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lovebugism · 2 years ago

Note

oh my god,,,, gurl!!!! THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT fic is sooo good 😫 my heart literally breaks every time I read this story. Thank you for blessing us with this masterpiece <3

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | square one

summary: eddie makes a confession that's been weighing heavy on his heart. you realize that your future with him is haunted by ghosts from your past. pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 16.3k warnings: hopper, steve, and robin being the reader defense squad, hints at reader's previously poor mental health, mentions of abusive and toxic relationships, a banshees of inisherin quote, b*lly h*rgrove because he needs a warning. (pretend any typos don't exist pls and thank u!) a/n: guess who's back, back again? ✨✨ i'd apologize for disappearing for a month, but then there'd be apologies in all my notes, so just know that i'm sorry every time i disappear unexpectedly, okay? 🥲 thanks for being so patient! please enjoy this long-awaited installment of tcar ily <3

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

Eddie’s got a 1986 Van Halen tape in his boombox and a baby pink heart stitched into the fabric of his shirt. He’s the least metal he’s ever been, but he couldn’t be happier.

You keep your promise to him to patch up his torn Hellfire tee. If anything, you use the absentminded assurance as your excuse to see him again. The night you shared before, all but baring your scarred souls underneath glittering stars and streams of pale moonlight, hadn’t satiated your hunger for him. Eddie left you craving in a way you weren’t used to before — a yearning to be close to him that went beyond the boundaries of physical intimacy.

It was a simple sort of longing. It was a homesickness. A sense of nostalgia for a love you’d never felt before.

You wish you could wear Eddie’s adoration for you like a blanket, wrap yourself in the hand-stitched quilt of many colors and bundle it tighter around your shoulders when the cold comes. You want his softness to hold you in a way you’ve never been able to hold yourself.

You feel swaddled in it, succumbed and cloaked and at peace in all his tenderness. You’ve never been so at ease, so blissfully comforted by the presence of another human being. And Eddie feels all of that, every ounce of warmth you feel, because it pours out of you like rays of sunshine and bathes him in shades of gold.

He didn’t think you could get any softer than you had been that night at Skull Rock, until you were nestled in his unmade bed the next morning. You curled your legs underneath you as you weaved the needle and thread through the tear in his t-shirt, eyes squinted and tongue poking out the side of your mouth in an astute concentration.

All of the sudden, you were marshmallow fluff and honey on toast — made of all things sickly sweet that made his stomach feel suddenly full.

You finish mending the rip in record time and beam when he wears the heart-shaped stitching with pride. The rest of the day thereafter was spent in the tiny confines of his one hundred square-inch bedroom. From there, the both of you came to the silent understanding that you didn't want to spend another day apart.

The weekend had given you a limited sort of freedom, allowed you to pretend that you lived in a world with no responsibilities or anything other than Eddie Eddie Eddie, but adulthood made you no such promises. He had a side job to do to keep himself afloat, and you had a cat that thought it was the end of the world anytime you were gone for longer than a night. Both of those things together meant that the eve of parting was ultimately inevitable.

Every second you spent away from Eddie felt like you were grieving.

You mourned for him in the darkness of your apartment and tried to pretend you weren’t half a person in the cat food aisle at Melvald’s.

You tried to lessen the unbearable distance with phone calls, though it didn’t come nearly as close as feeling his fingers thrumming imaginary beats on your thigh or his heartbeat thudding against your ear.

But his voice filled the emptiness of your one-bedroom apartment and the Eddie Munson shaped hole he’d left just behind your ribcage, and that was good enough for you.

When you weren’t with him, you were roaming around your apartment like some kind of ghost, with the phone tucked between your ear and shoulder and the rotary clutched in your free hand.

You cook yourself dinner with him ranting about his day in your ear. You hold the receiver closer to Bowie and force him to hear her purr when she’s being exceptionally cute. He falls asleep some hours later to the sound of your soft snores, and you wake up the next morning to the sounds of his.

It was pathetic, truly.

You’d be gagging at how sweet it was if it wasn’t happening to you.

But it was.

Every ounce of this sticky sweet goodness was yours, and it tasted just like honey on your tongue.

It was the honeymoon stage times a thousand, all rose-colored and reflecting light — your own personal utopia. It brought with it a heavenly sort of refuge, a bubble of peace you never wanted to pierce.

Eddie basks in the serenity of it all when he finally has you with him again. You’re in his lap, on his lips, and all over him, but it still isn’t quite close enough. He doesn’t think he’ll be satisfied until you’ve successfully melted with him and your limbs have entwined with his like tree roots, destined to remain that way for the next couple of centuries or so.

And it’s weird because he could hardly handle living in such a tiny trailer with Wayne, let alone stomach more than a couple hours with the guys from Hellfire all in one place. But you? You entered his life all at once and now he can’t remember what it was like without you.

He doesn’t particularly want to, if he’s being real honest.

It’s why he’s always less enthused about letting you leave when you’ve both got responsibilities dragging you apart. He begs you to stay with him a few hours more, pleads for you to stick around while he makes a quick deal or an emergency pick-up when Dustin Henderson calls and says he needs a ride.

And you promise you’ll wait on him there, because he makes it virtually impossible to say no to his rosy pouted lips and chocolate syrup puppy dog eyes.

That’s when you run into Wayne for the first time, when Eddie’s out and you’re making breakfast for when he comes back.

French toast and scrambled eggs sizzle on the stove and warm the kitchen with all its cinnamon confections. It makes the man’s face screw up in confusion when he steps inside the trailer because he’s never known Eddie to cook a day in his life. And then his eyes find you — a young, pretty girl all alone in his kitchen with his nephew’s van gone from the drive.

“…Who the hell are you?” he wonders gruffly and pops a cigarette between his lips, totally unbothered.

He’s got no reason to be intimidated by the stranger in his trailer. He’s more confused than anything else, and he’s got this contorted look on his face like he’s blaming the exhaustion from the graveyard shift for his vision of you.

“Oh— my god,” you mumble through the mouthful of whipped cream you’d squeezed into your mouth moments prior. You fight to swallow it all down. “Uh. Hi. I’m, um… I’m Eddie’s... girlfriend?”

It sounds like you’re lying.

In some ways, it feels like you are.

You’ve been spending more time in his trailer than in your own home, but it’s not like either of you has motioned to make anything official just yet.

He eyes you with a tired and heavy gaze, eyes as dark and as infinite as Eddie’s. The man gives you a once-over and then chuckles lowly to himself as he tosses his corduroy jacket onto the back of the recliner and his tin lunchbox to the coffee table.

You shift awkwardly on the other side of the room. “…What is it?”

“When Eddie said he was talkin’ to a pretty girl on the phone every night, I thought he was lyin’,” he admits through hearty chuckles.

It makes you laugh too.

There’s little talking after the fact, besides you offering him some of the breakfast on the stove and him joking that you should come around more often.

You recount the story to Eddie when he returns, utterly mortified about the whole thing. You’re even more embarrassed when the boy finds amusement in your horror and starts to chuckle to himself — not exactly at you, but not with you either.

He laughs louder when you swat at him for it. You clamber on top of him, mattress squeaking mattress under your weight, as you demand him to stop through giggles of your own.

Somewhere down the line, both of you stop caring.

Neither of you is quite sure where the conversation stopped and ended, only that when you started kissing, you couldn’t stop.

They weren’t innocent little pecks, but they weren’t sloppy and full of tongue either. You press your lips together with the intent of being as close as you can to the other, like you haven’t spent every second you could together.

Neither of you will be satisfied until you’ve swallowed each other whole.

And you, you’ve got this ache for him. A swirling of want that’s constantly rippling in your belly for this boy. He’s just not usually under you when it’s happening — and now that he is, the crackling embers have burst into white and blue flames behind your sternum.

Your lips click each time you part, a lewd noise you never want to stop hearing. The sound of it gives you goosebumps, like a good song you’ve just heard on the radio. You wonder if Eddie can feel them as his hands start to creep up beneath your shirt and find purchase along your waist.

You open his mouth with your own and sneak your tongue inside just as you roll your hips over his lap.

It’s the most forthcoming either of you had been in your three-day stint of nonstop talking. Even when you were over at the trailer, totally alone and pressed underneath him, it was otherwise completely innocent. You just make out like a couple of teenagers until one of you wants to make a food run or offers to roll a joint.

And you like that. You like that he doesn’t expect anything from you, but it does get a little agonizing when you’ve tried every attempt to give yourself to him and he just won’t take it.

Like usual, Eddie tenses when he feels you grinding on top of him — partly because he feels a tingle at the base of his spine when he gets instantly half-hard, but mostly because he knows there’s nothing he can do about it.

He keeps preaching to himself it’s not the right time, it’s not the right time, it’s not the right time — but he’s got no idea when it’ll ever be the right time, if it’ll ever be the right time, or if he’ll know it when it comes.

Because he’s had you to himself for days now — no Wayne, no responsibilities, no pressure — with his tongue rutting against yours and your hands fidgeting with the metal buttons of his jeans, and it still doesn’t feel good enough. Eddie doesn’t feel good enough.

He’s not sure if he ever will.

And it’s not you. God, it’s the farthest thing from you. As far as Eddie’s concerned, he’s never had more fun with anyone else. He’s never laughed harder with anyone else. He’s never felt as comfortable with anyone as he’s starting to feel around you. So he’s not entirely sure why he finds the rest of it so hard.

Eddie wants you so bad that the ache of all his yearning is palpable. It’s like the weight of it is what’s keeping him from you — unstoppable force, immovable object, blah, blah, blah.

Either way, it leaves him entirely unable to take things further with you, however much he wants to. There’s something in his way and it’s him.

Your heartache is his own when he has to pull away from you.

“You okay?” you ask him with wide eyes and swollen lips, always so concerned for him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he’s quick to assure you. He’s still breathless when he fidgets beneath you, trying to prop himself up on his headboard without rubbing his half-hard cock against your thigh.

When he succeeds, he musters a smile that shakes at the edges. “It’s just… you know, not everything… It doesn’t have to be about sex, you know?”

He makes himself as soft as possible for you when he says this. He gets rid of all the usual teasing lilts that tend to lurk on his tongue as the words spill from his mouth. The last thing he wants to do is hurt your feelings or, in some roundabout way, make you think you’re the problem.

He just wants you to know that that isn’t why he’s been wanting to spend so much time with you. There was never an ulterior motive with him other than all the adoration he holds in his hands and his mouth for you.

The strike of hurt that flashes across your face is obvious to only Eddie, who’s spent enough time mapping out your features to know what twitches are ones of discontent. The slight frown that dips between your brows when they scrunch together for half a second comes like a stroke of lightning. It’s a brief flash of purple in the sky that leaves so quickly that it makes you wonder if it was ever there at all.

You fidget on his lap, not resting as comfortably upon him as you had been just moments before. “Oh…” you murmur through soft, jutted-out lips. “Sorry. I, I didn’t—”

“No, it’s not— that’s not what I—” he tries to assure over your insecure stammers, but succeeds only in tripping over himself in return. He cuts himself off with a breathy laugh, shaking his head while his fingers fidget on your hips. “That’s just not what this is about for me, you know? I just… I wanna spend time with you.”

It’s easily the softest thing he’s ever said to you — to anybody, for the matter — and the marshmallow sweetness of it all wraps around you like wisps of pink cotton candy.

Your apprehensiveness twists into something lighter, a pair of twinkling eyes and a bashful smile.

“Oh,” you hum again, obviously more pleased than before. “That’s nice…”

“No one’s ever said that to you before, have they?” Eddie asks you.

He tries to muster a crooked smirk as the words leave his mouth, but he’s got a feeling he already knows the answer. Hearing you affirm his suspicions will do nothing more than make him angry at all the assholes that had you before him, at everyone who taught you that you were good for sex and hardly a thing else.

It makes him wish that he’d gotten to know you sooner. Maybe then you’d understand that he’d be happy just holding you like this and never doing anything more.

You don’t answer him verbally, just shake your head with your lips pursed softly to the side. You look more innocent than anything he’s ever seen before, even with your lipstick smeared on your chin.

He’s still not quite sure how someone could be so reckless with such a fragile thing — to watch you break and not spend the rest of time grieving to know that you’ll never be quite the same again.

There’s a primal instinct that swims in him then, an urge to keep you in his arms and locked in the confines of his trailer forever and ever. He wants to keep the wolves of Hawkins, Indiana from ever getting a whiff of you again. It’d be more than they deserved, anyway.

“God, you have got to get better boyfriends, sweetheart,” Eddie tells you with a playful lilt in his voice despite the anger simmering in his belly.

“Isn’t that what you are?” you giggle.

His world stops.

“Huh?”

You tense at his tenseness. Only when he’s gaping at you does the weight of your words dawn on you. “…Huh?”

The awkward moment goes as quickly as it arrives, chased out by the fit of laughter the two of you are quickly thrown into. Your entwining chuckles rise like smoke in his tiny bedroom and then settle back over you like a fuzzy blanket.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, babe?” Eddie teases.

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Babe.”

“Oh, right, of course not. That would be way too crazy considering we’ve spent, like, every day together and have made each other come… what is it now? Twice?”

“Three times for me,” you correct with you a smile. “You need to catch up, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Another time?” he offers with a scrunched nose.

“Whenever you want.”

Eddie is grateful for your lack of urgency, even more so for the kiss you press to the tip of his nose.

You peck him on the lips after — once, twice, and then a thiiird, drawn out time — before moving on to his chin and jaw and neck. Whatever part of him you can reach (which is just about everywhere, considering the vantage point you’ve got sitting on his lap), you sprinkle a kiss to it.

It’s an innocent sort of affection, the kind that makes him wonder how it ever came to be in the first place. What evolutionary measures led to this, to you pressing your lips to his skin to show how much you care about him? Eddie doesn’t really want to know the answer, he’s just grateful that it happened in the first place.

You’re so good at it, loving on him. You’re always so kind and so gentle in your way and it makes him feel guilty. There’s a lingering feeling of undeservedness that settles something heavy at the base of his stomach. How could he ever expect you to be so open with him when he hasn’t done the same for you?

A heavy sigh rattles in his deflating chest.

“I gotta tell you something, sweetheart,” he cautions when your lips smack against the thrumming pulse below the left side of his jaw. “Something you’re not gonna like…”

A billion things run through your head all at once. When you part from him, he can see the rollercoaster of emotions each one of them puts you through.

Your first instinct is that he’s got some kind of partner he’s kept hidden from you until now. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gone steady with a guy who’s then told you about some other girlfriend he had — or, god forbid, a wife.

But then you realize that you surely would’ve had some sort of inkling if that were the case. There’s no way Eddie would’ve been able to spend every second of his day with you — and then another several hours on the phone when you had to leave — without someone else coming along to burst your bubble.

And so far, there haven’t been any angry wives, just the occasionally confused Uncle Wayne.

Then you start thinking he’s about to tell you he wants an open relationship. The you’re great, but I’m just not ready to settle down yet spiel that you’ve heard a thousand times before. Usually when people say that, they mean that they just don’t want to settle down with you.

You’ll become some douchebag’s fuck toy for a month or more until the girl next door comes around. He gets her knocked up in record time, his family forces him to marry her, and they begin their cushy lives together in the center of some cul-de-sac — really settle down, as it were.

You’re not sure if you could take that from Eddie. You could grin and bear if it you had to, take whatever attention he’s willing to give you because who cares if he’s giving it to someone else on the side? You’re just not sure how long you’d last like that.

And then you start to worry that he’s just going to break up with you entirely — it’s not you, it’s blah, I’ll always care about blah, please don’t tell anyone about how we blah-ed. That whole talk.

All the rest of your worries stop mattering so much because you’ve only just called him your boyfriend. And here he goes, about to end it all before it can really even start. That’d be just your luck, you figure.

“Did I do something wrong?” you caution after a few moments of heavy silence.

Eddie’s bleeding heart wrenches at your words, at how sad they sound spilling from your mouth, and how you immediately think that it’s got something to do with you.

He shakes his head feverishly in response. “No. No, it’s not you. You’re… you’re perfect.”

“Okay…” you concede quietly, voice trembling with a lingering disbelief.

“I just… I haven’t been totally honest with you, you know?” the boy admits before his glimmering chocolate eyes fly open and he corrects himself quickly. “And I haven’t lied to you or anything. Not— Not exactly. I just… I wanna be honest with you… As your boyfriend and all.”

You can tell by the sudden weight in his voice that he’s serious. But the fine coat of glowing rose that splotches Eddie’s cheeks after calling himself your boyfriend for the first time makes you melt.

You smile to yourself and start to trace the heart you’d stitched into his t-shirt with your finger.

“Yeah. I mean, we are about to spend our two minutes anniversary together and everything.”

“Exactly,” the boy huffs out a laugh. It lacks its usual jest, though, because of the ice-cold anxiety that drenches him from head to toe and makes his hands and feet go numb.

His fingers tremble where the rest on your waist, trying and failing to find a comfortable position there because, right about now, Eddie feels the most awkward he’s ever felt.

“I just want you to know that I… I’ve never done this before,” he confesses quietly and with his eyes squeezed shut. He prays that he doesn’t have to be any less vague than that.

Your face twists in confusion — your brows furrow and your nose twitches and your head tilts to the side like a puppy. And then you’re laughing, a soft little thing of a giggle that normally makes his heart sing, though now he can only feel it breaking.

“What…?” he tries to scoff out his own chuckle. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’ve already told me that, dummy. That you’ve never felt this way before…” you answer, reciting his own words back to him. You haven’t yet forgotten how he’d looked at you as you said them, pale skin made silk under the moonlight while he sparkled beneath the beams of it and his love for you.

“No, it’s… it’s more than that,” he corrects. “I’ve never even had a girlfriend before you. Or anything really.”

You still don’t seem to understand. You just look on at him with uncertainty.

A quiet “okay?” tumbles from your mouth entwined with a nervous giggle, because you don’t understand what’s got him so somber. He’s never dated anyone, you’ve fucked half of Hawkins — these are just facts that went unsaid before now.

And maybe it’s because you’ve never been with a virgin before, but the thought that Eddie might be one hasn’t seemed to cross your mind at all.

It’s that exact thought that scares him.

Because if it hasn’t already, maybe it’s because you’re avoiding it altogether. And why would he ever be the exception?

He opts to bite the bullet and hopes that his heart doesn’t get broken after.

“I’m a virgin. Okay? I’m a complete, total, proper adult virgin,” he blurts with a brazenness he’d previously lacked when it came to all this. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before now, but I didn’t, because I liked you and I was scared. So if you wanna yell at me or if you wanna break up with me before our five-minute anniversary, I totally get it, but I should probably let you know that it’ll rip my little virgin heart to shreds, so…”

Eddie ends his nervous ramble with a trembling, lopsided smile that does little to ease the leaden tension he’s just manufactured in the four walls of his bedroom.

He can’t seem to gauge your reaction after the fact, which is strange because he always knows what you’re thinking.

He knows when you’re laughing with him and not at him. You scrunch your nose and giggle when he tells you a funny joke, then tilt your head back and cackle when he trips over the punchline.

He knows the exact moment when something’s started to bother you — when you get real quiet in your bubble of reserved stillness and your eyes start to glaze over. To anyone else, it might just look like a person who’s keeping to themselves. Eddie’s starting to learn that usually means trouble when it comes to you.

He knows the difference between your gentle sort of sadness and when you’re damn near inconsolable. When you cried at the end of Stand By Me, you smiled at him with a glassy tear-filled gaze, then rolled your eyes when he tried to comfort you. The tears only spilled over when you laughed because Eddie pretended you’d hurt him when you’d shoved him away.

But when you’re really upset about something, you don’t show him at all — you fight to keep it all to yourself until you’ve squished the problem into a tiny enough ball that you can forget about all of it.

This is something different.

There’s too much crossing your mind all at once for him to get a good read of you.

You just gape at him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s joking or not, and then fighting to understand what it means when you realize he’s being serious.

And just when you’ve started to wrap your head around it all, when your brain remembers how to make words again and you realize you haven’t said anything in several agonizing seconds, a foreign voice sounds from down the hallway.

Not foreign in that it was unfamiliar exactly, just foreign in that you and Eddie had spent so much time alone that you were starting to forget that there was an entire world outside of yourselves. A great big world, filled with a great many people, some of whom were your friends who tended to get pretty worried about you.

“Edward Wayne— why the hell is the Chief in my driveway?” his uncle curses from the living room, sounding like he’s speaking through a cigarette in his mouth.

Eddie himself is immediately freaking the fuck out because he figures he must’ve gotten tipped off again. He tries to calculate the quickest way to get you off of him and to all of his cubby holes full of miscellaneous drugs so he can flush them down the toilet before Jim Hopper busts the door down.

And even though you’re not the drug dealer who’s had cops on their ass since they were fifteen in this equation, you look a whole lot more terrified than Eddie does.

Your eyes go wide and the whites of them swim with terror as you launch yourself off of his lap. You don’t spare another glance back at him, not even when you nearly trip over yourself when you shove your sneakers on your feet and shuffle out of the room. He’s forced to follow behind you like a confused puppy as you bound through the trailer at lightning speed.

The haste of your movements startles even Wayne, who halts mid-puff of his cig when you’re in and out of the living room before he can blink. The opening squeak of the screen door and metal slamming against metal is the only thing that punctuates your exit.

“Would it kill you to answer your damn phone every once in a while?” the powerful timbre of Jim Hopper’s angry voice, of which only the man himself could pull off, is muffled until Eddie cautiously slinks onto the porch behind you.

He finds the chief standing beside the Cruiser he’s parked sideways. The door of it is still flung open. A distant beeping sounds from the ignition.

He’s still got on the pressed khakis of his uniform — complete with the golden badge pinned to his chest, darkened sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, and flat-brimmed hat on his head. Even with the majority of his face covered, it does little to hide the anger that radiates off of him like a hot stove eye.

You remain on the porch, shifting your weight on your feet at the top of the steps. “Okay, Hopper, just listen to me for a second—”

“Three days!” he shouts over you, not deterred by your composed nature. “I have been calling you… for three days! Seventy-two hours. No answer!”

Eddie decides to speak up from behind you despite his better judgment. “Yeah, uh, that was kinda my fault,” he confesses with an awkward laugh. “Wouldn’t let her hang up the phone—”

“I’ll deal with you in a second,” Jim interjects firmly and without thinking. He goes back to berating you with an admirable finesse. “Buckley wanted my head on a pike when I wouldn’t file a missing person’s report in the first twenty-four hours, but seventy-two? She was gonna kill me!”

Rather than argue with him, like every fiber of your being so desperately wants to, you make the difficult choice to concede with a heavy sigh. Because you don’t doubt that Robin was on his ass the second she realized you weren’t answering your phone or at your apartment when she and Steve dropped by.

She did tend to be on the overprotective side, after all, which obviously paired well with her melodramatic disposition.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ve just been… busy.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard the one before,” the man answers bitterly.

“It’s different, Hopper!”

“I’ve heard the one before, too!”

Eddie can only assume that the both of you are communicating telepathically, what with the way your synchronized glares seem to say a thousand words (probably every curse imaginable, if he had to guess) without your mouths ever moving once.

He stands on the outskirts of it all, feeling a bit stuck in the thorniness of such a tense silence, like any slight movement might cut him.

Jim moves slowly, akin to a creeping snake, as his hands raise to remove the glasses from his face. Their lack reveals the ice-cold glare that was previously hiding beneath them.

“Get in the car—”

“—No,” you reject just as the direction leaves his mouth because you knew it was coming.

Jim inhales sharply and smacks his lips against his teeth, like a father whose child is most ardently testing his patience. He plants his work boot in the gravel and his hand on his hips. His steel gaze goes far off for a moment before flitting back to you again.

“…Get in the car or I put you in handcuffs.”

Your breath hitches at the threat. You squint over at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Jim smiles at you, but it’s more threatening than anything else. “We both know that I would.”

Eddie’s eyes flit between the both of you. He can tell that Hopper’s serious and that you’re trying to decide whether or not to call his bluff, with your arms crossed defensively over your chest and lips pursed in a tight line.

You ultimately decide not to. Because Hopper has, in fact, done that before. And even though the circumstances are very, very different, you wouldn’t put it past him to do it again. So you all but stomp your foot like a protesting child and spin on your heel to storm back inside the trailer.

Eddie’s nervous gaze flits between your disappearing form and the storm cloud of a police chief standing in his driveway. When their eyes lock, he realizes he should probably say something. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder and stammers, “I should— I should probably…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He catches the front door before it shuts and slithers through the crack of it to follow in behind you.

“Wait, was he— was he being serious about that?” Eddie wonders once you’re back in his bedroom.

It feels a lot less cozy than it did minutes before, less like the bubble of refuge that you thought nobody could pierce and more like a lonely space that feels entirely too empty. You pluck your things scattered around his room, and it starts to feel less and less like home with parts of you gone from it.

“I don’t know,” you answer within a sigh as you collect your cardigan from the back of his desk chair and shrug the thing back over your shoulders again.

“But it’s happened before?”

“Yeah. Once. When I was…” you confess quietly, then trail off. You get your bag from his nightstand and haphazardly shove your scrunchie, sunglasses, and chapstick into the bottom of it. “…When I was in a bad way— it doesn’t matter now.”

Eddie so desperately wants to pry.

He’d wanted to make a joke before, about the handcuffs — something less than tasteful about them and you and Hopper and some good ol’ freaky deaky that you'd scold him for after. But he decides not to now because you sound so strangely solemn about the whole thing, as though it was a story you buried deep with the intent of never bringing it up again.

“You don’t have to go with him if you don’t want to, you know that, right?”

“Of course, I do,” you scoff at his worries, not nearly as threatened by Jim as the rest of Hawkins. You move to stand in front of him in the center of his room and meet his furrowed brows with a soft grin. “He’s not gonna do anything, he’s just pissed. He’ll berate me on the drive back to my apartment and then it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

That seems to please Eddie well enough, though he’s still a bit disheartened at your leaving.

“I guess we couldn’t keep spending time together like this, huh?” he teases lightly, like the realization of it doesn’t make his chest ache. “Sorta forgot about the rest of the world… whatever that is.”

“It was fun while it lasted,” you tell him with a shrug and a whimsical sigh.

“Wait for me, will ya?” he jokes, if only to make you laugh and to feel like he’s stuck in some sickly sweet ending of a romcom for a couple moments more.

You roll your eyes at his dramatics but let him wrap you in his arms anyway. His hands find purchase on your elbows, thumbs rubbing soothingly along the outsides of them. “How about a kiss, then?” he offers when the urge to feel you because too great to bear. “For our ten-minute anniversary and all?”

“You never have to ask me, Eds,” you assure with a laugh. You rise to the tips of your toes and he meets you halfway.

Home is in your mouth. It’s warm and cozy and safe there. It’s easily the most familiar place he’s ever known, with your bottom lip nestled between his own. He feels homesick when you part from him.

“You’re not mad at me?” he wonders quietly, feeling a bit like a cowering child from where he stands in front ahead of you — eased only when you shake your head almost immediately in response.

“No. I couldn’t be even if I wanted to, I think.”

“Okay. That’s… That’s good.”

“We can talk about it later, if you want. After I get lurch off my ass.”

He tries not to smile too wide, but it’s hard not to beam every time he looks at you. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll… I’ll see you around, I guess?” he stumbles over himself, having forgotten how to say goodbye to you.

It’s equally as hard for you too, it seems, because you nod at him and turn to leave and then realize once you’re halfway down the hallway that you might not survive if you don’t kiss him again.

So you turn and rush back, catching Eddie with his back turned and spinning him around so you can peck him again. You feel his cheeks heat beneath your palm and his sigh against your cupid’s bow and his lips melt against your own.

You etch each tingling sensation into the edges of your mind in the hope that you won’t drive yourself completely insane when you inevitably start to miss him like crazy.

You focus on that and on him when you find Hopper and his stupid proud dad smirk. It’s the only reason you don’t punch him in the jaw and tuck and roll out of the Cruiser when the silence becomes so slowly insufferable.

You’re starting to think Jim left the radio off on purpose. You’ve never known the guy not to drive around without the strumming of an old-school folk song to accompany him. You figure it must be some sort of intimidation tactic, to make you so uncomfortable that you break. You’re a lot closer to that than either of you realize.

You spare a glance over at the man next to you. He hasn’t looked at you once since you get in the car. He’s got one hand at three o’clock on the steering wheel and the other with its elbow propped up on the door as he scratches at the stubble on his jaw.

He’s too at ease not to be bothered. This is obviously some kind of front he’s putting on to conceal his inner irritation.

You give on the lecture you’d been trying to prepare yourself for and exhale sharply through your nose. Your fingers fidget on your thighs as you kick your restless feet up on the console.

“Get your feet off the dash,” Jim scolds without missing a beat.

You huff and obey. “Okay, this is crazy— can’t you just yell at me already?”

He barely wastes a second.

“I cannot believe you right now!” he seethes through gritted teeth, stewing in a dad-like sort of anger.

“It was three days, Hopper!”

“You know what happened the last time no one heard from you for three days?” he shouts back.

You tip your head back against the seat and groan. You should’ve known he was going to play that card.

He waves an accusatory finger between the both of you. “You and me— we had a deal, remember? You let me check in on you. You agreed to that. You visit your little high school friends, and I see you at work, so I can make sure you’re not off somewhere killing yourself.”

Hopper becomes a casualty to the tense silence he created then, when you don’t retort with some comeback of your own and force him to feel every ounce of pressure from the leaden quiet.

He sighs a great big, too loud sigh and shifts in his seat. His softening gaze flits between you and the road. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that, okay? I just meant it, you know, figuratively. I wasn’t… trying to be mean.”

“When have you ever cared about being mean?” you monotone.

“I don’t,” he assures. “I’m just not trying to hurt your feelings, alright? Jeez…”

You try not to take too much pride in the man’s half-apology, though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little bit rewarding.

Jim Hopper’s practically an iceberg. He only melts for his kid, Joyce Boyers, and you, apparently.

It’s why he’s always so damn protective over you. He’s developed this sort of deep-rooted urge to keep you safe after watching you make every wrong decision a human being could possibly make. And when you mess up, because you do mess up, he feels like it’s partially his fault — that, if he’d done more, he could’ve kept you safer.

It makes you feel like a burden most of the time, but you know it’s above yourself and mostly out of your control.

You’d known of each other for a while before you really met, because a troublemaker and police chief in such a small town are bound to. But somewhere down the line, he found you in a valley of mourning for someone that was still alive and you found him in a black hole of grief for someone who wasn’t. The empty and infinite voids within you both were stitched slowly together all over again.

Jim Hopper was the dad you never had. You were the daughter he couldn’t.

And you thought something might change after he adopted El. You figured he might forget about you because it wasn’t like it was his job to watch after you or anything. Playing pretend always felt nice, but you knew it wasn’t real.

It was to Jim, though, who’d developed a similar adoration for you as the one he had for Sara. He hasn’t been able to forget about you in the same way he hasn’t been able to forget about her.

Every night, after he’s scrubbed the day off his body and washed it all down with a lukewarm beer, he lays on his pull-out bed in the small living room of his cabin and goes through a checklist in his head.

He makes sure that he’s checked on El and reminds himself to wake up early to make her breakfast the next morning before he brings Joyce coffee at Melvald’s — Joyce. She always comes next on his list, always right after El, and then you.

He forces himself to calm down when his blood pressure inevitably spikes at the thought of not having heard from you all day. He reminds himself that he saw you at work on his lunch break and that he’ll see you again tomorrow.

Jim hums to himself as he settles more comfortably into his springy cot, deciding that he’ll try a new wine he can’t pronounce when he sees you at Enzo’s the next day and that he’ll drink it while he rambles about Joyce or El’s new boyfriend.

He drifts to sleep with thoughts of Sara.

You’re as ingrained into his mind as every other person he’s grown to love.

He stopped worrying about never getting you out a long time ago. Like a tomato sauce stain on a dress shirt, he knows he’ll never get you out of his head. He knows even more so that he doesn’t want to — no matter how much you annoy him or how angry you make him when you don’t answer his calls.

“Sorry…” you murmur and swallow down whatever mundane argument you could’ve spewed then, at the result of his sudden warmth. You turn to gaze out the window and trace the edges of the puffy white clouds with your eyes. “I wasn’t thinking about that — the… deal, or whatever… Honestly, I was a little too busy being happier than I think I’ve ever been in my life, so…”

You don’t see the dramatic eye roll he gives you in response, but you can’t miss the hearty groan that spills from his mouth.

“What?” you laugh in response. “Have you never been a kid in love before?”

It’s almost jarring how he goes from huffy to concerned in a fraction of a second. His head snaps over to you, jaw clenched and eyes suddenly stern and swimming with a lingering fear.

“Love?” he repeats like he must’ve heard you wrong. “Love— That’s— That’s what this is?”

You shrug. “I don’t know… Maybe…”

His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Please don’t tell me you’ve said that to each other yet. This guy was just a crush four days ago.”

“No, Hopper. We haven’t. I mean, he literally just told me he was a virgin, so I don’t think we’re even close to—”

“A virgin?” Jim echoes, voice high-pitched and giddy. He beams at you from beneath his bushy mustache and slaps you a little too hard on your arm when he laughs. “Shit, teacup. Are you runnin’ out of options over there or somethin’?”

You twist your body to hit him back harder with your right hand. “It’s not funny, Hopper,” you scold. “He’s nice.”

“You said that about Hargrove once—”

“This is different,” you monotone before the words have the chance to leave his mouth.

“Yeah? How do you know?”

The question stumps you for a moment because you don’t know — you can’t.

You’d never admit it out loud, but Hopper was right; you’re still not quite sure how you ever could’ve thought that Billy Hargrove was a good guy, but you did. You felt a similar feeling of elation with him as you do now with Eddie, an otherworldly sort of happiness that makes you feel like you’re the only person it’s ever happened to.

And here you are now, sometime later and reveling in the aftermath, still gluing pieces of your shattered heart together.

You treat love like a drug. You use and use and use until it stops being a fun thing and becomes a crutch you can’t live without. That’s always when it starts to hurt you, but you’re in too deep to stop craving it.

And you know it’s bound to happen all over again, but you have to believe Eddie’s different or else you might as well fall into the deep pit of despair you’ve been trying this whole time to crawl out of.

He makes you happy, really really happy, and you’d rather gamble that he hurts you than give it all without even trying.

“I… don’t,” you conclude after a few moments.

Jim seems surprised by your admission, shooting you an incredulous look with his untamed brows raised to his hairline.

You meet his look with a wavering grin. “But he makes me really happy, Hop. Like… It feels like it should be illegal or something. He makes me feel so good my heart hurts. There’s like this—”

“Ugh,” the man grumbles in disgust, sullen all over again.

“I didn’t mean it like that, you weirdo,” you chide.

A grin twitches beneath his mustache in response. “I know you didn’t… ‘Cause Munson’s a virgin.”

“Oh my god!” you groan. “I didn’t even mean to tell you that, okay? Leave him alone— and a swear to god, Hopper, if you make fun of him—”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with it, alright? I mean, he’s got the expert around to show him the ropes— ow!” You cut off his stupid joke and accompanying sardonic grin with a fist to his shoulder.

Steve and Robin tend to be quite the formidable duo.

They’ve barely got a brain cell to rub together between them, but there’s still something strangely intimidating about them when they’re both angry. It feels a bit like they’re your I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed parents, and you’re the scolded child taking your lashings in the form of a lecture.

It’s what you feel like now, sitting across from them in your designated booth at Benny’s Burgers — the one by the window in the corner. It’s far enough away from the bustle of the entrance but close enough still to gossip about the assholes you used to know from high school when they walk through the door.

“You scare the shit out of us when you go AWOL like that, you know?” Steve confesses, still soft even though you know there’s a more upset part of himself he keeps hidden for now.

His chocolate gaze flits between you and the pile of fries in the middle of the table that the three of you share. He finds the one covered in the most salt and pops it into his mouth.

“AWOL?” you echo with a distant laugh when you realize how much he sounds like Hopper. “It was three days.”

“Yeah, and you fell off the face of the earth,” Robin retorts, half-muffled through the hearty gulp of strawberry milkshake starting to melt in her mouth.

“You guys are acting like I went halfway across the country,” you scoff. “I was with Eddie. At his trailer.”

“Exactly!”

Steve’s face contorts mid-bite. “Wait, you were with him? The freak?”

It makes you roll your eyes. He’d been too busy hopelessly flirting with the waitress at the counter to hear the entire recounting of your absence to Robin, though it was more of you gushing about it than anything else.

“Yep,” you answer.

“You skipped out on movie night to be with… Eddie Munson?” he reiterates for himself, as though there was any correlation between watching the same three movies while gorging on greasy junk food with your best friends and falling more in love with a guy you were already head over heels for as he tried to explain away the unopened box of condoms collecting dust underneath his bed.

Both are equally fun in their own ways, but totally totally different.

“How did you survive without me, Steven?” you joke back in response.

“He didn’t,” Robin quips.

“So… what? You guys just went on some kinda bender? I don’t get it. Did you just fuck the entire time or something?”

“Well, contrary to popular belief, I can actually spend time with someone and not fuck them—”

“Okay, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“And to answer your question — no, we didn’t fuck,” you confess, then elaborate more slowly, a tad bit awkwardly. “Because he told me today that… he is a… virgin.”

Your words seem to settle over each of them differently. Robin stills with her lips wrapped around the candy-cane striped straw then furrows her brows, as though their meaning hits her a few seconds after the fact.

Steve, meanwhile, goes entirely agape in an amazed sort of shock. His eyes go wide, his brows fly up and hide beneath the bangs that hang down over his forehead, and his jaw falls open. And then he starts to smile, a subtle hint of a grin on the corners of his pink lips, like he finds it funny.

“I knew it,” he murmurs to himself.

“…Why are you smiling like that?”

His smirk widens. “That freak said he screwed Vicki Carmichael senior year. I knew he was lying.”

“And why do you look so proud of yourself, exactly?” Robin asks him.

“Because now I feel less bad about never fucking her,” the boy explains like it’s obvious. He set his elbows on the table and gestures wildly with his hands. “I always thought the freak one-upped me because she, like, never gave me the time of day after Hargrove came along, you know? But… It’s good to know that I’m still king.”

His delighted grin is met with confused looks from both you and Robin, who look upon him with twisted eyebrows and squinted eyes.

“Are you not aware of how strange everything that comes out of your mouth is?” you ask him, only partly joking.

“At least that settles why he wouldn’t let you give him a blow job,” the brunette girl concludes with a shrug as she slouches against the booth. “Poor guy was probably shitting bricks about it.”

You realize then that it does make sense, why he’d always been so adamant about your pleasure and never his own. Why he always touched you like you were some fragile thing he might break, and like everything was new to him. Because it was new to him. All of it.

And even though it baffles you to no end how he went his entire life without someone wanting to jump his bones (because truth be told, you’re doing a terrible job at hiding your want to do just that), the fact still remains — Eddie Munson is a virgin.

He’s a virgin with an acute infatuation for the local slut, both of you freaks in your own right.

It just adds more intricacy to a puzzle that already feels so complicated.

“I’ve never been with a virgin before,” you admit quietly, mostly to yourself, as you train your gaze on the straw wrapper you curl around your finger. “It’s different… Scary.”

“Why?” Robin wonders aloud.

“I don’t know. I just— I don’t know what to do now.”

“Just do what you always do,” Steve tells you like it’s that simple. He folds his arms on the table and leans in closer to you. “Experience is good. Okay? Experience is key.”

“No, it’s not that. I think I’m just… I’m scared I’m gonna treat him the way, you know, that I was treated. And I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna do that to him.”

You’re not sure when the shift started, when you stopped being a person to people. You only know that you were something less than that. Somewhere between junior and senior year, you become a plaything that anyone could do anything they wanted to with, and you were too starved for physical affection to tell them otherwise.

You liked the attention. You liked feeling loved, even if it was only for a minute and a half, and all you had to show for it was a pool of cooling come on your belly.

Eddie’s the fragile thing now that you were then.

He was a delicate little thing that can break so easily, something you could split in half if you wanted to.

You don’t.

You want so desperately to be kind, but you’re scared you won’t know how to, because no one’s ever been kind to you.

Steve reaches across the table for you, taking a wild stab at an attempt for affection after several months of being scared to touch you — he did enough of that, he thought, and he’d hurt you. But he can see the lingering ache hiding in your glazed-over eyes and feels an overwhelming urge to quell your worry.

Five warm fingers wrap around your wrist, not too tight or too strong, just enough to stop you from cutting circulation off to the tip of your pointer finger and to remind you that he’s still there.

“Trust me,” he tells you with a sudden soft swimming in his caramel-colored eyes and a smile playing on his lips. “You couldn’t do that to anybody. Not even if you wanted to.”

Your heart nearly stops at his words, at the sheer kindness of them, and at the way he holds you in the soft way you’re used to only Eddie holding you. Your eyes go wide when they flit up to him and then start to sting with the weight of unshed tears.

You’re quick to blink them away though, while you playfully shrug him off and joke — “stop being so nice before I get the wrong idea, Harrington” — because it’s easier than accepting his tenderness.

Robin takes one look at his fond gaze, all gooey and dripping with honey, and then at your rolling eyes and accompanying shy grin, and groans at the softness of it all. She slides out from the confines of the booth and grumbles something about getting a refill on her milkshake.

“Some fries too, while you’re up?” Steve offers with a hopeful grin.

He’s met with the girl’s signature scowl.

“Please,” you finish for him.

Robin grins. “Anything for you,” she croons, if only to make the boy pout, before skipping off to the counter.

She leans her elbows upon the red wooden laminate top and smiles that same sickly sweet smile for Benny by the grill — no doubt trying to get her refills for free.

Even though the bearded man seems unimpressed with her presence, you know that he’ll give them to her free of charge. He’s always had a soft spot for her, one of the only people in town who could rival his wit.

The door dings open, a familiar and high-pitched chime that often becomes more frequent as the evening progresses. This time it lets in a foreign, bitter breeze when the door swings open and closed again.

You can feel the chill from a distance — it resembles the crispness of autumn despite being comfortably settled in the middle of March. It nearly takes your breath away, prickles your skin and makes you grimace back a shiver.

When your eyes leave Steve, a difficult feat considering he’s doing an alarmingly good impression of a walrus by sticking fries in his upper lip, you find that it wasn’t abnormally cold air at all. It was a Peter Parker spider sense form of anxiety that had felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over you.

Billy Hargrove used to turn heads when he walked into a room.

Now he just sucks all the air out of it.

And it’s not like you haven’t seen him since the break up; for a while, the asshole was painted on the backs of your eyelids — he all but haunted your consciousness. You’ll see him around town on occasion, in his sunglasses and jean jacket and too-tight denim pants, while he struts around Main Street with his new girlfriend (otherwise known as, his flavors of the month).

You think this is the first time you’ve been in the same room as him since your split, though. It feels like it must be with the way your throat starts to tighten and you forget how to breathe.

All at once, you’re scrambling for an exit. It’s like Billy’s a fire and his smoke is rapidly filling your lungs. Your legs start to tremble when your adrenaline spike. Your brain tells you to get out as quickly as you can before he burns you.

Steve notices the look of fear flood your features like a dark storm cloud. You were laughing just seconds before the door opened, equal parts with him and at him, but now you just looked terrified — like a child who’s just spotted a boogeyman in her closet.

He turns in the booth to find what haunted thing has just caught your eye and finds that it’s worse than any monster you could conjure up. It’s Billy fucking Hargrove, with his pretty hair and his pretty smile and his pretty girl under his arm.

His presence filled targeted, almost. Like he chose to come to this diner, on this day and at this time just to fuck with the group of you.

“Don’t even look at him,” Steve advises when he turns back to you. “Look at me, okay? He’s not even worth it. That asshole doesn’t deserve to ruin our day.”

And you try to listen to him. You try really, really hard to let him change that subject to the cold fries or Robin taking too long or a combination of the two, but you can’t focus on him. You’re already so overwhelmed at the sight of Billy that you can’t focus on anything else but him.

You settle on the fact that you might just have to drag Steve and Robin out by their wrists because you can’t sit in this booth any longer, and you definitely aren’t hungry anymore.

And that’s when he spots you.

Your eyes lock and you freeze, immediately averting your gaze but catching the sudden sparkle in his own as he grins a sly, sadistic grin.

“No way,” you hear him say with a laugh under his breath. The sound of his voice makes you tense. You hadn’t realized how at peace you’d been all this time without having to hear it. Now it feels like so many little needles piercing your skin.

“Fancy seeing you guys here,” he greets after he’s made a b-line for your booth and dragged Vicki Carmichael along with him. He smiles with all of his pearly whites while he smacks pungent wintergreen gum between them.

When he slides into the booth beside you, he does so without invitation, and forces Vicki to slink in next to Steve.

And like it wasn’t already awkward enough, you know Vicki — like, know her, know her. There was a drunken makeout at a Halloween party in ’82. Then a one night stand with her brother before he left for college in ’83. And then her Tom Selleck clone of a father at a sleepover for her eighteenth birthday in ’85.

You’re not exactly proud of it, but you’ve gotten a rather hefty taste of her family tree, and the fact that both of you know it makes it that much more uncomfortable.

“We’re kinda busy here, Hargrove,” Steve tells him when he notices how comfortable he’s making himself in your booth.

“Ooh… Is this a little date?” Billy teases with a grin.

Steve’s face falls. “…No.”

“Oh, right,” he nods, though the sardonic lilt in his voice tells you that he already knew the answer. He crosses his arms on the tabletop and turns to look at you with eyes bluer than any ocean. They flicker up and down your form. Suddenly, you feel self-conscious in your baggy jean and tank top duo.

“You’ve been seeing that guy, haven’t you? What’s his name again? The, uh— the freak?”

“His name is Eddie,” Steve answers for you, defending him because you can’t find the words to.

“That’s it,” Billy snaps his fingers, then points. He nudges you with his shoulder. The familiar feel of his jean jacket against your skin makes you wince. “God, you must be runnin’ out of steam over there, huh? I mean… the freak? Seriously? You couldn’t do any better than that?”

The jokes were tolerable coming from Jim and Steve and Robin — they weren’t funny by any means, but you could stomach them because you knew they were jokes. But this? This was just to hurt you. And it works too easily because Billy knows exactly how to break you. He knows all the wires to cut and buttons to push because the puzzle of shattering your psyche is one he memorized long ago.

“He’s actually a really nice guy,” you manage through a tight throat, still staring at your fidgeting hands.

“Well, that’s good,” he hums like you need his approval. “It’s about time, right?”

You huff and choose to entertain him despite your better judgment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He only shrugs. “I don’t know... Just, you know, that found a guy willing to settle for you. That’s all.”

“Settle?” you repeat, trying to laugh despite how tiny your voice sounds.

“You know what I mean, c’mon,” the blonde boy chuckles. “Sluts are fun and all, but they’re not the kinda girls you wanna settle down with. Steve knows what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” Steve monotones quickly and without thinking, gaze hardened and jaw clenched. “And you need to leave.”

“I”m hungry, Billy,” Vicki whines, feeling every ounce of the tension surrounding her — like syrup or quicksand. She slides her permed bangs from her eyes and tucks a rogue strawberry strand behind her ear in a nervous tick. “Can’t we just get something to eat?”

“Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted,” Billy chuckles.

You grumble bitterly under your breath. “Apparently not…”

“I’ll see you around, Harrington,” Billy singsongs with a grin that wreaks of insincerity while his girlfriend slides out from the booth. He turns to look at you and squints. “Don’t be a stranger, alright? Matter of fact, point Munson my way, and I’ll give him a few pointers.”

You’re uncowed by his offer and angered by his mention of Eddie. Your eyes are stern and unwavering as you meet his gaze for the first time since he sat down beside you.

“I think you could learn a thing or two from him, actually,” you retort, words sounding sweeter than the venom lingering behind them.

Billy’s grin only widens, impressed by your arguing. “Ooh… I forgot about the mouth you had on you, sweetheart.”

The use of the nickname makes you cringe. It doesn’t sound nearly as fulfilling as it does when it comes from Eddie. Now, it just sounds artificial — degrading.

He leans in close to you like he’s about to tell you a secret and splays his arm along the back of the booth behind you. The nicotine on his breath makes you grimace; it’s intoxicating when it comes from Eddie, disgusting from the boy sitting next to you.

His eyes are bluer so up close, darker than you remember them being, and you notice he’s trimmed his usual stubble to a patchy mustache. He looks like the grown-up version of the boy you used to know, visually more mature but still the same in his way.

“When he gets bored of you — because, let’s be serious, he will get bored of you — you know where to find me,” Billy murmurs to you, a cynical smirk on the edges of his lips. “I’ll make sure you stay nice and broken in for the next dozen guys that want a taste—”

Steve can’t hear a word from where he sits across the booth, but he’s fuming with fists clenched under the table anyway. He hates how close Billy is to you, more so how uncomfortable you look with the proximity and how his words make you flinch.

“Alright, you need to leave,” he blurts. “Now.”

Before the blonde could respond with a quip of his own, Robin all but teleports to the head of the table. She’s standing in front of the four of you suddenly, carrying a basket of fries and a strawberry milkshake and wearing a frown on her face.

“You’re in my seat, dickwad,” she monotones, even though she hadn’t been sitting next to you before. She’s not the least bit threatened by the Californian douchebag.

Billy smiles up at her anyway. “I was wondering where the third musketeer was! Still a carpet muncher, Buckley?”

“Happily.”

“What do ya say me and you head up to Lover’s Lake later?” the boy offers despite his date shifting awkwardly a few feet away. It’s a joke, for reasons that are more than obvious, and that’s what makes it so unbearably unfunny.

He slinks out from the booth. The lack of his warmth is strangely comforting and you’re able to breathe for the first time in five minutes. He stretches his back out when he stands to his full height in front of Robin, then shrugs with his hands splayed on his hips.

“Maybe you just need some good dick. I mean… we’re gonna die anyway, right?”

“I’d rather,” she quips with a rouge-tinted smile.

The way it makes him laugh is startling. He finds a strange humor in being rejected — in most things, really. You still haven’t forgotten the cackles that left his bloodied mouth when Steve delivered blow after blow to the boy’s face in the middle of his living room, like it was all a fun game to him.

That was, of course, before Billy got the upper hand and nearly killed Steve that night. He laughed about it that too, until Max knocked him out with a baseball bat.

He’s got the same grin on his face now as he did then when he turns to look at you. A pink and pretty smirk, just wide enough to reveal the dimple in his left cheek. It’s nothing short of taunting, like he’s mocking you without having to say anything at all.

“Don’t be a stranger, alright?” Billy repeats. He keeps smacking his gum between his teeth and winks at you before spinning on the heel of his boot. He guides Vicki with him to the counter with a hand on the back pocket of her jeans.

Even when Robin slides in next to you and effectively pierces the bubble of tension that had already started to shrink with Billy’s leaving, you still find it hard to breathe. You have to keep reminding yourself, forcing oxygen in and out with wobbling breaths through your nose, or else you just stop altogether.

The other two move on rather quickly, having no trouble finding their voices again after he’s gone. Their words are muffled, though, like they’re underwater.

“I forgot what an asshole he was,” Robin grumbles.

“Well, I didn’t,” Steve retorts, eyes scanning the basket of fries for the most strategic pick of the bunch. “I can still barely breathe through my nose.”

“That’s because you didn’t go to a doctor, dingus.”

“Because I didn’t need a doctor, Robin.”

“Yeah, because being concussed three times in two years is so healthy—”

Your eyes act like magnets as they stay locked on Billy’s form. He leans in closer to Vicki to tell her something, then pats her once on the ass before walking towards the exit again. The door dings when he swings it open. Through the window, you catch him pulling out a red and white pack of cigarettes — the same brand of Marlboro Reds he’s been smoking since he was in middle school.

“You okay?” you hear Steve say, but it sounds too far away for you to realize he’s talking to you.

Robin nudges you with her shoulder to jog you from your stupor. You blink hard once and then turn to her with wide eyes. “What?”

“You doing alright over there?” the girl wonders.

“Yeah,” your answer is too quick and too high-pitched to be true. “Fine.”

“Like, fine as in you’re actually fine, or fine as in, if I leave you alone for too long, I’m gonna find you living under a bridge like a troll?”

You roll your eyes at her. “Fine as in, if someone bums me a cigarette, I’ll be good as new.”

Steve huffs when you hold out the palm of your hand toward him. He’s the only one of you who smokes recreationally enough to carry a lighter and pack of cigs with him. You swear he only keeps it with him because the weight of them makes him feel cool. You’re grateful for them now, though, and for the escape they unexpectedly provide you.

His fingers are warm when they brush your hand. The metal zippo he drops in the center of it is far colder and carries a comforting sort of weight to it. He thumbs a cigarette from the pack for you, and you take it with a sardonic smile and a sickly sweet “thank you, Stevie.”

Robin gets out of the booth to let you slide out of it.

The door chimes again, this time over your head when you open it.

Fresh, spring air nearly knocks you on your ass when it hits you for the first time. You realize then, that you’d forgotten to tell yourself to breathe and now your vision’s all swimmy. The cool breeze tries its hardest to quell your swelling anger, but you’re still at a simmering boil. Fists clenched over the lighter and cig duo in your palm and your sneakers slapping angrily against the cracked pavement.

That’s what signals your arrival, the raging stomps that echo in the alleyway Billy takes his smoke break in.

The boy takes a puff of his cigarette and smirks on the exhale at the sight of you. All he needs is one glance to see how angry he’s made you. It’s an innocent, childlike sort of rage that’s got you all scrunched face and red — a heartbroken girl on a war path.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me, sweetheart,” he taunts with his signature sarcastic smile. He holds his arms at his sides, like he’s waiting for some kind of embrace from you. “You used to be like that all the time — all over me, you know? Clingy.”

“You know what you used to be?” you ask him once you’ve planted yourself a few feet away from him, fists shaking at your sides in a nearly overwhelming mixture of rage and apprehension.

“What’s that?”

“Nice! You used to be nice! Or do you not remember that?” you wonder rhetorically. Your anger fades slowly, an ebbing tide, as a reminiscent sadness eclipses your fury — a flood of blue in all your red.

The sharp frown between your brows crumbles and so does your clenched jaw as your harsh features crumple like a balled-up piece of paper. You look upon the man that broke your heart with all the shattered pieces of it.

“You used to let me sleep over at your place when I was too scared to sleep alone at mine, and you’d bring me food when I told you I hadn’t eaten all day, and you’d take me on drives when you knew I hadn’t left my apartment in days,” you ramble in a single breath, gesticulating wildly with your hands — waving them at him and at you and the still air between. They fall hopelessly to your sides.

“You used to be so sweet, Billy…” you conclude with a wavering breath. Your chest trembles on the inhale as you straighten out your shoulders and lift your chin, trying your best not to look as defeated as you feel. “And you know what you are now?”

Billy grins that stupid grin at you, the one that almost looks kind. Almost. It’s still soft in all its insincerity, like a parent entertaining their kid that’s gone on some meaningless tangent.

“No, sweetheart,” he answers after a beat. “What am I?”

“Not nice.”

He scoffs out a laugh.

“You used to tell me, all the time, how scared you were about ending up like you’re dad—” he tenses at the mention of the man, of his own monster in his own closet. “—He’d beat you black and blue every night, and I’d bandage all your cuts and put makeup on you when you begged, so you could go out and pretend like everything was normal. And you know what? You’re just like him!”

Billy doesn’t cower when you walk closer to him. He’s got no reason to be afraid of you, but your words hit him in a place far deeper than a thousand bloodied fists.

“What he did to you, is exactly what you do to me… Or do you know see that?” you don’t wait for a sarcastic reply, mostly because you wouldn’t see the indicators of it through the tears that blur your vision. “You’re not punching me, but it feels like you are. You break me over and over and over and I have to pretend like everything’s just normal and that we—”

“Real mature of you. To bring out the dad-card,” he interjects, if only to stop your ramblings so that he might not have to hear the truth that comes with them.

“You used to he nice,” you repeat, you agonize, you deflate. “Or… Or did you never use to be?”

The shell of your mind answers for you, paints itself with all the memories you’ve been trying like hell to forget for the past six months. It’s easier to pretend the bad things aren’t real than unravel all the reasons why they were bad to begin with, you find.

The negative memories come together like renaissance paintings — dark and gloomy and blotted with too realistic tears and spatters of blood. The oil stains the backs of your eyelids, destined to remain there forever like paintings in museum that’ll stand the test of time if you nurse them well enough.

You hadn’t yet been able to forget the screams and the cracks of fists colliding with bone. They tend to keep you up at night, even when you squeeze your eyes shut and beg for your memory to be wiped away completely.

Billy crouches over Steve’s chest and pummels wholehearted punches to the boy’s face, never tiring in their force, even well after the boy goes limp underneath him. You beg for him to stop while trying like hell to shield Max from the sight of it all.

For a while, you’d blamed yourself for it — for Max being there in the first place and for Steve’s cuts and bruises.

You’d taken the girl and sought refuge in the Harrington home after witnessing a rather heated fight between Billy and his father. There was a sudden urge within you to take her far away from it before it ended how it always did — in weeping cuts and salty tears and insincere apologies when the cops were called.

But you made it worse anyway.

For Max, for Steve.

And you apologized profusely for it after, cried to the boy in his bathroom while you nursed his cuts like you were the one who put them there.

When he told you it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t believe him. Not until now. Not until you realized that Billy had always been angry — always raging with an ocean of fear and grief and violence.

When he fought with his sister, you thought it was normal, that that’s just what siblings did. But the way she cried to you after couldn’t have been normal. Neither could the unearthly fury that washed over Billy like a riptide when he found out you and Max had sought safety in Steve The Hair Harrington — angered that it was Steve and that he couldn’t be that for the both of you.

And then there was the fights. The yelling and screaming and crying fights that felt like the end of the world every single time. The kind of fights you shouldn’t be having when you’re eighteen. You thought that maybe there was some normalcy in the cheating and the secrecy and Billy’s accompanying assholery because that was all you’d ever known.

Or maybe because you had to tell yourself that was normal in relationships because you didn’t want your’s to end. Billy was the first guy to give a damn about you in ways that went beyond just sex. How were you supposed to just give that up?

But then there’s Eddie — Eddie The Freak Munson, who was really just sunshine wrapped up in leather jackets and wild hair and chunky rings and metal music. He makes you happy. The sort of happy that makes you suspicious because something bad has to counteract all the goodness he makes you feel.

Maybe that’s what this was.

Seeing Billy after having wrapped yourself in a blanket of Eddie’s warmth made you see somehow more clearly. He loves on you so much that it’s made a mockery of everything else.

Whatever you had with Billy wasn’t normal, it was a goddamn shit show. He loved you when it was convenient and then had you believing it was the real thing, that you wouldn’t find it anywhere else, when you tried to leave him.

It was a lie, all of it.

The realization makes you falter.

“Oh, god…” you sigh, voice fragile like cracking glass. “Maybe you never used to be…”

For the first time ever, you see Billy’s grin shake. The edges of it flitter, like he’s fighting to keep the corners quirked up. And his eyes have gone a lighter shade of blue, the way they always did when he blinked back angry tears as he talked about his father.

It isn’t rage glassing his eyes now. It’s something sadder, but still as real — something you never got from him in the two years you were together.

He tries, still, to cover it all up. He smacks his lips against his teeth, sympathetically. “Sorry it took you this long to figure that out.”

The laugh you exhale then is heavy with sadness. Your smile is far away and so is your gaze as you stumble back from him. You turn your head to the edge of the alley where mom’s with strollers and people in fancy suits bustle on the sidewalk and keep your eyes on the strangers that whiz by you’ll probably never see again.

“This is… This is pointless,” you murmur. His lean form is blurry through the burning tears you blink away. “Every time I see you, it’s just more bullshit so let’s just— let’s just leave each other alone, okay?”

Billy takes a puff from his cigarette. When he sighs, white smoke billows from his plump, pink lips. “That’s a shame… I was just thinking that you were the most interesting you’d ever been.”

The ebbing tide that had just left you rushes back in a bubbling scarlet wave. His words don’t make you sad anymore, they just make you angry all over again because you know you don’t deserve them. And you’re not entirely sure why he’s chosen you to antagonize out of all the other girls who’d made the mistake of falling for him, but you’re too far past the point of not caring to ask.

“Bother me again and I tell Chief Hopper,” you threaten even though you don’t feel very threatening just now. “I know you’re not scared of me, but you’d be stupid to be scared of him.”

“Why’s that?” he wonders before sticking the half-gone stick between his lips again.

“Because he runs Hawkins. And he fucking hates you—” for what you did to me, you almost say. You swallow the words down like bile before they have the chance to spew out. “And… And be nice to Vicki. Okay? She’s too good for you. Don’t do to her what you did to me.”

Your plea for another is the last thing you say to Billy before you turn away from him. You wouldn’t be upset if it was the last thing you ever said to him. You’re grateful for the resounding silence that follows. It’s nothing but the sound of your receding footsteps and the soles of his shoes scrapping the concrete as he snuffs out his cigarette.

There is no snarky remark or insincere plea — just two people who used to love each other that have no idea to exist together anymore.

When you step outside the brick confines of the alleyway, you feel as though a fraying string that had always connected the both of you had been finally cut.

It allows you to take a deep breath in for the first time in months. A lungful of fresh air that cleanses you, body and mind.

And when you catch Steve and Robin idling at the corner and doing a terrible job of pretending like they hadn’t just been eavesdropping, you don’t get upset or angry with them — you don’t feel much of anything, really.

You just hand the boy his lighter and unused cigarette and let them comfort you on the drive back to your apartment.

A misery sandwich. That’s what Robin calls the three of you and the heaping pile you lay in.

Your queen-sized bed is in no way meant to accomodate three moderately sized adults, but you make it work anyway, like you always do.

Steve lays on his back, legs crossed and hands tucked under his head. Robin is on her stomach on the other end of the mattress, arms wrapped around the pillow she smushes the side of her face into. You lay between the both of them — on the both of them. Sprawled out sideways, you’ve got your head on propped up on Steve’s ribcage and your legs thrown over Robin’s thighs.

The awkward position is the most comfortable you’ve ever been.

“I can’t believe that asshole had the nerve to show up to the diner on our day,” the boy rants. “And then sit in our booth, I mean— who does he think he is?”

Robin’s response is mostly muffled by the pillow. “I thought he left, like, forever ago.”

“Maybe he just couldn’t stay away. It’s Hawkins, shit attracts shit, right?” Steve answers with a shrug that jostles your head slightly. It doesn’t little to knock you from your stupor, though, where you’ve been stuck for the better part of the day. You pick at the skin around your nails with little regard for how red and raging it's gone.

He notices this and thumps you on your temple — hard enough for you to feel it, gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt you.

You turn your chin to your shoulder to look over at him. He tilts his own head to stare down at you, honey-tinted gaze somehow stern and soft at the same time. “If he bothers you again, I’ll kill him.”

You’re instantly warmed by his protective disposition. You know that he cares about you, even though you like to joke that he doesn’t. Steve hurt you once, made a promise to himself to make it up to you, and then just never left you alone.

You’re grateful for it.

You’re not sure who’d be the butt of every joke if he wasn’t around.

“Good to know,” you answer, nodding against his side and trying to hide the smile he gives you. You fail. “You think if he breaks your nose again, it’ll pop back into place?”

His face falls. “You’re real sweet, you know that?”

You open your mouth to respond, something along the lines of “I’m always sweet. You of all people should know that, Stevie,” before a knock sounds at the front door. It comes in the several rhythmic raps that Eddie is known to give when he’s got a tune stuck in his head.

Apparently now, it’s the chorus to “Why Can’t This Be Love?” The Van Halen song he said he couldn’t stand before you.

Robin huffs at the sound of the muffled taps. She frowns like a child. “Who the hell…?”

“It’s just Eddie,” you affirm through a half-hearted grunt as you rise from your comfy position.

That brightens the two of them up almost immediately. Her and Steve share a look you can’t place as they grin at one another. Then they turn back to you with identical mischievous twinkles in their eyes. “Your boyfriend is here,” the former of the two singsongs.

You roll your eyes, but make no move to correct her.

When you stand from the bed and make the short journey towards the door, you hear the patter of their feet following close behind you.

“Gonna go all the way tonight?” Steve teases and jabs you on the shoulder. “Do you want us to leave?”

“No, nothing is happening. And yes, I think you should leave,” you monotone playfully.

Robin rushes past you suddenly and grabs the brass door handle before you’re able. She swings it open without thinking twice about it. Her sudden appearance, coupled with the fact that it isn’t you, startles the man on the other side of the door.

Eddie’s umber eyes go wide, brows raising and disappearing beneath his fluffy bangs, as his head jerks back.

“Eddie Munson,” the girl full-names the stranger she’s never spoken a word to before now. She leans against the doorway and effectively blocks the boy’s view of you. Steve, who squeezes himself in beside her, doesn’t make it any easier. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You too, Buckley…” he wavers, trying to peer past them for any sight of you.

“Perfect timing, Eds,” you call out from behind them. “They were just about to leave.”

He’s relieved at the sound of your voice — even more so at your appearance when the two in front of you step off to the side to toe on their sneakers.

You don’t look much different than when he saw you last. You’ve put on some makeup that’s started to smudge after the long day and changed your baggy sweatshirt for a more fitted tank top and boxers, but other than that you’re still the same. Still familiar and comforting in your way, a home away from home.

His smile is a tired one and it wobbles at the edges. “Oh, shit, am I— am I interrupting something?”

“No,” you’re quick to reassure him. “You’re saving me, actually.”

“Oh, give me a break,” Steve scoffs. “You love us.”

The boy pulls you into a hug before he leaves, and it’s not the rarest thing in the world, but embraces like this do tend to be few and far between. He whispers “use protection” in your ear and then a sharp “ow!” when you jab him in the ribs.

He and Robin smile kindly at Eddie when they walk by him and out the door, but waste barely a second before turning back around and grinning wildly at you. Steve flashes you a thumbs up while she mouths a cartoonish ‘good luck’ — like it’s the first time you and Eddie had ever been alone together. Like they were just on your ass about having been with him this whole time.

You usher Eddie and shut the door behind them. A quiet sort of peace settles on the apartment like a weighted blanket. The boy revels in every bit of its warmth.

Exhaustion drips from him like syrup. He’s sticky with it. His eyes have lost their usual twinkle, weighed down now with the burden of his fatigue. His face has lost most of its color, leaving a pale sheath of monotoned skin, and his hair is wilder than normal, with an unintentional sort of ruggedness to his curls.

It’s what being without you has done to him.

“You okay?” you ask him softly. It almost makes him want to cry.

“Yeah,” he answers anyway and idles in the spot where your kitchen meets your living room. “Just had a pretty shitty day. Wanted to spend time with you.”

“Me too… About the wanting to spend time with you part— and the shitty day part, too, I guess.”

Eddie smiles at your rambling, but purses it to the side to conceal it from you. “And since it is just about our…” he trails off and bends his elbow to check the watch on his wrist. “…Twelve hour anniversary, I picked us up some takeout.”

He sets the plastic bag on the counter. The red logo of Oriental Jade on the side of it makes your stomach roll with a distant hunger. You hadn’t realized how starved you were feeling after you abandoned your early dinner at Benny’s. It makes you more grateful for Eddie, who always seems to be on the same wavelength as you without even trying.

“Keep this up and we’ll be married before we hit hour twenty-four,” you joke as you rifle through the cartons — chow mein, sweet and sour chicken, dumplings, the works.

Eddie settles in next to you, propping his elbows on the countertop. “Well, I’m pretty sure the courthouse opens at nine, so… What were you thinking for the honeymoon? Hawaii? Bora Bora?”

“How about a cabin in the woods where no one can find us?”

“Hmm… Spooky. Sexy. I’m into it.”

You settle in the living room and eat on the couch while She Ra re-runs play on the television. You try to teach Eddie how to use chopsticks, though he can only work them with his non-dominant hand and all the wrong finger placements. You think it’s cute to watch him fumble with them, and you giggle about it until you’re scolding him for trying to feed Bowie some noodles. He laughs as you swat at him.

When all the containers are fully scrapped clean and tossed in the recycling bin, you migrate to the bedroom — which is perhaps too raunchy a phrase to use when the two of you only bury yourselves under the covers to talk shit.

Eddie drags out the chunky box fan you use when the air conditioner goes out in the summer — because it always goes out in the summer — and props it on the chest at the foot of your bed so the covers will billow around the both of you. “And it’s perfect because we can stay in the fort forever and not get hot,” he tells you, all giddy about it like he's a kid again.

“What if I get cold?” you retort.

Without missing a beat, he answers, “Well, lucky enough for you, I know several ways I can warm you up, sweetheart.”

He ditches his leather jacket and strips down to his boxers and settles in beside you underneath the blankets. The two of you lay shoulder to shoulder while you trace absentminded patterns on the palm of his hand and tell him about your day.

You make sure to leave out all the re-traumatizing-Billy-Hargrove bits, though. You focus mainly on the tense drive with Hopper and the small fight you’d had with Steve on the drive to the diner later that afternoon about the lyrics to Love My Way (both of you had been wrong).

Eddie tries his hardest to focus on your story and your fleeting touches, but he’s too far in his own head. You tell him all these things but he can’t stop thinking about himself — about whether or not you might’ve brought him up somewhere in between.

He wouldn’t have blamed you, if you had. Steve and Robin are your closest friends and, for whatever reason, so is Chief Hopper, you’re bound to bring him up eventually. He was just hoping it would’ve been in a better capacity. Maybe about how kind he was or what a god he was in bed — not how he could only be one of those things because he’d never been anything in bed.

“It doesn’t make things weird between us, does it?” he wonders out of the blue.

You halt mid-sentence and turn to him with furrowed brows. “What?”

Eddie realizes then, that the first half of the conversation with you had only happened in his head. He prays that it’s too dark beneath the covers for you to see how red his cheeks get. “Just… What we talked about this morning. About me… you know…” He finds it hard to say the words. Or any of them at all.

“Why would it make things weird?”

“I don’t know. Because I wasn’t… totally honest with you, I guess? I feel a little bad about it, you know?”

“It’s okay,” you assure and turn on your side to be closer to him. Eddie stays on his back, more than happy to let you cuddle further into him. “I guess I do wish you’d said something before, though.”

His chest tightens. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know how to—”

“I’m not saying it to make you feel bad!” you interject quickly when you catch the spiral of regret he was about to twist himself into. You curl tighter into his side, tossing a leg over his thigh and wrapping your hand around his bicep in an effort to melt with him. When he turns to face you, your noses nearly brush.

“That’s not how I meant it. I just meant that, if I’d known before, I wouldn’t have… I would’ve taken things slower. I wouldn’t have been so, you know, so all over you.”

He hates how apologetic you sound. Like there was ever an ounce of him that would want to take back what happened that night at his trailer or a part of him that might hate how much you love on him.

“I liked it. I do like it.”

“Maybe we can just start over,” you offer. “Pretend like none of that ever happened.”

Eddie knows there’s no way in hell he’ll be able to forget about a single damn thing — not his cum stained jeans and how you looked so pretty washing them for him, not the feel of your tits in his mouth or you wrapped around his fingers, not how you made him blow his load all over his fist just by talking to him.

He goes along with it anyway, though, just for you.

“Okay...” he nods slowly, then squints over at you. “You’re still my girlfriend, though, right?”

“Of course I am,” you giggle.

He grins proudly to himself. “Well then… Hope it’s not too early to have our first kiss then?”

It makes you roll your eyes because it’s such an Eddie Munson way of asking to kiss you. You told him earlier the day that he never had to ask you — in fact, you’d prefer it if he’d just kiss you out of the blue and take your breath away without you ever knowing it was coming. But there was something foreign and sweet in his little reassurances.

“Kiss me silly, Eddie Spaghetti,” you beam. He twists on his side to press tiny pecks to your smile.

It’s rather strange, you find, to kiss someone this way without the intention of it ever becoming something more. You kiss him just to kiss him — just to map the outline of his cupid’s bow and memorize the pattern of his tongue. Just to feel him, as much of him as your mouth will allow you to.

With one arm curled under his head and the other cradling your jaw, when his watch alarms — high-pitched beepbeepbeeps in quick succession — it’s sudden and close to your ear.

Your lips click in protest when they part. His are pink and swollen and glossy with your spit. He smiles with them. “Happy twelve hour anniversary, sweetheart.”

“How long are you gonna make that stupid joke?” you laugh like your heart isn’t swelling so much you’re scared it might burst entirely.

“Uh, I was thinking… forever. Yeah. That sounds about right,” he concludes after a moment of feigned thought. He turns his watch off again and you swear you see him set for another twelve hours from now.

“Forever?” you echo.

“Uh-huh. Forever—” he presses his lips to yours once. “—And ever—” Twice. “—And ever.”

Eddie kisses you until you’re flat on your back and surrendering to each of his tiny little pecks. You twist your hands in his hair and let him love on you a little while more. You giggle when his mouth trails from your lips to your chin to your jaw to your neck. Please don’t get bored of me, you beg silently within your laughter.

I don’t think I could even if I wanted to, he answers with each kiss his sprinkles to your starved skin. How could I, when you’re the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me?

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson fic #virgin!eddie munson x reader #virgin!eddie munson

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maggstar · 1 year ago

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𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐈 𝐃𝐢𝐞

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𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+, mni DNI!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when Y/N is moving to a new place, she asks for some help. To her luck, the handsome officer living nearby picks up her call to lend her a "hand".

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, sappy asf, cop!Hee, confession, kissing (tongue action yall know it), mutual touching, oral (f. and m.), 69.

𝐖𝐂: 3.2k

𝐀/𝐍: Hello my lovelies, I'm back (not for long). I have been promising a cop!Hee fic for so long that I've decided to feed yall with a prologue at least. Hope you like it!

Please leave any sort of feedback: reblogging and commenting is the best for me, so let me know!! ───────────────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹────────────────────

Summer 2022

"Oh, come on now, we're not even halfway there!" the lilting tone emancipated from afar, shifting through the rooms of the empty apartment to place the piles of carton boxes in their assigned spot.

They were all different sizes, some possessing parts of old furniture or newly bought ones, decorations, and daily-life equipment, carefully packed and branded. It seemed as if the amount kept growing with each placement, countlessly checking the truck.

Moving shouldn't have been such a demanding process, yet Heeseung found himself sighing every minute, constantly puffing after successfully delivering a package. The sweat on his forehead kept amassing, bringing his gaze to the flaming orange star. As if the hot weather wasn't enough, the lack of clouds deprived him of cooling down a little.

He regretted dressing up for the occasion because he only wanted to rip the beige Hawaiian shirt off him. It went well with the iceberg-pleated shorts, but he would have been better without it. At least the brown aviator sunglasses were somewhat helpful, giving off the cool vibe he dearly lacked. It was all an attempt at impressing the female whom he decided to help, postponing everything on his calendar.

With a dramatic sigh, he looked back at the mentioned one, hopping from one leg to another, hips swinging to the sides at each jump.

There was a dazzling smile glowing amidst those moves, radiating bright energy, swaying her head from left to right. The wavy hair created a breathtaking shot in that lavender-colored jumpsuit, soaked in its splashy floral pattern. It all added to the sweet image, complemented by a charming personality.

Heeseung didn't know what about her turned his insides upside down. There were too many factors about that breathtaking beauty to pinpoint one. From her looks to her brains, she was a flawless 10 out of 10. A woman every man could only dream of.

He was one of those men, dreaming about her every night after hitting bed. At this rate, it was turning into a habit. His head would automatically wander to her curvy shape once he shut his eyelids. Her long and slender shoulders were a sight to see, and he imagined running his fingers on them. Sometimes he visualized her powerful thighs, hungering to feel them in his hands. His ultimate wish was to reach her back and squeeze her buttocks as much as possible. He was a pervert for fantasizing about her in such inappropriate ways. However, he couldn't help it.

She was incredibly attractive, and even if he tried to look away, his vision still ended on her. It was unavoidable. She was gorgeous.

"Lee Heeseung! Stop being a baby and help me!" the bundle of joy reprimanded, looking back with knitted eyebrows.

Nothing appeared better right then, content with the outcome of her decisions. It almost made the volunteer forget about the awaiting unboxing. He could sense the exhaustion steadily approaching from the corner, taunting the weary with its impact.

She crouched down to organize the pieces in the corner, not anticipating a figure approaching from behind.

"Oh, you did not just say that," he called out, hands stretching to the sides of her torso, ignoring the loud no's as he came closer to the desired location. At that moment, the secret weapon was released. The victim fought for air, their laughter overconsuming it all, hands trying to stop the intolerable torture.

"Yah! Stop!" they yelled, slapping the boy's arms, squirming in his imprisonment. The imbalance in the position caused them to fall over, bringing the perpetrator with them and landing on the floor together.

Heeseung stopped once his eyes locked with hers, staring into those beaming green orbs, casting rays of bliss.

It was as if he was looking at pure euphoria, smearing its gilt palms on him, like a warm blanket on a cold day, whispering sweet nonsenses. He couldn't cease admiring the view, the corner of his mouth lifting unknowingly. It was immaculate, its face round as an apple, light brown dots etched around its Grecian nose, forsaking their presence at the plump upper lip, overshadowing the bottom half, completing the perfection.

He hoped this moment could last forever, with her beside herself with joy, grinning and holding onto him, pledging its eternity. It didn't have to be authentic, just the thought calming his anxious soul, questioning the length of this point before disintegrating in his grasp.

Yet, staring into her almond-shaped eyes reassured the worried. His fingers ran through her silky hair, body slightly freezing in surprise, gasping at the unexpected gesture. The change in her breathing didn't miss his sight, caressing her head overfilled in worries and pang, hoping to divest them.

If only he could sweep away all of the trouble from her system and hold her close eternally to provide the oughted warmth and comfort. He appealed to the universe to provide her with the needed healing. To replace the bandages and plasters on her crushed soul with long-lasting stitches and disallow the wounds from ever opening up again.

The universe found it amusing that he kept asking for something already there from the beginning, fulfilling all his requests without his knowledge. It was as snug as a bug in a rug, watching over the little one and protecting her in its embrace. It was all there, slanting over her with doe eyes, creating temporary crow's feet.

"You won't go, right?" she asked, swallowing the sudden change of emotions, the numbness and fear heckling to emerge. The despair on her brows drew in, transmitting through as her jaw pulled in.

He shook his head, soothing away the dread with a peck on the rosy cheek, "No. I'll stay with you."

"Promise?" she held onto his collar, pulling him closer till their foreheads kissed. Oh, how much she wanted their lips to be the ones who connected and chafed against each other, devouring one another in ardor. She was foolishly hoping for the upcoming redness to evaporate, not embarrass her in front of the mighty male she so broadly adored.

Was it the bambi eyes blanketing her in love or the warm palm holding her petite hand that made the girl swoon? She couldn't ignore the effects of this fine man in front of her. Her true intentions have been bottled up for so long that they began opposing. They wanted to shout and express the overgrowing desire evolving into a blooming garden of affection.

"Promise," was all she needed to hear to pull him closer and make her dream come true without hesitating. To her surprise, nor did he.

It was like they'd both waited for this spectacular moment to happen, not getting enough of it. Their hands roamed on each others' backs, attempting to draw in the other as much as possible. They practically crushed their noses while doing so, forgetting about breathing for the upcoming seconds. The only thing they could focus on was the bliss it provided.

The ravenous act of love was so passionate that it almost made the woman collapse, holding on to Heeseung's T-shirt. He was in his world, experiencing the most pleasing kissing.

No previous connection could match the intensity and perfection of this moment. It was such an anticipated fantasy that he struggled to fathom her soft lips brushing against his. The way they collided with his was sensational, relinquishing every thought in his brain.

There was only this tingly feeling leading from his chest in between his legs. He was all over the place, but so was Y/N.

In her 21 years of living, she had never been French kissed before, and this was the first time she allowed someone to try it. Despite her strong resentment against the act due to finding it unhygienic, she let the man she dreamed of having for so long play with her tongue. For once, she ignored picturing bacteria transmitting through saliva and wrapped her arms around his neck.

And Heeseung made sure she wouldn't regret it.

As soon as he gained access, he tenderly slipped inside her mouth with his warm and wet tongue. He painted her walls in adore, cupping her cheeks to bring them in. That way, he could also pull her closer and deepen the kiss.

They both found the sounds of wet smacks bouncing off the empty room stimulating, letting out a few whimpers.

"Heeseung, I want you," she started sucking on his bottom lip, voicing her frustration by occasionally biting. It didn't hurt, but it was enough to bring him back from the dazed state she left him in.

"I want you too," his fingers lightly slid down her arms, sensing the change in her heartbeat. It continued grazing over lower, barely touching her skin.

The teasing threw her over the edge. She just wanted him to tear off her clothing and wander his veiny hands all over her chest. To squeeze her breasts and pinch her nipples until she couldn't handle it. She wanted to become an utter mess underneath him.

"Please, love me," She felt like an animal in heat, unable to think of anything else than the longing desire in her system. It repeatedly screamed his name in the most alluring way, gluing onto his mouth like it was the last time.

The combination of his lustful gaze and comforting smile was an unbeatable experience. His eyes were the key to his soul, expressing love and appreciation with one beguiling look.

"Can I?" he asked in her ear while playing with her earring, hooking onto the hems of the jumpsuit.

"Yes, quick," she appealed, the urge intensifying each minute. Without having to ask, she began unbuttoning his cotton T-shirt, having a compulsion to rip it apart.

His tongue was back trekking in her mouth, concealing her aching lips in the warmth of his saliva. Y/N couldn't properly focus on the cursed buttons when he delicately declared his delight in the kiss. It was impossible to do anything with him quietly moaning, stumbling over her consciousness.

"Fuck. Are all police officers this hot?" She exhaled at the mouthwatering view ahead. Her eyes rolled when her palms slid against his naked skin, the coldness causing them to flex. She knew about his exquisite physique before but never had the chance to see it up this close.

His muscles had always been visible through any piece of clothing, and Y/N found herself staring at every opportunity. Her hands couldn't stop touching his delicate skin, desperate to kiss and mark every spot. Just picturing him in purple love bites did wonders to her woman parts.

At this point, she was openly drooling over him.

"You should look at yourself," He blushed at the compliment, pulling the piece of clothing off her. His leg pressed against her core right after, adding a log into the fireplace. She closed her mouth to conceal her needs, shutting her eyelids when his knee rubbed her clit. Was she too blatant with her thigh squeezing? Fuck.

"You're fucking gorgeous," he leaned over, tracing her chest and torso with his nose. Seeing her in her undergarments and face scrunched in pleasure spurred his aching shaft even more. The addicting scent of shea butter absorbed every part of her, placing him under a spell with her features.

He placed delightful pecks on her stomach to ensure her comfort and safety, a feeling of happiness and contentment in his presence.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," his moans wiped down her thighs, licking and kissing everywhere. Her insides began burning, and she found herself desperately gripping his hair. The compliment he just dropped on her head blasted through her ears, flushing her cheeks in a rosy pigment.

He had to have a lot of adorers in his past, and she didn't doubt it was the same in the present. His visuals were better than the models on magazines, a mixture of soft masculinity. Looking at him made her gasp consistently, habitually admiring his breathtaking assets. He was a work of art, and she couldn't stop admiring it.

"Heeseung," her breath lingered, staring at the savory growth behind his sweatpants. The outline, which appeared immensely luscious, provoked her intrusive thoughts to yearn for it. To lick and suck on it like candy until reaching a sugar crash.

"Please let me put it in my mouth," the desperation transferred, sitting up to flip sides. He stared at her in shock from the floor with hands above his head, having hers wrapped around his wrists. Her sudden revelation caught him off guard, sensing his friend wholly waking up at the lewd confession.

If it wasn't obvious how much he wanted her to have him her way, he wasn't sure about anything anymore. His heart was merely beating for her, picking up speed in pumping blood around his body. It was inevitable, particularly when she circled her tongue around his teats.

He would lie if he said he had experienced such a dirty act before, twitching and squirming from the kitten licks. He wasn't sure if it being his first time caused such a mercurial reaction or her being the one suckling on them.

Either way, Heeseung wasn't complaining one bit. He permitted her to play with them as she desired.

"You're all I've ever dreamt of," her breath skimmed lower and lower until it recoiled up on his crotch. Both sighed at the highly-awaited instant as if they had been waiting for it to happen forever.

Y/N took in the paradise and rested her face on it, massaging her cheek against it. She was roaming in a daze, omitting everything around and focusing on the growing element beside her.

All these lascivious acts made Heeseung think Y/N was an expert, not having a second to figure out his methods. They were thrown out the window the moment she pulled down his shorts and Calvin Klein boxers in one go, uncovering his nudity all to herself. He goggled at her from the uncatchable pace, leaning against his elbows for balance.

"God, Hee," she wrapped her hand around the leaking material, leisurely smearing the pre-cum on the head.

"Y/N," he hissed, watching his thick cock twitch in her small hand, throwing his head back. Once her thumb circled his tip, his testicles drove in. They uncontrollably pulsated with each hoop, losing control over their equipoise.

Her sparkly orbs, gazing at him from below while gingerly kissing the base, pushed the filthiest groans out of him. He could cum from her lips polishing his member, the delicate touch reminding him of a feather.

"No more teasing, please," his hips raised, pressing his thick cock against her rosy cheek. He couldn't hold his desire any longer, practically begging her to suck him dry.

"Oh? So what do you want me to do then?" her lips entangled around his tip, turning into a feisty smirk.

"Put your tongue on it," he pleaded, his knees turning numb from the ecstasy.

"Like this?" her eyes looked up at him between his legs, sticking out her tongue to draw perfect lines across his treasure. For an answer, she received a loud groan alongside a light thump into the ground. She was playing a dangerous game, but it was too amusing to miss.

"Look at how your cock twitches when I do this," she snickered, licking him from the top to all the way down to his balls. They were also in need of attention, and Y/N didn't forget to engage them in her playtime.

"Or barely lick your head," she demonstrated the act, causing Heeseung to shiver in her grasp.

"It makes me wonder how it'll react if I decide to put it in my mouth," her last word got nearly swallowed as she answered her question, leaving Heeseung in utter disarray. His brain resigned, incapable of handling the sheer amount of pleasure. If it stayed any longer, it would go insane.

"It's so soft," she furrowed her eyebrows upwards, her hands coming back to wander on his buttery skin.

"So tasty."

"So beautiful."

"So perfect."

It hit the back of her throat, face entirely buried into his crotch, satisfied blusters opposing as a reaction. She found it adorable how he desperately held onto her hair, trying to shove himself even deeper. It was so incredible that he struggled to contain his growing lust, prompting him to unravel his aggression.

He wanted to grab her silky hair into a ponytail and mercilessly guide his dick deep down her throat. To watch the lump in it growing and disappearing with each pulse while her eyes looked straight into his.

He couldn't hold it anymore.

He had to taste her.

"Turn around and sit on my face," he conveyed, seductively running his tongue over his lips.

"What?" the shyness transferred to the opposite side, goggling at the depicted request.

"Come on, don't be shy and sit on my face, princess."

Y/N hesitantly looked at the stripped man, who was calmly lying with his arms behind his head, lustfully eyeing her up.

"Ride it until you come down my throat," the nasty invite slipped out his mouth carelessly, putting on a smirk to secure its impact.

"You know I'll lick it all up."

The woman's jaw dropped at the proposition, heavily floundering with her senses. Her interiors thawed at his sensual words, screaming at her to turn around and do as he demanded.

"I don't want you to suffocate, dumbass," she lightly punched his arm, trying to dissipate the butterflies piling in her stomach. She didn't want to seem like a nuisance with her subtle shots at the getaway. However, her confidence wasn't the biggest one out there.

Being on top wasn't the issue, but being that exposed to Heeseung. She always found it uncomfortable to have guys looking at all of her. Relaxing in someone else's arms was a problematic obstacle.

Heeseung wasn't an ignorant person not to notice the modest hints, settling to act rather than unroll the tangle of unnecessary insecurities.

With that determination, he lifted her and placed her on his face without warning to get her raw reaction.

At the same time, he found it foolish to waste a minute arguing.

Instead, he could use it to eat her out and show her immortal magnificence.

"You have no idea how good you look from here," both ended up facing each other's genitals, admiring the glorious piece of art. She stared at him covered in her saliva mixed with precum, its size managing to develop more with each touch.

Heeseung was playfully running his finger around her slick hole. The amount she had produced was more than he could imagine, the sticky material creating squelching sounds. His index traveled upwards, smearing the juices on her swollen clit.

"I could just play with you all day without ever getting bored," his finger disappeared inside her, unweaving a beautiful whimper.

"Just run my finger up and down your pussy until you can't handle it," he smoothly pushed another in, her fluids substituting lube.

"So warm and tight. All just for me," his nose hit her clit, soaking up her scent in an instant.

"Heeseung," she sighed, holding onto his legs for support.

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you more, Hee."

...to be continued...

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Taglist: @end-hyphen, @hee-pster, @jakeswifeyy, @gegeetime, @heerated, @jayked, @forjongseong, @enhastolemyheart

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! ^^

───────────────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹────────────────────

@maggstar

#minors: dni #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #heeseung smut #enhypen headcanons #enhypen imagines

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softguarnere · 1 year ago

Note

I've been staring at your ask box for about 20 minutes now because i'm speechless, your writing is so fucking good!!! I've even sent it to my friend (she is not into hbowar) and she was like woow, specially at Ares and Athena, sooo I was wondering if you could write more stuff like that? it's not like I've been shaking, crying, screaming at my screen while reading over and over again BUT PLEASE WRITE MORE SPEIRS X READER

Evaded by Hypnos

Ron Speirs x reader

A/N: Omg hi anon! Thank you so much 💖 This ask absolutely made my day when I got it! Ares and Athena is one of my favorite fics that I've written, so I'm super glad you and your friend liked it as well! This is a prequel based off an off-handed line at the end of the fic about how Ron and the reader met. I really hope you like it! (and tagging @ronsparky since you wanted to read it 😁) As always, this is written for the fictional depictions from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans! Warnings: language

The night sky hangs still overhead. Somewhere in the distance, machine gun fire pops in bursts, shattering any stillness that might have been about to settle over everyone. Some people can sleep through just about any conditions. Good for them. They’re probably the only ones managing to catch some shuteye. Meanwhile, everyone else is awake and in varying degrees of alertness, and all for different reasons. Some are too scared to attempt sleep, afraid that it might be the last time that they ever shut their eyes. But for Ron and those like him, staying alert is the only thing to do when sleep remains elusive.

D-Day has been hectic, to say the least. Scattered men have been trying to rejoin their companies. They’ve all been on the move, living one order to the next, one objective to the next. The frustration of the night has turned to exhaustion for many, as Fox Company remains elusive. Ron never would have guessed that their biggest challenge once they got to Europe would be trying to keep the companies in line as they moved. Which seems funny, in a sort of pitiful way, now that he’s alone and there’s time to think about it.

Lots of time to think about it. Hours stretch before him in the dark night. Now that they’ve got Talbert from Easy Company taken care of, Ron leans back in his foxhole, waiting for something else to happen, or for sleep to take him first.

You’re so quiet that he doesn’t notice you until you speak. “Lieutenant Speirs?”

Ron looks up. Through the darkness, he can just make out the shape of someone standing above his foxhole, staring down at him. Her voice is quiet, but firm. Ron sits up straight to get a better look. “Yes?”

You gesture down, indicating the foxhole, him, the room he has. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” he replies, already moving over to create more space.

“Thanks,” you say when you hop in and land beside him with a soft thump! Now that you’re closer, he recognizes you. Lieutenant (Y/L/N), from Easy Company. One of the women in the female paratrooper program – and one of the only women to become an officer so far. Maybe it’s the poor lighting, but it looks like you smile at him. “Went to make sure they had Talbert handled, and then came back to find that some of the guys had taken my foxhole.”

“You didn’t make them move?” Ron isn’t sure if it comes out as more of a question or a statement. Obviously you either didn’t make them move, or they chose not to listen to your order – a problem with some of the men when it comes to the gender of whoever is giving them a command.

You shake your head. “I’ve fought enough battles today.”

That doesn’t seem fair. Ron doesn’t know you personally – has never even spoken to you one on one before now – but he’s heard about you. And the popular consensus seems to be that you’re a good officer. The upper echelon seem to think so, and so do the men and women of Easy company. Good officers are hard to come by. They shouldn’t be left in the dark looking for a foxhole to spend the night in.

“Well, if you ever need a place to stay, my foxhole is always open.” The words are out of Ron’s mouth before he’s fully had time to realize how cheesy and awful they sound. Thank God for the darkness, because he grimaces, and when he hears you emit a small laugh, his cheeks feel a little warm.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. That’s very kind.”

“You can call me Ron,” he offers.

A pause. Great, he’s said the wrong thing again.

Or maybe not. “Okay,” you agree. “Thank you . . . Ron.” You don’t say it reluctantly, just slowly, like maybe it’s some sort of trick, or like you’re taking your time trying it out. “You can call me (Y/N).”

“(Y/N),” he repeats. It’s beautiful. It suits you.

There’s the clinking sound of metal on metal as you unscrew your canteen and take a sip of water. You sigh through your nose. “So, Ron. Why are you awake on such an exciting night?”

He starts to make something up, then thinks better of it. He’s only just properly met you, and yet, he feels that he can tell you the truth, even though most people probably wouldn’t believe him. It must be something about being under the cover of night; it’s a shroud that makes sharing secrets easier, somehow.

“To tell you the truth, (Y/N) . . .” He allows the words to hang there for a second to create suspense. “I just can’t sleep.”

In the darkness, he hears you replace the lid of your canteen. “Is tonight special? Or is this an ongoing issue?”

Ron blinks. No one has ever asked him that before. Back in training, everyone seemed to think that his lack of sleep was some sort of vigilance, like staying up late was a way to assert dominance over everyone, proving that he was fearless in the face of the night, like some sort of watch dog. Really, the simple answer was that he just couldn’t sleep. There wasn’t more to it then, and there’s not really more to it now.

“The latter,” he replies.

You hum. “Me, too.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Chalk it up to the war being so damn exciting, or something, but I haven’t slept well since Toccoa.”

“I don’t know about the excitement. Those horrible mattresses, maybe.” Ron grins, forgetting that you probably won’t be able to see it in the dark. You let out a short laugh, though, and he knows that for the first time since he joined up, one of his jokes has actually been taken as a joke instead of being misconstrued.

“Well, they were better than a foxhole,” you muse. He can hear metal on metal again as you open your canteen once more. “Sorry if I’m keeping you up, though.”

“You aren’t,” Ron promises. “In fact, it’s kind of nice having someone else with the same issue. Good to have company.”

“I agree.” For a moment, the two of you fall into a lull. Ron swears that he can feel you looking at him from the corner of your eye, like you’re sizing him up. He decides to make the first move.

“So, (Y/N),” he begins. “Where are you from?”

And that is the beginning – how Ares met Athena. All because Hypnos evades both, and the Fates tied them together because of it.

#band of brothers fanfic #ron speirs #ron speirs x reader #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers #my writing

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nctstar · 3 months ago

Text

chapter 1 | the calling card

You were still panting like mad when you reached out, grabbing desperately at the denim of his ripped jeans. “Don’t go,” you whispered. “Please. There’s still something we need to do together.”

pairing:��taeyong x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

genre: mystery-thriller/sci-fi, angst, romance

warnings: sexual references (nothing too graphic)

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction purely from my imagination. I don't know the nct members and don't claim that they act like this in real life. I also do not condone any of the activity by any of the characters in this fic.

a/n: i wrote this a looooong time ago, and honestly, i didn't even wanna post it bc it's not that good tbh. but it's like on the verge of being good, yknow? like, there's something there that can be worked with. and also there's not enough taeyong fics on this platform, like me and @starillusion13 are the only ones writing them :(

Tangled mess of bodies, skin to skin, your own hair tickling your bare back. You were breathing onto someone, another human being. Their touches felt like sparks of fire on your skin, and their lips like marks over your face, your neck, your collarbone, as if trying to help you remember. Help you not forget. In the dark, you could make out nothing but the outline of a toned body, the glint of a necklace shaped like a…what seemed like an animal of some sort. You both climaxed, and he was out and on his way in seconds. You were still panting like mad when you reached out, grabbing desperately at the denim of his ripped jeans. “Don’t go,” you whispered. “Please. There’s still something we need to do together.”

Your eyes bolted awake at the relentless drone of your alarm, breaking you out of the dream. The first few seconds rendered you confused, speechless, before it slowly dawned over you that you were awake now and dreaming before. Without thinking, you rubbed your arms. You could still feel him on you, feel his breath, his body, your heart still pounding with the same vigour, body still aching as if it had actually happened.

The question was, who?

The embarrassment set in after that, wondering why you would have a dream like that in the first place. Heat flushed your face as you recalled it choppily, trying not to think about it too much but simultaneously curious. It could’ve been a regular dream about someone your subconscious brain had the hots for…but…

Something stopped your train of thought.

“There’s still something we need to do together.”

You could’ve sworn the feeling of urgency, of desperation, was so real that it felt like something you had gone through yesterday. Even if the mystery hot guy was just a figment of your imagination, there was something you were forgetting to do. Something that was very important. Beyond the regular realms of importance, even.

Something that was a matter of life or death.

You shook your head as the thought even crossed your mind. This was stupid. Making decisions based on how you felt in your dreams was stupid. It was clear that all you needed was to relax and get a boyfriend.

You could’ve gone on with your day then, hopped into the shower, made breakfast, scrolled through your phone for hours before work, but of course, the dream was relentless.

The same necklace as the one your mystery man was wearing, the one you saw as he was on top of you, was right on your bedside table.

∞

“Hello?”

“Hey! I just, need a favour.” You turned the steering wheel, frowning, trying to figure out where you were supposed to be going.

Your coworker was silent on the other line, but before you could add anything, she finally spoke. “Need your shift covered?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry to let you know on such short notice, but something came up. It really did. You know me, I would never do this if it wasn’t urgent.”

She sighed on the other line, and you held your breath, praying she would agree.

“Fine.” She gruffed. “But only because you’re so nice. But you better be here in the afternoon to cover mine. 1pm, got it?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be done by then.”

“Okay.”

“Wait!” You almost forgot the most important thing, and in your head you could picture your coworker’s finger over the end call button, her patience wearing thin.

“What?”

“Do you know anyone with the initials T.L.?”

This time the silence stretched on for a while, but you could tell she was thinking. “I could be wrong, but I think he’s the music guy that lives on the end of the road where you live. His name started with T for sure, his last name was Lee. I went there once for a party, but I got super hammered and my girlfriend took me home, so I’m not 100% on it.”

“Thank you!” Relief washed over you, and you wondered why. She didn’t even know his name, and there was a very large chance she was wrong. But it felt like the dream was still controlling your emotions, and now, your every move.

“Well, I don’t care, but,” she muttered the next thing so quietly you could’ve missed it. “stay safe. It’s kind of a dodgy place.”

“Will do. Thanks.” Hitting end call, you took a quick glance over at the passenger seat, as if needing to check that the necklace was still there. You knew exactly which house your coworker was talking about, having driven past it a number of times. It was rundown and quiet except for the times it wasn’t, which was some nights all night, when whoever owned the house decided to throw ragers. For some reason, that kind of person didn’t seem to match the man in your dream, but there was a weird feeling in your chest that made you confident that he lived there. And as you drove towards the house, the dilapidated fence in full view, the feeling grew stronger and stronger until it was all you could feel.

Your legs seemed to move on their own accord as you reached the door, not noticing anything else around you. Three sharp knocks on the door and you retreated your hand, waiting for a response.

You heard the lock unclick. For some reason in those milliseconds between that sound and the door opening, you decided to hold your breath, as if needing to brace for impact for whatever would happen next.

You were right.

The man who opened the door would’ve taken your breath away anyway. As he looked at you, his eyes sharp and raging like a dragon’s, you almost forgot why you were even standing at his front door with a necklace of a dog in your hand. His body was lean, slender, just like the body in your dream, and your stomach did backflips at the thought of that again, much to your dismay.

Your eyes then fell onto what shocked you back into reality. Those jeans, ripped, frayed, hanging low around his small hips. You were sure they were the same ones. The ones you had grabbed in your dream in pure desperation as he was walking away from you, begging him to stay, to listen.

“Don’t go, please.”

“Are you gonna stand there all day checking me out?”

His voice snapped your eyes back onto his face, and instinctively, to his bare neck.

“Right, um,” you took a second to come to your senses, bringing your right hand higher, as if reminding your brain what you came here to do. “The necklace.”

“What?”

You mentally slapped yourself. Can’t even form a full sentence?

“I have your necklace. I think this is yours. It says T.L. on the back, and I assumed, well, my friend, I think-“

“Why would you have my necklace?” When he said you, he scanned you up and down, and you suddenly felt very exposed, and very stupid. Flustered, you tried to continue.

“I…don’t really know?” You gave him a dumb smile, which he was not impressed by, judging by his unchanged expression. He looked at you, sighed, and went to close the door.

“Wait-“

You were met with a slam.

∞

“And that’s all? You just drove away after that?”

“Yeah.” you bit your fingers, to which your coworker reacted by slapping your hands away.

She looked puzzled. “But I don’t understand. He didn’t even ask to look at the necklace. Or ask where you found it. And he wasn’t wearing a necklace, right? So it’s safe to say he noticed that his one necklace was missing.”

“Honestly, I think he was judging me.”

“Judging you? How so?”

You sighed, bending over the counter to rub incessantly at the stubborn spots. “It was like he was thinking, ‘as if you’d ever have a chance with me’.”

“Wait, wait, slow down. Why would your brain immediately go to that?”

You hadn’t told her about the dream, just telling her that you had found the necklace on the street. Something in you knew it was crazy, the dream, and then the necklace on the nightstand, and you were still trying to figure out what it all meant.

“Well, he’s a player, right? That’s what you said. So, other than someone potentially finding his dropped necklace on the street, how else could someone have acquired said necklace?”

Your coworker’s look of confusion didn’t last long as the realisation fell across her features. “Ohhh. Well, first of all, he shouldn’t think of himself as incapable of losing a necklace on the street. And secondly,” she paused, watching you rub the counter to death, gritting your teeth, “you’re such a catch.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

She zoned out for a second, watching the spot on the counter, before shaking her head and grabbing her bag off the tall countertop seats. “I better get going, then. Have fun.”

You made a grumbly noise in response as she walked away, finally giving up on the stubborn spot and deciding to place a pot plant on top to cover it up. Looking around and noticing all the customers seated, dining, and relatively satisfied, you felt relaxed enough to lean onto the back benchtop. The lunchtime rush was over, it seemed.

You were grabbing a chair to bring it back for yourself when the bell on the door jittered, causing you to roll your eyes. Moment of peace over, it seemed. Before you turned, you tried to rid the annoyed expression off your face, replacing it with your friendly customer service one.

“Hi, how are y-“ It was as if someone had punched you in the gut, the way air rushed out of your lungs, threatening to topple you over like an unstable Jenga tower. In front of you stood your mystery man, his eyes just as serious as this morning. Behind him was a woman, looking about your age, dressed in a black crop top and tiger print miniskirt, giant hoops dangling against her tight black curls. She smacked her gum, smiling fakely as she looked you up and down.

“Hey, can we get a table?”

You gulped, suddenly feeling very out of place. “Yep. Right this way.”

Even as you walked turned away from them, you could’ve sworn you could feel their eyes burning your back.

“Thanks.” said the woman, flashing another fake smile so big you could see the gum across her teeth. She shuffled into one side while he sat on the other, dragging a black leather bag along the seat with him. You noticed her eyeing that bag hungrily, as if she was a lion and it contained raw meat or something.

“Can I get you two anything to start?”

The woman leaned over dramatically, swishing the curls away from her face and resting her mile-long nails on your forearm. “I’ll have a coke, dear. And he’ll have the same thing. God knows he can’t keep a drink down, am I right, Tae?” She laughed so hard at this, and your eyes flicked to the man from this morning, who was staring at her expressionless.

You didn’t waste a second walking over to the kitchen, your instincts quick to remove you from the most awkward situation you had probably been in in a long time. Your thoughts ran wild, no matter how hard you tried to suppress them. You thought about your dream, the necklace, the urgency of whatever it was you needed to do. Why did it feel like you were getting a second chance?

Tae?

Walking over, carrying the cokes on a tray, you decided to try again. “Here you go, your co-“

“I just don’t understand why you want it so bad?”

“Baby, I just want to listen to your tracks!”

“You’ve heard them! Why do you need them so badly? You don’t even have a phone or computer to listen to them yourself. It’s just weird.”

“What is it, Taeyong? You just don’t trust me? Is that it?” The woman was fuming, you could tell, and she stood up, throwing one of the napkins on the floor.

Taeyong. Taeyong Lee.

“You know what, I just think you’re being very stupid right now, Alyssa.”

The woman, now identified as Alyssa, let out an angry grunt before leaving, almost knocking you in the process. She was close, but you were quick to move out of her way, saving yourself.

You wished you could’ve done the same thing just seconds later.

“Oh my god!” You watched in horror as the morbidly dark drink stained Taeyong’s shirt, seeping into the fabric. “I’m so sorry!”

He said nothing in return, accepting your napkin as you watched him closely. He sighed, his mind obviously somewhere else with the way he gently brushed the stain.

“I’m so-“

“Don’t apologise twice. I heard you the first time.” Hearing him address you so bluntly shocked you, as if your brain had accepted the fact that someone like him would never even acknowledge your presence. He had made it seem like that though, when he had practically slammed the door in your face. Your mind focusing on that again felt unnecessary, and you tried to shake the outlines of his body, his eyes boring into you, the way his fingers wrapped around the doorframe out of your memory.

“You’re the girl who came to see me about my necklace, right?” You almost jumped out of your skin as your brain processed his words, hands shaking as you tilted the now empty glass upright on the tray. “Uh, yeah, that was me.” The way the words flew out of your mouth surprised you, as if it was rehearsed and familiar.

“Where did you find it?” It was a simple question, a reasonable one, yet something in you protested not to tell him. Ignoring that feeling, you replied, looking into his eyes, “On the street.”

“What? It can’t be.”

“__.” Your coworker’s voice drifted over your shoulder, and you spun your head around to see her standing behind you, visibly concerned. “What’s going on? You alright?”

The sudden tenderness in her voice was disconcerting, because it was definitely not how she usually was. You felt weird, like this was all a weird dream that your consciousness was just floating through, and you wondered when you would snap out of this dizzy, floaty feeling in your limbs.

“Uh,” Taeyong’s eyes were shifting between you and your coworker, confused at your lack of response. “She accidentally spilt these…well…” his voice suddenly quietened, and he looked down, as if he was trying to remember what actually happened.

Looking straight at you, he finished, “It was Alyssa, another customer’s fault. She bumped into her and the drinks spilt on me, and she’s trying to clean it up now. It’s fine.”

“__?” Your coworker asked for a second time, as if trying to check is that true?

“Yeah.” Your voice was shaky, overwhelmed. “I, uh, this woman bumped into me. But I should’ve been more careful. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I was just asking. Well, you can,” she glanced at the wet napkins now stained with coke and back up at Taeyong with a somewhat desolate gaze, “you can continue. I was just checking if there was a problem.”

“No problem,” you looked into her eyes and forced a smile. She quickened her pace as she furthered from you and Taeyong, her shoes tapping on the linoleum floor. The embarrassment finally began to set in, and you wished you could disappear. You wished Taeyong wasn’t here – no, scratch that. You wished you hadn’t woken up this morning and tried to return his necklace. You wished you hadn’t come into work late and met him here. If you had come in early, you wouldn’t have seen him, and all this would never have happened. You wouldn’t be shaking as you cleaned up coke with wet paper towels that were now disintegrating between your fingers, wondering why you were so nervous.

There was something between the two of you – some peculiar energy that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You had thought it was just you, that it was just the dream – but you knew Taeyong was staring at you intensely, boring holes into your skull, as if willing you to look up at him and meet your gaze. Your stomach was churning painfully, the remnants of your morning iced coffee uncomfortably swirling around, and your heartbeat felt erratic, like it was running away from you.

Did you like him? Was he attractive? Was that why you were melting like putty in his presence? You thought of your dream, and blood rushed to your cheeks shamelessly as soon as the images flashed through your brain, as if your body was responding. But it didn’t make any sense - you had never met him before. You didn’t even know his name until 2 minutes ago. Why would you dream about someone you’d never seen before?

The sound of the fabric on the seat next to you snapped you out of the babel of thoughts in your head immediately, and you registered what was happening.

Taeyong Lee was now squatting in front of you, looking down, his straight locks shrouding his eyes from your view. His legs were long, almost langly, and his knees were wandering dangerously close to yours.

“Let me help.”

“Oh no, no. It’s totally fine.” You said weakly, but he had already started picking up tiny shards of glass, and you watched, feeling even more embarrassed. Out of instinct, you looked up, and sure enough, half of the customers were looking over at the two of you on the floor. Your coworker was nowhere to be found.

“No seriously, you’ll get me in trouble.” You had no idea why you said that, where the sudden confidence came from, but it made him stop and stare directly at you. They were the same fiery eyes from this morning, but they were more unfocused now, like he was thinking about something else, and he had to force his attention back to you with every passing second. You stared back, slightly mesmerised, and decided to continue to prevent some impending awkward silence. “I mean, this is my job and all. Glass, it’s uh, dangerous to customers, you know?”

Ladies and gentlemen, introducing the world’s worst conversationalist.

He chuckled, and it’s like your body had a visceral reaction, almost jumping in surprise. “Fine, Miss safety. I’ll get out of your way.” His voice was light and airy now, like this was a movie and the director had just said cut and the actor was easing out of character. For a moment, you felt like the pieces were falling into place, like everything was going as it should be.

Taeyong stood up, brushed his hands on his jeans, and towered over you. You looked up. The sun was beaming through the window, casing his head in a bright glow and obscuring most of his face from your view. You could see the pieces of his pin-straight hair brushing his forehead and the bridge of his nose, and your heart panged with a short-lived nostalgia.

“Bring the necklace to my place when you finish. We need to talk.”

#kpop #nct #nct fanfiction #kpop fanfiction #nct scenarios #nct smut #nct angst #nct fic #taeyong angst #taeyong x reader #taeyong smut #nct x reader #lee taeyong #taeyong

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garfinkelstingle · 1 year ago

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magic and maybes | draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader (implied slytherin!reader but only once i think)

warnings: swearing; implied mentions of verbal abuse; this is not in chronological order, but i do think it makes sense this way (especially if you've listened to the song); angst

word count: 5,2k

summary: based on “wendy” by maisie peters; loving draco is like something out of a fairytale. but not all of those always end with happily ever after, do they?

a/n: oh my!! hi!!! my first full-length fic in over a year!!!! so exciting!!!! this came to me while listening to wendy (which you should defo listen to if you haven't yet; the whole album is too good!!) and i just sort of rolled with it. i will never understand why i keep coming back to draco, but i just do. i have never written anything like this, and i certainly have never written draco like this, but the song called for it!! and also, let's be honest, this really matches draco better than it would most other characters. oh and i put it in the warning, but please beware that this is not written in chronological order. it's supposed to showcase the rollercoaster of relationship that reader and draco share, and i thought this was the best way to do it! let me know if you like it, it would really mean a lot <3 happy reading babes

masterlist

rolling like a stone / laughing like a kid

She had never seen him like this before.

Correction: She had never seen him like this before in front of people that weren't just her. Because this is the only way she had ever seen him, really seen him. She knew the charade he kept up, could see right through it better than anyone else. And if you took all of that faux meanness and excruciating ass-ness away, this is what you would be left with, what she's been left with all these years that she's known him. A silly kid, rolling around in the grass, holding his stomach laughing, eyes glistening with tears and shining brighter than any star ever could.

This is how she saw him, always, and how she hoped she would get to see him forever. This, and nothing else.

calling like the future / closed up like a fist

It was always the same. He always did this, and she swore that one of these days she would hex him into oblivion for it.

"What do you mean I can't come with you? We've been planning this for months; I told my parents to make plans without me and they have. What am I supposed to do now?" They had been at it for close to an hour now, going back and forth, nowhere close to having this argument reach its conclusion.

Usually, she didn't mind backing off. He was stubborn; she knew that. This wasn't something she had discovered only recently. She had known him for longer than she hadn't, so she was acutely aware of this quality of his. It didn't surprise her, but that didn't mean it didn't annoy her, either. So she'd just let it slide and move on—one of them had to.

This time, however? She wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm not responsible for you and how you spend your time," he provocatively stated, his eyes ablaze with fury that nearly matched hers. How dare he? As if this was in any way, shape, or form her fault.

"You have got to be kidding me! You were the one who invited me to spend Christmas break at your house! You were the one who wanted me to meet your parents! You were the one who made all these grand plans, and now you just blow me off the day break starts and talk about responsibility?" She couldn't believe him. She really, truly, couldn't.

Except that, maybe, she should. This wasn't the first time Draco blew off their plans. In fact, it wasn't even the second or the third. But he usually had a not-so-terrible reason for it, and the worst thing he had ever cancelled before was a Saturday in Hogsmeade or a picnic by the lake. This, however? This was huge, a plan that had been set into motion during the summer, when they had sent their owls into a frenzy, corresponding through multiple letters a day and vowing not to spend another break apart. She had told her parents before she boarded the train to take her back for another year at Hogwarts, that she would spend the Christmas break with her boyfriend and that they should take that trip to the sea they've been dreaming of forever. And since they did just that, and she didn't feel like ruining their holidays as well, she would now have to spend hers at the dingy castle, with people she barely knew and couldn't care less about.

She didn't even need him to change his mind at this point. While the reason he was giving her sucked, she was sure the real reason didn't—even if he wasn't planning on telling her. What bothered her so much was his refusal to just simply apologize for screwing up and leaving her hanging. If he would just say that he was sorry, she'd let this go. But she knew him well enough by now to know that the chances of that happening were non-existent at best.

"I will not apologize for your lack of a backup plan," he said, with a voice so cold that she could feel actual shivers run down her back. "I will see you after break is over. Merry Christmas." And with that, he turned around and made his way back to the castle, without even sparing her a backward glance.

And all she could do was stare after him, seemingly frozen in place, with tears flowing down her cheeks freely, and wonder if this was what loving someone was supposed to feel like.

lost my page when you kissed me

She hadn't meant to fall in love with him. They had been friends, or at least something very close to it. Draco believed that only people who had nothing else to their name cared about having friends, and she somewhat agreed with him. Friends were feeble; people came and went. There was no use getting attached to them, not when you couldn't ever be a hundred percent certain that they wouldn't just up and leave one day.

But he—he was something else. They had known each other for years, attending the same balls thrown by both their parents and their associates, riding in the same train compartment on their first trip to Hogwarts, reading the same books side-by-side on their common room's couch. They were put in each other’s orbits due to their inescapable proximity, yes, but they were welded together by baked goods that they would steal from the kitchen and share in some dark corner of the too-big houses they would be dragged to, shy smiles and squeezing of hands followed by it's okay, you're not alone's, two a.m. conversations in front of the fireplace in which they discussed whatever books they just finished reading and, sometimes, maybe even more. That's what made her the first person he would say "good morning" to at the breakfast table, and what made him her preferred potions partner. Nothing more and nothing less. They weren't friends, but they were each other's person. Whatever that meant.

It made sense, and it worked, and neither of them needed more. Or so she thought. Because when Draco kissed her after one of those infamous two a.m. conversations and told her „You just looked too pretty not to kiss", after she asked him why he would do something so ridiculous, she came to realize that maybe they were wrong. Maybe getting attached to someone wasn't the worst thing there was. It couldn't be. Right?

i know the girl you want / it scares me

He was scared. He was scared, but so was she. The future was uncertain and terrifying. It didn't make sense on a good day and was simply revolting on a bad one. So much could go wrong at any given moment in time, and not knowing when or what could happen made it sometimes feel like, maybe, life just wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

And when you add love to that equation? You're pretty much just signing off on a death sentence. Draco knew that, and so did she, but unlike him, she believed it to be worth it. Love was never something she saw herself needing, or even wanting, but now that she had it, she was certain it was worth all the heartbreak it might possibly entail. Draco, however? He still didn't trust her enough to let his walls down completely, to give her the power to destroy him and believe her when she said that she would never, ever do that.

She loved him, and she was certain that he loved her, too, but she also knew that he might never be able to let her know that himself. And she knew that he expected that to be enough, that her own knowledge would suffice her and that she would survive without his confirmation, and maybe she could. She just wasn't sure if she wanted to. Spending your time with someone who was emotionally closed off to everyone around you and made them feel like they were replaceable was one thing, but spending your life with someone who was emotionally closed off toward you and too proud to tell you that the one person he could never replace was you? She wasn't sure if she was strong enough for that. She doubted she ever would be. And that terrified her more than anything else ever had before.

pretty like a girl / vicious like a man

He was beautiful. She had always found him inexplicably beautiful; his was the kind of beauty poems were about, a beauty that ran so deep and was so intricate that she sometimes wondered if he wasn't put on this world solely to be admired and stared at.

Even now, when his face was laced with fury and his knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping his desk, he was still beautiful.

She wasn't even sure what they were fighting about now, stopped paying actual attention to the ugly words leaving his mouth. Instead, she was questioning her judgment. She had always found him beautiful on the outside, just as everyone else did, but unlike them, she had also always considered his soul to be beautiful, too. And yet here she was, target to his livid shouts and insults, wondering if maybe that was just another thing that she had been terribly, terribly wrong about.

give up like a ghost / leaving halfway through

It was moronic at best, really. They had spent a fortune on these tickets and had been excited for this game for months now. So, the fact that they were now letting it all go to waste? It was pure idiocy.

Especially when you looked at the why. He was being a child, a petulant little toddler who got upset at the idea of giving his girlfriend of nearly four years a kiss in public.

And the worst thing is that she hadn’t even been upset because it hadn’t surprised her in the slightest. She knew Draco, knew that he liked keeping their PDA to an absolute minimum, and she didn’t mind it in the slightest. Or, well, not enough to be actively affected by it. So, when the kiss-cam panned to their faces, she blew it a kiss and winked for good measure and went back to talking to Draco about how pathetic Potter and his friends looked standing there on the very far side of the stadium, most likely not even able to see the scoreboard. She had moved on, and so had the camera, but for whatever reason, Draco didn't.

Instead, he started huffing and puffing about Salazar knows what, getting upset at her for what, exactly? For respecting his need for privacy? For not pushing him to do something she knew he wouldn’t be comfortable with doing, even though she really wanted to? For, once again, putting him first and foremost? Is that what he was trying to punish her for? Because he certainly didn’t seem to be able to put it into words, storming off like an actual imbecile instead, leaving halfway through the match.

And of course, she had to follow him like the ever-loyal girlfriend that she was, trying to catch up with him and calm him down, even though she was seconds away from losing her bloody mind herself. She was sick and tired of his juvenile behaviour, was just so exhausted with having to put up with his shit instead of just enjoying herself, and yet it seemed as if some invisible string kept on pulling her in his direction, not allowing her to choose her own needs and herself, ever.

She wondered if he would ever grow tired of this pretence of his, or if this was what being with Draco Malfoy would entail, forever. She didn’t want to believe it, but it became harder and harder with each passing day. Maybe this is who he was, who he always would be.

But maybe it was just a matter of time before he would finally give it all up and be who she has blindly believed him to be all this time. All she could do, it seemed, was to hope that she wouldn’t be the one to give up, first.

if i'm not careful we'll be married

"Do you ever think about the future?" His voice broke through the quiet reverie they had both found themselves in. She was used to him being the first one to speak up after a long beat of silence; he didn't find it quite as peaceful and tranquilizing as she did. Not that she minded, though. She liked his voice, and she liked talking to him even more. To say that the question surprised her, though, would be an understatement.

Putting the book she was currently reading to the side, she snuggled further into him. The fireplace was providing a fair amount of heat, but the chill seemed to be inescapable in the Slytherin common room. It was also just very nice to be able to have him hold her close like this, even if the only reason he did so was because it was far past midnight and everyone else was already fast asleep.

"Sometimes, yeah," she said. "Do you?"

"Yeah." She didn't expect him to elaborate, so it stunned her when he did. "I see us. You and me, together. Married. But not like them. Like us. Does that make sense?" It did. She knew exactly what he meant. Not like them. Not like his parents, who didn't love each other in the slightest and could barely stand each other most days. And not like her parents, either, who cared deeply about one another, at least as much as you could care about someone you didn't choose to marry. They found a way to be friendly and cordial, mainly because they didn't want their daughter to grow up with parents who were constantly at each other's throats, but it was still far away from the real deal.

Were they the real deal? That's what Draco was implying, wasn't it? That if they would get married, it'd be because they loved each other. He's never even said it, she thought. And he hadn't. But he's said this now, hadn't he? And that should be worth more than any stupid three words ever could be, right? Because he wanted to marry her, really marry her, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. It rarely happened for people of their status, so she should be beyond delighted that it was happening to her. Plus, she loved him, too, and unlike him, she hadn't been afraid to say those three words. Marrying Draco was what she was supposed to want; finding out that he wanted to marry her, too, was supposed to be the greatest news she's ever heard. So why was there some nagging part of her brain that knew that saying yes would be the worst thing she could possibly do?

"I know what you mean," she said. She had never lied to him before.

you want me / you're sure

Blaise Zabini was flirting with her. Then again, Blaise Zabini flirted with everything that had legs and a mouth he could kiss, so it did nothing to impress her. It did, however, do its damage by making Draco furiously jealous. After all this time together, she prided herself in being able to read him like a book. Him storming off like a petulant child made her think that, in this instance at least, even a visually impaired person would be able to deduct the fact that he was (unreasonably) upset.

Sighing, she made out to follow him, annoyed that she had to make yet another excuse for her friends. It shouldn't be her job to smooth things over every time his tantrums killed the mood at a get-together, and yet it seemed like part of the "Dating-Draco-Malfoy" package.

She found him at the lake, the same way she always did. She wondered if there was any specific reason he chose this place to run off to , but she doubted he would tell her even if there was. Some secrets just weren't worth the effort of trying to figure out.

She expected him to be upset with her, to accuse her of leading Zabini on and whoring herself out to him—Salazar knew it wouldn't be the first time. It used to upset her beyond measure. There would be a good amount of crying and screaming on her part; calling him a pretentious douche, telling him to screw off if he really thought so little of her. It always ended the same: he would storm off, eventually, and disappear for a good few hours. Then, he'd come back, without something even remotely close to an apology, and tell her he wasn't mad anymore. She knew what he really meant when he said it: I expect you not to be mad anymore, either. And even when she was, she was usually too exhausted to keep on fighting. After a while, she decided there wasn't even any point in being upset in the first place. Draco was who he was; she knew what she was getting into. Or so she kept telling herself.

This time, however, seemed different. She was sure he could hear her approach him—he always did. So why wasn't he turning around? Why wasn't he yelling at her and making her feel as if the affection of others was her fault?

He stayed quiet until she finally reached him and made to stand next to him. "I don't like it when others try to make a pass at you," he said. She waited a beat, wondering if he was going to add anything else. He did. "I know I have no right to be upset with you." This was new. It surprised her. So much so that she wondered if she might've misheard. "It's not your fault Zabini has no respect for boundaries, or anyone else, for that matter. I just... it's paralyzing, sometimes. Realizing that you could leave me for someone else at any given moment, and there's nothing I could do about it. I want to be with you. I know I'm not always good at voicing it, but I do. I'm certain. That's why I get upset. Because it terrifies me."

She took his hand in hers and gave the back of it a soft kiss. This was possibly the most vulnerable he had been with her, ever. She understood him; of course she did. Didn't he know that she was just as terrified? That a life without him in it didn't seem to make any sense whatsoever to her? She loved him, and now she was sure that he loved her, too.

Nothing else mattered.

lose the world that you live in / pretend that it's what you wanted

“This isn’t okay, and you know it.” Maybe she did. Maybe she knew that this wasn’t right, that this wasn’t how it was supposed to feel like. But it’s all she’s ever known, and sometimes it felt as if this was all she’d ever want to know. Because when it was good it was great. It was all she could ever want and then some, and she honestly didn’t think she would ever find anything better than it.

Draco wasn’t perfect, but neither was she. She had her flaws just like anyone else, so to expect him to be something she herself couldn’t be? That seemed unfair and illogical at best.

“Look, you don’t get it, alright?” And she didn’t. None of them did. Not her mother or her father, not her friends or his. They were complicated and messy, but they were right. Right for each other, right in all the ways that mattered. She loved him, and he loved her. If there was anything in life she was sure of, then it was that.

“You can’t let him treat you like that.” That’s what it always boiled down to. Every fight she ever had about him—and there were probably too many to count—always came to the same conclusion: She shouldn’t let him treat her like that. But what did that even mean? No one would ever treat her the way he did. No one would ever look at her as if she was the reason they got up in the morning, as if she hung the moon and the stars in the night sky. No one would ever be able to make her feel like she was the thing they lived for, someone they’d die and kill for in the same breath.

So, what if he’d yell at her and insult her and make her question her worth sometimes? He’d never allow her to question herself out loud to him; he’d make sure to show her how important she was to him. And Salazar forbid someone else dared to say the wrong thing when it came to her—he’d made sure it’s the last thing they’d ever say.

Maybe she knew it wasn’t okay, what they were doing. There were a million words to describe their relationship, with toxic and unhealthy being the prime examples. But no relationship was perfect. Why should theirs be?

it's a life i could have, i know

They were invited to someone's birthday. She didn't even know whose, just knew to wear "that green dress that makes you look like actual royalty". There also had been a promise by a certain someone that the dress would later be carefully taken off, and that there would be some... not so careful actions afterwards. It was the prospect of that that kept her from making up some excuse as to why she suddenly had to leave this awful and hollow house and curl up with a book and one of Draco's sweaters in her bed.

The party in itself wasn't awful; on the contrary, it was lovely. The music was played by a live orchestra, and the entire house was decorated in different shades of blue and silver. There were white roses everywhere, and the food was exceptional, too. But she didn't know anyone here except for Draco; she didn't even know the birthday girl. She was a couple years older than the two of them, and from what she understood she was the wife of a son of a business partner of Draco's father. Or something like that.

She was currently standing in a corner all by herself, with a champagne flute in hand, trying to find Draco in the crowd. He had snuck off some time ago, claiming that he had to make the rounds or else "my father is going to chew my ear off about it", convincing her that it wasn't necessary for her to introduce herself tediously to every single person he would have to shake hands with. He wasn't wrong, but somehow standing in her lonely corner appeared to be an even worse fate.

Eventually, she locked eyes with Draco and gave him a small smile. She knew it was pointless to beckon him to her; he'd just shrug her off. Instead, he sent a quick wink her way, before turning back around to speak to whatever important person he was speaking to right now.

This could be my life, she thought. Going places with Draco, having him wink at her from across the room, promising to take her dress off at the end of the night and make it all worth it. This could be the rest of her life. She could see it, could see herself be one of the important men’s wives, gossiping away in some lonely corner just like hers, on their fifth or sixth flute of champagne already, trying to hide the hollow look in their eyes. This could be it. It was nothing like the life that she had wanted for herself all this time, and yet it didn’t seem to bother her nearly as much as it should.

throw your rocks / scream that you hate me

She didn’t even know how long it’s been. All she knew was that her mother had been up twice to tell her that she was this close to hexing him away from their property, and that she had begged her just as often not to.

“He has every right to be upset,” she had said, and could feel the bile rise in her throat at the bitter taste of the lie. Because no matter how often she told herself just that, it didn’t sound any more truthful to her ears than it did the time before. Yes, maybe Draco was allowed to be upset. She certainly was. But standing below her window, completely wasted, and throwing rocks at it, whilst yelling profanities at her? No one should have the right to do that.

And it wasn’t as if it was her fault, either. She had given him a choice; she shouldn't have had to do that. She hadn’t even meant to. It was supposed to be clean cut. She was supposed to tell him that it was over, that it should have been over a long time ago. If he still couldn’t tell her that he loved her after five years together, chances were that he never would. And she was just so tired of not hearing those words.

But she had looked him in the eyes and something—something made her believe that maybe, just maybe, he would realize that she was worth so much more to him than his pride and that being with her was worth more than being whoever he kept on pretending to be.

She should have known that her stupid, childish hope would be the death of her.

So here he was now, screaming that he hated her, that he wished that he had never met her, that being with her had been the greatest mistake of his life. And what if he wasn’t wrong? Would things had been different had she been different? Would he have been able to tell her how he felt if she had been more like Daphne? Would she have been able to leave him sooner and protect her own heart had she been more like Pansy?

It was driving her mad, the never-ending question of “what if?”, and yet her silly mind didn’t seem to be able to put an end to it. Because no matter how awful being (or in this case not being) with Draco may have been, it was still the most magical time in her life so far. And she didn’t even doubt for one second that the rest of her life might have been just as magical, too. Except that there was only so long a person could survive on magic and maybe’s, before eventually having to put an end to the madness and realize that the whimsical dreams weren’t anything other than nightmares hiding behind a pretty façade.

She loved Draco, loved him with her entire being, loved him more than she could ever imagine loving or even wanting to love anyone else. But, somehow, along the way, she had come to realize that just because she couldn’t see ever loving herself even half as much as she loved him, it was still enough to realize that leaving him was the only way she could ensure that she wouldn’t lose herself completely.

So, when her mother came up for the third time, this time with her father in tow, she didn’t fight them when they suggested to call the authorities to remove the Malfoy boy from their property. After all, just because Peter never wanted to grow up, didn't mean Wendy couldn’t.

i could love you / wait 'til you're ready

It was the little things more than it would ever be the big ones. She knew Draco, knew that the only way she could expect big romantic gestures from him was if someone were to put him under a spell, which is why she came to appreciate the small gestures and hold them as close and dear to her heart as she possibly could.

It was the little enchanted paper cranes that would hold little love notes of “your hair looks pretty today” and “how lucky I am to be dating the smartest witch in this castle”.

It was how he would lend her his robe without a second thought when he would see her rub her hands together in a fruitless attempt of warding off the cold, even though he had adamantly tried to convince her to wear a jumper underneath.

It was how he would press a kiss on her temple first thing in the morning, without fail, every single day, no matter if they had fought the previous evening or not, letting her know that he wasn’t going anywhere.

It was how he would rub her feet at the end of a long day in Hogsmeade, knowing that her boots were a size too small but that she loved them too much not to suck up the pain and go out with them anyways.

She loved him, and whilst she had no problem with telling him just that, he had no problem with showing her, either. And maybe he wasn’t lying when he told her that he just needed time, that she ought to just be patient, that sooner rather than later he would feel ready enough to say it, too.

The question wasn’t whether she could wait or not; she knew she could. The question was whether she loved herself enough to know that she shouldn't have to.

forever 20

Twenty.

That’s how often she had said it, and how often he had stayed quiet. And every time he hated himself just a little bit more because he knew that with every time that she would say it without hearing a reply, he would get closer to hearing it for the last time.

And now here he was, stuck at twenty, forever, because he knew her well enough to know that it was over, really, truly over, with no one to blame but himself.

The worst thing was that for every time she said it, he had wanted to say it tenfold, had wanted to shower her with those words until she grew sick and tired of them. Had, on the worst days, wanted to just grip her by the shoulders and shake, shake, shake her and tell her, over and over, that he loved her, that he had loved her all this time and would love her for all the time to come.

But he never did, and now she was gone beyond his reach and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that, maybe, this was the best thing that had ever happened to her. The best thing he had ever done for her. And that had to count for something, right?

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redhoodinternaldialectical · 6 months ago

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30 for the writing ask?

30: describe a fic that almost happened, but then didn't.

Whilst away from my computer and therefore all my WIPs, I started a little one shot titled "Who the Hill?" and actually the premise is easier to explain by just giving you what I wrote for the fic before I abandoned it lol!

The bass thud of the club rattles Jason's sternum and thrums through his organs pleasantly as he surveys the rest of the room from his spot in the corner. He's not really looking for anything in particular, just too in the habit of counting exits and tracking glasses to stop even when he's just here to be around other people having fun.

Then he sees Tim - or well maybe that isn't Tim - or no that is absolutely, definitely Tim - but probably Tim's not the right name for the spike and chain adorned person leaned against the bar with the dark, expressive makeup, the short, black skirt, and the high heel boots.

Then he's caught staring and (Not?) Tim's eyes go wide in what looks like fear and ah shit, there's no way he she was ready to come out to him, but hey, he can be cool, he can roll with this and make sure she knows he's not gonna be a prick about it.

Tim watches Jason approach with absolute dread, because he never, EVER wanted to have to explain the whole 'hi, I'm bi and I love the way my ass looks in a mini-skirt' thing to the most depressingly unavailable straight guy he's ever met. He braces for simply the most awkward 'so is this a sex thing?' conversation ever held between two vigilantes.

Instead though, Jason surprises him, "Sorry for putting you on the spot like this, but can I ask for your name?"

Tim blinks and realizes that between the makeup and the breast forms there's a very good chance Jason has no idea who he is! In fact he probably only intended to chat up some cute goth girl, and if he can manage to play along right he might get out of this with his secret intact!

He pitches his voice up a bit and hopes to god that feminine cadence and the loud music carries him, "Carolina, but you can call me Carol if you like."

"Cool! I dig the spikes by the way," Jason smiles like Carolina's name is some beautiful treasure he's been allowed to glimpse and the dread comes right back up as Tim realizes that he's somehow going to have to find it in himself to turn Jason down.

He ought to do it right now. He ought to tell Jason he's an awfully polite guy but she's already late to go home and dropped her phone in the harbor and is currently walking out the door-

[That paragraph's phrasing was inspired by this song hehehe]

But right now Tim is a weak, weak man, who chooses to pluck at Jason's jacket flirtily, "Thanks, I dig the leather and the white streak! You dye it like that?"

Jason gives him the most adorable deer-in-headlights expression back, "Uh, it's um, it's actually a cold brand? You can kinda see the scar around it if you look close."

"Wait like, liquid nitrogen and metal- deliberately?"

"I mean I dyed it the once, but then uh..." He trails awkwardly with a shrug, "I like it. Nice not to have to do anything more to keep it there. Kinda annoying it doesn't keep any other colors, but, ya'know." Another awkward shrug.

"Huh," He'd always assumed Jason just came back with it, but it being an injury instead actually makes a lot of sense? Was it really deliberate though or was he just saying that? "That's pretty fuckin hardcore."

Jason smiles again, feeling warm at all the compliments, and then internally panics.

Tim Carol is flirting with him probably?! That was not- did he say something weird? How did he come off like... And even if he did how the fuck is he supposed to handle this??

She's a girl, and he's very gay.

It feels sort of awful and cruel to think that he might fall out of love with her just because she changed a few words and her shape. Are human hearts really so fickle that the same person in a different cloth cannot be loved the same way?

At the same time though, Jason has historically been a solid six on the kinsey scale and he's sadly gotta admit the boobs are really not doing it for him. But maybe the above the belt feelings will stay? Is that how this works?? Or maybe he can just kinda... Coach himself through moving to a kinsey five???

He nervously fidgets with his hands and tries looking at her legs. He usually really likes Carol's legs and wants to do all kinds of things with them, and legs are things most people have regardless of gender... He attempts to force himself to focus on all the same features he usually likes, but it's just not the same with the heels and the skirt. The spark is gone.

This is so fucking stupid. He's stupid. This isn't how anything works and he should know it, and maybe he even does know it...

He just can't bring himself to give up on this, though. He's never had a crush reciprocate anything before, and now the world demands that he breaks both their hearts over basically nothing?!

He can't and he won't and he fucking refuses!

[Lots more awkward and not so awkward flirting flipping between their perspectives. Tim enjoying the power trip of turning Jason into a nervous mess just by being fem, thinking it's newly realized attraction that Jason can't normally feel towards him, and Jason panicking about whether or not he can be attracted to her at all. This goes on until they leave so Tim/Carol can catch his/her taxi]

Tim glances out at the road, and prepares to rip his own heart out by giving him a fake number, "Hey, um, I kinda ordered a taxi like before I even went out, so... text me?"

"Yeah sure, I've still got your number, and I'll see you back at the cave tomorrow anyways."

Tim, half turned away, goes rigid, "When the fuck did you figure out who I am?"

"What? Who the fuck else would I think you were?"

"A woman!"

"But like, you are a woman though??"

Tim stares at him, baffled, until the taxi driver leans on the horn and he decides to have this conversation on the way home. He grabs Jason by the wrist and hauls him into the car.

Jason hiss-whispers, "Wait are you in disguise right now? Did you just fucking use me for a case?!"

"No!" Tim hisses back while slamming the door shut behind him, "No, it's unfortunately infinitely more stupid and embarrassing for me!"

"Then...?" Jason gives him a confused gesture to spit it out already.

"I'm a crossdresser. My name's not any different. I'm not a woman. I'm sorry, I swear I didn't mean to lead you on, I just didn't know what the fuck to do when you came up to me asking for my fucking name."

And that's as far as I got before I abandoned it!

The problem I had with it and the reason I'm never gonna finish it is because there's not really a way to resolve the core tension/conflict that would be satisfactory to me. I need to emphasize here that I don't care about trying to find some kind of """"morally correct"""" way to end it, I just mean personally satisfying for me; any of the possible ways to end it would be morally fine, they just also all make me feel bad lmao

So like obviously the original resolution to the miscommunication was that Tim was a cis dude who just happened to be into dressing up in girly clothes and enjoying men's attention that way. That part on its own would be good, but it does mean that the moment of resolution from Jason's perspective comes out to being "Oh thank goodness you're not trans/not a woman/not a trans woman" and I don't feel great about that. Again, not a morals thing, it'd just leave a bad taste in my mouth.

My second idea was to have Tim realize he might be non-binary/a woman via Jason treating him like a woman and being so accepting of her. As a gay trans man who likes to cross dress in order to enjoy men's attention, this would give me bone dissolving levels of dysphoria!

There was also the problem of how to resolve Jason's sexuality.

As a gay man who spent many, many years of my life attempting to convince myself I was bisexual, any version of making Jason bisexual would give me bone dissolving levels of dysphoria! But like sexuality dysphoria instead of gender dysphoria. It would also eliminate an important source of narrative tension and character motivation.

The traditional version of keeping him gay would mean that Jason turns Carolina/Tim down altogether, which would break Jason's heart, and break Carolina's heart, and break my heart, and also turn the reveal into "it's a tragedy that you're trans/a woman/a trans woman". Infinite pain for zero gain!

I'd actually love to have Jason simply want to try being sexually intimate with an enby/woman Tim and have him decide he likes it even though he's still gay and still not attracted to Carolina/Tim at all. The experiences of sex having ace folks and people who have sex with people they aren't attracted to are really interesting to me and I'd love to explore that - if there was a bit more room to explore it right. This is a tiny one shot. I don't feel like I could properly convey that without putting in way more time and effort than I have to spare on this side project.

I MIGHT someday be convinced to finish this for a few different reasons, but for the forseeable future it won't be worked on. I have SO MANY PROJECTS that are better, more interesting, less awkward to handle, and already half published, like I got better things to do lol, so for now this is the one that got away.

In the meantime though: Please steal this!! If you find the premise interesting, especially if any of the versions that would give me bone dissolving dysphoria appeal to you, please take my words and write more onto them! I'd love to see some version of this finished someday, and I don't mind if someone (or several someones!) end up doing it instead of me, just lemme know if you do and throw a lil bit of credit my way and it's all good :3

#jaytim #jason todd #tim drake #carolina hill #...I think I've been spelling that wrong the whole time lmao surely it's not the same as the state??#damian's tomfoolery #thank you for the ask anon :3

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unstablegoldfish · 2 years ago

Text

[Your Gentle Comfort] 18+

Story Summary: Your interest in boys didn’t really exist in your life. It wasn’t because you were against romance, but mainly for the fact that all the boys in your school were— well, boys. It wasn’t until you met your new teacher and had a relationship growing with him that you realized, you wanted a man.

A New Face - Chap 1

set in 2012

Joel Miller x F!reader - Teacher x F!Student

Warning: AGE GAP: After all it is a highschool student x teacher. Light swearing. Slow burn story. [More will be added as the story progresses. Also please be aware this is my first time writing a fic so the story will come out slower and may not be to tip top shape, I’ll try my best!!]

Word Count: 2.4k

Chapter 2 -> Click here!

Summary: You’ll be starting your last year of high-school. Even though you’re expecting same old, it seems things might have a change when a new face appeared causing changes in your mind set.

———————————————————————————————————————

Summer came and went, and suddenly you were back to your old routine. Wake up, eat something, brush your teeth. Whatever. You swore you could do it all with your eyes closed.

You’d leave to walk to school shortly and it was the only thing you seemed actually happy doing. Minus the go to school part. You always used this time to let your thoughts wander and let music play, it was your way to show strangers that you had no interest in the simple “Hello.” or “Good morning!” said to you on your walk. It’s not that you disliked them, but more for your self isolation you try to keep while moving.

Upon arrival you can see some past friends of yours entering the school doors. Memories of the group flash through your head. They come to a stop when you notice a man you’re unfamiliar with. It was a small school, so you were pretty sure you knew the names of every student and teacher, assuming he was one.

Walking though the halls was always difficult. People loved to stop and chat, but unfortunately for them they’d deal with the consequences that you’d like to show them. You’d plow past them without thinking. You simply didn’t care. You just wanted to come in and out, go home and rest. School was all too much.

You make it to your first class which happened to be learning about the English Language. As if you needed to learn more about it. You then found a seat next to a friend, you glimpse over at the teachers desk. It was the unfamiliar face from before. You’re left curious.

Whilst looking at him, he looked at you too. A smile grew on his face as he nodded his head. Some sort of male greeting you supposed and returned the greeting with a small wave.

“Do you know who he is?” You lean over and whisper to your friend. Seems he wasn’t paying attention to you. Headphones on and though he was physically in the room, mentally? Hell no. You didn’t mind being ignored, you were close enough friends and knew this was a usual occurrence he presented you with. But this time curiosity got the better of you and decided to get his attention.

“Hey, you there?” as you tap his shoulder. He looks up at you confused. He lifts a speaker from his ear.

“Do you know who Mr.NewGuy is?”. He glances at the unknown figure and back at you. Shrugs his shoulders and continues on with whatever world he was in before. Oh well. I guess you’d have to be patient to find out in the next 5 minutes.

Glancing around you notice the room was pretty empty, there wasn’t any posters on the wall or a bookshelf that’s been usually covered in clutter. Just a desk and an assortment of little trinkets that this new teacher must’ve used as decoration. Your favourite was a small sheep figurine. How bizarre.

The bell had rung and it was the cue to start class. The sudden noise of chalk on the board was loud and squeaky as the unfamiliar man had wrote his name on the board.

“Mr. Miller.”

It had a ring to it. It was definitely more solid then the names you’re used to such as: Mrs. Densworth and Mr. Cosby.

“Hello students, If it wasn’t already clear I am you’re new english teacher and I’ll be guiding you through this semesters class.” He seemed confident that he knew how to settle a class. You turned your head and noticed that he had everyone’s attention. He now holds the title of being interesting, to you at least.

“Subjects you’ll be learning are going to be very basic. So I expect top tier work. Some of the topics are; creative writing, composition and your favourite, properly formatted arguments.” The sound of devastation rose in the class.

English being one of your favourites you were eager to see how this would play out. Knowing the stuff you wrote about you were interested to hear Mr.Millers thoughts on your work and see if he truly was a big deal. He presented himself as one, so you crossed your fingers.

“Each morning I’ll be selecting a prompt and I’ll give you some time to write what you think. I’m expecting you all to have paper and pencil by tomorrow.” He gave his explanation clear. Even though this was just a normal routine of things, you couldn’t help but think about the way his voice sounded in your ears. The strict tone made you shiver…you didn’t mind it. You decided to have the upper hand and pull out your notebook and pencil. Show him you were already on top of things.

You could tell he noticed, by the way you looked up and caught eyes.

“Or some of you can already be prepared. I’m in shock.” he let out a soft chuckle and gave u a smirk.

“Anyhow, for the rest of the this class, I’ll be going over some expectations.” He continued to talk but you had zoned out. You just gazed at him while he walked from one end of the board to the other. He was making sure he presented himself loud and clear to the class by making eye contact, but for whatever reason his eyes seemed drawn to yours. Like a magnet. They lasted on you way longer than the rest.

The man only continued to walk, this time past each desk. You felt nervous as he drew closer towards yours. He passes and just from that you got a smell of his cologne. It was nice. Nothing over powering from what you were used to. The males at your school were quite stupid when it came to cologne or deodorant for that matter.

He broke up a conversation in the back and made his way up the rows of desks. He then resumed his rules and what he’d expect from this class. As much as you wanted to float off into the intoxicating thoughts of this new teacher, you still wanted good marks so you tried your best to focus. However the idea of focusing was unimaginably difficult when he kept looking at you with soft eyes.

The bell soon rung, and everyone was gathering their things to get ready for their next class.

“Alright, I’ll see you all tomorrow. Again, you all better have paper and a pencil” he said while most people rushed out, you waited for the scurrying to settle.

Standing next to you he whispers “Thank you for being prepared.” He gave a smile, and you returned it while walking towards the door.

Before you left for good, you made sure to give him one more glance before you left. Your friend appears at your side and started speaking. “Um…Was it just me or was he eyeing you up all class?” his voice filled with concern.

“Who?” You knew he was clearly talking about Mr.Miller, but you wanted him to think you were clueless.

“The goddamn teacher?! He was eyeing you up like you were his next meal. Shit are you ever clueless.” He sighed. But you only began to laugh.

“I don’t know, maybe he was just trying to engage with the class. Don’t look so deeply into things” you sighed. But your friend just stared at you raising an eyebrow.

“Whatever, I’ll see you when I see you.” You walked off to find your way to the cafeteria, this would be your break to do studying in the near future. But for now a snack to fill the time will do. You stood in line, only to see Mr.Miller walk by in the hallway locking eyes again. You looked straight down at the floor. This time It was different when it was unexpected. Flicked by reality you order what you wanted and found a spot to sit and wait.

Your mind starts processing all the information that just happened. A teacher was looking at me…not just looking but STARING. It didn’t really bother you in the way it maybe should have. You just believed that you were looking into it too deeply just like your friend. Your words had a point and you should stick to them.

The bell finally sang its song and you were making it to your next class that Mrs.Densworth would be teaching. You knew this class was going to suck, after all math wasn’t really your forte. Rather than engaging your focus to the words she was saying you drifted off staring at the clock and watched it move forward. One. Tic. At. A. Time. Your thoughts trailed off into other things, those things lead to other thoughts, then those thoughts lead to him. Mr.Miller. Rather than just his voice and the power he seemed to uphold, it was his appearance. His brown greyish hair from the top of his head that made its way down to his face. The thought of his whole physique gave you butterflies. He was built to withstand a zombie apocalypse. If he had to, he’d be able to keep you safe.

Your thoughts cut off by the noise of an irritating voice.

“Hello?? Anyone home??” You realize that Mrs.Densworth was calling your name for the past minute. Everyone staring at you confused.

“Oh, my apologies. What’s the issue?” You swore when you reached to your mouth you were drooling.

“Just for attendance.” She simply replied.

You felt embarrassed, face hot, sweaty palms. You didn’t like when you lost focus like that. But it was hard not to. Especially when you remembered the white button up shirt he wore that had rolled up sleeves, they showed of his forearms, they were thick and powerful… Shit trailing off again.

After writing a few notes down and getting some information for the class it was already time to leave. The day was moving fast and you weren’t complaining. As you walked your eyes were kept wide in order to see your gloomy friend. Unfortunately once traveling through most of the school he was no where to be found. Maybe you’d shoot him a text. No reply.

You didn’t really have many friends in school. Your one male friend was only half a dumbass and didn’t annoy you much so he was safe to stick around. If you were talking to a younger version of yourself right now, she’d be so surprised to know you have a male friend. You always found them a little disgusting or annoying.

You headed to the cafeteria just like you did for second block, only this time for lunch. Being borderline friendless didn’t matter much to you. You didn’t want to waste the time talking about … feelings.

You unpacked your lunch, a green salad and a dish of dressing. You swore the lettuce had mold on it and immediately you lost your appetite. God how old was this stuff? Knowing you now had no lunch upset you a little, but it is what it is.

After re-packing your lunch you sat and listened to music. However, not too loud because you still wanted to hear the conversations some people were having so you could keep up with school drama. Sometimes you’d be able to hear it, sometimes not. As creepy as it sounded you liked just being on the outskirts just so you could watch how people acted. It was somehow fascinating. Though, the parts where they started jumping on chairs and tables wasn’t so interesting. It was down right stupid. If your friend had joined you right now, you knew the two of you would’ve been laughing so hard over it all.

“Animals.” you heard a voice and a chuckle with it. Turning your head it was Mr.Miller. “Hi, sorry if I’m interrupting.” His voice sounded softer. You didn’t expect the man looking as tough as he did before to grow more calm.

“No, not at all.” You remove your earbuds, curious as to what he has to say. He ends up just walking past you and towards the group of animals. The strict tone of his voice reappears

“Get down. I can’t believe you high school students still have to be told how to respect things.” He shouted. The conversations of the room went quiet. There it was again, the shiver sent down your spine from his voice. You somehow loved the way he could silence a room. Not only that, but a room that gave you slight annoyance when they got crazy.

He walks back over to you and conversation from before turned to whispers.

“Sorry— I guess I have two jobs, teaching a class and trying to tell people how to behave.” he let a small smile linger. “Anyways, I was going to ask you for your name.”

Curious as to why, but you told him it anyways.

“Great! Nice to meet you, I only ask so I can use you as an example tomorrow in class. You seem to have your sh- stuff— together.” He gives you a smile and that nod again. Then disappears behind the door.

Your brain started to malfunction trying to assess everything. First, he comes to you randomly and speaks to you softly, then goes into his harsh voice again to break up the wildlife, just to come back and ask your name in a calm manner. This man had heavy emotion control. But you did catch some of it spilling out when he stuttered his words.

I’ve got my stuff together hey?

Just like that the final bell rung. You were so eager to get home to sleep. You found yourself outside walking down the sidewalk. Looking towards the road, you saw him. Windows rolled down and hair blowing with the air. Mr.Miller. You let out a chuckle for yourself because you thought he looked really funny. You wondered if he thought he was in some action movie.

You made it home. Instantly crashing on your bed. It was time to finally rest your brain from this wild rollercoaster day. It was like you spent a whole hot summer day at the zoo.

But as much as your wanted your brain to rest. Mr.Miller was the only thing keeping it moving. Only after a day of seeing this new man, you had already thought of the unthinkable.

You questioned what it would be like to feel his touch.

Was this a crush?

————————————————————————————

Proud of you!! You made it to the end!! I have no thoughts right now but by the fact I called a bunch of energized teenagers “Wildlife”. Yes I’m currently laughing at my own wording. I’m so sorry. Anyways!!! I hope you liked the story! Please do not hesitate to send me any questions or comments :)) I appreciate it all!! Also tips on writing is also appreciated :,) unless what I did was good no idea :,) MORE TO COME!!!

Taglist: @wrathofcats

#joel x reader #teacher x reader #teacher x student #joel miller #joel miller self insert #Mr.Miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic

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aziraphales-library · 2 years ago

Note

hey, tysm for what you're doing, i've found so so many amazing fics through it

i was wondering if you've got any where after the bookshop fire Crowley just loses his shit, like, the "bastards! all of you!" except he's acting on it, 100% vengeful demon after all of heaven and hell. doesn't have to be after the fire even. i'm mostly just looking for bamf crowley fics because i've found a disturbing lack of them? or even if he's just some sort of villain, or fighting demons, or or or. preferably not E rated.

thanks!

The bookshop fire is not a moment people choose to make Crowley a BAMF, and most fics link that to trauma for Crowley. You can check our #protective crowley tag for fics where he is more of a bad ass, and I have some bamf Crowley fics here for you...

Forget Me Not by Supergeek21 (T)

Aziraphale wakes up in Heaven with a pounding headache only to realize he has very little memory of the last 6,000 years. The good news is he successfully averted the War. The bad news is the Serpent of Eden now wants to kill him for revenge, or so Gabriel tells him.

***

When Crowley pops by the bookshop to visit Aziraphale and is greeted by the full force of an angel's wrath, he has no clue what he's done to incur such rage, or why Aziraphale is apparently reading his old work reports, but he'll be blessed if he isn't going to find out and win him back.

The Art of Creation by Bookwormgal (T)

Once upon a time, long before humans set foot outside of Eden and long before his inelegant landing in a pool of boiling sulfur, Crowley had been an angel. An angel with a very different name and far less cynicism. And that angel was made to build Her creations. He built stars, nebulas, and other beautiful and complicated things far out there in the cosmos. He shaped fundamental elements and materials into new creations. He molded burning fires and sculpted dust into breath-taking patterns. He started bright and powerful reactions, serving as a catalyst to spark the birth of stars. He set various celestial objects spinning.

He built. He took raw materials and built wonderous things with them. He built because that was the role that She made him for. In the end, was rebuilding that much different than building? And wasn't rebuilding fairly close to healing?

When it was his angel's existence on the line, Crowley was willing to grab at any chance available. He would find a way to fix what had been damaged. He would find a way to save him.

But I would walk 500 miles by Augenblickgotter (T)

There's a conspiring of foes from both sides that forcefully kidnap Aziraphale. Crowley is in hot pursuit and will stop at nothing, finding some unlikely aid along the way, and bringing up his True Form when the time is needed.

Some depictions of pain and violence, minor character deaths by Holy Water, and mild gore. Also mild claustrophobic and dingy descriptions of Hell. And the boys relationship can be flat out platonic asexual best of friends or downright dirty lovers. The story is up to you and is more about how far they would go for each other. ;) No, no monster sex in this one either (comb for my last fic if you need it). Just BAMF Crowley ready to walk 500 Miles through Heaven or Hell to save his Angel.

I've Got You by caffeinefire (T)

Aziraphale felt the change in the air, a burst of power and a whiff of ozone. He spun, and jumped when he came face to face with Gabriel leering cheerfully over his right shoulder.

“Aziraphale!” he smiled as if greeting an old friend, then clapped his hands together loudly, so close it made Aziraphale flinch. “You’re early, so glad you could make it.” He began to walk around him, admiring the circle beneath his feet, careful not to cross it. It posed no real danger to him, it had already been activated, but crossing the bounds of an active circle was never a fun experience.

“Gabriel,” his voice wavered despite his best efforts. “What is the meaning of this?”

------------------------

Hellfire didn't work, but Heaven has one more idea. And this time, they're going to force Crowley to watch.

Beyond Grace by HKBlack (T)

“Crowley, I need you to do what you do best.” “Wozzat?”

“I need you to find me, and rescue me,” Aziraphale whispered.

After Aziraphale is discorporated Crowley goes on a mission to do what he does best. Recruiting help from both of their former Head Offices is easier said than done, especially when Hell thinks the whole thing is a ruse, and Heaven thinks you’re on the hunt for more angels to corrupt.

The Infernal Bodyguard by Santillatron (M)

Alistair Zira Fell is a popular author. Loved by everyone he meets. Well, almost everyone. Someone is trying to hurt him, and right now, he needs a bodyguard.

Anthony J. Crowley is the best, although he doesn't work with celebrities. He has three rules. He never gets too close, never stays once the job is done, and Never Gets Involved.

But this isn't a thriller. This, is a love story.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #bamf crowley #protective crowley #aziraphale whump #kidnapping #mod d

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allmoshnobrain · 1 year ago

Text

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

part 17 of ? | masterpost

word count: 3117 | ao3 link | fic's playlist

We kicked back and enjoyed our breakfast, talking and laughing while the music played softly from the record player. I smiled, soaking in the scene, letting it stick in my memory: the morning sun streaming in, sneaking through the window, hitting Dave's ginger hair and lighting up his face. His hands deftly cutting the fruits, the juice from the strawberries he held dribbling down the knife blade as he chatted with me, the sound of his voice filling up the room. It was calm. Like pure happiness.

✦ summary: Amidst their new shared life, Dave and Nore create a memorable celebration for Nore's 19th birthday, with a surprise date and unexpected gifts.

✦ on this chapter: dave mustaine x female!oc, oc is cliff's cousin, +18, language, slice of life, romance, fluff

✦ a/n: Hello! I think this is one of the longest chapters in the story so far, but I wanted to keep it all in one part since it's a special for Nore's 19th birthday! Plus, I wanted to give them a cute moment before the angst makes a comeback, hehe. By the way, in case any of you were curious, Nore was born on June 20. Yep, she's a Gemini! In my mind, that makes a lot of sense lol Hope you enjoyed it, and comments and feedback are totally welcome! ❤

✧ when I’m sad, she comes to me / with a thousand smiles / she gives to me free / it’s alright, she said / it’s alright / take anything you want from me / you can take anything, anything ✧

Dave and I were happy living together, at least for the following weeks. Those were the days when we were more in love than ever; Dave’s love for me burned as bright as the anger he felt towards the world and his past. He was like fire, intense and desperate, and I remember knowing, even back then, that I would never be the same again after being loved like that.

Our routine was calm, even though we had our fair share of hurdles, especially when it came to money. Dave worked at a car wash for a few weeks, but then he went back to just selling his drugs. He said it was just easier this way, plus it gave him time to focus on his music. He’d spend his days jamming, practicing, and creating, perfecting old solos, sketching lyrics for his songs.

I ended up going back to my old drawing hobby; it wasn’t too long before I found myself sketching all sorts of portraits of him, trying to capture the way his forehead would scrunch up a bit when he was too focused, the curve of his jaw, the shape of his lips. Our days were filled with art and each other's presence. And, for a while, that was enough.

As the days rolled by after being kicked out of the band, Dave's low spirits started to ease up, being replaced bit by bit with a fierce determination. Dave was still kind and sweet to me, but to the rest of the world, he seemed even more rebellious and angry than before. He was getting into fights even more often than usual, and he was having a real hard time getting a new band together, as many of his friends just didn't want to deal with his more and more common bursts of anger.

I watched these events unfold with a heavy heart, trying my best to help him. I knew he was putting on this front because he was hurting. He never let himself cry in front of me, but his sleep was restless, and many times I would wake up in the middle of the night because of how tormented he was by his nightmares. He'd hold onto me real tight, like he was scared I'd just vanish, and only then could we both finally go back to sleep.

In the middle of all the chaos, he loved me like he’d never loved before, and I knew that most of my days would end with me wrapped in his arms, surrendering to his touch as he undressed me, kissed me, and loved me. And there, with him, I felt alive.

Sometime down the road, I scored a new job at a neighborhood’s record store. The owner had a daughter around my age named Patricia, and even though the store got pretty busy, things there had a pretty chill pace. We'd spend our days talking and reading all the music magazine articles in the store. Turns out we had quite the same taste when it came to music, and it didn't take long for us to become friends.

Time flew by quickly, and before I knew it, my birthday had arrived. I stretched with a sigh as I woke up, soaking in the sunlight sneaking in through the curtain. I sat up in bed, surprised that Dave wasn't there; he usually snoozed in later than me. I got up, heading to the living room still in my pajamas, and caught a nice smell of cooking in the air.

"Hey there," I yawned when I spotted Dave, looking very focused while cooking something.

"Morning, birthday girl. Happy birthday," Dave looked up and flashed me a grin. I leaned on the doorframe, watching with a smile as he turned off the stove and plated the scrambled eggs he was whipping up. "Was gonna bring you breakfast in bed, but you beat me to it."

"I can totally go back to bed if you want," I teased. He chuckled, coming closer, and put his hands on my hips before planting a little kiss on my forehead.

"Don't sweat it. Go get changed, I'll set the table."

I went through my usual morning routine and changed up before heading back to the living room. Stepped into the room, and there was Dave, all set up at the table with various foods: he'd chopped up some fruit, whipped up scrambled eggs, poured orange juice, and there were even some pancakes. A Fleetwood Mac song was coming softly from the record player, which made me smile because they were one of my favorite bands.

"Not claiming to be a master chef here, but I hope you like it," he said, flashing a smile as he took his spot at the table. I poured some juice for myself.

"I loved it, Dave," I grinned right back at him. "Thanks."

"So, you got work today or what? 'Cause I've got a few things lined up for us," he asked.

"Nope, not today. Boss gave me the day off," I said, tilting my head, kinda curious. "What's the plan?"

"Ah, now that's a surprise," he grinned, and I playfully rolled my eyes, giving a little chuckle.

It was calm.

Like pure happiness.

Our moment got thrown off by a sudden knock on the door. Dave furrowed his brow, looking annoyed at the door before he got up to answer it. I watched, curious, as he swung the door open and headed outside to talk to someone who looked like a delivery person. He was taking way longer than I thought, and I was about to go check things out, but it wasn't needed. I jumped when Dave came rushing in, looking more excited than I had seen him in weeks.

"You've gotta check this out," he said, grabbing my hand. "Come on."

"What?" I laughed, trailing behind him as we ran down the stairs of the building, making a beeline for the garage. But he just chuckled low and kept tugging me along. "Dave. What's going on?" I let out this little shriek that turned into laughter when he came to a sudden stop, almost causing me to crash into him if he hadn't steadied me, holding me close. I took a step back, a bit out of breath and kinda baffled, a little smile creeping up on my lips. "Alright, tell me."

“You tell me,” he said, handing over an envelope. I furrowed my brow, puzzled. "This one's for you."

"You brought me down to the garage for an envelope?" I joked.

"Nope," he laughed, nodding towards our apartment's parking spot. "Check that out."

My mouth opened in amazement as I glanced over at the parking spot. Right next to Dave's old Mazda was the most jaw-dropping motorcycle I'd ever seen, shiny and new with an electric blue paint that almost seemed to glow.

"Dave, what the fuck?" I turned to him, totally incredulous, and he laughed. "Did you buy this thing?"

"I wish. That envelope came along. Maybe you should open it."

I popped the envelope open quickly, excited to crack this case, and my eyebrows shot up when I yanked out the motorcycle keys and a letter, with a handwriting I instantly recognized as my mother’s.

"Dear Eleanore,

I hope you know that despite recent events, your dad and I care deeply about you. And of course, we couldn't forget your birthday!

I must admit, I was a bit surprised to hear that you're living in Los Angeles instead of staying with your cousin. You know Long Beach is right around the corner, so your dad suggested that a decent ride would be an ideal birthday gift.

Consider it a vote of trust after what happened last year.

Enjoy your day!

Love,

Clémence Burton

p.s.: We heard you're living with your boyfriend. We hope to meet him soon."

"Check this out," I said, handing him the letter while I scooted over to get a closer look at my gift. Dave skimmed through the text in the letter, raising an eyebrow.

"You're a spoiled little rich kid," he laughed, flicking the letter back at me. I caught it and rolled my eyes with a grin. "Your mom sounds kinda scary."

"That's just how she is. But don't stress over it," I replied.

"It's kinda hard not to think about it all," he said, gazing at the motorcycle with a sort of longing look. "Damn, Nore. I knew your family had money, but..."

"Yeah, they're loaded. But I'm not," I said, playfully. Dave rolled his eyes but smirked.

"If my mom was packing cash, I'd be hittin' her up for way more than your basic allowance every month. You've got any clue how many drugs you could score with the price of this bike?"

I scoffed, my face getting a bit warm. It was sweet to get a gift like that, no doubt, but even though my parents had money, I wasn't too keen on relying on it. I learned early on that taking their money meant taking their rules, and that wasn't something I wanted anymore.

"Let's go back inside," I changed the subject, grabbing Dave's hand. He laced his fingers with mine, the warmth of his skin helping to shake off some of the frustration that talking about my parents always stirred up. We went back up the stairs to our apartment.

"Can I get a killer bike like that for my birthday?" he blurted out, and I laughed.

"Isn't your birthday kinda far off?" I quipped as we reentered the apartment. I watched as he grabbed his leather jacket and house keys. “You headed out?“

"Yeah, but I won't be gone long," he grinned and planted a small kiss on my forehead. "Got some deliveries to make. Be ready for your surprise when I'm back, cool? We're going out at five."

“Do I need to wear something specific?” I tried to squeeze a hint about his scheme out of him, but he just grinned back, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"Nah, just look stunning. I mean, that's a given with you, anyway," he cupped my face in his hands, planting a bunch of small kisses on my lips and making me giggle. "See you in a bit."

"Later, Dave."

Dave left, and I focused on clearing the breakfast table, nibbling on the leftover fruits as I stored the food and tidied up the dishes. Then I focused on picking the outfit I would wear to celebrate my birthday. I was on the hunt for my Motörhead tee in the pile of shirts at the end of the bed when I heard the phone ring and rushed to answer it.

"Hello."

"Hey, Nore."

"Cliff?? " I asked, stunned, a mixed bag of feelings flooding in as I heard his voice. I missed him, because we hadn't been talking for weeks. I was angry, too, because there was one very obvious reason why we weren't talking; I hadn't exactly worked through the sting of Dave being kicked out yet. And even if I wasn't ready to admit it, I was stoked to hear Cliff's voice again. To know he was there. "How'd you even know my number?" I finally managed to ask. He let out a sigh.

"It ain't rocket science when you've given your address to my mom... I can't believe you're living with Dave."

My cheeks warmed up.

"Yeah, he asked and I... I didn't think it would be a problem."

“Your mom’s pissed, you know?”

“Yeah. I figured. But you know I don't care.”

He let out a soft chuckle.

"Happy birthday, by the way," he said.

"Oh, thanks,"

"Do you want to chat with Lars and James? They wanted to wish you a happy birthday too."

I paused. The way Cliff spoke, it was almost like the past few weeks of silence because of Dave hadn't happened. I could never hold a grudge against him for too long, but being upset with Lars and James was a new experience for me. It was kind of confusing, especially after that call from James a few weeks back. I admit I tried not to dwell on it — the desire and longing I had heard in his voice that night, the way he seemed genuinely distressed not to have me around.

I definitely wasn't ready to deal with that.

"I think I'll pass for now," I said quickly. "It's just that..."

"You’re still pissed off at us?" Cliff's tone carried a tinge of disappointment.

"It's not exactly that. It's just... complicated. But please tell them I appreciate it."

"Alright. Will you be around when I'm back?"

I hesitated, but who was I kidding? Despite all the trouble with Dave and the guys, I couldn't really stay away from Cliff.

"Yeah, sure," I said, a small smile involuntarily creeping onto my lips.

"See you then."

"Later, Cliff."

Dave showed up right at five to pick me up for the birthday surprise. I was in the middle of fixing my outfit when the jingle of keys at the door hit my ears. Soon enough, he showed up, casually leaning against the bathroom door frame.

"Hey, babe. You look hot," he said, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

"Hi," I finished fixing my hair and turned to face him with a smile. "I'm all set. So, are you gonna spill the beans on where we're headed?"

"Patience, my dear. You'll know soon enough. Ready to roll?"

I followed him to the car, sneakily studying his expression for any clues about what was in store, but he just shot me a knowing smile as we cruised out of the apartment parking lot.

"Why are you staring at me?" he smirked.

"Just curious. You gonna let me in on the secret plan?"

"Guess patience isn't your strongest suit, huh?" he chuckled, and I playfully rolled my eyes.

At last, we pulled up to a spot where a line of cars had already formed for parking. I looked at the scene curiously, letting out a soft chuckle when Dave used one hand to cover my eyes.

"Dave, what's the deal?"

"Just keep 'em shut, alright? Trust me, it's gonna be worth it."

I followed his lead, even though my curiosity was on the brink. I waited, a smirk tugging at my lips, while he kept driving and then deftly maneuvered the car. Finally, he parked, and I heard a rustling sound as he grabbed something from the back seat. I fought the urge to sneak a peek.

"Alright, eyes open," he announced, and I obeyed, taking in the scene unfolding around me with a grin that just kept growing; we were in an open field, the sun dipping toward the horizon as cars settled around us. And right in front of us, a big screen stood, still turned off.

"A drive-in theater?" I exclaimed, my excitement evident. I looked over at Dave and noticed he had a bunch of snack packs and soda cans in his hands.

"Well, you're a movie fan, right? Figured it'd be a cool idea," he handed me a bag of chips and a can of cola.

"I love it," I grinned, reaching for his hand. "What's on the movie list?"

"Indiana Jones. I know it's not exactly the most romantic choice, but it was the only flick playing today..."

"Dave, you brought me to a drive-in on my birthday. That's pretty romantic in my book," I quipped with a soft laugh, and he smiled, pulling me a bit closer and planting a gentle kiss on my lips. "Plus, I like Indiana Jones," I added, and he chuckled.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, stars started to twinkle in the night sky, and the movie began. I tried my best to follow the storyline and enjoy the chips and soda Dave had considerately gotten, but I couldn't resist exchanging glances and grins with him. Before long, those glances turned into his hand finding my waist and pulling me close as I surrendered to his kisses, the movie almost entirely forgotten as we basked in each other's warmth.

I let myself stay in his embrace as the movie wrapped up and the credits rolled, a smile gracing my lips as I absentmindedly played with his hair, feeling a light flush in my cheeks as he gazed back at me.

"So, did you enjoy your day?" he asked softly.

"It was amazing. Thanks, Dave," I smiled.

"Hey, it's not over yet," he teased, and I let out a soft chuckle. Leaning over, he popped open the car compartment and retrieved a small package, handing it to me. My eyes fixed on the little box, and then I glanced up at him, intrigued. "Couldn't let the day go by without a little something."

I opened the box, a warm feeling spreading through me as I caught sight of its contents: a silver necklace with a delicate blue stone pendant. Dave gently took the box from my hands, sweeping my hair aside to clasp the necklace around my neck. His fingers traced the curve of the chain, cradling the tiny stone in his palm before he looked at me with that familiar smile.

"Reminded me of you when I saw it. Thought it'd suit you," he shared, and I chuckled softly. "Even if it's not quite as grand as that motorcycle..."

"Shut up, Dave," I whispered, drawing him into a tender kiss. His laughter brushed against my lips, the kiss as easy and familiar as always. Pulling back, I met his gaze, my eyes locked with his as his hand cupped my chin. "I love it. Thank you."

A soft smile curved his lips as his hand found mine, our fingers intertwining while I rested my head against his shoulder. I allowed myself to linger there, embracing the happiness I felt, the solace and comfort his presence brought, and how things had certainly changed for the better since the disaster of my last birthday.

I didn't know what the next year held for me, but I hoped it would be just like that day: brimming with happiness and peace, despite everything.

And with the boy I loved by my side.

#hello hello hello it's heartbreaker day!!#ada writes fanfiction #heartbreaker fanfic #metallica #megadeth #james hetfield #dave mustaine #cliff burton #lars ulrich #metallica fanfiction #dave mustaine x oc #dave mustaine fanfiction #nore burton (oc)#dave mustaine x reader #james hetfield x oc #james hetfield x reader

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the-valiant-valkyrie · 2 months ago

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your reblog reminds me!! i read your fic about betterment jeremy and didn't leave a comment cuz i don't have a proper ao3 acc and i forgor! and!! i realised that i didn't read the last chapter so i reread the whole fic in full so i can properly gush about it in your inbox right now!! so behold. semi coherent thoughts about your beloved creation.

chapter one! i like the way the story begins so close to canon in shape and mood, set pretty much right after the epilogue but how you expand further and further from it in shape and form that canon in its media restriction cannot show.

in the first two chapters you see the story through jenny's eyes, you really get to sympathise with her feelings - the longing for normality, for everything advance has stripped from her. and since she can't get everything back she needs to get her friend back from them. it's all good intentions, really. jenny just wants to help him. she just wants him to heal. but she is running out of patience (understandably so, but still not proper treatment of someone who's severely traumatized)

as i was rereading chapter 2 and particularly jeremy's breaking point i realised something i haven't quite caught on the first reading. back then i thought he mainly cut himself off so suddenly from the strain and shock of this sudden break in general - the mind catching up with his mouth and nerves at last, the sudden realisation and fear at loss of control and the consequences that may bring. on my second reading, i realised that he specifically cut himself off when it came to his experience at betterment, and with the headache that follows that was more specifically a response to suddenly recalling repressed traumatic memories from betterment. which is even worse.

so, chapter three. i should note, torture and brainwashing in the context described in the fic and as implied in canon is a topic i often find really triggering. i think this is why i didn't read the third chapter when i was reading the fic the first time around - i was worried it was going to get really uncomfortable for me. but i am glad i returned to it, i didn't regret it in the slightest. you struck a good balance for Me Specifically and so i ended up with most thoughts for this chapter

so we get a peek at jeremy's mind and how fractured it is, which is really poignant at this point:

"From then on, Jeremy had always been acutely aware of death. He felt it again the night Disrupt attacked, abducting him, forcing him into hiding. And again, when he snuck his way on set, determined to break the news to the world about-

… about nothing. Nothing that would promote any sort of good in the world. That’s what The Nightly Show was for… Unity, community, sharing the country as a Team. And he nearly ruined all of it, for what? For a few extra seconds in the spotlight? He lost the rights to that when he first lost control of himself."

the breaking point. the before and after. and yet what we see is that he wasn't doing mentally well "before" either. the state of mind that jenny wants him to return to is not a healthy one - something she isn't aware of.

but it gets worse!

the ENDING,,,,, my god the ENDING....... i looooove the ambiguity of it. the underlying dread of possible scenarios this may lead to. i like how ultimately jenny fails (falls, one might say. the third chapter mirrors the song so muchhhh)

it's a very interesting twist on jenny's character and their overall dynamic. i was hoping for a happy ending, i do love my whump, but it's so much better to have the expectations subverted. because of course. of course they both have been hurt and poisoned by the system too much to go back and call it "healing". both of them can't help themselves and they can't help each other. ultimately jenny can't accept jeremy as himself anymore, she doesn't see pre- and post-betterment jeremy as himself anymore. it destroys jenny to see jeremy in such a state and she destroys him in turn.

i might've forgotten something so forgive me if this isn't fully coherent or a bit jagged.

i love your mind.

printing this whole ask out so i can cut it out and put it on the fridge and then take it off the fridge and then eat it and then print out a second one and then cut that one out and then leave it on the fridge this time.

ABJ is the only thing i have left in this stupid baka world and i am SO GLAD that people have been having so much fun with my better jeremy fic. i noticed that there was hardly any content and i wanted to fill the niche, but i had no idea how much positive reception i would get from this simple (i say simple, it's three whole chapters) fic!!! i still do think it's one of my better fics i've ever written and published, just in regards to pacing and nuance.

speaking of nuance, just for you, as a little treat, here are some things that were either invisibly implied in my work, or was stuff that i was going to add that i decided against. just for you. because i'm feeling whimsical and pretentious:

though with time they'll heal, originally i was going to make a point to bring up that jeremy still had a few bruises from his time at betterment. jenny was going to help him take off his shirt- since he was sweating through it- only to see the blemishes, as well as how much weight he's lost. i ended up cutting it for time, but jeremy's canon weight loss is something that's super important to me and it drives me crazy

though it wasn't (originally) intentional during his treatment, betterment found that a good way to control jeremy's thought process was to convince himself that everything bad in his life could be pinned on him. he's a very cynical person, and naturally is picking at the cracks and finding the bad in every silver lining. it's just in his nature. advance found that, if they turned this methodology back onto himself, it makes him way more receptive to external ideas when he feels like he can't trust or listen to himself

this has grown into a bit of a streak of self hatred, which wasn't the intention, but it was utilitarian, so they kind of left it as is. i think my favorite example of this is this quote right here, where he doesn't consider his actions as being a threat to himself despite the fact he was pointing a gun at his own fucking head

when jeremy initially loses his temper in chapter two, you're right to observe that what snaps him back to his bettered self is the thought of his treatment at betterment. but also, i made a point of implying that jenny's reactions also really fucking gutted him.

the two worst memories of his life were during the heatwave, and during his second abduction (any other worst memories surrounding betterment specifically are probably repressed). in both of those instances, one of the most mortifying things was seeing jenny frightened. even when he tried his best to be gentle with her during the heatwave hostage situation... he hurt her. scared her. he never let himself live that down. and scaring her again ricochets him back to that moment with such a painful clarity that it knocks the wind straight out of him.

if i had written this after i had gotten the inevitable advancements ending, i for sure would have found a way to rewrite the ending of the nightly show portion so that jeremy sings the national anthem. i also definitely think listening to it was a part of his advance exposure therapy. he knows the words by heart.

speaking of his time at betterment, jeremy spent a lot of time just. on his own, i feel like... not around other people, not being enriched in any meaningful way... when deprived of any sort of enrichment, he's more susceptible to any little scraps he can get his hands on, even if its propaganda. this is another reason why he's so infatuated with the tv, i think. it's popcorn entertainment, sure, but it's also a little luxury for him... and now he can have it whenever he wants...

#ask #fav #saving this forever and ever and ever THANK YOU!!!!!!!!1 RAAAAAAGH!!!!! TEN BILLION SMILES AND SPINNING ATTACK FOREVER!!!!!!!#bro i WISH i fucking WIIISH there was more abj content dude. i am SO deprived.#where IS HEEEE WHERE IS THAT LITTLE FREAK. WHERE'S MY LITTLE BRAINWASHED BOY #WHERE'S MY LITTLE WHITEBOY #not for broadcast

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anotherbluesunday · 6 months ago

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Fic Update-In Technicolor, Ch. 7+8: Jupiter In Retrograde Pt.I and Pt.II (Cheryl)

CHAPTER 7 (Pt.I)

Midway through our "warm up" that consisted of speed running through our terminology flashcards and the ones with molecular formulas on one side and the name on the other, the food Lee had ordered came with the delivery driver looking as confused as could be as he navigated his way through the vacant campus. Putting our studies on pause as he divvied up the breakfast croissants while promising me these were better than any of the fancy junk I could get at Erewhon, I laughed as I took a bite. Felt my hunger vanish as I chewed on the buttery pastry and fluffy egg with way too much cheese and hash browns to be considered healthy. There was avocado and salsa on it too which he knew I would have wanted so he added both without asking.

Sipping on his iced Americano, Lee grabbed a random flashcard we hadn't gone over and slapped it down onto the tabletop. "Yes, a physics one. Okay, the question is this. You have two waves of equal frequency and wavelength that meet at a nexus. Will this result in constructive interference or destructive interference? Explain your reasoning."

Finishing chewing on my food then swallowing it, I washed it down with some water before I answered. "It'd be constructive."

"Why?"

Looking at Lee as he stared back at me with his intense dark gaze giving nothing away, I didn't let him influence my response. "It's constructive because the waves are matched in wavelength and frequency which means that they would sync up in a creative force and join together to make one solitary point of increased light, in optics, where the wave signal is stronger than it is where the waves are mismatched which would cause a dimming to occur."

Lips slowly curling into a smile, he flipped the card over. "Nerd."

“And you aren’t?” I teased back. Smiled more when he did. "Ask me something that’s actually hard."

"Okay, what's the root of two?"

"Lee..."

"What's the square root of two?"

"There is no square root of two, dingus."

"Okay, but what about negative five?"

Throwing the wadded up paper cover for my drink straw at him, I laughed as it bounced off his forehead when Lee didn't bother trying to dodge it. "My turn?"

"Your turn."

"Do you want a chem question or a physics question?"

"Surprise me," Lee smiled. Added a subtle wink that was so quick I almost missed it. "Do your worst, reina."

CHAPTER 8 (Pt.II)

“So what are you feeling up to doing?” he asked, flipping around in front of me. Walking backwards with a goofy cat-like grin as the light glinted off his glasses and I ate my pineapple Dole Whip adjacent froyo.

Shrugging, I looked away from him. “Don’t know.”

Clicking his tongue, Lee rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t know.”

“Yeah, I don’t know.”

“Is that so?” he asked in a dumb sort of mocking manner that had zero bite to it. “I’ve got a couple ideas but it all depends on how anti-social you wanna be.”

Snorting a laugh, I looked at him.

“What?”

“That’s the scale you’re using for measurement?”

“It’s a good scale.”

“Uh huh,” I rolled my eyes, licking at my frozen treat before biting the point I had shaped the peak into. “So what are the choices?”

“First tell me how social you want to be.”

“Well then tell me the choices.”

“Oh my god, Cher…”

“What?!”

Slipping into his habit of grumbling obscenities in Spanish when he was feeling pissy, I mustered up from memory what I had learned on my own and said “Deja de actuer como un bebé.” Broke out into a riot of laughter when Pugsley stopped dead in his tracks–slack jawed and gawking–then smiled like the family cat that ate the canary when he said “She speaks Spanish now? Ay nena. Sigue hablando.”

The way his reaction inflated my ego, making me grin with a playfulness sparking inside me. How devilish yet boyish he looked with the ocean breeze tousling his black curls, slightly obscuring Lee’s eyes hidden behind his glasses. Hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans with his hoodie tied around his waist and faded Dodgers blue baseball cap on backwards, he leaned forward. Tilted his head and tried to look me in the eye as I leaned back to avoid him.

I laughed awkwardly. Asked him why he was being creepy.

Lee said nothing.

Just smiled at me–the glaring surreal gold daylight painting his features bronze and bright before I was shot with another lightning fast wink. Clipped like a hit and run as he straightened out with the same cheeky grin. Saying he knew where we were going, Lee put his hand on top of my head to spin me around. I swatted at it. Told him to stop touching my hair and he cackled like the ghoul he was. Asshole. Tolerable–likable even–but still an asshole.

Tugging at the small gold huggie earring hanging from his ear as my act of revenge, I yelped when he pulled at my braids calling me “pip” again then said "dale."

The one remnant of my former self that lingered on. And apart from Lee, no one else knew of its existence. Not Betty or Veronica. Jason definitely couldn’t know and neither could mother or father.

No one knew.

No one except for him.

“You cold?” Lee whispered when he caught me shivering as the show started.

Shaking my head, I lied. Told him I was fine. I should have brought my denim jacket before leaving the car. True, I didn’t know we’d be seeing a planetarium show but when going to an observatory, one should be wise enough to prepare for the unexpected. So this lapse in judgment was on me. Besides, I had been in colder weather wearing less. I had once competed in forty-six degree chilled soup in London for the junior championship wearing just a tennis skirt and a half-zip long sleeve that was as thin as paper.

“Cher, your teeth are literally chattering,” Lee chuckled, his voice hushed low and rich in timber as he leaned forward to take off his jacket.

I put my hand up to stop him when he tried draping it over me. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Lee…”

“Cheryl.” Staring at me hard as we were both quietly shushed, he arched a brow in the dim light.

Sighing hard through my nose, I told him I was fine but there wasn’t any talking to him. No stopping him from doing whatever he wanted–Pugsley’s stubbornness bordering on legend as storied as Greek myth, it was that unreal. Conceding myself to accepting his jacket as a blanket, I went stiff when he lifted the armrest between us, scooted in closer, and used the dense cotton hoodie as a throw for us both. Quietly he said he was cold too so if he was shivering he knew I’d be full of shit.

But I was too self-aware and self-conscious to muster up any witty comebacks. Was currently focused on rebooting the software in my mind that had performed an unauthorized shutdown. So for a minute or two, all communications pathways and response networks were offline and I was running on emergency power.

Caught in this haze of starlight, supernova explosions, and chemistry speak I knew but could not decipher at the moment–gun to my head or otherwise–I descended into the cloud. Let the gentle warmth of that moment envelope me as I sank in closer to Lee. Felt the welcoming heat radiating from him like the sun reaching down to the frozen Earth’s surface. Resting my head on his shoulder as we shared our box of candy while our chai tea latte’s went cold from neglect, it were as if I had traveled through space and time and found home waiting for me on the other side. That innocence I thought I had lost and hopefulness now settled in me, fully renewed. It was frightening, slightly. As a child I had been able to turn my back on it more easily because I did not understand what I was giving up.

But now that I knew what life was like without wonder and passion, could I do it again? Could I do as I was told? Pursue something I hated. Do something I despised even more. Run my body into the ground the way my father had, marry someone I could not care less about, and watch the cycle of generational indifference and disappointment repeat itself.

Could I do that as a conscious being fully aware of what the future would hold if I let go of this a second time?

“Whoa,” Lee gasped quietly with the light from the dizzying dazzling spiral arms of the Andromeda galaxy reflecting off his glasses.

Looking from him to the almost too real projection, I smiled. Watched it. Drank it in letting the arresting beauty fill up my eyes and burn itself into the backs of my eyelids. But my attention faltered and brought me right back to him. To Lee. The only person on this rock hurtling through space that I could connect with on this. The one person out of the billions alive who would resonate with me on this frequency that had happened to be plopped directly into my ecosystem.

It was humorous and humbling. Funny in an ironic sort of way that the boy I had purposefully harangued and harassed would turn out to be the friend I needed at the very moment I needed them most. And while I could wonder what would have been the outcome had I been more cruel and he more delicate in his resolve and spite, I chose not to. Didn’t look the gift horse in the mouth because I’d done that far too many times and wanted, for once, to be grateful and move on from there.

So I allowed myself this moment. This friendship.

*I want to take a moment to also address a misunderstanding that seems to be a common theme amongst the readers that click onto my story then dip. This fic is an omnibus story meaning that it is told from multiple characters pov's. It isn't just about Wednesday and Tyler or Cheryl and Pugsley/Lee or Wynn and Pubert/Bertie. It's about all of them. This story is a coming-of-age high school story that discusses the highs and lows of growing up in this mess of a modern world and trying to find meaning, make lasting friendships, and find oneself. It isn't just about one pairing or one fandom. It's a through and through crossover with an original storyline that does not tie into the canon for either Riverdale or Wednesday (2022). You do not need to know about either of the shows or their lore in order to enjoy the story. If you are waiting to read until the story is complete, don't. If you are waiting to comment until your favorite pairing/character shows up, don't. Not only is that discouraging to the writer (me) and ruins all the built in cliffhangers that have been planned in advance, but it also means you will be waiting for a long time because 1.) this story is going to be very VERY long and 2.) if your favorite pairing is Wednesday x Tyler or Reggie x Archie, you will be waiting until chapter 20 at the earliest because they aren't planned to be the focus until the second half of the story.

So do both yourself and me a favor and just start reading. Don't hold out on writers because readership and reader engagement is literally the fine line that either keeps the story going or leads the writer to dropping it/abandoning it because they see a lack of interest which makes them think what they're doing isn't worth it. So please, just start reading. Read, comment, be active. It doesn't matter to any writer if English or whichever language the story's in is your first language or if your comments are awkward or long or short. What matters is that you're showing us that you care and that our stories mean something to you. So please, stop ghosting your writers or waiting to binge read because engagement--for me at least--encourages me to keep writing and not abandon a story and makes me want to do better each time because I see that people are excited for the next chapter.

Just like and comment. It's not hard. And if it's hard at first, I promise as someone who was/is socially awkward in the comment section it gets easier.

XoXoXo

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pebblysand · 1 year ago

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Omggg pebbles! That mia pov fic🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I'm so in love with how you've portrayed her. She's heart broken but she's gonna get better, I hope she does. It's so sad that she was so hurt because of harry especially when harry didn't mean to do so at any point. I wonder if harry actually thinks about her and regrets their relationship for actually hurting her. Also pebbles, how do you think ginny feels about mia at this point? Are ginny and harry sorry that they kissed when harry was in a relationship with mia?

Also at some point do you think harry and miss could ever be in touch? And what about her father? Will that dickhead ever come back to his senses and treat his gem of a daughter the way she deserves? Will they ever be in touch?

Istg i have soooo many questions about mia. Thanks for writing about her, I see so much of myself in her and i can't help but root for her ❤❤❤

aww thanks ❤️. you have a lot of questions about mia? that's good - i have a lot of thoughts, lol 😆 (for reference and for anyone who hasn't read it - Mia fic is here)

it's funny, i recently had a similar discussion with folks on discord about mia getting to her own version of the epilogue. i think people generally want me to say that she's okay in the same way that people want(ed) JKR (obv. pre-JKR becoming awful) to tell them that george was "okay." this sort of comfort of: we know they've been through a lot but they're okay, please-tell-me-they're-okay, you know? and i remember JKR was always a bit like "😬 is he, though?" realistically speaking? i think that's how i feel about mia too.

on discord, about her epilogue, i said:

i think her epilogue in my head is maybe a bit more… bittersweet than other people's epilogues. cause i think (and this is totally my headcanon, you can see it differently), she has a lot of good things coming out of this. she’s able to establish boundaries with her parents in a much healthier way, she learns to trust herself and stops being such a people pleaser, she learns that she doesn’t have to do everything alone, she has an amazing career - all those things made possible by her character evolution while she was with harry. but there’s this bittersweet aspect of: i think to her, he is and will always be the one that got away. and the kind of love story they had, at the age she was (20/21), those are the things that just stick with you, you know? and i don’t think she regrets anything she did/decisions she made, but there’s this aspect of: he’s the one she fell in love with, and he’ll probably always be the one she will compare other people she dates to. and that’s just… it, you know? and i don’t think she’s sad forever, i think she has fun and has a good life and maybe even finds another partner if she wants to, but harry is the one she's always going be talking to her therapist about. again, that’s okay, and i feel for her So Much, but i think it does sort of have this impact on her that never truly goes away.

i think to me, when it came to shaping mia's character, it was very important for her to have her own arc, too. of course, she existed in reaction to harry's storyline, and was going to help him realise some things about himself, but i also wanted her to be a person, and to grow in her own way.

at her core, mia is someone who is very lonely. when we meet her, she's in her last year of uni. she's away from home, in an environment that is not her own, and basically has no one who really cares about her. her mother is having a new family (new husband, new baby) and while she loves her, she's also replacing her. this is a detail in chapter 13 but mia doesn't even have a bed in their new house. her father is an absolute arsehole who tries to control her life after being absent for 17 years, and she doesn't really have friends. harry always says she has a lot of people around her, but they're school friends, acquaintances, going-out friends, not people she'd ever actually confide in. when she's starving herself trying to survive, no one notices. she says so herself in chapter 14:

‘You know no one else [cares], right?’ she says, then. Looks up to cross his gaze and takes his breath away. ‘Not my dad, not my mum, not my friends in school where I’m like,’ she speaks quick, rolling her eyes, ‘the token black girl with the funny accent from up North when their parents all know people - bloody Vivienne Westwood or something,’ she sighs. Her voice breaks. For the first time that morning, he hears tears in her words. ‘And, I don’t even hold it against them. They’ve all got objectively more important things than me to worry about. It’s just so fucking lonely sometimes.’

i think when i was building her character, i kept thinking about how lonely i felt during my first years in uni. mia isn't a self-insert in the way that i think we're very different people (god, i would have dumped his arse so much quicker), but that's definitely something i wanted to address in castles. in popular culture, we tend to romanticise our early twenties and uni years as the "best time of our lives," but the more i think back, and the more i talk to my friends now, as a grown-up, the more i realise that many of us have this very similar experience of deep loneliness and this feeling of being "lost" in the wild world of early adulthood. it's not just about mia's family, or her friends, or her doomed romantic relationship with harry. what makes her relatable, i think, is this general feeling of loneliness and inadequacy that we've all felt at some point in that time period of our lives. you're in uni, you're sitting there stressing about finding a job, a partner, what life is going to be like once you graduate. add to that that this period of your life is often where you get your first real relationships and heartbreaks, and it makes for a very hard time. and, it's terribly lonely because it's so romanticised that you can't even say it's hard, or that you're lonely, because This Is The Best Time of Your Life and #yolo.

and, with mia, you add to that the fact that she's broke af. like: she doesn't have money for food. in an environment where everyone around her has money. so, she doesn't want to admit how broke she is, doesn't want to ask for help because there is literally no one who would help her, but the financial stress is killing her. and, i think it's very important to consider that the money harry gives her isn't much to him, but to her - she later owes him her life and her career. the thing about financial precarity is, you can tell people to "pull themselves up by their bootstraps" all you want, the staple of financial precarity is that you're one major expense away from a catastrophe. people are maintained in poverty because what is a small expense to someone with financial security (say: having to fix the lights on your car for instance) can throw someone else in a cycle of debt that they'll never get out of. the money harry gives her is just enough that she's able to get her head above water, and while he always says it's not about the money - to her, that makes a huge difference. because, she's not only one major expense away from a catastrophe, she's also one minor donation away from being able to live the life she dreams of. she - quite literally - owes him paris. she owes her career to him choosing to believe in her in that moment when it mattered. could she have done it without it? maybe. but there is a high chance that if he hadn't given her the money, she'd probably have drowned, given up and gone back to manchester and had a shit job she hated for the rest of her life. that is terribly important. she'll always be grateful to him for helping her out when no one else did.

and, i think the loneliness is also why she and harry connect on such a deep level, because when they meet, he is incredibly lonely too. not in the same relatable, muggle uni ways but: ginny's left, the "buzz" and the elation of the first couple of post-war months have lifted, the press is saying he's gone insane, it's winter, it's dark, wet. he says it himself when they first sleep together in chapter 5:

Mia dances close; Harry mostly watches, but at around three in the morning, they share another taxi home. The fact that they live in the same building could have been a good excuse, Harry thinks, except that by that point, they don’t really need one. He’s already kissed her, trailed his fingers up her thighs in the club (loud music, smoke; he managed to just smile and not think) so it’s not exactly a surprise when he follows her down the stairs to her flat instead of going up to his. He kind of hates himself for the thought but to be honest, it’s been over two months since he’s last had sex and well, she’s offering.

it's kind of tragic but being "there" and "offering" is most of her appeal, at that point in time. and, it's in reaction to those who aren't there and offering. and so, in those months, they bring each other so much. and of course, it grows into something that is much more than loneliness-bonding. again, to mia, harry is the one who shows her her father is an arsehole. he's the one who believes in her when no one else does. he shows her she can trust people. i think the fact that he insists he cares about her, and will always care about her, even when they're not together, means the world to her. she's never had anyone like that in her life. and, in a strange way, by being an - objectively - shitty boyfriend, he teaches her to stand up for herself. because, not only is she terribly lonely, she's also such a people-pleaser that she never pulls anyone up on their shitty behaviour. she doesn't resent her friends (see above), or her dad, or her mum. when harry says this in chapter 15, it really matters:

‘You’re brilliant,’ he just said, instead. His voice cracked and he felt tears clouding his vision, closed his eyes for a moment. ‘You deserve so much better than this.’ She looked down to her lap, then back up to him. ‘Better than him or better than you?’

the question is rhetorical here and they both know it. harry is important to her development as a character because at the end, he allows her to be like: yeah, i fucking deserve better than you people. for her, that's huge.

but then, in a strange way, i do think she's rather nostalgic about it. because i think she really did love him and just wishes things had gone differently. because again, he's the one person who cared about her when no one else did and that's hard to let go of. i think she - again - has very conflicted feelings about it, which do filter through in the paris fic.

that said, to answer your question (I wonder if harry actually thinks about her and regrets their relationship for actually hurting her): yes, he does. i think that's part of his character evolution too. he knows he Fucked Up and it sucks. he feels very guilty about it. that's why he agrees to be the 'bad guy' in the end, when she basically asks him to break up with her because she can't, and then does it in the most godawful way. he takes responsibility for his behaviour, which is also very important to his character arc. it's very hard to navigate your late teens/early twenties without hurting someone without meaning to. what matters is how you react and own up to it. he struggles, acts like a complete douchebag, but in the end, he owns it. he gives her the story she needs to move on and be like: yes, he cared about me, but he was also an arsehole. he gives her that:

She met a boy who slept with her on and off for eight months and broke her heart, dumped her after sex and punched her father in the face. It's not a lie.

in a very strange way, that's an act of love and care too. it might not be enough for her to completely get over him or forget him, but it does allow her to have mixed feelings and hang onto the fact that she deserves better, which is already a lot.

but yeah, of course he feels guilty. he even says so himself in 15 & 16:

(xv) They talk about Mia, that night. Not that he brings it up, but in light of what Gwenog Jones said, he actually asks if she regrets the dating and the going out. There is no judgement in his voice, he’s just curious, and she says: ‘I don’t know, it’s complicated.’ She asks if he regrets Mia and he wants to laugh - same, yeah. He wonders if perhaps, these were the mistakes they needed to make.

(xvi) It’s a fair question, of course. How he feels about Mia. A couple months have passed. Water, bridges and all that. ‘Still a bit guilty, I think,’ he admits. Winces. ‘You?’ ‘Still a bit jealous, I think.’

so, yeah, regarding how ginny feels: of course, she feels a bit jealous. because she knows that he loved mia and cared about her. and, ginny herself slept around, sure, but love wasn't part of the equation. if you remember, she tried to date someone (early on - from october to january of '98) who she did like (but not yet love) and even told harry about, but then that blew up in her face so spectacularly that feelings never really crystallised. (sidenote: i actually think the matt incident probably had even more of an impact on her than sleeping around because this was the first person she ever put her trust in that wasn't harry (post-amycus) and he dumped her in an extraordinarily dickish way (blamed her for the press, which she couldn't control) and that is also what triggered her to be like: fuck this, they say i'm a slut, might as well be one sort of attitude --- but i digress).

it was really important for me that they both have pasts and insecurities about their respective pasts because -- well, that's part of any relationship, isn't it? like, you should never let it eat you up, but it's normal to feel a bit awkward and insecure about your partner's past at the start of the relationship. and, also about yourself. you really want this to work and not fuck it up. so, like: harry feels shitty about treating mia like shit because he didn't mean to. he feels a bit insecure about the fact that ginny's been with a lot of people before him, and doesn't want to admit it. he feels insecure about whether or not she loves him because she's dumped him once before and, well. she feels insecure because everyone thinks she's a slut and she worries he does too. she feels insecure about the fact that he used to love someone else.

but, the important part is: they talk about it. and, that's how they grow and act adult, and that is what matters. the insecurities are obviously there, but they chat and reassure each other and that's what grown-ups do. it even comes up during the sex in 16 and i love how they deal with it:

‘Merlin, that was -’ she laughs. He laughs, too. ‘Much better than last summer,’ she adds. He’s got this stupid, self-satisfied, Cheshire cat smile across his face when she finally turns to look at him, so large it’s probably rather obscene, and a stupid (stupidstupid) thought suddenly hits his brain: I’ve had time to practice. He doesn’t say it, but she must bloody read it in his eyes because suddenly, a flash of recognition washes over and he wants to say something - anything - to take back that cringey, gauche thing he hasn’t even fucking said, and he wants to disappear deep - far - into the ground. He thinks back to their conversation at the restaurant, and: ‘Still a bit jealous, I think,’ - it makes his skin crawl. Now, though, Ginny laughs. At him, mostly. ‘Harry,’ she says. ‘Harry, look at me.’ Reluctantly, he does. ‘It’s fine,’ she whispers. ‘Just kiss me.’

there's acceptance there, and love, and trust, and that's what matters.

to anwer your other question: Are ginny and harry sorry that they kissed when harry was in a relationship with mia?

honestly, no, i don't think so, though. i think the kiss is the least of it. it's not about one kiss. it's about Everything Else, really.

regarding mia herself, she might make a cameo at a later date. not saying more. but i don't think she'll come back regularly. she needs to be away from him. she says so herself but this isn't the kind of break up where they can stay friends. it would kill her.

lastly, regarding her father (And what about her father? Will that dickhead ever come back to his senses and treat his gem of a daughter the way she deserves?): i headcanon she goes no-contact with him. you can of course hc different things but imo, that's one toxic relationship she lets go of. she knows harry was right there, and i think she's thankful to him for showing that to her, too.

so, in sum: i think mia moves on. i think she has a great life. i also think her love story and harry are always somewhere in her mind. like everything in castles, it's complicated.

#castles #asked and answered #this turned into a massive meta about mia i'm sorry lol

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goosewriting · 1 year ago

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i can't believe my brain finally, finally let me have a cal kestis appearance in my dream last night and it was the saddest most heart-wrenching thing ever 😩 my dreams are crazy, detailed and elaborate so this will get long lol if you feel like reading, go ahead, it's real "reader falls into an alternate universe and needs to find their way back" fic material 😂

btw if any of you ever have dreams with your blorbos i'd love to read it so feel free to honk in my inbox c:

so it kinda went back and forth between two different dreams i'm pretty sure. one playing at the university library and the other playing somewhere else. in the library one i was at a table with some classmates, working on our assignments, but there were also some people i know from elsewhere and we started arguing over something. then there was this girl who had lost something and i tried to talk her through how to get to the lost & found, giving the wildest (and very wrong) directions.

the other dream started in the middle of a yellow field of tall grass, where train tracks ran through from one side of the horizon to the other, nothing else to see. when the train came, it was massive, and i was participating in a heist of sorts. we (still don't know who the other people were) were successful i think, because the train derailed and we looted it. I think there was some big boss mastermind somewhere who told us what to do and we were all scared of her lol

so i don't exactly remember what happened after the heist, but the thing is there were these jumps between the dreams where in one i was this badass agent of whatever and doing cool stuff, and in the other i was "real me" in this world doing mundane things. although at some point i'm pretty sure i suddenly was an estate agent trying to set everything up for a visit except that the house was made of cardboard, but that's beside the point 😂 the scenarios from the library timeline i'm pretty sure happened not only somewhere else but in a different time altogether.

at one point, the events of the heist dream kinda come to its peak, and i now find myself in a big room (in hindsight i think it was the archives on jedha from the survivor game?) and somewhere in the air there's a bucket-shaped thing that's swallowing everything around it in a whirlwind, essentially ripping apart time and space. and as it turns out, cal has been there the whole time, and we were actually fighting together and stuff. but now that the bucket is about to shred the fabric of reality, we have to do something. and for some reason the plan of action is that i have to travel to a different universe. we (cal, me, and some other people idk) were all standing at a holotable looking at a map displaying different planets and universes and stuff (again, in hindsight, very web of life and destiny like. i just mashed everything together here it seems xD). and the reasoning in my head went like this: the planet we find ourselves on at this moment is not necessarily star wars canon and is outside of the known parts of the galaxy. so even if i do find my way back to this universe (which i was sure i could do, somehow) i still have no means to contact cal and or even find the planet again. so the search would take quite a while.

and there isn't enough time for us to set up a meeting point and time or anything because of the imminent danger. someone is already dragging me back to the bucket to be sucked into next wednesday or whatever, but i go up to cal one last time and he gives me the strongest hug and omg i didn't wanna let go. at this point i 'm in tears and as someone once again pulls me away and drags me off, i call to him "i will find you" and then everything goes black.

it's so lame i know but i legit woke up with a hole in my heart ;-;

my conclusion is that after leaving that place, the time and space travel kinda wiped my mind so i started a new life (the one at the library and the cardboard house) and completely forgot about cal :'( eventually i'd get snippets of memories, which is why the dream kept jumping back and forth, but i probably just thought they were daydreams or whatever, not my own memories. now that's some meta angst man.

oh and also at some point there were gorillas that shapeshifted into smaller versions of themselves with wings to fly around, and everyone was absolutely okay with that except that they were aggressive so they didn't like them. how that ties into any part of the dream i couldn't tell you but it was just a striking image to see these giant apes suddenly become small and flutter around shdjddkd

#goose honks #not that i plan on writing about my dreams too often here but i'll start a tag just in case lol #goose delulu dreams #my brain better give me more star wars content >:(

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silvfyre-writings · 2 years ago

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What Don't I Know? (BSD Fanfic)

Welcome back to another Fukudad and Ranpo fic and this time, we're in for the long run! No, it's not another longfic haha, but I have a sort of AU (I guess?) regarding ideas I have about the found family dynamic we've been gifted. Some of them are a little darker themed, so of course they will be tagged appropriately (I still have to write such fics lol)

But anyway! Ranpo AND Fukudad, what more could you want? May you enjoy, and don't be afraid to leave a kudos or a comment telling me what you thought! I love hearing you all get excited over these stories I write :D

What am I doing? Fukuzawa asked himself as he scolded Ranpo, shouting at the boy for the reckless behaviour that had would’ve gotten him killed if he hadn’t shown up in time.

He’s not my kid. Fukuzawa continued to think as tears welled up in the teenager’s eyes and began to roll down his cheeks, one hand clutching the red mark on his cheek from where he’d been slapped just seconds ago.

I’m in over my head. Fukuzawa sighed as Ranpo clung to him tightly, the boy’s face buried into the fabric of Fukuzawa’s yukata, as he cried and wailed out senseless apologies that were barely coherent into his chest.

This wasn’t how he’d expected his day to go. Not in the slightest. In no way, shape, or form, could he have predicted that by the end of the day, he’d have a fourteen year old boy hugging him and crying like his entire world had just been upended. Well, for all Fukuzawa knew, it had, but he knew he wasn’t going to get an answer anytime soon, not until the tears stopped.

“I’m sorry!” Ranpo wailed, his loudest one yet that had Fukuzawa wincing at the volume, but it finally triggered him into moving, and he dropped his arms from where they’d been hanging in midair since he hadn’t any idea of what to do with them in the first place, to rest on Ranpo’s shoulders and draw the boy closer. This only made Ranpo cry that much harder.

“It’s fine.” Fukuzawa said, doing his best to maintain the calm persona he’d managed to show all day—all day up until he’d seen a gun pointed at this child’s face—but he was pretty sure he failed. He didn’t know what to do, whether he should take Ranpo and go elsewhere, or simply wait for the tears to stop. If they ever did. Instead, Fukuzawa found himself running a hand through choppy black hair, something he recalled from his own childhood as a way to comfort another. He could only hope it would work on this child in front of him.

Ranpo shuddered underneath the palm of his hand, but finally, the wails quietened down, and the tears slowed until there was nothing but sniffling as his nose continued to run. And even though the tears had stopped, Fukuzawa kept moving his hand, kept running his hands through hair that desperately felt like it needed a wash from how oily it felt. He didn’t let that bother him though, as the motion seemed to soothe Ranpo even more, and eventually, Ranpo became still and quiet, but he still clung to Fukuzawa.

“The police are on their way to arrest these people.” Fukuzawa explained, and even though he knew that Ranpo wasn’t injured, he still wanted to be certain. “Are you injured?”

Ranpo didn’t say anything, only shook his head in response to Fukuzawa’s question; but Fukuzawa felt as his arms rose and then fell with the sigh that came out of Ranpo, and waited for the boy to gather his words. It didn’t take long, and Ranpo soon spoke, albeit quietly. “What’s going to happen to me?”

“What do you mean?” Fukuzawa asked, because he genuinely didn’t know what Ranpo meant. He knew that, back at the theatre, he’d offered Ranpo his home, but that had been a spur of the moment thing, something he’d done for a reason he did not yet know of. And despite what had just occurred in the warehouse, Fukuzawa had still been under the assumption that Ranpo was still coming home with him. Had he been wrong?

He received a look that could only be shock as Ranpo looked up at him, eyes showing a hesitance that Fukuzawa had never seen before in the short time he’d known the boy as they scanned his face, almost as if he was looking for a lie that didn’t exist. It was a strange expression to see on Ranpo’s face, because if there was one thing he’d learnt in recent hours, it was that Edogawa Ranpo did not hesitate. Ever since that first moment, where Ranpo had first appeared in that office, he’d exuded a kind of confidence that Fukuzawa had never seen before.

And right now, there was none of that confidence. Right now, Edogawa Ranpo looked every bit the fourteen year old boy that he was, one that is scared about where his future lies.

“The offer to stay with me is still there, if that is what you wish to do.” Fukuzawa offered when it was clear that Ranpo wasn’t about to speak anytime soon. “Otherwise, I can help you find shelter elsewhere.”

Ranpo continued to remain silent, but from the way his grip became almost suffocating, it was obvious that the boy didn’t want to go anywhere without Fukuzawa. Which was reasonable after the night’s events. “Alright.” Fukuzawa said after he’d patted Ranpo’s head a couple of times. “I have a spare futon you can use, and tomorrow, we’ll talk, okay?”

“Okay.” Ranpo murmured, letting go of Fukuzawa and scrubbing his hands across his face, wiping away as much evidence as he could that he’d been crying only moments ago. It was still obvious, from the way Ranpo’s eyes were splotched with red, and puffy eyes, but if Ranpo didn’t want to draw attention, then Fukuzawa would simply follow his lead and pretend—at least until they were behind the safety of closed doors.

It didn’t take long for the police to arrive, frantic and apologetic since it was one of their own that had kidnapped Ranpo in the first place. Fukuzawa let the apologies wash over him, instead pointing their attention towards the criminals that he’d knocked out, and watching as they were all rounded up and loaded into a single police van. One of the officers had approached to apologize again, but Fukuzawa merely raised a hand.

“It’s fine. If there is nothing more you need from us, we’ll be going.”

“Yes, of course, I understand.” The officer said, bowing at the waist towards both Fukuzawa and Ranpo. “We’ll still need statements from the both of you about the events at the theatre and the warehouse, but we’re more than happy to wait until tomorrow to gather those from you. We understand it’s been quite a night.”

“It has. I’ll make sure to stop by the station in the morning then. Until then, good night.” Fukuzawa gave a slight bow before he placed a hand on Ranpo’s shoulder and guided the boy out of the warehouse. The entire time, Ranpo hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even looked at the officers as they’d moved about and tried to engage with him. Fukuzawa wanted to put it up to exhaustion, because who wouldn’t be exhausted after such a night? But he knew better, could see the gears turning inside the boy’s head as he processed what was going on around him, probably already deducing everything about everyone that was there.

Fukuzawa wondered if the boy ever stopped thinking.

The walk to Fukuzawa’s apartment was just as quiet, but now, instead of having Ranpo in front of him, the boy was behind him, footsteps tired and slow as he followed Fukuzawa. It appeared that the night’s events were finally catching up with Ranpo as exhaustion grew on his face. The moment he’d started to lag behind, Fukuzawa had taken hold of Ranpo’s hand, making sure to not walk so fast that the boy tripped, but not so slow that he grew even more tired.

“It’s small.” Fukuzawa said as they came to a stop outside the door to his home on the third floor of the building. “But it’ll do for now. And it’s better than sleeping on the streets.”

Ranpo nodded, lifting his head a little as Fukuzawa opened the door for him and allowed him to step past. Fukuzawa watched as Ranpo stepped inside and stopped, looking around the apartment as he toed off his shoes, and removed his cape and hat, carefully placing them where they’d be out of the way.

At least, despite his arrogance and disregard for social etiquette, Ranpo still had some manners.

Fukuzawa flicked the light switch, blinking as light flooded the apartment, revealing the rest of it to the boy standing beside him. The apartment was simple really; one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. He felt a little self-conscious as Ranpo stepped further into the apartment, coming to a stop in the living room; it wasn’t often—never, actually—that Fukuzawa had guests over, so it felt a little odd to be sharing his living space with someone else, let alone a teenager that he’d only met that morning.

“Are you hungry?” Fukuzawa asked only once Ranpo had been standing for several minutes, not saying, or doing anything.

“No.” Ranpo said, and then sighed. “Are you sure…?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if it bothered me, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa moved over towards the kitchen, and opened the freezer, rummaging through it until he’d found what he wanted; an ice pack. He wrapped the block in a towel before he returned to stand in front of Ranpo, and offered it to the boy.

Ranpo frowned at him, but reached out and took the ice pack anyway.

“For your cheek.” Fukuzawa explained, and understanding dawned on Ranpo’s face as he brought it up to rest against the red mark that had swollen a little on the walk here. A bit of guilt ran through Fukuzawa at the sight of it; he really shouldn’t have hit the boy, even though he’d seen no other option at the time. He would apologize for it, but not right now, not when Ranpo seemed so lost and confused, and uncertain. No, he would do it in the morning, after they’d both had a chance to rest. “Right, there are a few things you can do now.”

“What?” Ranpo asked.

“You can take a shower if you’d like before getting some rest.” Fukuzawa said. “Or I can just roll out the spare futon I have and you can sleep.”

“Or?”

“Or we can talk now.”

Ranpo dropped his head, his bangs falling forward to hide his face from view as he thought over his options, for which Fukuzawa was more than happy to give him the time to do so. Honestly, he wanted nothing more than to sleep, an exhaustion that he hadn’t felt in years, settling deep into his bones. But he knew that right now, what he wanted wasn’t important; it was what Ranpo wanted that mattered.

“I don’t have anything else…” Ranpo said quietly. It sounded like the boy was trying to argue, but whatever was running through his mind was too distracting for him to form a proper argument, not that Fukuzawa could figure out what Ranpo was trying to argue in the first place. As if he’d invite the boy into his home and not have something for him to sleep in that wasn’t that uniform of his.

A uniform that’s probably been his only clothing for the past year. Fukuzawa’s mind supplied unhelpfully, bringing with it a pang of sympathy at the idea of Ranpo having to sleep on the streets in just that uniform; he couldn’t even begin to imagine how Ranpo had handled the winter months in that uniform. It certainly didn’t look warm enough. “I should have something you can wear for now. It might be a little big, but it’ll do for now.”

Ranpo nodded and followed Fukuzawa down the hall as he opened the door to his room and crossed over to his closet, once again rummaging until he’d found what he was looking for. Fukuzawa emerged with a hoodie and a pair of pants in hand and held them out towards Ranpo. “The bathroom’s on the other side of the hall. I’ll get the futon ready while you change.”

“Okay.” Ranpo took the clothes from Fukuzawa and disappeared into the bathroom. Once the door clicked shut behind the boy, he moved to hunt down the spare futon he knew he had. He’d never used it of course, because he hadn’t had a reason to use it before now, but he distinctly remembered purchasing one when he’d moved into this apartment, all because the store clerk had told him it wouldn’t hurt to have a spare.

Fukuzawa was so glad he’d listened to that clerk now.

He found the futon tucked into the back of the storage closet, and it was as he unrolled it beside his own futon, that he heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Ranpo standing in the doorway in clothes that absolutely drowned the boy. The hoodie alone fell down to Ranpo’s knees, and the pants had been rolled several times to avoid being stepped on.

Fukuzawa shook out the blanket and then turned to face Ranpo. “Is there anything you need before bed?”

Ranpo shifted uneasily with a frown on his face. He shook his head after a moment before pausing and then nodding. Another second passed with another shake, before he finally whispered. “Can we leave a light on?”

“Of course. I’ll leave the hall light on.” Fukuzawa said, and moved to turn on that light and turn the others off, darkening the room, but not completely. He caught a glimpse of Ranpo’s surprised look as he moved to lay on his futon, as if he couldn’t believe his request was even being considered in the first place.

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Ranpo asked as he lay on the futon beside Fukuzawa, crawling under the blankets and tugging them until only the top of his head was visible.

“Not at all. You went through something traumatic today, so if having the light on helps, then we will leave the light on.” Fukuzawa explained. “Good night, Ranpo.”

A few moments of silence, then. “Goodnight, Fukuzawa-san.”

The morning brought with it, a tiredness that Fukuzawa felt deep in his bones, and a teenager drooling onto his chest, said teenager having abandoned his own futon at some point during the night to glue himself to Fukuzawa’s side. Fukuzawa sighed, but didn’t make a move to get up or wake Ranpo as he continued to sleep peacefully. A quick glance at the clock in his room showed that it was ten in the morning, and he had to do a double take to make sure that he’d read the clock right; yesterday’s events must’ve weighed on him more than he’d realized since usually, he was up before the sun.

Or maybe, it had something to do with the stray he’d picked up during yesterday’s events.

With another sigh, and some careful manoeuvring, Fukuzawa managed to crawl out from underneath Ranpo without disturbing him, and slowly shut the door behind him as he left the room. And then he paused. What am I supposed to do now? Fukuzawa asked himself as he walked to the kitchen. Sure, he’d offered Ranpo a place to stay, but that was only for the night; he wasn’t nearly well enough equipped to have the teenager stay with him long term, yet… he couldn’t bare the thought of throwing the teen back onto the streets after seeing how attached Ranpo was to him. He tried to picture it in his mind, but even then, couldn’t bring himself to say the words, nor could he bring himself to imagine the tears that would follow if he even dared to say them in the first place.

Whether he liked it or not, Fukuzawa knew that he was stuck with Ranpo now, and that meant, he needed to think. It’d been over eighteen years since he himself was a teenager, but he distinctly remembered being rather low maintenance; never requiring much more than the basics, and never really wanting more than what he’d already had or was given. It didn’t take a genius though, to know that Ranpo was not the same as him, that the boy sleeping in his futon was pretty much the exact opposite to him.

What do teenagers even need in the first place? Fukuzawa frowned as he moved about the kitchen, grabbing some eggs and rice to make a simple breakfast for him and Ranpo. As he moved, he allowed his mind to drift back to the question he’d asked himself; clothes were a given, since it appeared that Ranpo only had one set of clothing, that being the dirty uniform Fukuzawa would need to wash before he let Ranpo wear it again. Toys? As far as Fukuzawa knew, teenagers didn’t play with toys, but Ranpo was rather childish compared to other teenagers he’d run into from time to time, almost as if he’d never quite managed to escape the clutches of childhood. He pushed that idea to the side for now; he’d ask Ranpo when he woke.

Basic necessities were also something he’d need to pick up, unless Ranpo had some of his own in that satchel of his. And even if he did, it couldn’t hurt to have more on hand. Food was another thing he’d need; his fridge had food, but it was filled with basic stuff that didn’t take all that long to prepare. A growing teenage boy would need protein and more sustainable meals, especially since Ranpo was already on the small side for his age. Fukuzawa couldn’t help but frown as he cracked the eggs into a frying pan; he hadn’t noticed it before, but Ranpo was rather scrawny. That assassin had been younger than the boy—only twelve, Fukuzawa’s mind supplied unhelpfully—and he’d already been taller, and bulkier, than Ranpo was.

He could only imagine that life on the streets hadn’t been particularly kind to the orphaned teen.

Speaking of life on the streets… a doctors visit would be necessary. And that was the most terrifying task yet. Fukuzawa didn’t go to the doctors himself often, but whenever he’d needed to, the offices had always been filled with wailing children begging their parents to go home, and something was telling him that Ranpo was one such child. But it was a necessary task; Ranpo had gone for over a year without proper healthcare—at least, as far as Fukuzawa knew—and depending on where the boy had taken to sleeping at night, it certainly wouldn’t have been a cleanest of environments.

Clothes, necessities, doctors. We’ll start there. Fukuzawa nodded to himself as a plan of action formed in his mind. That way, if Ranpo decided he did want to stay, they’d be able to get everything they needed. And if, by some chance, Ranpo didn’t want to stay, then make a note of what Ranpo needed and give the boy some money so he could do it himself.

Something told him that would be unnecessary, but it always paid to think ahead.

“Fukuzawa-san…?” A quiet voice sounded from behind him, and Fukuzawa turned to see Ranpo standing in the hallway, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Despite sleeping as deep as he had, Ranpo still looked exhausted. His eyes were red as they blinked open once, and his hair was all over the place, even more than it already was. And although Ranpo had made it sound like he was going to say something else, his voice trailed off and he said nothing.

“I made eggs and rice for breakfast.” Fukuzawa said as he turned back to the stove to check on the eggs, finding them to be suitably cooked, and dished them onto the bowls of rice that’d finished cooking moments before Ranpo had appeared. “If it’s not to your liking, I plan to do groceries today. Just tell me what you would like.”

“It’s fine.” Ranpo shuffled over to the dining table and thanked Fukuzawa as he was handed one of the bowls. He sat there in silence, as Fukuzawa sat from across him, and didn’t move to touch his food. Instead he pulled his hands away from the bowl and they disappeared under the table. There was tension in the teen’s frame.

“Is something wrong?” Fukuzawa frowned after he’d taken a bite of his own food. Were the eggs not cooked enough? Was it too plain a meal? Or was it not sweet enough for the boy’s liking?

“You wanted to talk when we woke up.” Was all that Ranpo said. He still refused to look up and meet Fukuzawa’s eyes.

“I did. But we can eat and talk, or we can talk after eating.” Fukuzawa tapped Ranpo’s bowl with his spoon. “Eat. You must be hungry.”

Ranpo did as he was asked, and finally picked up the spoon, managing a few mouthfuls before he broke the silence. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” Fukuzawa asked. He paused in eating and placed his spoon beside the bowl in order to give Ranpo is full attention.

Ranpo gestured towards the food, and then gestured again to the rest of Fukuzawa’s apartment. “All this. I’m just some kid you met yesterday.”

“It’s called being kind, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa lifted his spoon again, and finished off the rest of his meal before he continued speaking. “You needed a place to sleep, so I offered one. You needed food, so I cooked some. It doesn’t matter if I met you yesterday, or if I met you weeks ago, I’d still do the same.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know.” Fukuzawa admitted, and truthfully, he didn’t know. He didn’t know why he felt such a strong need to care for the kid sitting across from him, why he felt like it was his responsibility to make sure that Ranpo was safe and looked after. And he certainly didn’t know when that had happened; he’d spent almost the entirety of yesterday wanting to be rid of an annoying, know-it-all teenager, yet the moment Ranpo had been in danger, he’d gone to all lengths to protect the kid.

He couldn’t explain it.

“I don’t know.” He repeated. Slowly. Carefully. “You tried my patience and you drained my wallet, yet something changed to make me go from wanting to leave you tied to a pole to wanting to make sure that you were safe and cared for, and that is something I am unable to put into words right now.”

Ranpo remained silent, eyes focused on the table as he ate, but Fukuzawa could tell that he was listening to his every word. Fukuzawa was content to wait, and pushed his bowl to the side while he waited for Ranpo to find the words he needed; if he had any to say. After maybe five minutes, Ranpo opened his mouth. “What do you want from me?”

The question is shaky, and there’s a look on Ranpo’s face that Fukuzawa doesn’t like. He can’t name it, but he’s seen it before—never on a teenager’s face before now though—and he can’t say that he likes the conclusion that he’d drawn from it. A part of him wanted to ask Ranpo, wanted to reassure himself that he was coming to the wrong conclusion, but he doesn’t, because he knows that if he does, it’ll destroy the current atmosphere and it’ll drive Ranpo away.

“I don’t want anything from you.” Fukuzawa said instead. He laced his fingers together to rest his chin on them as he watched Ranpo fidget in his seat—still with no eye contact. “All I want is to see you thrive, because I believe you can do great things with the gift you possess—if that is what you want to do—and you cannot thrive without the proper support.”

“And you’ll… offer that support? To me?” Ranpo lifted his head, and he looked at Fukuzawa, although his eyes were still closed as he did so, so it wasn’t quite direct eye contact, but that was fine. He was quickly learning that Ranpo was filled with quirks, and he was sure that there were still many that he wasn’t aware of yet.

“If you want it. I can offer you food and shelter in exchange for simple chores around the apartment. We can enrol you into school so that you can finish the education that you started, and we can find you work so you can make some money and not need to rely on the government.”

“And… what if… I didn’t want to stay here…?” Ranpo asked, although he sounded uncertain as he did so, like it wasn’t a scenario he wanted to follow the path of, but would do so if Fukuzawa gave the slightest inclination that he didn’t want Ranpo to stay. It was so obvious that it made Fukuzawa’s heart clench, but he didn’t let it show on his face, keeping his calm and collected self so that he didn’t scare Ranpo away.

“If you didn’t want to stay here, I would help you find work, and somewhere stable to live. But you don’t want to do that, do you?”

Ranpo shook his head and hunched in on himself, drawing his knees to his chest and hiding his face into them. “I’d like to stay here. With you. You aren’t like the other adults in this strange world I don’t understand. You aren’t a monster, and you understand me… well, sort of. So I’d like to stay… if that’s okay?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t okay, Ranpo. You are welcome to stay. We’ll just have to get you some things first.” Fukuzawa said, standing from the table to clear the empty bowls and place them in the sink to be washed later. He watches Ranpo begin to unfurl from his position. “Now, I intended to wash that uniform of yours today, but maybe you’d like to wear it while we go out and get you some new clothes? Since you haven’t mentioned having anything else to wear.”

Ranpo’s face scrunched up before he’d even finished asking the question, and there’s red blooming across his cheeks. “My bag is only so big…”

“I’m not poking fun at you.” Fukuzawa looked over at Ranpo, finding the boy curled up again and hiding his face. “I understand your living situation has not been ideal, so you will not receive any judgement from me. We will go out and get what you need, and that is that. Alright?”

A few beats of silence, and then, “Alright…”

As it turned out, shopping with Ranpo was not ideal. Well, clothes shopping specifically. After the two of them had washed up, they’d left the apartment; Fukuzawa somehow managing to find a pair of pants and a shirt that didn’t immediately frown Ranpo, but were still far too large for the scrawny teen. Ranpo had immediately complained about being seen out in public like that, but when Fukuzawa had suggested that Ranpo remain behind—because he could simply take the kid’s jacket to help with buying the right sized clothing—Ranpo had kicked up an even bigger fuss.

So yeah, Fukuzawa was already tired, and it was only midday.

The mall they’d gone to was busy; not terribly so because it was a weekday, but there was enough people to bring discomfort instead of enjoyment. Not that Fukuzawa was particularly fond of crowds to begin with in the first place. He found himself watching Ranpo closely, keeping one hand on Ranpo’s back whenever they had to walk through a crowd, and just making sure the boy didn’t get lost. From the small number of things that Fukuzawa knew about the boy that was, well, his ward now essentially, he knew that Ranpo had grown up in a small town or village, one where everyone had known each other. So to go from that to a city as big as Yokohama, that had countless shopping districts filled with shops and people, it had to be a bit of a shock.

But Ranpo seemed fine, if a little tense, as his head swivelled from side to side, taking in his surroundings. He never said anything, only speaking to ask where exactly it was that they were going, or for Fukuzawa to slow down—he hadn’t even realized he’d been walking too fast until Ranpo had first asked him and he’d realized the teen was having to jog to keep up with him.

“Here.” Fukuzawa came to a stop outside of clothing store on the top floor of the complex. Why the people who’d built this mall had decided the main stores needed to be on the top floor, he didn’t know, but he did not appreciate it, not when he’d had to listen to Ranpo complain about the amount of stairs they’d had to climb. “We should be able to find some clothes for you here.”

“This is a children’s clothing store.” Ranpo pointed out.

Fukuzawa raised an eyebrow. “And? You are a child.”

“Yes, but, I’m nearly an adult!”

“Unless you plan to grow taller or put on weight in the next two months, you won’t fit any of the adult clothes right now, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa explained, feeling a little bad at pointing out how small Ranpo actually was right now, but he didn’t want to waste money on clothes that wouldn’t even fit the boy for some time. It wasn’t as if they were buying an entire wardrobe right now anyway. All they were doing was buying a few pants, some shirts, and whatever else Ranpo needed to get him by until Fukuzawa could afford to buy more.

He may have had enough money to buy Ranpo nine bowls of red bean soup, but he certainly didn’t have enough to buy an entire wardrobe plus whatever else they needed to buy that day.

“Ugh, fine. But don’t be surprised if there’s nothing I like here.” Ranpo huffed as he dragged Fukuzawa into the—thankfully—quiet store. All the other shoppers must’ve been on the lower levels, because there was only ten other people in the store, plus the workers. And it was quiet, which was a nice change to the rest of the building.

“You’re going the wrong way.” Fukuzawa pulled Ranpo to a halt and pointed to the right of where they’d been going. “Boy’s clothes are that way.”

Ranpo looked up at the sign that showed they’d been heading towards the girl’s section of the store. He blushed an impressive shade of red and pouted, turning his head towards the ground. “What if I wanted to go to that section?”

Fukuzawa blinked, not having expected that response. He suddenly felt like he was being tested, but what for, he wasn’t quite sure. He thought over it carefully, as the last thing he wanted to do was upset or offend Ranpo by saying the wrong thing. Fukuzawa considered himself supportive of people regardless of how they presented themselves, correcting himself as needed if he was wrong, and correcting others when they were wrong. But not once had he considered that Ranpo might fall under that category. A little bit of guilt ran through him at that. He should’ve asked before they’d come to the mall. “Do you want to shop there?”

Ranpo shrugged. “I’d like to look.”

“Alright. We can look there and see if there’s anything you’d like.” Ranpo’s eyes opened, revealing bright green orbs as the teen stared at him in poorly disguised shock. Fukuzawa couldn’t tell if Ranpo had actually wanted to shop in the girl’s section or if he’d just been trying to save face because he hadn’t realized he was going the wrong way, but Fukuzawa wasn’t going to bring it up. He’d ask Ranpo about it when they were back home.

Ranpo was silent as he browsed the clothes, so Fukuzawa remained silent as well as he followed behind, observing as Ranpo occasionally reached out and ran his hands along the fabric, either withdrawing quickly like the fabric had burned him, or visibly relaxing as he felt the fabric. Fukuzawa didn’t understand the reactions, but he took note anyway of what fabric caused what reaction. It seemed important.

“Excuse me, do you need a hand?” Fukuzawa turned to see a staff member standing just behind him, a friendly smile on her face. Yukino, her name tag read, and when Fukuzawa merely blinked at her, her smile grew wider. “Sorry, I noticed you both looked a bit lost, so I wondered if I could be of assistance?”

Fukuzawa glanced over at Ranpo, who wasn’t looking in their direction, but was coiled with tension. He turned his attention back to Yukino. “We’re fine thank you. Do you have change rooms though in case we’d like to try some things?”

“Yes, of course.” Yukino gestured to the left of them where, Fukuzawa could now see, had massive lettering labelled ‘change rooms’ plastered across the wall. “We only ask that you take five things at a time if you plan to try a lot, and that anything you don’t like, you leave at the counter there.”

“Thank you.” Fukuzawa gave a slight bow, and turned back towards Ranpo as they were left alone once again. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Ranpo frowned up at him and put back the shirt he’d been holding. The teen then looked away, before he looked at the ground and tensed even further. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

“What’s weird?”

“Being in this section?”

“Not if it’s what you want to wear.” Fukuzawa shrugged, stepping closer to Ranpo, and looking at the shirt he’d been looking at; it was a simple white shirt with a cat printed on the front. To be honest, he couldn’t see what made it a ‘girls’ shirt to begin with. “Clothing is all about what makes you feel comfortable. It’s why I mostly wear my yukata, although I do enjoy wearing other clothes at times.”

Ranpo hummed, and went back to browsing. A couple of minutes later, he piped up. “How much can I pick out?”

“Not too much, we have a lot to acquire today. Five shirts, three pants—or skirts if that is what you’d prefer—and we’ll get you some underwear which should be enough for now. We can always buy more once you’ve had a chance to settle in.”

Ranpo nodded, and didn’t respond as he continued to browse, slowly wandering from the girls section over towards the boys section. He was yet to actually pick anything out, but there were some items that the teen lingered on more than others. Fukuzawa tried not to become impatient, but when, after an hour, Ranpo still hadn’t picked out, he found himself losing a little patience.

“Why don’t you get something simple for now?” He suggested, pulling a shirt off of the rack and holding it up.

Ranpo studied the shirt for less than a second before he turned his nose up at it. “It’s the wrong material.”

“The wrong—Ranpo, it’s a shirt! It’s just like all the other shirts here.” Fukuzawa exclaimed in disbelief.

“No it’s not!” Ranpo snatched the shirt form his hands and threw it back on the rack carelessly. He stepped away from Fukuzawa and curled his arms around himself. “It’s the wrong material, okay? It doesn’t feel right!”

Fukuzawa sighed, and reached over to take the shirt again, replacing it onto the hanger before putting it back where he’d gotten it from. This was why he’d been unsure about taking Ranpo in in the first place. Already, they were hitting their first obstacle and it was clothes of all things. He closed his eyes and took a breath to bring back his patience since snapping wasn’t going to get them anywhere. When he opened them, Ranpo was still in front of him, tense, and head lowered.

He reached over and placed a hand on Ranpo’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze and waiting until Ranpo looked up at him. “I apologize for snapping. Tell me then, what is an appropriate shirt for you?”

Ranpo’s eyes opened wide at his words, and it took a few seconds for Ranpo to reach back into the rack, touching most of the shirts there before he pulled one out. “This one. It’s soft, not scratchy.”

Fukuzawa ran his hands over the material before he did the same to the shirt he’d placed back on the rack. He thinks he’d understood what Ranpo meant, but he knew that he still didn’t quite get it. Still, he nodded. “Alright. I think I understand now. If I pick out some shirts like this one, will you try them?”

A pause, and then a nod. Finally, progress had been made.

Fukuzawa turned to walk to a different aisle before he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Would you like me to pick you something from the other section?”

A longer pause this time, and a wary look before he’s given a slow nod.

Alright. Fukuzawa walked away after telling Ranpo where he was going—not that the boy wouldn’t be able to see him since he towered over most of the racks anyway—and began to browse the shirts. Every shirt he picked out, he held it against the one he’d taken with him, one that Ranpo had approved of, to make sure that it was the same material; a task that was surprisingly harder than it looked. It took some time, but eventually, he managed to pick out some shirts that he thought Ranpo might look; three from the boy’s section, and three from the girl’s.

He'd also grabbed something else, but he was still hesitant on whether or not it was something Ranpo actually wanted.

Upon returning to Ranpo’s side, he discovered that the boy had also picked out a few articles of clothing for himself—thank the heavens—and seemed happy with what he had chosen. From what Fukuzawa could see, they were just plain shirts, which was completely fine. Ranpo didn’t really strike Fukuzawa as the kind of kid to wear extravagant clothing.

“Do you want to try these on?” Fukuzawa asked, offering out the shirts he’d picked out.

Ranpo nodded, and looked through the shirts, placing two of them off to the side that he didn’t like. Fukuzawa felt a warm feeling grow inside him at that, pleased that he’d managed to at least guess correctly for four of the six things he’d grabbed. That warm feeling disappeared the moment Ranpo came upon the other article of clothing he’d brought over.

“You don’t have to try it, but you lingered on it before we moved on, so I grabbed it in case you wanted to, but were too shy.” Fukuzawa explained, feeling a little stupid to have to explain his decision, especially since Ranpo probably had already figured out why he’d grabbed it in the first place.

Ranpo didn’t say anything to begin with, and just held the clothes close to his chest. After a moment, he hummed. “I’m going to go try them on.”

“Alright, I’ll wait outside.”

What’s taking him so long? Fukuzawa glanced towards the room that Ranpo had disappeared nearly fifteen minutes ago. From his position, he could hear Ranpo shuffling about within, but the boy hadn’t made a sound for the past ten minutes, and Fukuzawa was starting to get worried. Another minute passed without a sound, and he finally gave up and approached the door. “Ranpo?”

“Yeah?” Ranpo’s voice is shaky and Fukuzawa swore he could hear sniffling. Is he crying?

“Are you alright?” There was no response to his words, but he heard a click as the door was unlocked, and that was as much of an invitation that he was going to get; Fukuzawa pushed the door open and stepped inside, eyes immediately falling towards Ranpo, who had his knees to his chest as he tucked himself back into the corner of the change room, avoiding eye contact. Fukuzawa sat on the ground next to the teen, and took note of the skirt that was currently in a death grip in Ranpo’s hands. “What’s wrong, Ranpo?”

Ranpo glanced at him. His eyes are red again from unshed tears. “I’ve never picked my own clothes before.”

Fukuzawa couldn’t help but frown. “I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“My parents…” Ranpo’s voice trailed off, and there was a pained look on his face, the same one he’d worn when he’d last brought up the topic of his parents to Fukuzawa back at the restaurant. “They used to get upset if I didn’t wear what they picked for me.”

What do I even say to that? Fukuzawa thought as he scrambled to find an appropriate response. Time began to tick by, and Ranpo started to look more apprehensive, so Fukuzawa just spat out the first thing that came to his mind. “That seems like a poor reason to get upset at you.”

Ranpo snorted and shrugged. “Maybe. We grew up in a small town, so I guess they didn’t want the neighbours to think I was weirder than they already thought I was.”

Again, Fukuzawa was left unable to figure out an appropriate response. He wanted to offer words of comfort and reassurance, but it just didn’t seem right when he didn’t quite understand what the problem was. In his mind, teenagers should be allowed to wear whatever they wanted and not be judged for it, but he understood that his way of thinking wasn’t exactly commonplace in society, despite how much progress had been made over the years. What would’ve been considered taboo when Fukuzawa was a child was now somewhat accepted, and he’d seen many of the younger generation expressing themselves in various manners.

“If…” Fukuzawa began and looked down at Ranpo, and waited for Ranpo to look up at him. “If you want to wear the skirt, you will receive no judgement from me. If that is what is stopping you in the first place. And if you don’t want to wear it, that is fine as well.”

“You want to ask something else. I can tell.”

“I do, but I don’t think you want to talk about that in a change room.” Fukuzawa said, which drew another laugh from Ranpo.

“Yeah, not really.”

Fukuzawa soon found himself being herded out of the change room, and the door slammed shut in his face; a reprimand was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. It was still far too early in… whatever dynamic this was between him and Ranpo, to scold the boy when he did something wrong.

But you slapped him.

Yes, and I will apologize for that. Fukuzawa argued with himself as he returned to his seat to wait. He’d already forgotten about the way he’d slapped Ranpo the previous night, and regret ran through him at the memory of it. He really should’ve controlled himself better; Ranpo clearly was a bit different from other teenagers, and he’d looked so stunned when it had happened, like he couldn’t understand why he’d been struck in the first place. It was something they should’ve talked about that morning, but Fukuzawa had had so much on his mind that he’d forgotten.

“Fukuzawa-san?”

“Yes, Ranpo?” Fukuzawa looked up to see Ranpo standing beside him, with the clothes he’d just tried on in his arms. “Do they fit well?”

“Yeah, they do. But…” Ranpo trailed off, one of his feet kicking against the ground since his hands weren’t free to fidget with.

“What is it?” Fukuzawa asked.

“If… I wanted the skirt; would it count towards the pants limit?”

Fukuzawa let a smile form on his face, a small one, but still a smile. “No, you can still get the three pairs of pants. Although, is there a specific material you want for the pants?” He really didn’t want to spend another hour in this store trying to find the right kind of pants. He’d do it, of course, but he wouldn’t enjoy it.

“Pants are easier. They just need to not be tight.” Ranpo said. “It won’t take as long, so you don’t have to worry so much.”

And true to his word, selecting the pants had been the easiest part of this trip so far; Ranpo quickly finding the pants that suited him best. He also returned with a pair of leggings, stating that while he liked the skirt he’d tried on, it showed off too much skin, so Fukuzawa added it to the pile without a second thought.

After pants came the rest of the clothing; underwear and socks, which was also an easy affair and before he knew it, they’d finally left the department store—with a promise to never return after the cashier had dared to give them a dirty look upon seeing what they were purchasing.

Fukuzawa had seen the thought building behind the man’s eyes, had seen his mouth opening to speak that thought, and had seen is slam shut when he’d stood up to his full height and unleashed the intimidating aura he was known for on poor cashier.

Meanwhile Ranpo had chattered on happily about finally having more than one outfit to wear, and begging Fukuzawa for some sweets.

And Fukuzawa had caved, returning to the sweet shop that was on the level below them and buying Ranpo a few sweets—along with something substantial from the café two doors down—to keep him occupied whilst he purchased the rest of what they needed. The one benefit of taking so long to finish shopping for clothes, was that by the time they’d made it to the grocery store, the crowds had already died down, which meant that there were less shoppers in the grocer, which meant peace.

Well, peace from strangers, not from Ranpo.

First, Ranpo had insisted on being pushed, sitting on the front of the cart. Then, he’d insisted on more sweets than were healthy, which Fukuzawa had had to argue against; that hadn’t stopped Ranpo from sneaking some into the cart whilst his back was turned. Then Ranpo had wanted to push the cart, and at first, Fukuzawa had been pleased that Ranpo was offering to help, only to have to chase the boy down the aisle as he took off, laughing his head off and nearly running over several shoppers as he shot by them.

If Ranpo had been any smaller, than Fukuzawa would’ve just forced him into the child’s seat and been done with it.

Alas, he couldn’t, so he’d made Ranpo hold onto the side of the cart and not let go, with a gentle threat of no sweets being all it took to get the boy to obey him.

Apparently, that was all it took for Ranpo’s mood to turn sour, because then the complaints started. It started with it was too loud with all the beeping and chatter, then it was too bright because of the ceiling lights, and then there were too many people, because the longer they’d walked around, the more shoppers had arrived; all the complaints were uttered within a few minutes of each other, and Fukuzawa was almost at wits end. Yet, despite the cracks forming, Ranpo continued to complain and whine, the teen becoming more agitated the longer they walked.

“Ranpo, please.” Fukuzawa wasn’t begging, not yet, but all he wanted was for Ranpo to just be quiet for five minutes. “We’ll be done soon.”

“Well, I want to be done now! We have more than enough food!” Ranpo huffed tugging the cart to a halt and letting out a whine as he looked up at Fukuzawa. “I’m tired, I want to go home already!”

“It’s only been—”

“I don’t care!” Ranpo interrupted with a shout, and Fukuzawa fought the urge to shrivel up and die when head swivelled to look at them. “I’m tired and I want to go home! I don’t like it here!”

“Ranpo—”

“No!” Fukuzawa winced as Ranpo shoved the cart into his stomach and sat on the ground with a whine, curling up so small, his head wasn’t even visible. Fukuzawa looked around helplessly, face burning in embarrassment as he tried to quickly come to a solution. But he couldn’t think of something, because he didn’t know what this was, and it didn’t help as the other people in the aisle

“Ranpo—” Fukuzawa tried again, only to be cut off by a loud whine and what sounded like a muffled sob. What do I do? How do I handle this?

“Get him somewhere quiet.” A soft voice drew Fukuzawa’s attention, and he looked behind him to see a mother with a toddler attached to her hip giving him a sympathetic look. “He’s overwhelmed, so if you get him somewhere quiet, he’ll calm down.”

“I—” Fukuzawa glanced between the cart of groceries and Ranpo. He knew what he needed to do, he needed to help Ranpo like he’d promised to do that morning, but for the first time in his life, he felt rooted to the spot, unable to move while Ranpo fell apart at his feet.

The mother places a hand on his arm, and he looked back at her. “Go. I’ll watch your cart for you.”

“Thank you.” Fukuzawa breathed out as he reached down and pulled Ranpo to his feet before he quickly began to guide the boy towards the exit, quietly hushing Ranpo as he whined. Was it harsh? Probably. Was it necessary? Absolutely. Later, he’d research what it was that he was supposed to do in such a situation, but for now, this was the best that he could do.

The moment they left the grocer behind, along with all the sounds and crowds, the tension left Ranpo’s body and he stumbled over his own feet, Fukuzawa’s grip the only reason the teen didn’t fall to the ground. Fukuzawa tightened his grip on Ranpo’s arm and pulled him down to the side of the building, only letting go once Ranpo was leaning against the building.

“Breathe.” Fukuzawa instructed. “Keep your eyes closed and just breathe.”

Ranpo gave a single nod and slid down the wall. He took a few breaths before he whispered. “Go.”

“No, it can wait.” As much as he wanted to finish the shopping, he wasn’t about to just leave Ranpo on his own when he wasn’t well.

“Please.” Ranpo pleaded, opening his eyes to stare at Fukuzawa. “I’ll be fine. I just—just need a moment.”

“Then take that moment. I will wait with you.”

Ranpo continued to stare at him for a moment before he sighed and buried his face into his knees. The two of them sat in silence for another ten minutes before Ranpo lifted his head again. “I’m okay.”

Fukuzawa hesitated. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah. I’ll wait here… if that’s alright?”

“That’s fine. I won’t be long.” Fukuzawa promised as he turned away, pausing to watch Ranpo carefully just in case the boy was just acting strong, but it truly seemed that Ranpo was feeling better, and with that in mind, he hurried back into the grocer. He quickly tracked down the aisle he’d abandoned his cart in, and was surprised when the mother was still there, entertaining her child. “You’re still here.”

The mother looked up at him and stood, a gentle smile on her face; her child moving to hide behind her legs. “Of course, I promised to watch your cart for you after all. Is your son alright?”

He’s not my son. Fukuzawa wanted to say, but he also didn’t want to delve into an explanation about how he’d technically only been Ranpo’s guardian for a day and a bit, and that he’d met the boy at a murder scene, and that Ranpo had latched onto him like a leech. “He’s calmer now. Thank you for your assistance.”

“That’s alright. You looked a little lost and it reminded me of the time when my eldest went into overload for the first time when I took him grocery shopping. He’s old enough now that I can leave him at home thankfully.”

“Overload?” Fukuzawa frowned, unsure of what the woman meant. “Could you explain it to me? I’ve only… had him for a day, so that was the first time I’d seen him like that.”

He was given a sympathetic look before the mother reached into her purse and pulled out a notebook and pen, quickly scribbling onto a page. “It’s easier if you research it, so I’ll tell you what you need to look up, but basically, it’s sensory overload when one’s senses become overwhelmed by external stimuli.”

“I see.” Fukuzawa didn’t really, but he figured that was why she was going out of her way to write down what he needed so that he could figure it out. “And when it happens… you just take them somewhere quiet.”

“If you catch it early, then yes, but if it’s a more severe episode, it’s usually just easier to go home where they can be comfortable in a familiar environment.” The mother tears a few pages from the notebook and holds them out towards Fukuzawa. “Here, this should help. I hope everything goes well for you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to help as well. You didn’t have to.” Fukuzawa said as he looked at the paper, seeing a list of websites along with a very small list of what looked to be the names of a few clinics within Yokohama.

“Of course I had to!” The mother huffed, although she was smiling. “Parenting is hard, so you shouldn’t be afraid to ask for help if there’s something you don’t understand. Good luck mister!”

Fukuzawa watched the mother walk away with her own child before realizing that Ranpo was still waiting outside for him and that he still had to go through the checkout and pay for the groceries. He sighed, pushing the cart towards the entrance; maybe going on a shopping trip the day after acquiring a child he knew nothing about wasn’t the smartest of ideas.

“Apologies for making you wait.” Fukuzawa said as he approached the spot he’d left Ranpo at. The teen was still sitting on the ground, fidgeting with the hem of the shirt, but he did look up at Fukuzawa’s approach.

“It’s fine.” Ranpo mumbled, dropping his head. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For overreacting.”

Fukuzawa blinked, and then frowned, before he moved to crouch in front of Ranpo. “You don’t need to apologize for something you couldn’t help. I should be the one apologizing for not realizing sooner.” He paused for a moment. “May I ask you something?”

Ranpo lifted his gaze and nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Green eyes looked away from him, and shoulders raised in a shrug. “Dunno.”

“Has it always been a problem? The sensory issues I mean?” Fukuzawa tried to be gentle in his wording, sensing that it was a sensitive topic, and was proven correct when Ranpo visibly tensed.

“Yeah…”

“Alright.” Fukuzawa stood and offered a hand to Ranpo, and pulled the boy to his feet when he took it. Fukuzawa turned on his heel and picked up the shopping backs before he set off in the direction of home.

Ranpo stared at him as he followed close behind. “That’s it?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t think I’m… a problem?” Ranpo whispered, and the uncertainty in his voice made Fukuzawa stop and turn to look at the boy.

“Not at all. It’s simply an obstacle we will have to adapt and overcome together. You aren’t alone anymore, Ranpo, you can rely on me when you’re struggling.”

Ranpo hummed and fell silent. And while Fukuzawa should be bothered by such a response, he wasn’t. It didn’t come as a surprise to know that despite Ranpo having faith in him, the boy didn’t trust him. Not yet anyway.

But in time, that trust would come.

He was certain of it.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #edogawa ranpo #fukuzawa yukichi #fukudad #found family #hurt/comfort #comfort #angst #writing #fanfiction

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