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feenoire · 3 months ago

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Heartfelt Veils II. A Doe Loves Its Wolf

stepdad!joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ minors dni

word count: 6.2k

warnings: age difference (18/50), sexual harassment (cat call), fluff, angst, sexual tension, sexual acts.

summary: spending your 18th birthday with your stepdad ended up being an unforgettable day, one that will forever linger in your mind.

a/n: Joel quoting Romeo’s line in spanish, that’s the note. i hope you enjoy this chapter <3

series masterlist

The drizzle cascades outside, tapping the window of your bedroom. The pumpkin spice candle fills your room with its warm, comforting scent. You’re sitting on a chair, pen in hand, as you pour your thoughts into your diary at the study desk.

“Dear diary, I almost cry at the sweetness of October. Woken early by Joel, who made breakfast for me: avocado toast and raspberry juice. Days seep by like the stain of a raspberry on my pearl blouse. A week has gone by since I arrived in this small town, this new haven—Joel’s home. I could make a list of all the warmest things: my new chamber, forest saunter, delicacies, cold weather, the sleekness of his wood carvings, and Joel.

I’m afraid to admit it, but I think I like Joel, he’s like a sin worth hunting for. Something’s wrong with me because I know I’m not supposed to feel this way. My heart beats steadfastly for him, his brown eyes warm like the morning sun. For the first time, I feel like someone truly pays attention to me and genuinely cares what I have to say. I feel seen. Unlike the ghost I have been for the last seventeen years. He is flowers in my stomach. I always think of him before I fall asleep. Nightmares fade.

But I tried to convince myself that he was just being nice like most stepdads would do, because they can be kind at first but become total assholes later, that it was all just a pretense, they just want your mother, not you. That’s what I heard from my friends. But I truly hope Joel isn’t like that. That this feeling I have right now is just a phase, that he’s just a phase…”

The knock on the door startles you as you’re lost in your thoughts, letting them flow onto the book in front of you. In a panic, you quickly shut your diary and hide it in the drawer. Knowing you’d be dead if someone read it.

“Sweetheart, are you ready yet?” his deep, husky voice speaks.

“Yeah. I’ll be just a few minutes.”

“Alright. I’m gonna wait outside, okay?” says he from behind the door.

“Okay.”

After his footsteps fade, you put on your jacket over your sweater and grab your school bag. Not wanting to make him wait too long, you quickly grab your walkman before running downstairs. There, you find Joel leaning against his black 1978 Ford truck, looking like a man straight out of a magazine.

Your breath hitches and your cheeks warm at the sight of him as you stand on the front porch. He wears a denim shirt under a brown jacket that hugs his frame, showing just how big his arms are. He is divine, like the Seleucid prince. It makes you flutter.

Like the gentleman he is, he opens the car door for you with a smile as you stride toward him. You can’t help but smile and blush at his lovely gesture.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say softly.

“Ain’t no worries, little girl.”

Little Girl. You like the way he calls you that, it sends a warm sensation to your core. You don’t know why. With the husky voice of his, you secretly wish he could whisper it in your ear.

Joel gets inside the truck and starts to drive. Meanwhile, your mother leaves for work early today. Joel told her that she could stop working if she wanted to and let him provide for her, but she said no, as work keeps her busy and she likes doing it.

It feels comfortable and calming to the mind as you look at the scenery through the car’s window. Observing the little town with its shops, parks, and sidewalks covered in fallen leaves. There’s an old man riding a bicycle, with ten dogs following him, stepping with their little legs. The sight brings a smile to your face. In the distance, a big mountain blanketed in fog. The weather is getting colder, as it nears November.

“What are you listening to?” Joel says, breaking the silence.

You don’t turn the volume all the way up on your walkman, so you can still hear Joel talking through the headphones.

“Um, just an old song from my mixtape.”

Joel smiles. “Why don’t you put your little mixtape on the stereo so I can listen to it too?”

Part of you is embarrassed at the thought of Joel listening to your playlist, or maybe you’re scared that he will judge you for it, without realizing how much you care about what or how Joel thinks of you. But a small part of you is delighted that you could listen to your favorite songs with him.

“Yeah, sure.”

You take off your headphones and put the tape in the player. The soft melody of Mazzy Star’s “Blue Light” fills the car.

Joel smiles as he listens. “Yeah, I’ve heard this one.”

“You have?”

“I have, it’s glorious.”

You smile, glancing at him. “It is, isn’t it?”

“You look like this song would if it were a person.”

His words make your cheeks flush. It’s the best thing anyone has ever said to you, especially when it comes from Joel. You try to shift the conversation back to him. “What kind of music are you into?”

“Fleetwood Mac, Bob Dylan, David Bowie—”

“I love David Bowie!” you say enthusiastically.

Joel laughs softly at your enthralled reaction. He watches you with a look of admiration in his eyes. “Me too, sweetheart.”

“Sorry,” you whisper as you bow your head. Scolding yourself internally for losing your composure in front of him.

“Don’t be.”

The song changes to “Storms” by Fleetwood Mac as you look out of the window again, gazing at the white swans swimming on the lake, beautiful as a painting. Time seems to speed up, and soon you see the big wooden sign on the side of the road that reads, ‘Welcome to Lakewood.’

The car passes by towering trees as you approach the small town. You’re so caught up in the scenery before your eyes that you don’t realize Joel has been looking at you. The town is beautiful, much like Silvervale, but a bit bigger.

Finally, you arrive at Lakewood High School. The school is big and built with maroon-colored bricks. Forest trees stand tall behind the building. Joel pulls over in front of the entrance. Some students head inside. The parking lot is full of cars and motorcycles, with teenagers hanging around despite the forty-five degrees weather.

You feel nervous, and your hand is slightly shaking. But you don’t realize it until Joel reaches for your trembling hand and holds it, enveloping your small hand with his large, warm, and calloused one. The contrast between his rough skin and your softness is noticeable.

“Are you okay?” he asks calmly.

You look at your trembling hand covered by Joel’s. Trying to control your anxiety and take a deep breath.

The idea of starting all over again, introducing yourself to strangers scared you more than you realize. You’re scared of being perceived and what if you’re not able to find a friend? You’ve always been a wallflower at your old school, with only one or two friends.

But you push the thoughts away—you’re not going to break down in front of Joel. Instead, you try to focus on the warmth of his hand. It calms you down and alleviates your pounding heart and trembling body.

You nod. “Yeah, I-I’m okay.”

His eyes are full of concern. “You don’t have to do this today if you don’t want to. I can take you back here tomorrow.”

“No, no, I’m okay, I promise.”

You don’t want to burden Joel, who already takes time before work to drive you here. You’re not going to let a little anxiety ruin your day, especially his.

“Are you sure?”

You give him a smile as a sign that you’re okay. “Yeah, I’m sure. Thank you for driving me.”

“Not at all.”

You open the car door and as you try to get out, Joel still clasps your hand, stopping you.

“Joel?”

His gaze is unwavering and intense as he looks at you. “Call me if you need anything okay? Don’t hesitate,” he says with his thumb gently caressing your hand.

Your breath hitches from the intense eye contact. The tension between you is palpable, making your heart race. Unsure if he can feel it or if it’s just you. The pulsing in your core returns and it starts to ache—you’ve never felt like this with anyone before. You rub your thighs together to ease the ache. Joel’s gaze shifts from your eyes to your thighs, and his eyes darken.

“Little girl,” he whispers.

You try to hold back the whimper at the sensation and the way he calls you. “I-I have to go,” you murmur.

You withdraw your hand from him and get out of the car with a pounding heart. You welcome the cool refreshing air and take a deep breath. No one has ever affected you the way Joel has, and you can’t comprehend why. Trying to calm down and gather your thoughts, you head inside the building without looking back and decide to find the front office to collect your schedule and the school map.

Time passes, and the school bell rings signaling the end of the school day. Finally.

You didn’t really pay much attention to your surroundings today. You spent your lunch break alone in the wildflower meadow in the forest behind the school, sipping the cherry cola you bought from the vending machine and smoking a few cigarettes. With your walkman on and your favorite book as your companion.

You got to know a few people from your classes, but not many. Some of the teachers were nice and helpful. The thing you hated the most was the boys hanging out in the hallway, whistling loudly at you as you walked to class. Shitheads.

The last class of the day was English, taught by the handsome teacher Mr. Wayne—according to the students. He’s around thirty, with light tan skin, brown hair, brown eyes, and a slightly graying beard. He’s the youngest male teacher at school, which is why most of the girls are after him. It seems like everybody pays attention to what he teaches in class, or maybe they just admire his looks. He assigned everyone in class a copy of Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare and asked them to write an essay about it.

After you leave the school building, you don’t call Joel to pick you up as he asked you to. Instead, you walk through the forest, but not too far from the road. Keeping your phone’s map open to guide you home.

The earthy and musky scent of the fallen leaves is prominent. The faint breeze gently blows through your hair and rustles the leaves scattered around you. The sky is getting dim, and you have no idea why. You check your watch—it’s only 3:20 PM. You’ve been walking for twenty minutes, with just thirty more to go until you arrive. So, you tighten the jacket around you and walk faster.

After what happened this morning, you don’t dare to face Joel, so it’s best to just avoid him. The way he held your hand, his eyes darkening as he stared at you, was all too much. What if he feels the same way you do and is struggling with it just like you? You swear it was there—the palpable force of tension and electricity between the two of you. Maybe you’re just crazy, imagining things that weren’t there, that it was all in your head. What is wrong with you? He’s your stepdad—why do you feel this way? You’re certain that if someone could read your mind, they’d put you in a mental institution.

Now that you’re alone, you let the tears fall from your eyes. Your heart aches as you wonder if what you feel for him is genuine. Joel is a very kind man and a great partner for your mother, and you’re just a dumb seventeen-year-old girl who holds a secret longing for him. You secretly pray to God that these feelings will fade away. Reminding yourself that you need to control how you feel and distance yourself from Joel from now on before something bad happens.

As you continue walking you hear a faint crunching sound on the fallen leaves behind you. Heart pounding, afraid someone might be following you. It turns out it’s a black kitten trailing behind you as you look back. It meows at you as you approach, and your heart softens.

“Hey, are you alone?” you say softly.

Of course, it only answers you with a meow. You look around but you don’t see another cat. The kitten is alone. You wonder where its mother is. As you kneel on the ground and inspect it, its fur is dirty and tangled, and one of its legs is crooked. It’s a girl. You can’t leave her here alone—what if she dies?

“Why don’t you come home with me?” you whisper to the kitten.

You carefully lift her from the ground and carry her with you. She purrs and snuggles into your jacket as you hold her small form gently in your hands. You smile at the sight.

“You’re okay now, let’s go home.”

The kitten occupies your mind now; all you can think about is getting her home, giving her a warm bath, and tending to her crooked leg. The thoughts about Joel leave your mind.

It’s 4:20 PM by the time you arrive home, soaking wet. Late because you had to take shelter from the rain under the bus stop pavilion, shielding the kitten in your jacket’s inner pocket. You cursed yourself for wearing a black mini skirt today, and now your legs are so cold they almost feel numb.

The driveway is empty, signaling that no one is home. You take the spare key from under the doormat and quickly get inside. You bathe the kitten and take a hot shower yourself, then tend to her tiny, crooked leg before falling asleep in your bed with her.

Unsure how long you’ve been asleep—whether it’s been minutes or hours. You feel a big hand gently caressing your head, which wakes you up from your slumber. You open your eyes slowly and adjust your vision; there you see Joel bent over looking at you with a face full of concern, and his hand on your hair.

“Joel?” you murmur.

“Little girl, where have you been?”

You rub your eyes and slowly sit up, gathering your consciousness. “What?”

He sits on the edge of the bed. “I called and texted you, but you didn’t answer. I told you to call me to pick you up. Then, I went to your school, and you weren’t there, I was sca—” he bows his head and takes a deep breath.

It’s the first time you’ve ever seen Joel looks so scared. His eyebrows are drawn together, his jaw tense, and fear is evident in his eyes.

“Joel, I—”

“I’ve been searching for you everywhere, and your mom too—she was terrified. Where the hell have you been?”

You made everyone worry about you, and you feel so guilty about it. You should have at least let them know. Overwhelmed and too caught up in what happened this morning, you don’t dare reach out to him.

“I-I’m sorry, Joel. I was taking a walk home through the woods to… to clear my mind,” you say, your voice slightly shaking. “I’m so sorry for making you worry; I didn’t mean to.”

Joel’s face softens at your explanation. “But sweetheart, that’s like an hour’s walk.”

“I know,” you whisper.

“It’s still too dangerous, baby. You can’t just walk around the woods. What if you get attacked by animals or worse?”

“I didn’t think about it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just don’t ever do that again.”

Joel is a remarkably handsome man, even when he’s worried, and you can’t help but admire his beauty. In return, he meets your gaze, his brown eyes make you feel safe and warm. His hand tries to reach your face, but you turn your head away and shift the conversation. Joel pulls back his hand.

“I found a kitten in the woods, her leg’s injured. So, I brought her home,” you say, pointing to the kitten sleeping on your pillow.

A smile starts to form on his lips as he looks at the little creature. “I didn’t even realize she was there.”

“Is it okay? I can’t leave her alone.”

“It’s okay, little girl,” he says warmly.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say with a smile. “Where’s mom?”

“Downstairs. She’s upset, I’m gonna talk to her.”

“No, it’s alright. Let me talk to her,” you say. “After all, it’s my fault.”

He nods. “Okay.”

Unconsciously, you remove the blanket from your lap and climb out of bed, stepping over Joel’s thigh. The cold air and the rough fabric of his jeans against your bare legs remind you that you’re only wearing a t-shirt and panties. Joel clears his throat, his cheeks turning red. Embarrassed, you quickly apologize and stride to your closet, shutting the door behind you.

God damn it. How could I forget?

As you go downstairs, you find your mother sitting in the dining room. Joel was right—she’s upset, it’s evident on her face. You stand across the table as your mother’s gaze shifts from the window to you. Your heart feels heavy with guilt as you look at her.

“Mom, I’m so—”

“Where have you been?” she says, her voice elevating.

“I’m so sorry, Mom. I was just taking a walk home, that’s all. I didn’t go anywhere else.”

“Well, you can’t just fucking disappear like that! We were looking for you everywhere. If Joel hadn’t told me, I probably wouldn’t have known.”

“I know, Mom. I’m sorry,” you whisper, trying to hold back your tears.

“No, you didn’t. You wouldn’t have fucking done it if you had known.”

Her words make your tears fall down your cheeks, and you sob quietly. Your mother is always like that—very strict about everything: where you go, what you wear, what time you come home. It’s as if she has been scared for you your whole life, and you never understand why. That’s why you are always cooped up at home.

“You go straight home from school from now on. Joel will pick you up, and no more taking a walk bullshit!” she exclaims. “You’re not going to let everything I’ve done to move here and protect you go to waste—”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but instead, she lowers her head and shakes it.

“Protect me from what?” you ask softly, but your question is met with silence. “Mom—”

“Go to your room!” she yells, making you flinch. “No dinner tonight.”

Without a word, you obey her and go upstairs to your room. In the hallway, you catch a glimpse of Joel sitting on his bed with the door open, his face full of concern. You close your door and cry into your pillow.

In the middle of the night, a knock on your door wakes you up. When you open it, you find a tray of food on the floor: a plate of salmon noodles and a glass of milk. It must be Joel; you know your mother wouldn’t do this. You eat the food with your kitten and then go back to sleep.

October 31

On Halloween day, you lie in the wildflower meadow behind the school like you always do every day during lunch break. Too overwhelmed by the crowd inside, especially the cafeteria, you’ve never eaten there, not even once. You don’t care, though. You love spending your time alone here, with no one to bother you.

The school hosting a Halloween-themed event, allowing students to wear costumes. With a pair of wings, a flowing white dress, and a crucifix necklace, you completed your Juliet Capulet costume. It honestly makes you feel angelic.

It’s your birthday today, and you turn eighteen. You wonder if there’s someone who has a birthday on Halloween as well. If so, they probably live on the other side of the world.

It seems like your mother and Joel forgot your birthday since they didn’t say anything to you. Which makes you feel a bit sad today. To celebrate your birthday, you bought a slice of chocolate cake from the vending machine. You don’t even know what to wish for as you want to blow out the candle, so you just blow it out and eat the cake.

A little while later, you notice a doe standing near the shrubs around the trees, not too far from you. She catches your eye, she’s beautiful just like the one in your painting. So, you get up from your spot and slowly approach her, stopping a few feet away so you don’t scare the doe. You wish you could caress her soft fur and give her gentle kisses. Her eyes are captivating as she looks at you. Maybe it’s your deepest desire that comes true right after you blow out your candle. This very moment makes you feel like you’re in some kind of fairy tale.

The doe slowly steps towards you, but suddenly runs away when she hears a branch crack behind you. As you look back, you catch a glimpse of a man, but he is quickly hiding behind a tree. Heart pounding as you come to the realization that it’s similar to what happened in your dreams. Without thinking further, you run back towards the school. Suddenly, it feels so far, maybe because you have gone too deep into the woods than you realized. All you can think is to run and run; your breath is heavy and your stomach hurts. You hear footsteps behind you, but you do not dare to look back.

Keep running, keep running!

Finally, you reach the school building. Knowing that there are many people around, you dare to look back, and there’s no one is following you. You stand at the edge of the school, confused and feeling like you’re losing your mind. But you’re sure that what you saw was real, not just some trick your mind wanted to see. Suddenly, a hand touches your shoulder, making you flinch and turn around.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

It takes you a few seconds to calm your breath and pounding heart as you look at the person in front of you. His face is full of concern as he looks at you.

“Yeah, I’m okay, Mr. Wayne,” you say.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Are you sure?”

“I just… I thought I saw something, but it’s nothing.”

He nods and speaks calmly, “Okay. Why don’t you just join the party inside with the other students.”

“Yes, Mr. Wayne.”

Joel picks you up after school like he always does. By the time you get home, the house smells like baked goods and cherries.

“Take a walk with me?” says Joel from behind you. His deep voice echoes through the living room.

You turn around and look at him. “Alright. But where are we going?”

He smiles. “You’ll see.”

Joel holds your small hand with his large one as he leads you into the forest behind the house, his other hand holding a picnic basket covered with a white napkin. When you ask him what it contains, he doesn’t answer.

You can’t help but secretly admire Joel’s veiny hand, side profile, and salt-and-pepper curls. He looks so good it makes your heart swell.

“Watch where you’re going, little girl,” says Joel, with a smirk on his face. He catches you eyeing him, like a moth drawn to a flame.

A soft blush tints your cheeks from being caught. “Why can’t you just tell me where we’re going?”

“Patience, baby.”

Walking in the woods again reminds you of what happened earlier. So, you stay cautious throughout the entire walk, hoping no one is following you this time.

A little while later, you arrive at the spot Joel wanted to show you. Hidden behind the tall bushes is a serene lake, where swans swim gracefully. The lake is surrounded by trees and bushes, making it feel like a secret garden.

By the side of the lake is a bone-colored picnic blanket stretched out on the grass, with a few unlit scented candles placed on top of it.

“Joel?” you say, shifting your gaze to him who’s already looking at you with admiration.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Overwhelmed with happiness, you hug him. “Thank you, Joel. I thought everyone had forgotten.”

“Of course, I didn’t,” he says, his lips brushing your hair.

Pulling back, you gaze up at him. “But mom did. She didn’t say a word to me today. When I woke up, she was already gone.”

Joel caresses your hair with his hand. “Your mom’s busy with work as usual, but I got your present from her.”

That makes you feel a bit better, at least your mother hasn’t entirely forgotten your day. She’s never been there, and you’re always home alone on your birthdays—just buying takeout and watching TV, nothing special. The last time your birthday was celebrated was when you were six. If you’re being honest, you don’t really like having your birthday celebrated. You hate getting older and seeing it as a reminder that death is getting nearer.

But seeing Joel surprise you with all of this makes you think that maybe you deserve it for once. You’re forever grateful that he came into your life and his kindness, for treating you like his own family and making you feel cherished.

The two of you sit on the blanket. Joel takes out the items from the basket while you admire the view. There are countless lavender flowers growing around the lake, and fireflies fly around, glimmering in the foggy air.

Joel takes out the most beautiful cake ever—a heart-shaped cake with pink icing and red cherries on top. He places a tiny candle in the middle.

You blush and smile so widely that your cheeks almost hurt. “Joel, it’s so beautiful. Did you make this?”

He grins. “Yeah, how do you know?”

“The house smelled like cake when we arrived.”

“You caught me.”

“Seriously, Joel, I really love this. Thank you.”

“You deserve this, little girl.”

Have no idea when this will happen again, you savor this beautiful moment and every small thing. You’re not going to let this day be forgotten.

Joel takes a picture of you with his beat-up phone as you blow out the candle. But the birthday cake isn’t the only thing he brings; there’s also grapefruit juice, brownies, chocolates, blueberries, and much more. The two of you eat together, adoring the view and the swans.

“Wish I could stay here forever.”

“You like it here?” he asks.

“Of course I do. I mean, just look at this place—it’s beautiful here,” you say with a smile. “You’re lucky to live here.”

He smiles. “Well, you live here too now, sweetheart. It’s your home.”

“Thank you, Joel, for letting us live with you and for everything.”

“I’m glad to have you here, little girl. It feels more like home now with people around. I’ve been alone for a long time; I came home to a cold house, and it’s warm now with you here.”

The idea of Joel coming to a cold and empty home tugs at your heart. You can’t imagine him being so lonely all the time with no one to care for him. He deserves love and comfort. It makes you a bit glad that your mother has come into his life to fill the emptiness and give him what he needs, even though you secretly wish you could be the one to give it to him.

“I’m gonna keep the fire warm for you.”

Joel’s face softens as he looks at you. “I know you will, sweetheart.”

Your heart warms as you gaze into those dazzling brown eyes and see the sincerity on his face. “I haven’t thanked you enough for everything you’ve done for me—the room, this wonderful birthday, taking me to school, making me breakfast every morning—”

“Sweetheart—”

“For letting Ponyo live with us—”

With a soft expression, he giggles at the mention of your kitten, and you giggle too.

“And so much more,” you whisper.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to thank me for any of it. I’m doing it all for you, and I love every second of it,” says he. “It feels good to have someone to care for.”

You beam.

“So, how was school? Did you make any friends?”

At the mention of friends, your smile slowly fades. “Not really. I’ve been spending time alone. But it’s okay. I mean, I’m not really a people person anyway.”

He gives you a warm smile. “That’s okay, little girl. Sometimes it just takes time. But promise me, if something happens or if you need someone to talk to, you’ll come straight to me, okay? I’m always here.”

“I will. Thank you, Joel.”

You’ve never felt so heard before; it’s like a burden has been lifted from your shoulders. The two of you sit in silence for a while, savoring the peaceful moment.

“They’re beautiful, the swans,” you say.

“They look just like you,” says he, with a heartfelt tone.

You blush and smile, and frankly don’t know how to respond to Joel’s sweet words. Every time he talks to you, it’s as if poetry flows naturally from his mouth.

“Have I told you that you look like a damn angel today, sweetheart?”

“Thank you, Joel,” you whisper and look at him, feeling his breath on your cheeks from how close you two are sitting. “That’s because I’m dressed as Juliet.”

“Belleza demasiado valiosa para ser adquirida, demasiado exquisita para la tierra,” says he.

Cheeks warm and heart racing at his words even though you don’t what it means or what he’s saying. Suddenly, it feels hard to breathe from the strength of the invisible string pulling the two of you together.

You keep your gaze on his eyes as you ask softly, “What does it mean?”

He gently bumps his forehead against yours, making your heart skip a beat. “It means you’re beautiful, little girl.”

It must mean more than that.

You try hard to keep yourself from grabbing his curls and slamming your lips to his, letting him take your breath away. He’s too tantalizing, like a forbidden fruit. But you quickly remind yourself that he is your mother’s boyfriend, not yours.

Joel slowly caresses your soft cheek with his calloused hand and leans forward until your noses touch. But you turn your face away and lower your head. Refusing to let yourself forget the reality.

Did Joel just try to kiss you? The thought races through your mind as you try to make sense of it, sending a rush of heat to your cheeks.

“Can… can I open the presents?” you murmur.

Joel clears his throat. “Yeah, sure, sweetheart.”

Joel takes the wrapped presents out of the basket, and you glance at him, catching something in his expression—is it sadness? You’re not sure. But you try your best to brighten the moment again.

Your mother gifted you a cozy, beautifully knit sweater and a new pair of shoes. Meanwhile, Joel surprised you with an “Among My Swan” vinyl and a lovely wood carving of your kitten, Ponyo, which makes you feel as jolly as a child.

“Oh my god, Joel, this is amazing. Thank you!”

Without further thought, you throw yourself at Joel and envelop him in a hug. In return, Joel laughs softly, circling his arms around you and pulling you into his lap, enveloping your much smaller body.

“You’re welcome, little girl.”

The masculine scent of cedarwood and leather is strong as you bury your face in his neck. It’s comforting and arousing at the same time. You wish you could stay in Joel’s embrace forever, knowing that everything will be okay.

As you try to pull back from his embrace, Joel tightens his arms around you, holding you closer.

“Joel?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

He loosens his arms a little so he can glance at your face. From this close, you can see the texture of his skin—a little wrinkled around the eyes but soft at the same time. His eyes are rich, chocolate brown, but the pupils take over as they dilate when you lock eyes with him. His lips look soft with a natural pinkish hue, and his breath smells like coffee and grapefruit juice.

Joel Miller is beautiful.

His gaze shifts from your eyes to your lips as you start to talk. “Joel, I—”

He interrupts you with a bruising kiss on your lips before you can finish your sentence. His large hand lands on the back of your neck, pulling you closer, while his other arm tightens around your waist.

Oh my. You close your eyes and let him kiss you, feeling his beard rub against your cheeks and chin. Kissing Joel feels like you can finally breathe like he’s giving you his breath to make you feel alive.

Truthfully, you don’t really know what to do—this is the first time you kiss someone. Joel Miller is the one who takes it.

Your hands fist the back of his shirt and tangle in his curls as you moan into his mouth, giving his tongue an opening. Joel groans into your mouth at the sound of your sweet noises. He takes it as an invitation, so he passionately explores your mouth with his tongue, stroking yours and getting lost in the dance.

“Tastes so sweet,” he murmurs between kisses.

His lips are a bit dry but soft, tasting like the blueberries he just ate—sweet and intoxicating. The kiss grows firmer, more desperate—something you’ve never felt before. He sucks on your bottom lip and slips his tongue inside again, leaving a trail of wetness.

You feel something hard pressing against your core, but you don’t know what it is. The warm sensation in your core worsens, pulsing to the point that it starts to hurt. You can’t hold back a whimper at the sensation and start to grind on it slowly to ease the ache, and he begins to groan.

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly.

“Little girl,” he murmurs, panting.

He tightens his grip on your waist to stop your grinding. Slowly, you open your eyes and see the pain on his face. It grounds you to your senses, making you realize that what you’re doing right now is completely wrong. This is exactly what you’ve been trying to avoid.

“This is wrong,” you whisper, starting to cry.

You try to pull back from his embrace, reaching for his arm to let you go. His face shows hurt and the realization of what he’s just done. He releases you from his lap, and you sit on the blanket, concealing your face with your palms as you begin to sob.

“I’m so sorry, Joel,” you murmur, your voice muffled.

“No, baby, It’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”

You feel his hand carefully touch your shoulder, and he begins to hold your trembling form in his embrace. You can’t look at him, feeling too guilty about what you’ve just done. Joel is your stepdad; this is deeply wrong. You ruined everything and betrayed your mother.

“Oh God, what have I done?” you whisper under your breath.

“I am so sorry, baby. This is not your fault, okay? Please listen to me,” Joel says, his voice filled with pain, as if he’s on the verge of crying.

You keep apologizing to him, even as he tells you to stop. Yet, he still embraces you gently, as if you’re something delicate and fragile.

After a few moments, you’re able to control your sobs and stop crying. You let him hold your hand as he walks you back home. Once he’s sure you’re okay, he returns to the lake to clean up and give you some time alone.

Lying on your bed, eyes dry from tears, you replay everything that just happened. You start to feel numb, unable to cry anymore, and your head aches. You try to focus on the good things that happened today, but the image of kissing Joel and the guilt cloud your mind, making it impossible to forget.

The sky grows darker outside the window, and the sound of children laughing and trick-or-treating from the street reaches your room. But you don’t hear any noise from downstairs or any sign of Joel coming back.

Where’s Joel? Is he okay?

Feeling lonely and cold, you feel guilty for wishing Joel could be here to hug you and keep you warm. Ponyo’s presence snuggling on your chest makes you feel a bit better; maybe you’re not as lonely after all.

Eventually, you fall asleep with your wings still on.

taglist @morganlolitta

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #stepdad!joel #stepdad!joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

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funkychunkyjunky · 2 years ago

Photo

meet Miriam!!

main: skin, tattoos, hair, eyes

i: glasses, earrings, necklace*, top, bottom, bag, garter, shoes

ii: glasses*, earrings*, necklace, dress, shoes

iii: flowers, earrings, necklace, acc chain, top, bottom, socks, shoes

iv: earrings, necklace, top, bottom, walkman, shoes

*TSR

ty cc creators!! @dallasgirl79 @idletownie @poyopoyosim @bluerose-sims @remussirion @pralinesims @sclub-privee @plazasims @glitterberrysims @gigglecoffin @gorillax3-cc @serenity-cc @seoulsoul-sims @tittytrait @charonlee @magnolia-c @giuliettasims @arethabee @b0t0xbrat @paresims @babyetears @trillyke @dari-sims

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mariacallous · 1 month ago

Text

The year was 1998. Walking down Pushkin Boulevard in my native Donetsk, I listened to English lessons on my Walkman and dreamed of America—a country I would soon call home.

At age 20, I couldn't form a sentence in the language of the USSR's arch-enemy; my teachers, who didn't speak English themselves, made sure of that.

Born and raised in Ukraine, I had just graduated from Donetsk State Tech University, but I couldn't speak Ukrainian either.

Russian was my native language; though it wasn't me who chose it, Russian colonialism did just as it chose to plaster the names of Russian chauvinists, like Pushkin, all over my city.

I was gaslit by the evil empire, and so were you. Let me correct this: So are you.

In the fall of 1982, I remember the nannies at my kindergarten weeping over the death of "our dear leader," Leonid Brezhnev. Perhaps I cried, too. The earliest childhood memories are notoriously faulty.

But in 2024, I hold no illusions about Russia: What it has done, what it seeks to do, and what will happen if the Free World fails to stop it.

Rewriting History: A Soviet Mirage

It took me a lifetime to un-dim the metaphorical lights—to escape the unreality Moscow constructed for the peoples and lands it colonized.

It all started with a perverted version of history that provided all the answers but left no room for questions.

For example, when did World War II start? Sorry, my mistake—the "Great Patriotic War," as it's called in Russia. Everybody knows it began in 1941 when Nazi Germany invaded the USSR.

Except it didn't. Adolf Hitler's betrayal of Joseph Stalin didn't start the war—their secret pact to invade Poland did.

What the world remembers, and what Russia tries desperately to forget, is that Europe's worst calamity began with the unholy alliance of two evil regimes hellbent on colonization.

Growing up in the USSR, doubt and skepticism, at the heart of the Western intellectual tradition, were out of reach.

It took me decades to understand that the Soviet Union was never truly a country, but rather an oppressive Russia Empire by another name.

When the "brotherhood" of 15 nations is praised and celebrated all around you, it is almost unimaginable that one of those "brothers" was prepared to kill, rape, and torture in a zealous pursuit of its imperialist ambitions, which, in Russia's case, always took categorical precedence over human life.

The Victory That Wasn't

When the Berlin Wall came down and the Cold War order crumbled before our eyes, many in the West mistook it for a victory. But who exactly did we defeat?

During the 70 years of the USSR's existence, the evil of communist ideology was merely layered atop the evil of a Frankenstein state, one that desperately wanted the world to see it as a nation.

By 1991, Communism was gone, the USSR fell apart, but the revanchism and a deep-seated fear in Moscow—that the Russian Federation would collapse under the weight of its own contradictions—remained.

Empires thrive on perpetual expansion, as vividly demonstrated by Russia's invasion of Ichkeria, Georgia, and now Ukraine.

Caught in a relentless cycle of conquest and domination, Moscow's legitimacy and stability hinge on the constant acquisition of new territories, the appropriation of other nations' histories, and the subjugation of their peoples.

Suppressed History Is a Harbinger of More Violence

In seventh grade, we studied the "Great Famine" of 1932-1933 and learned about the "kulaks" hiding grain and how the righteous Red Army was fighting the imperialists who wanted the Soviet project to fail.

But did I know what role Stalin's monstrous and deliberate policy to starve millions of Ukrainians by engineering Holodomor had to do with my own life story?

Why did everyone around me speak Russian in Ukraine at the tail-end of the twentieth century? How did my Armenian father, born and raised in Georgia, end up coming to Donbas—the Soviet Union's promised land of his youth?

Colonialism is the answer. Moscow knew that to bury the Ukrainian dream—escaping the empire's yoke—required repopulating the land with outsiders to prevent even a possibility of a grassroots national movement rekindling.

Finding myself both complicit in Russia's imperial project and its victim was as confusing as it was unsettling.

Raphael Lemkin, the man who introduced the concept of genocide to the world, recognized Moscow's Holodomor as a systematic effort to destroy the Ukrainian nation, culture, and people through starvation and repression.

Yet, as I grew up, his name and his views existed in a separate realm of knowledge and awareness from the one I inhabited. The two were meant never to cross.

Had I not escaped the morass of endless lies sustaining the evil empire, I would've never understood that we are witnessing another genocide attempt and that history is indeed repeating itself.

A Breath of Fresh Air

The year was 1998. Walking down 900 East Street in Salt Lake City, Utah, as a fresh-off-the-boat American, I had much to look forward to and little to reflect on.

Between naïveté and arrogance, I managed to strike both with the thought that my individual journey was forerunning the path Ukraine was to inevitably take: From the dark past of oppression and suffering all the way to freedom and prosperity.

I didn't think much about Russia at the time. Surely, it must have wanted the same thing for itself, but it was for the Russian people to decide their future.

When I swore allegiance to the U.S. flag in 2005 and began my career in international relations, the rose-colored glasses started to come off. The straitjacket of lies that had enveloped my mind since childhood showed signs of wear and tear as it came into contact with history books that weren't Russian propaganda.

Not only did I start to understand the past, but Moscow was also unmasking itself fast in real time—murdering thousands of Chechens for defying their colonizers, meddling in the affairs of Ukraine and other neighboring states, and reverting to ruthless authoritarianism after a brief flirtation with democracy in the nineties.

Meanwhile, Ukrainians were rejecting a rigged election and uniting in what became known as the Orange Revolution, demanding accountability from their government.

It was evident that Russia and Ukraine were on different paths, but I was unprepared even to imagine the magnitude of this difference.

From Public Service to Global Diplomacy

After five years of U.S. government service, working on development projects from agriculture in Moldova to renewable energy in Mongolia, I applied for a graduate degree in Public Administration at Harvard.

For a kid from Donetsk, a son of a coal miner, getting an admission letter felt like something out of a fairytale.

Arriving in Cambridge, MA, I delved into the mechanics of democracy and governance; conversations with professors and peers sharpened my vision. I saw more clearly than ever how Moscow had twisted its colonial history and appropriated or perverted histories of the lands it controlled.

My education was no longer a means to an examined life; it was to become a weapon against the empire of lies that had once claimed my allegiance.

My next stop was the World Economic Forum in Geneva, where I covered regional affairs for a portfolio of countries including Russia and Ukraine. Moderating panel discussions with ministers, activists, and opinion leaders often revealed deep historical tensions.

Ukraine faced significant challenges on its path toward Europe, with freedom, prosperity, and nationhood at stake.

What remained obscured to me at the time, however, was the extent to which Russia would resist and sabotage Ukraine's progress at every turn.

The heir to the bloodthirsty tsars and commissars, the Russian Federation was firmly set on a trajectory toward totalitarianism, oppression, and, ultimately, fascism.

With hindsight, I realize that my gaslit mind mistook a bit of situational awareness for enlightenment. Back then, though, I believed—indeed, I knew—Russia couldn't invade Ukraine.

Now, I can see that for the Moscow-centered empire, colonial conquest was all but inevitable.

The West Deliberately Refuses to Understand What Russia Is

Pick up any map, and you'll easily spot a vast country called Russia. But make no mistake—this is no nation; it has no national interests, only imperial ambitions.

Bizarrely, we justify Moscow's criminal actions eagerly at our own peril, despite the threat it poses not just to Ukraine, the Baltics, Poland, etc. but to the entire world and, paradoxically, to the population of Russia too.

Don't take my word for it, ask the people of Tatarstan, Bashkiria, Dagestan or any other Eurasian folk Moscow had colonized. The veritable prison of nations spent decades, if not centuries, attempting to erase their identities, languages, and cultures.

Our stubborn refusal to face the facts is confounding.

What is holding us back from processing the lessons of Russia's bloodstained history, from believing Russia when it tells us it plans to commit what I see as genocide? Why can't we act decisively on this knowledge?

Given an opportunity to restore deterrents, rebuild our credibility, and reassert our commitment to the values we profess, we flounder time and again.

To help Ukraine defeat the aggressor is not charity, it's in our strategic interest. Any other outcome creates a much more problematic future for each of Ukraine's allies individually, and all of us collectively.

The Peril of Inaction, Cloaked in Excuses and Laced With Cowardice

Gaining clarity of vision and decolonizing my mind has been a decades-long process, still ongoing.

I finally learned Ukrainian, and I no longer speak Russian. After all, Moscow used the pretext of "protecting" Russian speakers in Donbas to justify its invasion.

As an unhumorous joke goes, no matter where you are or who you are, if you continue to speak Russian, the motherland will come to "save" you one day.

Reflecting on my journey, I see much of it mirrored in the painstakingly slow and reluctant awakening of the Free World to the realities of Ruscism (Russian Fascism).

But we can't afford decades of incremental enlightenment; we must now recognize that the policy of "with Ukraine as long as it takes" has failed. From the start, it was grounded in our misunderstanding of Moscow.

History makes it clear that Russia responds to indecisiveness and weakness by raising the stakes, but when faced with strength and determination, it retreats.

The humiliating defeat of the Tsarist Russia by Japan in 1905 is one such example. More recently, In 1989, a nuclear-armed superpower—one of only two in the world—was forced to withdraw from Afghanistan after another devastating loss.

Its equally violent successor, the Russian Federation, has claimed victory in every conflict it initiated since, with the consequences all too obvious.

We, in the Free World, can no longer afford to be willfully gaslit by Moscow's lies. The stakes are too high, not just for Ukraine but for every democratic nation.

Our moral and historical obligation extends beyond thoughts and prayers; it demands decisive action. We owe this to the generations before us, and even more to those who will follow.

The time has come to end incrementalism and commit fully to Ukraine's victory, securing not a temporary ceasefire–certain to boomerang back as a yet more dangerous war–but a lasting peace for Europe and the world.

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vocaloidsongtournament · 3 months ago

Text

YouTube Playlists of Vocaloid Song Tournaments

Hey guys! Thanks to the (kinda) suggestion of @miraculously-dumb-bitch, I went ahead and made playlists for the previous Vocaloid song tournaments and the current one. Now you can either reminisce older tournaments or just listen to Vocaloid songs you may have never heard before! Do keep in mind that some could be deleted without any moment's notice, so if that happens, please let me know.

May 2023: Theme was My Favorite Vocaloid Songs

June 2023: Theme was Popular GUMI (Megpoid) Songs

July 2023: Theme was Kamui Gakupo (Gackpoid) Songs

August 2023: Theme was Popular Hatsune Miku Songs

September 2023: Theme was Commissioned Project SEKAI Songs

October 2023: Theme was Mothy Songs

November 2023: Theme was MEIKO Songs

December 2023: Theme was Popular Kagamine Songs

January 2024: Theme was Megurine Luka Songs

February 2024: Theme was KAITO Songs

March 2024: Theme was Vocaloid Songs Shuffled on my iPod

Project Voltage Mini Tournament

April 2024: Theme was Kasane Teto Songs

May 2024: Theme was Popular v flower Songs

June 2024: Theme was (Again) Popular GUMI Songs

Megpoid the Music# Mini Tournament

July 2024: Theme was Project DIVA (2009) Songs

Small-Scale Project DIVA X Tournament

August 2024: Theme was Miku Songs Shuffled on my New Walkman

Project Voltage Mini Tournament II

September 2024: Theme was Songs Covered in Project SEKAI

October 2024: Theme is Kikuo Songs

#vocaloid #vocal synth #vocal synths #vocalsynth #vsynth #vocasynth #project sekai #project diva #synthv #synthesizer v #utauloid #utau #cevio #ace virtual singer

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bookshelf-dust · 2 years ago

Text

really know him

part i part ii part iii part iv

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 3,686

warnings: swearing, reader has a shitty mom, a few uses of y/n, anxiety, fluff and angst

a/n: hi! listen, i know, i know, it’s been more than a month since i published part two and i’m sorry. but i promise it won’t take as long anymore. i hope you like this part! there’s a lot going on. it’s getting messy, my dudes. love you! <333

————

Your room is small. And you don’t mind that one bit. Hell, you’re lucky your parents snagged one of the few single-wide’s with a layout nice enough that there even are two bedrooms.

But sometimes the small space can seem confining, like right now.

You’ve been staring at college-ruled paper for what seems like forever now, and…you’ve got nothing. You spent all day brainstorming for this essay, and now that you’ve sat down, you’ve lost it all. It’s as if there isn’t a single coherent thought left in your brain.

You hop up from your seat, thinking that if you get a drink, maybe listen to some music, then you’ll be able to get a hold on your concentration.

And it works, for a while. You’ve been at your desk for well over an hour, and you’ve put a hell of a dent in your paper.

But having your headphones on means you don’t hear your parents come home, not until your mother is smacking her fist against your door frame to get your attention.

“Hello?”

You’re quick to push the pause button in on your walkman and put your headphones on the tabletop in front of you. The amount of eraser shavings you’ve accumulated is unsettling.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Your mother lets out what you're sure is the most dramatic sigh known to man. “Of course you didn’t, not with those things on your ears.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better about it, okay?”

She crosses her arms, leaning against the wall just inside your room. “Mhm. How’s your paper going?”

“It’s fine. Not due for a week.”

“So you’ve said. Anyways, I came in here because I was at the store yesterday, and Sherri caught up with me.”

“Oh, yeah? How is she?”

Sherri Henson is a bitch. She’s the kind of woman who peaked in high school and can’t seem to grasp that—even if she is well into her fifties by now—spending all her time corralling the neighborhood gossip. She’s lived a couple trailers down from you your whole life. And she’s yet another reason why you need to get the fuck out of dodge.

“Oh, she’s fine. She just wanted to tell me that she’s seen you hanging out with that Eddie Munson boy. And I haven’t heard good things about him. I just wanted to know what you were up to.”

Your stomach drops. Of course she’d say some shit like that. “We’re friends. I’m allowed to have those, aren’t I?”

“Yes. But don’t you think it would be wise to make good friends?”

You rub at your forehead, already sick of this. There’s a reason you don’t tell your mother anything about your life.

“You don’t know anything about him, do you?”

Your mother pushes her glasses up into her mess of hair. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t really understand how you can be judgmental of a guy you don’t even know. You’re always whining about how I don’t have friends, and now that I’ve made one, he’s not good enough?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I just don’t want you to harm your education by hanging around some good-for-nothing boy.”

“I think I can make my own decisions.”

“Clearly not. Look at you.” She doesn’t say anything more, but leaves the room instead.

You should be used to this. You should know that your mother doesn’t like that you aren’t a carbon copy of her. But it still stings. The feeling is drowning you; the feeling of being pathetic, unsuccessful, embarrassing.

You need a minute. It’s not like you can concentrate on your paper here anyways. Your mother has already shut herself up in her own bedroom, and you know she won’t miss you if you’re not around.

A lift of the blinds in your bedroom tells you that Eddie’s van is parked outside his trailer, but you don’t feel right just running over, so you call.

Of course he picks up.

He hasn’t even said his name yet and you’ve already started talking. “Eddie?”

“Hey, yeah, something wrong?”

You sound frazzled. If Eddie’s being totally straight with himself, he might even say you sound a little panicky. Claustrophobic, maybe.

He doesn’t like hearing you sound like this.

“Would it be okay if I came over for a bit? You can say no, I just…your company might help.”

You can feel that cocky ass grin from over the phone. The way your words register in his brain and he comes up with a response he knows will get you riled up.

“Oh, my company? That what you need?”

“Eddie,” he can practically see you waving him off, “nevermind.”

He laughs. “Okay, sorry. Yeah, you can come over. You didn’t have to ask. Could’ve just busted in.”

“That seems like a horrendous idea. And isn’t Wayne home?”

“Yeah, but he sleeps like the dead. He wouldn’t even notice. That’s what he gets for having me around after all this time.”

“Poor Wayne.”

He scoffs and stumbles over his words. “Poor Wayne?

“Yeah, I feel for him, having to put up with you all these years. Anyways, I’ll be there in a second.”

“You little shit–” he starts, but you’re already hanging up.

Eddie opens the door closest to his room to watch for you. You bound across the road and up the concrete step, clearly pleased with yourself. He backs up, that stupid ass grin on his face, and gestures with his arm for you to go inside.

He notices you’ve brought your bag with you. “Plotting my murder?” he inquires, eyes dancing over the corduroy.

“Absolutely. Any sort of preference?”

He sits down on his bed, back to the wall. “Maybe the candlestick? Rope could be fun. Or if you’re feeling particularly malicious: poison.”

“Remind me to never play Clue with you.”

He laughs and it’s low and drawn out like he knows he’s being annoying. Like he knows you enjoy it.

“Why, because you know I’ll kick your ass?”

You smile at him, and it feels like he’s won the lottery. “Precisely.”

“I’d go easy on you,” he argues.

“Bullshit.”

Eddie watches you fiddle with the zipper on your bag and then pull out a piece of paper. You flop down in his desk chair, making yourself at home. He’s told you to do that more than once, so he’s glad to see you act on it.

“What are we working on?”

“I’m supposed to be finishing a paper, and that’s what I was doing, but being berated doesn’t really help my focus.”

He chuckles, opening a bag of Skittles you didn’t even know he had. “I wouldn’t think so. You wanna talk about it?”

“No, that’s okay.”

Eddie nods, hoping you’ll open up to him sooner than later.

“Would you prefer if I just went about my business while you worked?”

“I really would, Eddie. Thank you.”

“Mhm. Anything you need, sweetheart.”

He hops up, and his fingers go to mess with the radio, but he stops himself short. “Will this bother you? If I keep it low?”

You shake your head, tapping your eraser on the desk. He gives you a frantic thumbs up before trying to make sure the music doesn’t murder your hearing.

It’s on some rock station, where some of the songs are ones you’re familiar with, others not so much.

“Good?” he asks, and you return his earlier thumbs up. It makes him grin.

He settles back on his mattress, though it groans in protest as he does. He scratches away at a notebook for a while, and the room stays quiet. Just being in the same room as him is enough to keep you calm and give you time to focus.

You make more progress on the paper now then you had at home, and start to think maybe you should do all your work in Eddie’s company.

Eventually Eddie gets bored and pushes up, his hands coming to rest against the desk on either side of you, caging you in. He kisses the top of your head before resting his chin on it, peering down at your paper.

“Damn. Almost done?”

“Yeah. Should probably quit and come back to it later anyway.”

“Wanna see something fun?” You look up at him and he’s got a wild look in his eyes, a wide smile on his face.

“I don’t know if I trust that.”

“Oh, come on. Take a break. For me?” Eddie bats his eyelashes and you smack him on the arm. He stands and stumbles backwards as if you’ve brutally wounded him, though the smile stays and really ruins the act.

“Fine. Let’s see.”

He’s got this brilliant, boyish look on his face. You can tell he’s excited. It’s the kind of excitement that rubs off on you, that makes you anxious to know what it’s for, even if it is something small.

He moves to the corner of his room and opens this big chest that you might not have even noticed because of how much surrounds it. You realize, though, that there’s a handful of Dungeons and Dragons handbooks, a binder covered in stickers, other things you don’t entirely understand.

Eddie digs around for a second, and then he pulls out a little velvet bag. He brandishes it to you, shaking it a little. Whatever’s inside makes noise.

“I got new dice. And I know what you’re thinking, ‘Eddie that’s so amazing, I can’t believe you’d share this with me,’ but believe it, because they’re cool, okay? Prepare yourself.”

You take a dramatically over exaggerated deep breath, gearing yourself up. “Ready, Eddie.”

He snorts. He can’t believe you.

He dumps them out next to you on his bed. “Ta-da!”

You pick one up, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t squeal. The dice are a translucent red color, with black numbers, and they’ve got little bats set into them.

Fucking bats.

You look up and Eddie’s big brown eyes are shining down at you. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, clearly trying to contain himself.

“Eddie, these are so cool!”

He throws himself on the bed beside you. “They’re sick, right?”

You pick up a handful, looking at all of the different ones as they roll around between your fingers. “Yeah. These are fucking cool, dude.”

Eddie giggles. He giggles. His glee is palpable.

“I’m honored that you wanted to share this with me, Mr. Munson.”

“Of course, of course,” he says, scooping them up and putting them back in the bag. “I don’t just go showing my dice to anyone, you know.”

You laugh, hard, and it’s the first time Eddie’s heard you laugh like that. He thinks he could live off of the sound. He wouldn’t need anything else.

“Well I’m glad you showed them to me.”

Eddie winks at you. “Me too.”

————

Eddie doesn’t hear from you for a few days, but it doesn’t worry him really. He knows you're busy with school, and he is too, now that he’s trying to get the hell out of there for real this time. He’s also working on a big ass campaign. He thinks this might be the one where Dustin’s character finally dies, the little fucker. He’s managed to kill off everyone else’s characters at least once (Gareth a few more), but never Dustin.

He does miss you, though.

Eddie is finding that he doesn’t like being without you as much as he likes being with you.

He’s starting to show you parts of himself that he hasn’t shown other people before. He usually doesn’t have the ability to sit quietly in a room with someone else. Or watch for fucking bats. Hell, he built a fort for you.

And he’s laying in bed, well past the time he should be asleep, thinking about how he doesn’t feel like you’re letting him get to know you like he is you.

Eddie’s room is dark except for the light coming in through the window. He goes to rest his hand on his chest, but cold metal meets his bare skin and he’s quick to unsnap the bracelet he left on his wrist.

He knows what you’re in school for. He knows you’re into bats. That you laugh at stupid, immature shit just like he does. Shit you’d get in trouble for laughing at.

But if what he’s feeling, deep down, is what he thinks it is, he wants to give all of himself to you. And he wants all of you.

He really does.

And something about the way you held him that night that you stayed over told him you felt more. He can see you letting go sometimes. But more often it feels reluctant.

Eddie just wants you to know that he’s not going anywhere. That he wants you safe. Happy.

He wants you for you.

Not for whatever else anyone tells you.

You are everything he’s ever wanted.

You.

————

“How’d you do on your paper?” Eddie asks. You’d told him when it was due, and just now that you’d gotten it back.

“Fine.”

“Fine? That’s all I get?”

Something’s wrong with you today. He’d invited you over for lunch, and you’d come, but the smile you gave him at the door wasn’t genuine. Something is hurting you, and you haven’t told him what.

And it’s killing him.

He can’t help you if you won’t let him.

You set down your drink, a little harder than you’d meant to, and sigh.

Fuck, Eddie thinks. The last thing he wants to do is frustrate you.

“I got a B.”

His eyebrows raise over the enormous bite of sandwich he’s just taken. He decides to behave and chew it all before he speaks. Wayne might not get the same treatment.

“Oh yeah? That’s so good! I’m proud of you.”

You nod your head, but you don’t look at him. If he’s being honest, it kind of hurts his feelings.

“You might be the only one,” you mumble.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s…it’s nothing, Eddie. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He grabs the bag of chips out of your hand before you can shove your mouth full of them, and you look incredibly offended.

“Don’t do that. Tell me what you meant.” Eddie’s voice is serious. He’s never spoken to you like this before.

You run your hands over your face. “My mom. She told me I could’ve done better than that.” You don’t say that she also said it was probably a result of spending so much time with Eddie.

Eddie sets your bag of chips back down. “That’s bullshit. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“You’re a total badass, and I know you’re hard working as shit. If she can’t see that, then fuck her man.”

You won’t look at him.

“You can’t listen to that shit, man. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this, Eddie.” He cocks his head at you, brown eyes boring into yours. “And it’s not exactly easy, just ignoring it. I’ve heard it for years, that I could be trying harder or doing something differently or anything, so it’s like fuckin’ ingrained in my brain. And sometimes I think it’s true.”

Eddie reaches across the table for your hand, his laying palm-up, waiting for you to accept it. You limply supply your hand to him, and he pushes his thumb into the center, rubbing in slow circles. He’s hoping the contact might be enough to pull you out of your head some.

“Look at me,” Eddie says.

You're quick to think about the night he found you moping on the bench. He’d said that then too.

“Look at me.”

You shake your head again.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to make fun of you,” he says, and you believe him, though really looking at him and his big brown eyes is enough to wash a surge of sadness over you.

Eddie uses his thumb to wipe the fresh tears from under your lashes, grazing the tip of your now stuffy nose with his knuckle. You wrinkle it and he grins.

Eddie’s thinking about it too. How upset you’d looked. How upset you look now. But he also remembers something else.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“Not really, no.”

You hadn’t wanted to talk about your feelings then, and that was understandable because you hadn’t seen the guy in forever. But it’s different now. Isn’t it? Eddie feels differently for you. And he can see that you care about him, obviously, but what if he’s reading this wrong? What if you don’t want him as anything other than a friend?

This time though, you do look up at him. “It’s not true. I know your brain is telling you that, and maybe you even hear your parents saying that shit, and if your mind works anything like mine does–and I think it does–then I know it’s so fucking annoying, and you can’t do anything without hearing some negative response.”

“But it isn’t true. You work your ass off, and you’re kind and caring, and I’m sorry, but I can’t have you thinking otherwise, you hear me?”

You nod your head, and Eddie’s quick to swipe up the tear he sees fall, before you even know you’re crying.

He gets up, coming over to where you're sitting and crouching in front of you. He puts his hands on your knees, but you push them off and stand, forcing him to follow so that he doesn’t bust his ass.

You wipe your face off, drag your hands across your jeans, the feeling of Eddie’s hand on yours still burning through your nerves.

“Eddie, I think I’m gonna go home.”

Something about this, about the tone in your voice, how resigned you sound, makes Eddie frustrated.

He doesn’t move from his place in front of you. He can’t just let this go. He isn’t wired that way.

“So this is how it’s gonna go, huh?”

You blink at him. “What are you talking about?”

He puts his hands on his hips, and he knows he looks like Wayne, he knows it, but he can’t find it in himself to care right now.

“You come over, you’re upset, but you won’t talk to me about it, and when you do start to talk about it, you give me vague answers and you shrug it off. That’s not talking, Y/N.”

“This is hard for me, Eddie! I don’t know what to do with myself when someone wants to listen to me, okay?”

“I understand that, but you’ve gotta at least try.”

“Try what?”

“Letting me in, for fucks sake! I can’t fucking help you, if you won’t let me in!”

Eddie sounds exasperated. And now you’re both shouting at each other. Shouting.

“Eddie, I–”

“Listen, just give me a second. You wouldn’t talk about what happened that night you stayed over except vaguely–and that’s okay with me–but then you wouldn't talk to me the other day, either. And now you’re just…I feel like you’re shutting me out.”

“I want to help you, and I know it takes time to open up, but I know that you know you’re safe with me. And I want to help make it better. I want you, Y/N, and I just–why won’t you let me in?”

It feels like your heart has stopped. Like he’s messing with you. But you know better than that. And you should’ve known that was coming at some point.

“Eddie, don’t say that.”

“Say what?” He wants to hear the words leave your mouth.

You mess with your fingers, and he grabs your hands to get you to quit. “That you want me, Eddie. You can’t just say that.”

“And why can’t I, huh? Because it involves feelings? Y’know those things that you won’t share with me?”

You step a little ways back from him, but you’re still cornered. He knows that stung, but if he hadn’t said it now, he might never have at all.

“Eddie, you can’t actually want me. You’ve said it yourself, I’m incapable of being open and not fucking things up! Look at what we’re doing!”

“And what if I do want you? What then?”

“Then I don’t know!” you yell, louder than you’d intended.

Eddie moves away from you then, sitting back down, and crossing his arms. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you, despite the fact that you’re arguing.

“I never said you were fucking things up. And I didn’t say you were incapable of being open,” he breathes. “That’s all I want, for you to be open with me. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me, like you have to let that shit eat you alive.”

“But aren’t I? Fucking it up? Eddie, you’re the only friend I’ve got and you’re being honest with me and all I’ve done is fuss at you. That’s like, the definition of fucking things up.”

“You’re not. I just want you to let me in.”

You’re both quiet for a minute. You walk around the trailer, cleaning up your lunch and grabbing your things. It’s mindless, and you’re not even sure you want to go home.

“I meant what I said,” Eddie starts. “I do want you. And I mean as more than just a friend. I’m—” I��m falling in love with you. But he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t say that he wishes he’d said so sooner. That he’d told you in high school. None of that matters now. He wants you, and he thinks he always will.

“I would never lie to you about that,” he says.

You take a shaky breath. “I know that you wouldn’t, Eddie. I just…I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me. You do know.”

“I think maybe you should want someone who’s not so much trouble.”

And Eddie can’t say anything, because you’ve already turned and rushed down the stairs, the door slamming shut behind you.

————

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