his name again in warning. He didn’t even look at you, kept his eyes trained on Luke’s as if this was some sort of show down.

Luke nodded slowly, brought his eyes to you. “So our children can’t meet my girlfriend but they can live with a stranger.”

“He’s not a stranger, Luke. He’s known Jeff and the Azoffs for years--he knew my dad.”

“You didn’t think to ask me if that was okay?”

“You never returned my texts about my dead father or asking if you wanted to see them, so, it didn’t really cross my mind.”

Harry took a step in front of you. “Why are you here, man? I think that’s a better question.”

“I could do without the attitude, dude, okay? I can come to see my children if I want.”

“Just curious, since we’re about to eat dinner and I know Maeve’s not done with her homework.”

You rolled your eyes at that--an obvious flex that Harry was more in the know about your kids than he was. Your heart beat was rising, eyes flickering between the two of them.

“I didn’t know I needed your permission to see my own kids.”

“You don’t need mine, but maybe actually co-parenting with Y/N would be a good place to start.”

“Oh so she’s got you playing by all her rules, too?”

“Luke--”

“If you want to call her rules stability, for your children, then sure.”

“So you think you can move in here and just take over as father or something, is that what’s happening? Is there something going on--”

“No--I’m not their father, but I know that Y/N is an incredible mother--”

“Harry, please.”

“So you’re sleeping with this guy and he moves in and that’s fine but they can’t meet my girlfriend.”

“No one said we’re sleeping together, Luke,” you made a face at that, crossed your arms over your chest again and watched him with narrowed eyes.

“Are you?” He looked between the two of you, waiting for an answer like he suddenly had a right to know that information.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “S’none of your business.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, good luck with her, maybe one day she’ll divorce you and then tell you that you can’t see your own kids--didn't know I married such a control freak.”

Harry swung before you could even process the insult, his fist collided with Luke’s face and you let out a gasp. “Harry--are you fucking insane?!”

You rushed over to Luke, now clutching his face on the ground as he swore to himself. “Fucking fuck, that’s a perfectly clear answer, dude--good to know you’re sleeping with her.”

The door had already pulled open again, both Maeve and CeCe looked out into the evening air with wide eyes, uncertainty on their faces when Harry turned around to see them. “Go inside,” he said.

“Why?” Maeve shot this back with a prickly attitude. “What’s happening? Why is dad on the ground?”

“Just go inside,” Harry said it again, his words more stern.

“You’re not my dad, Harry, you can’t tell me what to do!”

Now was not the time for Maeve’s theatrics.

Luke shot back to his feet and lunged towards Harry, words interspersed between grunts when his own fist grazed the side of Harry’s jaw. “Don’t tell my kids what to do!”

Maeve pulled CeCe inside and shut the door quickly, some kind of instinct taking over her when you yanked at the back of Luke’s shirt. “Luke, get the fuck off of him!”

Harry shoved him back, he lost his footing and fell to the ground again but was quick to get up and brush the dirt off of his hands. You stood in front of Harry, who now rubbed at his jaw and looked more dejected than before, green eyes more somber when you shook your head.

“Both of you need to grow the fuck up--you just tried to beat each other up in front of the girls.”

Harry dropped your gaze and moved his jaw in circles, Luke glared with resentment, but they were both quiet.

“Go, Luke--you can’t show up and pull this shit, okay? We’re not doing it like this.”

“So now I don’t get to see my kids because your fucking boyfriend punched me in the face?”

“I didn’t say that!” You shouted, your volume making both of them flinch. “I never said you can’t see them but you certainly can’t just show up and expect me to take that well. We’re not talking about it now, so please, do everyone a favor and get the fuck out.”

He thought about it for a second, reached up to touch his cheek--already swollen and bruised--before he let out a sigh and looked at Harry. “Fuck you, man.”

“Fuck you too,” Harry said quickly.

“Go inside,” you said to Harry, a hand on his chest. “And ice that.”

Luke scoffed at your attempt to aid him, but when you turned to see him, he shrunk under your gaze.

“Get out!”

He turned and mumbled, “my lawyer will be in touch.”

“Mine looks forward to that call,” you said sweetly. He climbed into his car and pulled the door shut, Harry stood behind you, feet glued to the front step until Luke’s car pulled out onto the road.

When he was gone, you turned around. He hadn’t budged, he waited for you to say something, but you pulled your phone out and dialed Jeff’s number before you even addressed him.

He picked up on the second ring. “Hi--can you please come get the girls and take them out for dinner or something? Luke just showed up at my house and Harry punched him in the face and then Maeve and CeCe saw Luke try to punch Harry. So--I’m going to need some help. Immediately."

You could hear him grab his keys, he was in his car before he hung up and when you ended the call, the door had been pulled open again.

Maeve stepped out but closed it behind her. “I turned the stove off and CeCe’s watching TV. But I’m not going to lie, she’s suspicious.”

You let out a sigh that turned into a laugh, brought a hand up to your face. You didn’t know if you were mad or sad or amused or terrified. A mix of emotions when she looked up to Harry.

“Did you punch my dad in the face?”

He looked to you, eyes wide as if he needed your help to get out of this one.

You shrugged, not going to save your ass.

“I lost my temper and that was not okay,” he said.

“But then my dad punched you.”

More hesitance, but he nodded. “Right.”

They both looked to you. Quiet for a moment--was Maeve’s childhood shattered here in front of the house, broken atop the gravel that crunched under Luke’s tires when he drove away?

Hopefully not. Hopefully this wasn’t the moment she’d recount in adulthood, a therapist’s office somewhere on the East Coast, my mom let a pop star move in and then he punched my dad in the face.

“Uncle Jeff is coming and is going to take you and your sister out for dinner.” You didn’t know what else to tell her.

“Okay,” she accepted this, something told you she knew that this was serious and this was not something to ask a thousand questions about. “Can I say something?”

“Sure.”

“I think dad’s probably jealous because it’s obvious you guys like like each other.”

You watched her for a second, unable to piece together a rebuttal. So instead of replying, you told her to get her shoes on, tugged Harry inside and sat him at the island.

A bag of frozen peas was pressed to his jaw when Jeff showed up. Maeve and CeCe were in the living room with the TV on, both of them sat on the couch under a thick layer of tension.

“What the fuck happened?” Jeff asked quietly, car still running outside.

“You’ll have to ask your friend,” you said, scooping the uneaten dinner you’d made into Tupperware. “But maybe you can ask him later so I can yell at him first.”

Jeff smiled in your direction, approving of your reply. He looked to Harry, “don’t be an asshole.” He walked over to the living room without a word from Harry and greeted the girls.

“Be good,” you told them. They were quiet, waved goodbye and faded into the driveway once Jeff shut the door.

Silence, except for the crunching from the frozen peas when Harry shifted the bag against his jaw and tried not to wince in pain. He looked at you, guilt creased in his forehead.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

He sighed, dropped your gaze. “I’m sorry I punched your ex-husband in the face.”

“How about the fact that you came out there and got involved in the first place?”

This got him riled up. “Well I didn’t know what to do, Y/N! Maeve said you were talking to him and I wasn’t about to leave you alone with him.”

“I was married to him for 10 years. I know how to be alone with the guy.”

“I shouldn’t have punched him,” he admitted quickly.

“You shouldn’t have.”

He stood from the stool and set the peas down. “But I hated what he said about you--acting like you’re the bad guy here. You’re not.”

“I know I’m not, I didn’t need you to defend me!”

A step closer to you. “I wanted to.”

“Why?”

He shrugged his shoulders, looked away for a second like he couldn’t say it. What was he supposed to say? I like you? I have feelings for you? Did he? You were just as confused as he looked.

“Because I feel like we’re a family, in a weird way, the four of us.”

Just as it always had, the word anchored itself beneath your ribs, made it hard to breathe when you tried to define it in your head.

A family? People related by blood. People who live together. People who love each other. You didn’t have the time or the patience to define it right now with him still looking at you like your silence hurt his feelings.

Maybe it got under your skin and maybe it warmed your heart at the same time. It was at least enough reassurance that you weren’t crazy, and you weren’t imagining all of this. Maybe he did have feelings for you in some way, maybe he did belong here somehow.

“I can’t believe all of that happened,” you said this seriously, but when you looked up at him again you couldn’t help but laugh. How idiotic--your ex husband and your ex-boyband house guest duked it out on the front lawn. Tristan was right, your life had suddenly become a trashy romance novel and that realization brought humor to an otherwise horrendous evening.

“What?” His lips tugged into a smirk.

“Am I going to get blacklisted for causing an injury to your perfect face? Is Jeff going to murder me when he brings the girls home?”

He rolled his eyes at your joke but smiled. “I’m the idiot that thought it was a good idea to punch the ex-husband of my--”

Your breath hitched in your throat, you let out a sigh when he shrugged and offered a verbal pivot. “It was stupid--you didn’t cause it.”

There was still an awkward amount of space between you. He’d stood up like he wanted to move closer to you instinctually, comfort you or touch you. But now you twisted a ring on your finger and didn’t know what to say.

“I’ll apologize to the girls, tell them it was wrong of me and talk to them about it.”

You nodded, was that appropriate? Should you be the one to discuss this with them? Where did you even start in regard to addressing Maeve’s comment at the front door?

“I think maybe I should talk to them.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Maybe I should clear it up with Maeve too, you know, just what she said about us.”

“Right--what are you going to say?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

He took a step closer to you. “You could tell her that she’s right.”

You looked up at him, eyes on his for a second like the world had been paused. You’d been speechless before. Maybe not often, and maybe not for reasons like this, but when you didn’t say anything, he took a step back.

“Sorry--you’re right. Best to not involve them.”

Your voice came out in a squeak, insecure and lacking the confidence you’d tried so hard to build. “You think?”

“Yeah, I mean, that’s what you were going to say, right?”

Was it?

“Yeah.”

He scratched at the back of his neck, slid the peas forward on the counter. “Thanks for these. I should probably shower.”

“Okay.”

A hesitance in him, you could see it. He took a step towards the stairs but kept his hand on the counter, a quick glance over his shoulder. “Are we alright?”

“Yeah, yes.”

“You sure?”

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “Certain. Goodnight, Harry.”

**

Jeff wasn’t mad at you about Harry’s face. If anything, he was mad at Luke for being an asshole and mad at Harry for being stupid enough to get involved. You didn’t dare tell him about the things he’d said in the kitchen when you were home alone.

Harry’s ego was bruised almost as bad as his jaw, which seemed to turn a darker shade of blue-ish yellow the next day.

Maeve was sat at the dining room table, eyes fluttered in annoyance when CeCe climbed into her seat and then looked at you. “Sorry,” she said. “I had to go pee.”

“That’s okay,” you nodded, letting out a sigh when you looked between them. “So, I called a family meeting because I wanted to talk about what happened the other day when dad was here.”

“When is he visiting again?” CeCe smiled, distracted by the mention of her absent parent.

“Not for a while,” Maeve answered with an eye roll. “He punched Harry.”

“They punched each other,” CeCe corrected with an attitude.

“Exactly, which is the problem, because as you both know we don’t use our hands to communicate in this house. We use words.”

“Well why didn’t Harry use words to tell dad that he likes you?”

“That’s not what was happening, Maeve.”

Was it wrong to lie to her? She rolled her eyes like she didn’t believe you, like your words were just a cover up for whatever was really happening--you bit your lip when you realized that they were.

“Then why did they fight?”

“Because,” you said, exerting your mom-power. “They disagreed about something. Just like you two disagree sometimes.”

“We’re eleven and six,” Maeve made a face at you. “It’s age-appropriate for CeCe to pull my hair.”

You stared at her blankly--she was too smart for her own good. “But it’s wrong, any type of violence is wrong.”

“So is daddy coming to visit again or no?” CeCe was probably having trouble keeping up, she looked confused but invested when you smiled at her.

“Maybe--him and I still need to talk about that.”

“He never comes to see us!” Maeve complained, frustration in her voice when the front door opened. Harry--hair pushed back with a headband, curls escaped on the side and a dewy layer of sweat on his forehead--apparently he’d gone for a run.

The bruise on his jaw was visible. “Hi,” he looked around, solemn. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“You said dad was going to visit us still when we moved here but he hasn’t!”

You turned back to Maeve, parenting duties outweighed your desire to take in the sight of Harry post-workout.

“I can’t control your father,” you reminded her. “We’ve talked about this--he loves you, but he…” you felt awkward saying it in front of Harry, a watered down version of the truth. “He’s not good at managing his time. He forgets things and he gets distracted. But he loves you.”

“Then why doesn’t he come visit?” Maeve asked, arms crossed over chest. She wore a purple shirt, one that you’d gotten at the Gap and that she used to say she hated, probably just because you said it looked nice on her.

Her voice was softer now, less angry and more confused, a tinge of sadness when Harry walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. Another thing he probably hadn’t planned on: witnessing uncomfortable family meetings where you tried to explain to your children why their father doesn’t keep in touch.

It was a fair question, you couldn’t blame her for asking and wondering. Why didn’t he reach out more? Why didn’t he make an effort to see them?

You couldn’t admit your own confusion to them. “He’s just busy, honey. He loves you both a lot, I know that. But I can talk to him and see if we can schedule a time for him to come see you.”

Harry paused at that--far away in the kitchen, glass to his lips when he stopped sipping and looked in your direction. When he noticed he’d been caught, he cleared his throat and headed out to the patio.

CeCe looked up at you with big eyes. “Can daddy come for my ballet recital?”

“Maybe,” you nodded. “I can ask him.”

That seemed to be good enough for them. Maeve was eager to head out to a friend’s house when her ride showed up and CeCe was more than happy to play in the backyard by herself.

Harry was stood on the patio still when CeCe ran to the swing set, glass of water still in his hand as if he hadn’t a clue what was going on. His eyebrows raised when you stood in the doorway.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he turned to see you, hand on his hip. “Sorry--I didn’t mean to burst in there.”

“It’s fine, I think they get it. I mean, I don’t know, as much as they can, I guess.”

He nodded, stared at the ground when he spoke. “You know, I was thinking on my run--if this is too much I can talk to Jeff about staying at his. I don’t want to make--”

“No,” you shook your head, probably too quickly. Surprised by your own reply, you crossed your arms. “I mean, it’s fine. I just think maybe we should take a minute to figure out--”

“Right,” he nodded, cutting your sentence down to a half-formed thought. “Understood.”

He looked away at that, glanced down to his running shoes before he kicked at the patio slate beneath them.

You bit at the inside of your cheek, cursed yourself for how stupid you’d been. This is why you shouldn’t have let your guard down in the first place. First Luke, then your dad, now this type of stress all under one roof was possibly too much for everyone involved. The last 12 months had already snowballed into a mess of emotions and you should have known better.

As the adult in the equation, you were sure that this was all your fault.

And yet you wished it wasn’t--something in you wanted to walk over to him, wrap your arms around his middle and feel comforted by his touch. He brought his eyes to you and was about to speak when the alarm beeped. The front door opened, Tristan appeared through the glass doors and waved when CeCe ran over to see who the visitor was. Conversation effectively over.

“Hi,” he greeted with a smile, completely unaware that he’d just walked in at the worst time. “Glad I caught you both here. Sorry to barge in but I wanted to confirm details about the launch party so we can get it squared away.”

Harry stood awkwardly still, weight shifting on his feet when Tristan pulled out his phone to decline a call but kept talking. “I talked to Helen and Kira, the restaurant’s booked and the headcount is confirmed so we’re pretty much good to go.”

Right, the body wash debut and the celebratory dinner that Tristan had insisted on having. It was more than just the body wash debut: a celebration of how much Luna Skincare had grown, the launch of a whole new product line, a pick me up to try to make you feel less stressed, as Tristan had said.

Harry was confused, Tristan looked between the two of you. “Oh--did you...not tell him?”

“Tell me what?”

“About the dinner, the party we’re having,” Tristan shrugged and watched you, confused as to why you hadn’t looped Harry in.

It wasn’t purposeful. You’d spent countless showers contemplating if and how to invite him. Was he your date? Was he just a friend who was coming? Would he sit beside you or beside Jeff or was it better to leave him out of it altogether to avoid the questions and overthinking that had already saturated your brain before the event?

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know about it.”

Great, now you looked like an asshole. You laughed awkwardly to try and brush it off. “Well, we were still planning, I was going to invite you, of course. It’s for the body wash debut.”

He nodded, having gathered that much already.

You cleared your throat, the invitation a clear backtrack. “You should come, it’s just a dinner at La Cava. The team that worked on it, Jeff is coming, Zoey, some of our friends.”

He hesitated, glanced over to Tristan like he didn’t know how to reply but then looked back to you. “I thought we just said we--”

“It’s fine,” now you cut him off, a wave of your hand when you turned back to Tristan. “It’s gonna be great--do we have to finalize a menu?”

“I’ll have it on your desk by Tuesday morning.”

“Great, do you want to stay for dinner?”

He looked between the two of you, somehow aware of the tension that hovered above your backyard. “Can’t,” he said slowly. “I have a date, actually.”

“Oh, okay. Who’s the guy?”

“Someone I met online,” he shrugged. “Check my location and if I’m not home by midnight, please call the police.”

You laughed, “will do.”

He kissed you on the cheek and then waved to CeCe when she screamed BYE TRISTY!!!

Harry said something about taking a shower and seeing a friend that night, he dipped out the backdoor before dinner and you had no clue what time he got home. But that was for the best, right? You needed to take a step back to get your feet back on the ground.

You didn’t need to concern yourself with where he was or what he was doing--and the tiny voice of anxiety in the back of your brain reminded you that you definitely didn’t need to know who he was with.

Doing so had only made your emotions more jumbled. You’d been stupid enough to think there was something here, think that all of this meant something. And maybe it did, in moments. Harry had been the one to say that Maeve was right, but where did that sentence end? Maeve was right and: I have to go on tour, I’m too young to be a step father, I’m not looking for a serious relationship, I’m too busy for all of this.

The sentence likely ended with a fiery crash into flames and embarrassment.

Whatever was going on between the two of you--between the four of you, even--was a momentary blip on the radar of life. An extra set of hands when you needed them, someone to help things settle back into place after your life had been shaken up like the contents of a snow globe.

But somehow, eventually, things had to settle. You were only upset that it had been rattled again, by fists and bruises and angry words, before you were finally able to see that it was time for things to calm down.

He knew this too. He pulled back over the next week, spent less time downstairs and when you found yourself in the kitchen with him one night after the girls were asleep, a general sense of unease seemed to blanket the room.

Your phone dinged on the counter in front of him when he forked into a bowl of leftovers.

“Oh, you--uh--it’s a message from Luke.”

You were bent over at the dishwasher, the final plate tucked inside when you stood up, a wrinkle in your forehead at his words.

“Luke?”

He slid it over, took another bite and pretended to be disinterested.

Luke (9:24pm): Been thinking about it. Once every two months would be great. Don’t want to get lawyers involved--call me next week and we can talk about when to schedule something. Sorry about punching your friend.

You let out a breath you hadn’t meant to hold, licked at your lips when your eyes welled with tears. You looked up at Harry--who’d apparently been watching you. “Sorry, I’m fine, I just--”

“What did he say?”

“He said he’s fine to only see the girls every two months and we can talk about scheduling. And he apologized for punching you.”

Harry let out a sigh at that, his shoulders slumped like they’d been tense. “I mean--I think I did more damage to him, but, s’fine.” He brought his eyes up to meet yours and smiled a bit. “But that’s good--if he wants to see them there should be some type of predictability to it.”

“Right,” you agreed, a beat of silence. “I should probably feel bad for the girls that their father only wants to see them six times a year but I’m honestly just relieved at this point.”

He held back a quiet laugh. “I don’t blame you. Don’t need any more fist fights.”

You looked up at him, bit back a smirk and tugged at the necklace around your neck. “Definitely not.” Another beat of silence when he looked down at the countertop, his lips were parted like he wanted to speak, but then he sighed again.

The sadness on his face tugged at your heart, you spit out words if only to fill the air between you.

“I’m also sorry that he punched you. You shouldn’t have punched him first, obviously, but, he’s an idiot. The father of my children, but an idiot nonetheless.”

“I shouldn’t have gotten involved. I overstepped, so, I’m the one that owes you an apology.”

You nodded. He wasn’t wrong. He did owe you an apology despite the fact that he’d already said it that night. But you didn’t want it to feel as awkward and uncomfortable as it had been for the last few days.

Maybe the girls didn’t sense it, Harry was still teaching Maeve guitar and he still chased CeCe around the backyard, tossing her over his shoulder when he finally caught up. But instead of sneaking into your room at night he shut his bedroom door quietly and you pretended you didn’t watch to see when he finally turned the light out.

“By the way, my house is coming along. They said I can move in sometime in the next two weeks probably.” He nodded like this was a business meeting, neat and tidy information that he presented on top of the island like there wasn’t any weight to his words.

“Oh, okay.”

“Yeah--so, I’ll keep you updated, I guess.”

In a year of uncertainty and with a thousand twists and turns, something about Harry made you feel like your path was straight, like no unexpected bumps or roadblocks could throw you off course. Somehow, he’d simultaneously been the one to make things fall into place and stir up emotions inside of you that you forgot existed.

But the mere thought of that brought on so much judgment and self-doubt. You'd been desperate and pathetic and searching for anything that would keep you upright, then Harry showed up with a suitcase and a heart of gold.

It wasn’t his fault that you fell for him. There was no one to blame but you.

He saw the look on your face, one of swirling thoughts and anxiety. He cleared his throat. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

You looked up at him sheepishly, like you’d been caught in your own internal monologue of a shame spiral. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

He laughed, reached for glasses above the stove and poured.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

AN: this one was a bit shorter--but don't worry, everything happens for a reason.

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[evening-starlight]

Warm Beers

     McKenzie Shoupe always had strong feelings towards JJ Maybank, but they were always platonic. At least she thought they were. But when she slowly runs out of warm beer excuses for the funny feeling in her stomach whenever JJ's around, Kenzie thinks they might be more.

---

New Series Babys!! This one’s OBX because I just watched season 2 and am OBSESSED.

Taglist is open! Dm or Comment to be added.

All Works Master List

Warm Beers Master List

1

Word Count: 1582

---

    The music and laughter greet McKenzie's ears before she can see the party. She smiles to herself, knowing her friends are waiting for her by the fire. The sand gives way under her bare feet as she treks to the boneyard, greeting other people she knows on the way.

    "Shoupe Jr, what's up?" John B. yells, jogging over to Kenzie with an unopened can of beer for her. He swings his arm over her shoulders while guiding her towards the fire, where the rest of the group sits on logs. "Where does daddy dearest think you're at tonight?" Kenzie rolls her eyes as she takes a drink of the beer, making a face afterward.

    "Why the hell is my shit warm, Routledge?" John B. laughs and points at their blonde best friend.

    "Because JJ was in charge of the ice, and what does JJ do best?" Kenzie laughs and waves to the rest of the pouges, not forgetting to flip off her favorite, JJ Maybank.

    "Forgets shit," The group, including JJ, say in unison. JJ flips everyone off but smiles brightly. This was Kenzie's favorite spot in all of Outer Banks. The Boneyard with her four best friends, drinking beers by the fire and poking fun at each other. "So, where does Shoupe think you're at tonight?" JJ asks, making room on his log for his favorite girl to sit.

    Kenzie takes the seat and leans into JJ as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, playing absentmindedly with the strap of her bikini top. "At Sarah Cameron's," Kenzie says, drinking more of the disgustingly warm beer. "I haven't had her over in over a year, and he still thinks we're best friends." She laughs, shaking her head at her oblivious dad. "Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he lets me use her as an excuse because he knows I'm doing something with the people who give him high blood pressure." JJ scoffs and holds a hand over his heart in mock hurt.

    "Are you trying to tell me that your father doesn't approve of us?" Kenzie pushes JJ away with her elbow with a stupid grin. "I'm hurt, Ken, hurt." The group laughs with a shake of their head at JJ's theatrics. He fakes a pout while Kenzie steals his favorite red hat but really doesn't mind. She's the only person who's allowed to steal and wear his clothes.

    JJ wouldn't say he necessarily has a soft spot for McKenzie Shoupe, but if she asked him to jump, he'd ask how high. It's a mystery how the deputy's daughter and the town's bad boy became such good friends. All they know is that they can't go a day without each other.

    Kenzie lays her head on JJ's shoulder as she continues to joke and talk with her friends. An annoying feeling in his stomach makes him groan, gently pushing the girl off his shoulder. "Hey, you okay, J?" She asks, hand already feeling his forehead. The feeling gets worse, and he feels his face heating up.

    "I think the warm beer did something. My stomach isn't feeling too well right now," He mumbles. "I'm heading back to the chateau." He gets off the log and smiles at his friends. "I'll see you all up there later." JJ moves to leave, and Kenzie gets off her seat too.

    "I'm coming with you. I got to pee anyways," She says, shrugging. JJ lays his arms across her shoulder with a quick goodbye to the group, and they begin the short walk to the house. "You sure you're okay, J? You don't usually leave a party that soon after it starts," Kenzie worries. JJ would stay until the sun came up and after many boot and rallies. He was the party-going king.

     "Yeah, something just felt really off. But at least I learned the warm beer lesson," He jokes. McKenzie sighs with a nod. "You didn't have to come with me, you know? I'm a big boy who can take care of myself." She laughs and pushing him slightly away, only for him to push her back harder, nearly tripping her. The small amount of booze coursing through their system makes the situation funnier.

    "I know you can, but I honestly had to pee like a racehorse," She laughs, relief filling her as she sees the chateau coming into view. Kenzie should have honestly peed before she left, but she was too excited to think about it. The thought of seeing JJ again fueled her forgetfulness.

    "Well, Ken, I'm sorry to say, but you'll have to wait in line. I have to pee," JJ says before taking off in a sprint towards the house.

    "You mother fucker," She yells back, laughing as she chases after him. They wrestle and yell at each other as they trip up the steps until Kenzie gets the lead and slams the door in JJ's face. It won't be a long hold, but long enough to get to the toilet first.

    Kenzie barely reaches the restroom before JJ caught up to her, narrowly missing her waist as she dashes into the bathroom, already pulling down her pants. "Suck my dick, JJ," She laughs, sighing in relief as she finally gets to empty her bladder.

    "Only if you ask nicely, Ken," JJ prompts, grabbing a step stool from under the counter and standing on it like he's about to empty himself in the sink.

    "Oh my God, are you going to piss in the sink?" Kenzie asks in disgust. JJ smiles at her and starts unzipping his jeans. "Holy fuck, you're so unsanitary, Maybank."

    "Well, then look away," He exclaims, still undoing his pants to pee. "Unless you want to see my dick," He adds. McKenzie gags, shielding her eyes with her hand. "Oh, come on, you can't say you're not the least bit curious," JJ prompts as Kenzie hears the liquid splashing in the sink.

    "If you've seen one dick, you've seen them all, JJ." Kenzie jokes before wiping herself and pulling up her pants, looking the opposite of JJ.

    "I would like to disagree on that one, Ken," JJ rebuttals, situating himself back in his pants. The odd feeling is gone, so JJ chalks it up to having a full bladder. "See, dicks are just like pussys," He starts but stops when he sees Kenzie following him out without washing her hands. "Aren't you going to wash your hands?"

    Mckenzie raises an eyebrow as she says, "In the sink, you just pissed in? Not until it's bleached and gutted." JJ laughs and lets her lead them to the kitchen. "You were saying? About dicks and vaginas?"

    "Right," JJ starts again while he hops on the kitchen counter, watching Kenzie wash her hands in the sink there. "They're all different in their own beautiful ways." Kenzie chuckles at her friend's drunken analogy.

    "Is that your way of comforting yourself because you have a small peen?" Kenzie asks, turning around towards the boy, who immediately starts to protest. "No, no, it's okay. Like you said, everyone is beautiful in their own way," Kenzie jokes.

    "You want to see it and judge for yourself?" JJ asks, jumping off the counter, hands already on his button. Kenzie laughs, shaking her head before looking at the opening door. Kiara stops in her tracks, causing the other two boys to bump into her.

    "What's going on in here?" She asks, eyeing the situation. Kenzie is red and smiling while JJ's hands are on the hem of his pants.

    "JJ's trying to show me his micro-peen," Kenzie quips. JJ growls and lunges at her, causing her to squeal out a laugh and dodge his attack. She runs through the living room, laughing maniacally at JJ's continuous curses and insults while the rest of the group gazes on.

    JJ finally catches Kenzie, pinning her to the ground with her hands above her head. They're both panting and smiling at each other. "If someone didn't have a small penis, they wouldn't be so worked up over me calling them tiny dicked," Kenzie says, shrugging as best as she can in her compromising position.

    "Would you two just kiss already and stop this stupid thing you got going on? I'm tired of watching the constant pining," John B. sighs, plopping onto the couch. Kenzie suddenly feels claustrophobic with JJ on top of her, her heart beating faster and throat closing up.

    "Off," She mumbles, moving her wrists out of JJ's grasp as he slowly dismounts her. They stay silent as John B. puts turns on the TV, ignoring the awkward tension he caused between the two friends. JJ tries to hand Kenzie his hat back, knowing it's her favorite keepsake of his. She shakes her head timidly, squeezing between John B. and Pope, with her legs to her chest.

    "Why'd you guys leave?" JJ asks, setting the hat on the coffee table and planting himself next to Kie on the second sofa, avoiding Kenzie's watchful eye.

    Kie shrugs, bumping shoulders with JJ purposefully. "It's not a party without our party king there. Besides, too many Kooks showed up and ruined the vibe."

    McKenzie tries to ignore the angry feeling in her stomach, watching the two friends talk. She doesn't even know why she feels that way, but it only grows as JJ leans on Kiara. So much so that Kenzie has to avert her gaze to the animated show on the television, legs still clutched to her chest.

[drabbles-mc]

Stopping By

Juice Ortiz x OFC (Dakota Lowman)

Inspired by Day 15 of the July Prompts: iced tea

Warnings: none!

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: I took some liberties with today’s prompt lmao. But I hope y’all enjoy! Idk man my brain has been a mess lately and I’ve been finding so much comfort in writing little slice of life fics. Hoping to do some actual Lowman Sister’s-Centered content soon.

SOA Taglist: @garbinge​ @masterlistforimagines​ @adela-topaz-caelon​ @mijop​ @chibsytelford​ @xladymacbethx​ @i-just-read-stuff​ @kkim120​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @toni9​ @unicornucopia-fuckers​ @mayans-sauce​ @shadow-of-wonder​ @punkgoddess-98​ @paintballkid711​ @black-repunzel99​ @jitterbugs927​ @mrsstevenbuchananstark​ (If you want to be added to the taglist let me know!)

Juice walked into the apartment and looked around. Dakota was in the kitchen, making herself a bag of popcorn to go with the large glass of wine that was resting on the coffee table. He laughed quietly to himself as he took off his boots and shrugged off his kutte, leaving them all by the door. He heard the television playing in the living room, and was curious to know what she had been watching that got her into the mood to settle in and relax for the night. Craning his neck as he walked through, he shook his head with a smile as he watched the TV.

“This is what does it for you on a night in?” he finally spoke up as he walked over to her.

She spun around, a large bowl of popcorn in her arms, clutched tightly to her chest. She smiled, shrugging, “Suits me just fine. You can hop right back on that bike if you wa—”

He didn’t let her finish the sentence, instead pulling her into a kiss, “I didn’t say that. I never said that.”

She laughed, holding the bowl in one hand so she could use the other to gently cup his chin, giving him a quick peck on the lips, “Alright then,” she tugged him towards the couch, “Are you staying over?”

“Can I?” he asked, eyes growing a little wider.

She gave him a confused look, “Why not?”

“I’m not really in the mood to get murdered by your sister, that’s all.”

Dakota chuckled as she sat down on the sofa, “Di’s out of town. Went…somewhere with my dad. I dunno,” she shrugged, “Won’t be back for a couple days.”

“That why you invited me over?”

“I’d rather be here with you than be here by myself,” she set the bowl of popcorn down between them, “There’s beer in the fridge if you want it.”

He shook his head, settling in and making himself comfortable, “I’m good.”

The night quickly got away from them as they got sucked into one episode after another. Dakota was leaning completely against Juice’s side, the now-empty popcorn bowl rested in his lap. His arm was draped around her shoulder, thumb idly tracing back and forth as they continued to watch their show.

Dakota recited the intro that she had listened to all too many times before, getting more and more theatrical as the night went on and she drank more wine, “These are their stories,” she paused dramatically, looking up at Juice, “Dun dun!”

He laughed, fighting the urge to run his fingers through her hair, “You really like this show, huh?”

“It’s one of the only things that I can marathon.”

“Seriously?” he chuckled, “Doesn’t this shit get depressing after a while?”

“Nah,” she laughed moving the popcorn bowl so that she could rest her head in his lap and look up at him, “How can I be depressed when I literally have Ice-T solving especially heinous crimes on my TV?”

He carefully placed his hand on the front of her shoulder, “He your comedic relief in all of this?”

“He is good at it,” she placed her hand over his and interlocked their fingers, “Even if he doesn’t mean to be.”

“How often are you sitting at home binging on Law & Order?”

“I have watched all twenty-something seasons more than once,” she laughed, squeezing his hand.

He looked down at her, face instantly warming up when he saw the smile on her face and the glassy glint in her eyes. The two sides of his head were battling it out as he looked at her looking at him. She was so comfortable, like it was the most natural thing in the world that they were together like that. And for as much as the mere thought of her made his heart race, and he wanted nothing more than to be with her as often as he could, he still never let himself truly enjoy it, afraid that it was all going to get yanked away. He tried to remain realistic about who he was with, who her family was.

“Where are you, Juan?” she spoke up and snapped him out of his thoughts, letting go of his hand so she could reach up and caress his face.

He chuckled, involuntarily leaning into her touch, “I’m here.”

“You sure?” she cocked an eyebrow, “Looked like you got away from me for a second there.”

“I’m here. Promise,” he turned and kissed her palm, “It’s just you, me, and Olivia Benson.”

“And Ice-T,” she piped up with a laugh.

He laughed quietly, nodding, “Yea, and Ice-T. The real glue of the SVU team.”

She turned so that she was facing the television, but left her head rested in his lap. She draped one arm across his legs, settling in to get more comfortable. Juice let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding, grateful for the closeness. He wondered how someone who was raised by Happy still managed to be so soft. He knew there was more to her than what he already knew, and it would take some time for her to really let him in, but that didn’t stop him from wondering.

His eyes were fixed on the TV, but he was running his fingers through her hair over and over. At a certain point he didn’t even notice that he was still doing it—the motion becoming second nature. He did, however, feel her breathing begin to slow and even out as she fell asleep. He chuckled quietly, reaching and shutting off the television.

Ever-so carefully, he lifted Dakota up, draping her across his arms bridal style. She grumbled, awakening slightly but not enough to really say anything to him. Laughing quietly, he got both of them to her room, quickly reaching and turning on the light so he could see what he was working with, where he should step. She groaned at the change in light, but didn’t fight against him carrying her. He laid her gently down on the bed before he went about stripping down to his boxers and a t-shirt. Even in her sleepy daze, Dakota made a dramatic show out of watching him, getting him to laugh.

“The baseball bat really necessary?” he nodded towards the wooden bat leaning against the wall, one that was, knowing Happy, heavier than a sanctioned bat to do more damage if it ever had to be used.

“As necessary as the gun in the bedside drawer,” she laughed as she rested her cheek in her hand, “They will not be making a Law & Order episode about me in the future, thank you very much.”

“A woman with a plan,” he chuckled as he set his phone on the bedside table.

“Always,” her voice already getting raspy with sleep again.

His quiet laughter filled the small room as he walked back over and turned the light off. He made his way back to the bed in the dark, shimmying under the covers with her. She immediately latched onto him, wrapping her arms around his torso and burying her face into his chest. Without any hesitation at all he entwined his legs with hers, one arm draping around her waist and his other hand coming to rest on the back of her head.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled against the top of her head as he kissed her.

“Goodnight,” her voice was hardly audible as she spoke into his chest.

[chrisevansluv]

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

If someone doesn't want to check the link, the anon sent the full interview!