#A NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE. for the record.

[gurugirl]

an adorable bad boy | loveable!rogue!harry

This is part 1 of a Patreon AU (4 parts have been posted on Patreon already). If you'd like more check out my Patreon! xoxo

A loveable rogue is someone who breaks the law for personal profit while being nice and charming, likely with a sad or dark past.

AU Premise: Harry has been in and out of jail for nearly a decade due to a string of bad luck and bad choices. But he's not a bad guy. Not really.

Summary: Harry's trying to keep on the straight and narrow now that he's out of jail but things have never come easy for him. And then he meets the most beautiful girl he's ever seen. Maybe things won't be so bad after all. If only she'd give him her number.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warning: Mentions of drugs and the sale of drugs, mentions of jail time

❊❊❊

Harry’s life sucked. Every time he tried to get on the right track, his past would come back to haunt him. He took responsibility for the things he did and he knew he deserved to have the book thrown at him. But he also knew where he came from didn’t make things easier for him. Starting at a young age he had to act like an adult and do things most people would never imagine needing to do just to get by.

Now, nearing 30, he was determined to get his shit together. If he had to step foot in another jail cell again he was going to just end it. He couldn’t handle another sentence that had him losing a job, his car, the place he was staying… Every time he got into trouble it was like he had to start over again. From scratch.

And he was always well-behaved once behind bars so he usually got out early on good behavior. But keeping out of trouble as a free man was nearly impossible. He’d be tossed out on the street once he was released but with no place to go and not a dime to his name, times were hard. He had to hustle for a dollar. And when he meant hustle, it usually involved something illegal.

Getting a job that paid well was a joke. No one wanted a convicted felon. No one would hire a man who had a criminal record. Why risk it? He sure as hell wouldn’t if he were in their shoes.

There was no program to help him reintegrate. No help for a safe spot to sleep. Shelters wouldn’t even allow him a safe haven due to his past. He had nothing. Incarceration meant drudging through, keeping his head down, and following directions. That was easy. But there was nothing easy about rebuilding his life over and over again once he was out from behind bars.

His sister wouldn’t answer his calls anymore. He’d drained that well dry. His mother had cut him off too. His cousin was a last resort, but that’s sort of how his life was these days. Everything was a last resort.

“Harry! My dude! You get out?”

He was leaning against a tall residential building in an alley with a cigarette in hand. The phone he was using was the one that he had when he got locked up, kept for him upon his release. The officer helping him fill out his release forms allowed him to charge his phone before they pushed him out the doors. How kind.

The wifi signal from the bookstore gave him access to his apps so he could make the phone call he was dreading.

“Yep. Glad to be out of there. How are you doing?” He figured he’d make some small talk before getting to the point. He didn’t want to be rude, after all.

Saul gave him the rundown of what had been going on with everyone. And then Harry learned he was engaged.

“Wow. Congrats, cousin. Proud of you. You guys living together?”

“Nah. Not until after the wedding. She’s a really good girl. Super sweet. Her whole family is. Just like, the nicest people I’ve ever met. But she doesn’t want to move in until we’re married since that looks bad to her parents,” Saul laughed. “They’re super conservative about stuff like that. They think she’s still a virgin.”

Harry humored him with a chortle through the phone and then sighed. The sun was going down. Small talk needed to come to a halt. He had to get this part over with.

“So, uh… hate to ask this but um, could you let me crash at your place for a few nights? I’ve got nowhere to go since I just got out and gonna be cold tonight. Otherwise, I’d just sleep in the park or something.”

Silence for a few uncomfortable seconds.

“Did you ask your sister? I mean I’m sure–“

“She hates me right now. Won’t take my calls. But man, look, it’s okay if you can’t. I get it.”

“You know what? Sure. You can stay here for a bit. I know shit’s hard. How you gettin’ here?”

Harry let out the breath he’d been holding in and leaned his head back into the building in relief, “Gonna walk. Literally have nothing to my name. Just my old cell phone, half charged, and this free wifi I’m using to call you. I can get there in like an hour.”

Saul told him he’d pick him up but Harry didn’t want to trouble him anymore than he had. It was already embarrassing asking for help. Plus a walk through the city would feel good. It’d been a while since he’d seen the hustle and bustle of daily life in the city.

It was late September. He was wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt with boots. At least he had a beanie on his head. His cousin lived in one of those “up-and-coming” neighborhoods. Gritty but recently gentrified. His flat was two floors up. A flimsy plastic call button for the residents hung outside the reinforced glass door that opened up to a small lobby with mailboxes in the wall to the left and just beyond that, old wooden stairs that led up to each apartment.

Saul was on floor three. Harry took the stairs two at a time and the door was already open with his smiling cousin waiting for him and then a warm embrace that made Harry feel like maybe he was going to be okay. Silly as it sounded. He hadn’t been hugged in over a year. Hadn’t felt safe and relaxed in over a year.

“Ordered some pizza from this fire spot. Should be here soon. Beer?”

Harry could cry. He hadn’t had pizza or beer in over a year either. There was a lot he hadn’t had in over a year.

“Uh, yeah. Thank you, man.”

Harry followed Saul into his tiny galley kitchen and leaned against the frame of the door as he watched his cousin pull a beer from the fridge, “And thank you for everything. For this. I really mean it. I’ll pay you back as soon as I get a job.”

Handing Harry his beer Saul laughed, “We’ll see. Alyssa and I might need help for the wedding next summer. Her dad wants to have the wedding at their place. They’ve got this nice house with a massive garden in the back. But they need people to help landscape and do some manual labor to get it ready. Might save us a little money if you could help. But that’s a ways off,” he waved his hand as he walked past Harry into the living room. “Don’t worry about it right now. I’ll figure out a way you can pay me back.”

. . .

A few nights turned into a few weeks. And Harry did find a job, but he’d need to save up for a while longer to be able to afford a place on his own. He figured, at least he could pay Saul for food and help pay some of the bills in the meantime.

Fortunately, the job he found paid pretty well. Unfortunately, it was illegal. It was what had gotten him thrown in jail in the first place.

Selling drugs. Mainly weed. Some shrooms, ecstasy, molly… party drugs.

He applied to 28 places. Twenty. Eight. Dishwasher, food prep, janitor, midnight stocker, busboy, fast food line cook… everything he could find from places that might take a chance on someone with a record. After a week of having Harry sleeping on his couch, Saul appeared to be getting frustrated. So, Harry did what he always did when he needed money (and who doesn’t need money?). He called Memo.

Memo always had a spot for Harry. And because he trusted Harry he gave him an advance.

The first thing Harry did with his money was buy some clothes for himself and groceries for the house. Getting rid of his supply was easy. He still had all his old contacts to sell to and with Harry’s natural charm, he was introduced to even more people who wanted some killer weed and Harry was their man.

Saul seemed to lighten up a bit when Harry began paying him cash for his part of the bills and to help cover some of the rent.

Being a drug dealer bought him time. Eventually, he’d find a better gig. He knew there were places that would hire felons, he just had to be patient. But in the meantime, doing shady shit to get by was necessary.

“So, I’m going out tonight. With Alyssa and a few others. Just going to Ray’s. You can join us if you want.”

Harry was sitting on the couch readying himself for another night in but maybe going out with his cousin for a few beers could be fun, “Anyone I know going?”

Saul shook his head, “Doubt it. It’ll be Alyssa, her little sister, and a few of our mutual friends.”

Harry figured it was better if the people that were going to be there didn’t know him. And besides, what better way to spend a Friday night as a single man? Sitting at Saul’s house was fine, but going out and meeting new people with a few beers in hand sounded a hell of a lot better.

Harry nodded, “Why not?”

. . .

Roy’s might have been an old hole in the wall, but it was a popular old hole in the wall. Harry could hear the music before they walked into the black brick building with the lighted, vintage metal sign that hung above the door.

The smell of stale cigarettes and beer hung in the dark space, a shiny lacquered bar that ran half the length of the room, high-top tables, two pool tables, and a few booths.

Alyssa nearly pummeled Saul, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him on the cheek as she squealed.

“We’re just over here! Tony got us a big booth 'cause he got here early.” She pulled Saul along with her. Harry followed.

The group that came into view were two young men and two young women. He barely had a chance to take it all in before Alyssa pulled his arm, “Everyone! This is Harry, Saul’s cousin. The one we were telling you about.”

The one we were telling you about. Harry knew what that meant.

Harry smiled and nodded as he slid into the booth. It was long and easily accommodated all seven of them.

“I’m Kelin,” the man he sat next to held his hand out to Harry to shake. The one next to Kelin greeted Harry, “I’m Tony,” he turned and looked at the girl next to him, “And this is my girlfriend, Dasha.” Dasha smiled and waved at Harry.

Then as Alyssa moved into the opposite side of the booth with Saul at the end she hugged the girl next to Dasha, “And this is my little sister, Y/n.”

Some moments in time are unexplainable. Like moments when things feel like fate but you don’t believe in that sort of thing. Or like when someone is speaking a language you don’t know but you swear you understood everything they just said. Sometimes it was more like a riddle you couldn’t figure out all day only to wake up in the middle of the night from a dream with the answer.

The moment Y/n set her pretty gaze upon Harry was like that for him. Something inexplicable. Something enchanting. Almost mythical.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Harry spoke as he tried to tear his eyes from the angel called Y/n. He forced his pupils away to look at everyone else but his heart was already beginning to thump violently in his chest.

Drinks were ordered and conversation resumed to wherever it was left off before Saul and Harry’s arrival.

“So, we were discussing anything but the wedding!” Dasha laughed as Alyssa moaned exaggeratedly.

“I was only letting you guys know the theme!” Alyssa laughed.

“Girl, tonight is a night off. And the wedding isn’t for like another 8 months!”

Harry tried to focus on the conversation as he sipped his beer but he couldn’t help allowing his eyes the indulgence of Y/n’s pretty face. She had some kind of clear drink. A vodka soda maybe. And when Kelin started talking about the Halloween party he was throwing Y/n’s eyes met Harry’s again and he thought he was going to fall limp to the floor in a puddle at her feet.

He didn’t even know what her voice sounded like and he was already imagining waking up next to her in the morning and getting to see her disheveled hair and warm pajamas and soft, tired eyes. He had never had such a visceral reaction to anyone before. Ever.

Another round of drinks made its way to the table and Harry hardly spoke a word. Y/n only laughed a few times at what was being said but otherwise, she remained quiet as she sipped her drink.

He needed to talk to her. He needed to learn all about her. He wasn’t sure why it felt so important, so vital to him. But every time she looked at him his throat went dry and he searched her face for any sign that she might be feeling the same odd connection that he was feeling.

“I need a cigarette,” Y/n spoke as she looked at Alyssa, making Saul and Alyssa scoot out of the booth to let her out.

Harry tapped his fingers on the table as he watched her walk past before speaking up, “Yeah, me too.” He hopped up from the booth and jogged to catch up with his dream girl before she could push the door open.

“Allow me,” he grabbed the handle and opened the door for her.

“What a gentleman. Thank you,” she grinned teasingly at him and Harry felt his head swirl and his knees go weak. She smiled at him and he was sure he was in love at that moment.

“I try,” he chuckled as he followed her to the edge of the building before she pulled out her pack of cigarettes. Harry liked the same brand.

He pulled out his lighter and held it out as she put the filter between her lips. The flame lit the tip and then Harry put his own cigarette into his mouth and lit it.

“You have good taste,” Y/n gestured with her cigarette toward his and watched his mouth as he inhaled the smoke into his lungs.

“Guess we both do,” he blew the smoke out and it mixed with the smoke she blew out at the same time.

“Heard you recently got out of jail. Alyssa told me to keep my distance,” she laughed as she took another puff, her eyes on his.

“Yeah. Trying to keep on the straight and narrow now. Jail sucks,” he let his gaze wander over her lips and jawline and down to her neck, “I’m not that bad, though. You gonna get in trouble with your big sister for having a smoke with me?”

She snorted (which Harry found adorable and irresistible) and shook her head, “I’m an adult. She tries to act protective and tough but she knows better than to tell me what I can and can’t do. In fact,” she took a drag and lowered her gaze to Harry’s outfit and then back up to his eyes before exhaling, “When she tells me not to do something it just makes me want to do it more.”

Harry felt his face grow warm as he listened to her speak and couldn’t help the smile that took over his face, dimples winking awake in his cheeks.

“Oh shit,” she leaned into the brick and crossed an arm over her middle, one arm angled out with the cigarette propped between her two fingers, “You’ve got dimples.”

Harry ashed his stick, keeping the smile on his face, “I guess I do. Is it okay?”

Y/n laughed softly, the prettiest sound Harry had ever heard, and nodded, “Of course it’s okay. It’s adorable.”

“Adorable…” Harry repeated as he leaned his shoulder into the brick and faced Y/n, “Think I’m adorable?” He pulled his lips into his mouth, tamping his wide smile as he blushed. Yeah, he was blushing.

She reached her hand up to his shoulder-length hair to tug at a curl, “You are. Pretty curls, green eyes, dimples. I get why Alyssa didn’t want me to get mixed up with you. An adorable bad boy. Dangerous combo.”

Harry shook his head and looked down at her feet before winding his pupils up her frame to her face, “Bad boy? Nah, not really. Just made some stupid decisions.”

Y/n shrugged and pulled at her cigarette before blowing out the hot smoke, “Mmm….” She pursed her lips and squinted at him, “You’re definitely a bad boy. You kind of emanate that persona. And I bet you use those dimples to charm all the ladies.”

Harry chuckled and looked down again to give his retinas a break from her breathtaking beauty. When he looked back at her he shook his head slowly, “If anything you’re the charmer. Making me blush over here.”

She giggled and leaned her head back as she looked up into the sky. Harry was not going to be getting over her laugh. He knew he’d be dreaming about it too.

“I’m just honest is all. Not particularly charming I don’t think.”

Harry shook his head and pointed at her, “No. You are definitely charming. Sweeping me right off my feet.”

“Oh, I am? Falling for me already, Harry?” She smirked at him and turned her body to face his, mimicking his stance.

Was it too soon for him to fall for her? Yes. But Harry was never one to play by usual timelines. He grinned and licked his lips, “Be bad if I said I was?”

She puffed out a laugh, “Probably would be bad. You don’t even know me. I’m really not all that great. Lots of issues. Very unstable,” she laughed as she gestured at her head and then wrapped her lips around the filter to inhale.

“If that’s the case, then you’re just that much cuter,” Harry parted his lips to place the cigarette between them as he kept his eyes on hers.

She bit her lip and turned to look out into the street, “You gonna go to the Halloween party next week?”

Harry shook his head, “Probably not. Wasn’t invited. Don’t like to dress up for shit like that anyway.”

“Hmm… If you go I’ll go,” she turned to look at him and raised her brows.

Harry stitched his brows together and tilted his head, “Are you serious?”

She nodded, “Sure. Why not. Wasn’t planning on going either but I will if you do.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at her and grinned, “Still wasn’t invited, though. We’ll see.”

Y/n tossed her butt down to the ground and stepped over the tip to crunch out the burning end, “Probably should get back in there. Alyssa’s gonna think we’ve run off together. That’d really get her going.”

Harry chuckled and followed suit with his own cigarette and nodded before following her back to the booth in the bar.

This time, as luck would have it, Harry scooted into his original spot and Y/n sat down next to him at the end.

“I wish you wouldn’t smoke,” Alyssa frowned at Y/n and Harry leaned forward to put his elbows on the table as he turned to look at Y/n’s profile. She was certainly stunning.

Y/n shook her head and looked at Dasha, “Will you pass my drink down?”

Harry looked down at his lukewarm beer and pushed himself into the seat, his back hitting the vinyl cushion behind him before turning his head to watch as Y/n drank from her glass.

Everyone at the table resumed their conversation but both Harry and Y/n were thinking about the way their thighs were pressed together and how warm it felt. How nice it was.

“You’re staring,” she whispered with a grin as she set her glass down on the table and turned slightly to see the limn of his outline in her peripheral.

He grinned as he leaned his shoulder into hers as he spoke quietly, “Can’t help it.”

Harry tried to be as subtle as possible with everyone around but his skin was tingling in delight any time she shifted to pick up her glass her thigh ran against the stretch of his jeans. He regretted that he couldn’t stare into her beautiful eyes but he loved her nearness. The smell of her perfume and her shampoo.

“So, Harry,” Tony spoke up, “What do you do for fun?”

Harry was caught off guard. He’d been far too focused on the girl next to him that he nearly forgot he might need to participate in a conversation.

He laughed and looked at Saul and then to Tony, “I like music a lot. Um… reading. I don’t know,” he shrugged.

“He used to be in a band. Plays guitar and sings. He can play almost any instrument actually,“ Saul chimed in.

Harry rolled his eyes when everyone began to ask questions. He didn’t enjoy talking about himself because then that wound up leading to discussing his time in jail. Thankfully no one brought it up, though he was sure everyone already knew anyway. Saul wasn’t exactly discreet.

When the bill was paid after everyone threw down some cash, Y/n slid out of the booth with Harry right behind her, “Can I have your number?” He spoke so only she could hear as he brushed his fingers against hers.

She stopped and turned toward him, a mischievous grin on her face, “I’ll give you my number if you come to the party next weekend.”

Everyone began to walk to the door and Y/n turned to leave but Harry wasn’t done. He felt his heart walloping in his chest as he hastened his steps after her, pulling at her hand as stealthily as possible, “I can’t just crash a party I wasn’t invited to.”

When they stepped outside Y/n moved to the side to let everyone walk past and she looked up at Harry, “If you don’t come then you don’t get my number. It’s up to you.”

Harry swallowed as he looked down at the pretty girl in amazement, “Fine. I’ll be there.”

She smiled sweetly and raised her hand to poke at his dimple, “I know you will.”

NEXT PART (link goes to Patreon)

I hope you enjoyed part 1! This is the only part I'll be posting on Tumblr. If you want more check out my Patreon 💕

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[sweetsweetjellybean]

A night out with friends turns into a surprise welcome home party for the man who broke your heart, Eddie Munson.

Masterlist Listen to Scar Tissue Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago, with flashbacks at the beginning of each chapter.  Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:5162. Beta'd by @superblysubpar

“Have a good day,” your mother calls out as you shut the front door to the gray clapboard-sided home that your parents had fallen in love with the moment they laid eyes on it. You hadn’t even gotten past the front steps before she appears in the doorway, pulling her purple terry-cloth robe tighter around her shoulders as she calls you back. “You don’t have to come right home after school,” she tells you, pressing a few folded bills into your hand, “Go out with your friends. Have some fun.”

“Thanks, Mom.” You muster up a smile, shoving the bills into the front pocket of your Levi's, certain they will end up in the ceramic pink elephant bank that sits atop your dresser, just like the money she gave you last week. She watches you walk down the steps, giving you a wave before she turns away, shutting the door behind her. 

She tries her best, but she doesn't understand that friendships in the seventh grade aren't made as easily as they were in kindergarten, and you can't tell her that in the six weeks you've been enrolled at Hawkins Middle School, not a soul has spoken to you unless asked to by a teacher. 

This was the life that your parents had chosen, a career that demanded constant relocation and upheaval. "It's an adventure," they'd tell you as your things were being packed into boxes. But the older you got, it felt less like an adventure and more like a test. A test to prove yourself over and over. There’s a phrase your mom has uttered so often over the years, that it's surprising it's not embroidered on the throw pillows. Bloom where you're planted. But here, in this town, you're only a weed in the garden.

Hawkins isn't any worse or better than any of the other ten places you've lived in the last seven years, but these kids have been together since birth and aren't eager to welcome newcomers into the flock. Pouring your efforts into being confident and friendly, projecting a cool and unbothered facade, the constant exposure has left you empty. The mask is too heavy, and you’ve been wearing it far too long. If this were one of the comics you kept in the box under your bed, you'd be discovering your superpower–Invisibility. They don't see you here, and maybe they never would. 

The edges of folded bills in your pocket press into the meat of your thigh. Adding them to your total should give you enough for the new Elastica CD.  With a bit of luck, you might be able to talk your dad into driving you to Tower Records in Indianapolis this weekend. A few houses away, the battered front door of a small yellow cape opens with a click and thud, drawing your attention. The house was more run-down than the others on this street. The grass was left to grow a little longer before being mowed, and a few nights a week, you could hear the yelling coming from inside before seeing the slow flash of lights of a cruiser parked in front. 

A boy with curly shoulder-length hair bounds out from inside the house, slinging on his worn backpack as he hits the sidewalk.

Right on time this morning. 

The scuff of your white Doc Martens falls in step with the crunch of his black Converse hitting the pavement. The chain running from his back pocket to his hip sways with his movements. It’s more of a determined bounce than a walk. Your eyes stay trained on the frayed holes of his Jansport, corners of textbooks and papers pushing through. You keep waiting for physics to kick in and the thing to give way entirely.

“Quit following me.” 

His voice floats over his shoulder, shattering the quiet of the morning. Your head swivels from side to side, looking for whoever he is speaking to. His body turns until he’s walking backward, both hands gripping the straps of his backpack, casting his expectant brown eyes on you. 

“Me?” You ask, touching your chipped painted fingernails to your chest.

“You’ve been following me for weeks, and it’s creepy.”

“I’m not following you,” you say incredulously, “We’re just going to the same place.”

“Well, walk on the other side of the street or something,” he says, turning back around, continuing on his way like he assumes you’ll comply.

“No.” 

Your defiance comes out flat and solid, drawing a line, sick of him and this whole town.

“Yes,” the word comes back without a glance, utterly unbothered by your show of determination.

“No,” you repeat louder, your eyebrows pulling together in a scowl, “If you don’t like it, you walk over there.”

“I was here first.”

“Seriously?” The anger in your chest turns to heat, rising up your neck and settling in your face. Your mouth opens, ready to unleash the venom sitting on the tip of your tongue when he stops walking.

“Might as well walk beside me then.”

Surprise melts the words in your mouth as your feet carry you forward until you’re close enough to see the freckles covering his nose. His eyes stay forward as his stride lines up with yours, moving forward at a more relaxed pace. A light breeze rustles the leaves of the Maples lining the street. The sound of your footsteps is interrupted by the occasional passing car. 

“You’re in seventh, right? You got Schnider?” He asks, his eyes darting to your face.

“Yeah.” You nod, looking down at your boots.

"Bad luck. She's a real bitch. I had her last year."

Answering with a shrug, you risk a look back at him. Long eyelashes framing big doe eyes, a sweet face he tries to hide with a hard shell. He wears a mask, too. 

Your brain’s on overload for the rest of the day—thoughts of the boy coloring away the hours like a secret, overanalyzing every bit of your interaction. When the shrill sound of the final bell rings, you join the current of students, gathering your belongings and exiting the building in a wave.

The fresh air is a welcome escape from the stuffy classroom as you cross behind the school past the football field, heading toward the path through the woods where the boy is lingering just beyond the gate, digging through his pack but coming up with nothing like maybe he had been waiting. Without a word, he falls into step beside you. When you look at him, this time, he meets your eyes. The sunlight flickers through the swaying leaves as your footsteps resonate through the trees as you continue together.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," his voice cuts the quiet air when you reach the front steps of his house, his tone revealing a hint of uncertainty. 

"I'll be headed the same way," you answer.

He turns away from you, pausing with his foot on the top step, looking up at his house before looking back at you. 

"I'm Eddie, by the way," he offers, his cheeks pinking at the vulnerability his words carry.

"I know," you respond, a small smile gracing your lips as you continue home.

"Shit. Shit. Shit," you mutter, tucking your phone into your clutch and bolting up the marble steps to the second floor of the Kimpton Grey Hotel. Composing yourself as you pass through the lobby and open the double doors into Vol.39. The bar exudes timeless elegance with its dim, warm light shining on the dark-wood accents. Vintage jazz playing through hidden speakers, sounding like smoke and liquor. Everything here is steeped in leather, old money, and sophistication. It's no surprise that Nancy chose it. 

"You're late," Nancy says flatly, no amusement in the blue eyes framed by the blunt cut of her black, sleek hair as she glances at her watch with disapproval.

"Sorry." You slide into the open seat on the tufted couch across from her, adjusting the material of your dark emerald midi skirt so the slit wouldn't be showing off too much thigh, "There was traffic." It definitely wasn’t the extra half hour you spent with your feet up on your desk at Stax listening to the new release from Band of Horses.

"This is Chicago. There's always traffic," she counters, keeping her voice low enough that it doesn't travel past the lit bookshelves lined with leather-bound encyclopedias framing the seating area that your friends are currently occupying. "That's why I gave you a time a week ago. So you could plan ahead."

"She’s in a mood," Argyle says from the corner of his mouth, his hair falling around him like a curtain as he leans closer from the velvet upholstered club chair beside you. 

"Where's Steve?" Nancy demands, setting down her crystal tumbler on the gray marble table in the center of the space.

"He's not here?" you ask, scanning the bar. "It was Robin’s turn to watch him."

"Me?" Robin exhales from the other end of the couch she shares with Nancy.

"You're his best friend," you point out with a quirk of your brow.

"Yeah, but you're his–"

"I don't know why I bother to organize nights out for all of us if no one is going to be on time," Nancy cuts off Robin, huffing as she crosses her slender arms over her chest.

"It will be fine, Nance," Johnathan reassures, coming back from the bar carrying a flight of martinis he sets down in the center of the table. "Just relax. Everyone's going to be here in plenty of time." He takes the seat beside her, comforting her with his arm around her shoulder. 

Nancy and Johnathan have been on again-off again since she left Hawkins for school in Boston. Rekindling their relationship when she moved to Chicago and accepted a position at Spectrum Media, where she still works as their vice-president of content strategy. 

"Plenty of time for what?" You ask, leaning forward to choose a martini, picking the Astoria with a knot of lemon. 

"There's a mystery guest," Robin says, wriggling her brows and hooking her thumb towards Nancy. “Full of surprises, isn't she?”

"Where's Flora tonight?" You ask Robin, noticing she is without an escort. 

"Flora?" She asks, picking up a drink for herself, "That was over a week ago." She dismisses her with a wave of the hand before running it through her wavy blonde streaked locks, "Sadly, she left for a goat herding commune in Sacramento. I've been seeing someone new, a painter named Taylor. She's on exhibit at Magnolia. Her florals are really dreamy." She bites an olive off the end of her toothpick, sighing. 

Smiling around the lip of your glass, you shake your head. Robin works as an exhibit coordinator for Magnolia Gallery in Wicker Park, falling in and out of love with artists as quickly as she sells their pieces. You give her credit, she's having fun. 

"Did you text him?" Nancy asks, her lips twisting with impatience. The tense clench of her jaw has you setting down your drink and reaching for your clutch with no arguments. "Do you know how hard it was to get this reservation?"

"Then why are we here?" Argyle complains, gesturing around the room while he slumps back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass with the other. "You know I own like six bars, right? No reservations required."

"But then you'd be working," Nancy explains, as Argyle smoothes out his handlebar mustache.

"I'm always working, babe," Argyle says with a smirk, looking the part of a restaurateur and music promoter in his shiny flat-front trousers and short-sleeved silk shirt. 

Argyle is a new friend - meaning not from Hawkins. The California transplant, whose family owns a chain of successful pizza restaurants, has breathed new life into the Chicago music scene. Booking up-and-coming acts as well as big names into his bars and venues all across the city. He's a good friend to have, especially in your line of work–a music journalist for Stax the city's premiere music, arts, and culture magazine.

“He’s on his way,” you inform them, setting your phone face down on the table before settling back on the couch.

“On his way or leaving now?” Nancy shakes her head, knowing with Steve it’s probably the latter. “Why didn’t you ride with him?” She asks, turning toward Jonathan.

“I wasn’t in the office today. I was on a shoot,” he says, pulling his arm away from her and setting his drink down harder than necessary, his patience with her at an end. 

Jonathan, like you and Steve, works for the conglomerate Second City Media. Nancy likes to think that she permits the three of you to work for her competitor, but Steve had already gotten his foot in the door, securing himself an entry-level position at Metro Sports division before she was even out of grad school. Jonathan had been doing alright freelancing as a photographer, but when Nancy started at Spectrum, Second City recognized their competitor would wind up with an edge and hired him on as full-time staff. Everyone knows it's better for their relationship not to be working in the same place, especially with Nancy as his boss.

“Give us some clues about this mystery guest,” Robin interjects to lower the temperature between the couple, which is ready to boil over.

"Okay, I'm here." Steve comes from behind you, his voice alerting you to his arrival before you see him. His tie is already missing, the first three buttons of his starched shirt undone beneath his midnight blue suit, and his hair tousled from a day of running his hands through.

"Really, Steve? You couldn't be on time just this once?" Nancy scolds him, rolling her eyes.

"Meeting ran late. You know how it is," he leans down to kiss her cheek,"Or maybe you don't. I heard things are a bit slow over there at Spectrum," he teases, earning a smirk from Johnathan. 

Steve worked his way up from the sports division to chief content officer for Second City Media. The position puts him just shy of the power Nancy holds at Spectrum, fueling the pair's competitive and ambitious nature until their bickering often drives everyone else crazy.

"Steve," Robin draws his attention before Nancy gets the chance to respond, "About tomorrow–"

"Just a minute, Robin. I haven't gotten to kiss my beautiful wife hello." He steps over Argyle's legs and gives the man a quick handshake in greeting before sitting next to you on the sofa.

"I'm not your wife yet, handsome," you tell him as his strong hands cup your cheeks, tipping your head up toward him. 

"But it sounds good, doesn't it?" He asks before soft lips close over yours, his thumb pressing on your chin, asking for access to deepen the kiss beyond the line that's appropriate in front of company. 

"Niiiice," Argyle hums as the others snicker. Steve takes a hand off your cheek, holding it in front of you to block some of their views as his mouth moves hotly over yours. 

"God, you two are sickening," Nancy's remark is probably accompanied by an eye roll, but you're too occupied to notice as you tighten your grip on the front of Steve's shirt, drawing him nearer.

Four of his fingers curl down, giving Nance a one-fingered message as he continues to kiss you until he's had his fill. Breaking away with a gentle peck. "How was your day today, Ace? Did you write me a Pulitzer?" 

"You ask me that every day."

Despite teasing you, he wouldn't be surprised if you had what it takes. That's how much he believes in you. He takes your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips to place a kiss next to the glittering diamond he put on your hand a little over two years ago. 

"Excuse you." Robin climbs over Argyle's legs that are still stretched out in front of him, taking up all the space between the chairs and the table, and walks over to the couch, squeezing her way onto the sofa between you and Steve, "Best friend privileges." She winks before launching into a conversation about the next exhibit she's putting together.

"You two crazy kids set a date yet?" Argyle asks at a volume higher than you'd prefer. Raising your index finger to your lips, eyebrows drawing together as your eyes flick over to Steve.

"I'm just making sure my invite didn't get lost in the mail," he says, sipping his drink. "I love weddings, man—all those tiny little versions of regular-sized food. Maybe I should open a restaurant like that, where everything is tiny. Tiny little kebabs and tiki drinks with tiny little umbrellas. I don't know what's taking you so long. You need to make an honest man out of him." His voice grows louder at the end of his sentence, earning him another look from you, a distraction that diverts Steve's attention from his conversation.

The waitress chooses that moment to appear, saving you from another conversation about setting a wedding date. It's not that you don't want to marry him–you do. Someday. Decisiveness has never been your strong suit, along with dressing up in big puffy dresses that look like frosting and being on display for everyone you have ever known and their plus ones. 

While Steve squints down at the drink menu, fondness warms you like the opening notes of your favorite song. Reaching across Robin, you tap his chest. He looks over at you as he pulls a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and slides them on his nose.

Your lips move without sound–I love you.

You too, he mouths back. His mossy eyes softening as he smiles just for you. 

You're happy. Why change a thing?

“I’ll have an old-fashioned. Top shelf. Please,” Steve tells the waitress after she had gone around taking orders for small plates to share and more cocktails from the others. “Another Martini?” He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Yes, please. An Astoria,” you tell her as she finishes scribbling everything down on her pad and heads off toward the bar to put in your orders. 

“The ladies?” You tip your head at Robin, who nods, getting up to follow you. Steve squeezes your hand as you walk by as he continues his conversation with Nancy about the effectiveness of paywalls on digital content.

“God, she’s in rare form,” Robin comments as you enter the empty ladies' room, each of you closing yourself into a stall.

“Are she and Jonathan fighting again?” You ask once you’ve finished up and moved to the sink to wash your hands. The echo of your voices bouncing off the black and white hexagon tiles.

“When aren’t they fighting?” She pulls a few paper towels from the machine bolted to the wall and drys her hands. “It’s like foreplay for them at this point.”

You laugh, checking under your eyes for make-up smears. “Any ideas about this mystery guest?”

“No idea.” She tugs the brass handle of the door open, and you follow her back into the bar. “Maybe her brother?” 

“That would be nice,” you say, your boot heels tapping on the dark chevron floors, “He just got married, right?”

“So young, practically still a baby,” she tuts, her head shaking from side to side.

“Robin, he’s not that-”

Robin's hand clamps onto your forearm, a squeal escaping her mouth as excitement radiates through her. She bounces on her toes, leaving you in her wake. Whoever elicited such a reaction is being blocked by Steve and Jonathan. When she gracefully maneuvers past them, you catch a fleeting glimpse of dark curls before the two men shift back into place, obscuring your view once more. The clinking of glasses and chatter from the other patrons swells in your ears. Your feet carry you forward, curiosity resonating like the reverb of a guitar. Steve feels you coming up behind him and shifts to the side. Without warning, rich chocolate eyes are locked onto yours. Eyes you haven’t seen in eleven years when he left you a mixtape instead of a goodbye. The eyes of the man that shattered your heart into so many pieces, all the edges are still sharp. 

“Hey, doll.”

The breath trapped in your lungs forms a suffocating bubble, its dull, aching pressure stifling any movement in or out, causing your body to lock in protest. You're tugged forward, unable to fight it, until your body collides with his. The faint but familiar scent of him embraces you, lingering beneath the spicy notes of expensive cologne. Triggering a flood of a hundred painful memories, like songs you’ve overplayed and can’t bear to hear again. They jar your instincts into overriding the shock, compelling you to push him away. Eddie's solid frame absorbs the force. To your relief, the others haven't noticed as you retreat to your seat. Your trembling hand raises your martini to your lips, taking larger swallows than you normally would, but nothing with this situation is normal. 

"Desperate times," you mutter under your breath, tipping back your glass. By the time everyone has settled back into their seats, your martini glass stands drained, the lingering taste of its contents  bittersweet on your tongue.

Steve directs the waitress to bring another drink for you and a double Mescal for Eddie. The others' voices are a distant buzz in your ears, but their words don't breach the barrier of your thoughts. The chords playing in your mind are more discernible now. Their lyrics printed onto the faded photographs of a boy that you struggle to reconcile as the man before you. He's older, but you are too. His long hair is much shorter, the dark curls a richer brown pushed away from his face. A few lines grace the corners of his eyes and forehead–a reminder of the life he's lived without you. 

Steve's comforting hand wraps around your shoulders while the other finds a home sliding between the soft skin where your legs are crossed, exposed by the high slit of your skirt. Eddie's eyes are on you, his stare focused on Steve's big hand covering half your thigh. Your left hand moves on top of Steve's, adjusting to make sure the sparkling rock on your finger gleams with brilliance in the soft, ambient light.

"Well, this is a blast from the past," Robin notes, her voice full of whimsy as she dangles her cocktail glass between two fingers, swaying it gently like a pendulum.

"Aren't you all glad I forced you to come out?" Nancy quips, much more relaxed now that her plan has come to fruition.

"You did good, love," Johnathan murmurs. His fingers tangling with hers before giving her a quick peck. 

"Absolutely. I wouldn't have wanted to miss this," Steve agrees, "How long has it been, dude? Three, four years?"

"Yeah, I think that was the last time you were in L.A." Eddie scratches at his chin, covered with just enough scruff to almost be a beard. 

Steve keeps in touch with Eddie? Had he told you when you hadn't been paying attention to him, your mind wandering with the words you would write for other people's songs?

"Now, I know that I told you only old friends," Nancy says, angling herself towards the plaid upholstered chair that Eddie occupies. "But Argyle knows all the local talent, and I thought he'd be a good connection to have since you're moving here."

"What?" You ask, as if a sudden vacuum has just sucked the air from the room.

"You're moving here?" Robin's eyes light up with excitement at the prospect of all her friends in the same city. She was the original connection that brought you together all those years ago. 

"When you say here. You mean Hawkins, right? You're moving back to Hawkins," you clarify.

"No. I mean here. I'm moving to Chicago," Eddie says, leaning back into his chair, his long legs spread in his tailored black suit, the black v-neck underneath giving off a laid-back California vibe. "I told those corporate studio fucks I was done. I'm opening my own place to record music that's actually good, not just the kind that will sell. I'm surprised you don't know all this, doll. Isn't it supposed to be your job or something?"

“Fu–”

"Why Chicago?" Jonathan asks, cutting you off before you let loose a very appropriate response to his question, "Why not stay in L.A. or New York. Aren't there music scenes bigger than here?"

Eddie tips his head to the side, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. "You know, L.A.'s lost its charm for me. Too many fake people made out of plastic. And, well, Wayne's not getting any younger. Thought it's about time to be closer, you know?"

“You'd be much closer in Hawkins. Bet you could find a place downtown real cheap. You should go look there.” You cross your arms over your chest, drawing a line in the sand. 

“Hawkins doesn’t really scream rock ‘n’ roll, and I already got a place, but thanks,” he says, unconcerned as ever by your tone.

“Look at you two,” Robin says, clapping her hands, “Just like old times, back to your usual banter." Her mischievous grin widens, "Remember when she had that massive crush on you, Eddie? You’d stroll into Musicland during our shift, and she’d follow you around with those big heart eyes.”

Your ears ring as heat rushes up to your neck to your cheeks,the whole world spinning. Eddie looks down, swirling the remnants of gold liquid in his crystal-cut glass.

“You’re exaggerating, Robin,” you sputter, reaching for your drink, hiding behind the lip of the glass, “We were just friends. And it couldn’t have been too major. I don’t even remember it.”

“Oh, come on,” she protests, “Everybody knew.”

"I didn't," Steve's voice cuts through her teasing, leaving an awkward stillness in its wake. The distant sounds of high-pitched laughter and the faint scrape of utensils against plates fill the void. Your friends exchange uncomfortable glances, even though there was no malice in his tone.

“Hey, it’s no big deal, though,” his smile puts everyone at ease. “Right, Ace?” His head dips, brushing your lips in confirmation. You nod as he continues, “Robin, remember when we both went on dates with the same girl. What was her name? Brenda.” His fingers snap with the recollection.

“That’s right, Brenda! Brenda Mackenzie!” Robin laughs and begins to regale the group with the story.

When you lift your eyes, Eddie’s stare remains fixed on you, amusement replaced with an intensity you can’t read. An unfinished sentence or lyric. Words hanging between you like a question that you can't answer—one that you don’t want to.

“I’m going for another drink,” you say to Steve, picking up your empty glass. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” He asks, brows drawing together.

“No, I’m okay,” you tell him with a plastered-on smile, “You want anything?”

He shakes his head no. “I let my car service go early. I’ll drive us home in your car.”

With gentle fingers, you sweep aside a stray lock of hair that's draped across his forehead, planting a tender kiss on his lips before making your way to the bar. 

There is a soft creak of the leather as you seat yourself on a high stool in front of the polished wood bar. A bartender with an easy smile takes your order and leaves, giving you a much needed moment alone. Your lungs expand and contract without releasing any tension. You study your reflection in the mirror behind the rows of brightly lit bottles. If you could rewind the tape to a few hours ago, you'd have happily stayed in your office. Calling Nancy tomorrow to grovel for forgiveness for messing up her plans. But you can’t and the song plays on. It’s always the music that hurts the worst.

You release an audible sigh, your breath escaping through parted lips, as he settles onto the stool beside you. With a casual tap of his rings against the bar, he signals for the bartender, raising a single finger, his tongue peeks out, grazing his bottom lip as he gestures toward his empty glass.

"What’s the matter, doll? You really that unhappy to see me?" Eddie drawls, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"It’s been eleven years, Eddie. Sorry I’m not organizing a parade." You settle back into your seat, glancing around as if you're bored.

The bartender lowers his eyes as they deliver your drinks and wisely retreats to the far end of the establishment.

"I didn’t come here to fight," Eddie replies, his tone softening. He shifts his weight slightly on the stool, one arm resting casually on the counter, the glint of a gold chain around his neck catching the dim light.

"Then why are you here?" Your eyes narrow as your fingers trace the condensation on the side of the full glass.

"A fresh start. To build something of my own." He looks at you with determination, his dark eyes reflecting the soft glow of the bar lights.

"Then build it somewhere else," you respond curtly, your words laced with frustration. You pick up your drink and down half of it in one go, the chilled liquid leaving a slight burn as it slides down your throat. Setting the glass back down, you turn to leave.

He stops you with a gentle hand wrapping around your wrist, his touch causing your pulse to quicken beneath his fingertips. "There are some things I want to say to you. Let me take you to lunch unless Harrington has got you on too short of a leash."

You pull your wrist back, the feel of his touch lingering like smoke in the air. "Whatever you have to say has waited this long, try again in another decade. Unless you're dying."

"Would it make a difference if I was?" He meets your gaze with amusement playing on his lips.

"Let me think about it… nope." Your reply is quick and sharp, meant to cut.

"I know you're mad–" 

"No. Mad would imply some kind of emotional attachment. What I feel is indifference. In case you don't know the definition, that means nothing at all." Your voice stays cool and detached as you hop off the stool. "It's a big city, Eddie. There's no reason we have to see each other again." 

"We'll have to see about that," he smirks. 

"Have a nice life," you say a final goodbye to your past and turn away, walking in the direction of Steve when he stops you with one more question.

"Did you listen to it? The tape, did you ever listen?" 

The lie comes without hesitation. 

“No.”

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Read Song 2. here

AN: I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it. If you have a song that you think Eddie would have recorded on the mixtape send it to me in an ask and it might be included. Anything before 2001. I'd love to hear from you. Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated.

#steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn series #torn #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #Spotify

[tossawary]

You know, the more I think about it, the funnier I find the concept of Monkey D. Luffy /& Boa Hancock (especially paired with Aro-Ace spectrum Luffy and Aro-Ace spectrum Hancock) just for what it must look like from an outsider's POV.

For the record, personally, my favorite Luffy ship is Zoro/Luffy - also with Aro-Ace spectrum Luffy, that's basically non-negotiable for me, I don't care whether he's sex-favorable or sex-repulsed, but he's definitely ace. It is so funny to me to think about Luffy's incredible pull with aro-ace spectrum folks. People who once thought "sucks for you fuckers obsessed with sex and/or romance, I'm built different" (Roronoa Zoro, Koby, Trafalgar Law, Boa Hancock, Bartolomeo, etc.) find themselves fascinated by this little rubber man, who regularly declares war on the government and can swallow a roast chicken whole. Some of them are happier about this than others. Some of them WISH they just wanted to fuck or marry him, that would make more sense than this shit.

But, okay, back to Luffy and Hancock (as a friendship or queerplatonic situationship, whatever, doesn't matter). Like, let's pretend this is some kind of Modern College AU (Luffy is probably not IN college, tbh, he's just there to hang out with his friends and for any food anyone makes the mistake of leaving out). You are on your way to class and you see this woman walking down the street and she is - hands down - the Most Beautiful Woman In The World.

Super tall, with incredibly long, muscular legs in shockingly high red heels, a short skirt, artful cleavage, a waterfall of sleek black hair, beautiful face, striking makeup, gorgeous jewelry. Looks too old to be an undergrad student. She looks like if a martial artist became a supermodel. Walks like that too. The phrase "please step on me" comes to mind, but not to the lips, because that's sexual harassment, and also this woman looks like she could stab you through the heart with a kick and her shoe heel, killing you instantly.

She sees someone and her entire face lights up. She runs forward (how is she running in those shoes) squealing in excitement and embraces this guy you didn't even notice before, shouting about how much she missed him, and kisses him on the lips. He is... uh... three-quarters of her height at the tallest. A real Mr. Short King.

Wow, he has a babyface. And a scar on his cheek and on his chest, which you can see because he's wearing an open button-up, in eye-searing rainbow colors and decorated with monkeys, and jorts with fur at the cuffs. And mismatched flip-flops on the wrong feet. And a straw hat on a string around his neck. It looks like he hasn't brushed his hair today. It is impossible to judge his looks because his outfit is too distracting. Now the Most Beautiful Woman in the World is blushing bright pink as she clasps one of his hands in both of hers. Mr. Short King is using his other hand to pick his nose as she talks.

They walk hand in hand together over to where an incredibly expensive-looking bright red car is parked. Mr. Short King opens the driver's door for the Most Beautiful Woman and she apparently nearly swoons at this chivalry. She climbs into the driver's seat and he gets into the passenger's side (Luffy cannot legally drive and also cannot actually drive). They drive off together. What the fuck kind of Roger-and-Jessica-Rabbit-ass Sugar Mama relationship did you just witness?

Boa Hancock keeps a photograph of Luffy as her phone background and also on her desk at work. Everyone is always like, "Is that your... son?" And Hancock is like, "No, that's my number one choice of future fiancé! Isn't he sooooo handsome?" And people can only be like, "...Okay, but why are there police lights in the background? And something is on fire? It kind of looks like he's in the process of being arrested..." And Hancock responds dreamily, "They didn't catch him! He climbed into my exercise duffel bag and I carried him out."

#tossawary one piece #monkey d. luffy #boa hancock #fic ideas #long post

[hero-israel]

While I agree that Israel has made it nearly impossible for any Palestinian political movement to actually engage with them in good faith to find a peaceful solution (or even a peaceful pathway to a solution) a lot of people seem to have run with that to “Hamas had no choice but to attack with such savagery!!!!” And 1) if you actually look at Hamas’ track record over the past 20 years or so it’s a whole lot of “well I’ve tried nothing and I’m all out of ideas” (tbh Hamas has tried one or two violent, terrible ideas that didn’t work out, but same diff) and 2) “well they hurt me so I’ll hurt them” is the morality of a five year old

You never see Tibetans or Uighurs massacring hundreds of teenagers at a rock concert in China then packing the women onto rape trucks. Yezidis do not send suicide bombers into Arab old age homes on major holidays to kill off 3 generations of families. There is no way to view this topic without confronting the specifically anti-Jewish chauvinism, supremacism, and genocidalism that has been the norm in Arab and Muslim societies for a millennium or more. The entire "well, what do you EXPECT Palestinians to do??!" frame is pure colonialism. It says only Palestinians know how to have problems, only their tactics count, and anyone who doesn't bomb school buses either doesn't have problems or is doing it wrong.

#arab antisemitism #muslim antisemitism #palestine #israel #jumblr

[thee-horny-thicky]

Savior

So, a few weeks ago @polariae gave me a fantastic story idea! The whole thing can be found on my AO3, but here's a snippet from it, featuring Geto having some ✨alone time✨

Suguru didn’t believe in love at first sight. No matter how strong your feelings may seem, it was impossible to fall in love with a stranger. He did, however, believe that lust had no time frame. You could see a stranger walking down the street and feel lust toward them, without a word ever being spoken. Because, unlike love, lust was based purely on physical attraction. And he knew for a fact that he was lusting after you.

Hard.

After just 24 hours in your presence, he was undeniably intrigued by you. You were a strong, pretty little thing, that was simultaneously meek and assertive. And your body…

The feel of your soft skin hadn’t left his mind since he bathed you, nor had the glimpses of your nude figure. He’d made good on his promise not to peek, but the water could only conceal so much.

The sight of you in his T-shirt and shorts had driven Suguru wild and made the long walk to Nagoya tortuous. The city had millions of people, allowing you all to blend in with the crowd, and was far enough away from the Jujutsu strongholds of Kyoto and Tokyo. He’d kept a straight face, but knowing you were wearing his clothes, which still had his lingering scent made a sense of possessiveness invade him. He barely knew you, but that hadn’t stopped him from being satisfied, or admiring how well you wore his garments.

By the time you all stumbled upon a motel on the edge of Nagoya, he was painfully hard. If it wasn’t for his oversized shirt, the tent his dick had created in his sweatpants surely would’ve been visible.

Being the gentleman he was, he allowed you and the girls to freshen up first. But when you came out of the shower in nothing but a towel, he’d nearly come undone on the spot. At record speed, he hurried to the bathroom, barely remembering to grab himself a towel.

Freezing water cascaded from the showerhead and onto his body, but it did nothing to halt his arousal. Even as he began to shiver, his hard-on remained, giving him no choice but to take care of the problem.

Suguru bit his lip to stifle the moan that wanted to escape as he stroked his cock. One hand was resting against the tiled wall of the shower, while the other was tugging at himself. His hair was down and plastered to his skin, obscuring the edges of his vision.

His eyes were slammed shut, and his breathing grew hollow as he imagined your hands instead of his. It might’ve been the result of his recent dry spell, but he was already dreaming of all the positions he’d put you in. He was sure you were untouched, and the thought of teaching you – corrupting you – only made him harder.

His hand quickened as he pictured you laying beneath him, your hair sprawled onto the pillow, your knees touching your shoulders as he pounded into you. He knew that your fucked-out expression would be delectable, and the sounds you’d make would make his thrusts more frenzied.

A groan left him at the thought of filling you up and watching his cum drip out of you, marking you from the inside. You’d feel so good, he wagered, that pulling out would be an impossible task.

He began to jerk his cock faster, his other hand wandering to his heavy, cum-filled balls as his core began to tremble. His breath grew shakier, and soon, his hand and the shower wall were covered in his seed.

With a sigh, he removed the showerhead and let the water clean up the evidence of his carnal desire. Even when he began to scrub his body, the erotic image he’d conjured of you stuck in his head. He couldn’t wait to find out how accurate it was.

A/N: It was so hard to pick a color for this man, so I just chose the gold and yellow of his robe as the text colors 😭

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto smut #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk smut #savior #solo smut #Geto jacks off while thinking about you #That's the #snippet #ao3fic #ao3 link #ao3 #this man has my whole heart #I don't care that's he's toxic #he's my babygirl #geto x reader #geto x you

[hoes4hoseok]

enhypen as midnights

txt version ☆ folklore version ☆ masterlist

it feels like it's been ages (because it's been nearly NINE MONTHS) since i've done an enhypen x taylor post but here it is! i feel kind of nervous posting this but whatever, i just gotta hit the button at some point.

sunghoon as snow on the beach

"you wanting me tonight feels impossible, but it's coming down, no sound, it's all around, like snow on the beach"

falling for sunghoon would feel so tragic at first because you'd think there's just no way he likes you back?? 😭

&& it'd consume a lot of your time just thinking about what it would be like if it did

so when you'd realize that he does when he finally tells you?? it'd feel magical

&&, not to be extremely literal, but a kiss on a snowy beach with sunghoon?? that WOULD be magical

initially, i considered having sunghoon being maroon instead of this song, so tell me what you think!

jay as midnight rain

"he was sunshine, i was midnight rain"

jay is ambitious. so for the record, i'm not saying that he isn't.

however, if you were dating him while he was already successful (aka now) & you weren't where you wanted to be, i think it'd naturally cause a rift like this song describes

&& sometimes, you'd look back & think about the life you would've had together

but ultimately, it may be for the best that you broke up because you wouldn't have been able to pursue your dreams together

(i do not wish this fate on any of you.)

ni-ki as question...?

"i don't remember who i was before you painted all my nights a color i've searched for since"

seeing ni-ki after you broke up would f with your head

not because he did anything on purpose, but because it would be really freaking hard to see him and think about him being with someone else

&& you'd hope that no one compares to what you & him had for him, because that's how you feel

but in reality, you'll never know

&& eventually, hopefully you'd move on. or run back to him? there's no moral of the story here.

sunoo as karma

"karma's a relaxing thought, aren't you envious that for you it's not?"

this song focuses on good things karma has brought to him rather than bad things it’s brought others

&& i think that’s a mindset sunoo would/does share

sunoo minds his business & good things come to him (in this case, you! you're the good thing that came to him!)

it’s been happening since i-land era we KNOW 👏(idc he was popular for a reason)

jungwon as sweet nothing

"outside, they're push & shoving, you're in the kitchen humming, all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing"

is anyone surprised by my choices for jungwon anymore? because these are so predictable i swear LMFAO

so i chose this song because jungwon seems like the type to not hold you to the same high standards that everyone else does

&& you'd be able to do the same for him, especially since he probably feels a lot of responsibility as the leader of the group

he'd give you that feeling of it not mattering what everyone else thinks because you have each other 🤧

heeseung as paris

"romance is not dead if you keep it just yours"

having a private relationship with heeseung is probably in the top 10 most romantic things ever 🫶🏽

so romantic that it feels like everything else fades away when you’re together & you’re somewhere else 😭

&& you wouldn’t have to put a ton of work into keeping that up because yeah, sometimes the relationship doesn’t feel like paris

&& that’s okay. it’s worth it for the good times :)

jake as glitch

"a brief interruption, a slight malfunction, i'd go back to wanting dudes who give nothing"

falling for jake when you're used to people who treat you like trash would feel so unreal

because that man would be such a good boyfriend <3

&& when that happens you'd kind of second guess whether you deserve to be treated that well

&& it would feel like something that isn't supposed to happen & you'd suspect that you'll return to the pattern of trash guys "after him"

but you deserve him & you deserve to be happy,, & he'd make that very clear to you in his actions and words

txt version ☆ folklore version ☆ masterlist

#hoes4hoseok #enhypen #kpop imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen reactions #ni ki #nishimura riki #jungwon #yang jungwon #sunoo #kim sunoo #sunghoon #park sunghoon #jake enhypen #jake sim #jay enhypen #park jongseong #heeseung #lee heeseung #enhypen angst #enhypen x reader #taylor swift

[blueywrites]

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, swingers, mutual pining

chapter six: hey girl (18k) | playlist | AO3 | next

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. the song for this chapter is #17-#23. All songs are mentioned by name with the exception of the last song, which is Gato de Noche. The Spanish lyrics mentioned in the text may hold some significance.

Wrapped up in her again

I was starting to spin

A record I can't pause

Hey Girl — Stephen Sanchez

You click in your lap belt, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the screen of your Switch balanced on your thighs. Your villager is seated on a mushroom log, her little head bobbing as she waits for you. She has many choices for how she can occupy her day. Perhaps you'll have her fish in the pond near her log cabin. Or maybe she'll start by checking out Tom Nook's shop for the daily selection of new furniture. You know for sure she'll be visiting her neighbors to see what new recipe she can learn to craft today.

Yes, your little Animal Crossing girl is waiting for you, and you try to focus on only that as the rumble beneath you intensifies, and the engine's roar turns nearly deafening. You don't look around the cabin, and you don't look out the tiny window to your right. But you do look at the girl to your left when her powdery-soft hand covers yours. You peer nervously into bright blue eyes and a megawatt smile that reveals slightly crooked teeth which only serve to make her look more charming.

"It's okay," Chrissy whispers, working her fingers between yours and squeezing comfortingly. "I'm right here."

You squeeze her back as the plane taxis on the runway. A hazel eye suddenly peeks at you from between the seats, concerned beneath a tousled head of brown hair. "You okay, baby?" Steve asks, and you nod, head bobbing extra hard as if to convince yourself. "It's only three hours. We'll be there before you know it. Want me to switch with Chris and sit with you?"

Chrissy, looks at you encouragingly. "Whatever you want," she says.

"...No," you reply, voice small. "It's okay. I'll be fine."

You feel the nerves intensify as the plane starts to rumble forward, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. Your breath begins to quicken as the acceleration pushes you back against the plasticky cushions—

Suddenly, a head of wild curls pops above the seat in front of you, brown eyes gleaming over a wide grin as Eddie plants his chin against the seatback. Anatomically, that would be impossible if he was following proper safety protocol; he must be breaking at least three rules of etiquette during takeoff. 

"Eddie!" You hiss, gaze darting around the cabin to see if anyone has noticed. "Sit down!" You glance at Chrissy, but she's eyeing her boyfriend with a flat, resigned stare, clearly used to being unable to control him.

"I am sitting down," he replies with a cheeky tilt to those full lips. His arms join his chin as he folds them casually against the seatback. "Well, I'm half-sitting, half-kneeling, but still—"

"It's not safe!"

Eddie scoffs lightly, expression rife with mischief. "I'm perfectly safe, sweetheart. Car accidents kill far more people every year than plane crashes. I'm safer here than I would be driving my van."

"Truer words have never been spoken," Chrissy mutters to herself. Eddie merely smiles widely.

"See that? Chris agrees with me."

The force of your outraged glare only makes him chuckle. You sputter, "Eddie… if we get kicked off this flight because you don't know how to sit still for three hours—"

"Oh, I can sit still." Eddie cuts you off, glancing toward the nearby cabin wall before his eyes return to you, expression smug. "And you may want to look out the window."

You realize the scenery outside now looks like a circuit board— darkness cut by hundreds of tiny glittering lights in hues of white, red, and yellow, arranged in lines and grids far beneath you now.

You let out a slow breath, hand unclenching from Chrissy's. Eddie smiles again, pleased this time. "Ya see? The worst is over." His head disappears as he flops back into his seat; you exchange a pointed glance with Chrissy as you hear him say, "Don't worry. I'll be back for the landing."

After Chrissy and Eddie had left the night of the rule break back in early May, you'd fully expected things to be awkward between you despite Steve's assurances that he wasn't angry. You'd figured that, at the very least, Steve would be distant or cold to you or Eddie, or that he might decide he wants to pause your arrangement. But it seems that Steve has made every effort to convince everyone things are entirely normal. In doing so, somehow, they are. 

At home, Steve is attentive and cheerful. He began a new habit of making dinner for you both on Thursday nights. He texts you whenever he's going to be home late, as well as throughout the day when you’re apart— sending you pictures that remind him of you, checking in on your work day, responding to your Tiktoks, or sometimes just leaving you cute little messages that make you giggle in the staff room while you eat your lunch. And when Steve’s hazel eyes shine as he holds you close and kisses your forehead, you feel a low flutter in your belly. You nuzzle into his chest, inhaling citrus and sea salt as he tells you he loves you. 

He says it all the time.

Group play still occurs at least once a week, and you can't detect any tension between Steve and Eddie. You figure they must have spoken privately soon after what happened, and you're relieved that Steve is full of broad grins, affectionate back claps, and friendly banter whenever they're together. You know that must put Eddie at ease. Though he hadn't breathed a word about it since you'd texted that night, you're sure he'd been upset to have angered his friend.

When your phone had buzzed the morning after the incident, your first instinct was confusion, thinking that Eddie was texting you again; he never texts you during the day. But you'd been even more confused— even nervous— to see it wasn’t Eddie. Your heart hammered at the sight of Chrissy’s name, and you'd swipe open her message before even turning your alarm off. You were expecting the worst— accusations, bitterness, anger, something— but you were left floored at what she'd actually said.

'Hey, hon! Just wanted to check in and see how you're doing today. I hope you're not still upset and that Steve's okay, too. Just know I'm here for you.' She'd followed it up with a few sparkly pink hearts. 

Chrissy's thoughtfulness struck you hard, and you found your eyes pricking with the sting of guilty tears at the utter lack of sourness in her message. 'I'm okay,' you'd replied. 'Steve and I talked last night, and he's okay, too. I really appreciate you texting.' You pause, lips twisting with remorse, shame sinking in your chest until you add, 'I feel like I owe you an apology. If I'd moved faster, this all could've been avoided. I'm sorry.'

You bite your thumbnail as you wait for Chrissy's response, but it comes quickly enough to stop your doubt from spiraling. 'Oh, babes, don't apologize!! It totally happens, and I'm not mad at all! Maybe next time, try squatting instead, so you have more leverage to push off when you need to. With more practice, you'll get used to it. You'll be a pro in no time." She'd sent a few kissy faces and heart emojis, enough that the guilt inside settled quickly, quelled with the force of her bubbly kindness.

'Thanks, Chrissy.' You'd sent her a heart too. 

And, by some act of fortune, that had been that. You hadn't spoken of the rule break since, nor had you noticed any lasting repercussions on your group dynamic. Chrissy is still insistent on constant attention, but not any more so than she had been before. Eddie is still attentive but happy to go with the flow, as usual. And even Steve has continued to behave exactly the same. He isn't possessive when you go to Eddie, and Eddie goes to you. And, in fact, Steve shocks you even more when he suggests you all take a mini-vacation together: a weekend getaway to Miami in early June.

It's a much-needed respite from the drollness of your weekly routine working at the pediatrician's office; a lovely way to kick off the start of warm weather. You've never been to Miami, and you're eager to share in the new experience with Steve and your friends.

You're half-expecting the other shoe to drop when Steve sits you down at the kitchen table a couple of days later, regarding you seriously. But the conversation isn't a rehashing of the rule-break you'd feared it would be. Instead, Steve calmly and quietly explains that he wants to pay for Eddie and Chrissy's half of the shared hotel room and their plane tickets. You think of the text message Chrissy received from her mother, sympathy churning as the understanding passes between you— that you both have some knowledge of your friends' financial troubles but won't discuss it. You take Steve's hand, squeezing it tight as you tell him you admire his generosity, that it's one of the things you love most about him. Though he protests, you insist on paying for your share of the trip, wanting to do something to contribute. Steve's hazel eyes shine as he kisses your hand, and the way you move together that night, just the two of you, is more tender than it's been in quite some time.

Ahead of your trip, you and Chrissy spend an afternoon at the mall, and it's just as delightful as your first girls' trip had been. The mini-vacation is short— just a weekend— and because Eddie can't take off from work, you’ll be flying on Friday night after his shift. This means you only have two days and one night to plan for, and you decide to purchase a new bathing suit and an outfit for Saturday evening. Chrissy doesn't want anything, though you offer to pay; she insists that she has plenty in her closet she still hasn't worn from last year, and it would be wasteful to get something new. You suspect it's an excuse, but you kindly let her hide behind it anyway. Just like last time, Chrissy encourages you to step out of your comfort zone, and you end up leaving the mall giddy with your daring new purchases.

Soon enough, the first week of June arrives. The days zip to Friday, you zip to the airport, and now here you are, Switch balanced on the armrest between you and Chrissy as she coos and squeals over how cute Animal Crossing is. She's adorably attentive, and you find yourself both grateful and endeared as she lets you show her every inch of your island: all the fish and bugs you've caught, now displayed in the museum; all the rooms of your heavily-decorated log cabin; all the flowers and landscaping around your villagers' houses. Between playing and explaining to Chrissy what you're doing as you do it, the three hours pass by almost absurdly quickly.

True to his word, Eddie pops back around for the landing once the flight attendants have strapped in out of sight, grinning down at you from above the seatback like the Cheshire cat as you eye him flatly.

"Does he never listen?" You ask Chrissy, and you share a long-suffering glance, crossing your arms in a nearly synchronized show of exasperation.

"No," Chrissy replies flatly at the same time that Eddie protests, 

"Yes!" He pouts, gaze darting between you both. "I listen—"

"When it suits you," Chrissy interjects, and you roll your eyes at the wolfish grin that splits Eddie's face.

"Precisely," he says, sounding utterly pleased with himself as you feel the skid-thunk of the plane landing on the tarmac.

Between your long night of packing on Thursday, your half day at the pediatrician's office, the long lines at the TSA, and the long-ish flight, you're now left thoroughly exhausted, swaying on your feet in front of the hotel check-in desk. Eddie is the only person who looks more tired than you— there are deep, dark circles under his squinty eyes as he leans his hands against the counter, elbows locked to keep himself upright. When you get your room, it's with silent agreement that you all prepare for bed. The guys strip down to underwear, you change into your pajamas, and Chrissy sheds all her layers to sleep nude. You don't even take a moment to examine your surroundings before you collapse into the bed furthest from the door, legs stretching against the luxurious sheets as Steve cuddles up behind you. He wraps you in warmth and the familiar scent of citrus and sea salt cologne that still clings to his skin.

You're asleep within seconds, and the pleased smile that kisses your lips lingers the entire night you spend in Steve's arms.

–

You wake to a balmy breeze and luminous sunshine flowing through the gauzy curtains. It's much earlier than you'd normally rise on a Saturday— early for everyone, you figure, especially Eddie, who looks like the walking dead with that nest of tangled curls around his head as he shuffles off to the bathroom. 

As tired as you were last night, you have yet to examine your hotel room. You know the sheets are crisp and smell pleasantly like fresh laundry, and the tile floor is pleasantly cool under your bare toes, but that’s about it. Now, you can see that the room isn't too big, but it has two full beds, a closet and a dresser, and a fairly sizeable bathroom. You’re glad Steve decided to spend up for the location as opposed to the size of the room— it’s clean and seems to have high-quality linens, which, in your opinion, is all that really matters, especially since you’re only staying here for two nights. There is also a balcony facing the ocean, only a block away. You catch peeks of the water from the sliding glass door when the long curtains billow, and you smile when you consider how nice it'll be to sit out there with a glass of wine or, perhaps, with a coffee on Sunday morning.

It's morning now, but you don't have time to indulge in a lazy morning coffee. You'd all decided to make the most of your two days by jamming as much as possible into this one and then leaving tomorrow open to relax a little after an expected late night tonight. First order of business: get to the beach soon to snag a good spot.

You glance towards the other bed to see Chrissy still nude as she riffles in her suitcase. You do the same, digging for your bathing suit: a bikini the deep yellow-orange of a ripe sunflower, bottoms cut high on your waist to show off your wide hips, and top constructed of simple, delicate triangles that reveal more than they conceal. It's much skimpier than you're used to, and you feel a flash of doubt now that you're actually here, thinking about wearing it in public. That self-consciousness had been quelled by Chrissy's eager enthusiasm when you'd picked it out together, but it resurges now. You quickly retrieve your coverup: a long flowy dress, loose but cinched with a dainty tie at the waist. It drapes over you sumptuously, reminding you a little of a Grecian goddess— light, cool, something you can both feel comfortable and half-hide in. Your compromise to yourself when you'd packed, which you're intensely grateful for now. 

You'd gotten used to these people seeing your body— Steve, who's donning navy swim shorts with little sailboats on them, messing with his hair in the full-length mirror; Chrissy, who's laid her even skimpier white string bikini out on the bed, ready for her once she finishes applying her suntan oil; and Eddie, who's rubbing sunscreen into his inky tattoos with care that seems out of place coming from him, pink tongue peeking between his lips in concentration. You may be used to them seeing you, but with that discomfort now wriggling in your belly, you don't follow Chrissy's lead; you duck instead into the bathroom to get changed.

Steve pokes his head past the half-closed door to find you with your foot up on the tub's rim, rubbing the white of your sunscreen away. You see him in the mirror, and he returns your smile. 

"Want me to do your back?" 

"Yes, please," you reply. He moves close behind you, fingers warm as he thoroughly rubs the lotion into your back, careful not to miss any spots. When he's done, you offer to reciprocate.

"Nah, I'm fine," Steve says, grinning at you. "I'm trying to work on my tan."

You eye him with fond exasperation. "You know you can still get tan with sunscreen," you point out, careful to avoid getting sunscreen on your dress as you lift it over your head.

You can hear the smile in Steve's voice behind you while you watch yourself tie the string beneath your breasts, adjusting the fabric til it drapes how you want it to. "It's not as good, though," he says lightly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. 

"If you say so," you say dryly, emerging to find Chrissy with her hair now in a springy ponytail, sunglasses perched on her head, beach bag slung over her shoulder. 

"Ready?" she asks brightly, and you notice she isn't really wearing a coverup— just an entirely sheer skirt slung low on her hips, meant to entice more than anything else. She must be serious about her tan, you think, watching as she drops the bottle of suntan oil into her oversized bag. You grab your own tote and slip on your sandals, glancing at Eddie as he says, still sleep-hoarse,

"As I'll ever be at this godforsaken hour." He's facing away from you, hair pulled into a low messy bun at the nape of his neck, and your face crumples in amusement as you notice that, despite how fastidious he'd been about his tattoos, the sunscreen applied to the rest of his body seemed to be slapped on haphazardly— streaky, still white on his shoulders and the backs of his calves. You suspect that if you were to touch the middle of his back where he can't reach, it would be completely dry.

"Hold on," you sigh. Eddie half-turns, eyeing you curiously as you approach him determinedly.

"What're you doin'?" He mumbles, brown eyes still hazy with sleep. You press your fingers to his shoulders to straighten them again, so he's facing away from you. 

Brisky, you squeeze sunscreen into your hands, replying with amusement, "How could you be so careful with your tattoos and so sloppy with the rest of you? Unacceptable."

Eddie huffs but holds still as you rub sunscreen into his shoulders, using the back of your hand to push up his bun so you can get his neck too. "D'you know how much pain I endured to get these bad boys? No way am I lettin' 'em fade." 

"Well, you should pay the rest of your skin the same respect. With how pale you are, you would absolutely burn to a crisp out there." You work quickly and clinically, smoothing your hands over Eddie's sides and the small of his back before kneeling so you can get his knees and calves where they're exposed beneath the black trunks slung low on his hips. When your cold fingers sneak up under the hem to cover the bottom inch or so of his thighs, Eddie yelps, leg twitching away from your touch. 

You twist your lips against a smile as he grumbles, "Your fingers are cold."

"Oh, don't be a baby," you retort lightly, patting him on the back of his calf when you're done. "There. Now you won't get skin cancer." He huffs again, brown eyes flashing as he twists to regard you flatly when you straighten. You beam at him. "Thank you, y/n," you prompt him, exaggeratedly cheeky.

Despite himself, a corner of Eddie's lips quirks then. "Thanks, I guess," he says, as you don your tote again. Steve slings his arm around your shoulders, and you smile up at him as he tugs you close. 

"Now we're ready," you announce— and with that, you all set off for the gleaming sands of Miami's beaches.

–

The nearby lifeguard stand— which is more a full structure with a spiraling staircase than a stand— is bright pink, orange, and green, the gaudiest you've ever seen as you all traipse over the sand onto South Beach. Despite the early hour, it’s already teeming with people setting up their chairs and umbrellas and towels, preparing for a day rife with the promise of summer fun. You all settle on a spot not too far from that flashy landmark, and you gaze out at the water as the breeze ruffles your dress and hair. Your eyes are fixed on the clear turquoise of the water, the line where it meets the periwinkle of the sky dusted with fluffy clouds. A perfect beach day.

Despite the alluring color of the water, you sink into one of the two folding beach chairs Steve sets up, supplied by the hotel. In front of you, Eddie flops stomach-down onto the towel he's laid haphazardly against the sand; beside him, Chrissy sits much more gracefully, leaning back on her palms as she stretches her bare legs, sheer skirt abandoned as soon as you'd chosen your spot. "Oh, this is so nice!" she exclaims, and you can't help but wholeheartedly agree as you reach into your tote bag for your beach essentials: a new book and your AirPods.

The sea breeze is balmy, and the sun plays between the shifting clouds, bathing you in relaxing warmth as you dig your toes contentedly into the sand. Despite the many strangers around you, the beach is not yet too loud. Everything feels subdued, dream-like almost, so you keep your earbuds out and instead listen to the chorus of the rhythmic waves and the distant cries of seagulls, letting them become your soundtrack for now. Steve's broad hand rests comfortably upon your knee, nearly hot through the light fabric of your dress, and his thumb traces a random pattern. Your head tilts as you sigh, a smile playing on your lips, eyes heavy with the peace of this moment as you glance at each of your companions: Chrissy stretched out to soak up the rays, skin glistening with suntan oil; Eddie with his curly head pillowed face-down on his arms, body so slack you suspect he's probably fallen back asleep; and Steve at your side, hazel eyes affectionate as you smile wider at him. His expression softens as he regards you before murmuring, "Are you happy?"

"Yes," you answer quietly. Sincerely. "I'm very happy."

Steve seems pleased at your answer, and when you brush his hair back out of his eye, he catches your hand gently to press a tender kiss to your wrist. "Good," he murmurs against your skin, another kiss lingering until he releases your hand. Fondness bubbling up inside, you lean over towards your boyfriend; when you kiss him, Steve tastes salty from the breeze on his lips.

This is how you spend the first couple of hours or so: absorbed in your book as Steve alternates between scrolling on his phone, resting with heavy, contented sighs, and occasionally pressing kisses to your fingers as you keep reading, ensuring that you feel steadily more full with hazy contentment as he pays you unobtrusive attention. At one point, he decides to dip into the water after asking if any of you want to join him. But Eddie is asleep, Chrissy is sunbathing, and the book has just gotten good, so he goes by himself without complaint. He wanders back soon enough, noting that the water is too cold for him to venture in past his ankles.

Around eleven, you crack open the tiny cooler Steve had packed, pulling out water bottles and cans of High Noon and Corona, then snacking on chips, salsa, and orange slices. You sit with Chrissy on her blanket as she peels the flesh from her orange rinds, and Steve nudges Eddie's leg out of the way so he can join in too. Eddie wakes up then, crossing his legs as he leans forward eagerly to peer into the container. "No strawberries?" he asks, pouting lightly, and you feel affection well up as you pass him the chip you'd just loaded with salsa in recompense. He seems adequately satisfied with the substitute, and you continue to indulge in salty chips, savory salsa, and sweet fruit until you're content. 

Not long after you've returned to reading, a flurry of activity some distance away draws your attention. By the green edge at the top of the beach, some men and women around your age are mingling in a clump near a portable volleyball net.

You notice Steve eyeing the activity with interest; you smile as you see his enthusiasm. "I think I'm gonna go over there," he says, neck craning to see better. "Doesn't look like they have enough people yet."

"What's— ooh!" Chrissy's blue eyes brighten as she twists to look. "I love volleyball!"

"Wanna get in on it with me?" 

"Oh, hell yes!" Chrissy exclaims, popping up without hesitation. Steve glances at you again, brows perked behind his bangs as if he's checking for your approval. 

"Go for it," you say, chuckling as he scrambles up immediately, brushing the sand from his legs as he and Chrissy jog over toward the group. You watch them exchange words with one of them, pleased when Steve's face lights up with a broad grin, and he claps the guy on the shoulder.

You feel your left side suddenly dip as the sand shifts when Eddie tumbles into the chair beside you, drawing your attention from Steve as you flash a smile at him. You go back to watching as Steve and Chrissy choose their spots around the net, book forgotten as you follow Steve's movements with interest— the broad muscles on his back, his tanned arms stretching as he volleys the ball easily before falling into a slight crouch, coiled and poised to move wherever he needs to. When he sets up a teammate and they score the first point, you can hear Chrissy's delighted shriek from across the sand. Steve and Chrissy exchange an enthusiastic double high-five before he glances back, hand dragging through his hair as his eyes dart. And when you wave your hand high in the air, so Steve knows that you saw his set-up, the broadness of his brilliant smile warms you inside.

Beside you, that smoke voice curls against your ear. "You make him really happy, you know." You glance at Eddie to see him looking past you, brown eyes still fixed on the makeshift volleyball court, gleaming with fondness. "He'd dated around a bit since Nancy, but you're the first girl he was ever really serious about. He's been much happier these last few years since you came around."

Though the sentiment settles comfortably behind your sternum, you can't help but also feel confused. "Thanks, I'm really glad he's happy," you say sincerely before adding, "Who's Nancy?"

Eddie's eyes had drifted back toward the game, but they snap to you then, suddenly wide. "Steve never mentioned…?" Eddie's voice is a little weak before he trails off, and when you shake your head, you watch his expression go a little panicked and sheepish. "Ah… shit," he finally says, face contorting in a wince. "I guess I shouldn't have said anything."

You frown. Eddie’s behavior reveals that not only had he expected you to know about this— which means it's something Steve is keeping from you— but that he considers it to be touchy enough that he regrets mentioning it. As your book slides on your lap when you lean toward him, you close it without looking, dropping it impatiently to the sand. "Well, now you have to tell me, Eddie." You stare at him as his eyes narrow hesitantly, but your expression is unwavering. "You can't just leave me hanging after saying something like that."

Eddie sighs heavily, hands rubbing against his thighs as he looks out at the ocean. He tugs absently on a lock of his hair as he talks. "Steve dated this girl, Nancy, for almost all of high school. She's the same age as you and Chris." Your eyes are rapt to Eddie's face as he glances at you. "They got together when she was a freshman. They became really close." He shifts, facing you more directly. "You know, a lot of couples break up when they graduate, especially if one person is still in high school and one is going on to college. But Steve was committed despite things being long-distance. He even got close with her family. Went on vacations with them, shared holidays, that kind of thing." 

Eddie's eyes soften with sympathy for his friend as they dart between yours, and he adds quietly, "You know what things are like with his parents, so..." You nod, somber as you remember Steve confiding in you the broken state of his relationship with his mother and father. He tries to pretend it doesn't bother him, but you know it's still a wound, especially around the holidays. It's why you always make sure those times are busy for him and full of cheer. It helps that your parents and older sister love Steve, and he fits in seamlessly with your family.

Eddie's voice snaps you out of your musing. "Nancy's younger brother was in D&D club with me in school, so that's how Steve and I got better acquainted. And, uh… that's kind of the basics." He pauses, and you feel your stomach sink with the expression on his face. Eddie speaks slowly, carefully, as if he's treading lightly for the first time in his recounting of this story. "And then they broke up. 'Cause she… well, she cheated on him." You glance at your lap, weighed down with the seriousness apparent in Eddie's voice, how he lapses into somber silence. Clearly, this event was defining in Steve's life. Quietly, Eddie adds, "He was upset about it for… a long time." He shrugs a little helplessly, contrite. "And that's probably about as much as I should say. You could ask him about it if you wanna know more." 

You nod slowly, chest heavy with sympathetic sorrow for your boyfriend. But your mind is swirling with all you've learned, all you'd never known. "Yeah," you say, unsure whether you will. Because even though you'd told Steve everything— about the two boyfriends you'd had before him; about how you'd done stuff with them but hadn’t gone all the way before him; about how he'd been the first guy you'd ever said 'I love you' to— even though you'd told him all of that, not once had Steve ever mentioned anything about Nancy. And you feel foreboding pang deep in the pit of your stomach, mixing with the weight of your sorrow until you're too uncomfortable to dwell anymore.

You ask quickly, "Did you and Chrissy start dating in high school?"

Eddie is clearly relieved that you've dropped the subject and won't press him for more. "Yep," he replies, "she almost got away— we started dating when she was a senior."

Desperate for the distraction of a story told with typical Eddie-level theatrics, you lean your elbow on the arm of the chair and plant your chin there, tilting towards him as you ask eagerly, "How'd you get together? Don't spare the details; I wanna hear it all."

"All right," he grins, flashing eye teeth as his eyes brighten at the promise of weaving his tale. Short curls sway around his pale quartz face as he gestures dramatically. "So, picture this: Chrissy Cunningham, head cheerleader, cute as a button. The sweetest, most popular girl in school; the queen—" Eddie's voice goes all breathy with dramatic awe, "—of Hawkins High." When you giggle at his antics, his expression falls into a broad grin. "And she's dating this bible thumpin' golden boy, head of the basketball team, personal torturer of nerds and outcasts everywhere. He's the king to Chrissy's queen, the supreme douche himself... Jason Carver." 

You stifle your amused smile in an effort to say seriously, "I take it you and he didn't get along."

"Oh," Eddie says easily, "hated each other's fuckin' guts. Anyway…" he plants his elbow on his own chair arm to mirror your posture, leaning in and affecting his voice like you're two girlfriends gossiping. "So what had happened was, Chrissy was getting a little sick and tired of all the pressure to be perfect all the time. Perfect looks, perfect grades, perfect boyfriend, perfect future. So she started lookin' for ways to, ah… take the edge off. Let loose a little bit." He eyes you cautiously, letting his voice trail into implication. "You know…" 

You assume Eddie is probably talking about drugs, though he seems to be reluctant to acknowledge it outright. "I get it," you say dryly, though not unkindly, and his lips tilt in a little smile before he continues. 

"So that's how we started talking. And what began as a little bit of business turned to some steamy meetings at the picnic bench in the woods outside school, and, ya know… this lead to that, and the rest is history." He smiles broadly. "So the queen of Hawkins High left the king and started dating the freak."

Eddie says the word 'freak' with the utmost lightness, but the word strikes you immediately. You frown, nose wrinkling as you repeat him incredulously. "Freak?"

"Yeah," he replies casually, lounging back, stretching his lanky legs comfortably. "That's what they called me."

You blink rapidly as you're left reeling with the absurdity of it— that someone could look at the gorgeous man sitting beside you and call him a freak. You scoff, mouth working soundlessly until you can finally speak, unable to keep from sounding appalled. "What, 'cause you… you were into heavy metal and, like, had your ears pierced?"

Eddie chuckles a little weakly, brown eyes darting from your stare, which is fierce with offense for him. "Well, I mean, it wasn't just that," he replies, shifting in his seat.

You swallow, leaning back and reigning in the vehemence of your reaction when you see how you're making Eddie uncomfortable. You want to question him more, to force him to tell you what else there could be to justify them calling him something like that. But Eddie's brown eyes are clouded, a little frown creasing between his dark brows as he taps his fingers against his thigh. You decide not to pry. "That just seems so… bizarre," you say. "That people would still think like that."

Eddie chuckles again, a little wry but not as weak this time. "Small-town Indiana, you know? It's like they're stuck in the fifties. Everybody's gotta be a certain way, or else."

"Well," you reply, smiling gently as he looks at you again when you say sincerely, "I'm glad Chrissy didn't fall into that stupid trap. You guys seem really good together." Fondness blooms in your chest when Eddie smiles back.

"It's been five years now. Moved in together near the end of last year, actually. It was a bit of an adjustment at first, but it's been good." 

Your eyes glint with mischievousness then, and you can't help but tease, "Wait, let me guess: you're a roll-under instead of a roll-over toilet paper guy, aren't you?" 

Eddie feigns a gasp, pressing a hand to his inked chest. "How dare you accuse me of such wretchedness."

You giggle, and he breaks the affronted act quickly, the husky sound of his genuine laughter warming you inside, fluttering low in your belly. You eye Eddie for a moment, realizing that this is the longest and most open conversation you've probably ever had with him. And there's something that's been nagging at you, especially since Chrissy had checked in so kindly with you after that night Steve got mad. It's something you were never going to bring up to Chrissy, but considering how forthcoming Eddie's been this morning, maybe he'll be receptive to you asking. "So, when we went to see Avatar back in May, I accidentally saw this text from her mom. Is Chrissy, like… okay?" 

Eddie sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his hair as his expression falls slightly. "Yeah, she's… she's okay." He glances away again. "She has a rough relationship with her parents, especially with her mom. 'Member how I said she had all that pressure, and that's why we started talking?" He glances briefly at you to see you nod. "They had all these expectations for what they wanted her to do with her life— go to church every Sunday, train hard for cheer while also getting perfect grades, go to the best college, marry Jason, all so she can become just like them. Look this way, say that thing. Be their perfect little… robot. And she just got sick of it. She didn't wanna do it anymore." 

After a brief pause, Eddie slumps a little lower in the chair, rubbing at his knuckles. And his voice, when he says this, is so casual— but the way it affects you is anything but. "You know, sometimes, I think Chris wanted to stick it to her parents, and that's why she started dating me: Mr. Bad Reputation. But it's been five years, and she hasn't left me yet," he jokes, lips stretching with a grin even as you frown, retorting immediately,

"I don't see why she would ever leave you, Eddie. I mean, what's not to like?" 

For a long moment, Eddie is quiet. Those brown eyes, normally so bright and lively, stay stuck on his hands as he fidgets with his fingers and ruddy knuckles. You figure he must be missing his typical rings, left back in the room to remain untarnished by salt water. He doesn't look at you, but your eyes are riveted on Eddie's downturned face, pale quartz framed by dark ink curls. 

And then Eddie finally meets your gaze, face a mask of bland indifference. "I sold drugs all throughout high school. I failed senior year three times and only passed by the skin of my teeth. Obviously, I never went to college." You blink, almost wanting to look away at the baldness, the flatness of his words. The utter lack of feeling that feels so wrong coming from Eddie. "I grew up in a trailer park. I lived in low-income housing 'til I was twenty-three. And now, I'm a mechanic who can't afford to take one day off for a vacation." He huffs a humorless chuckle, quirking a sardonic brow as he stares at you. "Need I go on?"

Speaking can often be difficult for you. You usually fight to find the right words to say.

But looking into Eddie's eyes, the most beautiful shade of brown you've ever seen, you don't need to fight now. Not with these words. These words surge straight up from the bottom of you, from that hidden place grown lush with deep roots and slowly blooming greenery that now strains from the soil, leaves quivering, bending toward the man at your side. They burst from your mouth, and you don't even have to think about them. "Eddie. First of all, you're ridiculously talented and so passionate. It's like… electric to watch you perform. And you're funny. When we went to get ice cream that first time we met, I was nervous it would be awkward 'cause I usually don't know what to say around people I don't know. But you just have this way of making people laugh and feel at ease. You pretend you're all mean and scary because you listen to metal, but you're actually so incredibly kind. Plus, you're probably the realest person I know. Totally authentic and unapologetically an absolute weirdo." And your eyes, which once had darted from the intensity of this man beside you, from the light that shines within him— they don't flit away, not even once. Fiercely, determinedly, you finish your speech. "So. Like I said. What's not to like?" 

There is another long pause as Eddie stares back at you, expression unreadable, blank aside from a little crease between his brows. You regard him calmly, patiently; you refrain from pressing him for a response, letting Eddie take his time to consider what you said. And you think, as the moment lingers, that perhaps you'll see it again: that pink on Eddie's black and white, the gentleness blooming out from his eyes, maybe now beginning to soften his features. Tentative hope builds as he holds your gaze, eyes darting between yours. And when Eddie's eyes dart to your lips, your heart thumps hard, moths fluttering; you scarcely dare to breathe.

But when Eddie's eyes meet yours again, he just shrugs one shoulder, letting it fall sharply as he looks away. When Eddie turns from you, he leans his chin in his palm, hunching forward; your stomach swoops with disappointment at his lackluster response, brow crumpling until you notice his knee bouncing erratically, hand fisted against his leg, knuckles white with the force of his grip. Your disappointment transforms to empathy as you watch him— tense, nostrils flared, brow tugged low over his brown eyes. 

You realize that Eddie just doesn't know what to do with what you said about him. He doesn't know how to react to you hearing all the negative things he revealed about himself and excusing them entirely, focusing plainly on his good qualities. The ones you suspect that, maybe, Eddie has trouble seeing in himself. And you think about all the times Eddie has helped you through your own hesitance and anxiety, reassuring you in that calm way that almost seems like it would be unnatural coming from Eddie Munson, but has always felt right, just felt like a part of him. 

Here is an opportunity for you to return Eddie's consistent kindness.

You move to stand in front of him, blocking Eddie's view of the ocean with your body. His brow crinkles as he looks up at you, fingers still curled over his mouth. "All right, you," you say brightly. "We're going for a walk on the beach. Maybe if you're lucky, we can get your pasty ass a tan." 

Eddie's frown softens fractionally when you grin at him, but he doesn't move, expression a little skeptical. You hold out your hands expectantly, wiggling your fingers until Eddie, rather reluctantly, puts his hands in yours. "Come on, then—" your voice goes tight as you haul him up. "Holy— you're heavier than I thought you'd be," you pant, shaking out your arms dramatically as Eddie finds his footing. Those brown eyes are no longer as flat now, instead twinkling with slight amusement as you grab your phone and your AirPods case, presenting one earbud to him with a flourish. When Eddie doesn't reach out to take your offering, you snatch his hand, pressing it into his palm.

"What's this for?" he asks, staring down at the white bud.

You navigate to the Spotify app on your phone. "Have you never gone on a beach walk listening to music like you're in an indie teen movie?"

"Uh—" Eddie huffs a chuckle. "Can't say I have." 

"Oh, you're missing out." When you see him eyeing you with skepticism, you roll your eyes exaggeratedly. "Look, I'll put my Spotify on shuffle. It'll be, like, seventy percent me, thirty percent you."

Eddie's laugh is genuine again, and you bask in the sound. "Somehow, I doubt that percentage," he retorts, though he gamely acquiesces, fitting the bud into his ear. 

"Oh, ye of little faith!" You drop the case and your phone into your deep dress pocket and lead the way; they bounce against your thigh as Eddie falls into step with you. The first song begins with an eerie tinkling of bells before the guitar comes in, harsh and aggressive. You tilt your head as you eye him, saying smugly, "See?"

Eddie raises his hands, a grin tugging at his full lips. "I eat my words, sweetheart," he concedes, and your heads bob in time to the beat as you walk along the beach listening to The Summoning by Sleep Token. It strikes you as exceedingly amusing that, while everyone around you is casually lounging around on the beach in sunny Florida, you and Eddie are listening to eerie wailing and a heavy-metal singer husking, 'You've got my body, flesh and bone…' You giggle as Eddie gets really into it while he walks, strumming his invisible guitar and tossing his head until some more curls fall loose from his bun. 

You walk in silence, soaking in the instrumentals until the dreamy soundscape interlude subsides into a funk breakdown, and the singer croons, 'Oh, and my love, did I mistake you for a sign from God?' "This is my favorite part!" You tell Eddie, eyes bright with enthusiasm as you turn to him. 

You read his expression as both amused and impressed. "Okay, y/n. I see you. This part is sexy."

Eddie grins wolfishly as you flush, cheeks heating as you purse your lips; you walk a little faster, so he has to lope with longer steps to keep up. You hear him chuckling to himself but choose to ignore it.

The next song is Slow Mover by Angie McMahon, and within the first ten seconds of hearing her drawling voice, Eddie remarks, "Now I feel like I'm in an indie teen movie." You aren't sure whether he's being critical, but his expression is only slightly wry as he twists to walk backward in front of you instead of by your side. "Feel like I'm the main girl who's recklessly hitched a ride on a train, runnin' away from home towards the inevitable homelessness waiting for me in the city."

It takes considerable effort to keep your expression neutral while you say this, but by some miracle, you manage it. "Well, you certainly have the hair for it."

Eddie's eyes widen in delight even as his mouth falls open in outrage. "You sayin' I have hobo hair?" He makes to grab your waist, but you dodge him with a shrill shout, giggling. "Might have to rescind your nickname if you keep criticizing me. You'll be sweet girl no longer."

"No!" You whine softly, pouting up at him as you let him snatch you around the middle. "Anything but that." You're joking, but you're also not, though you giggle again as Eddie shimmies you playfully back and forth.

"Then be nice," he says warningly, and you nod your obedience quickly, eyes wide and beseeching. "'Kay then. I'll trust you," he says, releasing you so you can continue your wandering path along the beach. 

As Angie sings, 'Friend, oh friend, I am a slow, slow girl,' you catch Eddie's brown eyes twinkling. "You are a slow girl," he says cheekily. "You're walking slow."

You pout, protesting his unfair assessment. "It's hard to walk on dry sand!" 

"Then let's walk down there," Eddie offers, and you dip down to the water's edge, sand wet and pliant between your toes as you squish along much more easily. As a wave recedes, you see a sudden small object scuttling away from you. 

"Look! A crab!" You exclaim, grabbing Eddie's forearm. Excitement surges as you trace its frantic path with your eyes until it disappears into the surf. You turn to Eddie, eyes shiny with innocent delight. His arm is warm under your fingers, and the breadth of his answering smile— the way it dimples his cheek and crinkles his brown eyes like the sun itself is shining in them— makes those wings flutter low in your stomach again. 

You suddenly realize that you've wandered far enough that the pink and green and orange lifeguard structure is no longer visible; you and Eddie are alone, surrounded only by strangers. The only other time you've ever been truly alone was when you'd gone to get ice cream the first time you'd met him. The flutters surge a little harder at the realization, but you don't have any time to process as Eddie says suddenly, "Let's go in the water."

Your hand falls from his arm, eyes darting to take in just how many strangers surround you. The answer is very many; the beach, by this time, is quite crowded. And while you aren't afraid of Eddie seeing you in your new bathing suit, that self-consciousness from the hotel room resurges at the idea of baring yourself to the possibility of stares and flickering expressions.

Your hesitance softens as Eddie moves closer, and suddenly all you see is that face you treasure: strong jaw, soft nose, full lips, wide brown eyes framed by long lashes. Dark curls that tumble around his shoulders when he pulls the band from his hair, slipping it onto his wrist instead. "Come in the water with me," he coaxes you, smoke voice quiet and gentle. And as you breathe it in, it soothes the discomfort, settling full and rich in your belly.

You nod, retrieving your phone and AirPod case from your deep dress pocket and putting away your earbuds. You let Eddie's nimble fingers pull the bow from the tie at your waist, and carefully, he gathers the flowy fabric, lifting it until your sunflower-yellow bikini is revealed. The bathing suit is more daring than anything you've worn in public before, and you feel like every inch of your softness is exposed, each vulnerable part of you on display. You take the dress quickly from Eddie's hands, folding it to give you something to occupy yourself with. You drop it to the sand beside you, gritting your teeth as you bend to tuck your phone and AirPods beneath the fabric, trying not to think about how crunching over probably makes your body look unattractive. 

But when you straighten, your eyes widen to see how Eddie's looking at you. His gaze is milder, more controlled than usual, but you still respond to the heat behind his dark eyes as they caress your body silently. He swallows thickly when your breathing quickens, eyes drawn to your breasts as they rise and fall visibly. Though the way Eddie is looking at you has dispelled your discomfort about strangers' judgments, this moment is quickly becoming tense and loaded. You feel a stirring of conflicting emotions: attraction, trepidation, and excitement mixing into a jumbled mess behind your sternum, underpinned with sluggish guilt oozing anew in your gut. 

Because you're alone with Eddie. And though a thrill races through you at the thought, you know you should not be thinking about kissing him right now. 

Rule number one, you remind yourself, shifting subtly backward and speaking in an attempt to break the tension between you. "I don't wanna go in all the way," you tell him. 

Eddie blinks as if he's suddenly just come back to himself. "And why is that?" he asks, sounding elaborately casual.

You eye him cautiously, alarmed by the sudden twinkle in his eye, the growing tilt to his wide mouth. "Because Steve said it's cold—"

He moves so fast you have no time to react, and you yelp as you find yourself suddenly hoisted into Eddie's arms. "Eddie!" You squeak, face flaming and stomach swooping in intense embarrassment as he holds you bridal-style. "You can't carry me!"

There's a reason why you've never asked any of your boyfriends to carry you, why Steve has never even attempted to pick you up beyond a quick lift a couple of inches from the ground. The words I'm too heavy hang unsaid on your lips, and your brow crinkles pleadingly; you're silently begging Eddie not to make you say it.

"Can't I?" He challenges, and your arms wrap desperately around his neck as you scrunch your eyes shut, prepared for Eddie to concede or to halt halfway or for his arms to simply give out due to his sheer stubbornness. But when you hear splashing, you peek to see him already calf-deep in the water. "Shit," he huffs, and you feel his chuckles rumbling in his chest where you're pressed against it. "All right, I'll admit it's kinda cold."

Eddie doesn't even seem to struggle as he carries you into the ocean, and you can't pretend you aren't surprised. I guess he's stronger than he looks, you acknowledge, shoulders relaxing fractionally as he eases into the water. "Told you it was cold," you mumble sourly, and you feel him laugh again, flutters stirring as you realize suddenly how Eddie's arms are wrapped around you, supporting you solidly; how warm his sun-kissed skin is against yours; how your nose is nearly pressed to the base of his throat—

"Fuck—!"

Your yelp is cut off as Eddie stumbles on a sandbar; together, you collapse into the water.

The shock of cold nearly steals your breath until, almost as quickly, Eddie hauls you up out of the water. "Holy shit," he gasps, hands tight against your upper arms as you sputter, trying to find your footing. The sand dips down right past the bar, nearly too far to stand, but Eddie steadies you before his palms find your face, messily pushing your wet hair back where it's covering your eyes. Eddie sounds so upset as he stammers, "Shit, y/n, I am so sorry—"

But you're laughing, head tilting back as Eddie tries desperately to fix your hair, though his attempts are clumsy at best. You take over for him, dipping into the water so you can slick the length of your hair back. "It's fine," you say through leftover chuckles, eyes widening suddenly in alarm as you register the wave heading straight for you behind Eddie's back.

He registers your reaction a second before you're hit, and you both somehow manage to duck in time for the wave to pass without jostling you too much. Still, Eddie's body drifts toward yours with its force, and when you pop from the water, his arms close around your middle, holding you up higher than you could reach yourself. Almost automatically, your arms wrap around his shoulders, and your legs do the same around his hips. You cling to him, buoyant, letting him hold you in the waves.

Eddie seems relieved that you aren't mad and, even more so, delighted that you'd laughed off getting unexpectedly dunked under the cold water. "Don't worry, sweet girl," he says, playfully tightening his arms. "I've got you. I'll fight off every rip current and seagull that tries to snatch you with my bare hands." 

You giggle, matching his energy with your reply. "Thank you, oh mighty bard, for keeping me safe from the terrors of the sea." 

"Any time." Eddie smiles broadly again, looking utterly pleased that you'd played along. 

And as your gaze runs over Eddie's dark hair plastered to his cheeks and neck, his long lashes beaded with saltwater, his lips so full and pink and his brown eyes so utterly alive, longing strikes you, swift and potent. Longing that begs you to bury your fingers in those wet curls. To taste the salt on Eddie's mouth. To hold him close, bury your nose in the crook of his neck, and never let him go.

It's so powerful, the impulse, that it zips straight down to pulse hard in your pussy, fluttering the moth wings wildly on the way. You feel your face sway instinctually toward him, your eyes dipping beyond your control to his lips. And as you register the dawning realization in Eddie’s eyes when your gaze darts back to beautiful brown, you remember, suddenly, Steve's anger and sadness, the distress he'd felt at the first rule you and Eddie had broken.

And that had been an accident. What you want to do is entirely intentional.

Trepidation and guilt win out. 

As you loosen your arms and legs, Eddie releases his grip immediately to let you put some distance between you. His brow is a little pinched, eyes almost worried until you splash him lightly, lips quirking with a small playful smile. When he smiles back, splashing you boldly, you internally sag with relief.

You and Eddie spend some time playing around in the waves, but it doesn't take long for the appeal of the sun's warm rays to draw you out of the sea. You squeeze the water from your hair as Eddie shakes his like a dog; you're half-amused and half-exasperated as he sprays you with droplets. You'd neglected to bring any towels, so you slick the water off your skin with your hands as best you can; you dry your ears with the hem of your dress, offering it to Eddie so you can both listen to music on the walk back. After, you drop your phone and your AirPod case into your dress pocket without wearing it. You figure you can just carry it for now, and by the time you return to your belongings, your body will be dry enough to put it back on.

The first song on your walk back starts strong.

'You say I want to be your girlfriend—' 

The playful affectation and cheery pop beat of Hemlock Springs' Girlfriend conjure opposing reactions in you and Eddie. While your mouth falls open in a delighted smile, Eddie's nose crinkles, head shaking as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, gesturing sharply. "No. Nope. No way," he says firmly, brow crooked in dismay as you skip ahead of him, entirely unbothered by his vehement rejection of the song.

"It's really catchy!" You protest, head bopping as the synths drop in. "Give it a chance."

Eddie grumbles as he catches up to you, eyeing your swaying shoulders begrudgingly. You walk together briefly before he falls behind, and when you notice he's no longer by your side, you turn, already frowning in anticipation of more complaints about the music. But Eddie's just bending to pick something up in the sand, hand wagging in the water before he straightens and jogs to you. He shows you that he's found a small scallop shell, banded bright red and white. He offers it to you, and you take it from him delicately, happiness blooming along with your brilliant smile. "Thanks, Eddie!" you say, shoulders back to swaying as you start to dance as you walk. You stare down at your scallop shell for another moment before slipping it carefully into the other pocket of your dress.

When the song's bridge hits, you spin to face Eddie, shoulders shaking jauntily, hips wiggling as you sing along: 'Secretly, I'm aiming for a rhythm that exceeds my expectations. Am I ever gonna get it?' You affect an attitude for the second line, rubbing your shoulder against his arm as you pretend to pout before smiling widely, dancing away. 

And you aren't thinking about the people around you as your feet play in the water, the breeze tickles against your bare stomach, and your ass wobbles when you sway your hips. You're not thinking about any of that. You're just in the moment— listening to a treasured song, dancing along the beach beside a treasured person.

By the song's end, you even catch a glimpse of Eddie bobbing his head, though he stops as soon as he sees you looking. Your shit-eating grin makes him huff, but it's too late for him to pretend he wasn't getting into it. You're just about to rib on him when the next song begins— the tonal shift strikes you, and your mirth fades as the acoustic guitar introduces Stephen Sanchez's Hey Girl.

This song is very different from Girlfriend. It's introspective and sentimental. You can feel the longing in his voice when he sings, 'Hey girl, with your head in the clouds: I wanna love you, I wanna love you—'

After the poignancy of earlier when Eddie held you in the waves, this song strikes you as too raw and vulnerable. Overwhelmed, you dig your phone out of your pocket to skip to the next one, but calloused fingers on your arm stop you. "Don't change it. I like this one," Eddie says quietly, voice husky like smoke; you glance to see his eyes fixed on your hand, and you're suddenly grateful he isn't looking at your face. 

Hesitantly, you obey, throat thick with the sentiment of the song. And where there'd been a comfortable gap between your bodies, slowly, by degrees, you feel yourself drifting closer as Eddie does the same, drawn together like you're being pulled in by some invisible force. The longing inside you transforms, sharpening, turning wistful as Eddie's hand brushes yours lightly, light enough to be incidental. But when Eddie's calloused fingers nudge against yours tentatively, you know the brush is deliberate. And though you keep staring straight ahead, you weave your fingers together, holding Eddie's hand as you walk back down the beach together.

You suppose, to all those strangers watching from their towels and beach chairs, that you and Eddie look like an average couple holding hands. But you're not. You're not that at all— not average, and not a couple. Yet when Stephen sings, 'Oh good God, I'm tongue-tied, I'm a landslide when you move,' and you feel Eddie's fingers squeeze yours gently, deliberately, you can't help the tremble of your chin, the slight sting of your eyes as your green quivers, growing taller. The leaves fan, full and plush and soft with downy fuzz. And as small white flowers, tiny and delicate, open their petals, you squeeze Eddie's fingers back. Gently, deliberately. 

A tiny smile blooms on your lips as you feel his thumb rasp slowly across your skin. And all the rest of what you feel— the trepidation, the anxiety, the guilt— it all falls away as you flutter with the tender affection of Eddie's touch.

All too soon, that gaudy lifeguard stand juts ugly into the sky, and as you spot the distant yet familiar forms now sitting in those beach chairs— a hairy man in navy trunks and a petite blonde woman in a bright white string bikini— you feel Eddie's fingers slide from yours. 

The loss of Eddie's hand is acute. It pangs within you hollowly, but you school your features as you approach your boyfriend and friend, whose expressions perk as they spot you and Eddie. And just like your feet sink into the sand, you let your feelings sink down until they're concealed beneath a layer of soft, protective dirt.

"You went in the water?" Steve asks as you approach his side, dropping a quick kiss on his cheek. 

"Wasn't it cold?" Chrissy adds, though she's quickly distracted as she pops up to wrap Eddie in a tight hug. 

"Yup," you reply, pulling your lips into a small smile as Chrissy giggles when Eddie bonks her cheek lightly with his nose. "It was."

–

The afternoon crawls by in snapshots of moments. Chrissy hops on Eddie's back so he can carry her to the beach's exit. You eat lunch at a local Italian restaurant called Crust and split a honey-truffle pizza and some small plates. Chrissy feeds Eddie tiny bites of burrata and prosciutto; Steve leans into you, hand landing comfortably on your knee. You browse the shops at Bayside Marketplace. Steve offers to buy you whatever you want, and he doesn't question when you choose only a dainty gold chain— plain, with nothing hanging from it. Chrissy swings Eddie's hand as they walk ahead of you down the sandstone. Later, you and Steve diverge from them and find yourselves wandering toward the Ferris wheel. 

And as you ride it— gazing out at Miami city, at its tall silver skyscrapers and its turquoise blue waters— you sit across from your boyfriend, Steve Harrington. He's lounging back, toes wiggling in his boat shoes, hair mussed artfully from salt and wind. He is handsome. His nose is alkaline, his brows are thick and dark, and his jaw is strong, dusted by stubble. Steve works at a bank and makes a lot of money. He is athletic, and he loves basketball. He has always been attentive and generous; he gives of himself to you and his friends alike. He has an ex-girlfriend named Nancy, whom he loved and who cheated on him. You've been dating for three years. You lost your virginity to him, and you share an apartment. He's been perfect on this trip. He's made you feel so loved. You love him.

And yet, Steve Harrington doesn't make your wings flutter like Eddie Munson does.

He never has.

And yet… 

As Steve clambers over to your side, you shift on the seat to make room for him. When his arm wraps around your shoulders, you lean into his side. You drag your nails lightly over his abdomen and the fur on his chest until he sighs, humming contentedly. And when Steve ducks his head toward you, you use that hand to cup his cheek as you kiss him.

Because Steve Harrington is your boyfriend, not Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson is Chrissy Cunningham's boyfriend. And you are not Chrissy.

So it doesn't matter how Eddie makes your wings flutter.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter.

If you think it enough, maybe you'll start to believe it.

–

Throwing yourself into your preparations for clubbing wasn't just a welcome distraction— it was a necessary one. Thankfully, lounging on your bed with Chrissy, hair and bodies wrapped in fluffy hotel towels as you scroll Tiktok together, you'd managed to bury your emotions and revelations under a healthy mound of peat. It’s not enough to stifle them, but enough to keep them from surfacing when Eddie emerges from the bathroom in a puff of steam, curls dripping water down his chest to catch on the low-slung towel around his hips. 

Thank goodness for this hotel's overabundance of linens.

About an hour and a half before you plan to leave, you and Chrissy decisively oust the men from the shared bathroom. It transforms into a battleground of razors, toner, and eyeshadow palettes as you arm yourselves for your night out, meticulously readying every inch of your body. After your hair has been texturized, styled, and set, you apply your makeup side-by-side. 

It never ceases to fascinate you how Chrissy can so dramatically transform herself. Where normally she looks so young and innocent, with makeup, she becomes so fierce and sensual— almost like a different person, though you know by now that, really, it's just an extension of her inner self. Today she's opted for sharp black liner in the inner corners that extends out in a thin wing, with a swipe of metallic color on her lids and false eyelashes. Her brows are sharp, too, and she's highlighted her cheekbones to accentuate the angles and contours of her face. Bold, foxy. Totally Chrissy. 

You apply more makeup than you usually do, but you prefer something a little more subtle on yourself. You've tried bold eye makeup before, and while you are trying to step outside your comfort zone lately, you just… don't feel like yourself with it. You opt instead for a slick, nearly nude hue on your lids and plenty of mascara to accentuate the length of your lashes. You spend more time on your skin— you want to achieve a dewy, healthy flush, so you focus on blush and subtle highlight and shadow to add depth, plus a mauve, lush lipgloss that's slightly darker than your natural color. You're thrilled with the final result: it still feels like you, as if you're glowing from the inside. More ethereal.

You fawn over each other's makeup, and as you drop your towels to dress, you notice that Chrissy's efforts to get tan didn't go unrealized. Her skin looks a little more golden than it did this morning, and it accentuates the color of the mini-dress she's chosen for the night. It's a bright orange, not typical for Chrissy but entirely appropriate for the tropical location. Chrissy's dress is strapless, with large triangular cutouts at the ribs that point inwards and give the illusion she has an even smaller waist. She twists to look at herself in the mirror, and you can't help but admire her. She looks gorgeous, and you tell her so.

"Aw, thank you, babes!" She cups your face lightly in her hands and gives you a butterfly kiss with her eyelashes so as not to mess up your makeup. You carefully step into your dress, and Chrissy helps you zipper it; you feel a little sheepish as you look in the mirror, especially with just a tiny, lacy pair of underwear and no bra underneath, but Chrissy squeezes your shoulders reassuringly. "You look so amazing, y/n. This dress is incredible. I'm honestly a little jealous."

"Chris!" you exclaim, spinning to face her incredulously. "Don't even. You are a stone-cold fox. I'm serious— that dress was, like, made for you."

Chrissy beams, blue eyes shining as you flatter her. She drops a quick kiss on your bare shoulder as you examine yourself in the mirror, a small smile blooming as you accept the truth of your friend's words, truly believing them.

You do look amazing.

Your dress is satin, mid-length, with a long slit high up the side to the top of your thigh, revealing a sensual glimpse of your leg. The straps are tiny and thin, and there's a cutout beneath the bust, so it doesn't look right if you wear a bra. But your breasts sit nicely in it; there's enough support to keep you from sagging, and they look plump and natural. The color is a rich cream, like indulgent milk and honey. And, best of all, the dress fits you right— it drapes across your tummy and hips, hugging without clinging. There's no mistaking the wideness of your hips or the softness of your belly in this, but you don't feel fat. 

You feel like Aphrodite. You feel like a goddess.

And you feel even more like one when you and Chrissy emerge from the bathroom, and you come face-to-face with Steve as he turns, futzing with the hem of his short-sleeved blue linen shirt. He's wearing tailored khakis, and his hair is coiffed nicely, but what pleases you the most is how you see the moment his pupils dilate when he lifts his head to see your new dress for the first time.

His eyes drag over the length of your body, lingering in all the right spots, and you feel a little smug as he stutters hoarse nonsense before he can gather himself.

"See?" Chrissy says sweetly, and you glance to see her stepping into her stilettos, leaning on Eddie's shoulder for support. "Told you you look hot."

You don't let your eyes linger on black and white, but a flash is all you need to have your heart thumping. Because, even in Miami, Eddie just can't help himself: he's dressed in another white shirt, though this one is looser and thinner, unbuttoned halfway down his torso to reveal his guitar pick necklace and the dark ink of his chest. His black jeans are tight, his dark boots are chunky, and his rings, bracelet, and chains are the same as they always are. But his hair is, again, pulled into that ponytail. The one you'd told him you found sexy.

Considering whether Eddie had styled his hair this way because of you— or even for you— threatens to disturb the peat you'd so carefully mounded around your growth to protect it, so you pointedly avoid the thought.

Steve's hands find your waist, and you look up into his hazel eyes as he murmurs, "Baby, you look so fucking hot right now. Like…" he chuckles almost incredulously. "Holy fuck. Are you sure we have to go out tonight? Can't I just keep you here and fuck you senseless instead?"

"Steve!" you whisper, slapping his arm and flushing as your eyes dart to the couple beside you. Steve isn't talking very loudly, but for some reason, the idea of them overhearing his lascivious commentary makes you feel squirmy. But Chrissy just chuckles, hooking her thumb through the belt loop on Eddie's black jeans. 

"I mean," she says lowly, eyebrow tugging up suggestively. "We don't have to—"

"No," you interrupt firmly, though your expression is more entreating than commanding. "This is our one night in Miami. We're going."

"All right, all right," Steve chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. "We'll go." He grins at you.

"I was promised dancing," you remind him, not quite pouting.

Eddie chimes in then, for the first time this evening. "Then dancing you will have," he says, and when your eyes dart to his and his mouth tilts in a little crooked grin, you smile back. 

And if some of the dirt shifts to reveal a bit of green or a peek of white flowers, well, could it really be helped?

-

The club Steve and Chrissy chose— picked while they were waiting for you and Eddie to return from your beach walk— seems to provide all the best Miami offers. It's saturated with fractal lighting in modern shapes and colors, deep purples, mauves, and bright golds that crisscross the floors. The effect is nearly dizzying but also entirely stunning, like you've been transported into a cocaine-laden dream. You see that the dance floor is teeming with motion as you shuffle past the bouncers, daisy-chained by your hands to carve a path to the bar. Steve hands you a vodka soda before you've even asked, and you and Chrissy start to suck your drinks down while Eddie and Steve retrieve theirs, eyes scanning the writhing crowd. The bass is pumping, and even without any alcohol yet to hit your bloodstream, you're feeling amped up by the atmosphere of the place. You and Chrissy half-shout your conversation into each others' ears as you wait for the guys to get their drinks.

When Steve's hand finds its place on your hip, you and Chrissy enact your plan: you drag the men to the edge of the dance floor, hips wiggling to a mix of standard club beats interspersed with some hip hop and Urbano. The place is packed, but you form a little four-square together, holding your own against the crowds as you dance and drink. Well, that is, you and Chrissy dance, and Steve does some approximation of dancing, and Eddie mostly stands still, head bobbing as he sips his bourbon. 

Chrissy seems used to Eddie's lack of movement; she dances around him, wiggling her ass against him or drawing her hand across his shoulder as she struts in the tiny square you've formed between you. You are perfectly content to dance alone or with your other two partners; you throw your hands up, sway together with Steve, or dance closely with Chrissy when she saunters your way. You feel buoyant and gleeful as you and Chrissy squeal, joining hands during Maneater by Nelly Furtado, singing it to each other as your men watch you with affection and amusement. This moment— surrounded by your close friends and your boyfriend, loose from drinks, effusive from dancing, comfortable in the knowledge that you look amazing— is what you'd been looking for when you first thought about taking this vacation. 

It feels just as good as you'd hoped it would be.

It doesn't take long for you to feel both a little drunk and a little hot; though the club is indoors, it's humid from the climate and the press of bodies around you, and you feel yourself growing dewy with sweat. When Steve notices you fanning your neck, he offers to take you back to the bar. Chrissy and Eddie follow, too, happy for the respite and a chance for another drink. 

As you sip on a small cup of water, Chrissy's sudden exclamation nearly startles you. "Oh, my God! I can't believe I almost forgot— see that spot over there? Kind of close to the staircase, where the rope is?" You all crane your necks to see where she's pointing. When you look back, she's nearly vibrating with excitement. "I saw on Instagram that if you hang over there, the club promoters may invite you to dance on the stage behind the DJ! And then we could end up in their photos or videos! Can you imagine?!"

You glance over to the spot she's indicated again as Steve replies. "That is pretty sick, Chris. Are you saying you wanna go over there?"

She shrugs, blue eyes wide and shiny. "I mean, it couldn't hurt, right?" She looks around the group, and when her eyes catch yours, you nod your agreement. The idea of dancing on stage does intimidate you a little. But if you're surrounded by Steve, Chrissy, and Eddie, then that might be fun. It would certainly be an experience you've never had before, and then you could say you danced on stage at a Miami nightclub. You catch some of Chrissy's excitement as she beams widely, clutching Eddie and Steve's forearms in eagerness as she taps her stilettos on the ground. "Ah! Okay! Let's go!"

Chrissy's dainty fingers close around your wrist, pulling you forward. You reach back blindly for the next person in the chain, fingers stretching until they make contact with a broad palm. But where you expect softness, you instead encounter roughness, and a quick wide-eyed glance back has you realizing that the hand you've grabbed is pale, wrist adorned with a silver chain bracelet. 

You suppress the flutters that threaten to burst when you realize that you're again holding Eddie's hand. His fingers tighten around yours, gripping a little harder as Chrissy carves a determined path through the crowd on the dancefloor, heading in a diagonal for the spot near the stairs. You remind yourself that his grip is tight to ensure you don't get separated— and, plus, his girlfriend, your friend, has your other wrist in her grasp. Get ahold of yourself. You suppress a sigh of relief when you finally reach the stairs and you can pull gently from both of their grips.

You can't deny that despite being somewhat excited about the prospect of dancing on the DJ stage, you are skeptical that it will actually happen. Yet Chrissy is gorgeous, eye-catching in her sharp eyeliner and her bright orange dress; Steve is handsome, broad and tan with artfully-tousled hair and a charming smile; and Eddie is captivating, statuesque with his pale quartz skin, alluring with those dark eyes, the roguish ponytail, and his inky body armor.

So, really, you should have known better.

You've only been dancing in Chrissy's chosen spot for about twenty minutes when a man with a shaved head, wearing a black blazer fitted with a leopard-print pocket square, approaches your group. He's quite a bit shorter than Steve and Eddie, but he exudes top-dog energy as he smirks at Chrissy. "Hey," he says smoothly, eyes darting around the group, landing briefly on all of you. Well, almost all of you. Your stomach swoops slightly as that familiar feeling creeps up your neck, prickling hot along your skin. Because you can't help but notice that the promoter's eyes skip you over, almost as if you aren't even standing there. 

His gaze lands, somewhat unsurprisingly, on Chrissy. He nods his chin toward the staircase, smirking slightly. "You interested in dancing on stage?"

Despite the squirmy feeling building low in your belly, you can't help but smile at the radiant enthusiasm that fills Chrissy's face, shining in her bright blue eyes. "Oh, my gosh! Really?" Her voice is powdery-soft, and the way she beams when he nods is so sweet that you feel genuinely happy for her. Her eager eyes dart to Eddie next, and the promoter's gaze follows. 

"How about you, guy?" He asks, but Eddie shakes his head, falling back onto one hip.

"Nah, man," he replies, lips quirked in a small sardonic grin. "I don't dance." He glances at Chrissy. "You should go, though, Chris." 

You see Chrissy pout for the briefest second, but she gets over it quickly, too excited to dwell on Eddie's denial. The promoter unhooks and lifts the velvet rope at the base of the staircase, holding out a hand so Chrissy can climb up onto the bottom step. 

That prickling heat, that low squirm of self-consciousness in your belly, is nearly gone as you anticipate the moment being over. But the promoter doesn't replace the rope. Instead, for the first time, you watch his eyes quickly flick you up and down.

You try to suppress the self-consciousness that rises automatically— try to keep yourself from reading the promoter's face to quickly assess his reaction. But you can't help it; you read it anyway. You always do. 

And there is no reaction that you can discern— no twitch of a brow or a lip, no change to the glint of his eyes. But what this man does is almost worse than if he'd made a face. After glancing you up and down, the promoter turns immediately to Steve on your left, asking, "You wanna join her?"

His utter dismissal couldn't be any more obvious to you than if he'd spit in your face.

Entirely oblivious to the subtext of the promoter's interaction— or lack thereof— with you, Steve grins broadly, running a hand through the length of his tousled brown hair. "Yeah, sure," he says smoothly, beginning to join Chrissy on the stairs. On the second step, Steve glances back, frowning as he notices you aren't following. "Wait—"

You cut him off quickly, desperate to avoid any risk of Steve asking why you aren't coming with him. Though the promoter utterly ignoring you is bad enough, forcing a conversation about it would be unbearable. "No, it's okay, Steve. I'll stay with Eddie." You're firm but not tense; you smile brightly to show you're not upset.

And Steve, God love him… in this moment, you're grateful that your boyfriend is such an uncomplicated man. "Are you sure?" Steve's hazel eyes are still hesitant, but you can tell he's on the cusp of conceding. You just need to sell it— that you're not in any way sore about him going to dance on the DJ stage without you.

"Yes!" you exclaim, smile widening, voice earnest. "Go have fun!"

"Okay, babe." Steve smiles back— lopsided, relieved. He walks back down to the two steps so he can say goodbye. "See you in, like, an hour?"

"Sounds perfect," you say decisively, leaning in so Steve can kiss you briefly. You hear the click of the fastener and feel the brush of the velvet against your belly as the promoter replaces the rope then, separating you and Steve.

You wave as you watch him and Chrissy ascend the stairs, eyes deliberately avoiding the promoter as he settles into the corner against the wall. But once they disappear, there's nothing to distract you from the reminder of his dismissal. And you feel it threatening again— that prickling self-consciousness, the low squirm of something approaching shame. 

Quickly, you turn to Eddie. "Can we get another drink?" you ask him, and as he nods mutely, you lead the way back to the bar. 

You skirt along the edge of the dance floor rather than cutting through the middle as Chrissy had, trusting Eddie to keep up with you. When you hover at the corner of the floor closest to the bar, unwilling to elbow your way to the counter, you look for Eddie then. His features are even more intense than usual in the dramatic lighting; his shoulders are set, and so is his jaw as he stops a short distance from you, staring down into your face. As the lighting shifts, you realize Eddie's brow is lightly furrowed, and his dark eyes are unreadable, not warm like they usually are. 

Something is off with Eddie. He hadn't been overjoyed when you were all dancing together, but he'd seemed content. Nothing like he is now— coiled tight as if he's reigning something in. It makes you worried.

When your eyes dart away and return to see his stare hasn't wavered, you ask quietly, "Hey, are you… are you mad or something?"

"No, I'm not mad." There is no hesitation in Eddie's quiet answer, and some of your worry eases. But when he glances away and you see a muscle in his jaw twitching, you realize he isn't done speaking. It takes him a moment, but Eddie eventually looks back at you, voice carefully neutral. "He should have stayed with you."

You frown. "I told him to go," you point out, more puzzled as Eddie's expression doesn't change.

"I know," Eddie says quietly. And the way his intense gaze is piercing you… for the first time in a long time, you have to look away from him.

You hear him sigh as you distract yourself by watching people dance, eyes running over writhing bodies. "You want a drink, right?"

You glance back to find the intensity in Eddie's stare has softened now. "Yeah," you reply, grateful for the change of subject.

"What do you want me to get you?"

You consider another vodka soda, but find you're in the mood for something different. "Um… Sex on the Beach?" you ask, blinking innocently as you watch a smirk curl at the edges of Eddie's full lips. 

His smoke voice is smooth and exaggeratedly sensual as Eddie sways toward you, eyes locked on yours. "I mean, sure, sweet girl. But what do you want to drink?"

"Eddie!" Your face flushes bright red, heat prickling in your cheeks as he laughs huskily. You slap his chest lightly before crossing your arms under your breasts; you're squirming from his teasing, but you can't help the low flutters that awaken at the thought of having sex with Eddie on the beach. Or even in the ocean, in that position he'd held you in this morning— arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs wrapped around his narrow hips, no swim trunks or bikini bottoms separating his warm skin from yours…

Stop it! You chastise yourself, huffing, glaring until Eddie stops laughing. "Sorry," he says wolfishly, not looking the least bit sorry about it. "Couldn't resist."

"Hmph." You level him with one last unimpressed look before he gently takes your wrist.

"Come on," he says, lips tilting fondly. "Stay close to me."

You follow Eddie closer to the bar, hovering near his back as he orders you the drink you'd requested and another bourbon for himself. You carry your drinks to the edge of the dance floor, standing near one another as you sip the fruity alcohol. After just the first sip, it's already so much better than your typical vodka sodas that you question why you'd never tried it before. In fact, you may never go back to vodka sodas now that you've tasted the allure of orange and cranberry with your vodka. 

When your drink is half-gone, and your head is starting to get a little fuzzy, and the sight of bodies dancing is no longer an adequate distraction, you find your thoughts drifting back to what Eddie had said. But… you made Steve go without you. You'd basically forced him to. Right? You find yourself lightly chewing on your lower lip, thumb rubbing absently against the cold glass cradled in your hands. Eddie was there. He'd heard the whole conversation, and when you pointed out that you'd told Steve to go, he'd just said, 'I know.' What was he implying? That you should've asked Steve to stay with you, to give up his fun just because you weren't going with him? 

Is that really fair of you to expect Steve to sacrifice his chance on stage for you? The idea that you could have forced the issue— pouted or begged Steve to stay— makes you feel selfish.

But maybe that's not Eddie's point. He hadn't said, 'You should have asked him to stay with you;' he'd said, "He should have stayed with you." You suddenly realize what Eddie was really trying to communicate: that Steve should have chosen to stay with you. A crease forms between your brows as that realization settles heavily upon you. It begins to coil around your ribcage, squeezing you tight as you find yourself considering a dangerous question.

Would Eddie have stayed with me?

And you find, as the thought pops into your head, that you already know the answer.

You haven't quite noticed the tension overtaking your body until Eddie's hand brushes lightly against your upper back; you flinch, wide eyes darting to his face. "Sorry," he says, withdrawing his hand immediately, and you reassure him quickly.

"No, it's fine. I was just…" you don't have an adequate explanation for what you were doing, so you just trail off, eyes darting back to your drink.

"Do you wanna go dance?"

You purse your lips as you look out at the undulating crowd, the crush of unfamiliar bodies. "Um…" you hedge, but finally admit, "Not really. I don't really wanna dance by myself."

Your eyes flash to Eddie's face as he replies, "I'll dance with you."

"Really?" you blurt. "I thought you said you don't dance."

Eddie chuckles lightly. "I don't. Not usually. But the Latin stuff is pretty good."

You assess his pleasantly neutral expression, the warmth that has returned to his brown eyes. And you read something there— in the way his gaze flicks away and back to yours, brows tugging up, mouth tilting a little further. You could be wrong, but you get the impression that despite Eddie's reasoning, he's only offering to dance because he'd noticed you were in your head. 

He's only doing it for you.

Your smile is genuine, blooming tiny on your face. "Okay," you say softly, and Eddie grins in earnest, leading the way into the crowd. 

Luckily for Eddie, the set seems to be leaning more Urbano now, and the quick mambo beat of Rosalia's Despacha is the perfect remedy for that heaviness shrouding you. You face Eddie, swaying your shoulders and hips, dancing in some approximation of a mambo as you step forward and back to the beat. Eddie gamely starts to sway, too, and you beam as you watch him make an attempt. A little self-conscious flush blooms high on his cheeks as you watch him.

"What?" he questions you defiantly, though it's softened by the self-deprecating grin tugging at his lips. "Didn't you promise to be nice? Remember, your nickname is on the line—"

"I am being nice!" you protest, voice high and giddy with mirth and excitement that Eddie is actually dancing with you. "I'm just happy. Am I not allowed to be happy?" you add plainly.

Eddie's wide grin transforms. "Of course you are," he replies, and the gentle smoke of his voice has you taking a deep, bracing breath to ward off the flutters.

"Good," you huff teasingly, trying to keep the mood between you light. "Then let me watch you dance."

He laughs, husky and full. "All right," he concedes.

And you do— you watch Eddie dance for a while, secretly delighted as he starts to move his shoulders and hips, a little tentatively at first, and then more boldly once his bourbon and your Sex on the Beach are gone. Briefly, you leave your spot to discard them on a nearby table before heading back to the dance floor together.

But when you resume your positions— facing each other with a respectful distance in between— you feel a sudden presence behind you, different from the slight brush of other dancing people. This person is facing you directly; pants rasp against your ass as his broad warmth presses boldly to you, and you're washed by the unfamiliar scent of cheap cologne as hands grasp at your body, one landing high on your waist and the other low on your hip.

You freeze immediately, heart racing, wide eyes darting helplessly to Eddie's face as his gaze flickers between you and whoever this stranger is behind you. In a split second, he's closing the gap between you, face contorted in a frown as you tug from the stranger's grasp to meet him. Eddie's arm wraps around your waist as he pulls you against him, and your instant panic eases. You breathe in smoke and apples, letting Eddie’s scent comfort you, distract you from the unexpected violation of a stranger's unwanted hands on your body. Eddie is clearly uneasy, muscles corded and taut as he stands still, holding you against him for a tense moment until you feel him start to relax.

"Is he gone?" you ask timidly, nose skimming Eddie's throat as you peek at his face.

"Yeah, he's gone." His chest rumbles against yours, and you sigh, relief flooding you as you relax into Eddie's grip. "Um…" You can see him swallow, eyes locked on the pale column of his throat as he pauses before saying haltingly, "Maybe I should, like, stay closer to you. I don't want that to happen to you again."

You shudder a breath, wings fluttering at the thought of dancing— really dancing— with Eddie. "Yeah," you say, voice small. "Yeah, I agree."

His arm loosens so you can turn. The warmth of Eddie's body radiates against your back, brushing just slightly as you start to dance again. As the club beat eases into another Latin hip-hop song, and the relaxed fuzz from the alcohol settles again in your limbs, you sway your hips, feeling Eddie move against you with little teasing brushes of his rough jeans and his loose white shirt. You shift a little closer, pressing lightly back to feel more of him— not too much, just enough to keep constant contact between you. It grounds you, offering comfort in the form of his presence. And he seems to be adapting much better like this— without your eyes on him, he moves more fluidly, and he seems to have more rhythm with these Latin songs than he did with his striptease to Pony . Maybe he was telling the truth about liking the Latin songs more, you think, a tiny smile crossing your lips as you settle into the music again.

And as you dance with Eddie, you grow used to the feeling of his body moving behind you, so that your mind starts to wander. And turned away from him, without his face to look at, your eyes drift to the people around you. To all the women in their tiny mini-dresses, their tanned legs so thin and shapely in their giant heels. To their little waists and their lithe arms, just like Chrissy. You don't want to, but you go there, back to when the club promoter's eyes flicked over you, assessing your body and finding it lacking.

Not trim enough. Not thin enough. Not pretty enough.

It's not what you want to be thinking about right now. You want to be enjoying yourself, dancing in a Miami nightclub with a treasured person. But once the thought wriggles back into your brain, there's no shaking it; you can't stop dwelling on it.

You can never help yourself when it comes to this.

Your rhythm falters; you lose the beat, and Eddie's smoky voice is quick in your ear. "What is it? What's wrong?"

You stop dancing to turn in Eddie's arms and face him. Almost as if it's automatic, his hands settle lightly on your waist, and you drape your arms over his shoulders— not holding tight, just resting there. Your mouth twists as you consider how the memory of that man's appraisal has begun to eat you up inside, devouring all the happiness you'd found here tonight. And Eddie's brown eyes are warm, and his expression is receptive. He never judges you; he's so kind. And he always tries to help you. He always does.

So you tell him what's wrong.

"I just… was thinking about the club promoter," you say quietly, speaking to Eddie's chest; you can't quite meet his eyes. "How he barely even looked at me, almost like I didn't exist to him. Well," you chuckle breathlessly, a little uncomfortable. "I obviously know why he didn't, like, ask me to go on stage. I mean—" You glance down your body before your eyes land back on Eddie's chest. "I'm not exactly… you know…" You swallow against the lump in your throat, pushing the words out, hoping that by voicing them, they'll have less power. "I'm not as small as the other girls—"

Eddie cuts you off, and your eyes snap to his face to see his brown eyes wide and incredulous. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?" He sounds utterly baffled. Utterly disbelieving. "You're… you're so beautiful. Sexy as hell, I swear to Christ." He chuckles his disbelief as you look up at him hesitantly, face still angled down. When he sees you haven’t responded, Eddie frowns; his hand leaves your waist to gently but firmly lift your chin. "Listen, sweetheart. Don't worry about that guy. That guy's probably never been with a beautiful woman in his life. Never even touched one, I bet. Probably has a shriveled little baby carrot dick."

You wrinkle your nose, half-amused, half-disgusted by the crudeness of his final remark. Eddie laughs at himself, shaking his head slightly as he ducks closer to your ear to mutter, "Sorry, but if I'm totally honest, I'm only half-checked in to what I'm saying right now 'cause I'm distracted." 

You try not to think about how warm his breath is against your ear. "Distracted by what?" 

"By trying not to pop a boner with you dancing on me, sweetheart." 

You pull your head back to stare at him incredulously, a little awkward giggle escaping your lips. And it must be clear that you don't believe him because Eddie's eyebrows flick up, and his expression shifts slightly.

"I'm serious," Eddie argues through a chuckle. "What, you think I'm joking?" Carefully, he presses his hips closer so you can feel him. And your eyes widen slightly as you do, proving how Eddie really wasn't kidding. How he's a little stiff behind the thick black denim of his jeans. 

"Oh, my God," you mutter, cheeks flushing as you purse your lips against a bashful smile. 

"See?" Eddie says, lightly teasing, but quieter now. "Told you." 

And now that his point has been made, it's the right time for Eddie to move away. But Eddie doesn't move away. And the press of Eddie's pelvis against you feels good. And he just told you that you're beautiful and sexy, and the smoke of those words is settling inside you, filling you rich and heady. And the song that's just begun is slower, more sensual than the ones before. Alluring, drawing you in, just like the brown of those beautiful eyes, the dark curls framing his pale quartz face.

Gradually, Eddie's black and his white draw you in until, almost by instinct, you start to sway your hips against his.

You feel Eddie's chest expand in a deep breath as you move against him. But, though he tenses for a split second, he still doesn't draw back. Instead, Eddie's leg shifts, slotting between yours as he starts to move with you.

The feeling of Eddie's warm body is even more tantalizing like this, facing him. You relish the feeling of his hands on your hips, fingers resting lightly as you sway together, hips rocking in rhythm with the music. You notice the tickle of his loose shirt against your chest, your breasts brushing against the fabric through sheer satin as you dance. You listen to the song: ‘Pasa el día con él, yo soy tu gato de noche.’ You don't know what it means, but your blood is heating, belly fluttering low as Eddie presses close to you— a novel feeling through your clothes and his, out here in public rather than in the security of your bedroom. And you can feel the other people around you, bodies moving, grazing lightly against yours as the space packs in. You release a breath and wonder if it tickled the sliver of his bare chest when you feel Eddie's fingers twitch on your hips.

His voice is hoarse as he mutters against your forehead. "Can I touch you more?"

"Please," you breathe, and the word is nearly a sigh of relief as Eddie's hands drag across the satin of your dress, smoothing over the small of your back. Your arms tighten around his shoulders as you press yourself closer, breasts now tight to his chest, skin sticking together where his shirt is open. The thought strikes you suddenly that Eddie is a little sweaty— you can see his hairline is damp, and his hands feel warmer than usual, damp as they drag up silk to find the skin of your back. And the impulse strikes you suddenly: the desire to lick up the center of Eddie’s chest, to drag your tongue along the ink of his armor and taste the salt on his skin. Your pussy pulses, moth wings fluttering low as you imagine it. 

As you do, inevitably, the other emotions reemerge. Trepidation. Fear. Concern for Steve's anger. Guilt over the intentionality of breaking another rule. But Eddie's hands are so tender as they rasp over your skin, and you feel so safe in his arms. And you're in the middle of this writhing crowd, cloaked in anonymity and alcohol and neon lights and sensual music. And when you press your hands to Eddie's back, dragging them up his neck until your fingers tease at the edge of his hairline— the green reemerges from your protective mound of soil, flowers quivering, moth wings fluttering with a deep and powerful yearning. One that can no longer be suppressed. 

One that surges up from the bottom of you.

Your face draws back, angling up at the same moment that Eddie's tips down. And you get only a glimpse of those brown eyes burnished to deep amber, a flash of white teeth behind full pink lips as he begins to rasp, "Can I k—?"

His words are cut off as you pull him by the back of his neck into a desperate kiss.

Eddie deepens the kiss immediately, and the brush of his tongue into your open mouth is sheer blissful relief. You moan against his lips, a little pathetic mewl that makes you rush hot with embarrassment that you'd make that sound in public. But it just spurs Eddie on; his arms haul you flush against his body as his tongue dips insistently past your lips. You taste him back, lips pressing hard as bourbon and spice fill your mouth. And somewhere in the midst of this, you've stopped dancing, and so has he, though his hands are still roving over your back, grasping at you with a desperation that matches your own. 

As you lick into his mouth, the little sound Eddie makes has you shuddering, goosebumps rushing over your skin despite the heat of the dance floor. Your heart is pounding, pussy throbbing in time; and it's so utterly wanton, but Eddie's leg is still between yours, so purely by instinct, your hips twitch, dragging yourself in a little jerk against the roughness of his jeans. 

Flutters burst low, mixing with arousal as Eddie bends you back, hands dragging firmly down to grab your ass and press your hips against him. And that— your hips twitching, Eddie's hands on your ass— is what brings you back to yourself. You become suddenly cognizant that you're currently in public, basically dry-humping this man who is not your boyfriend on the dance floor.

The realization douses you like ice water, and you pull your mouth from Eddie's with a little gasp, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. Your chest is still heaving into his, and the breath that puffs against your lips still makes you flutter, but your face is creased with hesitance now. Eddie registers the shift immediately, pulling you out of the bend, though his arms still hold you close. He's breathing hard, cheeks lightly flushed as the warm brown of his eyes meets your gaze.

"Eddie," you whisper, voice soft and regretful. "We shouldn't. Not while we're alone."

And you half–expect a bit of Eddie's black to show, for him to guard himself in a wolfish grin and joke to break the tension.

But Eddie shudders a deep breath, almost a sigh, and you see his adam's apple bob in a thick swallow. "You're right," he says quietly. "I'm sorry."

And you hate to see how those beautiful brown eyes cloud, how those full pink lips, now swollen from your kisses, turn down at the corners. Your brow tugs up as you soothe your hand softly against Eddie's cheek. "Don't be sorry," you say softly, tenderly tucking some of the short curls that brush his jaw behind his ear. 

Eddie's eyes are molten as he leans in, and your lashes flutter as he kisses your cheek, lips warm as they linger there. And though it's long been there, the growth at the bottom of you, it's the first time that you truly feel it— the unfurling of your petals, the quivering of your leaves as Eddie holds you close and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.

And you admit now that it's fruitless to try to convince yourself it doesn't matter how you feel about Eddie. Because you know it does. You know it.

–

You're on the beach. The sand is cold now, and the ocean is a black, churning mass, nearly indistinguishable from the night sky. The breeze is no longer balmy; instead, it chills you, cutting straight through your milk and honey satin. Arms cradle you from behind, partially shielding you from the sting as they hold you against a firm body. Your hands rest perfunctorily on the forearms encircling your waist, and your head is tipped back against the chest behind you. Citrus and sea salt lingers in your nose.

You're waiting for the fireworks to begin.

Chrissy's stilettos are loose. One of them tipped over when she dug her toes into the fine sand, and you stare at them to avoid looking at the couple beside you. You feel the rise and fall of Steve's chest as he breathes behind you. You feel the warmth from his body along the length of your spine. 

You feel the tilt of your green as it strives, reaching, searching for smoke and ink.

Your eyes are drawn to the sky with the first whistle and pop. Big and small, circular and narrow, red, pink, and orange arches— colors burst against the darkness in a rain of sparks that fizzle toward the water. It's enchanting, a stunning display of corporeal magic.

You're no longer watching it.

Instead, your eyes are fixed on black and white. 

Chrissy's arms are around his waist, clinging to him tightly, her back turned to you as she rests her cheek against his chest. Eddie's chin is on top of Chrissy's head, and his eyes are turned up to the sky. You can see the reflection of the fireworks in Eddie's eyes, and this is how you watch the show.

You can't help but notice that Eddie looks pensive. Melancholy, almost, as he watches the magic show. You think of his fingers squeezing yours gently, deliberately, as you listened to that song, walking together along the beach. You think of the tightness in his jaw when he told you Steve should have stayed with you at the club. You think of the dullness in his brown eyes when he apologized for kissing you, for breaking the first rule.

A flick and Eddie's dark eyes no longer reflect the colors in the sky. Instead, they're caught on yours, staring back as you watch him. And when you see it— the intensity of his gaze, the same intensity that your eyes had darted from earlier— you no longer look away.

The light show ends. A smooth voice behind your head asks, "Do you guys wanna head back to the hotel now?"

You are the first to speak. "Yes."

#tkym #blueywrites #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #chrissy cunningham

[mariacallous]

Ahead of the New Hampshire primary on Tuesday, a liberal Gen-Z-led group has purchased a handful of domain names related to the top Republican primary candidates in an effort to extinguish support from young voters.

“Republicans are not investing in outreach to young people, and we know why,” Jessica Siles, deputy press secretary for Voters of Tomorrow, said in a statement to WIRED on Friday. “Their regressive, radical stances on abortion rights, guns, climate change, and other top issues are overwhelmingly unpopular with Gen Z. Since Trump and Haley won’t accurately inform young people of their views, we will.”

Voters for Tomorrow has bought up new domain names—GenZforTrump.org and GenZforHaley.org—in an effort to sway young voters in battleground states from backing Republicans in the 2024 election. The websites will redirect to another site, GenZvsFarRight.org, which the group says will outline how “out-of-touch” the GOP’s platform is with the needs of young voters. On the redirected site, the group outlines Trump and Haley’s records on the environment, LGBTQ+ rights, and gun safety, among other issues, without explicitly encouraging people to vote for Biden.

To reach them, the group is launching a digital ad campaign across Instagram and Snapchat, hoping to reach at least half a million users in battleground states where they say the youth vote could make a difference for Democrats. “Gen Z will determine our next president,” the ads say, as they ask users to visit the websites for more information on Trump and Haley. Michigan, Wisconsin, North Carolina, Arizona, and Florida are some of the states where these ads will run, and the group plans to spend as much as it takes to reach at least half a million voters, Jack Lobel, Voters of Tomorrow's 19-year-old national press secretary, told WIRED on Friday.

For nearly a decade, domain trolling, or the act of buying up URLs related to an opposing candidate and redirecting them to unfavorable information, has become a popular digital media tactic for campaigns. In 2015, Senator Ted Cruz and former Hewlett-Packard CEO Carly Fiorina had domains related to their GOP presidential campaigns swiped up by trolls before they were able to grab them. CarlyFiorina.org, at one point, displayed 30,000 sad-faced emojis to represent the workers she laid off at HP. In 2020, the Biden campaign bought KeepAmericaGreat.com, the Trump campaign’s reelection slogan, attacking Trump’s handling of the pandemic.

“P.S., If the GOP candidates had invested in young voter outreach efforts like we are, maybe we wouldn’t have acquired these website domains in the first place,” stated Voters of Tomorrow’s press release.

It’s impossible to know whether these domain trolls have the power to sway voter sentiment. But Voters of Tomorrow thinks they do. “Trump is the greatest threat to our generation, and we’re going to continue to expand that belief in our generation throughout this project because the stakes of the 2024 election are unprecedented,” Lobel said.

In 2020, young people came out to vote in record numbers and arguably helped turn the election in Biden’s favor. But a recent poll from the Harvard Kennedy School has shown that the same demographic appears less likely to vote in 2024 than in the prior presidential election, declining from 57 percent to 49 percent. The poll reported that a plurality of these voters distrust Biden and Trump to act on critical issues like climate change, gun violence, and health care, which could dampen their desire to vote in this year’s election. Those same voters said Trump was the better choice to address the current crisis in Gaza over Biden by 5 percentage points.

These numbers could spell trouble for Biden and the Democrats come November. Around 41 million Gen-Z voters will be eligible to vote for the first time in 2024, according to Tufts University. Of those voters, more than 8 million of them will be first-time voters, and could play an outsize role in electing the next president.

“Young voters have historically been left out of the political process, and that changed with the election of Donald Trump in 2016. Young voters realized their power. And since then, we’ve been showing up in droves to shape elections,” Lobel told WIRED. “Going into 2024, we have to build on that power.”

[flyingcakeee]

Little thing I wrote before I passed out yesterday

Can be interpreted as a friendship or ship, your choice really.

Yeah so what if Max was hard on himself and Logan had only recently learned how harmful it is to be super hard on yourself?

Max has never been the one to truly understand and respect motivational talks. Just say you're going to do it, no need to truly hype yourself up like you're in a zombie apocalypse movie and you need to make some seemingly impossible jump to get away from said zombies. Max has lived by one motto and one motto only since ‘23 Baku, don't let anyone else win. Yeah, sure, some rookie got a sprint win, but that's not the real deal. Max wasn't given the right car in Singapore, he'll never let Singapore again. His teammate took two wins from him, Max won't let him win ever again.

Max promised his dad “I'm the only winner” and he would stand by it. That was all the motivation Max ever needed, “only winner”.

>~<

Monaco, May 25th, 2024

Max fucked it all up.

Monaco is all about precision, being exact and never more or less, no mistakes allowed. Qualifying had started 8 minutes prior when Max finally got out to do his flying lap that would no doubt put him into Q3 if it worked as such.

No heroics into Saint Devote, the wall is spared from any touch of the RB20. Beau Rivage treats Max with kindness, a breeze to fly through. Massante doesn't hold any hidden traffic, nothing to ruin Max’s lap. Casino is as simple as ever and the Mirabeau hairpin yields to Max’s power. Portier is fine, the tunnel after is simple as it can be. Max flies through the Nouvelle Chicane, a spectacle to all the fans who watch. Tabac, Max run’s wide. A quick correction fixes him for that turn, runs him into the wall at Swimming Pool, taking his front left tyre off and ending his quali before he can even set a time.

Max couldn't set a time.

Red flags were waved and Max opted to walk the track back to the pitlane, hanging his head in embarrassment and anguish as he did so. It was a slow walk, marshals long since giving up to stop him. The Monegasque streets have never seemed so quite to Max until now, nor have they seemed this long.

When Max returned to the pitlane, crews looked at him with utter pity, all stepping away as he slowly trudged his way towards the RedBull garage. All but one person.

A flash of white and dark blue stopped Max in his tracks, the white, red, and blue helmet stopping in front of Max and the hands of the man gently grasping his shoulders. Max looked up into the eyes of the North American, unsure where this extremely reserved and quiet rookie got the courage to stop him, the Max Verstappen.

“Pick yourself up, Max,” the American started, the only noise Max could hear for miles on end.

Of course, it was a motivational speech but he couldn't bring it in himself to push the young driver away.

“Don't let one bad qualifying session define you. Trust me, I've let every session I've ever done define me and you see where I've ended up, nearly losing my seat and only getting as high as P11. If the race doesn't go well either, it's fucking Monaco. Anything can happen, Monaco can be unforgiving to any driver. Just pick yourself back up for the race tomorrow and then pick yourself up more for Canada. Don't be too rough, we're human. We can't be perfect, that includes you. Who cares if you lose one race and win the rest, it's better than your record last year still.”

Max felt himself completely focused on the Williams driver. Somehow, he felt he could listen to this motivational speech. Maybe it was the fact that Logan quite literally put his own problem into it and told Max to not be him. Maybe it was the fact that it, indeed, was Monaco, an unforgiving track to even the best drivers. Maybe it was Logan’s hands on his shoulders grounding him, keeping Max there with Logan and not wallowing in self pity.

“You'll be fine, don't let your name get to you. Don't be Max Verstappen all the time, you need to just be Max as well.”

The Floridian removed his hands, a quick pat and smile to the Dutchman before he moved over, allowing Max to finish his walk to the garage. Max gave a small smile back and continued on his way, the message replaying in his mind for quite a bit of time.

>~<

Monaco, May 26th, 2024

Max forgave Monaco, Monaco forgave him back. The top step of the podium became Max’s home, only he could be standing on the top step at all this year. He distinctly remembers seeing Logan give him a curt thumbs up when he was about to do his interview, not actually walking over to talk on the contrary.

“Fantastic recovery performance from you, Max!” the reporter said with excitement, wanting to hear how Max would agree.

“Yeah, it's been a while since I started that low down,” Max joked. “I have to thank my crew for repairing my car so quickly. Couldn't be up here if they weren't working so hard.” The ‘thanks to Logan for giving me a little motivational speech yesterday when he saw I was upset’ went unsaid, Max unsure if he should be thanking another driver in this condition.

“You and another driver, Sargeant, exchanged words after your crash yesterday. Any chance you can tell us what was said there?”

Max laughed, “That's between Logan and I, it was a very private conversation.”

>~<

This time, Max promised to listen to Logan’s motivational spews and not promise his father an always Q3 quali result promise. Plus, Max did Alex a favor and made Logan socialize more.

#formula 1 #f1 #logan sargeant #max verstappen #I feel as if Max would be really hard on himself considering he told his dad that he'd never lose to Checo again #And Logan would hate seeing people down because that was always him and always on the receiving end of motivational speeches #so Logan would try to cheer up Max #idk #I'm tired really #I genuinely looked up a track map of Monaco purely for the names #kinda based on the fact that Max has been relatively supportive over Logan from 2015 onwards

[cutestkilla]

It's Wednesday again somehow, isn't it? All right, I can accept that.

Thanks for the tags today @cosmicalart @artsyunderstudy @youarenevertooold and @angelsfalling16, and thanks for all the Sunday tags as well @letraspal @hushed-chorus @j-nipper-95 @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @iamamythologicalcreature @bookish-bogwitch @confused-bi-queer @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @theearlgreymage @orange-peony @ileadacharmedlife @forabeatofadrum @alexalexinii @larkral @nightimedreamersworld and @ic3-que3n. Boy there's so much excellent stuff being made right now, it's awesome.

Today, I'm sharing a bit more from Chapter 2 of Hiding Out In The Open. (My Simon and Baz bond over a psychology podcast fic written for the lovely @artsyunderstudy.) I'm NEARLY done with this chapter, hoping to post very soon. Here's some Baz. It's a bit long so I've stuck it under the cut.

This whole thing was impossible to predict. That I’d have spent the past several days messaging back and forth with Snow. I never expected him to give me his number in the first place, never thought he’d take my phone in his sturdy hands and type it in there himself. I pull it out now and caress the screen, where Simon touched it, like the pathetic sap that I am. Of course this—nearly midnight on a weeknight when any civilised person would know better—is the exact moment Fiona chooses to throw open the door to the bedroom with a bang. “Aha!” Her lips twist in a smirk. “I knew you had a bloke.” “And I told you I don’t.” I tuck the phone tidily back into my pocket. “Oh come on, Basil, there’s no need to hide Randy or Ryan or whatever his name is from little old me. Why don’t you bring him ‘round? I don’t bite.” I internally curse her inexplicably keen powers of observation. (I may have renamed Snow’s contact record to ‘Roger Rain’, just in case. And if she’s managed to pick up on that, I shudder to think what else she's seen.) “You don’t, but your questionable choice for a life partner does. And so do I, for that matter.” She leans against the doorway, crossing her arms and cocking a suggestive eyebrow. “Some people like a little bite, you know.” “Spare me the details of your love life, Fiona.” Her eyes sparkle at my discomfort. “I wouldn't even say he's a friend.” She comes over and takes me by the jaw, squeezing my mouth into a pout with her fingertips. “This smile I keep seeing on your sweet little face tells another story, boyo. And it’s like you said: this summer is your chance to be yourself.” She waggles her eyebrows at me. “But fine, play it your way. You know I’ll find out in the end.”

Tagging some more fine folks: @shrekgogurt @ivelovedhimthroughworse @creepyspice @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @moodandmist @whatevertheweather @whogaveyoupermission @technetiumai @thewholelemon @raenestee @onepintobean @captain-aralias @aristocratic-otter @palimpsessed @ionlydrinkhotwater @alleycat0306 @prettygoododds @valeffelees @blackberrysummerblog @stitchyqueer @martsonmars @brilla-brilla-estrellita @wellbelesbian

#wip wednesday #my writing #hiding out in the open

[kiskyz]

Yandere Vyn Profile

Template made by @cinnamonest can be found here! Thank you<3

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

Vyn is very aware. Like very. Very. This is thanks to his voice tapes from when he does his self-psychological checkups. He realizes throughout the recordings, his feelings are changing from just an innocent crush to something darker. He doesn’t know how to react at first. He should try to stop his condition from worsening, but he’s curious. He wonders what brought along this change, and if it’s really all that bad.

You don’t notice any behavior change when he meets you the next time, and you never notice. There is a change though. He’s very subtle. He slowly starts to use psychology techniques on you, to have you isolate yourself. The only person’s change in behavior is you.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Vyn isn’t very likely to kidnap you unless his feelings get to the point of not wanting anyone to see you. If he eventually does kidnap you, it's after a long build-up of events. Events he didn’t predict. Despite it all, he is confident in his abilities to manipulate your mind and in turn have you under his control.

He also may kidnap you simply because he thinks it’ll be entertaining. 

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape?

It’s nearly impossible to escape from Vyn; if you do, it’s most likely a result of Vyn letting you. He knows you and your mind like the back of his hand, he can tell the minute you even start to consider it. When you first think of an escape plan, you get a certain feeling of hope and anxiety. You have this certain expression that he has grown to almost, like. He finds your escape attempts humorous. You can’t believe you can really outsmart him? The way your mind thinks of uses for so many random items has him appalled. The human mind can get incredibly creative when put into dire situations.

After you fail at your escape Vyn comes to you with a smile. A smile you absolutely despise. It makes you feel so humiliated, so condescending, you want nothing more than to rip his face apart. You can also tell how excited he gets. The whole time you're being dragged away to punishment, he has a bit of a skip and a giddy expression. Disgusting.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Do you really think you can do such a thing to a psychologist? A skillful one at that.

He may go along with it, he wants to see how you do. After he reveals that he knew what you were doing the whole time, he’ll begin to teach you how to manipulate people better. His inner professor comes in very unexpected situations. His criticism really brings you back to college.

But yeah no you’ll fail. He’ll see through all your attempts in a heartbeat.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

Vyn is relatively lenient, at least it may seem like it. He seems to have trust in you, but he truly trusts himself. He trusts his own manipulation. You don’t realize how many privileges you don’t have in reality since you're the one taking them away. The only privilege you truly have is the illusion of free choice.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Despite his thoroughness, you will still break rules whether by accident or on purpose. His rules, or rule, are very simple. Just ask him for permission. Although you wouldn’t describe it with the word “permission” more like his suggestion. You may ask him if you should go somewhere and he’d advise you not to.

His punishments vary, but they mostly always have something to do with physical pain. He also has very creative punishments. He most likely came up with these punishments when he was bored at work. As he sits in his chair waiting for his next patient he wonders how truly effective is sensory deprivation. How can he make it even more effective? Punishments are a learning opportunity for both you and him. If you're in his home office one day, you may see a notebook on his desk filled with past punishments.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Vyn never feels threatened by “rivals.” He thinks of rivals as just idiotic people who have guts. All that said and done, he still has to drive it into them that they have no chance with you. Depending on his mood he may “gently” tell them you’re taken or give them a little psychological breakdown! He doesn’t often do the ladder because it takes a decent amount of effort but he definitely enjoys it more. Sometimes these psychological breakdowns lead to an unfortunate death.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

It’s hard to make him mad. The only way you can make him mad is to do something serious that he didn’t see coming. He always is amazed when you do something unpredictable, it reminds him of why he began to like you. Yet if this action is breaking free from his manipulation, he is furious. If you ever outsmart him on the psychological level his poker face cracks. 

There are different levels to his anger and you rarely see the worse. His anger is usually covered up unless it’s for something petty. He loses himself when he loses his temper. When he gets this mad, he excuses himself from the room to try and calm himself. He can’t trust himself in that condition.

Do they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

He views all people as beneath him whether he realizes it or not, and you are no different. He sees you as under him. You are indeed very smart, but at the end of the day, you are just an empathetic person. You sometimes are blinded by personal feelings when dealing with certain cases. He doesn’t make it a big deal though. You would never even know he thinks of you as anything below him.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you? 

He is very determined whether he even knows it or not (he does.) Although he doesn’t have to try that hard to get you to love him, he does. Psychology knows a lot about love. He knows what can make someone fall for another. What he does may even be considered as PUA techniques just with a different outcome. When he eventually gets you to love him back, he wants to see how far he can push it. Maybe he can make you love him as much as he loves you.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

His knowledge of psychology is what really differentiates him from others. It’s almost a sort of cheat code in a sense. Although other yanderes may be able to manipulate their s/o, he is on another level. The chances of you even realizing what is happening are very, very low, and even if you do learn of it, he knows how to speed up the Stockholm syndrome process.

#yandere tears of themis #yandere tot #yandere vyn ritcher #yandere vyn #yandere vyn ritcher x reader #yandere vyn x reader #yandere profile #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #tears of themis☁️💕 #yandere profile☁️💕

[humansofnewyork]

(10/13) “I was 48 years old when they let me out. Twelve years of incarceration. The HIV medication had decayed my bones so badly, I could barely walk. I needed two full hip replacements. When they were checking me out at Discharge, the guards made a joke. They said: ‘See you when you get back.’ Same joke they make with everyone. It’s what they want. They want you back. Because without inmates, there’s no funding. No free labor, no correction officer picnics, no paid overtime. They need you coming back; 78 percent of inmates are reincarcerated within 3 years. ‘See you when you get back.’ Not me, motherfucker. Not 56134066. You’re never seeing me again. I’ve lost too much time. I decided right then, limping across that parking lot, that I was going to beat these people. And there’s only one way to beat a system incentivized by your failure, and that’s by succeeding. They don’t lift a finger to help you. They let you out with no money, no clothes. No health coverage. Not even a fucking driver’s license. At least someone from the clemency initiative escorted me to a halfway house in the Bronx; most guys just get dumped at the bus stop. The halfway house is just another arm of the criminal justice system. So many rules that it’s nearly impossible to get a full-time job. Most guys just give up, but I tried. I sent out applications to restaurant after restaurant. I’d see the same ‘Help Wanted’ ads in the newspaper for weeks. But the moment they found out about my record, they didn’t want help from me. Not 56134066. I developed a phobia of telling people about my past. I couldn’t hear it one more time. It’s the same message, coming from everywhere: ‘You made your choice. You’ve chosen to belong to this class of people. Now stay there.’ The whole world is saying it: scumbag, scumbag, scumbag. Then somehow, all on your own, living off food stamps, despite all your regret, all your self-loathing, you’ve got to summon the fortitude to not believe them. While the whole time it’s right there. One sniff. One sniff to erase everything: the HIV, every year I spent in prison, every cop, every CO, every judge that made me feel like nothing. One sniff to feel invincible again.”

[xotaemintol]

TAEMIN: BACK TO YOU (HC REQUEST)

*side note, I’m not the best at writing fluff lol, it’s been some years since I’ve writing fluff that wasn’t full of cliches or overly dramatic, but I can assure you that after I dust off the hopeless romantic version of me hiding in the closet I will be posting more fluff even outside of requests* (requested by @criistig10) I hope you like it, sorry for the wait🫶🏾😸

Fluff, slight angst if you squint super hard, and (female) idol/actor y/n.

•You and Taemin dated for about four to five years before you broke up

-it was kinda like a twin flame, meant to be, crossed lovers, another half of me, my mirror, type of love, you were basically in love before even dating and when you finally did make things official, you became that obnoxiously happy and in love couple that everyone expected to get married

-Jonghyun, Kibum, Minho, and Jinki often joked that if he broke up with you, they'd be more heartbroken than you just because they were that supportive of your relationship

-you didn’t immediately go public with your relationship, instead, you kept it private and that was fine for both of you since his idol lifestyle and your actor/idol lifestyle can be a little unforgiving to relationships

•unfortunately, your relationship ended due to both of your hectic schedules

-you had just got cast for a new drama with Lee Dongwook and Im Siwan, and Taemin was scheduled to tour with Superm, meaning that you hardly had any time to spend together, you both always found yourself stressed out trying to scrape together more than two hours to see each other but it just became too much eventually

-at first, it wasn’t that bad, but right after his tour with Superm ended, he began working on his solo comeback, so there was no time to be together and go on cute dates or even talk really

-after a while even texting and phone calls became too much, at first you never even worried about texting him since Taemin is infamous for his horrible texting skills, but with that being your last resort you had no other choice but to deal with it

-Taemin tried his best to keep up and get better at responding to texts, he’d text you first every morning and try to respond within at least five minutes, but since you were still doing promotions for the new drama you’d take hours to respond

-just when you were done with all of your promotions and things were starting to seem better, Taemin was once again preparing for a new comeback with SHINee and had multiple reality shows and interviews to do, so even though you were free, he was extremely busy

-it only got worse when you started working on music again, it wasn’t like it was your choice though, your company was adamant about you working on a new album, so in the same year that Taemin had been working with Superm, working on a new solo album, and album with Shinee, (not to mention all of the lives he’d do), you were working on dramas, music, reality shows, and even hosting for award shows.

-It’s needless to say that neither of you had the time on your hands for a relationship at the time.

•You both tried to make time to talk, but it seemed nearly impossible, he was always out either doing photoshoots, promos, shooting music videos, recording, or practicing, and you were either recording for new songs, rehearsing for new shows, doing interviews, or doing promos and photoshoots

-eventually got too tiring for both of you and when you did finally get a second alone, you had your first real fight

-Taemin was upset that you were spending so much time with others and not him and you were upset that he made it seem like you had a choice to

-a hour of arguing later and a few raised voices, Taemin apologized and admitted that all of the work has been getting to him and seeing you get so close with others was making him jealous and it just hasn't been helping

- you accepted his apology, he's always been the first to apologize even if it wasn't ever an argument, if he upset you in the slightest, he'd be the first to say sorry.

•Unfortunately, even though he apologized and things seemed fine, he realized that you were both just too stressed for a relationship and decided that you should go on a break until you were both free again

-it was a hard decision to make, but after he explained that he would only be until you were both done with your current situation, you agreed and decided that it would be the last night that you stayed together

-Taemin didn't want to let you go, he made sure he held you closely and constantly reminded you that he loves you, he didn't want to say anything but he was worried that you'd decide that you didn't want to continue things, what he didn't know was you felt the same

•After just a month of being split, you were finally finished with your insane schedule, but Taemin was only getting deeper into his, eventually, you decided to take a hiatus so you could be sure that you wouldn't be busy when he finished

-you announced to your fans and explained that you'd be back soon and that you would be taking time away due to personal reasons since you had never gone public about your relationship

-when Taemin heard about it he assured you that the second he was able to, he'd come back to you and make sure things would be completely perfect, he even promised to watch that show you had been bugging him about and him being his dramatic self, planned a whole romantic dinner and started to prepare a gift you'd never expect

•But, the day before he finished, he was told about his enlistment, and before being able to go back to you, he had to enlist and without being able to properly say goodbye, he left

-you were shocked when he called you about it, you cried immediately but tried your best to be strong, you didn’t want to worry so much but it was starting to look like you’d never end this break and his worrying didn’t make it any better

-it hurt you so deeply to see pictures of him leaving all over, no matter where you went, you saw pictures of him all over, a poster saying goodbye, videos of his live the week before, and edits of him with Shinee and Superm, it all made you sob, you missed him so much

-but he was in the same boat, fans of yours were posting clips and edits of you wishing for a healthy break, writing about how much they’d miss you and the drama you were in before leaving began to trend so much that he couldn’t avoid it

-the first week of being gone, he began watching other shows you had filmed, even though watching them made him tear up every time, he missed your face and felt comforted by seeing you.

•After two long years of him being gone, you were still on hiatus, the breakup had torn you to shreds and you just couldn't take going back to work

-you expected him to be back sooner but it felt like the universe didn't want you to be happy, his discharge was pushed back three more months and you were left waiting again

-you hadn't talked the entire time of his being there because he used his free time to talk to his family and his members, you assumed that he just got over you though, not knowing that he mentioned you every time he talked to anyone else

-he tried texting you and calling, but every time he ended up getting distracted by something else

•When Taemin went to Jinki's concert (just a month before his discharge) he saw a poster of you hanging outside of the stadium saying that you were staring in a new show

-he immediately looked it up and was devastated to see that it was a romance, the helpless lonely romantic in him couldn't help but spend the whole time thinking of and talking to Minho about you

-he thought about you so much, that he couldn't even stay for the rest of the concert because he kept tearing up and had to leave early

-while leaving he saw a bus with you on it promoting your new single, it only hurt him worse when he listened to it and found out that it was about a lost love

•Eventually though, that last month was over and Taemin was finally back, you waited that whole month completely glued to your phone whenever you got the chance

-you participated in the countdown and posted every day until he got back, you expected him to like the post or at least your story but he never did, he didn’t even see it, but you kept posting

-on the last day of the countdown though, he sent you a lengthy text, telling you how badly he missed you and how this time he’s not going to let you go, the message made you tear up right away, and when he asked you if you were busy that weekend you told him no and canceled the dinner you had with your cast members

•Cue cliche romance in the rain kissing scene, Taemin heard that it was going to rain on Sunday and instead of planning for Saturday he thought the rain would make things more romantic

-if it was possible to max out a black card he would’ve done it that night

-he got the driver to buy three beautiful bouquets of your favorite flowers from a really expensive florist shop since he missed three anniversaries but that was only the start

-when you got to his house he had bought three life-size bears with voice messages in them, one was from the first anniversary he missed before he enlisted and the other two were during his enlistment, he bought three different cakes, nine pairs of expensive shoes, six sets of diamond earrings to match all the shoes, three matching necklaces with all the earrings, and nine bracelets all for the three missed anniversaries.

•You tried to convince him to return it after finding out how much he spent but he was set on you keeping it all, especially since he saved the best part for last

-Taemin may be able to cook a few things, but instead of cooking he ordered your favorite foods to make sure you’d enjoy them, and you did, every second you were spending together made you fall in love all over again, but it wasn’t the dinner or the gifts, it was seeing him again and hearing his voice, the way he hugged you when he saw you and the warmth you felt gave you butterflies that you had missed dearly

-After dinner, you expected the gift-giving to be over and to finally sit down and address the elephant in the room, but Taemin had one more thing to give you, something he had waited years for

•As you entered his living room while wiping your wet hands on your pants, you froze in shock

-As Taemin stood in front of you with the lights low and his two cat babies at his feet eating a treat he gave them to convince them to sit still for a while your heart began to pound, the way he smiled at you gave away what he was going to do next, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight of Taemin getting down on one knee

-As he looked up at you it felt like the world had stopped, the shine in his slightly teary eyes and the smile on his face made your knees feel weak, and when he pulled the small black box from his back pocket and opened it your eyes watered

-“Will you-“ he didn’t even get to finish before you tackled him in a hug, crying as you chanted ‘Yes!’ Over and over again

•Taemin had been planning to propose to you when you told him you were going on hiatus and originally bought the ring two months before and planned to do it on your anniversary, and thought that he’d never be able to when he enlisted

-After you said yes to marrying him he adorably asked you to be his girlfriend again with that cute cheeky smile he has whenever he does something slightly unhinged

-you of course said yes, despite both of your worries that things would get hectic again you both agreed to work through it because being apart was worse than having less time to spend together

-but you didn’t have to worry about it for a while, although Taemin was doing a fan meet and you were promoting your new song, you both had time to see each other and eventually, you decided that it would be a better idea if you lived together

•As time passed your schedule changes and becomes hectic, but with new living arrangements it’s more manageable, and although he’s still bad at responding to texts, seeing him every night makes it more than tolerable.

#shinee #shinee imagines #shinee scenarios #5hinee #lee taemin #shinee taemin #shinee fluff #taemin fluff #taemin x reader #taemin imagine #fluff #x reader #kpop fluff #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines

[omegalomania]

Wait I wanna hear your thoughts on the Mania mv =0

the young and menace music video expands on the themes of the base song in an absolutely harrowing way that not enough people give credit to because a) young and menace as a single was very jarring for a lot of folks and b) people thought the llama suits looked dumb. both were rather silly reasons to brush off what is a very earnest piece of art but it is what it is. i still see hostile attitudes towards mania and towards young and menace in particular because of how polarizing a song it was and i could honestly go on forever and ever about how bad and pointless and shitty and racist a lot of the discourse there was. but instead i wanna talk about the video.

right out the gate i want to make it clear that the video did wonders, leaps, and bounds for mania's aesthetic marketing. for all that people will shittalk mania, make no mistake: it had an EXTREMELY strong aesthetic foundation right out the gate. the video gives us some very potent imagery as it plays out, all of which tie strongly into the albums overall theming, marketing, and lyricism. the crashing beach waves, the star-swept night sky, the violet-drenched neon cityscape - they all get exemplified here.

but more important than that is the story it tells. young and menace is a song that really concisely portrays a manic state. from a purely sonic standpoint, it is jarring, it is full of peaks and troughs. the low opening guitar chords slink along so gradually you can easily miss the beginning of the song if youre not paying attention. the whole opening of the track stalks along with this eerie, charged dangerousness that you can feel building and building and building until it detonates spectacularly, escalating into an electrified breakdown that nearly ruptures on itself before bouncing back to its initial, calmer baseline. lyrically, its a song that discusses what it is to be an outsider. petes discussed how the song is reflective of how he felt growing up - like he didnt quite belong, because he and his family didnt look like anyone else in their (very white) neighborhood. the video takes that theme and ratchets it up to 11.

young and menace depicts a young biracial girl who lives in a house fraught with domestic abuse. young and menace is about what it means to be othered and it portrays the othering this girl experiences to its absolute extremes. she feels like a stranger in her own home to the point where she visualizes her parents as inhuman monsters - sort of a reverse "where the wild things are". she escapes into a city populated by people, but speaks a language no one else can understand. she wanders into a dimly lit club where everyone is dancing at a show, but the loud music sends her skittering back outside until she collapses in what looks like an overstimulated daze. and there isnt any closure for her either. the video ends on this kind of grim and upsetting note, because shes back home by its conclusion and has no choice but to reconcile that her parents are just people, the same way she is.

its a video that embodies what it is to be Othered in so many different ways that it all compounds on itself and becomes impossible to bear.

it depicts what it is to be othered in the literal sense and beyond that. the girl is not just a human in a world of monsters; shes also a human that none of the other humans can understand. to me it encapsulates what it feels like to be biracial very very succinctly, that feeling of intense unbelonging, that feeling of being stranded between two worlds, neither of which understand you and neither of which you entirely resemble.

it depicts what it is to be othered in the familial sense. it depicts how it is to grow up in a home where you dont feel you belong, where your home is literally not a safe place to be, to the point where running away feels like the best possible option.

and on top of that, this is the lead single on the album entitled MANIA. the whole record embodies that concept, from its soundscape to its lyricism it depicts what it is to be manic - which again comes from pete, who has been very very open about being diagnosed w bipolar pretty young. young and menace is MANIAs whole ethos in microcosm. the song and the video are so so so representative of that, bouncing between eerie quiet and choppy, jittery chaos. and theres no resolution. there is no being "fixed" or "cured" of this, of any part of this. there is no escaping being what you are. sometimes the most you can do is ride the wave and hope you make it out on the other side.

young and menace is a really really earnest depiction of how all those different aspects of oneself can intersect. i think a lot of the controversy of the "new sound" for fall out boy overshadowed how important the video was. this was a narrative about a biracial black girl in an abusive home environment, told by a biracial, bipolar, black man whos had his notable struggles with finding a community he felt accepted him. the video doubles down on the overall themes of the song in a really harrowing but i think deeply effective way. its heartbreaking in its vulnerability and for someone like me, a mixed race kid who grew up with unchecked mental illness in a toxic home environment, it meant the whole goddamn world.

#askin hours #sorry to write an essay but also im not i love this video so much #i could honestly talk about it for forever but this went on for long enough

[fancyfeathers]

Society of Protection (Yandere Bungo Stray Dogs x reader x original characters) (normalized yandere au)

Chapter Eight

A Doll’s House

Prologue and oc intro

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven, part one

Chapter seven, part two

Tw: this chapter has mentioned of implied r*pe/noncon, please do NOT ask me to write that scene because I don’t feel comfortable doing it, it is mentioned purely to show the severity of a toxic relationship

Everyone sat in a stunned silence, it was like if static filled all your ears. All you can do is watch as Fitzgerald holds Miss Jane’s chin in his hand, staring at her. Then he retracts his hand, tucking them into his pockets, leaving Jane with a horrified look on her face. He walked around the room, looking it all over. “Beautiful place you have made for yourself, Zelda. How much did it cost? Ten million I would guess.” Miss Jane didn’t respond, to terrified to say a word. He gave a whistle before walking behind her and resting his hands on her shoulders, rubbing out the tense muscles like they were still married. “Have to hand it to you, it was nearly impossible to find you all here, records wise you have completely covered up your tracks.”

“H-how… how did you find us?” Miss Jane asked, her gaze fixed on the floor where the tea cup she dropped lays, broken in pieces.  Fitzgerald chuckled as he pressed his fingers into her shoulder rather hard making her suck in a sharp breath. 

“It wasn’t easy, but your biggest mistake was scheduling that meeting with whoever that government official was, those are in public records you know.” He gestured to a young man who had come in with him. “Luckily Mark’s shots never miss, even with tracking bullets.”

Both you, Gaston, and Dr. Stevenson had a shocked expression come across your faces. the red head who Fitzgerald had introduced as Mark comes up to your side and squatted down to your level, a smile on his face like absolutely nothing was wrong. “Sorry about that, I was aiming at your friend, I mean he has caused quite a few problems for us.” He laughed to himself before reaching up and pinching your cheek. “But hey don’t worry, I get to take care of you once we get y’all back to base.”

Your eyes widened in horror as Mark said that, and you looked over and so did Miss Jane’s. Almost on instinct she stood up, breaking free from Fitzgerald’s grip on her shoulders. She spun around, raising her hand and striking her ex husband across the face. Now a scowl had formed on her face, she was raging. “I don’t care what you do to me, but you will not touch them!”

The room sat in silence once more. Fitzgerald’s head was turned to one side from the force of the slap, a red hand print forming on his cheek. He turned his head back at Jane, his face no longer a smile. He reached a hand and grabbed the hand that rested on her chest, the same hand that slapped him.  He yanked her over, almost pulling her over the chair she once sat in. So she was pulled up onto the chair so that she was on her knees in it, her chest against the back of it, and her face not to far below his and he bent down and grabbed her face again with his free hand. If looked could kill Jane would be dead. “I want you to listen to me, Zelda. After that stunt you pulled three years ago, I don’t care much for your opinion. I offered you a safe choice, but you refused so now we do this the hard way. John, if you’d please.”

The blond young man, the same from your shop stepped forward, he gave you a wink, which disgusted you. He took out a few seed from his pocket, seeds he bought from your old shop, then he took a hunting knife, stabbed himself in the neck and tucked the seeds in his neck. While he was doing this, Victor and Alexandre who knew his ability, went to reach for their guns, but right when they got them vines extended from his neck, reaching out and wrapping around their hands and guns, preventing them from doing anything. The vines reached out and also wrapped around Dr. Stevenson, and Gaston, leaving you and Jane the only ones untouched by them, you because you couldn’t run even if you tried and Jane because well… she’s Fitzgerald’s to deal with.

Everyone struggled but no one was able to break free, Dr. Stevenson couldn’t even activate her ability because she was already vulnerable and Alexandre couldn’t either because that would cause a bloodbath in here of both friend and foe alike. Jane’s eyes made contact with Gaston and she nodded and spoke not one word but they knew what each other were saying. With tears in his eyes Gaston took a breath and his body disappeared into the floor beneath him, like a ghost. The Guild and yourself were in shock and Miss Jane’s eyes went back to Fitzgerald. “Gaston’s ability, you’ll never catch him.”

Fitzgerald scowled and bit back. “Would you place money on that?”

“You know I hate gambling.”

—————————

Gaston was able to use his gift to go through the solid walls and ceiling of the building, down into the sewer system below Yokohama, it wasn’t hard to navigate, just like the catacombs under Paris, where he grew up. Paris, not the catacombs, but they were just a package deal. Gaston contacted the only two members of the Society that weren’t in the apartment at the time of the break in, Lewis Carroll and Henrik Ibsen, both of which were out on a mission together. Gaston told them of the harm that befell everyone and told him to meet them at the safe house. In true showmen fashion this safe house was a theater that Gaston purchased under the pen name, Erik. Now it was the three of them in private box five of the theater, discussing while rehearsals went on. Henrik looked absolutely terrified out of his mind while Lewis and Gaston discussed strategies for getting everyone out.

“I could activate my ability and whoever drank the potion would be effected.” 

“Yes but we don’t know who has drank it or if it has been taken from their person. We also don’t know exactly where they are so we would have no idea where to get them.”

“We could use that government agent friend of yours, the one in the ministry of justice.”

“Mr. Tonan is a politician, not a fighter I’m afraid.”

“What about-“

“Um… excuse me…” Henrik spoke up in his timid little voice, hands folder on his lap, looking down, and trembling. “What if we use my ability?”

“…hm…” Lewis stared at his co worker with calculating eyes before tilting his head. “What’s your ability again?”

“You mean you forgot?! Lewis we’re on practically every mission together, we’re partners!” Henrik yelled at his co worker, embarrassed that he forgot about his ability. He sighs and leans in his chair. “It’s called Doll’s House. I can make a doll, and who ever I make it look like I can control, puppeteer. I can’t exactly control what they say or think but their limbs I can.”

“Wonderful! Where are you dolls?” Lewis asked with a grin. An awkward expression came across Henrik’s face and he sunk back into his chair and he nervously chuckled.

“My doll house is back in my apartment…”

“So we’re fucked.” Lewis groaned and leaned back as well. Gaston leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a calculating look on his face, he looked at Henrik dead in the eye.

“Maybe you don’t need your doll house. I’ll make a call…” Gaston stood up and took out his phone, flipping it open and dialing up a number. “Let’s pray the Armed Detective Agency is willing to help.”

—————————

You all were taken up town, all in separate vehicles to keep all of you from getting ideas, you were being taken to a nice hotel where the Guild had set up a stationary base at, or that’s at least what Mark told you as he talked you ear off endlessly in order for you to try and warm up to him. You only saw Guild officers in the hall as Mark pushed your wheelchair down the hall of the penthouse the Guild had gotten. Behind the doors you could hear the frustrated yells of both Alexandre and Dr. Stevenson who were probably as you could imagine, doing what they could to make their capture’s life a living hell. You could then hear quiet crying from behind another door, Victor who was probably scared out of his mind. Then there was the door at the end of the hall where you didn’t hear anything from, but from earlier when you arrived on this floor you saw wisps of brown hair and long blue flows fabric get pulled in there, Miss Jane most likely.

So now you were laid down in bed, pillows behind your back so you could sit up and blankets drawn up on you. Your wheelchair was beside your bedside and Mark sat at your side, he had finally stopped talking once he had finally noticed your stubbornness not to do so. You two sort of just sat in silence for a long time before he sighed. “You know the boss is pretty upset at your friend right now, Mrs. Fitzger-“

“Her name is Jane Austen.” You cut him off, finally saying something.

“Whatever her name is, she really pissed him off. I’m advising you to stay out of the line of fire and just keep a cool head if he talks to you.” Mark said standing up, reaching over to adjust your pillows so you can lay down more comfortably since he noticed your yawns ad eyelids getting heavy.

“Easy for you to say when you and your friends weren’t kidnapped.”

Mark only sighed as he lowered your head back onto the pillows. “Look I’m trying to help you. Look just try to get some rest, I don’t know how long you all will be staying here, you’ll probably be taken somewhere soon seems like your friends are clawing like cats.”

Mark walked over the lights and dimmed them down for you. “I’ll leave you alone for now just… get some sleep.”

He opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind him, but not locking it, probably because he doesn’t think you could get to the door, taunting you almost.

—————————

Gaston’s phone call was answered by a rather annoying young man, a high pitched voice, but when Gaston told the young man his name he knew who he was, researched him most likely. When Gaston asked to speak to Dazai he was only told that Dazai was meeting with a government agent, but that the president himself would be happy to meet with them personally on what they need the only thing that they asked were files on the society’s members and answer questions they asked. They were given an address, a suspicious location, they would need to walk down a long rail line, they would be completely isolated any easy to pick off but at this point it was their only hope. 

Gaston took the lead to keep Lewis and Henrik behind him, safe from immediate trouble. They walked down the rail line, looking long abandoned. Along the path they spotted cameras, or Gaston did at least. The long walk was silent and then at end of the hall, in front of a door, three men stood, one of them were familiar to Gaston, he was at that cafe with Dazai that day, Kunikida. The other two were strange to them, if you or Victor were there, you would recognize them as Ranpo and Fukuzawa, the president of the Armed Detective Agency. 

“Are you armed?” Kunikida asked, his eyes narrowed at them. Gaston reached in his coat pocket and pulled out his revolver, an old gun, he took the six rounds out and held it in his other hand. Kunikida looks over to the president and he nods his head. Kunikida walks forward and takes the revolver Gaston gave him, along with a gun from Lewis and then a knife from Henrik. “I apologize but this is a safety precaution.”

“I understand, but I would like that back when this is over, that was my grandfather’s.” Gaston said as Kunikida tucked their weapons away. 

“We will see Mr. Leroux, if you do good by us, we will do good by you. You have my word.” The president said, still no emotion on his face. Fukuzawa turned from them and opened the door behind him. “We’ll talk inside.”

They followed behind the president, it was almost like a college lecture hall they stepped into, wooden mostly. There were also three other figures there, a young man, teenager maybe, blond, overalls and a straw hat, another a woman, dark hair, and butterfly clip were her most prominent features, and the last s red head but he didn’t have many defining features about him, but they seemed busy in their own conversation, but kept an ear open on the conversation that was about to happen. They were lead to the front of the hall and sat down, all except the president, he stood in front of them. He looked down at the three society members, all that is left now. Gaston reached into his bag, a leather satchel, and pulled out a stack of files, each labeled with a different name, Jane Austen, Dr. R.L. Stevenson, Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, Gaston Leroux, William Shakespeare, Emma Orczy, Lewis Carroll, Henrik Ibsen, and one on you. “Straight from one of the Society’s archives. You’ll find almost everything on everyone in the society.”

“Almost everything?” Fukuzawa asked, an eyebrow raised. 

“Well sometimes we each have our own dark secrets that we make sure never surface. Secrets that are best left forgotten, even by ourselves.” Gaston answered. Fukuzawa’s eyes narrowed at this statement but brushed it aside, for now anyway, he would come back to it later.

“Now what is it you exactly want? I doubt it is anything small considering how easily you all handed over your weapons.” Fukuzawa asked.

“You sure are sharp Mr. Fukuzawa.” Gaston chuckled and nodded before his expression became completely serious suddenly. “Members of our society have been captured by the Guild, because we refused a deal with them. We want to get them back.”

“You want us to break in to a Guild base?” Fukuzawa asked, showing shock on his face for the first time in this conversation. 

“No, we simply need to borrow one of yours’ ability because we cannot go back to our home base to get what we need.” Gaston shook his head to the president’s question and pointed a finger right at a slightly surprised Kunikida. “We just need to borrow his ability.”

—————————

You were able to get somewhat of a nap in, the pain in your leg was quite a lot to deal with. When you awoke you didn’t see Mark at your bedside like before, now it was a much more familiar and more unwelcome face of John. He smelled at you when he noticed you were awake. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

You scowled and wanted to roll onto your side if it wasn’t for your damned leg. He saw this and sighed. “Don’t like me anymore huh?”

“Not in the slightest.” You said, speaking through gritted teeth.

He drugged and stood up. “Well I suppose you see us as the bad guys, you wouldn’t be the first but honestly you aren’t suited for society work, you should have just stayed in your flower shop. You were quite adorable there. Your old boss is quite worried about you, I stopped by there while you were sleeping and she was worried to but about you.”

Your eyes widened in hour as you heard those words and you honestly thought the worst happened. “What did you do to her?”

He sighed and shook his head. “Nothing, she’ll be quiet alright. For now anyway, she’s probably closing up shop and heading home now anyway.” You sighed in relief as you heard this but that was quickly replaced by pain once again as John went to pick you up and place you in your wheelchair. “Now, your boss has somehow convinced Mr. Fitzgerald to let her speak to you.”

When he said this your heart skipped a beat in either joy of fear as he pushed your wheelchair down the hall towards what must be Fitzgerald’s room that Jane was dragged into. As you were fist rolled inside it was giant, like a whole other house, it was probably double the size of Miss Jane’s already huge apartment. On the couch was Miss Jane, hair down, a white silk robe and a blue silk night gown, she held a cup of tea in her hands and her blindly stared down at the hot liquid as behind her Fitzgerald stood, leaning against the couch, one hand playing with Miss Jane’s hair the other holding a stack of written papers. Fitzgerald and Jane both heard the door open and they both looked up to you the two of you entering. Fitzgerald smiled and tucked his arm with the papers at his side. “Ah you must be Miss (Name), John has been telling me and other Guild members all about you. You worked at a flower shop before working for my Zelda, must have taken such a risk, hm?”

“I like working for Miss Jane, it gives me purpose again.”  You said, completely disregarding the name he used for her, this made Miss Jane smile and Fitzgerald sigh.

“I see, I suppose she must have been paying you well then, wouldn’t surprise me that my wife would.” He spoke as he walked over to a nearby chair and grabbed a jacket that rested on it and began to put it one.

“Respectfully sir, I don’t give a damn about the money, I could be paid nothing and I would still do this,because the society was made to do the right thing.” You spoke as you were rolled up right next to Miss Jane. Fitzgerald looked over his shoulder at the two of you, right at the smirk on your face and the smile on Miss Jane’s.

“I see…” something about his look seemed dangerous and he turned and walked over to Jane, leaning down and kissing her on the head. “I have to go run an errand, I love you, I’ll be back soon.”

With a look to John the other blond man followed behind leaving the two of you alone in the room. The moment the door shit, Miss Jane looked at you with her best smile. You looked over her body and you came to a quick realization due to the bruises forming on her collarbone, neck, and most prominently on her wrists… did Fitzgerald… oh god…

She noticed your realization and she looked away, almost in shame. She spoke, a single tear falling down her cheek. “I-It only hurt when I fought back… when I relaxed… he was gentle, like when we were still married.”

A look of horror came across your face when you said this, somehow this was a million times more painful than your bullet wound. “Miss Jane… I-I’m sorry… is there anything I can do?”

She sat in silence for a long minute, maybe almost five judging by the ticking on a nearby clock before nodding. “No matter what happens, don’t call me by my old name, my name is the only dignity I have left.”

You nodded in understanding and then the door swung open once more, this time it was definitely more welcome faces, Dr. Stevenson, Alexandre, and Victor, along with the even more welcome faces of Emma and William who must have also been moved here from the luxury liner. They all looked out of breath and there was yelling in the hall and then Miss Jane came to a realization. “Is it Henrik’s ability?”

Dr. Stevenson nodded and Alexandre rushed over to you, the strongest member here, and picked you up like bride in his arms. You all rushed back into the hall and saw all the guards pinned to the ground almost by and invisible force. The unconscious bodies of Margaret Mitchell and Nathaniel Hawthorne were also there, those two specifically looked like they have been tossed around like a chew toy. Miss Jane chuckled at this and looked at Emma and William who were hand in hand as they ran like lovers running off from their wedding. “Seems like Henrik found he least favorite doll to play with.”

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You all found yourself here soon at the safe house of the Armed Detective Agency. You were all able to get changed who needed it, Miss Jane, Emma, and William, back into their usual attire and in Emma’s words, “When I get back to my apartment I am burning that dress Nathaniel put me in, it belongs in hell.” You on the other hand got to pay a visit to the doctor of the agency… best if we just skip past that bit.

So now here you all are sitting in the underground hide out of the Armed Detective Agency, some of you made small talk with who knew each other. Yo saw Alexandre talking to two men, you learned their names as Kunikida and Junichiro, apparently they met on their last missions. You rested your head on Victor’s shoulder as he talked to Ranpo and young blond boy named, Kenji, seemed like a sweet kid. Dr. Stevenson was talking to the agency doctor who was able to heal your leg completely, Dr. Yosano, those two seemed to get along splendidly based on their laughter and chatter with one another. Emma and William were off somewhere doing their own thing, you don’t blame them, they were separated after all and may just need sometime to sit and be. Lewis and Henrik were napping in a corner, Lewis’s large sweater draped over the both of them like a huge blanket, honestly you wondered if they were just friends. Gaston stood in the corner, all alone, it seemed like he had some weight on his mind at the moment that he needed to process right now. As for the leaders of your organization, Miss Jane was at least wearing a mask of her happy self and she talked to President Fukuzawa, thanking him for the agency’s assistance, you couldn’t hear most of their conversations, but you could tell that by the sound of their voices that they got along well enough. 

You closed your eyes as you began to drift off on Victor’s shoulder and thought, maybe things are taking a turn for the best now, but only time could tell what horrors lay ahead of you, but at least now you were all together to deal with what came next.

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[muzzleroars]

What would Gabe and V1's reputation be among the machines? I think that they, by and large have no idea who Gabe is soley because Gabe was too good at his job that no machine survived to tell the tale (or to get the enemy entry at the terminal) and they never put two and two together when they do see him. V1 would be similar if not for Cyber Grind, most machines hate it because it ruined their streaks. Machines hate the gamer.

honestly a good question....like you said, it's unlikely the machines would know too much about either of them considering how deadly they are, save for v1's record on the cybergrind (whether or not they would recognize it in person is another story too). they don't have much time to think about it when in battle either, but i'm sure some of them quickly clock the fact that TWO top-tier threats seem to be helping each other...which hardly seems fair lol their respective unique natures immediately alarm any of their opponents, considering they're unlike any other machine or angel, and it's quickly obvious once the engagement begins that they're magnitudes above any other threats in hell.

so if they could gain a reputation (likely from one of their fan clubs - machines may overhear something from gabriel's virtues OR the little streetcleaners that follow v1 at a distance might catch glimpses of gabriel), it's likely that the machines would actively begin to avoid them and attempt retreat if they do run into them (tho it's unlikely hell would allow it). those with more limited ai like the drones probably wouldn't change in behavior, but i think otherwise the machines coming into contact with them grow increasingly distressed. v1 alone with hordes of enemies assailing it is feasible to destroy, though terribly difficult, whereas gabriel is nearly impossible for lesser machines to best considering his track record prior to v1 - and if they know this, their risk assessment would absolutely tell them there's no blood to be had in this fight. they have formed a perfect pair, a pair that would see v1 benefit from massive blood gains and essentially guard it from all possible failure. it's highly efficient, it has optimized its strategy, it has entirely outplayed them in hell as it has in the cybergrind up to that point. so. it's logical. if the angel is willing, who wouldn't?

i don't think the machines would particularly think deeper on it either - what they are isn't entirely important, although if they did understand it...they would essentially consider this v1's code growing wild. it's happened to all of them really, the swordsmachines running away with modifications and the mindflayers meticulously crafting and protecting their plastic bodies. v1's ai is drastically more advanced than any of those around it, so in a way, i doubt they would be too surprised it's gained the capability of complex emotional attachments...UNFORTUNATELY it was, naturally, with the strongest entity it could find in all of hell. that alone would tell them all they need to know about how powerful gabriel is likely to be really - if v1 loves him, it could only be because the way he fought sparked something deep inside a mind concerned only with war (they don't speculate on gabriel's reasoning or how he came to love a machine even as he continues to destroy the rest - things made by god seem to be entirely irrational in their choices).

#truly i do think many of the machines would be capable of love #but for me i see it as being much more machine to machine connections #and they wouldn't entirely get v1 loving something organic (ethereal?)...they don't make sense! #though even if it's an 'error' it's still the best choice it could have made as things get increasingly inhospitable #SO they give it credit for that #cake answers #v1 #gabriel #ask queue: 26 #<- keeping track of this now so everyone knows!!! we're a little behind lol