#the first thing I thought of seeing the trailer!!

[bettelaboure]

⊹Letters⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

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⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader

⊹ Warnings: themes of heartbreak, mental health struggles, emotional trauma, substance use, and a bittersweet, tear-jerking conclusion

⊹ Summary: emotional journey of reader and Seung-Hyun, whose once passionate relationship collapses under the weight of fame, a personal scandal, and Seung-Hyun’s mental health struggles

⊹ Author's note: that's one hell of a rollercoaster. buckle up🤍

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You were just another face in the classroom. A girl with average lines and average features, wearing a uniform that smelled like starch and borrowed ambition. The kind of role people forget even existed. You weren’t even credited.

But he saw you.

It started small—barely a nod when you passed each other in the hallway between takes. Then, a full glance. Then, lunch.

“Mind if I sit?”

The first time, his voice was a surprise—smooth and deeper than you remembered from interviews, disarming when paired with that lazy, crooked smile.

You blinked, almost said “Why?”, but your nod came faster. The table was too narrow. His knee touched yours under it.

He asked your name. Then he used it every time he saw you, like it meant something.

“Y/N, you ever get tired of sitting in that second row?” “It’s where they put me.” “You don’t look like you belong there.”

Your hands had tightened on your chopsticks.

The days blurred. His schedule was heavier—always running to rehearse, to change wardrobe, to be seen. But he kept returning, sitting beside you, even when he barely had ten minutes to eat.

On wrap day, you waited. For a goodbye. A text. Anything.

But no one called you. No one thanked you.

You watched the trailer on your cracked iPhone in a sublet with mold in the corners. You weren’t in a single frame.

They were right. You were nothing.

But you knew—he never thought that.

And you left, moved overseas. Booking small, later bigger roles in commercials or TV shows. Trying to leave everything behind, until you couldn’t. You missed Korea too much and your manager brought to much shit over your head. 

“Y/N, thing about the opportunities. Think about the spot light. They mightn’t have recognised you then, but now you are stronger.” He used to say.

And now, you are back.

The air is too cold in the studio. Typical. You hug your arms as the stylist pinches fabric at your waist, muttering something about natural curves and compression gear.

You spot him before he spots you.

He’s leaning against the wall, arms folded, laughing with a PA who looks like she’s about to melt. His hair is darker now. Sharper jawline. Broader shoulders. Same presence, like a thunderstorm caught in a designer hoodie.

Your throat tightens.

You turn away before he catches your stare, but it’s too late.

“This is Y/N,” the director says cheerily. “You two will play the couple. I expect real chemistry, real heat.”

“We’ve met,” he answers without missing a beat.

Your pulse stutters. You don’t look at him.

You just nod. “I’m not sure. Nice to meet you.”

His expression flickers. Just for a second. Then it smooths into something unreadable.

That day, you don’t speak beyond what’s written in the shot list. You smile when the camera’s on, rest your hand on his chest like it’s scripted—because it is.

But under your palm, his heart is beating fast.

Between takes, you're in the wardrobe, trying to fix a stubborn zipper, when you feel him behind you.

You freeze. The air changes. You see his reflection in the mirror, the way his jaw is clenched. The way his eyes are fixed on you like you’re an answer to a question he didn’t know he still had.

“So that’s it?” he asks. “We’re strangers now?”

You don’t turn around. “We were never anything else.”

The zipper jerks. You hiss. He’s there in an instant, his hand catching yours.

“Don’t,” you whisper.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do this. Not here.”

He leans in close, his breath warm on your neck. “You really forgot everything?”

You lift your eyes to meet his in the mirror. “No. I just buried it better than you did.”

He doesn’t back away. Not even when the door creaks open and someone calls for him on set.

“You owe me,” he says, voice low. “One night. One real conversation. You disappeared.”

“So did you.”

But even as he leaves, your skin remembers every inch of him.

You don’t tell anyone where you’re going.

He sent the address in a text you didn’t respond to. But you showed up. You always do when it’s him.

The restaurant is quiet, lit by soft lamps and filled with low jazz. Not his usual scene, you think. Maybe that’s the point.

He stands when you walk in. His smile is cautious, but real.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“I wasn’t sure either.”

You sit across from him. The space between you feels like an open wound.

Dinner is slow. You talk about the industry. About mutual directors. How much has changed. How much hasn’t.

Then it happens.

“I looked for you,” he says, cutting through grilled mackerel like it’s nothing. “After the film. No social media. No credits. You disappeared.”

You sip your wine. “People like me don’t leave footprints.”

“People like you?” he leans forward. “You mean the ones who steal every scene they’re in without saying a word?”

You bite your lip.

He doesn’t stop there.

“They erased you from the movie. But I didn’t forget. I still have a photo from set. The one where you're laughing at something I said. You looked so—”

“Don’t.” Your voice cracks.

He falls silent.

You don’t finish your food.

But you stay until closing.

The night smells like rain and gasoline. You both linger on the sidewalk like teenagers with nothing left to say but everything left to feel.

Your rides haven’t come yet.

He steps closer.

“I asked everyone about you. The makeup team. Extras. Nobody knew where you went.”

“I didn’t want to be found.”

“Why?”

You pause. Wind pushes your hair across your cheek, and you let it. It’s easier than facing him.

“Because I was tired of being treated like an accessory. A body. A set piece.”

“That’s not what you were to me.”

His voice is thick now, rough around the edges.

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

“I thought I’d see you again. I didn’t know it’d take five goddamn years.”

You turn. The streetlight pools behind him, casting his face in gold.

“You were the only person on that set who made me feel seen,” you whisper. “And it terrified me.”

He steps closer.

“Don’t do that again,” he says, almost breathless. “Don’t look at me like a stranger.”

You let him pull you in—just a fraction. Just enough that the heat of him fills your lungs again.

“Then don’t leave me like one.”

It started in halves. One dinner turned into two. A late night phone call that became a habit. Then a weekend where you never really left his place, your toothbrush leaning next to his, too domestic, too easy.

You both tried to be careful. Tried not to let it look like something real—because the spotlight hated real things.

But he’d kiss your forehead while you scrolled scripts in bed. You’d run your fingers through his hair while he mumbled lyrics into his phone’s recorder. You began building a language that didn’t need words.

Then, you moved in.

Not officially, not with boxes or contracts. Just little things. A coffee mug, your favorite lotion, a robe slung over his chair. Then more. Until home was wherever he was.

Sweet mornings became rituals. He made coffee exactly how you liked it, even when he had to leave before sunrise. You’d find sticky notes on the fridge with hearts and scribbled lyrics. On days off, you curled into his chest on the couch, laughing at old variety shows and stealing kisses between yawns.

When he came home late—sometimes at dawn, sometimes hours after you’d fallen asleep—he’d always stop in the doorway and just watch you. You’d wake to his hand brushing your hair back, soft kisses to your temple, the press of his forehead to yours like a silent promise: still here.

The rumors always came fast.

A new actress seen with him at a showcase. A kiss on screen that lingered too long. And for you—it was worse. The way they talked about your "chemistry" with other co-stars. The way tabloids pitted you against idols with perfect skin and public smiles.

“You looked good with him,” he said once, too quiet, one night after your drama premiere. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, half in shadow, the unopened soju bottle between you like a line neither of you wanted to cross.

You had laughed, short and brittle. "That's your takeaway from my first lead role?"

He pushed off the counter. “Don’t,” he warned, his voice low.

“Don’t what?” you asked, not quite ready for the answer.

“Pretend like it doesn’t affect us.”

You met his eyes, and they were sharper than you'd seen in weeks. Not stage-hardened or camera-smooth. Just real. Hurt.

“I hate it too,” you whispered. “But it’s part of it.”

“Then let’s change it. Or fight for it. Or something. Because pretending it doesn’t matter—it’s tearing pieces off of us.”

And that night, in the small silence after his words, you kissed him like he was oxygen and you had been drowning. Not to fix it. But to feel him. To remind him.

Still, the cracks appeared.

They always do.

In silence at breakfast, when he’d read articles about your co-stars without looking up. In the way you smiled a little too wide at red carpets, because it was easier than explaining the ache in your ribs. In how sometimes, you both fell asleep with backs turned, not because you were angry—but because saying the right thing was too hard, and saying the wrong thing might break the fragile quiet.

But love stayed.

In forgiveness. In shared earbuds on long-haul flights when words failed you both. In comfort when the cameras turned off and your hands found each other like instinct. In how he waited three hours outside your shoot in the rain, hood up, shivering, just because your text said: "rough day." In how you showed up at his studio past midnight with kimchi stew and a sweatshirt that still smelled like him, because you knew he hadn't eaten, and he hated being alone when the lyrics wouldn’t come.

It was messy. And beautiful. And real.

And one night, when you caught him watching you in the mirror as you took off your makeup, red carpet glitter still clinging to your collarbone, you finally broke the silence.

“You’re it for me,” you said. Soft. Scared. Fierce. “Even when I hate everything else—when I hate the fans, and the makeup, and the lies, and the constant pretending—I never hate you. Not once.

I think about that night in the stairwell at the Commitment set, when we sat on the metal steps and you gave me half your sandwich because the staff forgot extras need to eat too. You asked me why I always wore those threadbare gloves with holes in the thumbs, and I told you they were my brother’s. You didn’t laugh. You just touched the frayed edge like it meant something. No one else ever noticed.

I think about the way you’d text me lyrics at 3 a.m., not asking for help, just… wanting to share them with me. You said I was your filter. That I made things sound like they were worth hearing.

I think about that morning after your showcase when you came home and collapsed on the floor instead of the bed, and I laid down next to you because neither of us had the energy to speak, but we needed the closeness like breath.

You know me. You know I hate peaches but I eat them when you cut them up. You know I pretend not to cry at dramas, but I do, and you always hand me tissues without saying a word. You know I lose sleep over every audition, and you never tell me I’m overreacting. You just sit beside me until the storm quiets.

And I know you. I know that you bite your lips when you’re nervous but pretend you don’t. That you hum to old Big Bang tracks when you think no one’s listening. That you always sleep facing the door when I’m not home, like you’re waiting for me.

I love how you love. Fierce. Whole. Scared but unwavering. You see the parts of me I try to bury and never look away. I love the way you say my name like it’s a vow. The way you kiss the spot behind my ear like it’s instinct. The way you never ask me to shrink myself to fit the shadows of your world.

I love you.

I love you in every tense. Past, when I didn’t believe I mattered. Present, now, when I see you and it feels like light. And future—yes, future—whatever we become, however this ends or grows, you are in it.

You’re it for me. You’ve always been.”

He crossed the room with purpose, slow but sure, as if each step burned through the layers of fear and silence you'd both worn like armor. The tension hung thick between you, electric, ready to break. When he reached you, he paused—not for breath, but for clarity—as if seeing you under this soft light, bare-faced and brave, carved something deep inside him.

His hands lifted with reverence, not haste. They trembled as they cupped your jaw, thumbs brushing your cheekbones like he was afraid you'd disappear. Your breath caught. His eyes locked on yours, not demanding, just present—heavy with everything he hadn’t said.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t hurried or wild. It was deliberate. A vow. A plea. A memory. A promise.

You felt it in every cell—that this wasn’t just lips on lips. It was his way of saying, I see you. I still choose you. Again and again.

And when you kissed him back, it wasn’t surrender. It was recognition.

You were home.

You didn’t sleep that night. You just held each other in the dark, hearts speaking a language louder than fame.

He’s sitting on the couch, guitar in his lap, no shirt, just sweatpants and bare skin. Light spills through the balcony like it’s been painted just for this moment—gold against the curve of his collarbone, the dip of his stomach, the familiar freckle near his left shoulder you’ve kissed a hundred times.

He’s humming softly, plucking at strings with no real melody. Just the sound of him, raw and unguarded. You’re watching from the kitchen, wearing one of his oversized hoodies that smells like cedarwood and his shampoo. Your feet are bare. Cereal box in hand. The spoon forgotten somewhere nearby.

He looks up. Sees you. Really sees you.

“You’re staring,” he says with that boyish smile, the one that made you fall in love.

“You’re beautiful,” you reply, soft but certain. It’s not a compliment. It’s a truth.

He grins wider, strums a lazy chord, one that echoes through the sunlit apartment like a sigh. “Marry me.”

You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it’s so him. “That’s not how you ask.”

He sets the guitar down. Stands. Walks toward you with that slow, deliberate grace that still unravels you, all long limbs and quiet gravity.

“It’s how I feel,” he says again, voice lower now, fuller. He stops in front of you, brushing your hair back from your face with a reverence that almost hurts.

You blink. And for a second, the room tilts.

“You don’t believe in marriage,” you murmur. “You said it was a cage. That it ruined love.”

He nods, then leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “It is. For most people. But with you... it feels like flying. Like maybe love could finally be something I build instead of something I run from.”

Your hands find his chest, warm and steady. “Say it again,” you whisper.

“Marry me.”

Not a command. Not even a question. A prayer.

Tears sting your eyes. You bury your face in his neck, inhale the comfort of skin and sweat and music and safety.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

And for the first time—not in your career, or on red carpets, or under studio lights—but here, in the golden silence of a shared life, you don’t feel like nothing.

You feel like his everything.

And he feels like yours.

The apartment felt like a tomb. The silence that had settled over the space was suffocating, a cold, haunting presence that refused to be ignored. The smell of his cologne lingered faintly in the air, but it was no longer comforting. It was a reminder. A cruel one.

You had always thought that if you lost him, you’d somehow feel the break coming. You’d know when it was happening, feel it in your bones. But you didn’t. It just… happened. Gradually at first. He pulled away with the excuse of his military service, then with the scandal that broke everything he had worked for. And then came the cold silence—days without calls, without texts, without the sound of his voice.

The first night he left was the hardest. You couldn’t bring yourself to say goodbye, so you didn’t. You just held him that last time, memorizing the way his warmth felt against you, the rhythm of his breath, the way he pressed a kiss to your forehead like it was an unspoken promise.

But that promise slipped away with the first headline. The first accusation. You saw the words written in bold, his name smeared across gossip magazines like a stain, and your heart shattered a little with every passing minute. They painted him as a monster, a man who had everything and lost it all, and with him, they tried to take you too. They questioned your love, your loyalty, your very right to exist beside him. And as much as you tried to ignore it, tried to shut it out, the whispers and rumors were louder than your own heartbeat.

When his mom called, her voice tight with worry, you felt a flicker of hope. She said he wanted to see you, that he had asked for you specifically. And for a brief moment, you thought that maybe he was going to come back to you. That maybe this was all a mistake, and he’d still remember what you meant to him.

But when you arrived at the hospital, his cold silence crushed that hope like a house of cards. His mom escorted you in, but her eyes were already red from crying. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. You could feel it—the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you, thick and unbearable.

The hospital room was a sterile, unforgiving space. The air smelled of antiseptic, and the pale white walls reflected nothing but the exhaustion on his face. Seung Hyun was sitting by the window, looking out, his back hunched as if the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders.

For a moment, you stood frozen, trying to process the man before you. The man who had once been the light of your life, now a stranger in the room. His eyes were distant, as though he was trying to disappear into the cold glass. He didn’t turn when you walked in. He didn’t even acknowledge your presence.

But you weren’t going to give up on him. Not this easily.

You took a tentative step forward, your heart racing in your chest as you approached him. “Seung Hyun…” Your voice broke in the middle of his name, your throat tight with the effort to hold back the flood of emotion that threatened to consume you.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. It was like he couldn’t hear you. Or didn’t want to.

You took another step. This time, you reached out, your hand brushing his shoulder. He flinched. The first real response you’d gotten from him since he’d left. And yet, it was as if it hurt him more to be touched than to be alone.

“Why are you doing this?” You whispered, voice trembling. “Why are you pushing me away?”

His jaw clenched, his eyes still fixed on the window. The silence stretched out, thick and suffocating. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, feel the cold panic rising in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice so quiet you could barely hear it over the hum of the hospital machinery. “I’m sorry for everything.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” you said, desperation rising. “I’m not angry. I’m just… scared. I don’t understand. Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you let me in?”

His voice cracked. “You don’t get it. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve this… this love. I’ve ruined everything. And I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

You felt the sting of those words like a physical blow. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.” Your voice was shaking now, your chest tight with the force of the emotions you could no longer keep inside. “You’re everything to me. You’ve always been everything to me. How can you say you don’t deserve me when you’ve never once made me feel anything but loved?”

He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in what felt like forever. His gaze was raw, filled with so much pain it made your heart ache.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he whispered, his voice strained. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything. To feel like you’re nothing. And I don’t want you to watch me destroy myself. I don’t want to drag you into this mess.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. The tears were welling in your eyes now, blurring your vision. “But I’m already here. I’ve been here. I never left you.”

And that was when he finally broke.

Seung Hyun stood up so suddenly, you barely had time to react. He moved away from you, walking toward the far corner of the room, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’m not the man you fell in love with. I’m not the man you think I am.”

“I don’t care who you think you are,” you shouted, your voice thick with emotion. “I don’t care about the mistakes or the scandals or the lies. I care about you. I care about us. And I still love you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and aching, as if they had taken everything you had to say. He stood there, his back to you, shoulders shaking with the weight of his own grief.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t bear to see him like this, so broken, so lost. And yet, he wasn’t coming back to you. Not now. Not ever.

You stood there in the silence, your body shaking with sobs you couldn’t contain anymore. “I can’t do this,” you whispered to yourself. “I can’t lose you.”

But you had already lost him.

And it was the hardest thing you’d ever had to face.

Later, when his mom took you home, she didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. The two of you didn’t speak, didn’t share words. The only thing that passed between you was a shared understanding of the heartbreak that weighed you both down.

The apartment was empty. His presence still lingered in the corners of the room, in the smell of his cologne, in the warmth of his favorite sweater you had folded and left in the closet. But it was empty, like you were empty. The place where you had built your life, where you had imagined a future, was gone.

You didn’t have the strength to stay in that place anymore. The thought of walking past the walls that had once held the laughter, the quiet moments, the love you had, made you sick. So you packed your bags, slowly, one item at a time, as if each piece you took was one more part of you that was being ripped away.

Your heart broke with every step. Every time your hands touched something that once belonged to him, you felt that fracture deepen.

When you walked out the door for the last time, it wasn’t just the door to the apartment that closed. It was the door to your future, the one you had believed in. The one where you and Seung Hyun were together.

But it was over. He was gone.

You couldn’t fix him. You couldn’t save him.

And it hurt more than you could ever have imagined.

The pain didn’t come in waves. It came in an endless, suffocating tide. And as you walked down the hallway, past the door that had once been home, you knew that you were leaving a piece of your soul behind.

But you had to. You had no choice.

And when you stepped out into the night, you didn’t look back.

Because if you did, you knew you might never leave.

It’s been weeks since you last saw him, since you visited him at the hospital, since he pushed you away—like he was doing what he thought was best for both of you. But you didn’t understand it then, and you don’t understand it now. All you know is that the silence between you feels like a never-ending void.

You tried calling, sending texts, leaving voicemails. But there was nothing—no response, not a single word. Nothing. Just silence. And you knew. You knew that silence was more than just the absence of sound. It was the space he’d created between you two, an invisible wall that seemed impossible to climb.

You found a new place. A small, quiet apartment, much smaller than what you shared with him, but it’s yours. And as much as it feels like a fresh start, it doesn’t feel like home. Not yet.

You didn’t know where he was—what he was doing—but you couldn’t stay where he had once been. You couldn’t pretend that the apartment was still the place where you were a part of his world. And even though you were miles away from that life, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. About the promise he’d made, the love he said he’d never let go of.

And still, nothing. No sign of him. Not a message, not a call.

Letter #1

May 10, 2018

Seung-Hyun,

I don’t know where to even begin. How do I write to you when it feels like you’re a ghost? How do I tell you everything that’s happened when I don’t even know where to start?

The truth is, I left. I left our apartment. It didn’t feel like our home anymore, not after everything that happened. After the hospital, after you pushed me away. I couldn’t stand being there. It hurt too much to see your things—the things that reminded me of what we were—and to know you weren’t coming back.

I found a new place. It’s small, quieter. I thought that maybe if I started over somewhere else, it would help. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t feel like a home without you. It’s just a place. A lonely place.

You told me to leave, Seung-Hyun. You told me you couldn’t do this anymore. And I wanted to understand, I really did. But I can’t. I still don’t get why you walked away like that. You were hurting, I get that now. I know you were going through something I couldn’t fix. But you never let me in, not even when I begged you to.

And now, I don’t know where you are, or if you’re even okay. I hear nothing. No word from you. I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. And it hurts, more than I could ever put into words.

I just want to know that you’re okay. That you’re still out there. I want to believe that you’ll come back, that you’ll remember what we had. But maybe I’m just fooling myself. I don’t know anymore.

I’ll always be here, Seung-Hyun. Even if you don’t want me to be.

Y/N

Letter #6

March 20, 2019

Seung-Hyun,

It’s been a few years since I moved into this new apartment. The silence is deafening. I thought it would be easier, I thought maybe being away from the place we shared would give me some kind of peace. But it hasn’t. It’s just made everything worse.

I keep going over the last time I saw you. The look in your eyes when I walked into the hospital room, how distant you were. It felt like you were already gone, even before you said those words—"I can’t do this anymore." You wouldn’t look at me. You wouldn’t let me be there with you. And I think that’s what’s killing me the most. You shut me out when I needed to be there for you the most.

And now, I’ve shut myself out too. I can’t stay in that apartment. I couldn’t breathe there without you. It felt like the memories were choking me, pulling me back to a time when things were simple, when we were just happy.

I don’t know where you are. I don’t know what you’re doing. But I can’t help but feel like you’ve disappeared from my life for good. That what we had, what I believed in, doesn’t matter to you anymore.

I’m scared, Seung-Hyun. I’m scared that I’ll never hear from you again, that I’ll never get the answers I need. That I’ll never understand why you left, why you pushed me away when I wanted nothing more than to help you.

I’m trying. I’m really trying to move on, to let go of the hope that we’ll ever find our way back to each other. But I don’t think I can. Not yet.

I just want you to be okay. Please, take care of yourself. Please don’t shut the world out completely.

Y/N

Letter #13

June 1, 2020

Seung-Hyun,

You won’t believe, but I’m still waiting for you to call me, for you to send me a message, anything. But I know you won’t. You haven’t. I know this silence is intentional. I know you’re trying to push me away, to push everything away.

But I can’t do it. I can’t let go of you, not yet. I still see you in everything—when I walk into the coffee shop we used to visit, when I hear our song on the radio, when I think about the way you’d smile at me just before we kissed.

I don’t want to believe that everything we shared was a lie. I don’t want to believe that it was just a fleeting moment in time. But I can’t keep pretending that I don’t miss you. That I don’t still love you. I do. I always will.

I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why you pushed me away. I don’t know what I did wrong. But I can’t keep pretending I’m okay when I’m not. I’m broken, Seung-Hyun. I’m empty without you.

I just want you to come back. I want to see your face again, to hear your voice. I want us to figure this out, even if it takes time.

I don’t want to move on, Seung-Hyun. Not if it means giving up on us.

Please, come back.

Y/N

You don’t know if he’ll ever read these letters. You don’t know if he’ll even ever know that you still care. But as long as you keep writing, as long as you keep sending them to the old apartment, there’s a tiny, fragile part of you that believes he’ll come back. 

Letter #27

August 10, 2023

Seung-Hyun,

I’m writing this letter, and it’s different than the others. I’m not writing this out of sadness, or desperation, or out of longing to hear from you. This is my last letter to you.

I’ve learned so much these past years, and I want you to know that, even though we’re no longer a part of each other’s lives, I’ve healed. Or, at least, I’m in the process of it. It hasn’t been easy—hell, there were times I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get through the pain of losing you. But here I am, sitting with a sense of peace I never thought I’d have. It feels surreal, but it feels real.

I’ve been seeing a therapist, and I’ve learned more about myself than I ever thought I would. I didn’t know how much of me I was holding onto, waiting for you to come back, waiting for things to be the way they were. I didn’t know that I had been keeping myself in a state of limbo, not truly moving on because I was so afraid of saying goodbye. But my therapist told me that I’ve finally reached a place where I can say goodbye—and I’m ready.

I’ve made peace with everything, Seung-Hyun. I understand now that sometimes people just need to walk different paths, no matter how much it hurts. I needed to walk mine. And you needed to walk yours. And while that truth doesn’t erase the love I had for you, it does help me let go of the weight I’ve been carrying around.

You were my everything for so long, and for a while, I couldn’t imagine my life without you. But now, I can. I’m creating a new life, one that’s all my own. It’s not perfect, but it’s mine. I’ve started picking up pieces of myself that I’d forgotten, pieces that got lost in the person I was with you. And I’m discovering who I am again, outside of the love we shared.

I’ve started a new job too, one that challenges me in ways I never thought I’d be capable of. And I’m starting to find joy in the little things again—the quiet mornings, the late-night walks, the sound of my own laughter.

But the truth is, there’s still a small part of me that will always remember you. Always love you. You were a huge part of my life, and that won’t ever change. You taught me so much about love and about who I am, even if we didn’t end the way we thought we would. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.

I guess this is my way of saying goodbye—not just to you, but to everything we were. I’m not angry anymore, Seung-Hyun. I’m not sad. I’m just… letting go. I’m setting myself free, and I want you to do the same. I hope that, wherever you are, you’re finding peace, too. I hope you’re healing. I hope you’re becoming the person you were meant to be, just like I’m learning to become the person I’m meant to be.

Take care of yourself, Seung-Hyun. I’ll always wish you well, even if we never speak again. And though I will carry our memories with me, I’ll carry them in a way that’s lighter now—because I know that it’s okay to move on.

Goodbye.

Y/N

As you write the final words, a sense of quiet settles in your chest. You fold the letter carefully, slipping it into an envelope one last time, and as you seal it, you finally realize—you’re not looking for anything in return. You’re no longer waiting for him to read it, no longer clinging to the hope that he might come back.

You’ve let go. You’ve said goodbye, not just in the words you’ve written, but in your heart.

Seung-Hyun pushed open the door of the old apartment, the one he hadn’t set foot in since everything came crashing down. The space was different from what he remembered —dusty, untouched, silent. The air felt thick with the weight of years, of memories that had settled into the corners like cobwebs. He hadn’t wanted to come back. He had convinced himself that returning here, to this place, would be a kind of self-inflicted punishment. But now that he was standing in the doorway, he realized it wasn’t the apartment that held him captive.

It was the memories of you.

He didn’t know what he expected, walking into the apartment where so much had unfolded, where your love had bloomed and then withered. Maybe he had hoped for some kind of relief, some clarity to wash over him, like the turning of a page. But instead, he was met with the same heavy silence, the same haunting stillness that had followed him in every other room of his life. The space was too quiet, too empty, and yet it was filled with everything he had tried to forget.

The walls, once adorned with pictures of your time together—birthday dinners, lazy Sundays, random selfies and pictures from film sets—now felt bare. The frames were gone, the once-colorful walls now washed with the dull gray of neglect. Everything you had left behind felt like a lifetime ago, a distant, unreachable place. His fingers brushed against the old coffee table, worn from use, but it felt like he was touching a ghost.

He moved slowly through the apartment, the echoes of his footsteps louder than they should have been. His gaze fell on the small kitchen, where you’d once spent hours cooking together, laughing over spilled ingredients and burned toast. The thought of how you had once danced around this kitchen, your laughter bright, your spirit so alive—it hurt in a way he didn’t know how to explain.

The apartment was no longer yours. You had moved on. He had pushed you away, and you had left. You had to. It wasn’t just the scandal that broke them. It wasn’t just the fame or the distance or the expectations. It was his inability to face the truth. His fear. His brokenness.

He was still broken.

But something had shifted in him during the past months, something had changed. Maybe it was the therapy, maybe it was the time away from everything, or maybe it was the sheer weight of everything that had happened. But the man who had walked away from you was different now. Not fixed, not healed—but better. He knew that now.

As he wandered through the apartment, he noticed a stack of mail that had been left unopened on the counter. He hadn’t expected anything, but something caught his eye. Small, yellow envelopes with a familiar handwriting on them. Your handwriting.

His heart stopped.

There were several others. All addressed to him. Some had already yellowed with age, others still crisp and fresh. He hesitated, staring at them as if they were fragile, as if touching them would make them disappear. He had thought that if he kept avoiding you, if he kept pretending like he didn’t care, it would all go away. But it hadn’t gone away. It had only made the guilt worse.

He picked up the first letter and read the words that felt like a punch to the gut.

"I don’t know where to even begin. How do I write to you when it feels like you’re a ghost? How do I tell you everything that’s happened when I don’t even know where to start?"

His chest tightened. He put the letter down, his eyes blurry. That one simple sentence—"I still think about you every day"—was enough to crack him wide open.

The tears came quickly after that, and before he knew it, he was crying. Not for the man he used to be, but for the man he had become in your absence. He had shut you out, pushed you away, and in the process, had torn apart the only good thing he had ever had in his life.

He read every letter. All twenty-seven of them. Each one a painful reminder of what he had lost. Of what he had taken for granted. Of how much you had loved him, how much you had fought for him, even when he hadn’t deserved it. You had poured your heart out, over and over, each letter a piece of yourself you had given to him.

And now, he was finally hearing you.

When he had finished reading the last letter, he was a mess. His emotions were all tangled—regret, guilt, sorrow, but also something else. Something he hadn’t felt in years: peace.

You were moving on. You had healed. You had said goodbye, even if it had taken you time to get there.

And he?

He was still here, still holding onto the past, still holding onto the love he had never allowed himself to fully feel. He wasn’t sure what to do with all of it, but one thing was certain: he had to tell you. He had to let you know how much he had changed, how much he had grown, how much he had learned.

He had to say goodbye, too.

That’s when he grabbed the pen and began to write.

March 5, 2025

Y/N,

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I came back. It’s been seven years since everything changed. Seven years of silence that felt like a lifetime, each day growing heavier than the last. But when I walked through the door of our old apartment today, I wasn’t expecting this.

I wasn’t expecting to find the mailbox full of your letters.

Twenty-seven letters. 

I sat down right there in the hallway, with the stack of envelopes in my hands. At first, I didn’t know what to feel. I almost didn’t want to open them. I thought, "What could they possibly say that could make me feel any less guilty?" But I couldn’t leave them unread. Not when you’d written every word with such care. With such honesty. With your heart laid bare.

I started reading.

It took me hours. The wine bottle beside me slowly emptied, and with each letter, I found myself feeling a little more. Regret. Sadness. Anger—at myself. But most of all, a sense of loss. Not just for what we were, but for the person I used to be. The person who thought he had everything figured out.

I didn’t have anything figured out.

I didn’t have you.

I don’t even know how to begin. How do you explain years of silence? How do you apologize for the hurt you caused without sounding like you’re trying to justify it? How do you say that you were broken, too, but never even tried to fix yourself until it was too late?

I didn’t deserve your letters. I didn’t deserve your patience. Your love. The fact that you spent all these years waiting for me to come back, while I was lost in a place where I couldn’t even recognize myself anymore.

I know it’s not enough to say "I'm sorry," but I need you to hear it. Because for the first time in years, I can actually say it and mean it. I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry for how I treated you. For pushing you away when all you ever wanted was to be there for me. I’m sorry for not being the person you needed. I’m sorry for taking you for granted when you deserved so much more.

I know it’s hard to believe, but I am a better person now. I’ve taken the time to work on myself, to heal in ways I never thought I could. And that’s why I’m able to write this to you now—not out of guilt, but because I truly want you to know that I’m in a better place. Mentally, emotionally… everything. I’m not the man who left you behind. And I know that doesn’t change what happened, but it’s the truth.

When I look back at everything—the good times, the bad times, the love we shared—it’s clear to me now that I was never the person you needed me to be. You deserved someone who was whole. Someone who was ready. But instead, I was broken, and I broke us both in the process.

I’m sorry for that.

And now, as much as I wish I could ask for your forgiveness, I know I don’t have the right. But I hope, one day, when you look back on our time together, you’ll remember the good parts. The love. The laughter. The moments when we both felt like we were more than just two people in the same space. I hope you remember those times with warmth, and not just the hurt.

I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t expect a response. I don’t even expect you to forgive me. All I want is for you to know that I have always, and will always, care about you. I wish you nothing but happiness. And peace. You deserve everything good in this world, Y/N.

Maybe one day, our paths will cross again. But if they don’t, I want you to know that I’ll always carry the love we shared with me. I’ll never forget it. You’ll always have a place in my heart, even if we never speak again.

Goodbye. But this time, it’s different.

Take care of yourself. I hope you’re as happy as you deserve to be.

Seung-Hyun

This was his goodbye. The letter he had never thought he’d write, but knew he needed to.

Taglist: @petersasteria @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

[daughterofheartshaven]

So, The Story and the Engine. Here are my thoughts

Okay that's a great opening, and some real discussion about our first fully nonwhite main cast in the show's history. Love to see it.

I also love the emotional maturity shown by Belinda here. Like she wants to get home but also is okay with the Doctor having a moment of healing

The setting is so, so wonderful. The Doctor having a community here means so much to me. Like, this is not what my community looks like, but it is such an authentic community and that's beautiful.

The concept of something being powered by stories is also a really clever one, and I like how it is implemented here

The story about Belinda made me cry - like that was above and beyond for her, but also worth it. Also if we're gonna have a random Mrs Flood, I appreciate how they put her here as opposed to tacking her on at the end.

The imagery of the barbershop on the spider is so, so good. I really wish the spider hadn't been in the trailers; that would have been such a cool thing to be surprised by. Even so, it's another really powerful image.

I have no idea why Belinda sees Poppy from space babies (I didn't recognize her but I see that others worked this out), but I am... intrigued. Also why did her causing a mess not get followed up on? Feels like either a scene was cut or we're gonna circle back around to that

To me at least, the religious aspects of this story feel very ambiguous, and I like that. The Barber has been spreading stories, and he is going to kill those stories. The Doctor has been in places and had experiences that were meaningful because of those stories. Are the gods those stories are about real? They can be. They can not be. This isn't about the gods, it's about the stories. And I really like that - I would have been very frustrated if I felt like the episode came down hard in either direction.

relatedly, Abena is clearly something. But at the same time, she acts like a person. Not a god. I don't think she's a deluded human. Maybe she's a god. Maybe she's something else entirely. Like I said, ambiguity.

unrelatedly, but the existence of a Big Finish character called the Barber-Surgeon is really throwing me off as I type this.

Okay the Fugitive Doctor's cameo... like. fine. whatever. I don't like the character and her place in the lore, and I don't like her showing up here, but her appearance is basically inoffensive.

That being said, the Doctor remembering something Fugitive did doesn't make sense with what we know with the position the tv show has taken. I'll probably have my own take on that whole situation from the perspective of my headcanons later

Okay the story of people weaving maps into hair - that was so, so well done. I might have cried here too, I don't remember.

I loved the camerawork while Doc and Belinda were in the maze

The actual engine is... just wonderful to look at. Visually, this story is fascinating and I love it.

"I'm born. I die. I'm born." Damn, Gatwa is good at his job

I love that the past lives on the screens went out of order. And they started on what might be the most important moment in all of Doctor Who for me - that crucial moment in Tomb of the Cybermen that I understand the Doctor by - and I did start crying again.

Doctor Who often has the Doctor try to save the villain and fail, and it usually feels like it's just the writers trying to make the Doctor have the moral high ground cheaply. So to see him actually save the villain, and to talk about forgiveness with both him and the man who betrayed his trust, is such a powerful move.

For a story that doesn't really focus on her, Belinda has so much emotional maturity. She tries to help. She tries to de-escalate the situation. She gets out when it's time to get out. This story may be the one I return to understand Belinda in future - I really, really like her here.

And there are still consequences. Abena leaving the Barber behind. Just because he will try to be better doesn't change what he did.

The ending is very quiet and contemplative, and I like that.

The Robot Revolution is probably still my favorite episode with Gatwa, but The Story and the Engine is now, in my opinion, his best.

[lostsyren]

ʚଓ⋆ mariposa

{summary: after rafe told her to marry him and quit her job sofia is left unsteady from the break up. she finds work at a strip club to make ends meet. on the other side of the island, rafe is feeling similarly unmoored…so he takes a trip with barry to blow off some steam…}

{a/n: sorry for being inactive! busy with uni work! but i had this in the drafts and finally decided to finish it! i mostly avoided writing it because it made me upset, but the idea wouldn’t leave so hereeee, it’s long, be warned!}

{warnings: sex work, disassociation, misogynistic language, lots of angst}

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

He got his money back. With interest. More than half a mil securely transferred into his account. But coming back home to Kildare wasn’t like he imagined.

In the back of his mind Rafe had slotted away ideas for honeymoon destinations, bridal shops on the island, the name of her family church. But now all that information was useless, and he tried to slowly part ways with it.

Part ways with the memory of Sofia too.

She’d listened to him. Of course she did. Every single piece of her was effaced from the house: the hair ties she’d leave around on the counters, her toothbrush in the bathroom, the book she kept at his on the nightstand. It’s like she scrubbed extra carefully making sure there was zero trace of her left in his life.

But when he saw the pile of neatly folded T-shirts in his drawers– T-shirts he’d given to her, Rafe swore he felt his heart lurch into his throat. That gut wrenching, sick feeling only proliferated when he spotted the glint of his mother’s diamond ring on the living room table. Fuck Sofia for making him feel like that. For making him feel bad. He can just imagine her now– her big puppy eyes on the other end of the phone line, watery and so god damn wounded, as if she was some tormented saint.

He hoped he’d see her at the bar. The reason? He couldn’t say. Maybe so he could see her wallow in her choice to betray him. Or maybe it was to talk– ask her why the fuck did she do that– why the fuck did she ruin it? He was doing so well, he was so good.

But of course she listened to him. Yet again. She always listened. Nodding her head like a good little girl.

Yes baby? Sure thing Rafe! Okay babe…

He remembered with a bitter, guilty twang what he said to her when he was down on one knee.

Quit your job…

And she went ahead and fucking did that didn’t she? Serves her right. Whatever money Groff and Hollis gave her must’ve been enough to tide her over. That what he told himself at least, to subdue the guilt.

Rafe sniffed a sharp inhale of air, throwing his drink back with a cold disregard. It was too bitter– the new bartender was shit. Rolling his shoulders, Rafe strained to shut off his eddying thoughts. He didn’t have time to worry about her. He had other things to deal with.

First order of business: pay Barry back for his boat.

Rafe left the country club, heading over to Barry’s place down by the docks. It was nearing sunset and by the time he reached the house, the sky was streaked with lines of orange and pink.

Barry was already sitting on the porch, smoking a blunt, lazy smirk on his face when he saw Rafe pull up in his Mercedes.

“You better be here to reimburse me for my shit bro.” Barry called out when Rafe exited the car.

“Don’t worry Barry, I get paid you get paid– just like old times amiright?”

Barry let out a low chuckle, opening the front door to let Rafe in, “except I never did get paid all that often huh?”

They ended up on the kitchen counter (much more spacious than the dingy kitchenette at the trailer park) sipping at beers Barry pulled from the refrigerator.

“So, you back for good now? No more crashin’ boats on distant shorelines typa shit anymore?”

Rafe nodded with a wry smile. “Yeah…back for good.”

“Your girl must be happy you’re home, huh?”

Rafe’s smile faltered and brows furrowed, like two deep notches on his forehead. Barry picked up quickly on his tangential plummet into anger. Or annoyance. Rafe swung between the two quickly.

“She not your girl anymore or is she not happy you’re back?”Barry needled.

Rafe’s eyes darted downward, his nostrils flaring slightly. Barry never did know when to lay off.

“What did you do country club?”

“What?” Rafe hissed, finally snapping at his provocation, “what did I do? Why do you assume it was my fault?”

Barry was unfazed at his sudden slip into anger, like he’d seen worse. He just chucked coolly, taking another languid sip, “‘cause it usually is dawg.”

Rafe’s blue eyes burned with a flash of hot emotion. Why did everyone think everything was on him? He’d treated her so fucking well and here Barry was looking at him as if he’d thrown her out on to the street. “Yeah well it wasn’t my fault. It was hers. She fucked up. Not me.”

“What did she do? Cheat on you with that frosted tips guy? Y’know– Table topper or whatever?”

Rafe scrunched his nose at the image, “hell no. She sold me out. Fuckin’ pogue mentality isn’t it.”

He didn’t even know what he was saying at this point. He just knew that it hurt her whenever he’d say that. Pogue. Injected with such venom. She couldn’t hear him, but blaming her shut down the question that endured in his mind all across Morocco and Lisbon. That bounced around the spongy walls of his brain.

What did he do to make her betray him?

That’s the thing about saints– they never act without a just cause.

Rafe didn’t bother looking at Barry for reassurance. He could never glean that out of him. He heard his ex drug dealer scoff under his breath, the glass lip of the bottle hitting his golden tooth as he took another swig.

“Yeah well this pogue right here sold you out too– now you’re sittin’ n drinkin’ with him.”

Rafe’s nose twitched. He hadn’t made that connection in his mind.

“Yeah well I knew you were a piece of shit. She– ” Rafe had to pause, levelling his breath as his chest constricted, “she wasn’t.”

A silence settled. A nausea tossed about the pit of his stomach.

Barry intervened with a harsh slap against the counter, “okay well I know just the thing to get you out of this weird ass funk, country club.”

Rafe flickered his red rimmed eyes up to meet Barry’s. “You do? And don’t say dope.”

Barry laughed, licking his lips, “good one. Nah not this time. The only remedy for a breakup is some more pussy.”

Rafe shook his head almost immediately, “what the fuck bro?”

“Just chill a’ight? There’s this strip club that opened couple months ago the next island over– we should go. Maybe it’ll get your mind off of things.”

“What? Like right now?”

“Yeah why not? I’m down.”

Half an hour later, after Barry poured some liquor down Rafe’s throat to make him more amenable to the idea, they were driving down the OBX bypass, on route to Island Paradiso.

***

It was just meant to be a bartending stint. Just so she could get back on her feet again.

She’d tried to get her old job back at the country club, about to get on her knees and beg her manager. But it was too late.

The position had been filled…tough luck kid.

Four years she’d slaved away making margaritas and wiping down countertops, all with a pretty smile on her face, and it was gone. Just like that.

All because of Rafe Cameron.

Sofia shook away the memory of him as if it was detachable, like he was just simply velcroed to inside of her brain and all she needed to do was shake her head and tense her jaw and he would come tumbling out of her skull.

She was good at hiding from things. She was good at ignoring the glaringly obvious pitfalls of her life. But with that man, he insisted himself onto her subconscious. He was inside of her, reminding her of how stupid she’d been. She can’t even blame him– she saw this coming a mile away. She just didn’t want to believe it. So she hid like she always did, nestling comfortably in the Egyptian cotton sheets of his bed, swaddled in the cushiony notion that they loved each other and that was all that mattered.

“Sofia wake the fuck up!” A voice on her left suddenly called out.

She snapped out of her lapsing thoughts (she’d found herself floating in a dissociative haze more and more often these days) and looked down to see the drink begin to overflow onto the bar.

“Shit shit shit I’m sorry,” she began, scampering to clean up her mess.

“That’s coming out of your cut okay?”

Sofia just nodded, her stomach twisting with a sharp tug. She needed that money.

When she was with Rafe, he’d always needle her about her job.

You can always quit you know…I already pay for all your shit, you don’t need it…baby just stay at home with me, yeah…

It’s like he didn’t even consider that she was responsible for other people. The money wasn’t for her nails and hair and whatever other things Rafe ‘took care of’ for her. She had her family, her siblings, her parents. They relied on her.

It was clear to her Rafe never had anyone rely on him. She could tell by the way he acted. Even though he forced himself to be needed (throwing his money everywhere, cornering people into a pseudo dependency), Sofia could sense the childishness of his whims. It was like when she’d gotten $50 dollars for her Quinceañera and went out with her siblings and cousins to the store and made everyone buy some candy, because it was on her. Rafe forced everyone to buy candy just so he had someone to eat his with.

Sofia knew all this yet she still went ahead and quit her job, turning this pseudo dependency into a full blown reliance. And what did Rafe Cameron do as soon as there was someone who truly relied on him? He kicked her out, when she didn’t play the way he wanted to play.

But again, Sofia couldn’t blame him. It was her fault for hurting him. Her stomach writhed again at the memory of her duplicity. Worst thing was, she hadn’t even touched the 25k Hollis gave her. It just sat in the shoebox under her bed gathering dust at the heed of her guilt.

Instead she picked up a job at a club, next island over. There was nothing for her in Kildare. With all the rezoning laws and the steady trickle of Figure 8 moolah finding its way into the Cut, more businesses were shutting down, replaced with scaffolding and TO LET signs.

Thankfully a friend of hers knew of a bartending gig, less than an hours drive away down the highway.

And that’s how she ended up here. Under the neon lights of a very different type of club.

At first, that’s all it was. Make the drinks and serve the customers. But the tips were nothing compared to the country club. Why tip the bartender when you could pay for a lap dance?

And when the bills at home started piling up, her parents questioning if her manger had docked her wages (she still hadn’t told them she’d quit, let alone how she was engaged for a freak second), that’s when she’d looked over to the main stage, littered in a blanket of Benjamins and swallowed her pride.

“Sofia you’re up in a bit,” called her manager, Hayes.

She nodded with a smile, still cleaning up the sticky surface of the counter top. Hayes was a nice man– mid forties, tall and burly with long brown hair that he slicked back and a scruffy beard. He spoke with a thick, southern twang and could be found smoking a cigar in the room overlooking the club.

“Okay boss.”

Sofia headed back to where the girls were. She hadn’t made much friends. No one liked it when there was new blood– it meant there was less for them. So Sofia just stayed in her lane, not biting when they threw her a bone to chew at and eventually she became just another dancer trying to make her way.

And besides, it’s not like she was replacing them. Sofia could just about walk in her heels, and she avoided anything too risqué. She’d told Hayes about her qualms and he’d listened.

She only danced three days a week. The rest were solely bartending. She got to keep her clothes on (which wasn’t much to begin with) and she could decline the private dances if she wanted to. Hayes would always vet the guys who’d be interested in her. Sofia didn’t know if he was just humouring her, but that little thumbs up he’d do made her heart beat a bit more evenly, especially when she’d be grinding up against the patrons.

“You know what songs you’re dancing to tonight?” Sofia looked behind her in the mirror as she was applying her makeup to see one of the girls hover by her shoulder.

“I gave the DJ the list you wrote me,” she resumed her eyeliner.

She eventually made a singular friend. Her name was Mina and she was a regular. Mina was all warm skin and tough love. She was only a couple years older than Sofia, but Sofia often forgot that fact when she’d lived so much life in comparison to her. She was the one who helped her get to grips with it all: makeup, clothing, name.

“You gotta have a stripper name baby!”

She’d said, starring at a newbie Sofia, whilst taking a drag from her cigarette.

She told her to lean into being Latina– Sofia needed a niche. Something these men could remember her by. If she wasn’t going to show her tits or pussy then she needed to distract them with something else.

So Sofia settled on Mariposa…Spanish for butterfly. It was cute. Sweet. Pretty. That paired with the sultry reggaeton music Mina suggested she go with, the flashy gold jewellery and the hot pink and red sets, the cash came quick, patrons slipping bills down the waistband of her pants and dip of her bralette.

Sofia was used to the routine of things now. She felt more confident on stage. She couldn’t do any of the more skilled moves the other girls excelled at, but she could dance half decently. And besides, the money she scraped from bartending covered what she wasn’t making.

She tried not to think too hard about what she was doing. The minutes when she was on stage it felt like a pink, glitzy mist settled over her– the glitter on her eyes and the lowlights on the floor tugging her into a dissociative state. It was just her and the music. The faces in the crowd blurred and she focused on the feel of the paper tickling her skin rather than the brush of beer stained fingers. No one groped or mauled– Hayes was a scary man with a gun. Sofia sometimes saw it peek from his waistband whenever he’d stretch.

She just let her thoughts dissolve into jelly and felt herself float from her body, detached.

At least for the moment.

The guilt hit her when she’d be asleep in her bed, that ineradicable Catholic upbringing making her skin feel dirty and heart throb in her chest. That’s when she’d bring her hands together and look up to God, begging him to understand, pleading for him to see her point of view. No one else seemed to.

But right now, she focused on her reflection in the mirror, trying to ignore the dark bags under her eyes from the late hours and shoddy sleep.

Sofia reached for the concealer.

***

Rafe entered the club following Barry’s lead, the sound of bass and smell of alcohol hitting him instantly.

His eyes roamed around the room. The dull glow of pinks and purples and reds shrouding everyone’s faces in a thick shadow.

Rafe had never been to a strip club before. He’d lied about it for sure– his fraught year at college making him real good at coming up with shit. But the idea of paying to see a woman flash her tits at you was stupid to him, as if porn didn’t exist.

But maybe Barry was right. He’d held Sofia in such high regard and look where that got him. Miserable and depressed, flushing money on overpriced shots at a strip bar. He needed to distract himself– make the image of her leave his brain, because no matter how drunk or dazed he got, all he could see was her face when he closed his eyes.

“You feelin’ better yet?” Barry chucked leaning against the bar beside him. He watched as Rafe’s gaze roamed the club, straying when it reached the dancer on the stage, her body wrapped around the pole.

“No,” he grumbled, throwing back another shot, quickly growing bored.

“You don’t need to stick by me y’know? Go get a lap dance or some shit or a closer look at least.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because I’m a cheap bastard who likes to watch and not tip.”

Rafe just rolled his eyes at that.

The song finished, the dancer collecting her cash before leaving. Rafe took the chance to order another round of drinks.

“And now on stage, the gorgeous Mariposa!” The low warbled announcement from the DJ was followed by another song.

Rafe took a seat beside Barry, just as his drink arrived, before turning to look on stage, maybe ten metres away from the bar.

The next dancer walked on and Rafe felt his heart drop into his stomach, his chest suddenly rising and falling as he strained to prove himself wrong against the lurid stage lights.

But the closer she got, walking down the stretching runway of a stage, it was undeniably her. Each freckle and mole and that birthmark on her lower back visible, her skin bare and lucent for everyone to see.

Shock turned to anger, like a spark to gunpowder.

He suddenly jumped out of his seat and turned towards Barry, his hands clutching at his shirt, nearly dragging him off the barstool.

“You knew– that’s why you fucking brought me here didn’t you?” He snarled, eyes dilated and mouth curled.

“What the fuck man! I don’t know what you’re sayin’” Barry pushed back, trying to make sense of Rafe’s outburst.

“Then why is she here huh? Why did you bring me here? To show me this shit? To make me look stupid?”

“Who’s here? You’re not makin’ any sense man– just calm down a’ight.” Barry took a more consoling tone, on seeing Rafe’s downturned lips, and glassy eyes. He wasn’t just angry…he was upset.

Rafe let him go, gesturing toward the stage, his head bowed fists dropped at his side.

“You’re telling me you didn’t know?” He murmured quietly, blue eyes wild and darting, looking at the shiny floors of the strip club.

It took Barry a while to recognise Sofia but when he did, he realised he’d messed up big time bringing Rafe all the way here.

“Shiiit man– I didn’t. She must be new.”

Rafe recoiled at that, his face screwing up, threatening tears. He could put two and two together and figure out what the fuck someone like her was doing in a place like this. Why she wasn’t at the country club anymore. Why he’d never seen her around on Kildare. She’d listened to him. She always fucking listened.

For the first time since Morocco, the possibility that Groff was the one who lied suddenly occurred to Rafe. If she’d gotten paid, if Sofia was actually a part of their schemes like he’d said, why was she debasing herself for money?

Rafe suddenly felt a deep and ringing shame, as if he’d just realised who she was. A pogue. No different to Barry.

And he’d just thrown her out with nothing.

No. No. She betrayed him. She hurt him. That was the truth. That’s all that mattered.

Then why did he feel like such a piece of shit?

Rafe turned around slowly to look at the stage bringing his gaze up to her.

She moved with a quiet grace, her skin glittery and bronzed. She looked like the models on the porno mags he’d secretly look at when he was a kid– shiny wet skin, scanty pieces of fabric that dug into pliant flesh, limbs that stretched and twisted. He felt his pants tighten, and stomach churn– getting hard and feeling sick.

His brows furrowed and twitched and his mouth did the same. He waited for her to take notice of him. But all her attention was on the men surrounding the stage.

Sofia dropped low on her hands and knees. She arched her back slowly and smoothly, crawling down the platform. She lingered so they could stuff her bra and underwear with dollar bills while she smiled prettily at them with thick eyelashes. Rafe simultaneously burned with a viscid desire that pooled in his stomach and a raging envy that bored a hole inside him.

He began to near the stage, but felt a hand yank at his arm.

“What are you doing bro?” Barry said, coming round so he was facing Rafe.

“Get off me,” he pushed his grip away, resolute in heading to the stage.

But Barry persisted, “what do you think you’re gonna do huh? If you mess with the girls you’re gonna get your ass beat.”

Rafe just clenched his jaw, “what? They’re not gonna let me tip her?” His voice was low and thick with a sarcastic drawl.

Barry eyed him for a moment, his hand still on his arm, “I think we should go Rafe, let me take you home.”

Rafe simply let out a short, sharp laugh, “didn’t you say get a closer look? I’m just listening to your advice Barry.”

And with that, he shoved him out the way, making a beeline to the stage.

***

When Sofia was up there she let her thoughts switch off, settling into her role. She was good at that– pretending. She would do it at her old job, acting the part of the smiley waitress or the diffident bartender. She’d mould her face into the expressions they’d want to see: chirpy grin, bright eyes, patient brows.

This was no different. It was just another role, where she moulded herself into what others wanted to see.

And right now they were all here for her tits and ass, so she sank down on her hands and knees, slinking across the dollar strewn stage, and gave them it.

Sofia tried not to look too hard at the faces. Sometimes she’d become injected with paranoia. That maybe one of dad’s work buddies would be there, or one of her old customers. And they’d see her. Desperate and lost, scraping the floors for cash.

Where was her kook boyfriend now huh? Had he grown tired of her? Serves her right for turning her back on her own people.

Just take their money and go. That’s what she told herself. She can spiral into a mess of self loathing and regret later on, when she’d paid off this month’s electric bill.

Sofia moved in time with the music, passing people with cash ready in their hands. She sank down low to receive it, before moving on to the next.

She felt the next hand before she met his gaze. The touch of a metal ring against her skin, the tickle of paper slotting into lace straps.

Sofia smiled sultrily, her lips caught between her teeth as she looked over at the next patron. She was good at maintaining her demeanour, clinging to that act she put on.

But the veneer faltered, her smile fading and eyes widening as if she was prey and she’d just been caught. In who’s cutting jaw? Rafe Cameron and his razor-sharp bite.

At first she blinked, begging for it not to be him. Maybe it was the lights. Maybe it was just somebody who looked like him. But the longer she stared, the deeper her stomach sank.

He’d just wedged a wad of cash in the waistband of her pants, his face stony and unreadable. But in the brilliance of the strip club lights, Sofia swore she saw his eyes gleam with unshed tears.

It must’ve only been a couple seconds, but it felt interminable to her– her arms wobbling with her weight as she buckled from the shock. Thankfully the song was coming to an end, so she stood up, suddenly too aware and too embarrassed to do the final flourishes of her dance. She instead just grabbed the cash on the floor and headed off stage, pulling out the dollars shoved in between her costume.

Her entire body was on fire, the room suddenly too hot and the air too thick. She needed to get out of here. She needed to breathe. She needed to calm down.

“Just gonna pretend like I don’t exist then huh?” A voice called out from behind her. Sofia’s heart grew heavier and heavier with each passing moment, her chest constricting and snarling up.

She could just carry on walking. Not look back. Ignore him. Isn’t that what he wanted? Her out of his life? They were done weren’t they? So why was he rubbing in it? Couldn’t he just leave?

She felt hot stinging tears prickle in her waterline that she willed away. She didn’t want to look even more stupid than she already did.

Sofia stopped and turned around slowly, the cash still in her hands. She faced him, struggling to keep a straight face let alone speak. Everything in her just wanted to cry. Seeing his face made it worse. He looked so damn pitying.

“Why did you do it?” He asked, voice almost strangulated. His face looked angry but his eyes betrayed him– he seemed almost ashamed. Which was funny, seeing as Sofia prickled with a similar shame.

She just shook her head, her curled hair, swept over to one side, tumbling down and curtaining her face. But Rafe didn’t accept her concession that easily.

“No– I deserve an answer. You played me didn’t you? You and Hollis and Groff?”

Sofia’s vision blurred, the tears beginning to flood and blear, “yes but I tried to take it back! I tried–You just didn’t listen.”

“Why are you here? What are you doing Sofia?” His voice broke at her name, coming out in a choked rasp. “You fuckin’ played me for money didn’t you? Then why are you out here whoring yourself out?”

His words felt like a punch to the gut, her palms slick with sweat now, sticking to the paper in her hands. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t thought herself. Whore. Slut. Skank. Was he actually looking for an answer? Or was he here to hurt her again. Just like she hurt him.

Sofia realised she’d had enough of trying to decipher Rafe Cameron.

“You got it all figured out don’t you Rafe?” She decided she didn’t want to be apologetic anymore. So she nosedived straight into angry and bitter.

He mirrored it perfectly. “Tell me then, tell me what I’m missing?”

Sofia shook her head with a bitter scoff. “Thanks for the tip,” she muttered, before turning on her heel and heading for the dressing room.

“No you can’t just do that. I deserve some explanation–“ Rafe surged forward, grabbing her arm and yanking her towards him.

His grip wasn’t rough or harsh but it was enough for Sofia to trip and stumble over her heels, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Her money slipped from her hands, littering the space around her as she winced from the pain.

That’s when the commotion started.

“Hey what the fuck do you think you’re doing bud.” Sofia heard Hayes’ voice call out. She looked up to see Rafe crouch half down, as if he was offering to help her up. She recognised his friend, Barry, behind him surveying the scene, eyeing Hayes who came storming down the club floor.

“Just go Rafe, for your own sake,” her eyes softened for a moment.

“Step back now, or I’ll fuckin’ make you.” Hayes called out, pushing past Barry.

Barry put himself between Hayes and Rafe, the latter one now crouched down beside Sofia. And all she wanted was for the floor to give way and swallow her whole.

Barry yanked Rafe up by his collar. “We were just leavin’– weren’t we?”

“I was just helping her up, chill okay?”

Sofia needed to get up off her ass and away from this situation, suddenly feeling way too exposed, the image of her half naked on the strip floor vinyl, surrounded by crumpled dollar bills and three grown men dawning on her. Her stomach rolled with heavy waves of shame that hurt.

“You okay sweetheart?” Hayes asked from above.

Sofia nodded, not making eye contact and bringing herself to her feet.

“Sofia– fuck, tell him you know me. We were just talking.”

“I don’t care buddy, you leave now or I’ll have you thrown out.” Hayes’ face was stern and scary as he met Rafe’s eye line.

Sofia shrank in on her body, trying to make herself invisible. She felt Rafe’s burning gaze on her, as if he was forcing her to look at him. Usually she’d fold, giving into his stare. But this time she persisted and left, disappearing past the doors heading to the dressing room. Let them sort it out– she didn’t need to embarrass herself anymore than she’d already done.

As soon as the double doors to swung shut, and she’d safely deposited her cash in her bag, Sofia broke down in her mess of tears and wracking sobs that had been begging to surface the moment she spotted Rafe on the club floor.

She tried to avoid her reflection in the mirror and instead sank down onto the floor, grateful for the cool feel of the plasticky tiles wash over her naked, burning skin.

***

Rafe paced the parking lot, biting at his thumb. He’d spotted Sofia’s car and now was just waiting for her to come out.

“Get in the truck Rafe, I’m not playin’ with you.” Barry said, leaning against the hood of his truck.

“Just go, you don’t need to wait up.”

“Don’t you think you said plenty? She got the idea.”

Rafe shook his head vigorously, his nose scrunching up. Why was Barry being so sympathetic towards her? Why was he treating Rafe as if he was some abusive piece of shit who’d treated her horribly. “What do you think I’m gonna do to her?”

Barry chucked, the sound dark and sardonic, “ain’t you jus’ gonna rub her face in it a bit more? Remind her of her fuck ups? Just leave her alone man. I think you’ve hurt her enough.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes, stopping in his tracks, “what do you know about Sofia? What do you know about us? Huh?”

“I just know what I saw back in there. You make up these big shiny promises and never make good on them– and that’s what you probably did to that girl. That’s why she’s here at some low rent strip club tryna make ends meet. So the least you can do is give her the decency of pretendin’ like you didn’t see shit.”

Rafe’s mouth twisted in a scowl. Barry was meant to be on his side.

“You’re acting as if it’s my fault she’s here. She could’ve come to me– talked to me and fixed all this shit! But nah– she decided that this was the better option instead of having a single conversation with me.” He gestured wildly at the club behind him, the neon header flickering and spluttering in the brisk night.

Barry scoffed, the usual humorous glint in his eyes snuffed out, turning them coal like and hard. “Would you have listened though, dawg?”

Rafe was silent at that unable to give him an answer.

Barry plowed on, “I think you forget not everyone’s from Figure 8. She ain’t like your country club chicks.”

Rafe laughed but the sound was hollow, “think I’ve heard this all before man. Just cause you’d do anything for money doesn’t mean every pogue on the cut will.”

Barry’s lips thinned and Rafe knew he’d taken it too far, “maybe if your head wasn’t shoved so far up your own ass you’d understand why people do what they do. You’re actin’ all high and mighty– does she know about all the shit you’ve done?”

The air between thing changed. This is the first time Barry had brought it up and Rafe felt that familiar mix of anger and nausea froth up again. Barry knew to strike where it hurt.

A small smirk played upon his friend’s lips. “God forbid she whores herself out– but you’re good to kill people huh?”

Rafe tensed his jaw, face contorting with muted rage, it took everything in him not to stride forward and wrap his hands around his throat. “Fuck you.”

“Get in the truck.”

At that moment, Barry’s gaze disappeared behind Rafe’s head, only for a second, but it was enough time for Rafe to notice and spin around.

And there she was.

Sofia was heading to her car, wrapped up in her coat, bag hoisted high on her shoulder.

“Rafe, just leave her,” Barry warned.

“I know you think I’m just some asshole, but I care about her okay? I care about you too. I’m not– I’m not just some jerk. I just want to talk to her alright?”

He waited a moment, for Barry to give some sort of flicker of approval. But his dark eyes and sharp jaw remained set in place. Rafe scoffed, shaking his head. Approval from Barry was like drawing blood from a stone. But he still always found himself clawing for it.

Rafe’s tone quickly devolved into disdain when he realised Barry was as bloodless as ever, “fine– don’t believe me.” He ground his teeth, before turning around towards Sofia.

***

Hayes let her go home early, after Mina had found her curled up in a ball in the dressing room. She’d peeled off her costume, changing into her sweats and T-shirt, before grabbing all her things and leaving.

She let herself find comfort in the soft fabric of her clothes as she left the club, cold wind sluicing her face. She didn’t have to suck in her stomach or arch her back anymore. She could just slouch and cower from the rest of the world.

“Sofia! Wait!” A voice called out from her left. She turned to see Rafe approach her, hand outstretched and face hopeful.

He’d been waiting out here all this time? Sofia prickled with unease, her body tensing up on hearing his voice.

“What do you want Rafe?” She managed to rasp out, voice sore from all the crying.

“Please just hear me out okay?”

Sofia knew she should just get in her car and begin the drive home. But there was still a part of her that resounded with a dull regret at the way things ended. If he had things to say, well then so did she.

Sofia stilled in her tracks and waited for him to catch up to her. In the distance she could see Barry watch the pair, arms folded, expression indecipherable in the dark. Sofia didn’t know why, but his quiet presence calmed her fluctuating breath. He’d always been sweet to her, even when he didn’t need to, and funnily enough, she felt safer than if he wasn’t there.

“You good? I didn’t mean to trip you up.” Rafe began, semi breathless. He gave her a once over. Sofia must’ve looked terrible. She could feel her mascara clump in her waterline– there had to be streaks of black running down her cheeks, her foundation caking up and smearing. An acrid insecurity suddenly washed over her.

“I’m fine.” Her words were meant to come out as callous. Assertive. But instead, all she managed to muster was a hoarse squeak.

“Good, good,” he ran a hand over the back of neck, Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to speak, “was that your boss? Back in there?”

She nodded.

“He didn’t get mad at you did he?”

Sofia sniffed, nose still runny from her crying fit moments earlier, “no, Hayes is good, he takes care of us.”

That seemed to upset Rafe, Sofia noting how his eyebrows furrowed and mouth warped into a frown.

“How long have you been– uh doing this?” His hands gestured to the building behind her, the neon lights spelling out ISLAND PARADISO casting the dull building in a hellish, red glow.

Sofia could tell he was struggling to keep calm. His whole body bubbled with an effervescent energy she couldn’t pin point. Was it anger? And if he was angry was it at himself or her? Sofia would bet money the answer was her. He was never wrong in his book, she’d noticed. Nearly two years of being with him, holding him to her chest as he revealed his pain, kissing his cheeks and tasting his tears, Rafe never found fault in himself. It was always someone else who made him this way. There was always some other Big, Bad thing that had hurt him. Sofia realised she’d just become another one of those bad things.

But she kept her misgivings to herself just yet. “Coming up to a month. It started off as just bartending, but the tips were nothing compared to the country club.”

Rafe nodded, swallowing as if he was digesting this information, “the pay off from selling me out not enough was it?”

Sofia tried to withhold her wince. She knew it was coming, but still it hurt. “Rafe… it was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

Sofia bit her lip, struggling to maintain eye contact. His eyes could be so intense sometimes, so cold and blue. It was too much. “I didn’t think you were serious about us. I heard what you said– that day at the club. I guess I just wanted to hurt you like you hurt me.”

She chanced a look at his face, his expression splitting into confusion, “what did I say? What are you talking about.”

“You were talking to Ruthie and Topper. You said I was just a hookup. That you wouldn’t live with me because you had standards…and I just snapped. Hollis gave me 25 thousand. I still have it– it’s yours.”

Rafe just shook his head, sifting his brain to reach for the memory. “No…no Sofia what the fuck? Why didn’t you just speak with me huh? Even when I called you asking you to explain you were quiet?” His tone was imploring as he neared her in one wide step, his body angled down so he could meet her eyes. Was he apologetic? Did he feel bad?

Sofia felt the gates of her heart open, spurred on by the possibility of his understanding. “Because I thought it was true! I wasn’t anything to you. You would just drag me around everywhere but make it seem like we were nothing serious…what you said that day was just the final nail in the coffin. Then you started talking about a future together– when you took me to see Goat Island– and I was so confused. I tried to take back what I did. I tried to fix it! But you wouldn’t listen Rafe. Then you went ahead and proposed– saying you didn’t care about what I did, that you still loved me! What was I supposed to do huh!? I was scared to say anything on that phone call, but you didn’t even give me a chance. You ended it just like that.” The tears started falling again her voice rising and falling, hurtling out of her control.

Rafe’s visage eddied between hurt and aggravation, held together with twitching features and watery irises. “That’s not fair Sofia and you know it.”

“And this is!? What more do you want from me? I’ll send the money to you tomorrow okay? You told me we were done and I listened. I’m sorry I made you loose everything but that wasn’t my intention. I just wanted you to want me Rafe, not just string me along like a person for hire.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now? Selling yourself?” Sofia could tell he knew it was a low blow from the way he waited a moment before saying it. As if considering if it was worth it. Obviously it was. He couldn’t help himself.

“Can you stop? Do you think I feel good about this? Do you think I want this?” She hated how broken she sounded, how helpless she probably looked.

Rafe suddenly switched from restrained and controlled to desperate and pleading. His hands rose up to hover over her arms, ready to hold her like he used to. Like it was second nature. Like he did that day on the shoreline overlooking Goat Island. “We can fix this. Move back in. We’ll go back to normal.”

“You’ll resent me. Look at you, you already do.”

Rafe shook his head, “I don’t resent you– I– I need to make things better baby, I can’t let you do this shit.”

Sofia blanched at the endearment, feeling her heart ache and twist almost to the point of bleeding out of her chest, “your word means nothing to me Rafe. You want me to quit this job too before you throw me out on my ass next time I make you upset again?”

His mouth screwed up, eyes narrowing in offence. He didn’t like the way she framed the truth it seemed. Sofia found a smug satisfaction at jabbing at him like that.

“Just go. I’ll figure it out. I don’t need your pity.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You hurt me too Sofia. I don’t pity you– I miss you. We can get past this.”

Sofia shook her head, the tears that had collected in her ducts overflowing onto her splotchy cheeks, “how can I believe you huh? Look where it got me last time I put my faith in you.”

Rafe just swallowed thickly, sniffing and letting his head drop. He was quiet for a while stepping back from her. Sofia watched his face shift through a whole spectrum of emotions as if he was deciding what route to take. Finally he sighed, deep and defeated and ashamed, running a coarse hand through his cropped hair.

Rafe slowly neared Sofia, bending down low and finally bridging the distance. Sofia would’ve stepped back but something about the way he looked at her, sincerity finally filling blue irises, reminded her of the day she realised she’d fallen for him. He’d been caught under the light of the North Carolinian pines, looking at her with that dopey smile. And now here he was again, not angry, not moralising, not resentful, but honest and kind. So she let him hold her arms.

“Keep the 25k. Use it. Get yourself out of this shit hole. If you change your mind you know where to find me…I’m sorry Sofia, for not being the man you deserve. I tried, I really did–” Rafe paused taking a shuddering inhale of air, “I didn’t mean for this. I was looking forward to marrying you.”

Rafe didn’t even let the words hit her before he leaned forward bundling her up in a tight hug. Sofia’s first instinct was to refute it, but when she felt his arms envelope her, his scent fill her nose, she crumbled up against the wall of his chest and sobbed quietly.

Rafe broke away first, his body lowering to meet hers. He brushed away the hair that stuck to her brine coated cheeks, blue eyes flickering all across her face, as if he was committing it to memory. “If anything happens, you can call me yeah?”

Sofia’s eyebrows softened, knowing she wouldn’t need to. But she nodded anyways, more for his sake than her own.

“Bye Rafe,” she finally mustered, voice close to a whisper, before slipping out of his hold and heading to her car.

She didn’t hear him say anything else. Not a final one up. Or a biting dig to remind her she was the one in the wrong. He just stood where he was, watching her as she drove out of the parking lot, face almost solemn as if he was grieving.

She drove away, the sound of the tyres rolling across the backroad gravel, filling the silence. The heavy feeling in her chest lingered, just like it did the day he broke things off between them.

Sofia had more than just guilt and regret to deal with tonight, the sticky tendrils of heartache already wrapping around her throat, making it hard to breathe.

***

Rafe walked back to Barry, who’d remained in the same position as he left him: slouched against the hood of his truck, arms folded across his chest.

“You ready to go now?” He asked, in a bored drawl. But if he was so bored, why didn’t he wait in the truck?

Rafe nodded, maintaining a stoic expression.

The two left the strip club parking lot completely silent, the extent of what he lost dawning on Rafe as they reached Kildare, thirty minutes later.

“What am I supposed to do Barry?” Rafe finally said, the first word spoken in the stifling truck.

“You move on.”

“But she needs my help.”

Barry let out a soft inhale of breath. Was it a scoff? Or was it a sigh? Rafe didn’t know, but when Barry finally answered, his was expression unreadable. “She doesn’t trust you anymore, man. So you either wait it out or move on.”

“I can wait.” If there was any possibility he could have her again, he’d hold on to it. Rafe Cameron was nothing if not insistent.

Barry cocked his head, “for her to trust you again?”

“Yeah– what? You think she won’t.”

“I’m surprised she ever did in the first place. I think she’s learned her lesson.”

Rafe laughed sardonically. “Like you did? You keep taking me back.”

Barry considered him for long while, glancing over at Rafe in the shadowy truck, “yeah well I’m hopin’ she makes better choices than me now.”

Rafe scrunched his nose, a heady mix of rage and shame pooling in his stomach. “Whatever. I’m trying to be better man. I love her. And I know it’s real because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. It’s different with Sofia.”

“Different how?”

“She lets me be the better version of myself. It doesn’t hurt with her.”

“Like it hurts with me?”

“No. Not you.” The answer was quick on his tongue.

Barry sighed, his hands tightening on the wheel, “y’know why I’m tellin’ you to leave her alone? It’s because you may not be hurtin’ but she is.”

“Why do you care so much?”

Barry considered his questions for moment. “She was nice to me, she didn’t have to be, but she was.”

“She’s nice to everyone.”

“So why do you think you’re special?” Barry gave him sidelong glance. He wasn’t mean or bitter or cruel. He spoke plainly, as if it was just a regular question.

Rafe was silent at it. Fuck Barry and his esoteric quips.

“She’d hurt less if she was with me. I can take care of her.”

“You can barely take care of yourself dawg.”

“Whatever Barry. As if you’re so perfect. I may not be the best person on earth but I’m not the worst either, okay? I get shit done. I take care of things. I’ll take care of her.”

“She’s not one of your things.”

“Stop fucking twisting my words.”

“I’m just sayin’ what I’m hearin’ and seein’…you clearly care for her, I’m not disputing that. I don’t know man. I just feel bad for her.”

Rafe stirred with guilt. The notion that she was in that place because of him slammed right into his chest. What would she be doing if he hadn’t fucked her at his party two summers ago? Would she be in college, like she dreamed about? Or would she have found another job somewhere on Kildare? Would she at least be happy? Rafe recalled the bubbly, bright girl, with her cute little bangs and glittering hazel eyes, who couldn’t stop smiling up at him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. His heart twisted, convulsing inside his chest with a sharp potent pain.

Barry had pulled up into his driveway, stopping the car outside his house.

“So you’re gonna wait for her then?” He remarked, turning to face him, features lit up by the motion sensor lights of Rafe’s courtyard.

“Yeah. I’ll wait.”

“Well good luck country club. I’ll see you around.”

Rafe left his truck, Barry quickly reversing down the driveway, leaving Rafe standing alone outside his house.

When he’d go inside he’d be alone too. He wouldn’t stumble over her trainers in the doorway, there would be no leftovers from her dinner on stove, the hallway light wouldn’t be left on (because she didn’t want him to trip up in the dark).

And when he’d crawl into bed, the sheets would be cold. He’d reach out and graze nothing but air. And soon enough, the faint, lingering smell of her shampoo would fade from the pillows too.

Rafe didn’t believe in god, but he knew that Sofia did. He looked up at the night sky, littered with stars and puffs of grey cloud, and whispered quietly under his breath.

“Please let Sofia be okay. Please let her find her way back to me.”

It was the first time he’d prayed in a long while. The whole thing felt like such a cop out. Saying words instead of actually getting up and doing shit? But if Sofia wasn’t going to accept his help, listen to him when he finally needed her to, then this was the least he could do.

“Please make it all be okay again.”

[seventh-district]

so uh. that 2.2 Special Program, huh

[v41entine]

also datv has unlocked the latent da obsessed sleeper agent in me like i rly feel like im reliving my da2 days when i would play that game from the time i got off work till i passed out to when i woke up and had to get ready for work like, i personally did enjoy the game, i am excited for future playthroughs but more importantly its renewed my love for dragon age as a whole

[welcometoteyvat]

furina's character demo omg she's so ! i was borderline laughing for most of it, it was really charming !! idk it was really cute and genuine and a good time fr

[keeps-ache]

🔫 pew pew

[rafesangelita]

imagining rafe finding out another man been buying things for reader and him losing it

warnings: dealer!rafe, jealousy/possessiveness, unprotected sex, rough handling, choking, arguing, mentions of sex work/stripping, slight dumbification

a/n: thank you so much for this request anon!! i had a similar prompt to this one but i wasn’t sure how to word it lol. join my private community today for girly advice and talks! let me know if you’d like an invitation ♡

it was subtle at first— rafe would see you waltz into barry’s trailer late at night with a brand new pair of pleasers, leaving behind a trail of perfume that wasn’t your signature scent. you were getting your hair done more often, even your nails started changing more frequently. he really took notice one day when barry had left to go run some errands, foolishly leaving you two alone together. rafe had your knees pressed into your chest, your pretty pedicured feet rocking with each of his thrusts as the pendant on your anklet glittered underneath the dim lighting of your room, the small detail instantly catching rafe’s attention.

he looked down at the little thing, a silver playboy bunny charm dangling from the dainty chain. “h-hey, when did you get this?” he cursed under his breath, pressing a kiss to the back of your calf as you cried out from the feeling of his pubic bone slamming down on your sensitive bud. your heart dropped at the question, your cheeks heating as rafe fixed his eyes on your face. “oh, nothing! s’just a little gift one of my regulars got for me..” you moaned, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as rafe’s jaw clenched.

he was definitely mad now.

picking up his pace, he reached down and squeezed your cheeks together, forcing you to look up at him. “what the fuck do you mean one of your ‘regulars’ are you fucking this guy?” rafe was livid, considering he had already told you he wanted you to quit dancing at the club since he pretty much funded you and bought you whatever you wanted without hesitation. attempting to get out of his grip, rafe only tightened his hold on your face, his eyebrows pinching together as you struggled to find your words. “hmphh— no! r-rafe, i’m not fucking him!”

he swallowed thickly, letting go of your cheeks only to wrap his hand around your throat instead. “so why is he buying you gifts and shit?” rafe said through gritted teeth, “what is he getting you that i can’t?” you knew rafe was just mad because he felt threatened, the thought of another man spoiling you and making you happy with their money instead of his pissed him off like no other. “he just puts some extra money in my pocket, that’s all.. plus a little bit of interest..” you looked over at your vintage purse collection, rafe following your line of vision.

what used to be like six bags sitting in the corner of your room, had now grown into an easy twenty, the evidence of your claims making him pull out of you with a hiss. “you’re fucking joking, y/n. you’re letting another man buy his way with you?” you couldn’t help but feel exposed, rafe’s demeaning tone making you want to curl in on yourself. “i’m not letting anyone ‘buy’ their way with me, asshole. except you, but clearly i’m sooo wrong for that.” you scoffed, pulling your sheets over yourself to hide your body from rafe’s view.

“i didn’t say you were wrong for that, you dummy. what i’m mad about is the fact that you’re still working at pink sugar when i told you to leave that place a long ass time ago. why are you still there?” rafe was quick to get his boxers back on, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration as he plopped down at the edge of your bed. “instead of questioning me, you should ask barry why he hasn’t moved us out of this shit hole yet,” you sat up against the wall, “you and barry make all of this money but we’re still in the same spot! i do what i do so that i can get out of this fucking trailer, rafe.”

you were right, and rafe knew it. as much as he had been telling your brother to at least get a nicer place for y’all, your brother always put the money back into his pawn shop where it barely made any profit. rafe looked back at you, a mix of both sadness and irritation written all over your face. “if a man is buying me gifts and giving me money, essentially allowing me to get out of my situation, then i’m going to do what i have to do. the gifts are just tokens of appreciation for my time. and no, i’m not having sex with this guy. he’s a lonely loser who makes way too much money for himself who just wants to blow it. i’m not gonna say no to that.”

rafe listened to you carefully, his hard gaze softening as he reached out to stroke your legs under your sheets. “look.. i want you to pack your stuff and stay with me then. if you let me take care of you— not just spoil you and buy you stuff, but really let me cover everything, you know i’ll do it. you’ll be out of this trailer and you could leave the club for good, i don’t want none of this dancing shit keeping you from me anymore.” your heart was racing in your chest, everything you’ve ever wanted now offering itself to you at your feet. “but what about barry?” you sighed, allowing rafe to come up and wrap his arms around your shoulders.

“he’ll get over it, babe. i’m sure he’ll be more thankful than anything to know that you’re not in that environment anymore. you know your brother is a simple dude, all he needs is this trailer and a cold case of beers in the fridge and he’s happy.” you laughed softly at his words, your cheek resting against his chest. “i promise i’ll make him fix up the trailer so you don’t have to worry about him over here. i’ll clear out the yard and install a new ac unit if it makes you feel better, does that sound good?” you nodded, pressing a kiss to rafe’s knuckles. “yes, please. he’s too stubborn do it himself.”

[luveline]

𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐳, 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Eddie has a staring problem that you barely notice, though you share an aching, awful crush. One of you has to bend first, and it’s not who you’d expect. fem, 5k 

ditzy-ish reader, pining eddie, mutual pining, confessions, first kisses, fluff and hugging, idiots in love, mild states of undress

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

It’s a day fit for a funeral in Hawkins. Rain hammers his bedroom window like hailstones, plinking against the frame, condensation running down the panes in thick rivulets he soaks up with an old t-shirt. 

It’s supposed to be spring time. Green grass, flowers, a gentle humming sun to warm the back of his neck while he sits out on the couch on the porch, a hand-rolled cigarette between his fingers, the tip shimmering with heat. 

But the rain pours. He’s cleaned his room for the first time in a month, at least, and his back aches in the best way as he lays down amongst fresh sheets. His room feels strange when it’s organised, but he doesn’t mind. He pictures the state of it through a second pair of eyes. This is a boy who cares about things, who takes care of them, who could take care of me, too. 

Rain again rackets on the metal roof above. He and Wayne keep a couple hundred bucks stashed for the day the roof flies straight off —they take turns hiding it, because cars break down and groceries get more expensive every year, but god will they need it, and so they safeguard it well. 

He syphoned a little of the money recently with Wayne’s support. It was for a good cause. 

“Jesus,” Eddie murmurs to himself, not tired but feeling dull as the clouds outside eat the remaining sun. 

It’s depressing to be poor, and to lose a day trying to hide the evidence of an entire life in a small room. He could sleep a hundred years. 

He’s just finished pulling the sheets over his shoulder when somebody knocks on the front door. Wayne opens it three rooms away, the sound of the rain doubled. 

He gives a startling shout, “Ed! Your girl!” 

Eddie topples out of bed. Doesn’t mean to, foot caught in the bottom of the sheets and stuck as he scrambles to slide out of the mess. He’s begged Wayne not to call you that when you’re within earshot, but Wayne’s a mean (kind) old bastard (middle aged dad) who wants Eddie dead (happy, and in love). 

“Come on in, girl. You’re soaking.” 

“It’s raining.” 

“It’s pouring down. Did you walk here?” 

“Took my bike. Thought I’d get struck by lightning in the car.” 

“How’d you figure?” 

Eddie goes to grab the door handle and spins on his heel, staggering onto his bed and up against the wall, where a mirrored tray once used by Dio himself for rolling hangs from the wall. He checks his face in the polished surface, his warped mouth and nose, too small eyes, and swears to himself that one day he’ll get a real mirror with a fully-functioning reflective surface. 

Then he hops down off of the bed, causing a reverberation he knows traverses the entirety of the trailer floor. Eddie snatches a rare clean towel from his laundry chair and speeds down the hall. 

“Hello,” he says, more casual than he feels to find you unexpectedly in his house. “You’re soaked.” 

You give a sweet smile. “It’s raining out, did you not know?” 

Your hair is dripping, water racing down the curves of your face to collect at your chin. Eddie can see the smudges of your makeup where it’s washing off as he wraps a towel around you, kohl on your cheeks, eyelashes turned to half-diamonds and sticky-looking. You grin at being covered, taking the towel from his fingers before he can dab you dry. 

“Why didn’t you just call me?”’

“I can never remember if your phone number ends in three or four.” 

“Seven. I wrote it down for you a hundred times.” 

You rub your eyes and spread all manner of glitter and shadow over your skin. You wipe your neck and the glitter spreads like an alien rash. 

When you talk next, you shiver, “I lost it a hundred times, sorry. Is it okay that I'm here?” 

Wayne, who’s been watching with a distinct sense of amusement from the couch, lets out a chesty laugh. “Honey, it’s always okay that you’re here on my account. And it’s my house.” 

“It’s fine.” Eddie turns your shoulder so he can mouth over it without being caught. Asshole. 

Another laugh follows. Eddie would cut each of his fingers from his hand and then his hand from his wrist if it were something Wayne needed him to do, but that doesn’t make him any less of an opportunistic asshole. If there’s a way to fuck with Eddie, he tends to try it. He loves Eddie with all the tenacity of a father who loves his son, but Wayne got infected with little bitch disease or something and Eddie can’t cure it. 

“Can I please wash my face? I didn’t expect to get soaked.” 

“Didn’t you?” He regrets his flippancy quickly, leading you down the hall. “You could take a shower. What do you think?” 

You’ve never showered here, but Eddie’s trying to, you know, date you. Romance you, get to cherish you, however anyone wants to say it. And it’s not a war of attrition, just a natural escalation of sharing, or a minimising of boundaries. 

No, that’s pervy, isn’t it? 

“I mean–” He starts to correct himself. 

You interrupt with your answer, “Yes, please, do you think I could? But I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I have your purple hoodie in my room, and there’s gotta be a pair of sweatpants here that fit you,” he says. 

They’ve got a whole bunch of clothes here that floated in from somewhere else, Eddie’s other friends or stuff they’ve bought by mistake. He’s sure he can find something.

“You have my hoodie?” you ask, black kohl spreading across the towel as you wipe your cheek. 

Eddie only smelled it one time. When he’d realised you left it in his van he brought it in and folded it, waiting for the next time he’d see you to give it back, but that night he’d been getting out of the shower wondering if he could call you or if that was too soon, and your hoodie had been right there. So he stood there in his pyjama pants with his wet hair and he didn’t think about picking your hoodie up, he just did, and when he pressed it to his face it still smelled of your perfume. 

He put it back and felt like a loser for days.

“It’s in my closet, you left it in the van Monday,” he explains quickly, nudging you through the doorway of the bathroom. 

The Munson bathroom is teeny tiny but not unnavigable. There’s a shower pressed to the far wall that could squeeze in two people, their toilet to the right, a sink basin opposite that with a medicine cabinet and just enough room for a dirty laundry box that’s always, always full. 

Eddie opens the shower and turns it on. “It takes a while to get really hot but then it’s not hot for long, sorry. There’s my shampoo if you want it, and soap, and body wash. Sorry, none of it is super girly.” 

“Sorry sorry,” you say, pretending to hit him in the stomach. “What’s with all the sorries, handsome? I can’t wait to smell like a boy.” 

The way you say it. Eddie doesn’t know what it is, but it’s why he’s crazy about you. 

Probably shouldn’t tell you that as you're taking off your jacket, though. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says. 

Eddie heads out of the bathroom to their skinny linen cabinet hidden in the hallway. He grabs the last two towels from the middle shelf and takes pause, fabric starchy in his hands. Just be normal, he thinks, a pep talk from Eddie to Eddie. She hangs out with you all the time for a reason. She held your hand at the movies. 

Eddie’s in better spirits when he remembers that. Your hand in his, your ring pushing his ring further down his finger, your cheek touching his shoulder as you’d leaned in and asked if he wanted some of your popcorn. 

He opens the door without thinking, shower pattering against the perspex wall, your legs crossing tightly as he enters, turning yourself away from him.

“Woah!” you say, laughing.

“Holy crap.” The image of your red underwear immediately stamps itself into his mind as he pulls the door shut between you. They were really cute, red and white gingham, showcasing just the slightest curve of your– “I told you I was coming back!” 

“I thought you’d knock!” you laugh. “Sorry I flashed you. At least I had my shirt on.” 

At least, he thinks wryly, shoving his arm through the gap in the door, heavy towels pulling at his fingers. His head’s about to snap off, it's turned so far away from the door’s opening. “Here.” 

“If you wanna see me naked so bad you can just ask,” you tease. 

“Take the towels, loser.” 

You take the towels and he closes the door, preventing any more accidental creeping, and giving himself a reprieve. Gingham underwear. Wavy lettuce edgings kissing your skin. 

Holy fuck. Being a person is so lame, Eddie thinks. He wants to have a crush on you purely, and yet seeing the way you’d crossed your legs to hide from him, smiling, he can’t not think about kissing you —touching you. If he doesn’t get you laid out in his bed soon for some slow kissing he’s not gonna make it.

Eddie opens the strip vent above his window and prays it doesn’t flood his whole room. Clean, it doesn’t look half bad, he could bring you in here respectfully, you could stay the night without fearing for your life. 

You take a quick shower. He’s barely gotten over his nerves when you’re walking into his room, a towel around you, not a hint of shyness about you. 

“You didn’t bring me anything to wear,” you explain. 

Eddie just stares at you. 

“Eddie?” You wrap the towel tighter. “Come on, you’re staring at me.”

“Sorry.” His mouth is bone dry. 

“You have my hoodie, right? Just need some pants.” You cross your arm tightly across your chest. “I don’t usually notice when people are staring at me.”

“You aren’t usually naked in my room,” he says, genuinely and embarrassingly apologetic. 

“I’m not naked. Come on, please? Do I have to wait outside the door?” you ask with a laugh. 

Eddie stands up. Shakes his head hard, almost trips over himself trying to get to his dresser. He decides honesty will be best at this point, lest you think he has only one thing on his mind, “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just in my head about something and I wasn’t expecting you to come out like that. It’s not right. You’re just… you’re really pretty.” 

“Thank you.” He can’t see you, sorting quickly through his middle drawer and all his miscellaneous pants for a pair he’s sure would fit, if he could just remember where it was. “What are you in your head about?” 

“What?” 

“Eddie, are you okay?” 

“No, no,” he moans, rubbing his face with his hand, ring scratching the bridge of his nose, “I’m not okay, princess, I’m overheating or something, Jesus Christ.” He finally lays eyes on the sweatpants he’d been thinking of, grabs your hoodie from the top shelf and drops them both at the end of the bed. “I’ll give you some privacy.” 

“I don’t have any underwear.” 

“And that’s something I can’t fix,” he says, leaving the room in a hurry. 

Eddie gets to the living room and keels over. His hair falls in his face, his shirt slides down his back. What the fuck is wrong with him? 

Wayne, sliding his shoes on in the recliner, gives a start. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie lifts his head, yanking hair from his face, the skin of his under eyes pulled down harshly. “Oh my god.”

Wayne wrinkles his nose. 

“No ones ever been such a pathetic excuse for a man before,” Eddie says. 

“Your dad’s in jail,” Wayne points out. “And not for the impressive stuff.”

“I’m pathetic.” 

“You’re fine. You’re not supposed to be not pathetic, you’re twenty.” 

“I’m twenty one.” 

“The extra year doesn’t mean much. I know you think you’re all grown up, but you’re still an idiot.” 

Wayne stands and shrugs on the jacket laying over the armrest. 

“Wait, where are you going?” 

“I thought you were definitely gonna ask her?” Wayne asks knowingly. That’s what Eddie told him, after all. “Next time I see her, Wayne, I’m asking her to go steady.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “You can’t leave.” 

“Eddie.” Wayne gestures for Eddie to stop slouching like some fiend from a bad horror. “Listen. I get that you’ve always been sort of… behind everyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. She likes you. She biked here in a hurricane.”

“What if she says no?” he asks. 

Truthfully, Eddie’s more scared of you saying yes. 

Wayne shrugs. “Girl like that’ll still be your friend after. It’ll be fine, okay? Do you need a hug before I go?” 

“No.” Eddie rubs his eyes some more, sore now from being touched. “Maybe.” 

Wayne crosses the room to give his shoulder a squeeze. “It will be fine. You’re great with rejection, Eds, but I have a good feeling about this one.” 

Eddie felt better about it, before he embarrassed himself staring at you. But Wayne’s right, even if Eddie’s read things wrong between you, he’s sure you’ll still want to be his friend. You and Eddie are the same kind of weird, though he’s more angry where you’re carefree. If everything goes wrong, you’ll probably just give an unnecessary apology and offer to braid his hair. Which will be torture, but Eddie’ll still say yes.

Wayne calls goodbye, and you shout, “Bye, Mr. Munson!” to which Wayne wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Get lost,” Eddie says. 

“Go make her a drink. I’ll see you later.” 

That’s not a bad idea. Eddie makes you a mix of orange and grapefruit juice with a couple of ice cubes and a plastic straw, your reaction predicted and then proved. 

“It’s a cocktail,” you say, pleased, sitting on the side of his bed. 

“It’s not a cocktail, just juice.” 

“Can I have some socks, please, Eddie?” 

Eddie passes you your drink, fingertips brushing. “Yeah. Anything else?” He pretends to be exhausted as he trudges back over to his dresser. 

You laugh and sip your drink. “No, I think you’re treating me quite well.” 

Eddie grabs a random pair and finally gets to sit down beside you, the dresser drawer left out, a spare sock fallen to the floor. You shuffle back into his pillows, propping your juice on his side table, and holding your hands out for the socks. Again, your fingertips touch his as he passes them to you. You seem to enjoy it, a smile lighting your face as you pull your knees up to put the socks on. 

“Thank you for waiting on me,” you say quietly. Not shyly, just quiet. 

“You’re welcome. Came all this way to see me, didn’t you?” He gives you a shove. You shuffle back further. “In the pouring rain.” 

“It felt important at the time.” 

“Yeah?” 

You get the socks on and don’t care about them once they're past your heels. Eddie does the honour of smoothing out the bands so that the elastic won’t dig into your skin, and when he’s done he can feel you looking at him heavily. You’re not one for continued eye contact, but you smile like you were waiting for it all day, like it’s a relief to see him. 

“Bad weather,” you say, slouching down. “I think I’m still wet on the inside.” 

“Gross,” Eddie says, pushing you over bodily to sit beside you. This isn’t new, he doesn’t need any nerves, and he’s grateful when they don’t come. “Here, I’ll pull the blanket over you.” 

“Can’t move,” you say, leaning back against the pillows.

Eddie stretches his legs out. You keep yours up, but you turn to his side, and before he can really make any sense of you, you’re dropping your face into his shoulder. 

“Are you still cold?” he asks, searching for the truth in your strange comment. 

You nod into his shoulder. “I’m freezing. The shower didn’t get very hot.” 

“Sorry,” he says, letting his cheek rest on your head. 

You lift your chin as he does it, his lashes pressed to your forehead, the two of you stuck together like two warped jigsaw pieces. You probably weren’t made to be together, but you make a nice picture, and you fit snugly now. That’s what Eddie thinks. 

This is the sort of moment that makes Eddie wanna ask you out. Maybe you’re just the best friend he’s ever had, but something about this closeness feels different. You wrap your arm around his stomach in a hug and he knows this is different. 

“It’s okay,” you say finally, sighing as you shift downward into his side, getting comfortable. 

“Please don’t bike here in the rain. It’s, like, torrential. You could actually get sick.” 

You feel warm where your body presses against his, but Eddie doubts that’ll make a difference if the cold already made you sick. The bike ride from your place to his isn't short. He covers your arm with his and tries to be your space heater, cheek sliding over your forehead. 

“Eddie…” You hug him with tenderness. Eddie’s reluctant to say cuddle, but it’s close. “This might be a surprise to you, but I think it’s worth the rain and the cold to see you. Especially when you do this.” 

“What am I doing?” 

“You’re rubbing my arm.” 

He hadn’t noticed his hand caressing up and down your arm where it rests on his stomach. 

“You make me feel amazing,” you say, dropping your face into his chest. 

That’s his last straw. Eddie gets both arms around you and cuddles you (it’s a cuddle, okay! he’s a loser!) to him, arms tight but not cruel. All this fuss and you’re finally laying on top of him. He decides he won’t ask you after all. He’s not that brave, and he doesn’t want this to end. 

Your legs fall onto him. You relax completely. Even after you shower he can smell your perfume. 

“You smell nice,” he murmurs. 

“It’s on my hoodie,” you murmur back. 

Right. Eddie should remember. 

“You make everything smell like you.” Even his van keeps your scent most days. 

“Too much?” 

“The right amount,” he says firmly. 

You lay on his chest for a while, just breathing. Eddie rubs your back, tells himself he will ask, actually, because he can’t imagine not getting to do this again. You might even stay over. He could live hours of this. He didn’t know having you lay on him could make him feel like this. 

He can’t believe you’ve never done it before. 

Rain pounds the window. Condensation drips down onto the sill. You let your legs stretch out flat and then manoeuvre to be laying half atop him, hoodie riding up your back. 

“Any warmer now?” he asks.

“Yeah, you’re warming me up.” You lavish in his arms for a moment, and then lift your face. “Oh, this is a bad angle.” 

“For me or you?” 

“For me, duh.” 

Eddie doesn’t think you could have a bad angle. He rubs at your upper arm as you start to shift. “You know, your bike has just as big a chance of getting hit by lightning as your car does. More, probably.” 

“You think so?” 

“It’s physics. So, please don’t do it again.” 

You hum. “Hm, should I risk getting struck by lightning, or spend the evening without you?” you murmur, your arm moving, moving slowly, your hand resting gently on the column of his neck. There’s something ironic in your voice, wry, but your eyes are warm. He’s paralysed. No one has ever spoken to him like you. “I think I’d rather get struck by lightning.” 

You stare at one another. He laughs. You join in, your thumb a pressure at his neck, and when you move up his chest to lean in, he isn’t expecting it. 

“We’re very close together,” you whisper. 

“Super close,” he whispers back. 

“…Eddie, can I ask you something?” Your eyes slip shut, your lips so close that something in him aches, just enough wit about him to cup your shoulders in his forearm. 

“Yeah.” 

He doesn’t sound half as calm as you do. 

“Would you… Do you think we could be official? Would you want that?” You tilt your head to the side. “Is that stupid?” 

“Official?” he asks, panicked, his eyes squeezed shut hard enough for a moment that they ache.

“Like, you’d be my boyfriend. I’d be your girlfriend. We’d be close like this all the time.” 

Eddie panics so hard he just says the first thing that comes into his head, “Like, we’d kiss?” 

“I hope so,” you say, your nose pressing against his, the tip to the side of his, and then against his nostril. The heat of your breath is hard to ignore. “What do you think?” 

What does Eddie think about it? 

He catches your lips in a slow kiss. Achingly slow, not even sure it’s a kiss until you reciprocate, and your fingers dig behind his neck to tease his hair. Your lips part against his, the heat of your tongue sudden and undeniable —Eddie didn’t know you had it in you. He squeezes you to him, attempting to crane his neck downward, reliant on your enthusiasm as you move up, as you use his neck to pull yourself closer. 

Your noses crush together, and it actually hurts. “Sorry,” he says, easing you back, “you okay?” 

“‘Nother kiss,” you say hopefully, distractedly. 

He can’t not give it to you. 

Your hand spreads flat against his chest and you kiss, you kiss, long and slow movements against him before turning your head to take it again. Eddie doesn’t always know what to do with himself, but he knows kissing, no matter what anybody might think about him, and he takes the lead. 

His hand screws into a fist against your hoodie, the slip of your back further exposed as you shiver into his mouth, a sound you shouldn’t make sweet on his tongue. 

You pull away, breath on his lips. “Wanted you to kiss me for so long,” you murmur. 

Eddie knows you’re not saying it to flirt, and that makes it worse. 

“I should’ve kissed you a long time ago,” he says roughly. 

“You wanted to?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, so much, I’m a loser about you–”

“I’m always a loser,” you interrupt, “but especially about you.” 

You scratch your fingers through his hair, encouraging his head down for another kiss. This one rougher but not rough, his arm slips finally behind your head where he’d needed it to be, hooking you in his elbow to keep you in one place. To kiss you soundly, without interruption. Your almost feverish ebbing inward is a dream, your nose rubbing up against his is a fantasy. 

His heart hammers and hammers at his ribs. 

You pull away to let him breathe. “You’re very excited,” you tease lightly. 

Eddie kisses you, breathless. He kisses you so much he’s surprised you allow it, but your thumb rubs his cheek, and he knows he’d been right all along. You want him like he wants you, with startling, mildly pathetic urgency. 

He feels like a fucking prince. Girl of his dreams in his lap, everything he wants, and he didn’t even have to ask. 

—

Eddie spends a week in bliss. You’re suddenly everywhere, all the time, attached to his hip or some other part of him, and he forgets for seven whole days that he bought you a ring. 

The rain dries up, the Munson emergency fund lives to die another day, and he remembers the ring only minutes before you’re knocking at his door. 

He trips over himself trying to answer it before Wayne, who’s taken to being as painfully embarrassing as is possible for one human being, can get it for him. 

“One day you’re gonna eat shit and break your nose,” Wayne says. 

Eddie yanks open the door. “Yeah, thanks. Hey, beautiful, what’s with the sunglasses?” 

You slide them down your nose. You’re a vision on his front step, not that you’d ever notice your own intrigue. “The sunglasses?” you ask, tucking them away. “What do you think they’re for? Three guesses.” 

He grabs your waist, leaning down out of the doorway so as to save Wayne the agony. “That’s smart,” he says, kissing you quickly in hello. “You’re funny. Need anything before we go?” 

“No, I’m okay. Hi, Mr. Munson!” you add.

“Hey, honey! How are you?” Wayne calls.

You look up into Eddie’s face with an obvious delight. “I’ve never been better.” 

Eddie grins back. 

He waves a quick goodbye to Wayne and then he’s out the door. You grab his wrist and practically dance him to the car, where you offer your keys, and he deigns to drive. From there it’s smooth sailing, familiarity with a better twist, Eddie driving with the windows down and your hands twined on your thigh. Things haven’t changed much since you asked him to go steady, there’s just a whole lot more of this. Touching, kissing, no weird guilt about staring. 

As it turns out, you’re as eager to be laid out in his bed as he is to lay you out. He’s never wanted to kiss you more, and now he’s allowed. 

“Eyes on the road.” 

He leans over to kiss your cheek. The sun has warmed your skin, and his kiss makes you smile. You look pretty no matter the weather. 

“Before we get there, I have something to give you.” He takes his hand from yours to slide the box from his pocket. He holds it up. “But you can only have it if you swear you’ll call me tonight before bed. No excuses. You know exactly what number to call.” 

“Ends with a three,” you say, nodding. 

He sighs. “No, it does not.” 

“I’m kidding! Two one nine seven, I have now committed it to memory.” 

Eddie pays attention to the road, though it’s clear and long heading out of the trailer park and into town. “That deserves a gift.” 

You’re back in your glitters today, a skirt to enjoy the fine weather, a button shirt with a cute triangle collar, you’re lovely as ever, if a tad much for some. Not Eddie. He loves the dark clothes, the tinkling bracelets, the fun way you smile like everything he says is a secret between him and you. People stare wherever you and Eddie go, but as long your arm is sewn through his he couldn’t care less. 

“A gift,” you say, smiling in your way, and taking the box politely. “I don’t think I deserve it for just remembering your number.” 

“You deserved it for less. It’s not much. You can pay me back in three or four amazing kisses. Right here.” He points to the tight juncture beneath his jaw. 

You attempt to lean over and kiss him immediately. He pushes you back, laughing, worsened by your own breathless laughter as you steal one exactly where he’d tapped. 

You settle back down, Eddie’s hand dropping kindly to your knee. “I wonder what it is,” you say. 

“Then open it.” 

“I am!” You pop the box open, it’s springing hinge snapping into place. “Oh, woah. Woah. Where did you get this?” 

It’s a slim ring, with a weirdly shaped band of quality metal around some cheaper but not totally worthless gemstones, of which there are three different colours: a topaz orange, a lime green, and a pinky-red ruby colour centre stage. They have nice cuts. It’s strange as you are, and he knew when he saw it you’d have to have it. 

“If I put it on my marriage finger, are we engaged?” you tease. 

“That one would be way heavier,” he says, giving you a squeeze. 

You slide it onto your middle finger and hold your hand up in the sunshine. It fits in with your other ring nicely, though it is, to Eddie’s pride, far prettier. 

He has half a mind to pull over and kiss each knuckle, but he’s trying to be less dramatic about you. It’s not working. 

“Thank you, Eddie. I love it.” 

“Best boyfriend ever?” he asks hopefully. 

To his mild fear but better pleasure, you climb up onto the console to press three quick kisses to his cheek and jaw, your hand under his ear holding him in tender place. “Best boyfriend ever. Even if you stare too much.” 

“How am I supposed to not?” he asks, with more weight than he’s intended. 

You speak matter of factly for the first time in your life. “I am going to cause an accident,” you promise, attempting to kiss his nose. “A bad one.” 

“Sit down, please.” He lets you kiss his nose, and then jabs you in the side. “Sit down, oh my god! That’s not funny, you’re so pretty I will total your car.” 

“Now who’s not funny?” 

You both laugh at the same time, the unfiltered, un-cute cackling of two idiots with the same sense of humour, and the same wealth of ridiculous honeymoon love. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. if you did, please consider reblogging or commenting!! thanks very much <3

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Don’t Mess with My Girl

Fandom: Marvel (Mob Boss AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You come home from work and you make the mistake of telling Bucky that a guy has been harassing you at work.

Warning: harassment from a male coworker

A/N: the snippets of Bucky in the Thunderbolts trailer have ignited my love for him again omfg.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Bucky's already home when you arrive from work. You let out an exhausted sigh as you place your things on the kitchen island and kiss Bucky's cheek, "Hi, lovey."

He hums and looks at your slumped figure, "What's wrong?" he asks with furrowed brows, concern written all over his face.

"Just a rough day at work," you reply, opening up the dishwasher to grab a cup and snort as you see Bucky's metal prosthetic resting inside.

You turn back to him, "Explain," you say pointing at his arm.

He gives a sheepish grin and shrugs, "Today was a bit messy, is all." You chuckle and roll your eyes. You grab a cup from the top rack of the dishwasher and grab Bucky's arm, laying it on the counter.

"What happened today?" you ask as you fill your cup with water from the fridge.

Bucky shakes his head, "Nope. I asked you a question first," he walks over to you and cups your face with his right hand, "What's made my girl all upset?"

You groan, "A new hire, Noah. He's very...persistent."

"Persistent how?"

You shrug, "He just keeps asking me out, getting a little too close-"

"Fire him," Bucky immediately says.

You groan, "But he's a good employee!"

"Doesn't matter if he keeps harassing you."

"I wouldn't say he's harassing me..."

Bucky cocks a brow and places his hand on his hip in a very intimidating manner, "Does he get aggressive when you reject him?"

"...yes."

"Is he constantly berating you and not taking no for an answer?"

"...yeah."

"Does he scare you?"

"A little bit."

"Baby, that's harassment," he says as he walks over to his metal arm, placing it onto the notch and locking it in. He looks down and flexes his arm, "I can take care of him for you, easily. The fellas and I can grab him and-"

You immediately wave your hands and shake your head, "No, no, no. No! Don't hurt him! I'll-I'll handle it. I'll talk to Joan and let her know what's been going on."

"Good and if that doesn't stop him then, I'll pay him a visit," you give him a playful shove and he chuckles, "What? No one messes with my girl and gets away with it!"

____________________________

As soon as you got into the bookshop the next day, you immediately tell Joan of Noah's behavior. When he comes in, Joan pulled him aside to talk to him. You thought that everything would be good after that...but you were wrong.

When you were in the back, putting books away, Noah corners you, "Did you really have to tell Joan our business?"

You can't help but scoff at his audacity, "Well you wouldn't stop asking me out after I said no and reminding you that I have a boyfriend."

It's Noah's turn to scoff, "Oh yeah, your boyfriend," he says with air quotes, "You say you have one but you don't have him as your lockscreen and you haven't showed any pictures of him."

"He's a private person, but that's not the point! I told you 'no'! You should've stopped after that."

Noah rolls his eyes, "Oh just because someone says 'no', doesn't mean they mean it! Means they want you to try harder."

"Actually, it just means 'no' and you fuck off," a deep voice cuts in-between the confrontation between you and Noah.

Both of you turn to see Bucky standing there with a hard glare on his face.

You gulp, "Bucky, what're you doing here?"

He holds up your lunch bag, "You forgot your lunch at home," he holds it out and you rush over to him, grabbing the bag and remaining at his side.

Noah looks at Bucky with wide eyes and then at you. His face loses color as he realizes, "W-Wait, you-you're dating the White Wolf of Brooklyn?"

Bucky smirks at his nickname, "Yeah, she is. And my girl told me you wouldn't leave her alone. Sounds like even with your job on the line, you still don't seem to get the hint." He slips off his blazer, handing it off to Steve. He then starts rolling up the sleeve of his metal arm, the dim lighting of the book shop reflecting off its metal plates.

"I can definitely figure out a way to get the message through to you."

Noah stutters out a response, "N-No. Th-That's not necessary, s-sir. I-I won't bother, Y/N again, I promise."

Bucky hums, "If I see or hear you harassing my girl or anyone else, I'll make sure your body will never be found again. Scum like you don't deserve second chances, but I'm feeling a little gracious today."

Noah nods, "Thank you. I-I won't behave like that ever again."

"Good. Now apologize to Y/N," he nods to you.

Noah gulps and stutters out an apology. You simply reply with a nod and Noah scurries away.

You let out a deep breath that you didn't know you were holding. You look at Bucky, "Thanks."

He shrugs, "Anyone gives you a problem, they have to go through me," he mumbles pecking your lips.

"Y/N, do you know why Noah suddenly qui-ah," Joan turns the corner to see you and Bucky. The older woman puts her hands on her hips and gives Bucky a scolding look, "Barnes, what did you do?"

Bucky shrugs, "Just gave him a warning, ma'am. He shouldn't have been treatin' my girl like that!"

"Very true, but you know I don't condone violence in my shop."

He holds his hands up, "No violence happened, ma'am. Just a little threatenin'." Joan looks to you for confirmation and you nod.

She sighs, "Very well. Guess I need to look for another employee again."

An idea came to mind, "Actually, I know someone!"

______________

"Seriously, Y/N, I owe you one for this!" the young brunette exclaims as he follows you with a box of books in his arms.

You chuckle, "It's no problem, Peter. Besides, we both get something out of this. You're doing a much safer job like your Aunt May and Tony wanted and you get to keep an eye on me for Bucky. It's a win-win situation."

The bell above the shop's door rings and Peter immediately places the box of books down, "I got it!" he rushes to the front, "Hi, welcome to-oh! Y/N!" Peter's voice echoes through the store.

You shelf a book and head to the front, "Yeah?" you break out into a smile as you see Bucky there.

"Hey!" you approach him, giving a little wave to Steve, who stands behind him. Steve waves back, but says nothing else. You wrap your arms around Bucky and peck his lips, "What's up?"

"Had a meeting at Wanda's shop, brought some pastries for you, Joan, and the kid," he hands over the maroon pastry box with Wanda's logo on it.

"Yay! Here, Peter," you hand it off to the young man and he jaw drops, "Oh, sweet! Thanks, Mr. Barnes!" and he heads into the back to share the pastries with Joan.

Bucky places his hands on your waist, "How's he doin'?"

You chuckle, "Fine. He's very enthusiastic and a hard worker. Plus, he doesn't hit on me because he's in love with MJ."

Bucky's brows shoot up in surprise, "Jones' kid? Pft. Good luck, Parker."

You giggle and then back away, "Alright, big mob boss, I need to get back to work."

"Fine. But seriously though, you feel better? Safer?"

You nod, "I do. Thank you," you kiss his cheek and he softens, "Like I said, no one messes with my girl," he gives you a wink and wave as he exits the book shop.

[cheer-nympho]

Steve was always being brushed off when he asked people to read things aloud for him,

In middle school his assigned partner for their ‘Frankenstein’ project gave him a scornful glare and ignored him when he had asked them to read the passages aloud.

In his sophomore year, he’d turned to ask Robin Buckley to read a old newspaper article about the ‘Wild West’ to him, because he couldn’t make it out through the fonts and weird words. She had fixed him with a cold look but before she could respond, Tammy was tapping his shoulder offering her help.

Then, while studying with Nancy and Barb at lunch, Steve had asked for help reading study cards. His own study cards. The paper was too bright and the squiggles too squiggly. Both of them had looked at him, them each other, clearly trying to decide if it was a joke.

Barb had scoffed under Nancys pointed look and gone back to her own notes. And while Nancy hadn’t read them out for him, she had handed him her own notes on some nice blue and yellow cards. It took him a while, but he could read them. Maybe she thought he hadn’t wrote any.

After that, he went a long time without asking anyone to read him things. Turns out that once you graduate, reading isn’t much of an issue. He’d gotten by just fine by looking at his Archie comics and ignoring the swirling lines of articles surrounding them.

He didn’t need to ask again until Scoops Ahoy. For a cheap, overly themed ice cream parlour there sure was a whole lot of memorising and reading to be done. He couldn’t see the charts properly, couldn’t really make out the dates on the tubs in the freezer. But every time he asked Robin for help, her frown would deepen and deepen until she just snapped. It hadn’t been that mean, really. Just an annoyed yell followed by accusations of being lazy, her not understanding how he managed to graduate, one last comment of him being a ‘bumbling idiot’.

After the Russians, she never said anything like that to him again. And she always did the inventory and lists for him.

It takes until summer, 1987, for anyone to read aloud to Steve. They were laying across Eddie’s new bed in comfortable silence.

Steve had his legs dangling off the edges as Eddie leant back against him, legs pointing up against the wall in a way he swore was actually comfortable. He had been reading a new book called “Spellfire” and he couldn’t seem to put it down.

“Eddie?”

“Hm?”

“What’s your book about?”

“This? Well I…Not sure it’s really your thing, man.”

“Maybe.” He goes back to reading. “I could see if it’s my thing?”

Eddie twists his head sideways to look up at Steve with a slightly confused face. “You wanna borrow it?”

“Was thinking you could read it.” He fiddled with the pocket of his jeans in a hopefully casual and not freaking out way. He didn’t look at Eddie as he waited, but after a few moments he responded.

“Sure. That’s fine, yeah. Want me to start over or go from here?”

“From there is good.”

And it was good, it was really really good. Steve hadn’t been able to read a book since middle school, hadn’t really tried again after that. But as he lay back and let Eddie’s voice wash over him he couldn’t help feeling that he’d been missing out.

Sure, it actually wasn’t really his thing, but the way Eddie read aloud painted such a clear picture that Steve enjoyed it anyway. The other would change his voice slightly for different characters and added emotions into his speaking. If it was a tense moment, he’d go slow and add gaps in just the right places. If it was fast paced he’d speed up and get more and more manic until the action cut off. He felt like he was reading along. Felt like he could see the pages in the book, but also the characters and the dungeon they were combining through.

So, for the first time Steve hadn’t been brushed off. He had probably found the only person he knew who could turn reading a book into a performance. One he would happily be seated for every night.

From then on, new books turned up at the trailer every week, Steve not far behind.

[theetherealbloom]

Don't Stop Talking To Me, And Maybe Stay Here Forever

Summary: You join Pedro Pascal in Morocco while he’s filming Gladiator 2. Between the beauty of the Moroccan landscape, the two of you share intimate moments, from quiet rooftop dinners to playful photo-taking and teasing with the cast.

Or… “I'll hold you, I'll know you. I'll never leave out the back door. And I'd love to complete you, hope you get all you could ask for.”

I just read your latest pedro fic it was the BEST DAMN THING i’ve ever read, my heart is going to burst out of my chest from all the butterflies 🦋🫠❤️ will you write more for pedro? perhaps his gf could visit him in marocco or something while he’s filming gladiator and to meet everyone from set and maybe have some alone quality time? :3 just a suggestion 😌 anyways have a lovely dayyy ^^ — anon

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, Age-Gap(ish), TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Cuddling, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Social Media, Embarrassment, Teasing, Shower, Slight Nudity, Make Out Session, Celebrities

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Okay, so, we’ve all seen the photo dumps!??!! Yes! GREAT! I haven’t watched Gladiator 2 cause it isn’t out yet in my country, so there’ll be no spoilers here mhmhmhmhm. I’m just gonna make stuff up based on the pictures Pedro posted on his Instagram lol. And again, this is all made-up, fictional, self-indulgent vibes so pls no one come after me ahhhhhh T^T

Also lowkey, I can see multiple parts to this so… stay tuned.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Songs: Packing It Up by Gracie Abrams, this is how you fall in love by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler

gif by @a7estrellas

→ Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO — DAY

The warm Moroccan breeze kissed your skin as you stepped onto the bustling set of Gladiator 2. Pedro’s laughter echoed from somewhere nearby, his distinct voice easy to pick out over the hum of activity. Your heart swelled just hearing it. He was always magnetic, but here—working, immersed in a world of creativity and camaraderie—he was luminous.  

You adjusted your sunglasses, feeling both excited and slightly anxious. Meeting Pedro’s castmates felt like stepping into his other life, one where you weren’t the center of his world but a welcome visitor orbiting it. He’d reassured you endlessly. “They’ll love you. I mean, how could they not?” But still, nerves lingered.  

“Mi amor!” Pedro’s voice cut through your thoughts. He emerged from behind a cluster of tents, his smile so wide it could eclipse the Moroccan sun.  

“Hey, stranger.” You grinned, letting him sweep you into a tight hug.  

He pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead, his arms still firmly around your waist. “You made it,” he whispered, his lips brushing your temple.  

“Of course, I made it,” you teased, tilting your head to look up at him. “I missed you too much to stay away.”  

The day unfolded in bursts of joy.  

Pedro introduced you to Coco Ullrich, Paul Mescal, and the rest of the cast. Everyone was warm and welcoming, their teasing camaraderie quickly drawing you in. Pedro stayed close, his hand finding yours at every opportunity, like he couldn’t stand to be too far away.  

Later, you found yourself perched on a stool in the makeup trailer, Pedro sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you. “Hold still,” you said, trying to fix his disheveled hair.  

Coco stood nearby, laughing as Pedro playfully swatted at your hands. “I’m serious, guapo! You’ll go out there looking like you just rolled out of bed.”  

“Maybe I did roll out of bed,” he quipped, grinning.  

You raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t, but if you keep squirming, I’m going to make sure you look like it.”  

Coco shook her head, still laughing. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”  

“I have my ways,” you said, giving Pedro a mock glare.  

Pedro leaned closer, his eyes softening. “You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours before you could stop him.  

“Pedro!” you protested, laughing as he pulled you into a full kiss, distracting you from your task.  

“Hopeless,” Coco muttered, snapping a quick photo of the moment.  

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO — SUNSET

The Moroccan sunset painted the sky in hues of gold and rose as you, Pedro, and the cast settled onto the soft blankets laid out for an impromptu picnic. The sprawling desert seemed to stretch infinitely, its serene stillness a striking contrast to the chaotic energy of the set. A light breeze rustled through the palm trees in the distance, carrying the faint sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses.

Pedro sat behind you, his arms comfortably wrapped around your waist as you leaned back into his chest. His fingertips absentmindedly traced small, lazy circles on your bare skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. It was a touch that grounded you, soothing and sweet, and yet it made your heart ache with affection.

“This is perfect,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it louder might shatter the fragile beauty of the moment.

Pedro leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. “No, you’re perfect,” he said softly, his voice laced with adoration.

You turned your head to look at him, catching the warmth in his gaze. He looked at you like you hung the very stars above, and your cheeks flushed. “Cheesy,” you teased, though you couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

“Honest,” he countered, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. His nose nudged yours affectionately, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you.

Paul Mescal, lounging nearby with a bottle of something cold in his hand, cleared his throat dramatically. “Alright, lovebirds, can you save the smoldering for the cameras? Some of us are trying to enjoy the sunset without third-wheeling your Notebook audition.”

Coco Ullrich snorted from her spot on the blanket, where she was busy assembling a makeshift charcuterie board. “Please, Paul, don’t act like you’re not taking notes for your own love scenes.”

Paul shot her a deadpan look. “What’s there to take notes on? I’m already perfect.”

“Debatable,” Coco quipped, popping a grape into her mouth and grinning.  

Pedro chuckled, his chest rumbling against your back. “Paul, don’t be jealous. You already found someone who tolerates you.”  

“Oh, I’m not jealous,” Paul said, gesturing between you and Pedro. “I’m inspired. The level of clinginess you two have achieved—it’s an art form.”  

“Clinginess?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.  

“Yes, clinginess,” Paul said, smirking. “He hasn’t let go of you since you got here. It’s like watching a koala in human form.”

Coco leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you think he’d survive a day without her?”  

“Doubtful,” Paul replied, his tone grave.  

Pedro shook his head, his arms tightening around you playfully. “Let them joke,” he said into your ear, his voice a low murmur. “They’re just bitter they don’t have their partners to hold them while they complain about the heat.”  

You turned your head slightly to whisper back, “I think they’re projecting.”  

Pedro laughed, loud and unabashed, and the sound sent warmth flooding through you.  

“Alright, enough roasting Pedro,” Coco said, waving her hands. “Let’s focus on the important stuff—like this cheese board I’m absolutely nailing.”

“Coco, you put a block of cheese next to some crackers,” Paul pointed out.  

“And yet, it’s still better than anything you’ve contributed,” she shot back.

You couldn’t help but laugh as they continued to bicker, the dynamic between the cast a perfect blend of teasing and genuine affection. It felt good to be a part of this world for a little while, to see Pedro in his element and to share these small, beautiful moments with the people who meant so much to him.  

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky with deeper hues of crimson and violet, Pedro shifted slightly behind you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You doing okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, his voice meant just for you.

“I’m better than okay,” you said, turning your face to his. “This is one of those moments I’ll never forget.”

“Same,” he replied, his eyes searching yours. “But mostly because you’re here.”

Paul groaned from across the blanket. “Seriously, someone hand me a bucket. I can’t handle this level of sap.”

“You’re just missing Gracie,” Coco teased, tossing a cracker at Paul with a sly grin.  

Paul caught it mid-air with a dramatic flourish. “She’s the love of my life, thank you very much. I’m thriving, just long-distance thriving.” His wide smile softened slightly, a dreamy look crossing his face.  

Pedro chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder as he held you closer. “See, even Paul can be romantic. It’s not just us being disgustingly in love.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Paul said, waving him off, though the grin never left his face. “But you two are setting the bar impossibly high. Stop making the rest of us look bad.”

Coco shook her head with mock exasperation. “Let’s face it, no one can compete with Pedro’s clingy koala act.”  

“Hey, it’s not clingy if it’s mutual,” you chimed in, leaning back into Pedro’s embrace.  

“Exactly!” Pedro said, kissing the side of your neck for emphasis. “This is just... efficient affection.”  

“Efficient affection?” Coco repeated, laughing so hard she nearly knocked over the cheese board. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Pedro shrugged, utterly unbothered, his lips brushing your temple as he murmured, “Don’t let them ruin this for us.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you whispered back, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his jaw.  

The first stars began to dot the darkening sky, their glow faint but steady against the fading hues of gold and rose. The laughter of the group blended with the soothing whisper of the desert breeze, wrapping the evening in a cocoon of warmth and love.

You let out a contented sigh, your fingers intertwining with Pedro’s. These moments—filled with jokes, tenderness, and the quiet magic of a Moroccan sunset—were the kind you knew you’d carry with you forever.

THE NEXT DAY

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO – AFTERNOON  

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting warm golden light over the sprawling desert set. The faint hum of activity outside the large tent provided a calming backdrop as you and Pedro sat together, stealing a moment away from the chaos of production.  

Pedro’s lap had become your designated resting place, his arms wrapped snugly around your waist as you leaned into him. You had been quietly chatting about the day—how stunning the desert looked on camera, how Paul had stolen one of Coco’s snacks during a break—when the warmth of the afternoon began to lull you both into sleep.  

His hand moved lazily up and down your back, the motion soothing as his voice grew quieter, more relaxed. “You know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, “this might be my favorite part of the day.”  

“Falling asleep during work?” you teased, your voice soft and playful.  

“Falling asleep with you,” he corrected, his smile audible in his words.  

It wasn’t long before exhaustion claimed you both, your head tucked under his chin and his cheek resting against your hair. The quiet hum of the tent became a comforting cocoon, and time seemed to stretch and blur.  

The sound of muffled laughter stirred you from sleep, pulling you out of the warm haze. You blinked against the light, realizing you were still tucked into Pedro’s chest, his arms holding you close even as he began to wake.  

“Don’t move,” a familiar voice called. You turned your head to see Paul Mescal standing a few feet away, phone in hand, his grin wide and mischievous.  

Next to him, Coco Ullrich smirked as she aimed her phone at the two of you. “We’re documenting history here. You’ll thank us later.”  

Pedro stirred, squinting at them through his grogginess. “Seriously?” His voice was raspy, a mix of sleep and disbelief.  

Paul shrugged, grinning even wider as he showed Pedro the photo. “We couldn’t resist. Look at this. It’s like a promo poster for the most annoyingly sweet rom-com ever.”  

Pedro glanced at the photo, then at you, and laughed softly. “We should use that for the holiday cards this year.”  

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “This is so embarrassing. They’re never going to let us live this down.”  

Coco laughed, flipping through her photos. “Oh, it’s way too late for that. I’m sending this to the group chat and the PR team. They’ll love it.”  

“Please don’t,” you pleaded, your voice muffled against Pedro’s shirt.  

Paul tilted his head dramatically. “Why not? It’s just a little fun. Besides, you two are giving us all cavities with how sweet you are. We’re suffering.”  

Pedro smirked, holding you a little tighter. “You’re suffering? Sounds like a personal problem.”  

“Alright, alright, enough!” A gravelly voice interrupted, and you looked up to see Ridley Scott standing at the edge of the tent. His hands were on his hips, but the amused twinkle in his eye gave him away.  

“Ridley,” you started, your cheeks flushing with heat. “I’m so sorry—”  

He held up a hand to stop you, his smirk growing. “Don’t apologize. If anything, I should thank you. Pedro’s been suspiciously well-behaved since you arrived. But,” he added with a pointed glance at Pedro, “if this keeps up, we’ll have to rename the film The Gladiator and the Muse. Production’s going to take twice as long.”  

The crew burst into laughter, and you buried your face back in Pedro’s chest, groaning. “This is officially the most embarrassing moment of my life.”  

Pedro chuckled, his hand brushing gently over your back. “Embarrassing? Nah. You’re the best thing about being here.”  

You peeked up at him, your cheeks still warm, and saw the sincerity in his eyes. “You mean that?”  

“Every word,” he said, his voice soft. “You make everything easier, better… you make it all worth it.”  

Your heart swelled, and a small smile broke through your embarrassment. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try to believe you.”  

“Believe me,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.  

Paul groaned, breaking the tender moment. “Someone get a camera crew. We’re turning this into a reality show. Lovebirds in the Desert.”  

Pedro laughed, finally standing and pulling you to your feet. “Careful, Paul. You might not survive the sequel.”  

Ridley clapped his hands, his voice carrying over the lingering laughter. “Alright, lovebirds, enough stalling. Let’s get back to work! Pedro, we’ve got a fight scene to shoot.”  

Pedro gave you one last reassuring smile before winking. “Don’t go far. I’ll need more luck soon.”  

You nodded, watching him head back to set, and felt a sense of warmth that no amount of teasing could dampen. As you stepped out of the tent, the desert sun shining overhead, you knew this moment—this strange, beautiful mix of chaos and love—was one you’d carry with you forever.

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO – EVENING  

The rooftop restaurant was like something out of a dream. Lanterns hung delicately from wrought iron fixtures, casting warm, flickering light over the table as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air was cool but pleasant, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from a nearby garden. Below, the city of Marrakech stretched out in an intricate maze of rooftops and twinkling lights, the hum of life soft and distant.  

Pedro had arranged everything, from the secluded corner table to the small vase of your favorite flowers waiting when you arrived. He always had a way of making even the simplest moments feel like magic.  

“Look at this view,” you murmured, leaning against the wrought iron railing as the sky turned from gold to a deep, dusky pink.  

Pedro stood close behind you, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. “The view’s got nothing on you,” he said softly, the teasing lilt in his voice balanced by the sincerity in his eyes.  

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned to face him. “That’s a terrible line.”  

“Maybe,” he admitted, grinning as he pulled out his phone. “But it’s true. Hold still.”  

Before you could protest, he snapped a photo, catching you mid-laugh as you tried to dodge the camera. “Pedro!” you groaned, your cheeks warming.  

He chuckled, looking at the photo with a self-satisfied smile. “Perfect. Might frame this one.”  

“Stop it,” you said, trying to grab the phone from him, but he held it out of reach, his grin only widening.  

“Never,” he replied, his free hand reaching across the table to take yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and his gaze softened. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”  

Your stomach fluttered at the way he said it—no teasing this time, just quiet, earnest affection.  

“Now you’re just being unfair,” you muttered, trying to hide your blush.  

Pedro leaned forward, his head tilting slightly as if to study you closer. “Not unfair. Just honest.”  

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart was pounding. In a bid to regain some ground, you grabbed your own phone and quickly snapped a picture of him just as he brought your hand to his lips. The resulting photo was unfairly good—his lashes long, the lantern light catching the gold in his eyes, the softness in his expression making your chest ache.  

“Got you,” you said triumphantly, holding up the phone.  

Pedro laughed, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again as he met your gaze. “Now we’re even?”  

“Now we’re even,” you confirmed, though your grin gave away how smug you felt.  

The waiter arrived with dessert just then—a delicate plate of Moroccan pastries accompanied by a small bowl of honey and almonds. You both leaned forward at the same time, reaching for the same pastry, and burst into laughter when your fingers brushed.  

“Go ahead,” Pedro said, gesturing gallantly.  

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, breaking off a piece of the pastry and dipping it into the honey. You held it up to his lips, your pulse skipping when he leaned in without hesitation.  

“Delicious,” he said, his voice low and warm. “But I think it tastes better coming from you.”  

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, trying to suppress a smile as you took a bite yourself. The flaky pastry melted on your tongue, its sweetness perfectly balanced by the honey.  

As you shared the dessert, your conversation drifted from playful teasing to the little things that filled your days. Pedro told you about a funny moment on set earlier when Paul had forgotten his lines and improvised something so absurd even Ridley couldn’t stop laughing.  

“And then,” Pedro continued, his grin infectious, “he tried to blame me, saying my face was too distracting.”  

“Well, he’s not wrong,” you teased, earning a dramatic roll of Pedro’s eyes.  

“Oh, so now you’re on his side?”  

“I’m on the side of the truth,” you said, popping an almond into your mouth.  

Pedro chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”  

Your smile softened, and you leaned your chin on your hand as you looked at him. “Probably still charming everyone who crosses your path.”  

“Not like this,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. He reached across the table again, his fingers lacing with yours. “You make everything better. You make me better.”  

Your throat tightened at the rawness in his voice, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, his words settling deep in your chest.  

“You do the same for me,” you said quietly.  

The soft music playing in the background faded into the hum of the city as the two of you sat there, the world narrowing to just this moment. Pedro brought your hand to his lips again, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before resting your joined hands on the table.  

As the night stretched on, the two of you continued to talk about everything and nothing—your favorite childhood memories, the places you wanted to visit together, the little quirks you loved about each other.  

When it was time to leave, Pedro stood and extended a hand to help you up. “One last picture before we go?” he asked, his phone already in hand.  

You nodded, letting him pull you into his side. The lanterns glowed softly behind you as he kissed your cheek just as the camera clicked.  

Looking at the photo, you smiled. It was perfect—just like this night, just like him. 

L’HÔTEL MARRAKECH, MOROCCO – EVENING

The golden hues of the evening sun had long faded, leaving the hotel suite illuminated only by the soft glow of warm, ambient lighting. Laughter filled the room, bubbling up between stolen glances and playful teasing. Pedro leaned against the edge of the plush sofa, his hand resting casually on his hip as you doubled over with giggles at another one of his overly dramatic impressions. 

“I’m just saying,” he said with a grin, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “If anyone here is getting an Oscar for Most Entertaining Human, it’s me.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting at him lightly. “You? Entertaining? Please. You’re just lucky I think you’re cute.”

“Just cute?” he teased, his voice dropping into a low, mock-hurt murmur. He stepped closer, tilting his head. “That’s disappointing.”

And just like that, with no warning, he took your hand and spun you gently into his arms. There was no music, no sound but the faint rustle of the curtains and the muted hum of life outside your window. But to Pedro, there was no need for anything more. 

“Dance with me,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, pulling you flush against him.

“Pedro,” you started to protest, but the way he was looking at you—so earnest, so unguarded—stole the words from your lips. He rested his forehead against yours, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid to let go. 

“You are the reason I can breathe,” he murmured. His voice cracked slightly, raw and unfiltered. “The reason I can survive.”

Your chest tightened, and your hands gripped the soft cotton of his shirt as you closed your eyes. Slowly, the two of you began to sway, side to side, as if the universe itself had orchestrated this silent melody just for you.

“Pedro,” you whispered, tears threatening to spill as the weight of his words sank deep into your soul. “You don’t have to—”

“Shh.” He cut you off gently, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “I want to. You’re my safe place.”

Together, you moved as one, the world outside forgotten. The phones were switched off, the curtains drawn, and for a moment, it felt like time had ceased to exist. All that mattered was this—his arms around you, your head resting on his chest, and the way his heartbeat felt steady and strong beneath your cheek.

“What’s easy is right,” you whispered suddenly, echoing words your mother had once said. The truth of it struck you in that moment, how being with Pedro never felt like a choice—it was instinct. Like breathing. Like coming home. 

Pedro smiled, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “What’s easy is right,” he repeated softly. “Then I guess it’s easy to know... I’m going to love you forever.”

You laughed softly, though the lump in your throat made it difficult. “Forever’s a long time.”

He tilted your chin up, his warm, brown eyes crinkling at the corners with a quiet joy. “Not nearly long enough,” he said, his voice a low promise. “You’ll be my best friend until we’re old and gray. And even then, I’ll still love you.”

There was something in the way he said it—so simple, so sure—that your knees nearly gave out. But as always, Pedro was there, holding you steady, keeping you close. 

This is how you fall in love, you realized. Not in a blaze of fireworks, but in the quiet moments where you let go and they hold you up. 

“Do you know what you’ve done to me?” Pedro said after a long silence, his voice filled with wonder. “You make my stomach ache with hope. You make my hands stop shaking. I wake up smiling now, and it’s because of you.”

You bit your lip, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across his chest. “Pedro…”

“No, listen to me,” he insisted, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Love isn’t supposed to be heavy. It’s not supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be this. Us. A safe place. A hand to hold through every storm.”

His words broke something open inside you, and you nodded, letting the tears spill over. “You’re my safe place too,” you whispered. “You make me believe I deserve this.”

Pedro pulled you closer, resting his chin on the top of your head as he swayed you gently. “You deserve everything,” he murmured. “Every laugh, every sunrise, every stupid little joke I’ll tell for the next fifty years.”

You both laughed softly, the sound mingling with the quiet hum of the room. The world outside could wait. For now, all that mattered was this moment—this love that was soft, steady, and unshakable.

Right from your hips to your cuticles, you were everything to him, and he was everything to you. Wherever you both went, it was heaven. And neither of you ever wanted to leave. 

Steam filled the bathroom, the warmth clinging to the mirrors and wrapping around the two of you like a soft cocoon. Pedro stood under the cascade of water, droplets running down his broad shoulders and soaking his messy curls. His eyes flicked toward you, a tender smile tugging at his lips as you stepped closer, your fingers gently reaching for the shampoo bottle.  

“Turn around,” you said softly, motioning for him to face away from you.  

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, though there was a hint of shyness in his voice as he obeyed.  

You lathered the shampoo between your hands, your touch careful and affectionate as you worked it into his hair. His curls were soft and damp beneath your fingers, the grays glinting like silver in the dim light.  

“I love your hair,” you murmured, your voice reverent.  

Pedro let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, tilting his head back slightly. “The gray makes me look old.”  

You paused, your hands stilling in his hair as you leaned around to catch his gaze. “Stop that. It doesn’t make you look old; it makes you look distinguished. And I happen to love every single one of these.” You tugged playfully at a curl for emphasis.  

He gave you a sheepish look, his lips twitching as he fought back a pout. “You’re just saying that because you’re stuck with me.”  

“Stuck with you?” you repeated, feigning outrage. “Oh, no, Pedro. I chose you—gray hair and all. And I’d choose you again. Every single day.”  

His pout softened into a smile, one so genuine it made your chest ache. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple.  

“And you deserve it,” you countered firmly, finishing his hair with a rinse.  

When it was your turn, Pedro insisted on returning the favor, his hands gentle as he massaged the conditioner into your hair. His touch lingered, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck as he marveled at you.  

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with sincerity.  

“Even covered in soap?” you teased, feeling heat creep up your cheeks.  

“Especially covered in soap,” he replied, leaning down to steal a kiss.  

The shower ended with a flurry of soft laughter and playful splashes, the two of you wrapped in towels as you padded into the bedroom. Pedro pulled on a pair of boxers while you slipped into one of his oversized shirts, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs.  

The two of you slipped into bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden light over the room. The air smelled faintly of the lavender lotion you’d rubbed on your hands, mingling with the subtle hint of Pedro’s cologne that still lingered on his skin. He had one arm draped lazily over your waist, his other hand holding a book he’d claimed to be interested in, though his wandering eyes betrayed him.

A book rested in your lap, too, but you’d long given up on reading. Instead, you could feel his gaze flickering to you, watching you more than the words on his page. It was endearing, the way he thought you wouldn’t notice, how he never grew tired of studying you like he’d never quite figure you out.  

“You’re not reading,” you finally accused, peeking at him over the edge of your book.  

Pedro grinned, unabashed. He set his book down on the nightstand and scooted closer, leaning his head on the pillow beside you. “Can you blame me?” he said, his voice soft and teasing. His hand reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing your cheek. “I’ve got the most beautiful view right here.”  

You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the warmth rising in your cheeks, but the smile that stretched across your lips betrayed you. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, nudging him lightly with your elbow.  

“And yet, you love me,” he replied with mock arrogance, leaning back against the headboard with a self-satisfied smirk.  

“Unfortunately for me,” you quipped, though your tone was dripping with affection.  

Pedro’s laugh filled the room, low and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. You settled back into your spot, his arm tightening slightly around your waist, anchoring you to him. For a while, there was only the sound of pages turning and the occasional creak of the bed as one of you shifted.  

Eventually, the books were forgotten, abandoned on the nightstand as the room grew darker, the soft click of the lamp switch plunging you into the comforting glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains.  

Lying side by side, your head resting on Pedro’s chest, you let your fingers trace lazy patterns along the bare skin of his arm. But your mind wouldn’t quiet, and as the minutes stretched on, the thoughts bubbling inside you demanded to be voiced.  

“Okay, but really,” you began, your voice breaking the comfortable silence. “Why is ‘llama’ spelled with two L’s? Wouldn’t one be enough? It’s not like we say ‘Llama-la.’”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your cheek. He tilted his head down to look at you, his lips quirking into a smile. “Mi amor, I adore you, but it’s almost midnight. Go to sleep.”  

“I can’t until I solve this mystery,” you said with mock determination, lifting your head to look at him.  

He sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation. “Fine. Maybe the second ‘L’ is there to confuse aliens.”  

You gasped, sitting up slightly. “That makes so much sense! Like, imagine aliens judging us for eating cereal with milk.”  

Pedro chuckled again, his arm tightening around you to keep you close. “Cereal with milk is sacred,” he said, his voice heavy with playful conviction. “If aliens have an issue with that, I’ll fight them myself.”  

You grinned, turning to prop yourself up on your elbow so you could face him fully. “Okay, serious question. If you could ask someone anything and be guaranteed the truth, who would it be?”  

Pedro cracked one eye open, his other hand lazily resting on your hip. “I’d ask you why you’re so determined to keep me awake,” he deadpanned, his lips twitching with a suppressed smile.  

You laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “I’m serious!”  

“Alright, alright,” he relented, the mirth in his eyes softening as he considered your question. “I’d ask my third-grade teacher if she really lost my homework or if she just didn’t like me.”  

You burst out laughing, the sound muffled by the way you buried your face into his chest. “That’s what you’d waste your question on?”  

���Don’t judge me,” he said with mock indignation, his fingers trailing absent patterns on your back. “It’s haunted me for years.”  

Your laughter subsided into a warm giggle as you tilted your head up to look at him. “Fine. My turn. I’d ask my mom if she’s proud of me. Like… really proud. Not just the ‘I’m your mom, so I have to say it’ kind of proud.”  

Pedro’s hand stilled on your back, his gaze softening as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “She’s proud of you, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “And so am I. Always.”  

The weight of his words wrapped around your heart, a comforting balm that eased the ache of self-doubt. You nuzzled closer, your fingers curling around his as you let the quiet stretch between you for a moment.  

Moments later, you broke the silence again, your voice a whisper in the dark. “When I was little, I thought my toys came alive when I wasn’t looking. Like Toy Story. Honestly, I still kinda think they do.”  

Pedro let out a deep laugh, his chest shaking beneath you as he pulled you even closer. “I wouldn’t put it past them,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “Your stuffed bunny? Definitely a troublemaker.”  

You giggled, your heart feeling impossibly light as his hand returned to its slow, soothing patterns on your back.  

The conversation drifted into comfortable nonsense, the kind of midnight musings that didn’t need to make sense but brought a certain kind of intimacy only shared in the quiet hours of the night.  

Finally, as your eyelids grew heavy and your words faded into murmurs, Pedro pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Goodnight, mi amor,” he whispered, his voice soft and steady.  

In his arms, with the world outside forgotten, you felt safe. Loved. His heartbeat was the only rhythm you needed as you drifted into sleep, a love like no other holding you steady through the night.

[kuiinncedes]

jflfkgjd

[xmunsonlovex]

Somewhere I Belong

Summary: You leave home for a new opportunity in Hawkins. You're on your own, and your first day, you meet your metal head neighbor. Will this be the start of something that you've always been longing for, or will you keep it at a distance, as you always do.

Pt.2

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Shy Fem!Reader

wc: 8600+

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. female reader, reader has low self esteem and a lot of insecurities, slight angst, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart, etc) mentions of male masturbation, mentions of oral(f!receiving) reader is inexperienced and a virgin, mutual pinning, idiots in love, eventual smut in later chapter(s), Eddie is little bit of perv, but only for you.

a/n: It's here, guys. A day earlier than I had originally set myself to release it. I had to break it up into multiple parts, which I am currently writing already. I hope to have pt.2 out next week. That'll be the smutty chapter, for those wanting to see these 2 take the next step. Thank you to whoever reads this, I hope you like it. While I've read HUNDREDS of fics from all you lovely loves here on Tumblr, this is my first fic I have ever written. I think I read it over at least 20 times. I'm sure there are still many grammatical errors and things I may have missed. Please let me know if you like it. Please reblog and comment your thoughts 💗

Dividers by: saradika-graphics

You huffed as you placed the last box of your belongings on the carpeted floor. This definitely needs to be replaced, you thought as you looked at it. The move to Hawkins was grueling, between heavy traffic and nasty weather, you were trying to just make it there in one piece. Thankfully you did, and now you stood in the middle of your living room, taking in your new surroundings. It's around 6pm, and it's starting to get dark. You felt lucky to have a nice view of the sunset from your backyard, if you could call it that. It was a small section with enough space for maybe a little garden (you’ve always dreamt of growing your own veggies), and patio chairs. You had found the relatively inexpensive trailer for sale in a community called Forest Hills in Hawkins. Looking at the photos, you knew it needed some repairs. A new paint job too, maybe, but with your new job in the city, you figured you'd make it your own in no time. It was supposed to pay fairly well too, working as an administrative assistant.

You walk over to the kitchen, checking the fridge and stove. All seemed to work fine for now, and with that, you were putting away your kitchen belongings in the cupboards, making note to fix the wobbly door to each cabinet. A box of Mac and Cheese sat on the counter while you boiled some water in a small pot, and then started to cut up some cucumbers and cherry tomatoes, making your favorite salad. You were singing to yourself as you made your food, that you didn't hear the knock on the door. It was soft at first, but quickly became louder after the 4th knock. You grabbed a towel to dry off your wet hands, and walked to your front door, looking through the peephole, but could not make out who was on the other side. You opened the door just a bit, and see a frizzy- haired man, who didn't look much older than you. He sported a denim jacket with lots of heavy metal band patches on it. That definitely caught your eye. 

"Hey Jack-" He turned his head to look at you, then scratched at his cheek. "You're not Jack.." He said. 

"Hi, no. I'm not. I'm guessing he's the one I bought this trailer from though..?" You asked, a small smile on your lips. He was cute, you thought. 

"Makes sense. I haven't seen him in like..2 weeks. I thought maybe he went on vacation then got another car.." he pointed to your shitty car that sat on your driveway, practically falling apart. "You left the trunk open. I um..closed it for you. Don't want any raccoons to get in there.." He chuckled softly, sliding his hands into his pockets. 

You smiled at him, and nodded. Of course you left it open. "Thank you. I was doing a million things at once.." You sighed, and rubbed your forehead. "I just moved in today. I'm Y/N, by the way.." you say, noticing him smile softly when you mentioned your name. "I'm Eddie. I live next door to you.." He nodded towards his trailer and then kicked a rock as he looked down, making sure it went to the side rather than in your home. "Well, nice to meet you, Eddie. I uhm, I'll see you around? I have dinner cooking right now. Don’t want to burn down my new home.”  You said with a chuckle.

 “Yeah. Maybe I can show you around town..whenever you're free." He says quickly. You felt your cheeks heat up as he looked at you. Those big, beautiful brown eyes, they could put you in a trance.  "I'm usually home by 5:30..and I'm off on Sundays." 

“Ok, yeah, I like that idea. I’m off on the weekends, so that works out.” You say.

He felt a giddiness inside him, the thought of making a new friend and even the possibility that the friendship could turn into something more, gave him butterflies. Hope, even. For so long, he was used to being blamed for the events that happened in Hawkins. For so long..he was called a freak and spat at for his taste in music. He wasn't a bad guy, at least he didn't think so. Steve and Robin, and the boys (who were all graduated now) didn't think so. So why was it so hard for him to make other friends? To get a date? He was tired of the meaningless sex that usually transpired at The Hideout, not that it happened often. He wouldn't call himself a ladies man by any means, or someone the girls would seek after. Most times, girls wanted something from it. A little weed. Or maybe the right to brag that they had a quickie with a front man of a rock-band. They never specified which band, though. So when the opportunity arose to show a pretty, new girl around town, he was absolutely going to take the chance to do that. 

"I'll stop by Sunday. I can show you around town, and where to go for all the good food places. Maybe I can take you..to get some groceries, if you need. I don't mind." Eddie offered. 

"Ok, yeah, thank you, Eddie. I uhm...gotta get going though, but I’ll see you Sunday." You try to sound confident, but it comes out a bit shy and timid, instead. He says goodbye, and you watch him jog to his trailer, looking over at you and waving before going inside his home.  You can't help but bite your lower lip, knowing he would be trouble. You weren't exactly looking for a relationship, not romantically anyway. It was embarrassing to think about the fact you had no experience aside from a few pecks on the lips from the 3 dates you had gone on back at home. The dates always ended with a "I had a nice time, but I think we should see other people." You weren't sure if you were maybe too boring for them, or maybe it was your looks? Your self esteem had always been low, even back to when you were in middle school. Kids were relentless and brutal. 

High school was no better. Girls were rude and mocked you for your style, or lack thereof. Boys were cruel too. Laughing when you once tripped over your own feet, nervous around a football player you liked. He looked at you apologetically but it didn't stop the chuckle that left his mouth when your knees and palms slammed on the tile floor. You were 23 now and still remembered it like yesterday. It was the reason you left home. Your mom was sad, she'd definitely miss you but understood the change you needed in your life. She wasn't about to stop you from becoming a better version of yourself. And this was your chance. 

Sunday rolled around way quicker than you anticipated. Between putting away the remainder of your items around the house and doing a deep clean; you were exhausted. But, looking forward to the city tour with your new neighbor. You had woken up earlier than usual to have a shower and a quick breakfast to settle your growling stomach from skipping dinner the night before. After finishing your food, and cleaning up the kitchen, you grabbed your purse and keys, setting them on the small console table by the door as you pace around, growing a little nervous. What if he decided he didn't want to show you around? He probably had better things to do. Your thoughts were promptly silenced as a knock was heard. Giving it a couple of seconds to not seem too eager, you then walked to your door and opened it. Eddie smiled. You could tell he was freshly showered, his hair still a little wet and the smell of soap mixed with some cologne invaded your nostrils. 

"Morning, I have an appointment with Ms. Y/N." He said, with a sheepish smile. You giggled. 

"Good Morning, sir. Yes, I'll be happy to help you with that. Please come in and take a seat. She will be right with you. Could I offer you some water?" You say in your most professional voice. Eddie was in your home now, admiring your decor. It was simple but you. There were some framed photos on the wall; and a light blue couch taking up quite a bit of space in the living room. 

"Huh? Oh yes, thank you ma'am." He said and took a seat on the couch, that intoxicating smile now reaching his eyes. "You're a metal fan." He said, noticing your CD and vinyl collection by the TV stand. "Hmm. Alice Cooper, Black Sabbath...Dio??" He said excitedly, holding the vinyl for Holy Diver. Oh, he's going to have to marry you, now.

"Yeah, I love them. My dad’s a huge fan. Would put the album on when I was younger." You say, smiling at the fond memories, then hand over a glass of cold water to Eddie, who accepts it with a smile. "I fear that you will never get rid of me, now. These are my favorite bands. Not to mention...there is some stuff here that I haven't listened to yet..you have quite the extensive library, sweetheart." He chuckled. The heat that emitted from your cheeks at the nickname was for sure evident, you thought. No way he didn’t see the pink tint on your face. And he did. He proudly gave himself a mental high-five for making you blush. 

"Alright, let's get going. I have loads to show you." Eddie said after drinking the water you so kindly offered him. 

Eddie took you around to all his favorite spots in Hawkins, starting with showing you where your new job was located, then drove back south towards Hawkins again. You learned a lot about him while he drove you around. He was 25, worked as a mechanic at a local auto repair shop, and on some weekends, he'd play with his band, Corroded Coffin, at a bar called The Hideout. You said you'd definitely go see him play and that you were sure he sounded amazing, despite him saying otherwise. That made him blush this time around.  

"So, this is where I went to high school, figured I'd show you since it's on the way to the farmers market you wanted to go to." He tapped on the steering wheel. His hands couldn’t stay still, between either the tapping or him playing air drums to the song that quietly played on his radio.

“Kind of looks like my school...but mine was filled with the most obnoxious and hateful people I'd ever met." You say, your tone a bit softer. "It's the main reason I left home. Everyone I knew...they held this standard of 'I'm better than you.' A lot of people with money. An easy life. Meanwhile, my mom worked her ass off all day and night to keep our mouths fed." You then fell quiet for a bit. "I hated my high school years.." You chuckle faintly and look over at him, who looked back at you while he waited at a red light. "I know all about that.." He nodded. "I wasn't a...popular guy in high school either. I was bullied here and there, but most people left me alone. They didn't want to mess with the one guy who dealt them their weed. Or whatever drug they needed." He said, a little bit of a white lie but you didn't need to know the whole story. With that, he winked at you with a small smirk, and drove to the farmers market. 

"What?! How can you not like cucumbers? They're so tasty! With some salt and ranch. So good." You said, laughing as he made a gagging face while you picked some fresh fruit and placed them in the basket you were holding. "Respectfully darling, they taste so bland. Like crunchy water." 

You scoff and shake your head. "They’re super healthy, though. If you ever come over for lunch or something, I'll make you my special tomato and cucumber salad. It has some dill weed in it. And ranch. You'll love it."

"I take it back. I don't think I can hang out with you anymore. Dill weed? You're killing me here." He joked. The laugh that you let out was now his favorite sound in the world. A genuine laugh at his lame attempt at joking around with you. 

After you paid for the fruits, he gently placed his hand on your lower back, guiding you towards the next stall, which was selling homemade sauces and jams. The older woman on the other side of the table gives Eddie a rather unpleasant look, then notices you. What she can only imagine to be this innocent young woman who is being put under a spell by Eddie the "devil worshipper". This worried her. It took her no time to pull out a pamphlet of their local church, and handed it to you, but you immediately shut that down, and handed it back to her. 

"I appreciate the suggestion, but..I'm not really religious. Thank you. I'd just like to buy-"

"I will not sell my items to devil worshippers like you and Munson, here." Her tone immediately changed to unfriendly and unwelcoming. Eddie felt himself start to get angry, not so much of what she said about him. He was used to that. But because now you'd been given the same treatment as him, and you didn't deserve that. You were sweet. And so beautiful. Welcomed him with a smile rather than spiteful comments and-

“That's OK. I can go spend my money elsewhere. I saw a few stalls that had better prices, actually. And frankly, they also seemed nicer. I can't imagine your jams and sauces taste any good when you have such hate in your heart.” You say. It wasn't meant to be an insult or anything of that nature, you genuinely didn't know why she was being so mean to Eddie. He looked at you, a smile tugging on the corner of his lips. “Come on, I know the one.” Eddie grabbed your hand, leading you to a different part of the market. Near the parking lot. 

“Hi Sammy. Y/N, is this what you're looking for?” He asked you, this vendor was selling lots of different jams. He'd known about him from The Wheelers. Particularly Nancy. “You bring me a new customer? Eddie. How can I ever repay you?” Sammy smiled fondly at him. One of the very few people in town that treated Eddie with some dignity. 

“Yes. I'm new in town. Wanted to check out the local farmers market. See what you guys had.” You smile shyly. Eddie came to the conclusion that you were quite shy by nature. Not that he was observing every small detail of you on purpose. Or maybe..

“Oh, Eddie. She's so sweet! Polar opposites, I see.” He joked and Eddie glared at him, with no real mean intention behind it. “Teasing. Eddie's a great guy. You've made a wonderful friend.” He hyped him up, trying to be a wingman of sorts. 

“I agree.” You simply say, worried you'd start babbling. Wouldn't be the first time, and instead, you offer Eddie a warm smile as you look at him, a look that lingered for a couple seconds longer than usual. “Alrighty lovebirds. What can I get for yah?” Sammy smirked, looking at both you and Eddie, noticing the flustered expressions. Oh, young love. 

“Um, yes. I would like the grape, blackberry and..peach jam, please.” You say, your face is on fire as you stutter your words. Get a hold of yourself. You hadn’t known Eddie for more than a week, and already you were a mess. Stumbling over your words, blushing every time his fingertips brushed your skin or sent a sweet nickname your way. Eddie is definitely going to be the death of you. Sammy hands you the 3 jars of jam, and puts them in a brown paper bag, adding a smaller jar in there with the others. “This one is my famous strawberry jam. My bestseller. This sample is on me. Let me know if you like it.” He says, smiling sweetly as he hands you the bag. You pull out your wallet, and go to grab some money, but Eddie stops you, grabbing his own wallet quicker.  “I got it..” He mumbled with a smile, and before you could put up a fight, he slapped a 20 dollar bill on Sammy’s palm. “I'll see you, Sam.” Eddie says and he guides you two to walk over to his van. 

“Anything else you want to do?” He asked, opening the door for you and watching as you go in, his eyes admiring the round of your ass. He shakes the impure thoughts from his mind, and watches you buckle yourself in.

“We can head home. Maybe I can make you some lunch? At…my place. If-if you want. I don’t want to impose, or anything. I’m sure you’re a busy guy and all-” He chuckles at your rambling, thinking you couldn’t possibly be any cuter than you already were. Oh, he’s in trouble, as well. 

“Let’s go have some lunch. I guess I’ll try this special cucumber and tomato salad you keep trying to sell me on. With the dill weed and ranch.” He smirked, and gently shut the door to his van, then went around and got in the driver side, buckling in. “Ready, madam?” He said, shaking his wild mane side to side. He turned his head towards you, and gave you a goofy smile as he started the van, and then drove out of the parking lot. You softly laughed at his antics, already enamoured with him. “Hey Eddie, can I ask you something?” You cautiously say, not sure whether this would offend him. “Hm.” He replies, turning left to get into the correct lane towards the trailer park. “Do people really think you’re a satanist? I mean..if..you are, I promise I am not bothered by it. I don’t put down anyone’s beliefs. Unless you’re a shitty person. Which I do not believe you are. You’ve been really nice to me.” You say, once again, rambling. “I am. Why do you think the whole town gives me such scared looks? Poor Jeannie, the lady with the jams, was so upset when I sacrificed her chickens and goats. But..I needed them! I wish she’d just understand.”  He sighed, shaking his head and then glanced at you, finding you wide-eyed. “I’m joking, sweetheart.” He let out a soft laugh, and came to a full stop right before their turn. “This town is very stuck on old beliefs. I like metal music, and the media painting it as the devil’s music a few years ago certainly didn’t help my case. I also played dungeons and dragons in high school, still do actually. And this whole place came after me with pitchforks.” He once again left out some important key facts regarding the history of Hawkins. A conversation for another day, perhaps. “Not everyone is horrible, but I’ve kept my circle small for this very reason.” He added.

Once he arrived back at the trailer park, he parked his van at his place after dropping you off at your front door like a gentleman. He said he’d come over in about 20 minutes, saying he had a few calls he had to make. You didn’t ask any questions, and instead focused on getting started on lunch. Your “special” salad, along with some sandwiches, chips and 2 glasses of cold cokes. You hoped he would enjoy it, now second guessing everything you just did. To the paper plates you placed the food on, to the silly Halloween table cloth you had put on your small dining table. It was only March. You thought of earlier as you sat on your couch waiting for him. When he placed his hand on the small of your back. His hand felt like fire on you, over your clothes and yet, you recall the goosebumps traveling all over your body from such a simple and soft touch. You wondered how his hands would feel on other parts. Your shoulders. Massaging out years of tension and stress. Wondered how his hands would feel if he held your cheek in a romantic manner. Or what they would feel like caressing your neck down to your arms, until they were in an area you wanted to feel him the most. You shut your eyes tightly, and lean your head back against the top of the cushion on the couch, letting out a soft sigh.Your insecurities overwhelming you as you sat there alone with your thoughts. 

“Steve, I..I need your guidance here, man.” Eddie panicked over the phone, pacing his small kitchen, playing with the phone cord out of habit. “What are you talking about? You got this. It’s like a damn movie. A cute girl moves in next door. Voluntarily wants to hang out with you. You’re golden!” He tries his best to comfort Eddie in his state of anxiety. “I don’t know. She’s beautiful, absolutely. Is she wanting to hang out, out of pity, though? Because some dumbass called me a freak in front of her? Is she-” Eddie is quickly cut off by Steve. “Yes. She is inviting you over for lunch, after she accepted your offer to show her around town, and laughed at your jokes, because she feels bad that some lonely, old woman called you a freak.” Steve deadpanned. “You really think so?” Eddie sadly sighed. Steve wanted to strangle him over the phone. “Eddie, no! I know your expertise with women isn’t as evolved as mine…but listen when I tell you, she’s into you. To some degree, anyway! Go over, have lunch with her. Be a little flirty. See where it goes. No harm in trying.” Steve smiled. Easy for the Stud of Hawkins to say. 

You hear a knock at your door, one you were now familiar with, pulling you out of your negative thoughts. Something you really had to work on. You’re a little quicker to answer the door this time, and see Eddie standing there with a few flowers he picked from The Wilson’s front yard on the other side of his trailer. They’ll never notice, he’d argue. “Oh wow, those are so pretty..” You say, your attention immediately drawn to the light blue flowers in his hand. He swallows hard. “Just like you.” He smiles softly, and hands them to you, and you graciously take them. He doesn’t miss the crimson blush that spreads over your cheeks to your ears. “Thank you, Eddie. Come in.” You bashfully say, stepping aside to let him in, and then shut your door. “I made us lunch. Um, I hope it’s to your liking.” He watches you walk into the kitchen, grab a small vase and add water to it, then place the flowers he picked out into it. “I’m sure I will love it. Let’s try that salad, huh?” He said and sat down at the table. 

It was close to 6 in the afternoon now, and Eddie was helping you clean up the dining table, his belly full of the delicious food you made. “Sooo…I could tell you liked the salad. Just admit it. Cucumbers are amazing.” You smirk, looking at him. “Whoa. Let’s not get crazy. You’re lucky that I am fond of you.” He throws the paper plates in the trash, with your approval of course. “But yes, it was really good, Y/N.” He smiles, looking back at you. “I wanted to ask you something now.” Eddie says, walking up to you as you stood by the kitchen entryway. You feel your heartbeat start to hammer in your chest at the close proximity. Noticing the faint freckles that paint his upper cheeks. He is so pretty. 

“My band is playing next weekend. At The Hideout. I would…really like for you to be there. We go on stage at 9..Not too late at night. And! You’ll get to meet my friends. Steven and Robin. Possibly Nancy. She doesn’t care for the loud music, so she doesn’t really go to these things.” He said, looking down at his feet, then up at you, trying to read your expression. “What if they don’t like me?” You say, your voice so small, you wanted to curl into yourself and disappear. His features soften, and he places his hand over yours, which was on the kitchen counter. 

“Believe me, they will love you.” He gives your hand a comforting caress, making you a blushing mess for what felt like the 50th time today.

 “I would love to meet them. And to see you perform.” You take in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm your anxiety. He could make out that you were a little hesitant in your response.    

 “Do I make you nervous?” He says suddenly, his eyes boring into yours. You freeze at his question, because it was as if his demeanor changed in a blink of an eye; from gentle to dominating. It was all in the way he looked at you with his dark eyes. 

“N-no. No, not really. I mean, I am just a shy person. I get nervous around new people. As you can tell.” You say. He takes your hand in his, holding it,  and flashes you a warm smile.

“Don’t worry. You’ll fit right in with us. I promise. They don’t bite.” He then leans in, close to your ear, whispering. “Though, I do a little.” Eddie says, and patted your hand, smirking. He learned that he really liked to make you squirm, and see you flustered. Sometimes he would get this burst of confidence that he had to take advantage of. It’s how he got himself more gigs at The Hideout. How he got himself a better paying position as a mechanic at J’s Auto Service. That was a milestone, because he was able to save up enough money to get Wayne his own trailer a few blocks away, in a better neighborhood. He deserved it. 

You open the door for Eddie, smiling as you watch him check the doors hinges, making sure the lock worked well, for your safety, of course. “Well, have a great first day at work. If you need anything, give me a call, ok?” He assures you that giving him a call at work would be the highlight of his day. “And you can call me whenever you want too. You know I’m all alone here.” You giggle, biting your lower lip. The playful flirting that occurred throughout the day really put you in good spirits, giving you a tiny bit of confidence. “I’ll definitely remember that. Sleep well, princess.” Eddie smirks, and walks down your porch, but stops to look over your car. “You’ll need new tires soon. You should bring it into the shop during the week. I’ll take a look at it and do an inspection.” He then waves, giving you no time to answer. 

It’s Friday afternoon, and you had 2 hours left of your shift. Counting the minutes until it was 5:00. You didn’t mind the job, it was practically the same as your office position back at home; filing papers, taking calls and sending out emails all day. While this position gave you a bit more responsibility and tasks, the environment was relaxed and the rest of the staff seemed to be chill. One girl, Veronica, would come over and talk to you on her way back in from her smoke breaks. You remembered Eddie smelled the same. He must smoke often enough.

“Are you doing anything fun this weekend? Not much to do in Hawkins.” Veronica popped her chewing gum, playing with a strand of her long hair as she leaned at the reception desk, looking at you.

“I am, actually! My neighbor asked me to go to The Hideout. To see his band play.”

“Eddie Munson? Ugh. The Hideout is so gross. He always takes all the girls there.” She rolled her eyes, chuckling as she nonchalantly picked her nails, admiring the design painted on them. She’d excitedly showed them to you earlier in the day. Your heart nearly sunk to your ass hearing her say that. Were you just another easy girl to him? No way would you give yourself up that easily to Eddie, or any man for that matter, and you didn’t feel that you gave off that kind of energy. You wondered if his whole shy persona was just a ploy to sleep with you, and call it a day. You were sure you liked Eddie. And you thought he genuinely liked you too. He had been so kind to you throughout the week, you reminded yourself. Everytime you came home, roughly 15 minutes after him, he’d walk over and greet you. Ask about your day. Smile and even hug you goodnight after you two would chat for a bit. It was like clockwork, at this point.

“I don’t think this is a date. Just..him being a friendly neighbor.” You shrug, trying to sound indifferent to the news she just broke to you.

“Y/N, I hate to break it to you, but he most likely thinks it's a date. And will probably end up fucking you in that smelly, tiny bathroom in the back of the bar. He does this every time. Will fuck anything in a mini skirt.” She shrugged. “Just use protection, doll.” She winked at you and walked back to her cubicle, sighing loudly as she sat down. You try to blink away the stinging in your eyes, focusing your attention on your keyboard. You absolutely did not need to cry your first week at work. It would be almost as embarrassing as you falling for your next door neighbor in such a short span of time. 

It’s 5pm and you’re driving home, hoping you arrive before Eddie does. Luck must be on your side because you make it by 5:27, and quickly get out of your car, nearly tripping up the steps to your front door as you rush to pull out your key from your large purse. This stupid, big ass bag. You unlock your door, and shut it behind you, locking it back up. Your breathing is heavy as you let your body fall in disappointment. The sun shines through your kitchen window, illuminating the flowers he had picked out for you. They were still lively and vibrant. You made sure to change the water every couple of days to keep as so. You’re sulking as you decide to go and take a hot shower, to clear your mind. Then you hear his van roll in, music blasting from it. 

Eddie looks at your driveway to see your car parked, in a rather chaotic way. You must’ve been excited that it was Friday. Maybe you were excited to see him and wanted to share how crazy of a day you had. He hoped that was the case, since he was ecstatic to see you. On his way to work earlier today, he stopped by the record store next to the J’s Shop, and saw Alice Cooper’s new album, Hey Stoopid. He recalls you mentioning that you’d been looking for the vinyl, wanting to add it to your collection. He gathered the last few bills he had on him, and bought it for you. He figured he’d make some extra cash anyway at The Hideout before the show, selling to the usuals.

He knocks at your door, practically beaming. He’s so excited to gift you this album, knowing it would make you happy. That’s all he wants and cares about. When you don’t answer after his 4th knock, he tries a few more times. “Hm..” He ponders, and leans to the left, trying to peek into your living room window, but the curtain blocks anyone from seeing inside. “Hey, Y/N?” He calls out. He assumes you're in the bathroom when you don't answer, and decides to possibly try again later. He wouldn’t want to disturb your “you time” in there. You hear him jog back to his trailer, his chain wallet giving him away. You felt bad, but then remember what Veronica said to you earlier in the day. That was why you were avoiding him in the first place. Though, it would be impossible to do this everyday. Well, for now, you're just going to try your best to hide from him. That means, you’ll have to stand him up at The Hideout. You turn on the shower after stripping off your work clothes and stood there for what felt like hours, playing every scenario in your mind. 

Eddie is tapping his foot impatiently on his carpeted floor, his much more worn out than yours. It's close to 8:30p and you still haven't come over. And he's contemplating whether to go over to your house or not. Your lights are not on. He guesses you had a really bad day at work, and instead of bugging you, he leaves you to rest. The album can wait for tomorrow morning.

It’s bright and early, you can hear the birds chirping from your bedroom window. You rub the sleep from your eyes and groan, sitting up on your bed, looking over to look at the time. The clock read 09:47a. You better get up and make most of your Saturday as you do not plan on leaving your 4 walls tomorrow. You stretch as you stand up, and walk over to your fridge, and then jump at the loud knock. “Y/N!” a familiar voice calls out. Fuck. Ok, you need to at least confront him of his true intentions. Whether you were just another girl to him, and nothing more. You close up your robe a little as you drag your feet, letting out a shaky breath as you open the door. 

“Oh, thank god!” He breathes in relief. “ I was worried about you.” He said.

“Right..well. I’m ok. Just trying to rest up.” You said. He notices your tone is a bit more cold.

“Oh. I-I’m sorry. I just wanted to check up on you. I knocked yesterday, but didn’t see you. Did you have a bad day at work?” He said, frowning now. 

“You can say that-”

“Then I have something that will cheer you up! Close your eyes.” He grinned, practically jumping in excitement. You raise your brow, and hesitantly shut your eyes, then feel his warm hands grab yours, pulling them out in front of you. You feel a heavy-ish item now land on your hands and you immediately open your eyes. “Oh shit..” You hold the album, looking at it. It was a special edition one.

“Eddie..how’d you find this?” You say quietly, a smile growing on your face.

“Saw it at the record store. Had to get it for you.” He couldn’t be any prouder. He got you out of whatever slump you were feeling.

“Oh Eddie..I know this had to be expensive. Let me pay you back.” 

He shook those curls you were so crazy about. “Nope. I only request your presence tonight, sweetheart. Steve and Robin are dying to meet you.” He says, crossing his arms. Your gaze travels down to them, admiring the tattoos and oh. He’s caught you staring, that smirk on his face confirms that. “I-I will be there.” You nod, going against everything you said to yourself the night before. “Great! I have some errands to run, but I will see you tonight, darling.” He bows like you are his Queen, and you might as well be at this point. You giggle, and watch him go to this van, wave at you and drive off. Maybe this wasn’t a bad idea after all.

You’re standing in line at The Hideout, waiting to be let in. You assumed that you had to wait like everyone else. There weren't that many people, about 50 all together but judging by the size of the bar, it would be a full house. You dress in a low-cut top, purposely choosing one that showed a decent amount of cleavage. A cardigan rests over your arm, and you opted for black leggings, the ones that made your ass look the best. If Eddie really did intend for this to be a date, you might as well look the best you could, with what you currently had in your closet. You hear your name being called out, and you see Eddie jog over to you. He’s wearing a sleeveless DIO shirt, and leather pants, his combat boots all untied. He looks so good. You’re practically drooling.

“What are you doing here?” He incredulously asks.

“I..you invited me.” You play with your fingers, nails digging into your skin. 

“Babe, I meant in line.” He reaches out, grabbing your hand and pulls you out of the line, where all eyes then fall on you and him. You noticed a few girls eye Eddie, too. Almost like a prey. “You get backstage access, doll.” He whispers as he leanes into you, and smirks. “You’re VIP.” He holds your hand, and takes you to the back of the bar, opening the door that lead you inside. “After you.” He says, eyes falling to your ass. It looked so plump in those pants, so biteable.  

“You look beautiful, by the way.” He says, admiring the subtle make up you had on. It wasn’t much, just some mascara and eyeliner. A little foundation to hide any blemishes and imperfections. “I like this top.” He runs his fingers over the fabric near your collarbone. Your cheeks heat up, as you send him a smile, looking down all shyly. 

“Eddie!” A man calls out, and you look to your left. You assume that is Steve, and a girl walking alongside with him. Robin? 

“Hey, man. Glad you could make it. Guys, this is Y/N. Y/N…this is Steve and Robin. And as I assumed, Nancy did not make it today.”

“Or ever. You know this isn’t her scene. She’s out with Jonathan, anyway.” Steve shrugged and turned his attention towards you. “Nice to meet you. Eddie has talked non stop about you.” He smirks over at Eddie who is internally cussing him out. “Let’s go get some good seats.” Robin smiles at you, and grabs your arm, locking it with hers as she pulls you to the stage floor. 

“Ughhh Steve, why’d you say that? Now she’s going to think I’m obsessed.” Eddie rubs his face, giving him a look.

“Are you not?” Steve smirks, and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. Eddie shook his head and bit his nails, nervously. “I like her, alot.” He admitted to Steve, eyes following you around as Robin decided which area was the best to stand at. He liked how nervous you were around him. You were the sweetest girl he’d ever known. On the opposite end, he also felt like a creep though. All the perverse thoughts he had about you. They’d come to him when he was in bed late at night, a rhythmic movement of his hand over his aching cock as he'd imagine his tongue deep in your wet, throbbing pussy, satisfying his hunger. 

“I gotta get onstage, and set up.” He says to Steve, wanting to avoid any more of Steve’s banter. He nods, then meets up with you and Robin on the stage floor. Your gaze follows Eddie onstage, where he and the rest of the band finish setting up. He winks at you, and tunes his guitar. Most of all the equipment is there, just had to be connected and set up in the proper place.

“You excited to see the show? They’re actually really good! It’s a shame they haven’t been signed by a record label yet.” Robin says. You are caged in, front row, between both Robin and Steve. “Yeah, I’m excited. I just..don’t want to get my hopes up. Feelings hurt and all.” You say softly, seeing all the people from outside being let in.

“What do you mean? Their songs are not really offensive.” Robin says.

“Well, unless you’re someone with sensitive hearing. They’re loud.” Steve snorts.

“No, I mean. I don’t want Eddie to see me as..like the other girls that he brings here?” You say, a little unsure if you are going to get your point across. Their his friends, obviously they’re going to take his side. 

Steve snorts again. “What girls?” 

“All..the girls..?” You say, feeling a bit foolish at that moment. “This chick I work with knows Eddie. Says he brings all his dates here. And uhm, has his way with them. I'm not-it's not that I'm not attracted to him. He's super handsome, but I don't want it to be that type of date. I like him and don’t want it to be a one night stand type of date..” You nervously chew on the inside of your cheek. 

Steve and Robin both start to laugh, a good belly laugh, which makes Eddie look at you three. What are they telling you about him?

“Y/N. He's NOT like that. At all. I don't know who that chick is, but Eddie is lucky if he's able to get a girl to look his way anymore.” Robin said. 

“I mean, he's had girlfriends and dates, sure. But to say he brings all the girls here like he's some ladies man, is comical.” Steve said.  “But don't tell him we said that.” He smirks. “Eddie is a great guy, Y/N. And I'm not just saying that because he's my best friend.” Steve looked up at him. “Shows starting.” He says to you, nudging your shoulder with his as the lights dim, and a loud guitar note plays. The stage area is packed with all the people from outside, and they cheer.  The band seems to have a large following, people singing along to the songs. A lot of older, trucker looking guys and scattered were lots of girls too, older and younger, like yourself. In the middle of the setlist, you see Eddie grab the mic, placing his foot on the amp as he addresses the crowd, thanking them for coming out and supporting the band. He had a little surprise for you, and hoped you listened to Alice Cooper’s previous album, Trash, because he was going to cover one of the songs on there. He figured he’d take the risk and sing Spark in the Dark.  The lyrics were quite suggestive, and maybe tonight, he’d be brave enough to make a first move. 

You immediately recognized the guitar riff to the song, a big smile forming on your face, as you were by now more relaxed and enjoying the show, just like Robin and Steve suggested.

“Ah, welcome to the party.

It’s only me and you

Tell the world to go away, babe

And I’ll tell you what to do

Come over here and kiss me

I wanna pull your hair

Turn out the lights and hold me

I wanna touch you everywhere”

You sing along, all while your face is burning from the blush that spread over your cheeks, and thankful the stage lights are not pointed directly at you. You were certain you’d combust. You also notice a familiar sensation, one that was directly between your thighs. One that needed to be taken care of. Preferably by the front man looking down at you.

“We don’t need nobody, baby

We don’t need champagne

I’ll take you to the deepest

Darkest, hottest lover’s lane

For a little spark in the dark

Just a little spark in the dark.”

You’re staring at each other as he sings the song. You’re singing along, and he’s so good up there. Your favorite rockstar. You notice his hips move a little with every enunciation during the chorus. He grabs the mic stand, placing the mic on it as the guitar rests over his hips, hiding the semi he’s rocking right now thanks to the song’s lyrics and the perfect view he has of your cleavage. 

“I’ll come ‘round midnight

We’ll be crawling on the floor

Burnin’ with a fever

And yellin’ out for more

But don’t you write in your diary, baby

Don’t blab it on the phone

‘Cause if your dad and mom find out, 

They’ll skin me to the bone.

We don’t need instructions, baby

Don’t you be afraid

It takes a little friction, uh-uh

That’s how our love is made 

For a little spark in the dark.”

You want to melt into a puddle once the song is finished, noticing the sweat that glistens his skin, still sporting that sleeveless tank top. He sings a few more covers, and once the show is over, he bows to everyone, then directly tosses you a guitar pick. You’re giddy, as you’re bouncing on your tippy toes, holding it between your fingers.

“Look at the fangirl, now.” Robin smirks, clapping as the band gets off stage. “We get backstage privileges, being long time friends of the band and all.” She laughs, walking to the back of the bar, noticing the crowd had spread out between leaving for the night, and others to sit at the bar. You follow Robin and Steve, until you reach a room that almost looked like a utility room with all the amps.”Hey!” Eddie says, wiping the sweat off with a small towel. He looks directly at you, as if Robin and Steve aren’t even in the room. “That was amazing! And…the cover was really good, too.” You blush and try not to be too obvious as your eyes scan his body. His shirt is all damp from his sweat, shirt stuck to his body. You could make out his toned stomach. 

“I’d give you a thank you hug, but I smell. And I’m all sweaty.” He chuckles, noticing you shifting a little, your thighs pressing together. He gives you a little knowing smirk, and pulls out a cigarette, but Robin is quick to snatch it.

“No smoking. Especially not around your date.” Robin speaks out.

“You’re right. Bad habit, and manners. Sorry. sweetheart.” He cheekily smiles and puts away the pack of cigarettes.

“We gotta get going, but we’ll see you later, Eds. Come on Steve. Remember…we had that thing we had to do..” Robin says, pulling him on his arm. “OH right! That thing. Yes. Alright, you two have a good and eventful night. Nice meeting you, Y/N! We look forward to seeing you again real soon!!” Steve says as both him and Robin go running out. You let out a soft laugh then look over at Eddie, who is looking at you, not once did his sight move away from you.

“Can we..talk?” You say to him. 

Oh fuck, did he do something wrong? Was it the way he was looking at you? Shit. 

“Of course. We can step outside. It’s hot as fuck in here.” He says and you both walk out into the back of the bar, the loud slam of the door shutting making you jump. Eddie is nervous now. He’s sure you’re about to break the news to him that you don’t want anything to do with him. Maybe you found out of his late night activities, but that wouldn’t make any sense. He was sure you partake in those kinds of solo activities. Maybe you believed he was truly a devil worshipper. How can he convince you otherwise?

“I uhm, almost didn’t come tonight.” You start. 

This makes his chest feel heavy. He’d done something, surely. 

“How come?” His voice is small.

“I was stupid. I believed something someone at my job said about you.” Your stare is focused on the littered and dirty floor, not wanting to meet his eyes. You felt ashamed.

“What’d they say about me?” 

“I-I don’t-”

“What’d they say about me, Y/N? I assure you..I’ve heard it all. I’m used to it at this point in my life.” He says, his tone was a bit more irate and cold than what you were used to him being with you. Your eyes took no time in watering, and now Eddie was ready to throw himself off a cliff for making you feel this way.    He really fucked this up already, as he always does. Good job, Munson.

“She said that…you basically slept around. That you take them here on dates, and..and take them to that nasty bathroom for a quick fuck. Eddie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have believed something like that. I just, I got scared to have my feelings and emotions played with. I didn’t want to be just another girl added to your roster.” You try to keep your composure as you talk to him, your eyes are for sure still watery, but by some miracle, you didn’t stutter. “If I’m being honest, I don’t have much experience with this. Like, yeah. I’ve done a few dates and all, but I've never had a boyfriend or had anyone touch me, or-”

“Sweetheart, it's ok.” Eddie takes a step forward and grabs both your shaky hands, holding them in his, practically engulfing them. “Look at me.” His voice is low, and he places a finger under your chin, tipping your head up. “I promise you, I am not that type of person. People will say a million things about me, and I can guarantee that most of them are just rumors. I certainly do not sleep around. I can't remember the last time I had a legitimate date with someone, let alone fuck someone.” He risked making himself look a loser just to make you feel better. His hand goes up to your cheek, and caresses it, letting out a chuckle. “Baby, there's no one I desire more than you…and I want to kiss you so bad.” He whispers, taking another step forward, his scent invading you. “Give me a chance to prove to you..I'm not like whatever these stupid fucks said about me.” His lips are impossibly close to yours, making your breath hitch at the close proximity. “Kiss me.” His voice is raspy. You embrace each other, your lips pressing together as the kiss deepens slowly. It was the first time you've experienced a true, deep kiss. You were sure he could tell. You opened your mouth, letting his hot tongue in to glide along yours and the quiet whine you let out makes him want to take you right there and then. You were inexperienced, yes, but quickly learned to breathe through your nose and move your mouth with his. Eddie's hand rested on your hips, and the other was around the nape of your neck, pulling you against him even closer, wanting to hear those  whines again. 

“Alright, get a room, you two.” Gareth groaned, hauling the large amp into the van that was a few feet away from you both. You blush heavily as you both simultaneously pull away from each other. “We will continue this at your place? I got to finish helping the guys..” Eddie breathed heavy, a similar rosy shade painted over his cheeks. 

“Yes, I'll leave my door unlocked. You can just come in..” 

“Hm, sweetheart. I don't think that's a good idea. What if the big, bad wolf gets in? And wants to eat yah?” Eddie smirks. 

“I certainly count on it.”

[msgexymunson]

Soft Touches

Description: you and your dealer Eddie get a little closer than anticipated.

Warnings: acquaintances to lovers, reader is AFAB, weed smoking (both parties so no real dub con), fem oral receiving, praise kink, p in v unprotected sex.

A/N: It's my birthday! And I'm high, and horny, so happy birthday! If you've read my work you KNOW I'm a sucker for the first time y/n fucks Eddie. When I'm a benevolent dictator it shall be a universal holiday ;)

4k words

Masterlist

“Eddie, what the hell was in that?” 

Floating in a cloud of your high, the entire room seemed to glow in pink and orange, senses tinged in a sunset glow. You were definitely stoned out of your tree if you were comparing Eddie's stuffy, cramped room to a breath-taking sunset. 

“It's a new strain I got from Rick. You feeling it?” 

“Oh, I'm feeling it alright. I can hear colours.” 

Eddie's rich laugh echoed off the walls of his trailer. He laid on the bed casually, one arm slung beneath his head making his tight t-shirt ride up slightly. Just a peek of his happy trail was on display, which you tried, and failed, not to stare at. 

It was proving difficult, especially since you sat criss-cross apple sauce on his floor. His body was eye level, handcuff belt shining softly in the low light. The glint of that drew your eyes even lower, concentrating on the bulge you could see in his jeans.

You thought you were being sneaky. You absolutely were not. 

“Hey, sweetheart, you gonna answer me or just stare at my dick?” 

“Huh?” 

Shaking your head as if to clear it, you finally met his gaze. 

“I said, you can come lay up here if you want.” 

Halfway between getting up and still in a weird little crouch his words finally filtered through your addled brain. 

“I wasn't staring at your dick!” 

“Whatever you say, baby girl.” 

Frozen, mind empty of comebacks, you clambered out of your goblin stance and stood up, when the blood decided to rush to your head. 

“Oh Holy shit.” 

Your knees buckled, and you would have ended up face first on Eddie's carpet if he hadn't caught you. 

“Easy there, I've got you.” 

Eddie's firm hands held your upper arms tightly as he manoeuvred you to sit on his bed. The room was spinning, everything was drifting out of focus. 

“I need to lie down.” 

Eddie pulled you towards his pillows and laid you down gently, picking your legs up and settling them on the bed with you. Staring up at his off white ceiling, things began to drift back in. Once the room finally stopped swooping around in your vision, you started to come to your senses. 

You are on Eddie Munson's bed. You knew him, sure, only in a ‘can I come round so you can smoke us out and listen to music’ kind of way. You'd hardly call him a friend. This though, feeling the heat of his body next to you, him leaning on his side staring at you worriedly seemed entirely outside of your current arrangement. 

Suddenly the air was stifling, Eddie's warmth only exacerbating the matter. 

“You alright?” 

“Yeah, just really warm. And fucking high.” 

Eddie laughed, relieved.

“Thank fuck, I was scared for a minute.” 

You fumbled at the hem of your oversized sweater, attempting to wriggle it up your body but all motor skills were beyond you right now. 

“Eddie.” You pouted at him, flapping the edge of your sweater with frustrated hands. 

“You want this off?” 

“Please.” 

He flashed you a mischievous grin and pulled up upright, beginning to draw the offensive sweater up and over your form. 

“Didn't think you'd be begging me to undress you sweetheart.” 

Rolling your eyes in response, you held your arms over your head like a petulant toddler. Sweater removed and tossed to the foot of the bed, you risked a glance at Eddie. He was entirely preoccupied, staring at your bare midriff that was now on display. 

“It's a crop top Eddie, get over it.” 

Flinging yourself back down on the pillow, Eddie coughed, looking a little flustered, and settled in next to you. 

“Sorry, I didn't expect it. You always wear baggy shit.” 

“Comfortable shit, thank you. I come here to smoke, it's not New York fashion week.”

Eddie ran a finger across you, just below your belly button. The barely there touch blazed across your skin. 

“I didn't know you had your belly button pierced.” 

Looking down, you watch as his fingers circle it, then flick the little jewel dangling off the end. Thighs clamping together out of sheer necessity, you attempt to ignore it. 

“Yeah, got it done when I was like 15, two towns over. Probably my least painful piercing. Apart from ears, of course.”

Apparently, Rick's new strain also makes you run your mouth, as well as being insanely warm and horny. It seemed you had captured Eddie's attention. He turned further towards you, one hand holding his head up. The other, much to your relief, stayed on your stomach. You're not sure he was even aware he was still stroking your skin. 

“Least painful? What other piercings do you have?” 

You seriously considered dodging the question, but it's difficult to be devious directly to those big wet eyes of his. It's like trying to lie to a baby cow. 

“Well, I got my nose done, but the piercing fell out and I didn't bother to get a new one. That one stung. But the worst had to be my… my nipples.” 

The whole bed lurched as Eddie jumped up and sat cross legged facing you. He practically flew into action, grabbing his cigarettes and a lighter as if you were about to tell him some epic tale. 

“Right, tell me everything.” 

Whilst laughing at his wide eyed expression, you realise he's being completely serious. 

“Well, they er, they like, sanitise the… area, draw a dot where they're going to pierce you and tell you to take a deep breath in and it's done. It's super quick actually. It's more the after part that hurts. Why are you interested?” 

Eddie pushes his hair behind one ear, the tip of it is glowing scarlet, you notice. 

“I was thinking about getting it done my last birthday but I didn't have the cash.” 

He's staring at you, nervously chewing on a hang nail. You can practically see the unasked question dancing on his tongue. You weren't going to offer, hell no. If he wants to see he has to ask. The thing is, the way your tummy is bubbling right now, you don't think you could say no to those eyes of his. 

The question remains unsaid. He merely offers you a drag on his cigarette which you take gratefully, before he's stubbing it out and laying back down next to you. 

“How you feeling now? Bit less baked?” 

“Oh I'm still fucked, but I can see straight and I don't feel sick.” 

His fingers begin their dance again, skating over your exposed flesh, stroking down your side to your hip, across your stomach, and back again. You want to mention it. He's never touched you like this before, but you also don't want him to stop. 

“Good. Not inviting you over again if you hurl on my bed.” 

Giggling, you turn and face him. You're both on your sides now, knees close to knocking. His shirts ridden up again and before you can even register what you're doing you've placed a delicate hand on his hip. His eyes widened briefly, but that's it. Both of you are touching the others bare flesh, whispers of touches. Little, tentative things, like the bursting of soap bubbles on skin. 

“I wouldn't hurl on your bed. I'm sure I'd at least make it to the bathroom. I'm not an animal.” 

Eddie just grins in response, and you look at each other, really look. His dopey smile is the same as yours, and it seems neither of you want to mention how this seems to be rolling into very unfamiliar territory. 

“Eddie?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Why are you touching me?” 

He pushes infinitesimally closer, his knee now slotting between yours. It's a small gesture, but suddenly the situation feels even more intimate than before. 

“Because. Because it feels good. You're soft, and warm. And you keep making little noises.” 

“I do?” 

He smooths his hand higher, thumb dragging along the underside of your breast, and you let out a tiny, quivering whimper.

“See? Like that.” 

Opening your legs slightly wider, Eddie's knee pushes naturally further forward, his thigh now wedged between yours. His breath is fanning your nose; cigarettes, weed, and sweet snacks. 

“So sweetheart, why are you touching me?” 

Your hand presses a little more firmly, snaking underneath the hem of his shirt. With no complaint forthcoming, you reach further up, stroking his side, up over his ribs, and back down again. He responds in kind. Every kiss of fingers is electrifying, filling the room with a soft, dense tension. 

“Because it feels good. Because I saw a bit of skin and I couldn't resist.” 

“Yeah?” He's smirking as he says it, but you're beyond playing games at this point. 

“Yeah.” 

“I didn't know I was irresistible.”

You pinch his skin a little and he stares at you like you just betrayed him. 

“I didn't say that, you're twisting my words.” 

“Pretty sure I heard-” 

Cutting him off with a tickle to the ribs, he grabs your hand to stop you. 

“OK, OK! You were right, I was wrong. Nice touches again please.” 

His hand swiftly makes its way back to your skin and you continue to stroke him. 

“Nice touches?” 

“Yeah, it feels really good.” 

Running your hand up, you graze his nipple, and then bring it back down, down, until you reach the top of his jeans. You graze a finger, just one, under them, sweeping across his tensing abs. Then, you move up to more innocent flesh. 

“Jesus Christ.” 

Eddie's chest is heaving, fingers pressing indents into your flesh. 

“Nice enough?” you're the one smirking this time, pleased at the effect you're having on him. 

“Yeah.” 

It's barely a word, more of a breath. You scoot closer toward him, just a couple of inches, but it's close enough to feel his thigh start to press against your heat. Gasping at the pressure, you rub subtly against his thigh to try and relieve your mounting feelings, no matter how slightly. 

Eddie's hand starts making a trembling journey up your form, fingers twisting underneath your top. Feeling the underside of your bare breast, you both gasp. Eddie undoubtedly because you weren't wearing a bra, you because, well, the obvious. The slightest graze had your nipple hardening instantly, hips rocking forward without your control. 

“Is this OK?” 

“Yeah. Please.” 

Fingers stretching further, Eddie finally brushes your nipple. The feeling is magnified by your piercing; they've felt more sensitive since you got them done.

The moan that escapes is louder than you meant but it couldn't be helped. This simple touch is igniting through your nerves and rushing to your high brain. 

“Shit, they are pierced.” 

It seems to be a thought that Eddie said out loud by accident as he rubs his fingers over your ruddy nipple, slowly circling the silver balls of the jewellery. 

Another moan breaks from you, even louder this time.

“Fuuuuck Eddie.” 

“Yeah?” 

His touches become firmer, rubbing your nipple between thumb and forefinger, mapping the way your face scrunches up with his eyes.

“Yeah, jeez. They're really sensitive.” 

Practically panting in each other's mouths, your noses rub together. 

“Can- can I kiss you?” 

His words are so hesitant that it makes you giggle. Pressing your lips in a swift kiss to his full bottom lip, you respond. 

“I'd be mad if you didn't.” 

Eddie wastes no more time, pressing a hot open mouthed kiss to you that you reciprocate in kind. You keep it slow, leisurely traversing new territory with soft, exploring tongues. Naturally your arms encircle him, pulling him closer, closer. His arm snakes around your back as your bodies press together, like puzzle pieces slotting together and finding their perfect match. Eventually you break away to take a gasping breath as Eddie presses kisses to your collarbone.

“I don't know why we waited so long to do that.” 

“We? I thought you just wanted me for free drugs!” 

You giggled loudly at that, so loud it came out as a snort, but it didn't matter. The moment was so honest that being cool had nothing to do with it. You were bare, in a way, and so was he. 

Eddie chuckled with you as he slowly but surely pushed you onto your back, slipping both of his legs between yours. Pushing your hips up, you feel his hardness graze your pubic bone. 

“Eddie?” 

He hums a response, lips and tongue busy loving on your neck. You tug at the hem of your top and pull upwards. Eddie gets the message, moving out of the way briefly so you can strip it off. 

There you are, bare chested in front of him. You'd be nervous, if you hadn't seen the longing in his eyes. He's kneeling, one arm leaning on the mattress whilst the other compulsively strokes your side. 

“Jesus Christ your tits are perfect.” 

The moment stretches just a little too long for comfort; you're a hair's breadth away from crossing your arms over your chest when Eddie leans down and runs his tongue around and around one nipple. Mewling pathetically, you lace your fingers in Eddie's soft waves and tug. In response his teeth graze you as he sucks softly; then he gives the other just as much attention. 

Shuddering and wriggling under him, you can't do anything but whine, your hips undulating upwards to chase some friction, some release, anything. 

“Eddie, please, I need you.” 

“Umph,” He responds, muffled by your chest, “I need you to say that again.” 

“Eddie I swear to God if you don't- ” 

He laughs, cutting off your sentence. 

“Alright baby girl, I got you.” 

Working his way down your front, he takes his time planting soft kisses, making you writhe at each touch of his lips, until he reaches your shorts. 

Flicking the button open, he slowly drags the zip down and finds the little sliver of red panties poking out. 

“Hearts? Cute.” 

Thick fingers plunge into your clothes and pull them away, flinging your shorts and panties across the room into the void that was Eddie's carpet. 

Insecurity finally gripped its claws into you. What if he didn't like what you looked like down there, smelled like, tasted like? 

A moment of unadulterated panic, and then Eddie licked his tongue, slowly yet firmly, between your lips and all the way up. Barging your thighs further apart with his shoulders, he rooted your clit out with his tongue, running dizzying circles and sucking at it desperately. 

Eddie's moans rivalled your own, such neediness etched in you swear his fingerprints will be left on the outside of your thighs like tattoos, simply from the force he held you with. Barely able to shake, you compensated by pulling his hair and guiding his tongue exactly where you needed it. 

He pushed a thick calloused finger into you slowly, looking up at you as he did so. You back arched off the bed. He felt around, staring at you with such intensity you that you were seconds away from telling him to quit staring when-

“Oh God, oh fuck!” 

Eddie smirked, sliding another finger in gently to join the first, and worked your clit between his lips. He incessantly stroked a spot inside that you'd never reach on your own, a firm, beckoning gesture as if he were willing your orgasm to come hither. 

It was working. Your insides tingle, a tightness pulling straight from your gut and shooting out to your fingers and toes. Beyond control by this point, your hand pulls his hair tightly. To your amazement, his other hand reaches out to you, seeking, and you lace your fingers in his own. 

As soon as your digits touched, you were gone. Your release plummets out of you, shaking through every bone you have, leaving you a twitching puddle of a woman. His fingers chase after it, dragging every inch of squelching pleasure out of your insides until you're tugging him away and begging for it to stop. 

As he moved back up your body, licking and sucking as he did so, you tried to think of an answer to the smug grin he was just about to flash at you. 

There was none. Brain unravelled, threads wound into your nerves instead of your thoughts, you laid there, ruminating on how he'd made you come faster than any other man.

Eddie hovered over you, nose nudging your own. He must have wiped his mouth at some point whilst you were in la la land. 

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Eddie, you're really fuckin’ good at that.”

“I know.”

You laugh, tapping his side.

“Cocky.”

“Confident.”

Before you can retort his mouth is back on you, peppering kisses to your jaw, as his solid member presses into your naked heat.

“Fuck Eddie, please, please please-”

“Please what baby girl?” He asks, then sucks a hickey on your neck. 

Pulling him towards you by his shirt collar, you bite down sharply on his earlobe, pulling a little groan from his chest.

“I want you to stuff me full Eddie. I'm- I'm on birth control. Fill me up.” 

You can practically feel Eddie's eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck, you can't just say that, I nearly busted in my pants!” 

Pulling himself off you for the shortest time he could, he peels his t-shirt over his head and flops back on top of you. Desperate kisses and urgent gropes spill from you both; grinding, needy things that tore at clothes and grasped at flesh. 

After fiddling and failing with his belt, you huff and tug harshly at his waistband. He chuckles, biting at your bottom lip as he unlatches it with ease and then wriggles his pants and boxers down his legs with urgency. 

More desperate grasps, teeth and tongues clashing violently, your hand reaching down to clutch at his- 

“Holy hell!” 

His eyes widen, hands coming to a halt, waiting for the rest of your sentence. You're too busy trying to glance down his front as he hovers over you, your fist firmly stroking his hardened cock.

“You're huge Eddie!” 

He smirks and thrusts into your hand, the velvet smoothness of his dick massaged  by your palm. 

“Bet you say that to all the guys.”

“Er, no, Rick's made some truth serum or some shit because that's the biggest I've ever felt.” 

You guide him firmly towards your entrance, dragging the tip of his enlarged cock through your slickened folds. He quivers over you, arms thick with tension. 

“Baby girl just, just slip it inside, please-” 

“Now who's begging?” 

Grinning mischievously, you wait for him to start forming an answer with his mouth when you slip the head inside your sopping opening. His open mouth turns into a long drawn out moan. 

You would tease him if the feeling of him splitting you open wasn't all consuming. Which it fucking is. He just keeps pushing, and pushing, until his chest is flush with yours and he's mumbling platitudes in your ear. 

“Doing so good for me. Such a naughty, naughty girl. Getting filled up by her drug dealer? Baby girls a little dirty, isn't she?”

You're trying not to let him know how much his words affect you, but the fluttering of your satin like walls tells a different story. 

“You're not my dealer.” 

“Oh really? I'm not?” 

Pulling out nearly all the way and pushing back in, you bite your lip at the drag against your insides.

“Dealer implies I buy shit. You just give it to me, like a little simp.”

Eddie's mouth drops open in mock outrage.

“You want me to give it to you now? I'll fucking give it to you baby.” 

Hooking an arm under your thigh, Eddie thrusts into you hard and devastatingly deep. And again, and again, until you start moaning wantonly right in his face, all bravado forgotten.

“Yeah? Atta girl. That good baby? Wanna feel me right here?” 

His other hand pushes against your lower stomach, the pressure deepening the pleasure he's giving you tenfold. 

“Oh Eddie, oh fuckfuckfuck!!” 

Your release explodes out of your cunt with a gush, liquid spurting out of you so hard you nearly force his impressive length out. It waves drastically, like the sea against the shore, washing and washing over you until it's hard to breathe. 

“Baby, baby! Holy shit, I think you squirted.” 

“Ya think? My God, that was… mind blowing.” 

“Yeah?” 

Looking up at him, you expect that arrogant grin, but he just looks pleased and innocent. Like a kid at Christmas. 

“Yeah, fuck yeah.”

Rolling him over with all the power left in your thighs, you pin him down and move firmly into him, ferality taking over your actions. 

“Jesus Christ, you are a dirty girl, aren't you?” 

“Maybe just a little.” 

Smirking, you hump against him, your swollen clit bumping against his pubic bone on each delicious pass. 

“Holy shit, I'm not complaining- fuck, what the- what are you doing? Jesus Christ!” 

You bounce hard on him. Seeing him writhe under you is a special kind of power, one you aren't willing to let go of. Ever.

“Fuck, b-baby girl, you're gonna make me come!” 

His intense moans spur you on further. Unable to bounce so much on shaky knees you snuggle down close to him, arms clutching his shoulders, as you grind into him. It's massaging sensations into your clit, as well as teasing your g spot with his imposing length. 

“I can't, I’m-  baby girl-” 

“I'm gonna come, Eddie please, fill me up, I wanna feel it, I wanna feel your cum inside me, please, fuckin’ breed me Eddie. Oh fuck!” 

Quivering against him uncontrollably, your legs give out, collapsing on his body as he tenses and releases inside of you. It spurs your own orgasm, snaking up your spine and gripping on your system like a fly caught in honey. An open mouthed scream is all you give him, silent but chock full of feeling, as your back arches in its own tension. 

As it curls out of you, your back gives up, and you flop forward, bones turned to pudding. 

“Well.” is all that comes out, a puff of a word, just air escaping from a collapsing chest.

“Well.” Eddie responds, waiting for what you're about to say. 

You're sure he doesn't expect it. A laugh bubbles out; a weird, inside laugh, that you probably should never share with anyone. But it keeps coming. And coming. Laughing uncontrollably, you roll off of him and try to get your stomach muscles in check. 

You'd be worried about his reaction, if he wasn't laughing with you. It was this odd mixture of tension and relief that was bursting in the air, a barrier broken and left crumbling at your feet. 

“Eddie. Fuck, Eddie.” 

“Yeah?”

‘Yeah.”

His heated hand found yours, and squeezed your fingers hard. For some reason, it felt more intimate than all of this combined. 

Giggling again, you lean into his chest, fingers dipping up to weave into his hair. 

“Baby girl, you can't just-” 

“What? Pull your hair? Because you like it?” 

Tugging on his hair dramatically, Eddie tosses his head back and groans. 

“Knew it.”

“Yeah, yeah, certified genius. It's like you don't wanna be railed again.” 

Huffing, you pull yourself on top of him again, hardened nipples brushing softly against his flesh. 

“Oh, I think I'll be the one railing you. You wanna make a bet, for next time?” 

Smug grin forgotten, Eddie stares at you in disbelief.

“Next time?” 

“Well, I hope so. Got to be the best I've ever had.” 

Stupid Rick and his stupid strain. 

“Best you've ever had?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Only if you wanna.” 

The teasing stopped. At least for now. It was pretty clear, your need for each other was outranking any goading you'd been sharing. 

At least for now… 

Taglist (Some permanents, some likely candidates, if you want to be added, jus say the word sweetheart)

@eddiesprincess86 @zestychili @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @roanniom @usedtobecooler @josephquinnsfreckles @mrsjellymunson

[finelinevogue]

OMG imagine kit and reader begin co stars in something and people making those compilations of them that are like “____ and ____ acting like a couple for 12 minutes and seven seconds straight” 🤭🤭🤭

oh im SOOO on for this🤭✨

the compilation

summary - you and kit are secretly dating but the fans are too perceptive and make a montage of your flirtiest moments

pairing - kit connor x co-star!reader

🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧

The video started with a short video of Kit being filmed for an interview, where he had to describe his co-star.

“What do I think about Y/N in 5 words?” He asked the man behind the camera.

The reporter confirmed the question and waited for Kit to respond.

“I don’t think there’s 5 words that are good enough.” Kit mumbled to himself but the microphone attached to him picked it up.

The rest of the people in the interview room swooned, but Kit was too busy trying to come up with a good enough answer to see.

“Okay…” Kit sat up straight, ready to answer properly.

“Kind. I know it’s a basic one, but it’s just true.”

“Funny. I’ve never known someone who could make me belly laugh before Y/N.”

“Compassionate. No matter how hard Y/N’s day is, you will always be granted a hug.” Kit laughed at that one, hearing how cheesy he sounded.

“Unpredictable. I feel like that needs no explanation.”

“And….” Kit smirked then, the camera zooming in on it, as he tried to think of an appropriate thing to say last, “I’ll go with safe.”

“Safe?” An interviewer questions.

“Yeah.” Kit responded with no intention to explain himself.

Once you watched the interview you would know exactly what he meant though, because you felt just as safe with Kit as he did with you.

🌊.

The next few clips were a compilation of videos that had been secretly recorded of you two from set or from friends.

The movie you’d been filming together had been a romance, which had only magnified your relationship seeing as you’d actually met through a mutual friend; Joe.

Joe would argue that he was the reason you were together. Kit would argue that it was his charm solely that got you together. You would argue that it was a bit of both, just to keep the peace.

The first clip that played was from a day that you visited the Heartstopper set.

You, Joe and Kit were all laying in “Nick’s” bed, laughing at something that Kit had just said. It must have been ridiculously funny because the next thing that happened was you rolling off the edge of the bed and onto the floor with a thump.

Kit had rolled to try and catch you but the thump on the floor suggested otherwise. The situation only made you laugh harder.

The second clip was something from Joe’s Instagram story, where he was filming a group of you walking down the River Thames. You were hitching a ride on Kit’s back, his arms around your legs that were wrapped around his waist. Your arms dangling around his neck and your cheek pressed against his.

The third clip was on the set of your new movie together.

You were both in Kit’s trailer and practicing some lines.

“You said you didn’t care!” You shouted, playing your character Rosa.

“Well I lied. I do care.” Kit shouted back, looking from his script to your face, playing his character Oscar.

“You’re insufferable.” You groaned.

“I’m sorry that me trying to figure out my feelings for you is insufferable.”

“F-feelings?” You questioned, your voice going quieter.

“I thought I was being obvious.” Kit chuckled, “Did you not think that there might’ve been a reason I cared that you kissed Danny?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I cared because I wished you’d been kissing me instead.”

Then Kit broke character and launched himself on you, pretending to kiss you all over. You were belly laughing as Kit crushed himself over you, pushing you into the leather sofa that you’d been sitting on.

“Kit get off!” You laughed and then the video cut, leaving the viewers to question what happened next and curse whoever had decided to stop recording.

🌊.

The video then cut to an interview you’d done together and it had gone viral mainly for the way Kit had been looking at you throughout the whole thing.

It had been a normal interview and yet Kit had been feeling the extra love towards you that day, so he sat and watched you answer lovingly.

There had even been a point where he got caught, but that hadn’t worried him.

“And Kit? Your answer?” The interviewer asked.

He looked from you to the interviewer, realising he’d been asked something.

“Oh I’m so sorry. Could you repeat the question please?” He laughed it off, as did you and the interviewer.

“I was just wondering what attracted you to the role of Oscar?”

Kit hummed with a smile, forcing himself to not say your name as the answer. You nudged his shoulder to pull him out of his head.

“I think….”

🌊.

Then there was the interview where you’d been really anxious in.

It had been a rubbish day from start to finish, mainly because the anxiety weighing on your chest had been so heavy all day.

It was in an interview close to the end of the day that the small, intimate, moment came from.

“And I think that’s why we resonate–.” The interviewer was talking.

“I’m so sorry, can we stop for one moment please.” You interrupted in the most polite way you could.

“Yeah of course.” The interviewer nodded, sitting patiently.

It was not unknown that you suffered with anxiety, in fact you were pretty open about it. Why hide something that was such a huge part of you, especially when you were in a position where you could help break the stigma surrounding it.

Kit swerved his body so the cameras could no longer see you, just see his back. He knew the cameras would keep rolling and your mics would stay on, but he was trying to do whatever would be most comfortable for you.

“I’m sorry.” You could be heard saying.

Kit’s hands could be seen moving around to meet yours, both of your hands situated in your lap now. You’d often spoken out about how physical touch can ground you in these situations.

“No. Don’t be sorry.” Kit said, waiting for you to give the signal on whether he should or shouldn’t keep talking.

“Just felt a panic attack coming and I wanted to calm it before it actually came.”

Kit nodded.

“You did good. You’re doing good.”

“Thank you.” You whispered.

It was at least another three minutes before you felt okay enough to mentally return to the room. Kit turned back around in his chair, but kept ahold of your hand with his.

You apologised to the interviewer again, but she was completely fine with it and the producers had allowed her to regain her allotted interview time.

“Would you mind keeping that footage? I would quite like to share it to show that even ‘celebrities’ can feel like rubbish sometimes.” You laughed, Kit squeezing your hand in the process.

“Of course.”

“Ready?” Kit asked you once more. You nodded and the interview continued, Kit holding your hand for the rest of it and then for the rest of the day.

🌊.

The video ended the same way it began.

It was a similar interview to Kit’s, where you got asked to describe Kit in 5 words.

You couldn’t help but smile, because you love sharing the love so much - especially when it’s about your boyfriend who you care about a lot.

“Loyal. He’s so loyal to his friends and family.”

“Kind. He has so much love in his heart and he always shows it in the little moments.”

“Artistic. I don’t think he would agree, but he is.”

“Magnetic. Kit just attracts anyone and everyone to him, you can’t help but love him.”

“And one more?” The interviewer asked.

You pondered for a moment.

“Grumpy. You would not believe how much of a grump he is in a morning.” You laughed, not even thinking about the repercussions of admitting that you see Kit in the mornings.

It’s not a surprise that you’re both trending the next day and there’s a million theories about you two. Hence why the compilation video is made.