#I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD I WILL TAKE IT FUCKING EASY WITH THE NEXT CHAPTER

[hannie-dul-set]

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [8].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. swearing, vomit, heeseung is sick, tormenting said sick man, sex jokes, and loser hee backstory reveal. WORD COUNT. 3.8k.

NOTE. merry christmas. my gift for u all is the heeseung chapter. let's pretend that it's still summer for the sake of the fic yes thank u hope u enjoy.

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 8 — hot, drenched, and sweaty.

“I THINK HEESEUNG IS IN A FIGHT CLUB.” That unprompted statement catches the interest of all the four boys currently in the living room. Soobin looks up from his half-finished crocheted bonnet, Jake and Jay pause their game of scrabble, and Sunghoon drops a rubik’s cube on your face because you gallantly decided to use his lap as a pillow on the lounge sofa. 

“Oh god, I’m— I’m sorry,” he sputters out an apology. You take this as a sign to stop invading his space. “What do you mean though? Fight club? Heeseung?”

“Listen.”

You spring up from your position, sitting with a very determined look on your face which simply prompts their attention further. “Heeseung leaves the house at exactly 10 p.m. every Saturday night and comes back at like two in the morning. I asked him about is once, and all he said is that he’s doing ‘business,’ whatever the fuck that means. It’s suspicious as hell.” 

The only reason why you were up at 2 a.m. to catch him in the act in the first place is because one time, you challenged Beomgyu and Jake to a no-sleeping contest and those two are the most gullible and have the most money from the lot. Little did those suckers know that you slept for fifteen hours prior to challenging them. They dozed off at the thirty six hour mark while you were still awake enough to catch Heeseung sneaking into the house at the devil’s hour.

After that, you had more money in your bank account, and a new curiosity that’s begging to be satisfied.

“I think he’s in an underground fighting club,” you declare. “There’s no other reason.”

“No, no,” Jay contends. “It might be something else. He could be a stripper.”

A silent moment of consideration.

Then you all release a unified, “Nah.”

“Maybe it’s private,” says Sungoon. “What—whatever it is, it could be none of our business.”

He has a point, but you’re nosy and bored. So are Jake and Jay because turns out, today’s a Saturday, and you have nothing to do, and you’re acquitted from any charges of instigating things because it’s Jay who announces, “Should we follow him?”

You grin. Sunghoon doesn’t approve of your expression. “We should follow him.”

“I’ll keep a lookout.”

“Text us when he’s about to leave.”

“You got it.”

Thus starts your mission of finding out whether Heeseung is secretly an underground fighter or a stripper. Sunghoon refused to be a part of it, but Soobin wasn’t strong enough to deny your puppy dog eyes, so it’s you, him, Jake, and Jay who might be charged for stalking and invasion of privacy because the moment you get a signal from Jake that “the target is out of the house, over,” the four of you, willingly or otherwise, start to tail him.

It’s disconcertingly easy to follow Heeseung without him noticing the four not so discreet people lagging behind him. When he takes off on a bus, you quickly hail a taxi for the four of you to jump inside of and continue the trail. 

“I think—I think we should head back,” says Soobin, squeezing his arms against his torso because there are three of you cramped in the backseat. “The sky is glum. I think it’s gonna rain.”

“The sky is glum because it’s the fucking night. Mr. Sun has died. Wait, he just got off the bus. Let’s go, let’s go before we lose him!”

As you stalk down the sidewalk, you can’t help but feel a sense of deja vu because you swear you’ve crossed this same path before. You’ve been here before. You’re sure of it, and it’s not just because this area is just around your university, of which you haven’t stepped foot on since the beginning of summer and since living with Jake and his friends.

“Hey, he’s over there, he’s going to that cafe.”

Your deja vu is answered when the familiar facade of The Lounge shows up right before you. Heeseung enters the building. Sunghoon knew all along, that fucking rat. That’s why was so against this plot, that’s why he refused to tag along with you. “I’m going in,” says Jay. You postpone your revenge plan against Sunghoon for later and quickly follow behind Jay into the cafe. Once you enter however, it starts pouring.

The clear glass windows of the place get stained by an assault of raindrops. Crap. None of you brought an umbrella. “I knew it was going to rain…” Soobin laments, and you pat circles against his back to apologize for doubting him, further telling him that he has a knack for weather prediction and if he’s considering switching career paths.

“What now?” Jake asks.

“We can wait for the rain to stop or call Sunghoon to pick us up and bring us umbrellas,” you tell them. “For now, let’s find out what the fuck Lee Heeseung is up to here. This wasn’t part of any of our calculations.” The calculations being either violence or promiscuity. You didn’t make a lot of calculations.

The problem is, Heeseung is nowhere to be found. You end up ordering some drinks and food and decide to settle in a booth at the corner of the place so that you guys can have a full and complete view of the cafe’s entire interior, yet you still can’t find him, so you end up reminiscing the time Sunghoon dumped your lemonade on you which catapulted your hobby of messing with these guys because they become so nervous around you it’s funny.

“Did we enter the wrong building? Did he catch us tailing him and left through the back door?!” 

You doubt Jake’s presumptions, and you’re correct to doubt him because right at that moment, Heeseung finally shows his stupid fucking face.

Not only does he show his stupid fucking face— he shows his stupid fucking face on the mini stage in the other corner of the cafe with a freaking guitar. What? So he’s not an underground fighter? Heeseung leans into the mic and a singular “ah,” resounds from the speakers mounted on the walls, muting down the muffled sound of the rain outside in that single instant.

When Heeseung starts to play the instrument followed by the sound of his voice, the rain is forgotten entirely.

This is a surprise. This is unexpected.

“This is disappointing,” says Jay, and you snap your head at him with eyes wide in alarm and disbelief because what does he mean disappointing? Disappointing where? You’ve been living with an angel all this time and you didn’t know? 

“Yeah, it’d be cooler if he was in a fight club,” Jake adds, as if their friend isn’t putting the Billboard’s Hot 100 to shame right now. What kind of bullshit are they saying?

“Did you guys know he could sing like that?”

The three look at you, even Soobin, and respond with a yes, a nod, a hum. Your mouth gapes. But you don’t get why you’re surprised when these guys have known each other for years prior to you barging in unannounced— so, of course they know, of course you don’t, and in the midst of all this, your thoughts are interrupted by the sharp screech from the speakers, because Heeseung has stopped singing, and is instead now looking at your table, looking more alarmed than you.

You’re pretty sure your eyes met before he decided to bolt out of the cafe.

“Oh, he’s getting off stage. Maybe he’s going to greet u— why is he skipping our table? Why is he running outside? Hyung, wait!”

None of you end up chasing after him because it’s still pouring outside, and you can already predict what the aftermath of this is going to be. Thus concludes your mission of finding out whether or not Heeseung is secretly an underground fighter or a stripper, with the answer amounting to neither because Heeseung is a performer during The Lounge’s open mic nights, and you don’t get why he’s been acting so secretive about it all this time.

Heeseung wakes up feeling like shit. And not the regular kind of shit. He feels like Satan just chewed him up, only to spit him back out— slobber and the inferno’s of hell included because he’s sweating through his shirt, his blanket feels like a prison, but if he kicks it of, he gets attacked by cold flashes, so he’s in a sticky and uncomfortable limbo between overheating and freezing to fucking death.

His throat is dry. The only thing that escapes his throat is a guttural and inhuman rasp. He wouldn’t be this sick if he didn’t run out in the rain last night. 

Rather, he wouldn’t have ran out if you weren’t there last night.

Heeseung rolls to his side with a groan of pain and anguish, muffled against the pillow as a different kind of fevered heat washes over his face. Seriously. Why the fuck were you there last night? He could give less than two shits if his roommates find out that he sings Taylor Swift every weekend at The Lounge, but you— you’re a different story. Because he knows you’re gonna use this information against him somehow, just like how you like to fuck around with his friends.

Too much. Heeseung has always thought you were a bit too much for him. The time you chased Beomgyu around the house in the dress(?) Jay made is the only evidence he needs to affirm that.

Then again, maybe he shouldn’t have bolted out like that immediately after meeting your eyes. You already suspect that you gross him out (which, by the way, couldn’t be more wrong) for always running away from the threat of skin-to-skin contact with you. Why was it raining when it’s still summer, anyway? It’s like that night was a curse made especially for him.

He curls up further into a ball, hoping you just forget about it all and don’t question him about it.

Yet the very opposite happens because what interrupts his spiraling thoughts is the sound of your voice— already threatening a wave of torment.

“Oh, god. You’re in a worse state than I thought.”

Heeseung regrets springing up from his bed because his head immediately gets slammed by the recoil of a headache. “Why...why are you here?” he barely scratches out. You’re by the doorframe, arms crossed and eyes laced with pity. He didn’t even hear the door opening. 

“Jake told me about your illness,” you say, walking over to the side of his bed and Heeseung flinches back the moment you set yourself down on the mattress. “He said you have a chronic case of bitchless syndrome.

He looks at you. Your face is dead serious. Heeseung feels a drop of sweat trickling down his neck, then you break into that devious smile of yours and laugh out a grin.

“Kidding. Jake would never say that. He told me you were sick and needed someone to nurse you up, so here I am.”

Holy shit. Heeseung lets out a breath, nearly teetering off his bed to maintain a comfortable enough distance from your overwhelming presence. “Why—” some throat phlegm cuts him off. He lets out a violent cough before reclaiming his voice. “Why you? I—I mean, why did Jake ask you?”

“Ouch?” you remark. “No one else is around. Jake’s out hiking, apparently. Sunghoon’s covering someone’s shift. Beomgyu’s obviously still at his parents. Jay says he’s out on a mission, and Soobin left the house with a giant backpack. I was too afraid to ask. Anyway, I know my very physical presence disgusts you, but deal with it for now, you goober. You look like hell.”

“That’s— that’s not—” You take this opportunity to pull his sweaty blanket off in one swift movement. “That’s not it! You don’t— don’t disgust me, I’m just— you know—”

“I know, I just wanted to fuck with you.”

You’re grinning. You haphazardly fold the sheet before throwing it down to the foot of the bed, sitting over it. Heeseung feels the blood drain from his face— “Anyway, sit up and let me feel you up,” —only for the blood to shoot right back up and nearly knocks him out unconscious. “Feel your temperature up, perv. I’m not taking advantage of a sick man. C’mere, let me see how sick you are.”

Heeseung, however, still has enough marbles to quickly evade your incoming hand. He swerves to the right. You blink at him, arm reaching out to thin air, before trying again, only for Heeseung to swat your hand away with gritted teeth and fearing for his life. “S—sorry,” he chokes out. He sees the glint in your eyes. Crap. He shouldn’t have done that.

“For fuck’s sake, just let me check your temperature— Heeseung! What the hell?!”

“Just—just leave me alone!”

Earlier, Heeseung thought he was about to die. He didn’t think he had enough strength to fight for his life as he squirms underneath you on the bed, driven solely by the desire to protect his fucking pride because there’s no way in hell he’s letting you touch him when he’s all gross and sweaty and gross from the fever. There’s no way in hell he’s letting that happen.

“What are you—”

He yanks out his blanket from underneath you, causing you to roll of his bed and he throws the sheet over his red, hot, and burning face because holy fuck. Holy shit. That was a close call.

When he peeks out from the blanket, Heeseung instantaneously feels a threat to his life.

You’re glaring at him. You look like you want to skin him alive and he gulps and nudges himself away, ass nearly falling off the bed when you get up from the floor and dust yourself off. “Okay,” you huff. “Fine. Have it your way. Die from a heatstroke, or whatever the fuck. I’ll be downstairs if you need me, and if you do, I’m expecting you to get down on your knees and beg because every time you’ve swatted my hand away was an additional jab at my pride.”

Okay, damn. You leave his room, not without slamming his door close to emphasize your anger, and on top of feeling like absolute crap, Heeseung now also feels guilty as hell. 

“Fuck,” he rasps out. It’s not like he’s doing it out of malice, or hate, or because he thinks you’re a germ that he cannot touch, like you always accuse him with. Heeseung still remembers how his whole no touching quirk started: sixteen years-old, when Heeseung finally mustered the courage to hold his first girlfriend’s hand, only for her to laugh and joke and pull away while saying, “ew, gross. Your hand is all sweaty.”

Twenty-two year old Heeseung has been traumatized to this very day.

Especially now when he’s all disgusting and icky and very much ew and gross because of his fever. Stupid, he knows, but the last thing he’d want to see is a disgusted grimace from your face the moment the back of your hand presses against his damp and sticky, sickness-induced forehead. However, it seems like he’s been inflicting to you the very injury he’s been trying to protect himself by constantly avoiding the threat of contact of your skin against his.

Stupid. It’s really stupid. 

But he can’t avoid dehydration by simply ignoring the dryness of his mouth. With much struggle, Heeseung forces himself out of the bed, despairing the amount of stairs he has to climb down— and the suggestion of calling for you help does tease his brain for a split second, but decides against it with a shake of his head as he continues the awful trip to the living room, body weighing thirty times heavier, and skull feeling like it’s about to crack itself open.

The problem is, his skull does almost end up getting cracked open. Because as he’s finally nearing the bottom floor, he misses a step, causing him to hit the ground with a harsh thud.

“Ugh,” he grunts, pushing himself with his forearms, but he stops, nearly face planting into the floor once more because you’re there, you’re walking up to him, looking down at him, and holding a cold and refreshing glass of water above his head like some sort of fucked up display of powerplay against a sick and thirsty man.

“Need any help?” you hum. 

“I’m fine,” Heeseung tries once more to get up only to feel the nausea rise up to his head, and he stops, pauses, and decides that the floor is more comfortable after all. He looks up at you. “Can I...can I get a sip from your glass?”

There’s a glint in your eyes. You crouch down. “Sorry, what was that?”

Are you enjoying this? Do you like watching him in pain? (Likely answer is yes because you yourself have admitted that you enjoy their suffering and torment). “Water,” he rasps out. “Can I drink some of your water?”

“This?” You swirl the glass in your hand, ice clacking against the crystal, before taking a long, tortuous sip on the straw (why does it have a straw?) Heeseung swallows down his spit. “Say please,” you say with a smile. Heeseung chokes on said fucking spit and hacks out a cough because you’re fucking insane.

He feels his face grow hotter. And it’s definitely not just from the fever.

“P—please, give me some of your water.”

You don’t prolong his agony any further and hand him over the glass.

“Need any help getting up?” you ask as you watch him agonizingly sit up against the bottom steps and toss down the water into his throat in one shot as if it was at a company dinner. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and feels your disappointed stare pricking his conscience. “I can’t help you unless you ask me to, Heeseung.”

He frowns, deflating. “But I’m all gross and sweaty.”

The last thing he expects you to do is to roll your eyes at him and stand up with an arm stretched out. 

And the next thing he knows is that you’re lugging him over to the couch, an arm around his waist, his around your shoulder, and you set him down the cushions with a grunt. “Jeez, I’m not made for manhandling men,” you say, very dubiously. “Lie down.” And when he doesn’t lie down, wide-eyed and unresponsive, you poke his forehead and he tips back, falling into the couch.

What…what is going on...

“You know, I’m very tempted to ask you to take your shirt off just to laugh at your reaction, but you actually look like you’re about to die, so I decided against it. Aren’t I sweet?” 

You’re back with a basin and some towels (when did you disappear?) and Heeseung’s brain starts malfunctioning, growing dizzier and dizzier by the second when you touch his jaw, damp towel wiping off the sweat coating his face and neck and he feels his throat tightening. “Christ. I think your temp is over forty degrees, my guy,” you say, squeezing the towel over the basin. “Hello? Heeseung? What the hell, did you catch Sunghoon’s disease? Are you unable to talk to me now, too?”

“It’s—it’s not that,” he chokes out. He’s about to justify himself, but you press your palm against his forehead, cutting off all the oxygen pipes leading up to his brain, and he feels like passing the fuck out.

Shit. Shit. Holy shit. 

“Ah,” you say. “You’re not running away.”

He’s not. He’s not running away. But he feels a different sort of problem coming up.

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

You blink at him. This doesn’t help his case at all.

“Wow, this is an upgrade,” you say from the other side of the bathroom door while Heeseung pukes his guts out into the toilet. Heavy metal playing from his phone is trying to block the noises out. He’s heaving over the bowl and wants to kill himself from embarrassment. “Now my very presence makes you vomit. I’m sorry for everything so far.”

There’s a flush. The music stops. Heeseung cracks the door open and you pass him a glass of water without some bedroom-esque powerplay this time. “Seriously, why did you run off into the rain last night? Look where it got you.” It’s a shocker that you haven’t told him he’s gross yet. You’re standing there in front of the bathroom and in front of the mess of his post-vomit presence, and all you’re doing is looking at him in worry. 

“I wasn’t expecting you guys to be there,” he says, still sounding like death, and you take the now empty glass from him and head over to the kitchen, pointing at his makeshift deathbed on the couch. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to give Mariah Carey a run for her money, either.” After you place the glass into the sink, you’re back to the living room. He’s down on the sofa, eyelids heavy, unable to say or do anything when you push back his hair to place a damp towel on his forehead. “Like damn, I knew you guys have known each other for a while now, but I totally felt like an outsider when I was the only one surprised to hear you sing.”

You’re not making fun of him. You don’t make a comment about how sticky his skin feels or how gross his sweat-drenched shirt is.

“I like your voice. Too bad it sounds like shit right now, but you should let me hear you again once you feel better.” The doorbell rings. “Oh, right, I ordered some porridge. You can feed yourself, right? Hold on, let me get it.”

He hears your footsteps padding across the floor, unable to find the strength to open his eyes as the coolness of the cloth seeps into his forehead. Heeseung has always thought you were a bit too much— case in point, everything that just happened and all the other times you’ve teased, tormented, and actively tortured to the point of tears all the inhabitants of this god forsaken house. 

Yet it is also your excessive nature that has let Sunghoon speak more than five words around you, that has stopped Beomgyu from hermitting in his room twenty-four-seven, that has helped Soobin and Jay in two very important instances this summer, and has allowed Jake to offer you a spot in their lives after leaving that room on the third floor empty for a good two years.

“Fuck, I can’t believe they left me behind with a sick man when I can barely even take care of myself.”

You’re back. He opens his eyes and tries to lift himself up but his body is way too heavy. “Uh,” he says. “Can you…please…open the container for me?” He doesn’t miss your amused fucking grin when he mumbles out the please.

“Ah. Open up.”

Heeseung has always felt you were too much. Maybe it’s his fever talking, maybe it’s not, but maybe too much exactly what he needs right now.

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

#lee heeseung x reader #heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #tomorrow x together x reader #txt x reader #heeseung x you #txt scenarios #enhypen scenarios #choi soobin x reader #choi beomgyu x reader #park sunghoon x reader #sim jaeyun x reader

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 61

part 1 | part 60 | ao3

cw: mentions of canonical minor character death

Chapter 14

It's twilight by the time they make their way to Rick's place — gnat clouds swarming, sun dipped low, Lover's Lake an inky smudge beyond the blur of passing pines. Steve’s not totally sure how they got here, this dusty service road that's more pothole than pavement; one minute he's bitching about doomed love and double VHS, the next he’s taking the scenic route to a drug den.

There were some important moments in between, he’s pretty sure.

He’s also pretty sure he blacked out somewhere around the moment the morning news reported that an-unidentified-Hawkins-student-who-very-well-could-be-Eddie-Munson was found dead in his fucking trailer.

Kinda difficult to resurface from that one.

Feels like his soul’s got swimmer’s ear.

Even hours later — after Dustin and Max burst into Family Video talking a mile a minute about how Eddie was alive and they needed to use the phones; after Ernie stupidly gave a reporter Steve’s name, swearing up and down on the TV that his neighbor Steve Harrington was an upstanding young man who would never do something like this; after they spent an agonizingly long afternoon lying low and taking backroads to avoid the cops because the cops probably suspect Steve of murder now, oh god—

“It’s this next right up ahead,” Max says from the back seat. There's a map spread over the bench between her and Dustin, and Steve blinks himself awake; gives her a nod in the rearview.

Beside her, Dustin’s munching on Twizzlers he stole from the store — window down, easy slouch, just way too chipper for the situation at hand. "So Steve," he says conversationally, "now that you're a fugitive, does that mean—?"

Steve cuts Robin a pleading look.

Robin reaches back and smacks the little twerp upside the head.

"Ow!" Dustin whines.

"Shut up, please," Robin smiles.

Max makes a sound like she's trying not to laugh and checks the map again. "Right here," she says, pointing. "After that weird tree stump."

They turn onto another road that could be generously described as paved, once, several decades ago, and eventually, the winding path lets out onto a slightly nicer street. Aging but cared for, Holland Road is a crowded row of little lake houses, trailers and shacks with manicured shrubs and chipped fence paint, weeds growing through the sidewalks beneath pristine American flags. Steve pulls into the driveway of #2121.

It looks abandoned. Dark inside and out, a truck parked on the curb that's likely been there for a while, its tires sagging in a mulch of old wet leaves. There’s an autumn wreath on the front door.

“You sure this is the place?” he asks as they climb out of the car.

Max sasses him for questioning her navigation skills, Dustin unsuccessfully tries to land a revenge slap on Robin — a move that earns him a retaliation wedgie and a wrestling match he was never gonna win — and Steve pops the trunk and feels a hundred years old. Feels every bit the exhausted dad trying to keep the family road trip together as he grabs his nail bat and slings his duffel over his shoulder.

"You planning to spend the night?" Dustin teases from Robin's armpit, still bent double where she's got him in a headlock.

"No, just-" he drops the bag at their feet with a grunt, “doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Dustin’s eyes bug out. “Is that a can of goddamn bear mace?”

“Keep your voice down!” Steve hisses.

“You keep your voice down!”

"Should I just go ahead and choke him out?" Robin offers.

Steve considers it for a second: knock 'em all out, stuff 'em back inside the car. Go do this shit quietly by himself.

He rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips.

"You're no fun," she pouts, but she lets Dustin go.

Dustin grabs flashlights and walkies out of the bag, passes them around the circle. They take a moment to steel themselves — huddled together in the dark, shoulders tense, the creepy house looming ahead. Sharp shadows stretch toward them. Croaking sounds creeping from the edges of the lake.

Robin puts her flashlight under her chin like she's about to tell a scary story. "Alright, kiddos," she says in a deep, ominous voice. "Let's go rescue Steve's ex."

Stunned silence in the sudden vacuum her words create. Steve lets out a tired sigh. Dustin’s jaw is on the curb.

“His WHAT?” Dustin shouts.

Oh, my god. “He’s not my ex."

Robin rolls her eyes and says ‘sure’ under her breath, and Max turns to Dustin, laughing. “You didn’t know they were a thing?”

“We’re not—” Steve tries again.

“What were you trying to get them back together for then?”

She seems genuinely curious. Dustin seems three seconds from spontaneous combustion. “What was I WHAT?!” he yelps, limbs everywhere. Reminds Steve of Eddie so bad it hurts.

“Okay,” Steve interrupts, clapping them both on the shoulder; drops his voice to a harsh whisper. “In case you two forgot, we’re here to rescue Eddie.”

“Who you’re dating.”

Dustin’s voice is small, disconnected, his gaze far away. Like he’s shellshocked.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “I— Yes. No. It’s complicated.”

Max snorts at his answer, Dustin makes a series of faces like he's gonna need seven years to process, and Robin interrupts his crisis by waving her flashlight like a traffic guard, walking backward up the hill as she directs them toward the house.

“Why don’t we just go find him first?” she suggests, making a rainbow with her hands, flinging light through the grimy windows. “And then Stevie here can answer alllll your big gay questions.”

Steve glares at Robin. Dustin glares at him, narrowed eyes for a full ten seconds like 'yeah, you fucking better,' and then he takes off up the driveway hollering Eddie's name.

—

part 62

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#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #max mayfield #dustin henderson #reefer rick #my writing #my fic

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER THREE — EDDIE MUNSON COMMITS TREASON (BREAKS UP a CAT FIGHT)

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you deal with the fallout of your fight at steve harrington's party... in the passenger seat of eddie munson's van. so much for pretending you didn't exist to one another, huh? content warnings: as always, MINORS FUCK OFF, because we have *deep breath* implied fantasy smut, lots of swearing, confused yearning, themes of threat, heavy snark, another mention of the drink tab which i feel like is/was gross word count: 7.2k

Dear Dio, Tommy Iommi, Gary Gygax, Pee-wee Herman, Ronnie Ecker — forgive me for what I’m about to do. 

I know I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life. Like the time I lit all my hair on fire and spent middle school with a buzz cut. Or the time I almost trapped myself in a spread eagle with my own handcuffs. Or the time I got my arm stuck in a wall for an entire afternoon when I was trying to rescue a feral cat. 

I’ve done a lot of stupid shit. But the stupidest among it all has got to be saving this girl from the bare knuckle wrath of Carol Whatsername. You know the one. 

Tonight, for whatever reason, this insane ex-rich chick has decided to teeter on the edge of a pool of boiling hot lava and for whatever reason, I feel like it’s my responsibility to yank her back.

Which sucks, because she’s a total bitch to me. 

Even if she just told everybody Tommy Hagan had crabs and has been cheating on his girlfriend in such a deranged way that it almost made me pop a semi. 

Anyway. Tell my guitar I love her. 

The world around Eddie slows to the tick of a football game replay as you let the last incendiary word you speak to Carol bounce around the goddamn Roman amphitheater Harrington’s back yard has become. 

This is insane. What he’s watching is insane. Like, he knew you and your dumb little court of Hawkinsites bickered back and forth, but you’re the last person he’d ever expect to air their dirty laundry like this. 

It’s incredible to watch the fascist leadership that he and the rest of the social nobodies have suffered under for so long rupture in real time. 

What’s even more incredible is how little hesitation there is on his part, shoving through the crowd when he sees Carol leaping for you. Eddie’s nearly jostled backwards by some slobbering roid heads— they’ve already called CAT FIGHT! and a crowd is clamoring. But Eddie’s got years of thankless equipment lugging behind him, giving him deceptively strong arms.

And thank god, because you are not an easy girl to hold onto. 

Carol lands a decent punch to your face, slamming with a dull knuckle-on-cheekbone crunch that makes all the onlookers, including him, go ooof! You stagger back in a state of shock (though, c’mon, you heard what you said just now, right?) and Eddie takes his shot just as you dive forward to retaliate.

He grabs you under the arms so you can’t like, elbow him in the fucking nose, a pale imitation of an illegal wresting move that Al Munson had forced him to learn at the tender age of seven. His dad had fancied himself a wrestling manager at the time— you can imagine how that worked out. 

But Jesus, can you ever squirm! Your body writhes against him—stop—hips bucking—don’t go there—as you try to get free. He doesn’t even think you realize who’s dragging you away from the screaming harpy, otherwise you’d probably turn your fury on him. 

He takes full advantage of the rage blackout and manhandles you through the party, earning a baffled look from Steve Harrington, who’s finally graced his own party with his presence. A pinch-faced Nancy Wheeler lingers behind him, but then again, Wheeler’s always all pinch-faced.

“What the fuck?!” Harrington breathes, exasperated. 

Eddie struggles against you struggling, just about dragging you over the front doorstep. Trust this guy to be upstairs in a domestic dispute, missing all the action while getting no action. 

Even in the chaos, Eddie will never pass up an opportunity to fuck with Harrington.

“You gotta start hidin’ your bath salts, man! Chicks are going crazy in there–Evil Dead type shit!” 

—

“You’re dead, Lacy! Monday morning, you are fucking dead!” Carol screams down the hallway. 

“It’s a date, bitch!” you screech, Munson’s nelson hold on you stronger than your thrashing. With a lot of work, he manages to haul you as far as Harrington’s front yard before you wriggle out of his grasp. You shove him, hard, all white hot and punch drunk and regular drunk on top of that. 

He yelps, high and frightened. You weren’t expecting a noise like that to come out of a surly-looking dude like him. 

So you do it again. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you spit, and Munson flinches.

“Cutting you off!” he exclaims, this half-yell, half-laugh. It stings, the way he’s looking at you– like your anger isn’t anger, like it’s just amusing to him. 

“Well, who gave you the right? Who died and made you my parole officer, Munson?!” 

“Oh, I’m not– but I also didn’t feel like being woken up at home when the cops come looking for you after you go all Raging Bull on Carol. You haven’t been around the park long enough to hear ‘em, but those sirens really perforate the eardrums!”

Your jaw sets itself stiffly and you bind your arms over your chest. Unfuckingbelievable. “I would’ve, you know,” you breathe, seething, “Beat her up.” 

Munson’s dark eyes glide over you, like he’s checking you for concealed weapons or signs of a zombie bite— you avoid his gaze entirely, staring square into the middle distance. 

You promised that he didn’t exist to you, yet here he is. Driving you off the road. Breaking up your fights. Existing.

“Yeah, I know you woulda. You’re scary,” he says. You shrug, and he reaches to massage his shoulder. “And strong. Shit.” 

Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t feel bad. You don’t feel bad because he’s grinning at you now and despite yourself, despite everything that’s transpired and the everything about him, you’re trying your hardest not to grin back. Adrenaline and vodka are still burning a hole in your chest. 

“Stay out of my way, then.”  

“Noted, but,” a couple of steps from Munson’s end closes some space between you. He’s peering at your face, right where Carol clocked you. A hand reaches out, angling your chin closer to the Harrington’s glaring porch light with his fingertips. You stiffen and squint, performatively wary, but you don’t stop him. You just let his eyes pan over you, looking anywhere but into them. “You might need a little first aid first. And a ride home.” 

“I was actually planning on carjacking Hagan,” you say coolly, the smile you were trying to beat away edging its way across your face. Munson releases your chin and the spot where his fingers were buzzes. It’s just the cold. It’s just your slutty librarian outfit, you tell yourself. You have to swallow in order to speak again. “Seems like fitting payback.”

“Jesus, sweetheart, what did I just say about cops?”

—

Eddie tolerates your eyes rolling back in your head when he props the passenger door open for you, helping you into the cluttered van with an outstretched had. 

See, I’m not the kind of asshole who doesn’t open doors for girls wearing stilts for shoes.

Those things were not made for clambering into a vehicle like this, sure, but they’re– nice. For what he knows about shoes, which is nothing. They make your legs look more… leggy, and for whatever reason this is making his brain soft. 

In your other hand is a cold can of High Life, which is the closest thing to an ice pack he could nab. That bruise blooming under your eye is going to be nasty, and he’s a little curious how you’re gonna look with it. You, with nary a hair out of place on a bad day, with a big ol’ purple shiner in a place that’s hard to hide.  

Gunning out of Harrington’s hood, a silence settles between Eddie and you. The radio hums in the background– a mainstream station for once. He thoughtfully figured that an aural assault by Sabbath would kinda rub salt in your wound. 

He’s thoughtful, but he’s not not nosy. So, of course he’s gonna ask– 

“That whole… verbal smackdown back there,” Munson starts after clearing his throat. “With Tommy H and everybody.”

On your end, the adrenaline has worn off and the numbing effects of the booze have amped up. You feel loose and warm, apart from the beer can cooling your bruise. There are twice as many streetlights streaming past you as usual. This is going to blow later– if you don’t blow chunks first. 

“All that about your dad pimping me out?” God, I mean, Hagan couldn’t compose a written sentence to save his life but maybe he had a future in speculative fiction. Did he just come up with that on the fly? “Take a wild guess, Munson.” 

Eddie recoils in his seat– gross. Gross. “Not the– the shit with Tina and Carol and–”

“Oh, the crabs? Yeaaaah, that’s true,” you slur, “But I rejected Tommy waaay before I knew that. Call it my brilliant instinct. And then he has the nerve to call me frigid, which– trust me, I’m anything… anything but.”

Munson seems a little surprised at this. You can see it in the way his eyebrows dart under his curly bangs. 

But you’ve had your share of disappointing experiences with the blandly acceptable boys in your circle– it’s par for the course, it’s part of advancing in the field. You can’t throw your cat into the street completely, but god forbid you be choosy about the boys you want to copulate with. The ones you’ve hooked up with, all unremarkable and perfunctory, always seemed so smug afterwards. Like they’d conquered something. 

But from Eddie’s purview, you always held yourself like you were above everyone else; not just the underclassmen and the social rejects, but even your own friends. He’d watch you sometimes, because it’s hard not to watch you. He’d wait for the few flickering moments you let your guard down, when you thought no one was paying attention as you sat at the lunch table or walked the hallways. So achingly unamused by the guffawing, the backslapping, the forced camaraderie of your forced high school persona and your forced high school friends. Then, one of them would say something like, Right, Lacy? and your brow would unarch and you’d be right back in the groove with the rest of them, giggling dumbly and glossing your lips. 

He always wondered how you did it, tolerated it. And why.

“Now, far be it from me to agree with a shithead like Hagan–and I don’t, before you get scary–but I kinda get where he’s picking that up,” Eddie winces, throwing a glance to you, glassy-eyed with your head against the window. You’re looking at him with narrowed eyes, eyeliner smudged. Even that look could cut down a man with twice his ego. “You’re a little bit frosty. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day– which, y’know, could be–”

You absolutely do not let him finish the thought.   

“It’s caaaalled being aloof, Munson,” you drawl, shuffling your shoulders against the passenger door and pulling a stray thread from your skirt with a sharp snap. “Playing hard to get, duh? Leave them wanting more? You wouldn’t get it because you’re so goddamn big and obvious all the time…”

“Obvious!” he brays, letting his jaw hang open with theatrical flair, “Obvious! Lacy, you wound me, I–”

“Obvious,” you bark back, “Obvious like a neon sign, obvious like a circus tent, obvious like– like– look at me, look at me, I’m a weirdo!” Your Munson impression, complete with devil horns, is a little dorkified but it shuts him right up. That loose little tongue of yours has trasmuted your mood from wrath to barbed silliness. “So obvious you wouldn’t know that kind of subtlety. Not if it hit you in the face.” 

A familiar tune whistles from the radio, distracting you. “… or cause you’re a virgin.”

“Okay—!“ Eddie starts, immediately assuming the position of point guard. His hackles are raised, but to be honest, he’s so willing to let you ramble on. It’s the first time he’s heard you talk this much, ever, save your little tête-à-tête by the lockers the other day. 

Eddie doesn’t want to stem the flow just yet. He’s not thinking about it too hard.

“Oh shit, do you hear that?” Like a Virgin pumps from the tinny speakers and you reach to turn it up, your head drunkenly bobbling on your neck. Eddie winces; it’s so weird, watching you like this. It’s like dream logic. It’s like opposite day. “Munson’s a virgin! I’m gonna touch him for the very first tiii-iime! Munson’s a vii-iir-gin—“

“First off, no I am not and no,” he audibly swallows, positive you didn’t realize what you just sang, “no, you are not, ‘cause— well.” He clears his throat. A flare of heat burns around his collar. “I’m not the type to bone and tell.”

“Bone and tell.” You guffaw, a sound so unbecoming yet so endearing coming from you, and slump back in your seat. That tight little skirt you’re wearing rides up about an inch and a half. “Sounds like something a virgin would say.”

Eddie huffs; no way around this. You’re fucking with him, and it’s the indefatiguable male ego that’s not going to let him let you win. 

He fucks, okay? Or has fucked, prior to this. 

Not that there’s anything wrong with not fucking. 

But he’s done it.  

Eddie’s eyes dart between you and the road, and you’ve got him like a stuck pig with that expectant glare. His eyes linger on your exposed upper legs for a half a second. 

Christ, you’re annoying. It occurs to him that wants to bite the soft flesh of your thigh and hear you squeal about it, but you are annoying as hell. 

“Fine. Fine. You wanna know?”

Your head lolls against the rough upholstery of the seat and you bat your lashes at him. “I really wanna know.” 

And Munson will tell you, you know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to. 

“Nicole Summers.”

“Bullshit. Nicole Nicole? My Nicole?”

“Nicole Nicole. Nicole, formerly yours. The only-girl-meaner-than-you Nicole. It was tenth grade,” he snorts bitterly. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life.”

“Nicole told us she got her v-card stamped by a board waxer in Maui.”

“I’ve got a lot of side gigs. You don’t know about me.”

You snort too, despite yourself. That’s a lot of despite-ing tonight, Lacy. You sit up in the seat a little, interest catching. Flame to a candle wick. 

“How was it?” you press. 

Munson furrows his brow, like duh. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life, I just told you.” A beat. “Until— …Cass Finnigan.”

Now, an encounter like that is less surprising, but still you holler, “Bullshit!”

“I’d say the same shit if it hadn’t, y’know, happened to me,” he stage whispers, “In this van.”  

Your eyes widen, a flicker of a grimace sailing across your face. You wonder how he pulled that off, but all that comes to mind is the start of a bad porno– Cass meets him at that dingy little bench out back of the school to pick up and he’s, I don’t know, test driving some of his new supply and offers her a toke. She’s all, why the free samples, Munson? and he’s all, I only let the prettiest girls test the product. And because Cass is notoriously insecure–who among us, girl–she’s all, who, me? and he’s all, come back to my van, and she’s all, but I’m going steady with Mikey B, and he’s all, I won’t tell if you won’t and then he fucks her in the ass. 

Because Cass is saving the first hole for marriage and you know that. You’re the kind of person people tell things to. 

What you don’t expect is a weird pull of… envy. Why, in this imaginary scenario, had he never invited you back to his van? Well. You know why. But you’re drunk, so logic begone. “When did all this go down?”

“Uh, right before school got back,” Munson answers, kind of apprehensively. He could be lying, you figure.

“Well, Cass has been having a weird year,” you mumble, meaning to think that rather than say it. You know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.

“What’s that supposed to imply exactly?” Eddie says, an edge in his voice. He can’t help the way something in his chest flares; like he forgot to wait for the other shoe to drop with you, and now it’s dropping. 

“It stands to reason that she’d wanna, like, do something stupid,” you explain, and you know how it sounds. It’s mean. But honestly, you’re so drunk, and so past the point of attempting to spare people’s feelings.

“Like hook up with the local freak,” Eddie finishes for you, tone flat. You couldn’t not put him in his place, could you? Not that he thought Cass liked him or anything, he could feel her (literally feel her) going through the motions like a social experiment but– God, a little delusion doesn’t hurt now and again. 

“Exactly!” and even in your inebriated state, you can feel the tension in the air, hanging between you like a balloon full of noxious gas. Rather than cut it, you want to poke at it, unfeeling as to whether that’ll make it worse or better between you and the boy in the driver’s seat. You hike yourself up further, leaning toward him, pulling the can of High Life from your face. 

Munson’s profile is this beguiling mix of hurt and irritation, lit by the scuzzy orange hue of the passing streetlights. 

“What, did you want me to act impressed? Did you want me to lie to you?” 

“What? No– look, I know what girls like that– think of me, but,” Eddie’s voice shrinks in his throat, making him sound completely pre-pubescent. He notices you lean forward in his peripheral vision, like you have to strain to hear it, “that doesn’t make it any less shitty.” 

Oof. He did not need to unleash that little piss-shake of earnestness right now. He mentally steels himself for a ribbing from you, a cackling, piercing laugh like you let out before Carol punched you. 

“Of course it doesn’t!” you froth, “Just like it doesn’t make it any less shitty when guys act like they’re settling a bet with their buddies when they hook up with me.” You cross your arms to your chest with a quickness, slamming back into the seat. “Bet you couldn’t make it with Lacy, she’s got a combination lock on her pussy. Fuck you, dude.”

That coaxes a bark of a laugh from Munson, which makes you giggle a little in turn. It’s a weird feeling. It’s not quite relief; more like satisfaction. One point to Lacy, you made him laugh. 

“Combination lock, huh?”

“Allegedly.”

“Bet none of those losers even know how to crack a lock.” 

Your head tilts in his direction, forward this time. “And you do?”

Munson’s eyes flash at you, a dangerous orange glint sparkling in the darkness of his irises. “My criminal skillset is pretty diverse.”

He pins you down with this look from the driver’s seat and for a heartbeat or two, and you let him. Just long enough that a stab of sobriety sneaks in– and you can’t deny it, but you wish it didn’t. 

You’re drunk. 

If you can stay drunk, all bets are off. 

If you can stay drunk, whatever you do doesn’t matter, because you were drunk. 

You could reach over and press your fingers into the soft denim between his legs, make something hard there. You could squeeze the thickness of him over his zipper and kiss the shock of alabaster skin on his neck, where his pulse goes all jackrabbity under your touch. You could make him forget he ever heard the name Cass Finnigan. 

And it would mean nothing. 

And you wouldn’t have to justify it, because you were drunk. That’s what you’ve always been taught.

But you uncross your arms and you pull at the hem of your skirt and look to the road, just as the van swerves into the trailer park. Munson doesn’t take such a hard turn at the corner this time, probably wary of your risk of ralphing all over the van if he does. He pulls into that negative space between your trailer and his and instructs you to wait in your seat. 

“Trust me, the descent out of this baby is much trickier than it looks,” he assures you, jogging to the passenger door, a jingle of keys and pocket chains and belts on leather, “and you’re way too gone to make it in one piece, princess.”

So he holds his hand out again (“M’shitfacedlady,”) and gingerly you take it, and it becomes very apparent very quickly that your legs have turned to rubber on the drive home. 

“Oh, shit!” 

Your attempt at gracefully exiting the van is ruined by an unsteady ankle, sending your weight right into Eddie Munson’s chest. Luckily, he was braced for it– just about. “Told you you couldn’t make it without me,” he breathes as you clutch a handful of his Metallica shirt, vision quadrupling. He’s warm, and you suddenly realize that you’re freezing.

Trembling.

“Stop flirting with me,” you hiss to one out of the four Munsons in front of you. “I need to go to bed.”

Eddie forces himself to bite back another double entendre, which is a shame, because they’re doing an awesome job of covering up how goddamn nervous he suddenly is. He moves his arm to your waist, helping you haul ass to your front door. He’s got to keep one arm outstretched behind you in case you lose your balance again– which you almost do, a couple of times, wavering around like a dashboard Jesus. 

He watches you like he’s trying to commit this to memory, the rare case of you being so beyond your usual composure. He’s even got to intervene after the first five minutes, making unlocking your front door a two idiot job.

Eddie’s about to wave you off and disappear to scream and something else into his pillow when he sees you take a dangerous lunge into the darkness of the trailer. “Woah, girl–” 

But you recover, in a kind of brainless way, taking a measured Bambi-like step forward. One after the other. 

Fuck. He can’t leave you like this. 

You’re gonna trip and brain yourself on a Fabergé egg or whatever the fuck it is you and your mom have in there. 

“Uh– Lacy?” 

The trailer is eerily quiet. You feel like you’re trespassing in your own place. Boxes of out-of-place, too-expensive ephemera are still strewn everywhere, but you navigate the maze of them like it’s nothing. Sense memory. You don’t even entirely register that Munson is following you inside, that he’s frantically whispering after you, until you reach your bedroom door. 

A coldness shoots up your spine as you turn on him. You didn’t invite him in here, did you? 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask for the second time tonight. This time, it comes out a little fearful. 

Eddie picks this up, right where you’ve erroneously dropped it. His chest gets a little tight. You didn’t think he was trying to–? 

“Making sure you lie down in the recovery position, that’s all,” he throws his hands up in total surrender, Scout’s honor, all that shit. “I’m not tryin’ to pick any locks tonight. I swear.” 

“I don’t need your help, Munson,” but just as you twist the doorknob, you keel over through the door, hitting the floor like a lead balloon. 

“Yeah, you keep telling me that,” he blearily smirks down at you, “And yet.”

But Munson’s not such an asshole about it that he just leaves you there. He hauls you up, again, and you stagger towards your bed, flopping face down on top of the comforter. He says some variation of okay, well, that’s how you choke to death on your own vomit, Jimi Hendrix and bullies you into the recovery position. 

“Don’t freak out, I’m just–” and Munson sits gingerly on the edge of your bed, taking one of your high heeled feet in his hands. 

What the fuck, you mumble, either aloud or in your head. But he’s fiddling with the tiny buckle at your ankle, gently undoing it. Another chill runs through your body but you don’t move, not an iota. You just… let him do it. His hands on your aching feet aren’t a totally unwelcome touch. He’s being featherlight about it, almost afraid to touch you even though he had no problem sheepdogging you into bed. 

“You could do anything to me right now,” you hear yourself saying. “No one would even know. No one would even care, I bet.” 

It’s meant to sound like you’re goading him, or even flirting with him, but it comes out sounding pitiful. You cringe, your hands creeping up to cover your face. 

“I’d care.” Munson’s voice is a tiny mumble– you know he’s just defending himself, but it kind of sounds like something else. He slips your right shoe off and sets it on the floor next to your left one. He hesitates for a moment before getting off your bed. 

“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”

“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”

“Have a fun hangover, Lacy.” 

–

You do not have a fun hangover. You wake up late Saturday afternoon after Friday’s bacchanal and don’t emerge from your room save from the occasional bathroom trip to puke up what little dignity you’ve got left. Sunday morning is when your mom hammers on the door and drags you to the kitchenette after confirming that you’re still, y’know, alive. 

“This is your game face, hm?” she says, pulling at your chin to examine your violet bruise that seems to have developed its own heartbeat. She doesn’t hold your face the way Munson did, gentle and searching, just tugs into the sparse light streaming into the dingy kitchenette.

You attempt to steel your jaw, but your bottom lip is starting to waver. 

“What happened?” your mother asks, and beneath all the jagged broken glass, there’s a tiny sliver of tenderness. 

Call it your pride, but you don’t reach for it. 

“I went out,” you say tightly, “and I made a fool of us.”

She hacks up a scoff through her smoker’s cough and disappears into her bedroom, leaving you alone to pick at a cold waffle. The few moments of consciousness you’ve had since Friday night have been spent trying to piece the party together– you remember clearing the better part of a bottle of cheap, cheap, shitty vodka with Robin Buckley’s help (weird), you remember getting into it with Hagan and Carol and getting wailed on. You remember getting a ride home with Munson, but the finer details of that are fuzzy. 

You think, and this is a thought that turns your already 180’d stomach, you let him into your bedroom, but you can’t be one hundred percent sure. All you know for an absolute is that your shoes came off that night, and you would never bother to take your shoes off after a night like that. 

So somebody must have. 

Meanwhile, Eddie’s been having a hell of a meanwhile. 

Fact of the matter is that you managed to detonate a nuclear bomb at Harrington’s party just under an hour after your arrival, which has got to be some kind of world record. It was also a world record for how little product he’d managed to sell during one of those parties, because he was preventing the manslaughter of a teenage girl– could’ve been you, could’ve been Carol. He nearly wishes he let that fight play out, as he stares into his empty wallet. 

Eddie’s gotta busy himself somehow, gotta do something– weirdly, he’s not in the mood to make a whole lot of noise. It’s not such a terrible day for working on his van, so he slams his toolbox on the ground and gives a couple dozen casual glances toward your bedroom window.

Your blinds still aren’t fixed. That’s got to have been shitty when you woke up with a splitting vodka headache and a shiner the size of Canada. 

Eddie keeps finding excuses to pace back and forth in perfect view of your window. Not in a peeping Tom sort of way, but in a way where he’d kind of like to see any sign of life from you. Even if you just rose from your bed like Nosferatu and gave him the finger. Then, he could relax. 

“Ed,” a gruff voice comes from the makeshift trailer porch, “fuck’re you doin’.” 

Those dulcet tones would belong to his beloved Uncle Wayne, who, ever since his hours got cut at the plant, has become unbearably observant of Eddie’s every movement. Wayne’s not a neglectful kind of father figure, not like his blinders-wearing real dad is, so he actually gets concerned when Eddie’s acting out of sorts. 

“Engine,” Eddie mumbles, pivoting fast like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t, “Engine’s making hinky noises.”

“Sounded alright last night,” Wayne levels him instantly, “when you came home.” 

“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he twists an oily rag in his hands, avoiding Wayne’s stony stare. 

“I was up.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. God, whenever Wayne susses him out, it’s like drip torture. He’s slow as molasses with the confrontation on purpose, making Eddie sweat and out himself on every little fuck up he’s ever made. “You go in there?”

Chin jerks towards your trailer. Eddie’s shoulders shrug towards his ears, head tilting back. “Wayne, it’s not– she was real drunk, like blotto, I just–”

“You steer clear of that one.” It’s the definite nature with which Wayne says it that makes Eddie’s stomach drop. No prelude to it, no I know, kid, you were just tryin’ to do right by her. Nothing. 

“Wayne–”

“She ain’t what you think she is. Not if she’s anything like her bloodline.” 

He says this like the realization hasn’t hit Eddie like Carol hit you on Friday fight night. 

He says this like people haven’t been saying the same thing about Eddie for years.

–

Monday morning comes and you’re still somewhat suffering. A headache nags at your temple, but you pin that down to anxiety rather than an extended play of your hangover. 

It occurs to you that you should dress as down as possible today– realistically, of course, as you’d never be caught dead in sweatpants. You need comfort, you need something that feels like a well-worn blanket so you opt for a deep burgundy sweater dress that actually belonged to your mom in the 60s. 

You’d found it in the back of her closet when searching for a belt you knew she’d stolen from you and pulled it out. Mom! you chirped, How cute! How come you never wear this?

Oh, God, she’d cringed, batting the garment out of her way as she passed you in a cloud of Shalimar, Just throw that ratty thing out for me, would you?

But you didn’t. You kept it tucked away in the back of your closet and took it out when you needed it. When you needed to bury your face in it. Substitute it for a comfort she refused to give you. Which you realize is terrifically sad, but so’s life. 

The warm red is a distant cousin in the color family to the bruise under your eye. That bruise, it’s a glaring reminder of what a fucking loser you’ve become. The old you, the real you would never have stooped to that level– never had let them drag her down like that. But now you’re the kind of girl that screams and starts fights at parties, you guess. 

Your rage feels ugly in the cold light of day. 

You’re locking the door of the trailer behind you just as Munson emerges from his humble abode and it’s nothing short of awkward. Like you’d both seen each other naked or something.

You both stand there, in your relative doorways. His mouth gapes like he’s about to say hi, say something, and a memory comes back to you. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day. No one likes that. No one wants that. 

Regret stabs at you.

“Can you see it from there?” It’s the only thing you can think of to say, because you’re sure as fuck not saying hi. 

“What?”

“The bruise. Can– can you see it from over there?” 

Munson sort of half-snorts. “Not from here–”

“Ugh, thank god.”

“--but this is like, over fifteen feet away.” 

You roll your eyes, which hurts a lot, thanks guy, and walk toward his van. 

“Now?” you say, waving a hand under your eye, right where you’ve applied and blended and applied and blended a criminal amount of concealer. Munson leaves about a foot of space between you, on purpose, and you crane your neck back, on purpose. Reinstating the forcefield between you. 

“Oh yeah, you can barely even see that you got your ass kicked.”

“It’s not even eight in the morning, Munson. Do you really want to start your day with a knee to the balls?”

“You’re right. That’s usually an after-dinner activity,” he grins and jerks his head toward the van. “Need a ride?”

Need a ride? Like it’s the most ordinary, everyday thing in the world, Eddie Munson offering you a ride to school in his deathtrap of a van. Your stomach pulls at the sense memory of being in there on Friday night, and what you’ll look like getting out of it in the parking lot of Hawkins High. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head, definite and resolute. “I’m walking.” 

He scoffs. “C’mon. It’s too late to start walking now. You’ll be late for first period.” 

You scoff back, imitating him. “So what?”

“You’re never late for first period.” 

“I can be late– how the hell do you know I’m never late for first period?” 

“Because, dummy, I’m always late for first period,” he tells you, yanking open the passenger door, “And I sit behind you in History, and you’re always there when I come in, leaning back with your nose in some dumb book and your stupid hair all over my desk.” 

It’s true– you are always reading in history, because Kaminsky can’t teach for shit and you’ve already read ahead on the coursework anyway. You liked to rub that in his face by pulling out some unprescribed literature during class. Plus, no one you really care about is in your class, so you don’t have to worry about getting made fun of for having your nose in some dumb book. Illiterate jocks would never try that shit with you– nobody there would. 

Until now. 

And it’s true that Eddie Munson sits behind you, and barrels in like an idiotic excuse for a hurricane with some idiotic excuse for being late that you always scoff at, because does he ever get tired of his own bullshit. But after that brief cameo appearance in your day, you really do forget about him. 

Until now. 

“So?” he says, all expectant. 

And you consider it for a second, you really do– but you don’t think you can handle the blowback of leaving a party with Eddie Munson on Friday then turning up with him on Monday. Going to the same class. Where he sits behind you. It’s just… overexposure. 

The same realization must hit him, because all of a sudden he’s slamming the door shut with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever. Your tardy slip, babe.” You can’t help but think he sounds a little wounded. 

But fuck it. Fuck it! Since when do you stand around feeling sorry for Eddie Munson? 

Before you know it, the van roars out and leaves you in the dust. 

You don’t make it to school until after second period, because that so-called bus route a fifteen minute walk from the trailer park must not even exist, so you forge a note from your mom in the parking lot. 

As your fountain pen hovers over the paper, brainstorming an excuse, you consider pulling out the big guns– say you had to attend visitation day at the penitentiary. Use this disaster to your advantage for once; but you pull back. Scribble something about a doctor’s appointment and dot your mother’s ‘i’s with eerie precision.  

You make quick work of dropping the note off in reception– the uptick of being the kid of the town’s gossip beacon is some people still feel sorry for you. Some people weirdly include Janice, Principal Higgins’ secretary, who snatches the note from you before you can even reach the actual receptionist’s desk. 

“I’ll file that for you, dear,” she says, all coo-cooey with an unwelcome hand on your shoulder, “How are you and your poor mother doing these days? And your,” her croaky voice drops to a whisper, “dad? How is… he being treated?”

You blink at her, gripping the fountain pen in your hand. “Do you know what a shiv is, Janice?”

Just then, the bell trills and you take your leave, stepping out into the linoleum. 

Someone calls your name from down the hall. You crane your neck to see Ronnie Ecker jogging toward you, paper in hand. 

Now look, you’ve never had a problem with Ronnie Ecker. You can’t say you’re particularly fond of her but she’s smart; she keeps to herself and she was a decent lab partner during your junior year of dissecting frogs together. Squeamish, but that’s why you were there, to handle the scalpel. As much of a social outcast as she is, she’s not nearly as odious as the rest of them. That’s pretty goddamn remarkable amongst the Hawkins student body. 

She is also, you’ve come to notice, a resident of Forest Hills trailer park. 

“Hey!” she says, “Um, I noticed you missed first period and Kaminsky was handing our papers back so I figured you’d want yours…” 

“Why is everyone so obsessed with me missing first period?”

“Huh?”

“No– nothing,” you huff, taking the paper from her. A solid B on A+ material– told you Kaminsky couldn’t teach for shit. He’d be hearing from you about this. “Thanks for this, Ronnie.”

You start down the hall but notice Ronnie’s keeping in step with you. “I also just wanted to say– I heard about what happened Friday. And I think it’s sick, you standing up to Hagan like that. Asshole needed to be put in his place.” 

Well, there’s only one person she could have heard the nitty gritty of that news from. You know she’s trying to flatter you, but all you feel is a flame of embarrassment, plus a touch of anger– even though the news has easily circulated the school hallways by now. 

Along with the rumors of you taking Hargrove, Buckley and Munson, and not in a fight. 

“Well. Y’know. I was pretty wasted,” you attempt to brush it off and you see Ronnie deflate a little. 

Like you’re not the blazing hero someone made you out to be. 

“Okay, but is it true you had a threesome with Billy Hargrove and Robin Buckley and Robin was wearing the Tigers mascot suit?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

–

Classes pass in a monotonous blur, like most Mondays, but worse. That would be thanks to the extra shot of dread that’s served with your cafeteria meal of a wilted salad and soda. Last week at lunchtime, you at least had a tenuous standing with your former circle– you could still sit between Tina and Nancy Wheeler and suffer Tina’s thinly veiled jabs at you with a semi-placid look on your face. Nancy would look at you with eyes full of pity, and you’d want to punch her face in, but you’d be fine. 

But now, as you stand in the cafeteria swirling with people and catch the death glares from your old table (save for Nancy and Steve Harrington, who just straight up refuse to make eye contact with you), you’re just about ready to snap. 

Your flight instinct tells you to toss the tray out of your clammy hands and run, and keep running, until you disappear into the woods behind the school, never to be found. Your body becomes mulch before anyone remembers to look for you. Maybe you make really good fertilizer and a couple of pretty weeds sprout up from where you die. 

Your bruise, under its flaking layers of concealer, throbs twice– as if to say, don’t you fucking dare.

You make a confident beeline for the table, chin tilted and eyes set in a stare that could be categorized as withering, if only it was trained on anybody in particular. You grab a chair that some dumb underclassman is about to sit in and drag it with you, legs screeeeeching across the waxed floor. 

Who gives a shit who you were on Friday night. 

“I can sit here, right?” you say, and place your tray on the table next to Ronnie Ecker. 

She just stares at you for a hot second. That’s too long to stay standing in uncertainty, so you settle your stolen chair at the table and sit next to her. 

Ronnie isn’t the only one staring, however– the rest of these dorks, all in their matching t-shirts with Satan’s fiery head emblazoned across them, are watching you with their mouths agape. 

“Is this a prank or something?” one of them, a curly-haired freshman, says. 

This question is directed toward their fearless leader, decked out in denim and leather at the head of the table. That is to say, the direct opposite end of the table that you’re sitting at. 

“That’s no way to greet a lady, Gareth,” Munson says, feigning coolness but you can tell he’s a little flustered. The dead giveaway is in the way he misses his mac and cheese with his fork, the way his solid gaze double-blinks. You’ve thrown him off game– and because he’s impossible not to overhear sometimes, you know that game is all he’s got going on at this table. 

There’s that feeling again– point to Lacy. 

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

This is Munson’s version of what the hell do you think you’re doing, but you choose to ignore him. It’ll drive him insane, and you know that, glaring red warning sign that he is. Instead, you flash a smile at the freshman that almost makes him pass out, Cupid’s arrow struck straight through the heart. 

You cross your legs and angle your body toward Ronnie– and by extension, in the direction of your old table. You can see Carol burying her face in Tommy’s shoulder, the both of them on the verge of losing bowel control with laughter. Laughter at you. 

Who gives a shit who you were before Friday night.

“So, Ronnie,” you say, taking a sip of your Tab, “You get up to anything fun this weekend?”

author's notes: let me get ahead of everything and say yes, i am absolutely fucking with the timeline. suspend your disbelief, my beautiful babies, and enjoy steve, carol, tommy and ronnie ecker still being in high school because I SURE WILL. but on an absolutely serious note, thank you so much for all the support and each and every note you’ve put on the chapters so far. i seriously, seriously appreciate it. now, the notes: - you think eddie munson doesn’t fuck with pee-wee herman heavy? you think he didn’t watch this movie in reefer rick’s, high out of his gourd, and think oh yeah i love this freak? get REAL! RIP paul reubens, this one’s for you. specially every time i mention a handjob - eddie munson also has charlie kelly disease - speaking of iterations of always sunny characters, much like frank reynolds, there’s not a get rich quick scheme al munson hasn’t tried. we’ll get into that a little more… later - admittedly, the whole ‘face eating on bath salts’ thing didn’t gain traction until the 00s, but if hawkins is going to be ahead of its time in anything, it’s fucked up shit happening to people! - did you notice how i blended eddie and lacy’s povs in the van? i’m going to continue doing that in moments where they’re on a similar ~wavelength~ - jimi hendrix did unfortunately die of asphixiation, but instead of thinking about that, watch this sick video of him playing guitar that eddie definitely has committed to memory - RONNIE ECKER KLAXON. i know that in flight of icarus she’s described as tall, but that hasn’t stopped me fancasting her as ayo edebiri in an eddie munson wig - at this point, you might be thinking damn, everyone sure seems to hate each other in this story. like, why is nancy wheeler catching strays? i’m here to remind you it’s the 1980s and teenagers kind of suck. play the track - thanks again for all the love! you can keep this crazy train going by liking, commenting, reblogging and generally showing me the same kindness you’ve shown me so far. love u my little hellcats

#published by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #e. munson by powder

[toxophilitis]

Horny Peeping Sister cont

Chapter 7

The next week after her piano lesson, Becky was walking home down a dark alley, whistling her favorite piece, when suddenly a man stepped out of the shadows and grabbed her by the arm. She started to struggle and cry out when his voice fought its way through her terror and instantly calmed her.

“Easy Becky, it’s me, shhh!”

“Daddy!” she gasped, her heart at her throat. “God, you scared me to death!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, ahhh, I guess I didn’t think.” Becky now could see that her father had on the black outfit he now wore whenever they went out spying on people. He’d taken to voyeurism very quickly and Becky was glad for that. She’d gotten some very good fucks out of her old man while watching other men and women getting it on. “What are you doing here?” Becky whispered. “I thought maybe we could go out for awhile,” Jim replied. “But what about mom? She’s home!”

“I told her I was going to pick you up from your lesson and take you to the library. She doesn’t suspect a thing, I’m sure. Come on, Beck,” he whined, “let’s go find a good one and have a little fun.” Becky wanted to say no to punish her father for having frightened her so badly but she just couldn’t. It had been a couple of days since she had been fucked and a couple more than that since she’d been out peeking so she was hot for it. Her stern expression finally broke and she took her waiting father by the hand. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s see what we can find.” As quietly as ever, they slipped up and down the blocks and sometimes even between the houses. Things seemed unusually quiet and they were about to give up when a lighted window up ahead of them drew them like moths to a flame. “That’s Mike’s house,” Jim said, naming one of his co-workers. “Oh, I can’t wait to see him fucking Diane! I swear, if they weren’t married, I might go for that little piece myself!”

“Shhh,” Becky cautioned, worried her father’s excitement might give them away. They quickly moved toward the window, Jim hot to get a look at his friend and his wife fucking their brains out. But when they arrived near the bright window, Jim got quite a shock. Diane was there all right, but the man humping betweeen her golden thighs was no one he had ever seen before! “She’s cheatin’ on him!” Jim gasped. “I don’t believe it!” It didn’t matter to Becky that the couple on the old-fashioned four-poster bed was not man and wife. All she cared about was the fucking being hot to watch. Carefully she opened the gate to their backyard and led her babbling father closer to the fucking action than they had ever ventured before. “Quiet Dad, they might hear you,” she whispered, crouching down beside a potted plant. “And get down!” The bedroom had a sliding glass door that led out onto the patio that Becky and her father were crouching on. The drapes were open completely and Becky could see all of the plushly furnished bedroom and the wanton fucking taking place there. With a lusty sigh she settled down to enjoy the show. The woman in the house, Diane, was a tall honey-blonde, her hair falling nearly to her waist. Right now she was on her back with her feet spread and pointed toward the open window while a dark-haired man humped mightily between her legs. Becky watched his ass bob up and down and creamed. Jim stared at the fucking couple like he had never seen people fucking before. Diane had always been one of his fantasy girls, but he had always imagined her to be beyond reproach and totally unobtainable. She and Mike seemed devoted to one another and now, as he realized how wrong he’d been, his cock ached for what he might have had. Becky was stretched out on her stomach on the grass in front of the window and Jim joined her.

He pulled her into his arms and held her tight against him, his cock against her ass, as they undulated together and watched the man pounding between the blonde’s bent legs. Becky bounced her ass back against her father’s cock. She could already feel that it was very hard and so she mashed herself against it, teasing him. Jim reached around his little girl and felt her titties. She had on a light jacket and he unzipped it slowly, hoping that the people inside wouldn’t hear it. But he needn’t have worried. They were fucking so hard they wouldn’t have heard anything short of a nuclear explosion. Then, opening the middle few buttons of her blouse, Jim at last reached the bare skin of his daughter’s tits. “Where’s your bra?” he whispered. “Who needs it? It just gets in the way.” Jim laughed at her bluntness and cupped her little titties. The nipples were very pointed, partly from what she was watching and partly from being exposed to the cool night air. Jim took them between his thumbs and forefingers and gave them each a little pinch. As always, her tits were very sensitive, and Becky wiggled back against her dad with more vigor than before. The shaft of his hard-on ran right along the crack of her ass and Becky danced against it.  Inside the house, Diane lifted her upper body, holding herself up on her bent elbows. The man continued to hump between her bent knees and she took hold of his face and pulled it to hers, kissing him hungrily.  For the first time Becky got a good look at the woman’s face and saw that she was very beautiful. Her hair framed her perfect features and her large, luminous eyes made her look rather exotic. Becky could understand her father’s lust for Diane. Just looking at her even made Becky feel a little funny and she moaned. Jim’s fingers moved down, opening her clothes the rest of the way. Then he shoved her sticky panties away from the flowing gash of her pussy and buried both of his hands there. He shoved one finger from each hand into the hole of her cunt and fucked them in and out like pistons, one always inside her.  Becky couldn’t stay still while her father finger-fucked her this way.  She humped and rolled her hips, increasing the friction his fingers gave her cunt. The night air tickled the hairs of her pussy and she shivered when her warm cream rolled out and met the cool breeze, chilling the hot meat of her cunt. Jim grunted against the side of her neck. As he filled and refilled his daughter’s pussy, his eyes never left his friend’s wife and the man fucking her so mightily. Diane had broken off their steamy kiss and her head had lolled back, her face contorted with fuck-lust and partially covered with her long, silky hair. How Jim wished he could wrap some of that hair around the throbbing shaft of his prick and jack himself off with it! At that thought, he nuzzled his face into Becky’s hair deeper than before. He filled himself with the scent of her and it turned him on like crazy.  If he couldn’t have Diane, he could have his own daughter and Jim knew that fucking his own flesh and blood was a thousand times more thrilling than fucking anyone else.

Wet, sticky sounds came from between his little girl’s legs as his fingers continued to trench out her juicy cunt. The scent of her pussy surrounded them like a cloud and Jim inhaled deeply, getting high on the luscious aroma of teenaged pussy. His head swam with it. The smell of her cunt made his mouth water and Jim knew that he had to taste, as well as touch, her juicy young cunt. He gave her pussy a couple more spine-tingling jabs and then pulled his fingers free from her clasping pussy-walls. “Wha-?” Becky mumbled.

“Shhh, turn around, I want to eat you,” Jim whispered, helping her into the position he had in mind. Becky squirmed around until her head was pointing toward the window. Her dad then removed one of her shoes and pulled her jeans down and off that leg, leaving them tangled around her other knee. Her pussy sizzled right in front of his open, ogling eyes and he dove head-first right into its creamy depths.

Becky arched up when her father’s lips hit the open lips of her pussy.  Her head tipped way back and she found that she could still see Diane and her fuck-partner only now they were upside down! The picture almost made Becky laugh except that her father plunged his tongue into her pussy deeply and changed her emotion from amusement to pure fuck-lust.  “Ohhh,” she sighed, opening her legs as wide as she could and assuming the same sexy position Diane was in. While in the house the man between the woman’s legs, his cock filling her cunt, out in the yard the man filled the woman with his tongue, his head bobbing between her thighs.  Jim slurped down all his daughter’s juice greedily, as if he had to get all that he could tonight because tomorrow might never come. Becky humped her ass up out of the damp grass and fed her dripping pussy-meat to her father. She grabbed two big handfuls of his hair and used his head for leverage as she bounced around, now and then still catching a glimpse of what was happening inside the bedroom. Diane leaned forward and so did the man who was fucking her. They embraced and the man pulled her tighter to him, making her sit up flat on her ass.

As Becky watched, she saw them entwine their legs until they were both sitting up and facing each other, his cock apparently still inside of her cunt. “Wow,” she gasped, “that was neat!” Jim looked up over the fuzz of her cunt to see what she was looking at. To his surprise he now saw the back of the man with Diane’s legs around his ass and her pretty face peeking over his shoulder. Neither of them could move much but, from the look of ecstasy on Diane’s face, Jim knew that their new fucking position was pleasing her plenty. Then he flicked his eyes back down and threw himself into the task at hand, eating his daughter out.  He curled his tongue into a long tube and thrust into her pussy with it, opening her up like magic. Then he began a series of long, straight fuck-strokes, probing her depths with the soft, slimy length of his rigid tongue. Becky bucked and writhed, her fingers pulling hard at his hair and her nails scraping at his scalp. She made his face bob around between her legs, his nose involuntarily being ground against her upstanding clit. But Jim didn’t mind the slight discomfort his little girl’s lust brought to him. He was glad to let her have her fun. He snorted her smelly juices and gulped them down by the mouthful, loving every tasty minute of this cunt-lapping. As Jim delved his tongue far inside his daughter, scooping out helping after helping of her tasty juices, he rolled his own hips from side to side, his hard-on trapped beneath his body. It was uncomfortable to have to lay on top of such a swollen piece of cock-meat, but the man endured, more interested in his daughter’s pleasure than his own.

“Oh, Daddy, ohhh, ohhh!” Becky whimpered. “You do that sooo goood!”

Jim lapped the flat of his tongue up and down over her entire cuntal area. The tip of his tongue touched the puckered hole of Becky’s ass and he was reminded of how well she had taken his cock when he had first fucked her ass a few days ago. In appreciation he tickled that rough little dent with his tongue tip and then again lapped all the way up her creamy gash until his tongue reached the pulsing button of her clitty. He pulled her clit in between his lips and drew it out long and taut. Then he beat the end of it with the end of his tongue, loving the way Becky bucked and grunted. His hands were on either side of his munching face, keeping the girl’s legs spread as far apart as possible, giving himself plenty of room to work. Slurping noisily, Jim glanced over Becky’s cunt-bush to check out the action inside the house. Just as he looked up, he saw the man lean back and take Diane with him, guiding her up onto his prick. With a look of extreme fuck-lust, Diane took her perch on top of him, his cock securely buried in her pussy, like a queen to her throne. Better than ever her full, mature body was displayed for Jim’s hot eyes. Her curves were the lush, padded curves of a grown woman. She rolled her hips slowly, fucking at him as she looked down right into his eyes with heavy-lidded horniness. Jim watched her tits sway as she fucked that lucky man. More turned on than ever, his cock pounding against the wet grass, he reached forward and took hold of Becky’s young tits. He kept his eyes on Diane, imagining it was her full set of titties that he had his fingers stretched around. His breathing grew heavy and thick and the jets of air escaped his nostrils and tickled Becky’s clit, making her squirm with pleasure.  Her father’s tongue was driving Becky out of her mind. Again she arched herself up, giving him more of her pussy and allowing her to take an upside-down look at what Diane was up to.

The sight of the perfect woman moving on top of the man’s cock with such sensuous grace made Becky green with envy. She couldn’t wait for her own young body to finish developing. “Ummm, fuck her,” Becky spat, the top of her head in the moist grass as she moved with Diane, jerking her cunt downward at the same speed. “Fuck him good!”

The growling sound of his daughter’s lewd commands thrilled Jim. He zig-zagged his tongue up through her open cuntal crack, touching her sizzling skin only lightly and feeling the way she shuddered with mounting joy. He intended to toy with her a little more and then, when Becky couldn’t stand it anymore, he wanted to bring her off like never before. Becky arched her body, feeding her dad her pussy while she watched Diane give the other man her cunt. When Jim’s hands left her tits and went back down to hold her legs apart, Becky grabbed her own titties, rolling and pinching and tweaking them, making herself soar higher with her incredible fuck-lust. “Oh, Daddy! Daddy!” she cried, her voice rather shrill in the empty night air. Jim’s pulse pounded in his ears as he shoved his tongue deep into Becky’s cunt and then wiggled it around inside of her. He made his tongue flutter into her cunt-tunnel and then run around her clit, touching her everywhere that mattered as he brought her closer and closer to her beloved orgasm.  Becky whimpered, her body jerking violently. Her hands left her father’s head and instead grasped the grass beside her jumping ass, ripping it out by the roots in big, wet clumps. She no longer saw Diane, she no longer saw anything except her own relief, which got closer and closer with each thrust of her father’s fucking tongue. “Oh!  Oh! Ohhh!” she grunted, her words louder than ever before.

Jim jammed her full of tongue one last time and then felt her go rigid beneath him. Becky let out a blood-curdling scream, but Jim ignored it, pumping her pussy with his tongue with a quick, deep determination that kept her creaming and screaming for several endless seconds.

“Daddy! Daddy!” she cried, her young body bucking and jumping. “Ohhh!”

Jim was in the groove with her orgasm, enjoying it with her until he looked up into Diane’s bedroom. All the fucking there had stopped and Diane and her partner were looking around themselves, Becky’s screams having broken into even their intense fucking trance. Jim’s heart nearly stopped as Diane bounded off the bed and looked out her large window. Fortunately for him and Becky the difference in the light was so extreme she still couldn’t see them. Jim saw her turn back to the man and say something and, not one to take chances, Jim pulled himself up, gathering the still-whimpering Becky up into his arms. “Daddy, wha...where...ummm,” Becky moaned as he lifted her up and ran with her toward the gate, her loosened pants dangling down from her half-naked body. As he let the out the gate, Jim turned around to see an outside light come on and Diane’s fucking partner stepped out into the backyard, his cock still at half mast. Jim watched him scan the yard and then stride out into the grass. With Becky still cooing and sighing in his arms, Jim watched in horror as the young man bent down and picked up something, straightening up and holding Becky’s forgotten tennis shoe in one hand. “Jesus!” Jim sighed, his heart pounding as he turned and ran down the alley as fast as he could, the burden of his daughter heavier than ever in his arms.

[tonyspank]

CHAPTER SEVEN | GET ME

Jenna Ortega x G!P Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, even more cheating, jacob, and i think that's all

Words: 4.1k

A/N: i dont know what to say

series masterlist | main masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

You toss Eli the Gatorade, sitting down on the bench behind you. He catches it with one hand and takes a swig, savoring the taste. He looks at you and immediately notices the anger on your face.

He raises an eyebrow and says "What's wrong?" You take a deep breath, "Jenna's dickhead husband is what's wrong."

Eli looks concerned. "What did he do?" he asks. "He's staying at my house. For an entire week," you reply, your voice full of rage. Eli stares at you for a moment, contemplating the situation. "Your parents were fine with this?" he asks, and you nod in response, putting your shoes on.

Eli shakes his head and lets out a deep sigh. "I don't know what to say. How do you feel?" You look up at him, your jaw clenched, and say, "I feel upset. A part of me is upset that Jenna is so okay with living this double life, and the other part of me is upset that Jacob thinks he can run in and out of her life whenever he wants."

Eli puts a hand on your shoulder and says, "I understand. It's not easy to accept, but you gotta understand. That's her husband, they have depth and you guys only shared a kiss."

You stare at him in response and his face begins to change, "Oh my god. No—y'all... YALL HAD SEX?" You turn away from him, your face burning with embarrassment.

You can feel his gaze on you and finally, he speaks. "I don't know what's happening... Mr. Stark. I don't feel so good." He jokes, repeating Peter Parker's lines from Infinity War.

He then drops to the ground, reaching out for you. You try to hold back a laugh as he grabs your hand, shaking his body. "Cooper! Off the ground!" Your coach yells.

You help Eli up and he sheepishly apologizes to the coach. The coach gives him a stern warning and then turns to you with a smile, patting you on the shoulder. "Anyway... I don't know if I should feel proud or upset."

You just smile and shrug, handing Eli his Gatorade. Eli gives you a grateful smile, "Can you come to my place tonight? Jacob made a stupid group chat with the three of us saying he's preparing dinner."

Eli nods in agreement, "Sure, what time?" You respond, "6 PM." He gives you a nod and you pat his back, heading to your team's huddle up.

"It smells like sex in here," Eli says as you hold the front door open for him. "Shut the fuck up." It didn't even smell like sex, it smelled like some sort of meat cooking. You give him a stern look and he apologizes, but you can tell he's still trying to contain his laughter.

You step inside the house and the smell is even stronger. You realize it's coming from the kitchen and dread the thought of what Jacob has been cooking.

You make your way to the kitchen and find Jacob standing in front of the stove. He turns around with a wide grin on his face and says, "Hey! You're home!"

His eyes move to Eli, "And you've bought a friend... nice." Jacob takes a step forward and motions for Eli to come closer. He extends a hand, "It's nice to meet you. I'm Jacob. What's your name?"

You can sense the fake smile on Eli's face. "I'm Eli." He says, roughly shaking Jacob's hand. Jacob winces quietly, letting go of your best friend's hand and mumbling, "You kids and your tight grip." Eli just grins, a little too toothy. Jacob then pats Eli's shoulder and says, "It's alright, mate. No hard feelings."

Jenna walks into the kitchen and you swear you could see her face light up when you two lock eyes. "Hi, Eli. Hey, Y/N." You smile at the shorter girl, bringing her into a hug. She wraps her arms around your neck, and you can feel the tension in her body relaxing. Yeah, fuck you, Jacob.

She steps back, her hands on your shoulders. "How was practice?" You smile and shrug, glad that she seemed genuinely happy to see you. "It was fine. I'm going to take a quick shower before dinner."

She nods and smiles. "Okay, let me take your bag." She says, motioning to the gym back on your shoulder. You graciously accept and hand her the bag. She takes it and steps away, heading upstairs and you follow behind leaving Eli and Jacob alone in the kitchen.

"Doesn't it seem like she likes her?" Jacobs says to Eli, turning around slightly from the stove. Eli shrugs, not wanting to make any assumptions. Jacob just laughs and shakes his head, turning back to the stove and starting to stir the food.

Jenna sets your bag down in your room and you smile at her, "Thanks. You didn't—" She brings you into a passionate kiss, her hands gripping your hoodie tightly. You break away, your heart racing. She grins and says, "I know. I just wanted a kiss." She leans in for one last kiss before walking out of the room.

You stand there, stunned, for a moment before finally processing what just happened. You can't help but smile as you watch her walk away. You shake your head and sigh, feeling the butterflies in your stomach.

You came back downstairs after taking your shower and the dining room table was already set. You glance at the plates confused. "Chicken?" Jacob nods from his seat, already with a fork in his hand. You laugh sarcastically, "Jenna doesn't eat chicken, remember? She's pescatarian."

Jacob groans, "Oh yeah, I forgot." He glances at Jenna who's eating her salad quietly, "I didn't know you were still doing that diet thing." Jenna rolls her eyes, "It's not a diet thing, it's a lifestyle choice." She takes a bite of her salad and continues, "It's not that hard to remember." Jacob apologizes letting out a sigh. "Well, you still have your salad."

You sit down beside Eli, shaking your head in disbelief. Eli glances between the three of you before leaning into your ear. "Just say the word and we can jump him." He jokes a jolly smile on his face.

Your face breaks out into a smile as you start cutting up your chicken. Jacob clears his throat, "So, uh... Y/N." You look up from your plate at look at the bearded man in front of you. "You play basketball?"

You nod and set your knife and fork down. "Yeah, I've been playing since I was a kid. Why do you ask?" Jacob's face is unreadable as he replies, "Just curious."

Jenna takes a sip of her wine while watching the exchange between you two. Jacob stares at you for a moment before he nods. "Interesting," he says before turning back to his dinner. Jenna takes another sip of her wine, wondering if she should break the awkward silence or just keep drinking.

"How's Emma doing?" Eli asks, breaking the silence. Jenna smiles, relieved that the tension has been broken. "She's doing great," she answers. "She was just asking me about you, actually."

A huge grin appears on Eli's face, "Oh, really?" Jenna laughs, nodding her head. "Yes, she's been asking about you a lot lately. I think she misses you." Eli's smile grows wider as he looks away, feeling happier than ever. You breathe out a laugh.

"Wait you still talk to Emma?" Jacob says, finishing a bite of his chicken. Jenna nods, "Yeah...she's a good friend." He scoffs in response, "No, no she's not. She doesn't know her place." Jenna looks back at Jacob, her face growing stern. "You don't get to decide who my friends are," she says. "Just because you don't like her doesn't mean I can't."

"I don't like her because she keeps telling my wife—" You interrupt him, "Fiancée." Jacob stares at you and Jenna for a few moments, before turning away. He mutters something under his breath before speaking again. "Fiancée. About leaving me."

"Maybe because you're a bad fiancée," Eli says, his mouth half full of food. Jacob's face turns red and he opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say anything Eli interrupts him. "I mean she wouldn't be telling Jenna to leave you if Jenna was truly happy, right?"

Jacob stares at the table, clearly frustrated. Jacob clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath before slowly standing up. He pushes in his chair and looks at Eli, his eyes narrowed. Without a word, he turns and walks out of the room.

Eli watches him go, a smile creeping up on his face as he looks at you. You watch Jacob go, feeling a slight sense of relief. Eli's smile widens as he sees your reaction while Jenna slowly stands up and follows Jacob out of the room. Eli's eyes twinkle as he looks back at you, a mischievous glint in them.

"Am I not the biggest drama starter or what?" You chuckle, shaking your head. "Yes, yes you are." You say, smiling back. He grins, satisfied, and you can't help but admire his ability to lighten up the situation.

"Jacob, wait," Jenna calls out after the man stomping up the steps. He makes it to the guest room, turning around to face her. "You just fucking embarrassed me."

He stares at her, his face a mask of anger. Jenna's eyebrows furrow in confusion, "You embarrassed yourself! You're the one who treats me like shit."

Jacob steps forward, his fists clenched. Jenna takes a step back, her heart pounding. He stares at her for a moment until his phone starts ringing. He glances at the phone and takes a deep breath.

He steps back and turns away from her. "We'll talk about this later," he says, before grabbing the phone off the nightstand and answering it.

Jenna exhales in relief, her heart still pounding. She watches as Jacob walks away, still on the phone. She takes a few moments to gather her thoughts before leaving the room. Jenna takes a deep breath and slowly releases it, trying to steady her nerves.

She takes a few moments to gather her thoughts before leaving the room. Jenna takes a deep breath and slowly releases it, trying to steady her nerves.

Two hours have passed and Jenna is downstairs, sipping on a glass of wine. She can feel the tension in her body start to ease, and her mind starts to clear. What are you doing now? Jacob out of her mind and you in it, along with a glass of wine...she was starting to feel horny.

Jenna got up from her chair and started to make her way to your bedroom. She was starting to untie her robe, walking closer and closer to your bedroom door before opening it and locking it behind her.

You rise from your bed, taking Jenna in. She smiled and walked towards you, her robe falling to the ground as she climbed into your bed.

You pulled her close, and ran your fingers through her hair, kissing her deeply, feeling her warmth and desire. She returned the kiss, her body pressing against yours. You felt your heart race as you savored every moment of her presence. You both melted into each other, content in the moment.

She pulls away, stripping you of your tank top and shorts, caressing your body with her hands. You lay back on the bed, her body hovering over yours, "Stay here." She leans closer, her lips lightly brushing against yours. She whispers in your ear, "Trust me." You nod and lay back. Jenna returns with her robe's tie, smiling.

She begins to slowly bind your hands with the tie, her fingers running lightly over your skin. You can feel her breath on your face as she ties the knot, and when she's done she leans in to kiss you.

She whispers again, "Close your eyes." You do as she says, and you feel her lips press against yours. You feel her hair brush against your face, and you can smell the faint scent of her perfume. She pulls away, and you open your eyes to find her looking at you with a mischievous smile.

"Beg. Beg for me to touch you." You take a deep breath, and whisper back, "Please, touch me." She laughs and her fingers trace a line down your neck, sending shivers through your body. She pulls you closer, and you feel her warm breath on your skin. "You're so needy, baby."

She smiles and kisses your neck softly, her hands exploring every inch of your body. You feel a wave of pleasure wash over you, and you let out a satisfied sigh. You know you're in her hands now. Her lips trail from your neck to your chest, to your stomach, and then to the waistband of your boxers.

She slides your boxers off and moves down. "I love sucking your cock." She presses a kiss onto your reddened tip, and you sigh out. She wraps her lips around your shaft and teases it with her tongue.

She begins to move her head up and down, her mouth tantalizing your most sensitive areas. You begin pulling on the tie, letting out a loud moan as you buck your hips up. Jenna releases you. "You have to be quiet."

You nod and bite your lip, but Jenna stands up on the bed, pulling down her panties and stuffing them into your mouth. "There," she whispers. "You won't make another sound." She kneels in on the bed, her hands gripping your shaft as she starts to stroke you with her expert touch.

You close your eyes in pleasure, biting down on the panties stuffed in your mouth. She leans in, her breath hot against your skin as she takes you back in her mouth. You can't help but groan in pleasure despite the panties muffling the sound.

She moves her head up and down, her hands gripping you tightly. Your pleasure builds and builds until you can't take it anymore. But before you can cum, she stops. She looks you in the eyes with a mischievous grin and says, "Not yet." She stands up on the bed again, taking her underwear out of your mouth.

She then proceeds to lower herself on your face, pushing your face between her legs and grinding against it. You can feel her heat and the intensity of her pleasure as she rides your face. Your tongue dances around her clitoris, sending her passionate waves of pleasure. She moans in pleasure, slapping a hand over her mouth to quiet herself down.

"Fuck. You're making me feel so good, Y/N." She grabs your head and pushes it up against her, grinding her hips against your face. You feel her quivering around your tongue and she lets out a loud moan.

She wraps her legs tightly around your head, her breathing becoming faster and faster as she comes closer and closer to her climax. Finally, she shudders and cries out in pleasure as she reaches her peak, gripping your headboard.

She relaxes, letting her legs loosen around your head. You give her a satisfied smile and she returns it, relieved and content. She leans down and gives you a passionate kiss. She whispers softly in your ear, telling you how good it felt and how happy she is. She pulls away and gets up, untying you.

She offers her hand and helps you sit at the edge of the bed. She brushes her fingers across your cheek and smiles standing in front of you, "You can touch me now." You smile, your hands subconsciously finding her waist and pulling her into a lip-bruising kiss.

She wraps her arms around your neck and pulls you closer, her lips soft and inviting. You brush a few strands of hair from her face, and she leans in, her lips softly pressing against yours again.

You pull away to catch your breath and she smiles, her eyes filled with wonder. She leans in and kisses your forehead before turning around, "I wanna ride you."

Your eyes widen in shock. "Reversed?"

She hums in response, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to support herself as she lowers down on your cock. You gasp as she takes you in, her tightness pushing you toward the edge. She begins to move, her hips rolling and rotating in an exquisite rhythm. "Mmm.."

You moan, unable to contain your pleasure. She responds with a sultry laugh, her body shaking with delight. She pulls you into a kiss, her hips never stopping their movement.

You're close to the edge, and she knows it. She increases her pace, her body pressing against yours. "I'm going to cum, Y/N." She rasps out, biting your shoulder. You hiss in pain, nodding at her words. She digs her nails into your bicep and lets out a scream into your shoulder as her orgasm rocks her body.

You feel her muscles contract around you and just as you're about to reach your own climax, she speaks. "Hold it, baby." You take a deep breath and hold back, gritting your teeth in the pleasure.

She kisses your neck and slows her movements, her breathing gradually evening out. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and rest your forehead against hers.

She smiles and kisses you gently before rolling off you. You lay there, heart pounding in your chest, and look up at staring at the woman in front of you. "Stand up," she says, her voice soft and gentle. You stand up, and she kneels in front of you, stroking your cock.

She takes you in her mouth, and you feel your knees buckle. She looks up at you with a mischievous grin and begins to suck. Your body tenses with pleasure and you can't help but moan. You raise your hand to your mouth and bite on it.

You feel your pleasure rising and you can't help but grab a fistful of her hair. You let out a deep moan as your pleasure intensifies, she releases you with a pop. "Fuck my throat."

Oh my goodness.

She smiles and takes you back in, her tongue working its way around your shaft. You start moving your hips, thrusting into her throat. Her hand reaches up and grips your butt as she takes you deeper. "Fuck, Jenna... please let me cum."

She pulls away and looks up at you with a naughty smile. You feel her hand wrap around your shaft and start to stroke you as she looks into your eyes. "You wanna cum?" She teases and you quickly nod your head, "Yes. Please, shit."

She moves her hand faster and faster, her grip getting tighter with each stroke. "Yeah? You want me to make you feel better baby?" She whispers and you whimper back, nodding.

She moves her mouth back onto you and you thrust your hips faster than before, chasing your high. You can feel her throat tightening around you and her tongue working faster and harder.

You come undone, your orgasm shaking your entire body. She swallows you down, her eyes never leaving yours. Your legs shake, your breathing is labored. She rises from the floor and you kiss her, savoring the taste of you on her lips.

"I'm still so horny." She whispers against your lips. You feel yourself rising at her words. Your hands wrap around her waist, pulling her into a breathless kiss, your tongues battling for dominance. She lets out a soft moan, her breath coming in short gasps as you deepen the kiss.

Her legs wrap around your waist and you lay her down on the bed, not breaking the kiss. You break away, breathing heavily, your eyes never leaving hers. Your hand reaches down between her legs, and she gasps as your fingers brush against her wet heat. "Gosh, you're so wet."

You mumble, teasing her as she buckles beneath you. You stroke yourself a few times, lining yourself up with her entrance. You push forward, both of you sighing in pleasure when you bottom out inside her. "You're so deep," she gasps, biting her lip.

Your hips jerk as you thrust into her, pushing her legs behind her head. You grab her thighs, pulling her closer. Her nails dig into her own thighs as she helps you fill her up even deeper.

You feel her heat and tightness around you as you keep thrusting. She looks up at you with a mixture of pleasure and pain, and you can't help but moan in response. "FUCK! Oh my god, Y/N." Your hand slaps over her mouth. "You have to be quiet." You say, repeating the same words she said to you.

She nods, her eyes rolling to the back of her skull. You remove your hand, a smirk on your lips. "I thought you were supposed to be the one in charge, huh? Does me fucking you while your husband is in the next room turn you on?"

She gasps and then moans, her eyes still rolling back in pleasure. She grabs your hand and pulls it back to her body, her breathing becoming more and more rapid. "I'm about to cum—"

A force pushes back against your thrusts, and her body goes rigid as she squirts, a clear liquid shooting everywhere. She shudders and relaxes, and you feel her inner walls clenching around nothing. "Did–did you just squirt?" You ask Jenna, a big smile on your face.

Jenna looks up at you with a satisfied smile and nods. She takes a deep breath, her body still trembling from the pleasure. "That's so hot." You give her a long, passionate kiss which she returns straight away.

You lay back on the bed, and Jenna sits up slightly her hand wrapping around your hard cock. "Let me finish you off. You've done so well."

You groan in pleasure as her hand expertly strokes you. Her hand moves faster and you feel yourself close to the edge. You grab the sheets below you, lowering your face to hers.

You kiss her deeply and passionately as you let go, your body shaking with pleasure. "Shit!" She holds you close as you catch your breath, her lips still lightly touching yours. You slowly relax, a smile growing on your face.

She looks into your eyes with a satisfied smile, her lips still lightly brushing against yours. You pull her closer, your hands stroking her back as you kiss her again. You lay in her arms, your breathing slowly returning to normal.

-

"I got you these," Jacob says to Jenna, smiling as he holds up a bouquet of roses. Jenna smiles, "Thank you." He waves her off, "I just wanted to apologize for how I acted last night." You roll your eyes at him, picking up your hoodie from the kitchen island.

You would go to school in your black tank top but it was against the dress code, so you had to bring your hoodie to school with you. Jenna shakes her head, "It's okay. I understand." Jacob reaches out and takes her hand, "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted like that." She smiles, nodding.

Jacob pulls into a heated kiss and you can see his tongue entering her mouth. You almost vomit at the sight, but you keep your composure and turn away. Jenna pulls away eyes wide as Jacob smiles at you, "Enjoy your day at school kid." Who does this guy think he is?

You seethe with anger, but you don't say anything. You can't believe this guy has the audacity to kiss Jenna in front of you.

You take a deep breath and his smile changes to a face of concern, "Woah, who bit you?" He says, pointing at the bite mark on your left shoulder.

Your wife, bitch.

"Eli. He plays too much." You say, a fake laugh coming from your mouth. He looks at you confused before nodding, "Uh, okay..." Jenna walks to your side, "We're going to get going now."

Jacobs nods at her words, "Hurry back. I miss you already." You clench your jaw, balling up your fist. Jenna notices this, placing a hand on your back, and rubbing it gently. "You're too much, Jacob." She says, laughing.

You take a deep breath, calming your nerves. You and Jenna say your last goodbyes before exiting the house, relieved to be out of the same room as him. As you get into the car Jenna immediately looks at you, "Eli? Really?"

You shrug, your lips curling into a smile. "No one told you to bite my shoulder!" Jenna laughed and shook her head. You started the car and drove away, feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders. Your heart was still pounding, but the feeling of Jenna's laugh ringing in your ears made it easier to breathe.

taglist - @alexkolax @raven-ss @godsfavouritelesbiann @jennasslut @niqmandu @amburntfreeman @returnnofdamac @starry-night17 @get-the-fuck-outta-here @morganismspam23 @tai-hdg @crazyoffher2

#reader insert #get me #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wattpad #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna x reader #jenna x g!p reader #jenna x y/n #jenna ortega x g!p reader

[ashsolar]

favourite thingᯓ★ln4

-

chapter one, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five

-

Coming back to a place you once thought of as your home is never easy, what's even difficult is saying goodbyes to the things you once cherished. It's been years since your grandfather died and you know it's time to sell the one thing you had been dreading to sell in order to set yourself free.

𐙚

chapter two

𐙚

You were sitting in your patio reading a book while drinking coconut water, soaking in the sun, enjoying the breakfast you missed yesterday. When a familiar Mclaren appeared in your driveway. Lando stepped out of his car giving you a small wave as he walked towards you, sitting next to you on the patio, "So what's up what do you want to do today".

"Let's go to Baie de Garavan Beach today".

His eyes widened as he stared at you in shock, "What?, all the way to Menton".

You got up from your chair, hands resting on your waist as you glared at him, "Yes Menton, didn't you say you would help me find my favourite thing".

He got up walking to his car, "Well, what are you waiting for, hop in".

Loud music was blasting in the car, the windows open, feet plopped up on the dashboard, hair flowing in the air, sunglasses resting on the crook of your nose, sundress riding up. Lando stared at you, enjoying the view of the girl in front of him, pretending her fist was her microphone, screaming lyrics to a cheesy song at the top of her lungs, "Oh my god, look at that". You pointed to an old woman on the street, selling orange juice, "Let's get juice, my treat".

You both got out of his car, as you greeted the sweet old woman, asking her for two orange juices with a cute straw. Taking the orange juice from her you handed it to Lando, paying her and walking back to him,"This is fucking delicious".

You laughed smacking his head, "Do you always look for an excuse to swear".

He shook his head, as he gently swatted your hand away, "It's great for when your frustrated".

"And your frustrated huh".

He laughed, "Yep, maybe the beach will be good for me".

You pouted as your finger poked his arm gently, "Hey, let's turn that frown upside down". You took the plastic glass from him as you threw it in the bin. He stared at you in shock as he watched you get in the driver's seat of his precious baby, "Be careful, this is my baby".

You rested your hands on the steering wheel, "It's your turn to be the passenger princess mate".

"Holy shit, be careful, we're gonna crash". You laughed at the horror painted on his face. Parking the car in a corner you got out opening the door for him as you smiled triumphantly, "Ladies first".

You grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers together, you dragged him through the side walk and to the beach. You set your little picnic basket down on the sandy shore, placing the red and white checkered mat on the sand. Plopping yourself down on the mat, you stared at him, gesturing him to take a seat next to you. You took out your Tatcha sunscreen, applying it on your arms and bare legs, you threw it towards Lando, hoping he'd catch it but the look on his face said otherwise, "Oh my god, I am so sorry". You quickly moved towards him, blowing on his face, as you caressed his cheek, you swore you saw his cheeks turn red, "It's o-okay". He stuttered, getting up from his place on the mat. Your eyes widened as he removed his shirt, revealing his toned chest. He smirked looking at you putting his hand forward for you to hold, "Come on let's go for a swim". You got rid of your dress, showing the baby pink bikini you were wearing. You held is hand as he dragged you into the water. Splashing the water on him, you giggled but you weren't prepared for what was coming next. He pounced on top of you, making you tumble and fall backwards into the cold water. You swam deep into the ocean as you came back up taking a deep breath and revealing your hands, filled with seashells, "Aren't you childish"

You threw a small shell at him, "Says the guy who almost drowned me".

"Come on let's get you dried". He spoke stepping out of the water.

He wrapped the towel around you, making you look like a drenched funny burrito, "Oh my god", He laughed. "I need to take a picture of this, this is gold". He took out his little canon camera and took a photo of you. You hid your face in the towel shyly.

He walked towards you, removing the towel from you, "Hey, you look adorable, don't cover that gorgeous face".

Your face turned as red as a tomato as you scoffed at him, "Nice try".

𐙚

The sun had set, you two were sitting in silence, staring at the moon from your place on the sand. The only sound that could be heard was your munching, everyone had left by now, leaving you and Lando alone, "You never did tell me why you were so frustrated".

He stopped his munching, dropped his sandwich on the mat and turned towards you, "You know, just racing, being too much I haven't been able to get on the podium since weeks, it's frustrating, I keep on trying but my hard work leads me nowhere".

Your expression softened hearing that, "Hey, I know I just met you two days ago but your one of the most genuine guys I have ever met and trust me if you continue working as hard as you say you have been, then good will come to you eventually".

"Thanks"

You started putting all of your stuff in the basket, "I never thanked you properly for that day in the bathroom, consider this a way of me thanking you". You got up from the mat, "Come on let's go, it's getting late".

The walk back to the car, was in comfortable silence, just you two enjoying each other's company.

𐙚

After your talk yesterday, you had decided to surprise Lando with a trip to the car collection of a prince. You watched him run his hands through the door of a red mustang, "You've got to know me pretty well in just three days".

"I take pride in that".

You jumped in excitement as you spotted a car, you knew Lando would love, "Look, that car looks like the one you drive on the race track".

"Your right, Zak and Oscar will love this". He said taking his phone out to take a picture

You shrugged your shoulders, "Now, who are they, I've only ever hear of Charles and his best bud Carlos".

He chuckled, "Oscar's my teammate and well Zak's my boss".

"Your life's so interesting" You groaned

"It has it's perks".

"Come on, let's go there". He pointed towards a vintage Porsche and started walking and you tagged along.

"You know, I own a baby pink Porsche". You boasted

"That's good and all but it's nothing compared to the collection I own".

"Now, the car lover in me needs to see that".

He scoffed, "You call yourself a car lover but you didn't even know who I was".

"I only know the big ones, like everyone else". You joked around.

"Then you should've known about me". He winked playfully.

"There's one more stop I want to make today, it's for my house but you'll come anyways right?"

"Are you shopping for furniture, to help me". He gasped playfully.

"You wished, that's up to you now, I need to buy some groceries".

"Right, we wouldn't want you dying".

𐙚

"It's so hot did you have to drag me here" Lando spoke, wiping the sweat off of his face".

"You said you would help me find my find something I love, don't turn your back on me now plus it's exercise, it's good for all that muscle". You said pointing at his body.

"I didn't know that would mean losing my legs to you".

You stopped at a small stall in the corner, "Will scrumptious mangoes suffice instead".

He held his stomach, "Well now that you mentioned mangoes, I guess I am hungry". His stomach growled making you laugh.

"I can see that". You spoke sarcastically, handing him his very own paper plate filled with ripe mangoes, "God, Y/N, you were right these do make everything better".

"I told you" You took a huge bite of your own pile.

His loud laugh bought you back to earth, "There's something on your face". He said pointing at the mango juice at the corner of your lips, which you were completely oblivious to. You darted your tongue out in an attempt to clean the mango residue of your face, "Is it gone".

"No silly it's still there". He walked towards you and gently wiped the juice away with his finger. The tension between you two was thick, it was like the world around you stopped, you thought he was going to kiss you but instead you cleared your throat and stepped backwards, "Let's get bagels too". You spoke and left him standing there alone until he caught up with you. You weren't ready for a relationship, especially considering that Lando lived in Monaco and you lived in New York, even if you two dated, it would simply never work out and you knew it, long distance simply just wasn't for you. You wanted to be in a relationship where your significant other would be by your side always and you knew that wasn't possible with Lando as much as there was a part in you that wished it was. Having only met the guy this week, you didn't know what to expect. The uncertainty wasn't something you were fond of. You weren't ready for the baggage and the trust issues that would come with it, you might be a coward, but this is your way of protecting yourself from the possibility of possibly hurting yourself, you thought yourself ad you sat in front of a small food truck, a thick bagel, with avocados and cheese in hand, mindlessly nibbling on the sandwich, "Is it good, the sandwich". He gestured to the food in your hand.

"It's perfect, just the way I like it". You took another bite of your sandwich, "How's yours".

"It's fine". The short answer made your stomach churn, did you do something wrong. You didn't want a relationship with this man but you didn't want to lose what you both had at least not until you leave, you needed a friend or an acquaintance, you yourself weren't sure what his deal was or what this was any other man would've just dropped the idea of going to new places every day, but he didn't, even after you almost crashed his very expensive car into a streetlight.

"Do you want a bite". You handed your sandwich to him.

He nodded, taking a bite of your sandwich, his eyes lit up, "I should've ordered this instead".

"I am sure yours isn't bad". You said taking his sandwich, which was decked in chipotle sauce and cheese, "You know what, keep my sandwich, yours is better anyways".

He laughed, there was that laugh again. You didn't realise how grateful you were to see a stranger laugh, everything was back to the way it was from the moment you met, the tension was gone and all that was left was the beginning of a possible new friendship.

𐙚

#lando norris #lando norris f1 #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #formula 1 #f1 #ln4 #f1 x oc

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 2

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister, reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, verbal arguing, swearing, medical misinformation (I did my best y'all), pregnancy

Sharp Memorial Hospital, 12 Years Ago

“Buttercup!”

She gasped as the curtain to her room was drawn back quickly, revealing a stressed-out looking lieutenant and a sheepish looking older brother.

“Jake! I’m okay, I swear…”

“You passed out!” Jake exclaimed, rounding the hospital bed to stand by her side. “And they called Bob?”

She sighed, her fingers tapping anxiously at the tape securing the IV to her arm. “I’ve been here for, like, four months, babe. And it all happened kinda quickly, so I haven’t exactly had a chance to change my emergency contact yet.”

Jake reached out to grip her hand and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Do me a favour and at least add me to that list? I almost had a fucking heart attack when I landed, and Bob told me that you were in the damn hospital.”

Bob pushed his glasses up his nose as she turned her attention to him. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he muttered. “Are you okay, Buttercup?”

She grinned at the begrudging use of the nickname. Ever since Jake had bestowed it upon her that night, it was like her real name ceased to exist. Everyone called her Buttercup, despite Bob’s best efforts.

“I’m fine, you two worrywarts,” she rolled her eyes fondly as Bob scoffed and Jake squeezed her hand more firmly. “I got a little lightheaded at the bar and turned a little too quickly on my barstool. I was only out for like a second, but Penny wouldn’t let it go. Something about Mav being overprotective of his squad or something. She’s somewhere out there—” she motioned vaguely out the curtained doorway. “—filling out paperwork.”

“What were you doing at the bar?” Jake seated himself on the edge of her bed, green eyes turning stern. “You promised me that you were going to take it easy today, remember? I didn’t drag your ass to the doctor yesterday because you said you were “almost over this stupid flu”, and I only agreed because you promised you’d do jack shit today.”

Buttercup pouted at him, crossing her arms as best she could with one arm hosting the IV and Jake not releasing her hand. “I got bored,” she mumbled. “Plus, I thought the quick walk in the sun and fresh air would do me good!”

Jake groaned. “You’ll be the death of me, I swear to god. Next time, at least call someone to go with you.”

“Sure, Jake. I’m sure the Navy will understand you needing to take your girlfriend on a walk,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

“Clearly,” Jake shot back, gesturing around the curtained-off room.

“Alright, easy, you two,” Bob sighed, stepping further into the room. “Seresin, you can’t expect her to wait around for us to do stuff. What do you expect her to do when we get deployed?” Jake’s face fell for a split second before smoothing out into that unflappable mask he had mastered long ago. “And kiddo? Bagman might not show it ever, but he is a human being, which means he can be scared, and I’m pretty sure the news that you landed yourself here scared a decade off him. So, go easy on him, will you?”

She looked at her brother for a moment before sighing, nodding slightly, and turning back to Jake. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “I’ll be more careful.”

He squeezed it back, lifting their linked hands to press a kiss to the back of her hand. “I’m sorry too. I’m not tryin’ to be controlling, I just…I don’t wanna see you hurt.”

Bob huffed and took a step back. “I’m going to go find Penny and see if she needs help with that paperwork.”

“Thanks Bobby,” she smiled softly at him. He winked playfully at her before turning his back and strolling out of the room, tugging the curtain closed behind him.

“What has the doctor said?” Jake brushed his hand over her cheek, tugging her attention back to him. “Any more dizzy spells? Do you need anything?”

“Easy, tiger, one question at a time. The doctor said I was pretty dehydrated from all the vomiting I’ve done over the past couple of days, and that was what probably caused the blackout. But he had a nurse draw some blood and they’re testing to see if it could be anything else.” She rubbed his arm reassuringly. “I’m a little dizzy still, but the fluids are helping. And I’m still pretty nauseated but they don’t want to give me anything until they get the test results back.” Jake nodded, his jaw ticking just once as his eyes raked over her face. “I’m okay, Jake. I promise.”

Buttercup kept up the soft pressure of her hand running up and down his arm until the mask he wore slipped and he sighed deeply. “I’m sorry I was a dick. I just want you to feel better.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry I got snippy.”

“No, you shouldn’t have to apologize. You’re the one in the hospital bed.” His thumb gently rubbed back and forth along the back of her hand. “God, I hate fighting with you though.”

A slow grin tugged at the edges of her lips. “Me too. Especially when I’m stuck in this bed and we can’t make up properly.”

A low groan rumbled in his chest as he leaned in closer. “Don’t tempt me.”

Peals of laughter tumbled from her lips as she angled her head to brush her nose against his. “I don’t suppose a kiss would tide you over, Lieutenant Insatiable?”

“Hmm, I don’t know, darlin’. We’d have to try it out.”

Jake’s lips chased hers as he leaned over her, pushing her back against the flimsy mattress with the force of his kiss. Her tongue traced the seam of his mouth, and she felt a bolt of electricity spark through her body when his mouth stretched into a smile against hers. He linked their fingers together as she deepened the kiss, his free hand coming around to cradle the back of her neck.

“Alright, Miss Floyd, why don’t we go over those test results?”

Jake pulled away as a doctor clad in purple scrubs hustled into the room, her hands rubbing together as the scent of sanitizer wafted over them.

“Hey, doctor. Sorry, we didn’t meet earlier. Lieutenant Jake Seresin,” Jake greeted, his mask sliding back into place as he stretched one arm out to shake her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lieutenant. And it’s nice to meet you as well, Miss Floyd. I’m Dr. Friedman and I’ll be taking over your case,” the woman greeted, shaking his hand before turning to fiddle with some equipment. “I hope you don’t mind; we just have a few more tests to run.”

“N-no, that’s fine…” Buttercup shrugged uneasily. “Did something happen to Dr. Scott? I thought he was the one handling my case today?”

“Dr. Scott is just fine. He got called into an all hands on deck situation and, since I was already working with a regular patient of mine down here in the ED, he passed your case off to me since it falls under my specialty. Do you mind lifting your gown for me, dear?”

As the doctor turned, Jake’s keen green eyes darted between three different things. One, the ultrasound wand in the doctor’s hand. Two, the medieval looking metal device she had placed next to his girlfriend on her bed. And three, the neat white stitching on the breast of her scrubs that read Dr. Laurie Friedman, Doctor of Obstetrics and Gynecology.

“Dr. Friedman?” Jake felt his heart sputter, then race in his chest as he squeezed Buttercup’s hand. “You’re a…I mean, your specialty…” He looked down at Buttercup, but she was staring at the white stitching as well.

“Yes, Lieutenant. As I’m sure Dr. Scott told you, Miss Floyd’s blood and urine tests came back positive for hcG, so he called for an OB consult. Since I was already here, I figured I would pop in and run the tests for him while he’s dealing with the overflow of patients we just received. This will be a little cold, dear,” the doctor soothed, draping a paper towel over Buttercup’s underwear before squeezing the gel onto her stomach. “Now, if the blood and urine tests aren’t lying to us, we should…” She moved the wand around, either obtuse to or completely ignoring the look on her patient’s (and the lieutenant’s) face. “There!”

She turned the screen to face the young couple. “Your blood test confirmed the pregnancy, but the high levels of hcG in your blood gave Dr. Scott pause. There’s baby number one…” she pointed to a tiny speck on the screen. “And there…is baby number two.”

The first week of living in the isolation cabin (affectionately known as ‘The Brig’) was absolute misery. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, the water in the lake was cool and clear, and Abby and Charlie could appreciate none of it, stuck as they were doing clean up chores in the kitchen. Amelia had been assigned to supervision duty, which was mostly making sure the girls did less arguing and more cleaning.

The nights were even worse, with the girls either ignoring each other or screaming the cabin down with insults and taunts. Amelia had also spent that first week sleeping on the small stoop of the cabin in a hammock, or, at least, trying to sleep between arguments.

The only reprieve the girls got was when they headed down to the dining hall and got to sit with their friends. Breakfast, lunch and dinner found Charlie loudly complaining to her friend, Ryann, about how unfair the whole situation was, while Abby sat with Max, and Isabelle clear across the dining hall, her friends doing their best to remind her to stay strong, that she was only barred from group activities for another week, that they would try to sneak her back into their cabin in a few weeks when Penny and Amelia had cooled off a bit. Amelia spent mealtimes hiding in her mother’s office, downing headache medication, and trying to talk her mother out of whatever plan she had concocted.

The second week found the girls at an uneasy truce. Chores duty was quiet, but all the work got done. Evenings were dead silent, the girls opting to ignore each other instead of arguing.

Both girls were excited to go back to group activities on Monday, only to open the cabin door that morning to find dark clouds covering the sun, booming thunder in the distance, and rain falling in ice cold sheets.

“I suppose group activities will be cancelled today,” Abby muttered as she turned to grab her raincoat.

“You think Penny and Amelia will let us join our cabins for rainy day activities?” Charlie grumbled as she surveyed the mucky landscape. “Hell, I’d be okay doing outdoor activities in this! I thought this was supposed to show us what our family members go through in the military? I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t cancel a war because of a little rain.”

Abby giggled in spite of herself. “If they did that, there would never have been any wars in England. It’s always raining there.”

“Eww. That must suck.”

“It really does.”

The two girls locked eyes for a moment before quickly looking away.

“She’s still stuck up! You don’t want to be friends with her!” Charlie thought to herself, pulling on her own raincoat.

“She’s rude and uncouth. Anyone worth being friends with would never say such horrible things. Or try to get into a physical fight with you!” Abby breathed as she held the door open for a drenched Amelia.

“Sorry girls, but you’re not going down to the dining hall today. It’s all flooded, so all campers will be eating in their cabins,” Amelia explained quickly, handing them bottles of juice and a tray of fruit and sandwiches. “I’ve gotta get back to keep an eye on everyone. Please, please promise me you’ll get along today? I’ll be back later with lunch and dinner, and I really don’t want to have to clean up any bloodshed.”

“We promise…”

“Thank you!”

The door swung shut behind her as Amelia took off up the path back to the main camp.

“I’m, uh…I’m gonna have my breakfast over here while I read,” Charlie murmured, awkwardly making eye contact before shuffling away to her bed on one side of the room.

Abby nodded, taking her own breakfast over to her bed and staring out the window before pulling out her scrap book.

Amelia popped back in a few hours later, carrying more sandwiches for lunch, surprise colouring her features at the lack of arguing and tension between the campers.

“You two are handling this better than some of the other kids,” she commented, placing the tray down. “I’ll be back around six with dinner, okay?”

Without stopping to hear their response, she turned and dashed back out the door, just as a gust of wind blew the door wide open, sending everything that wasn’t pinned down in the room flying.

“Crap!” Charlie slammed her book shut quickly as the pages started to rustle. Abby squealed as the pictures in the collage she was working on were strewn about wildly, dancing in the wind.

“Help me with the door!” Charlie cried, bolting over to the creaking wooden door and trying to heave it shut. Her fingernails scrabbled against the wood as she tried to get a good grip on the handle as the door strained against her grip, pulling her this way and that.

“Hold on, I’ve got you!” Abby seized the door handle and they leaned all their weight against the door, sighing in relief as they finally heard the faint click as it shut.

“Th-thanks…” Charlie panted, her arms trembling slightly.

“No…no problem,” Abby sagged against the wall. “You looked like you almost had it though. You’re pretty strong.”

Charlie shrugged. “I work on my dad’s ranch. Obviously, I can’t do a lot of the dangerous jobs, but even the easy stuff takes a lot of strength.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Abby offered, sinking to the floor against the wall. “Does your mum help on the ranch too?”

Charlie looked away as she sank to the floor across from her, feeling the anger rise and then fall inside of her, her body too tired to let it take hold. “No…she doesn’t. I…I don’t know who my mom is. It’s just me, my dad, and my uncles,” she admitted quietly.

“Oh…I…I’m sorry,” Abby felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “I didn’t know. But…it’s okay! My mum always says that every family looks different, and it doesn’t affect how much they love each other.”

“Easy for her to say,” Charlie muttered, looping her arms around her legs, and resting her head against her knees.

Abby bit back an angry retort. She was so tired of fighting, mentally exhausted from the constant sparring with her new roommate. Maybe her mum had been right and fighting back wasn’t the way to go.

“She started saying that to me when I was five years old or so. At least, that’s when I think I started asking about my dad. I…I don’t know who he is either.”

Charlie lifted her head, looking at the girl in front of her. “You don’t?”

Abby shook her head. “For as long as I can remember, it’s been me, my mom, my aunt, and my uncle. But not, like, married aunt and uncle. He’s my mom’s brother, and my aunt is his best friend.”

“Oh…” Charlie looked down, biting her lip. “I guess that means my comment about mommy and daddy buying you riding lessons really sucked, huh?”

“It did. But I shouldn’t have called you a cornfed hick, either.” Abby flushed. “I don’t know why I said that. My mom and uncle are from Kansas, so it’s not like they’re from anywhere fancy.”

“Kansas? Then why do you sound so…Downton Abbey?”

Abby giggled. “My mum moved to London when I was just a baby. She says it was just for a job, but I think she wanted to get away from my dad too. Every time I ask about him, she gets really anxious and sad, my Uncle Bob gets really angry, and my Aunt Natasha has to distract everyone. Eventually, I just stopped asking. But she did promise to talk about him when I get home, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed for answers.”

“My dad does the same thing!” Charlie gasped, moving closer. “I ask about my mom and he gets this really sad look in his eyes, then goes into his office for a few hours! Uncle Roo will eventually go drag him out but then we just pretend I never asked. Uncle Javy acts like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t want to hurt my dad, so he just tells me that all my questions will be answered when I get older.”

“I hate that!” Abby shot onto her knees. “I’m almost 12! How much older do they expect me to get?”

“Right?” Charlie copied her kneeling stance. “I swear, if I don’t get answers on October 11th, I’m going to scream!”

Abby fell back on her heels, almost as though the door had been wrenched open again and she’d been blown back by a gust of wind. “Y-your birthday is October 11th?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“So is mine!”

Charlie blinked at her. Then she blinked again. Then, a third time. “I…am going to go back to reading my book.”

Abby’s shoulders rose with the force of her sigh. “Charlie, why do you keep avoiding this? We look completely alike, we have the same birthday, you have a dad, and I have a mom! Do you know what that all adds up to?”

“One hell of a coincidence,” Charlie replied huffily, picking up her book and leafing through the pages to find where she left off.

“Charlie, come on! You can’t actually believe that!”

Abby waited for a response, but all she got was Charlie raising her book to eye level in order to block her from view.

“Charlie? Please, you know there’s more to it than that!”

Charlie rolled over to face the other direction and Abby felt the anger bolt through her at ten thousand volts.

“Stop. Ignoring. Me!” she stomped around to the other side of Charlie’s bed and wrenched the book away from her.

“Hey! Give me that!” Charlie jumped out of bed as Abby ran over to her side of the cabin.

“No! Not until we figure this out!”

“Figure what out?” Charlie groaned. “We don’t look that much alike, single parent households aren’t that rare, and there are like a billion people on this planet, so obviously some are going to share a birthday!”

“Oh, come on! It’s way more than that!”

Charlie stomped over towards her and shook her head, her blond braid whipping around her face. “No. It’s not. Now give me back my book or I’ll—”

“Or you’ll what?” Abby hopped onto her bed and held the book high in the air.

“I’ll…” Charlie lunged and grabbed Abby’s scrapbook from where it had fallen on the floor. “I’ll hold this hostage until you give it back!”

“No!” Abby gasped. “Please, no! That’s important to me!”

Charlie shrugged. “And my book is important to me. I need something to read, so I guess I’ll just have to make do with this.”

Charlie retreated back onto her side of the cabin and flipped the book open to the first page.

“Fine! Here, take it!” Abby yelled, jumping off the bed and racing over to hand her the book. “Just please, give it back!”

Charlie’s hand shook as she pushed her novel off the scrapbook and onto the bed, her fingers tracing the outline of the figures that were smiling from the picture that decorated the first page.

“Charlie?” Abby asked, half desperate to get her scrapbook back and half confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Why do you have a picture of my uncles in your scrapbook?” she whispered.

“What? That’s a picture of my mum, Auntie Nat, and Uncle Bob,” Abby explained, pointing to each person in turn.

“Not them…” Charlie spoke softly, as though even one decibel too loud would shatter her. “Them.” Charlie pointed at two of the figures on the fringe of the photo. One, a moustachioed man in a pair of aviators, and the other a tall black man with a bright smile and an “I Love Las Vegas” baseball cap covering his cropped black hair. “That’s my Uncle Rooster and my Uncle Javy.”

“What?”

Charlie handed the book back before scrambling to her backpack, digging inside to pull out a folder. “This is my favourite picture of my dad and my uncles. My dad doesn’t know I have it though. I found it when I was fooling around with Uncle Javy, and he gave it to me. He made me promise never to tell my dad that I even knew it existed. I…I think it’s from my dad’s wedding to my mom. Uncle Javy made it seem that way, anyway.”

Charlie opened the folder and pulled out her photo. “That’s my dad, and see? There’s Uncle Roo and Uncle Javy.”

Abby’s shaky finger traced over two other figures who had their arms around each other on the other side of ‘Uncle Roo’. “That’s my Uncle Bob and my Aunt Natasha. Auntie Nat gave me my photo a few years ago when I asked about her about Dagger Squad. But she told me not to tell my mom or my uncle about it. She said that they would be upset.”

“There were taken on the same day,” Charlie murmured, her eyes raking over the photo. “See? The lights in the background, the clothes, the people? They’re all the same.”

“You know what this means, right?” Abby whispered, her finger now tracing over Charlie’s photo, her focus solely on the man in the middle, the man that Charlie had called Dad.

“Abby, it can’t…I don’t…” Charlie swallowed painfully.

“Charlie…I think your dad…was married to my mum.”

A door slamming behind them sent a jolt down both their spines and they spun on the bed to face the intruder.

Amelia set the tray of food down and wiped the water off her face with a sigh. “It’s about time you two figured it out.”

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#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #parent trap au #jake seresin x you #glen powell #as you wish fic #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman fic #hangman x reader

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 5: Movement

Tommy asks Joel for a favor. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-4 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: None, but the whole fic is violent and eventually smutty. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 5.8k 

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Spring, 1997 

Your parents couldn’t have planted a better way to catch you sneaking out of the house if they tried. 

Not that you snuck out much. Usually you just went down to the stables to hang out with your horse, Athena, when you couldn’t sleep. Or you went to clamber onto the roof over the front porch to lay out and look up at the stars. You’d always loved the constellations, memorizing the patterns and the stories that went with them. 

But there was one stupid floorboard just outside your parents’ bedroom that creaked when you stepped on it and you tried to dodge it, you really did, but it was dark and you misjudged just where you were in the hall. You stood, ball of your foot on the squeaky board like it was a landmine, lifting your weight slowly, hoping it minimized the sound. It didn’t make much difference. 

You waited, just beyond their door, to see if there was stirring inside but the only sound was your dad’s even snoring. The rest of the path to your brother’s room was easy. 

Once you’d closed the door softly behind you, you dove onto his bed, hurtling your weight against his stomach and chest, making him groan. 

“What the fuck?” Richie mumbled, shoving you back. “The hell you doin’ in here, Bug? What time s’it?” 

“Almost four,” you tucked your legs below you, sitting back on your heels, moonlight shining off his skin. “I need your help.” 

“Whatever it is can wait an hour and a half ’til I’m up for the day,” he groaned, turning onto his stomach and burying his face in his pillow. “Fuck off.” 

“See, it can’t though,” you pushed on his arm and he turned his head. You could barely make out his glaring at you in the dark. “Has to be now, c’mon.” 

“Bug, I swear to God…” 

“Mama’ll kill you if she hears you taking the lord’s name in vain around me,” you said, smug. You could almost hear him roll his eyes. “Fine, you want to stay here? I’ll do it myself but you’re gonna get in trouble for lettin’ me.” 

That got his attention. 

“Lettin’ you do what?” He asked. “Not a damn soul can control you least of all me…” 

“Well I’m gonna go break Triton so you can either help and make sure I don’t snap my neck or you can stay here and face Daddy’s wrath…” 

“You’re what!” He yelped, sitting bolt upright. You shushed him, clasping your hand over his mouth, keeping it there until you were sure neither of your parents were about to come into his room to see what the commotion was. 

“Sorry,” you whispered when you released him. “Don’t be so dumb next time, Jesus…” 

“You ain’t bein’ serious,” he said, propping an arm on his knee as he rubbed the sleep from his face. You didn’t say anything, just looked at him. He sighed. “Dammit Bug. You’re my least favorite sister, you know that, right?” 

“I’m your only sister,” you said, smug. “Now c’mon, let’s go! Everyone will be working in like two hours…” 

“I’ll meet you at the stable in 10 minutes,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes again. “I’m just in boxers, not gettin’ outta bed with you here.” 

“Gross,” you said cheerfully, going for his door. 

“Don’t you dare even go in his stall ’til I’m there, you understand me?” He said, voice sharp. “I mean it, Bug, you’ll get fuckin’ trampled.” 

“I’m not an idiot,” you rolled your eyes and left, heading to the stables. 

It was so early that no one was at work yet and the ranch was still and quiet. You went into the stable and peered into Athena’s stall for a moment, your horse sleeping peacefully. You resisted the urge to go curl up next to her and went to collect the tack for Triton. 

You waited by his stall, the stallion just starting to stir. He got to his feet and shook his large head once, his mane bouncing with it as he ambled over to the door. He was big, one of the biggest horses on your father’s ranch. You’d ridden bigger horses than him but never one who wasn’t well broke. 

But you’d been watching your father and brothers and two other ranch hands struggle to get through to Triton for weeks. You perched on the fence post and watched as they got thrown and kicked, the horse often taking off to the other side of the paddock while totally out of control. They couldn’t get him past saddle broke, Triton willing to take tack but not a rider. He’d been a significant investment, intended to be used as a stud for some of the mares on the ranch as well as a horse to drive cattle, but he was useless if the men couldn’t get him to take commands. 

You’d sat and watched them fail and fail with him the day before, silent from your position on the fence, when Triton took off, doing a circuit of the paddock and coming to a stop near you. Your dad screamed at you to get back on the other side of the fence but you ignored him, slowly reaching your hand for the horse’s muzzle. His velvet nose sniffed you before he pressed into your palm and you petted him gently. He chuffed and moved closer and you looked in his eyes. He was just afraid. Afraid of the big men and their frustration and rage and the plans they had for his body that were going to shit because he wouldn’t bend to their will. 

“I understand you,” you said quietly. He chuffed again and twitched his ears. “It’s OK. I understand. I’ll help. I understand.” 

Kevin, one of the ranch hands, ran over and grabbed Triton’s reins, tugging him away from you, making his large hooves stomp into the dirt. 

“Can’t go messin’ with the princess of the ranch,” he muttered as the horse tossed his head and dragged his feet. 

You decided then that the men weren’t ever going to get this horse to where he needed to be. They couldn’t. But you could. You just needed a chance, just needed to connect with him and let him figure it out with you, that’s all. 

“You’re fuckin’ nuts, Bug,” Richie yawned, tugging his Levis up by the beltloops as he came over to you. “Triton’s gonna chew you up and spit you out.” 

“Well then you can watch and tell Brendan all about it,” you said, jerking your chin toward the bunk house where your oldest brother now lived. “But you’re wrong. I’m gonna get him there. He just needs someone to trust.” 

“Swear to shit you break somethin’…” 

“It’s on me,” you smiled. He sighed and waved you back as he put the bridle on Triton and brought him out of his stall. Richie got the horse saddled and you stood back and watched, Triton keeping his eyes on you the whole time. The three of you went into the paddock, the only light coming from the barn, the moon and the stars. You clambered onto the fence as Richie held the reins. 

“What do you wanna do?” He asked, watching you. “Since you want to be a ranch hand so damn bad.” 

You flipped him off before holding your hand out to Triton, letting him sniff you. It took him a moment before he pressed his soft, smooth muzzle into your palm, his breath hot on your skin. You took a deep breath. 

“You remember how to handle if he tries to buck you, right?” Richie asked, tone nervous. You nodded. “And I know you know how to try and fall and land when he throws you?” 

“I’m not a dumbass,” you rolled your eyes. He just nodded. 

“Alright, well…” He sighed, looking at Triton. “I’ll make sure you don’t get trampled, don’t do anything stupid.” 

You nodded and swallowed, putting your hand on Triton’s neck and stroking him gently, moving down his body until you reached his saddle. It was more nerve-racking than you anticipated, getting ready to climb on Triton. You knew what was about to happen was going to hurt, even if he didn’t throw you. And Triton was big. Bigger than Athena by a hand at least, closer to two. Controlling him would be harder even if he was well broke.

“You gotta get on ‘em quick,” Richie sounded nervous. 

“I ain’t stupid,” you muttered, putting your hands on the saddle. 

“Sure you ain’t,” Richie muttered back. 

You ignored him and all but jumped on Triton’s back, snapping your feet into the stirrups and Richie bolting back from the horse as he shot off away from the fence, totally outside your control. But you hung on, even as he started to buck below you. You tried to reach out, get a hand on him instead of just the saddle but your foot slipped from the stirrup and you flew, smacking into the dirt, the air knocked out of you. You heard Richie scrambling to get Triton under control as you rolled and got to your hands and knees, gasping for breath. 

“Alright, you tried,” Richie panted, Triton whinnying and stomping his feet in protest. “Let’s go in before you really get hurt.” 

“No,” you got up and brushed yourself off, feeling the grit under your palms. “I’m good, I want to go again.” 

“Bug,” Richie sighed. 

“I’ll do it without you.” 

He sighed again. 

“Catch your breath first,” he said. “Then we’ll go again.” 

Triton threw you three more times but you kept getting up and getting back on him, Richie sounding more and more frustrated each time. 

“Can’t keep doin’ this,” he said as you got ready to get back on Triton yet again. “You’re fixin’ to get yourself killed…” 

“One more,” you said, shaking your arms to loosen up more. “Let me do one more and if he throws me again I’ll go in.” 

“Fine,” he sighed. “One more, Bug. Then I’m puttin’ you over my shoulder and draggin’ you in, I don’t care if you scream the whole ranch down.” 

You just nodded, looking up at Triton for a moment, his nostrils flaring. You reached your hand out for his nose again and it took a moment before he pressed his muzzle into your palm. 

“It’s OK,” you said to him gently, looking him in the eye. “I’m tryin’ to help you, not tryin’ to hurt you. It’s OK.” 

“He can’t understand you,” Richie said. You glared at him. 

You jumped on Triton again and he took off but you were able to get seated properly this time, heels low in the stirrups, one hand on the reins the other on the saddle as he bucked and writhed. You could feel how he was moving this time, able to shift in tandem with him, like you were an extension of him and he of you. You could sense his anger and longing for control and almost rabid panic as you held on until, eventually, he started to calm below you. His movements slowed and eased, reduced to scratching his hooves at the earth and tossing his head as you held the reins. 

“Holy shit,” Richie breathed as you leaned forward slowly, cautiously, and stroked Triton’s neck. 

“See?” You said gently, voice soothing as you ran your fingers over him. “You’re OK. It’ll be OK, I’ll take care of you, not going to hurt you, you’re OK…” 

You let him walk the perimeter of the paddock, tossing his head and puffing, occasionally getting restless and trying to buck you again. You were ready for him though, hanging on when he thrashed and reaching forward to soothe him and praise him when he calmed. 

When the sun began to rise on the horizon, you had him responding to some basic commands. You were able to turn him right or left and pull him into a one-rein stop. You’d almost forgotten you were doing what you were doing without permission until you heard your father screaming your name as he ran for the fence. He jumped it like he was a man in his 20s not his 50s, hurtling for you. You tightened your grip on Triton’s reins and leaned forward on him, shushing him as he started to stomp impatiently. 

“You tryin’ to get yourself killed?” He panted, his eyes huge. “The hell were you thinking!” 

“Daddy,” you said, voice calm. “You’re gonna spook ‘em and I’ve been workin’ all mornin’ to get him here, appreciate it if you don’t ruin it for me.” 

“It’s true,” Richie said, his arms crossed as he leaned against a fence post. “She’s been at it for hours…” 

“And you let her?” Your father rounded on your brother. “She’s 13, she’s a kid but you’re 18, you’re an adult! I expect better outta you…” 

“You know as well as I do that nothin’s gonna stop her once she sets her mind to somethin’,” He replied. “Figured it’d be better if I were out here to help than if she did it on her own.” 

“You were scarin’ ‘em, Daddy,” you said, stroking Triton’s neck gently. He chuffed at it, turning his head enough to look back at you. You met his gaze and smiled softly, giving him a reassuring pat. “He just needed to know someone was lookin’ out for him. That’s all. Can’t just force ‘em, Daddy. Gotta help ‘em.” 

The ranch hands had started gathering around the fence, looking up at you from your perch on the back of the horse you’d brought to heel. He shifted his weight, wary, but calmed when you leaned over his neck, your hands on him. 

“Just gotta help ‘em.” 

*** 

Late April, 2026

“Hey, Joel,” Tommy jogged over to him as he walked back to his house. It was still outside, the air cool but with the promise of summer on the edges of it. The sun was setting, most people in town already home if they weren’t eating a late dinner at the mess hall or going to the Tipsy Bison for a drink. Joel found himself actually looking forward to the quiet evening alone before his brother came up, looking forward to the silence and the chance to relax into what his life was now. “Got a minute? Been meanin’ to talk to you about somethin’.” 

“Sure,” Joel shrugged, heading inside. “Not like I got anywhere to be.” 

He led the way into the house, Tommy lingering at his bookshelf like he was reading the titles of the books there. As if he hadn’t seen the room dozens of times before. 

“Get you a drink?” Joel called from the kitchen, getting himself a glass of water. 

“Nah,” Tommy said. “Won’t be here too long. Unless you wanted to do somethin’…” 

“What’d you need, Tommy.” 

He smiled a little, nodding and looking at the ground for a second before meeting his eyes again. 

“Just wonderin’ what you thought of Bambi and the job she’s doin’ here so far. Since you brought her into town and all…” 

Joel looked at him for a moment, taking a drink of water to buy himself time. 

He didn’t want to admit it but he’d been all but actively avoiding you since the incident at the stables in December. Not that he wasn’t perfectly polite when he saw you, always giving you an expected “how’s your day” when he came by to get a horse or return one. You weren’t exactly verbose in return, usually just shrugging or saying “fine” and handing him the reins or taking them back. He didn’t feel like he could get any closer to you than that. He was focused on trying to fix things with Ellie, still trying to remember what it was like to be a whole person with something to live for. And you seemed to want little to do with anyone at all, content to be on your own with the horses and sometimes the dogs. You didn’t trust people and he didn’t blame you. It wasn’t fair to you for him to try to insert himself into your life, to try to be your friend. 

In part because he wasn’t sure he could be just your friend.

He didn’t trust himself to try to keep a reasonable distance from you if he got closer. Every time your fingers brushed his when he passed his horse off to you after a patrol he wanted to take your hand and pull you against him. He wanted to breathe you in, feel you against him, soak up the vitality that clung to you like a second skin. He wanted to know you and understand you but he knew and understood himself enough to know that this wouldn’t be enough. You were beautiful and strong and so fucking alive he wanted to take in everything you would give him, everything. He wouldn’t be satisfied with just being friends, not with how he already saw you, how he was already drawn to you. He wanted to be your friend. He couldn’t stop at being your friend. 

So he kept his distance. 

But that didn’t mean he didn’t notice things. He noticed things. He noticed the fact that you stood up a little straighter now. He noticed that sometimes you wore your hair down now and you didn’t stare at the ground when he caught a glimpse of you going to the mess hall. He noticed that you always wore his coat, even as the weather grew warmer and he knew you had to be sweltering in it, especially as you worked in the stables. He’d never seen you in town without that coat.

“Doin’ good, all things considered,” he shrugged after a second. “Horses seem good, ‘specially  Samson. But you’d be better off askin’ one of her friends than me, don’t know her all that well.” 

“Well now, see, that’s the thing,” Tommy cupped the back of his neck and winced a bit. “She doesn’t exactly have a lot of those…” 

Joel frowned. He’d never seen you with people but he assumed that was because he usually saw you when you were working. You couldn’t just be alone here. Right?

“She must have a couple,” he said. “She’s been here months…” 

“Yeah, the council is worried about that, too,” Tommy nodded. “She’s got a big job here now and she’s doin’ that real well, got Samson to the point that we can take ‘em on patrol and shoot from his back and he don’t even flinch but they’re worried she’s not integrating here well otherwise.” 

“Can’t force her,” Joel shrugged as he took another drink of water. “She don’t want friends, can’t make her have friends, Tommy.” 

“We just can’t afford to have her want to leave,” he said. “So Maria asked me to talk with you. See if you could check in on her a bit, see how she’s doin’…” 

“Tommy,” Joel sighed, tensing his jaw. “Don’t think I’m the right person…” 

His brother cut him off. 

“Only person she is friends with is Ellie,” he said. 

“Ellie.” 

“Ellie. And I know you’d want to keep an eye on what Ellie’s up to, make sure she’s a good influence,” Tommy said. “Make sure if she does decide to take off she don’t take Ellie with her…” 

Joel sighed again. He knew what Tommy was doing. He wasn’t stupid. Joel could say no to his brother, he could say no to the council, he couldn’t say no to looking out for his daughter. He hadn’t even responded when Tommy smiled, like he knew what Joel was about to say. 

“About time we added her to the patrol rotation, anyway,” he said. “Thought you could make sure she knows how to shoot, show her the ropes. We’ll go out with her later this week, see how she does. She can pair up with you after that, assuming all goes well.” 

“Sure,” Joel said before he could do the smart thing and push back on it. “For a bit at least.” 

“Great,” Tommy smiled, clapping Joel on the shoulder. “Appreciate it!” 

Joel stood on his porch and watched his brother leave before he sighed and went back into his house. He sat on his couch and put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands for a moment. He’d just need to keep it together for a few weeks. Get you up to speed and set up to go on patrol with someone else and make sure that you weren’t about to take off in the middle of the night while taking Ellie with you. He’d gotten himself to a life that was satisfying, even if it wasn’t necessarily happy. He had people he cared about, a community he liked being a part of, a home to come back to at the end of the day. He didn’t want to want more than this. You were dangerously close to longing, to wanting more than he had. 

But if you were friends with Ellie, he’d have to check in on you. 

He considered drinking before seeking you out. That’s what he wanted to do, anyway. Drink or sleep and put this off. But he decided to bite the bullet and walked to your house. He frowned when he got there, the lamp in the entry way on. Joel remembered you turning it off when you got home the last time he was here. He remembered everything you did when he’d walked you here that night four months ago. But it was after nine. He’d never seen you in the Tipsy Bison, never seen you stay at the mess hall for a meal - always taking your food and all but fleeing with it. Ellie’s had been dark when you left. Where the hell were you? 

He headed for the stable, not sure where else to check for you when a thought crossed his mind. What if you did have someone in town, someone Tommy hadn’t noticed? A place you’d be after dark when the day was done, someone who you didn’t ask to stop at the end of your walk, who got to run their fingers over your skin and feel how soft he knew you must be, who got to push his coat off your shoulders and undress you bit by bit. 

Well, that would have to be a good thing, he thought to himself as his stomach twisted and his chest got tight. That would mean that you had ties to the community and he wouldn’t need to worry about checking in. He could keep his distance and try not to think about someone else touching you the way he wanted to touch you. Fuck, what if someone was touching you… 

He tried to ignore the relief that was so deep he felt it in his marrow when he found you at the stables. No one else was around, even on the road outside and he didn’t think you were expecting anyone. You were in a stall with one of the horses, running a brush over her, still wearing his coat even though it was plenty warm and you were singing. It wasn’t loud - he got the impression you were trying to keep it down, to keep from drawing any unwanted attention and not spook the horse - but it was powerful, your voice strong and clear. Without the music - especially the bass line - it took him half a second to place the song, but you were singing The Chain. It was slower, more lilting and less forceful than what he was used to but he liked it. He smiled at that. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard someone singing Fleetwood Mac. Especially not someone who was good. Damn good. And you were, you were really fucking good. 

If it had been before - before the outbreak, before he had the responsibility of being a father and he still had the dream of being a musician - and he heard you sing, he’d have approached you. Hoped to have latched onto your talent, your voice, hoped that you’d let him have anything to do with a sound like that. Now, he just listened to it, basked in it, let your voice seep into him as he tried to hold onto it, onto you. 

You came to the end of the song and you hadn���t noticed him there, your usual hyper-vigilance lessened when you were focused on something else, and you pressed your forehead against the side of the horse’s head, saying something quietly to it that he couldn’t quite hear. 

“You’re good,” Joel said. You jumped and spun, your eyes wide and doe-like, frantically looking for either a place to hide or a way to attack. He wasn’t sure which. He held up his hands as he pushed off the post he’d been leaning on. “S’OK, not going to hurt you, wasn’t tryin’ to scare you…” 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Your body relaxed some and you picked up the brush that you’d dropped in your panic. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that!” 

“Wasn’t tryin’ to sneak up on you,” he said, stepping closer. You watched him and adjusted, sticking close to the horse. “Promise. Just hadn’t heard someone singing that song in a long time and didn’t want to interrupt. You really are damn good.” 

“Thanks,” you said, cautious and cagey as you moved to the other side of the horse. 

“You play?” Joel asked, moving to the wall of the stall you were in. He propped his arms on the top of it, keeping his hands visible, hoping that would help make you less nervous.

“Play what?” 

“Anything,” he laughed a little. “Just sound like you know what you’re doin’ with music so I was wonderin’ if you played.” 

You looked at the horse, starting to brush her side. 

“Yeah,” you said after a minute. “Yeah. It’s been a few years, but I play. Could play. Sure I could play again if I had the chance.” 

“What do you play?” He asked, watching you, the tension slowly leaving your body. 

“Guitar,” you said, focusing on the horse and not looking at him. “Piano, violin and fiddle, drums. Like a kit, don’t know much about full percussion, don’t want me on a marimba or something…” 

“So you really know music,” he smiled a little, picturing you with a guitar, your hair falling forward as you bent over the body of the instrument in your arms. 

“Somethin’ like that,” you stopped brushing and looked up at him. “Can I help you with anything or do you just like spying on people?” 

“I was hoping to talk with you actually,” he said. “If you have a minute.” 

“I’m just grooming Renaissance here,” you said, nodding to the mare. You kept the horse’s body between him and you. “Now’s a good a time as any.” 

“Why are you here so late?” Joel frowned. “You need more help in the stables? Because shouldn’t need to work all…” “I like being here,” you cut him off, defensive. “Renaissance came back covered in burrs today so I figured I’d give her a good once over. I don’t have to be here, I want to be here.” 

“OK,” he said gently.

“OK,” you said, a little calmer, looking back at the horse, brushing her again. “What did you want?” 

“Wanted to see how you’re doing is all,” he said. You looked at him with narrowed eyes over the back of the horse. “And talk to you about addin’ you to the patrol rotation.” 

You frowned at that. 

“Patrol?” You said. You had the doe eyes again. “Like… leave Jackson. Go lookin’ for trouble.” 

“Not lookin’ for trouble,” he smiled a little. “Just checkin’ in on what’s goin’ on nearby and intervening before there’s trouble. Think you’d be good at it.” 

“What would I need to do?” You asked. 

“We’d need to make sure you can shoot,” he said. “Already know you can ride just fine.” 

You snorted at that. 

“Pretty sure you can spot a threat from about a mile out,” he teased a little and your eyes met his, less big and scared this time. Instead they were sharp - in the clever way - and soft. 

“I can shoot,” you said. “And I’m good at watching for threats. Except when they’re you sneakin’ up on me at the stable, apparently.” 

Joel shrugged. 

“Maybe you just know I’m not a threat.” 

“Do I?” You asked, head cocked. 

“Still wearin’ my coat,” he said. “Don’t think you’d do that if you thought I was a threat.” 

Your eyes narrowed.

“I get cold.” 

“And I’m not a threat,” he said. “At least, not to you.” 

You finished brushing the horse and put your hand on her haunch as you came around back of her to the wall of the stall. You stood in front of him, the closest you’d ever been to him voluntarily. His breath hitched. 

“So how’s it work?” You asked, looking up at him. 

“How’s what work?” He’d damn near forgotten what he was talking with you about. 

You smiled a little. 

“Patrol. How’s it work?” 

“Right,” he said quickly. “Well, I’ll take you out sometime in the next few days here, test your shooting. Assuming you’re good with that, you’ll go out with me’n Tommy for a bit, make sure you’re OK with it, then we’ll work you into the regular rotation. You’ll go out every few weeks, usually with the same partner so you’ll get used to workin’ with someone.” 

You nodded slowly. 

“And I’d be armed, right?” You asked. “Assuming that’s why you’d need to know that I can shoot?”

“Yeah, Bambi,” he laughed a little. “Not gonna send you out there without a gun.” 

“OK,” you nodded slowly. “I can do that.” 

You opened the stall and put the brush away before getting a blanket, Joel watching you the whole time. 

You frowned. 

“Anything else?” 

“Figured I’d walk you home,” he said. “Assuming you’re done here…” 

You looked at him for a second, considering him. 

“OK.” 

You went back into the stall and put the blanket over the horse and gave her a quick scratch and whispered something to her before closing the stall behind her. You shoved your hands in your pockets and started off, Joel careful to be close but not so close that you tensed up and watched him, all vigilant caution. 

“So,” he said after you’d been walking for a minute. “You likin’ it OK? Jackson, I mean?” 

“I think so,” you frowned a little. “It’s hard to really know. Haven’t been around people like this in so long, feels a little like I’ve been dropped onto an alien planet and I’m still figurin’ it all out.” 

Joel nodded. 

“I was the same way, comin’ here,” he said. “‘Course I’d been in a QZ for the 15 or so years before but that was different, place was nothin’ like here. But I had Tommy’n Ellie when I got here… Still. It took adjusting.” 

“So you’re Ellie’s dad?” You looked up at him, your hands in the pockets of the coat, your brows drawn together. 

“No,” he sighed, though that felt like a lie to say. He felt like Ellie’s dad. He felt like Ellie’s dad more than he felt like he was anything else that mattered. “But I’m her guardian. We traveled here together, from Boston. She had family out this way, or we thought she did, anyway. Hired me to bring her out here since I was heading west, anyway, lookin’ for Tommy. Her people were gone before we got here and… Well, by then I didn’t want to leave ‘er anyway…” 

You nodded, a sense of understanding in your eyes before you looked at the ground. 

“So she’s your daughter in the ways that matter,” you said, looking back at him after a moment. 

“Yeah,” Joel nodded. 

“And you did something that pissed ‘er off good,” you said, smiling a little. 

“Yeah,” Joel said, laughing once at the simplification of it. “Somethin’ like that. Yeah. It was the right choice but I understand why she’s mad. Don’t expect her to forgive me for it, but… I hope she will. I hope she’ll understand, one day.” 

“Kids are hard,” you said, looking straight ahead. “But she’s a smart kid. She’ll understand it at some point, if it really was the right thing.” 

Joel nodded. He wasn’t sure Ellie would ever see it as the right thing. But that was OK. He knew it was. Anything that kept her alive was the right thing. That was all he needed. 

“You’re friends with her,” he said. He’d meant to ask it but it hadn’t come out that way. 

“She decided we were friends,” you smiled a little. “But… I like her. She’s… she’s something else.” 

“Yeah, she’s definitely that,” Joel laughed. 

He stopped at the gate to your front walk and you stood in front of him, your hands in the pockets of the coat you’d kept, looking up at him and fuck he wanted to kiss you. He wanted to take your face in his hand and pull your mouth to his and kiss you. The moonlight caught on your hair and made your eyes shine and he wondered if you’d taste sweet, he felt like you would. 

“When is good to do the shooting stuff?” You asked. 

“Tomorrow work?” He asked, both hands firmly in the pockets of his jeans so he wouldn’t do something stupid. “Afternoon?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded after thinking for a second. “Shouldn’t have any patrols coming or going then, should be able to leave the stable for a few hours, be back in time for the evening feed.” 

You gave him a tight smile and opened the gate, closing it behind you, the signal clear: he stayed on that side of it. 

“Thanks,” you said. “For walkin’ me.” 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, no problem.” 

He watched you head up your walk and, before he could stop himself, called out. 

“I have a guitar.” 

You stopped and turned, frowning. 

“What?”

“If you ever wanted to try playin’ again,” he said. “I have a guitar, you can come by… Borrow it. If you want.” 

Your face lit up at that. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “Anytime you want. Just… just come by.” 

You nodded.

“Thanks,” you smiled, a little wider that time. “I might do that. Night, Joel.” 

He took a long look at you.

“Night, Bambi.” 

Next Chapter

A/N: Joel just might have a bit of a crush here and Bambi might just be less freaked out by Joel than she is everyone else in town.

Hey, progress!

I do have a taglist but Tumblr is making it a mess so whether it works is questionable. HOWEVER I will add you if you ask in the comments below :) Whether it works or not is up to the Tumblr Gods.

Thank you so much for being here! I appreciate you taking the time to read this and for following along with Joel and Bambi's journey. It means the world. Love you!!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust@ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost@beccerjune@mumma-moonchild@netonetoneto@mellymbee@purplelye@n7cje@flugazi@evyiione@randomhoex@aliengirl99@orcasoul@reds-ramblings@pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x oc #yearling #tlou fanfiction

[the-kr8tor]

Thread the needle

Thread the Needle Masterlist

Prologue >>> Chapter 1

God, you're so late for class. Your white sneakers squeak against the linoleum floor, feet running as fast as you can. Your hastily thrown backpack struggles to cling on to your arm. You regret going out last night, on a school night too.

Almost running past the classroom, your feet skid to a stop in front of the door. Taking a breather you take a second to fix your appearance, fixing your backpack properly, breathing out a puff of air, you mentally ready for the weird stares thrown your way once you open the door.

You open the door with a loud creek from the old hinges, cursing the metal for the loud intrusion. Grimacing from the sound, your eyes roam around the room, surprised to see that the professor's late too. You sigh in relief, sitting down in your station, you decide to clean up the mess that you left yesterday in haste.

While picking up loose threads, misshapen cloths and cluttered tools littered around your space, you accidentally listen in on a conversation.

"Did you hear? About our last project?"

"Yeah, I have a friend from the other class, heard it's a doozy. Can't believe Mrs. Williams' making it forty percent of our final grade "

Unbelievable, you thought. And here you go thinking that taking fashion as your major was gonna be easy. You sigh, pondering what kind of next stress is gonna befall you.

Suddenly the door opens with a loud creaking sound– your ever fashionable professor saunters in, clad in her stiletto heels, posture perfect and neck always covered in pearls. God, you want to be her when you grow up.

She stands tall in front of the whiteboard.

"Since this is your last two months here, I'm gonna make this last project the biggest and hardest one you've ever done," she doesn't beat around the bush, going straight to the point, speaking in her posh accent, making elegant gestures as she talks, "This final project will be sixty percent of your final grade, therefore if you fail this you might not graduate this year"

Various sounds of protests can be heard around the room, some groaning in pain, others straight up scream in anguish, but you just look at Mrs. Williams like she grew a second head.

Sixty percent?! This close to graduation? Does she not want anybody to graduate? You think, biting your tongue just in case it slips out.

"You've gotta be joking Mrs. W!" A classmate of yours shares your sentiment.

"Do I look like I'm someone who makes jokes, Flash?" The professor raises a neat eyebrow, side eyeing your classmate.

Fuckety, fuck fuck. You internally swear. This is so much worse than forty percent. Outside you might look calm but inside you feel like spontaneously combusting right there on your chair.

Mrs. Williams stares at her class silently. The entire room feeling the dark aura she exudes, they all clam up immediately.

"The project - find someone, I do not care if you're already close, or you're strangers to each other. Just someone who's willing to model for you-"

"For the record everyone, I'm available" Flash interrupts the professor, with one look from her, he sits back down defeated and embarrassed.

"This project requires you to make an outfit," she continues, staring daggers at your classmate "not just any other piece you have ever made. You have to cooperate with your model, in creating it."

That's easy enough you thought, you've already worked with models before, like changing some aspects of the clothing to match their sizes, and changing some designs if they're not comfortable wearing it.

Mrs. Williams raises her index finger, "This outfit, it has to encompass the both of you, so it's a requirement, a necessity, to pick a model that has an entirely different style from you"

Different style? Your mind goes to him immediately, with his heavy leather boots, spiked accessories, and overall Punk aesthetic, compared to your fluffy cardigans, sneakers and plain button ups. He's perfect for this project. The only problem is how in the world are you gonna convince THE Hobie Brown, your best friend of ten years, to model in front of the entire graduating class.

Mrs. Williams' voice brings you back to the present. "They, whoever you pick, must be willing to fully participate in making, and modeling it. They don't even have to be a student here, all that matters is that the final product must be a perfect blend of both yours and their style"

Flash raises his hand this time "How would you know that they have a different style from us?"

"Next meeting you must bring them, and" she emphasizes the last word "a picture of them with a timestamp from a year or two ago, this prevents cheating. And if I ever find out that you edited the photo's timestamp, don't even think about graduating"

"Um, ma'am, when are we presenting it?" A brave classmate of yours raises their hand.

"You have a month to work on it, the show will be three weeks before graduation, if you'll even be qualified for it"

You swallow down your anxiety at her last comment. Bringing Hobie in class will be a bitch and a half itself. You're already thinking about how to convince him.

"And remember this project fosters teamwork and cooperation with each other. Do not forget it has to be a perfect blend, not some smorgasbord of an outfit." The professor adds.

Great, now armed with the great task of convincing Hobie, you think, if he still owes you a favour, maybe you can call it in for this.

#hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #thread the needle #thread the needle series #thread the needle Prologue #spider punk #hobie brown #the kr8tor's creations #spider man across the spider verse #x reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv x reader #atsv fanfic #atsv hobie #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you

[augustghosts]

Plastic Trees

Tommy Miller x Fem!reader

Ok, I’m sooo nervous to post this lmao. I’ve convinced myself that it sucks. This isn’t everyone's cup of tea so make sure you read the warnings! I did the classic me thing by wanting to get right into the story, so there isn’t much of a backstory here but I have future chapters planned (and may have already started writing them) if anyone is interested. So let me know if you enjoy and want more <3 Thank you for reading!

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning: 18+! This isn’t proof read so lmk if u spot any dire mistakes. Kidnapping duh, kind of dark!tommy i guess? Or maybe just very ooc. guns and swearing and all that typical tlou stuff. Reader is an adult, obviously. Handjob, slight voyeurism, face fucking.

This is the worst part. Night time, or at least she thought it was night time. The countdown to morning, wondering if they will even come back down. Wondering if this was the night they pack up and leave, leaving her to die alone down here. The basement was always dark, day or night. But these next few hours were the worst, it would get quiet. No footsteps or shouting. Only a few steps every now and then of whoever was up to keep watch while everyone else slept.

She knew who was on watch tonight, it must be Tommy. She knows this now, she's been down here long enough to know their patterns. She knows it’s Tommy because every hour or so the footsteps sound above her and a shadow appears at the basement door. It lingers for a while and then retreats. She wonders what he thinks, is he toying with her? Is he just trying to listen? See what she’s doing? Or, does his hand linger over the door knob, does he ever think about coming down? Does he ever think about letting her out?

She’s convinced that he does. Or maybe she’s convinced herself that to make herself feel better, either way - Tommy is different. He has softer eyes than his brother. He asks her if she’s okay, despite her answer always being something along the lines of go fuck yourself. Tommy is the only one who actually told her his name. His brother Joel, she only knows after hearing Tommy say it. All of this - Tommy looking at her sweetly and sneaking her extra food is what led to this. She's crouched at the bottom of the stairs. Tommy’s silhouette is lingering by the door. A few seconds and he retreats. His footsteps echo above her, getting quieter as he reaches the other side of the house. Her heart is hammering in her chest, her blood rushing as she steps up onto the first stair. The wood creaks under her, the same way it does when one of them walks down them. She cringes - she listens. When she hears nothing above her, she takes a chance and steps up onto the next one.

She knows the door isn’t locked. The world was years into an apocalypse, this house is run down. The closest thing they had to a lock was making her believe there was someone on the other side 24/7. And usually, there was. Until night, she guesses they think she's asleep - so they would wander around the house. They go stand by the front door instead, keeping watch.

As she ascends the steps, Tommy is above her. Leaning against the dirty kitchen counter. His gun on the old marble in front of him. Easy job, my ass, he thinks. The day he stops listening to Joel is the day he will know peace. Kidnapping someone, locking them in a basement and waiting to hand her off to a group of fuckers who are planning to do god knows what. This is not an easy job. As if to illustrate his point, a gust of wind blows over the house and it creaks. The shitty windows sound awful as the rain pounds against it. Fuck this. He wants to go home. He straightens up and swings his gun back in over his shoulder, planning to do another lap of the house as boredom takes over him.

He freezes as he hears a familiar squeak. It’s not the house this time, it’s those damn noisy basement stairs. He walks slowly, quietly - and peeks around the corner down the hallway. The door is closed. He peeks round into what used to be the living room of this house, Joel and the rest of their group are asleep on the floor and on various old couches. He’s still frozen in place, listening. Another creak echoes from the hallway. He creeps closer, obviously more stealthy than the person on the stairs. Another creak as they reach the top stair, he knows the sound is more hollow than the rest of the stairs. He dips into another room as the basement door handle begins to turn slowly. Her hesitation is obvious, the door is opened slowly - she’s slow, not wanting it to make too much of a noise.

She looks out into the hallway, holy shit - it’s empty. She can see the front door from where she’s standing. She knows the lounge is on the left, and she knows they’re all in there. She can hear the rain and wind up here too. Shit, she’s wearing a shitty pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The same thing she had been wearing since they snatched her up. She opens the door wider and takes a step out, the house is silent. Where the fuck did Tommy go? She takes a few more quiet steps, excitement building inside of her. Excitement to feel the rain and wind on her skin. Excitement to go home.

Her pathetic excitement turns to pure fear and adrenaline as she hears the familiar click of a shotgun beside her. As she passes a dark room on the right of her, a cold metal barrel is pressed to the side of her head. Her hands instinctively rise up, surrender.

“Turn around.” Tommy’s familiar voice - he’s quiet, trying not to wake the others. Her hand flexes at her side, contemplating grabbing the gun. What would she do with it? She has no fucking clue. But she’s so close to the front door.

“Don’t.” He says. “Just turn around.”

“Please, Tommy.” She tries. Her voice was shaking. He almost felt bad. She turned to look at him, face to face with the gun aimed at her head.

“Please what?” He’s still whispering. His voice was deeper than usual when he did.

“Let me go.”

“Yeah, right. Turn around.” He scoffs. Stepping out into the hallway and blocking her way. He’s much taller than her, his height is intimidating as he towers over her, crowding her back down into the basement. She takes a few steps back as he takes a few forward.

“The door is right there. You- you could let me go.” She tries to bargain as he continues to walk forwards, forcing her to walk back into the doorway.

“Oh yeah? And then what? I’m supposed to be on watch, so you escaping is my fault. Then you die out there and we don’t get paid.”

“Please i-“ She starts again, resorting back to pleading with him. She’s so worked up she forgets about the steps. Tommy stops her before she can fall backwards, his large hands reaching around her waist. He’s in charge now, he’s standing in the doorway holding her above the stairs. Blocking her exit, and if he lets go of her - she falls. She’s looking up at him, her eyes big and tearful. Fear evident on her face. Her hands are tightly gripping the front of his jacket, trying to steady herself.

“What now princess?” He says, his voice rumbles.

“Hm?” He prompts as she doesn’t reply. She’s honestly at a loss for words. She’s not sure if it’s because this is not what she planned, or wether is being so close to him like this.

“Are you gonna be good?” He asks. She hates the way her stomach stirs. She wants nothing more than to push him away. “Are you gonna go back down? You don’t have many options.”

She continues to stare at him, weighing her options. She looks at the door behind him and he smirks, an idea popping into his head. He pretends to let her go, one of his arms dropping away from her and slapping over her mouth when she almost screams - thinking he’s about to let her fall down the stairs.

He hauls her up and presses her against the wall, his hand still covering her mouth- the other one gripping her hip tightly. Her hands are still twisted into his jacket, her knuckles turning white. She’s crying now, sobbing behind his hand. Fuck, he was enjoying this.

“I’m going to ask you again.” He whispers. “Are you gonna be a good girl and go back downstairs?”

Her eyes are wide, tears hitting his hand as they fall. She nods slowly, trying to ignore the heat growing between her legs. God, she wishes she had met him in a different situation. He was so beautiful. His dark eyes bore into hers before they flickered downwards. He watches her chest heaving, he feels her eyes on his face and he knows she can feel him. His body is pressed against hers, trapping her against the wall, so he knows she can feel his cock hardening against her.

He lets go of her mouth, bringing his hand down to her throat instead. He leans in, his lips inches from hers. She can feel his breath on her lips but she doesn’t dare move. Fuck, she can’t deny that she wants him to kiss her. Would he let her go if she fucked him? She decides to take her chances. She slowly unwraps her hands from the collar of his jackets. She presses her palms against his chest, for a second he thinks she’s going to try to push him away and he prepares himself to grab her wrists. But his breathing hitches as her hands travel down his stomach and pause at the hem of his shirt.

She looks up at him with the most innocent look she can muster, she searches his eyes for any anger or resistance. He’s doing the same to her, his eyes urging her to carry on. She feels his stomach flex as she slowly lets her hands travel underneath the fabric. How long has it been since someone has touched him? It’s been a while since someone has touched her - just his hand around her neck right now is setting her on fucking fire.

His hand tightens around her throat as she unbuckles his belts and dips her hand into his jeans. Feeling him over his underwear first. Stroking him with a feather light touch. He leans in to press his mouth to her jaw, a quiet moan leaves her lips and she swears she can feel his cock twitch.

“Get on with it.” He mumbles against her skin. Trying to resist biting down into her flesh, not wanting the other guys to see any marks. The other guys - who are only around the corner. If any of them were to wake up and look over here they would see them. Fuck, that turned her on. She hates it.

She reaches into his underwear and grips him tightly. “You're not gonna be gentle with me baby?” He hisses beside her ear, she can hear the smirk in his voice, she feels his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“What do you want me to do?” She whispers, her hand begins to move, jerking him off slowly. He smells like leather and sweat, she whimpers as her clothed tits press against his chest. His nipples are hard and aching.

“Fuck.” He moans into her ear. His hand flexes on her throat before he shocks her by letting go and straightening up. “Get on your knees.”

“Okay.” She mumbles, slowly kneeling down on the dirty floor. The floorboard creaks underneath her and they both freeze for a second. His hands stop in the middle of pushing his jeans down. They both look down the hallway and listen for a second. When they hear nothing- the house is still silent, he continues. Pulling his jeans down just enough to pull his cock out.

Tommy almost feels guilty as she kneels down in front of him. Almost. His cock is so fucking hard and aching that he can’t help himself. He reaches for the back of her head, guiding her mouth towards his length. He can’t help but think about how fucking jealous Joel would be. He’d expressed his attraction to her when they had picked her up, joking about keeping her the group they were waiting for never came.

He almost explodes as she takes his tip into her mouth, swirling her tongue around his slit. Fuck, it really had been a while. But honestly, they didn’t have time for this. Anyone could wake up at any second and all he wanted was to come down her throat. He grasps her hair at the back of her head and pushes her head down until he feels her gag around him. And she lets him. Fuck, she was perfect.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck.” He mumbles through gritted teeth. As she works up a rhythm, sucking him off as best as she can when his hand is still on the back of her head. Applying pressure to stop her from pulling completely away. Tommy is biting his fist to keep himself quiet, his other hand has a painful grip on her hair. He keeps glancing down the hallway, eventually deciding she isn’t being quick enough.

“You’re mouth is amazing, sweetheart.” He whispers as he grasps both sides of her face. He lets her pull away for a second - she knows what he’s about to do. “But, we gotta hurry up.”

He’s already close. His dick hasn’t had anything but his own hand for a long time and the sight of her allowing him to fuck her face has his balls clenching. She has her palms on his thighs, letting him hold her head and thrust in and out of her mouth at his own pace. And his own pace is a rough one. She’s still crying, but now it’s the feeling of his tip hitting the back of her throat that’s producing the tears. Him using her mouth to get off, she swears she’s never been this turned on in her life.

It’s so fucking wrong. This is one of the men who has had her locked in a basement purely for his own gain for the past couple of weeks. But as she looks up at him, his face flushed, his teeth biting down on his lip as he roughly fucks her face in a disgusting basement - she can’t help but hope he keeps her for himself. She thinks about running away with him. She thinks about him taking her away from all this, ditching his brother and their money and taking her out into the world. She thinks about how he looks pointing his gun at her, how he would look pointing it at someone else to protect her.

She moans around him at the thought, her hand coming down and pressing between her own legs - her jeans stopping her from getting herself off. Her hand eventually goes to her breast instead. Between the sight of her desperately trying to touch herself and the way she moaned around his cock, Tommy is done for. He pauses, forcing her as far down his cock as she can go as he comes down her throat. She feels every drop as it hits the back of her mouth. He pulls his cock out of her mouth but is quick to bring his fingers to her chin, forcing her mouth shut.

“Swallow it.” He says. She does as she’s told. He lets go of her chin when he feels her swallow. She practically collapses backwards, sitting in front of him and breathing heavily. He tucks himself back into his jeans before he crouches down in front of her.

“Shhh. You did good, baby.” He whispers. He caresses her cheek. She looks beautiful like this. She swears she can see the change in his face, his eyes soften and he stands up and holds out his hands. She looks from his palms to his face a few times before it clicks, oh. She takes his hands and lets him help her up. The feeling of him holding her hands making her knees feel like buckling again.

“This doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you go.” He says, his grip tightening on her hands.

“I figured.” She nods,her voice slightly hoarse. But suddenly, she feels like she doesn’t want to go. She pulls her hands from his and turns to walk down the stairs. He stops her before he can descend them with a hand on her shoulder. He backs her up against the wall again and she gasps as he slips his hand into her jeans.

“Shit, did sucking me off get you this wet?” He asks, he’s only tracing her pussy through her panties but he can feel the wet spot she’d created. He can feel the heat radiating off of her and he swears he could get hard again.

“I asked you a question.” He says when she whimpers in response.

“Y-yes.” She moans lightly as he traces her clit through the fabric.

“You want me to touch you?”

She bites back a snarky comment of you already are and just nods instead.

“Please, Tommy. Please touch me.” She asks him sweetly.

“Since you were so good for me, i guess you deserve it.” He says. He leans in closer to her face, god - he wants to kiss her. He knows it’s a bad idea but when she leans up to meet him halfway he can’t help himself. Their lips are practically touching, softly brushing against each other - a moan leaving her mouth as he presses harder on her clit, beginning to move his finger in slow, tight circles.

As he’s about to commit and push his tongue into her mouth, some fucker moves in the other room. The sound of shuffling and someone standing to their feet has him ripping his hand out from between her legs. She’s frozen in place for a second, disappointed and shocked. Tommy is picking his gun back up and whispering Go to her and it jumps her into action. She scurries down the stairs as fast as she can, not missing the way he sucks the finger that had been touching her into his mouth.

“You good, Tommy?” A male voice calls down the hall.

“Yeah. Everything is fine.” The other man looks at him standing in the basement doorway and then looks into the darkness of the basement behind him.

“Everything okay with her?” The man asks.

“Yeah.” Tommy answers. “I thought I heard her moving around. But everythings fine. She’s asleep.”

The man nods and asks: “You wanna switch?”

Tommy nods and hands his gun over. He needs a fucking nap after that. He needed to think. He watches as the man approaches the basement door. A weird protectiveness washing over him. Shit, this isn’t good. He can’t afford to have a soft spot for her. He snaps out of it and takes the man's place on the couch. The couch is dusty and creaks underneath him and he sighs. He thinks about how the people who had hired them to collect here were supposed to be arriving tomorrow.

Below him in the basement, she’s thinking about it too. As she lays down to sleep, she hopes that Tommy will save her - hopes that he won’t let it happen. That he will sweep her off of her feet and carry her away. Hours later, she’s still hoping. A few minutes ago she had been awoken by yelling and gunshots. She’d been curled up in the corner ever since. Waiting, listening. The basement door swings open and she squeezes her eyes shut as loud footsteps tumble down towards her. Honestly, maybe this was a better end than whatever the people who had hired her to be captured had in mind.

“Hey! It’s me.” Her eyes shoot open, Tommy is standing above her looking even more disheveled than he did last night. He’s breathing heavily - his words rushed.

“What’s happening?” She asks. Tommy looks back up the stairs before extending his gloved hand to her.

“Get up. We need to go. Right fucking now.”

#yeah the title is a radiohead song… whatevs #next chapter is half way done hehehe #it’s almost as long as this one…. lmao #its better I promise…. maybe #idk tbh #FELLAS ARE WE READY FOR TLOU FINALE TONIGHT? #tommy miller #tommy miller smut #tommy miller x reader #hbo tommy miller #tommy miller fic #gabriel luna #the last of us #the last of us smut #the last of us fic

[r-f-m-writes]

Bittersweet BabyGirl Chapter One

“Please sign here, miss Bennet.” Pedro’s penthouse was luxurious and sun warm around her, everything inside it smelling of him - just the way she liked. Sarah scrawled her name on the certificate of adoption. “This mean I have to call you Daddy now, Pedge?” Looking over a shoulder at her co star turned father, she passed the pen back to his lawyer. Pedro grinned, hands in pockets. The way he stared at her was about as subtle as a slap across the face. “Only when you want to, babygirl.” The lawyer supervising the signing looked uncomfortable. Sarah was impressed he seemed able to sense something that usually went over people's heads. That tension, running an undercurrent through every moment she and Pedro shared. She knew none of this was innocent. And it thrilled her. He thrilled her.

The knife against Ray’s throat was even colder than the night air that pressed around her, thin material of her worn out waffled thermal doing nothing to fight the cold as she was pinned against the front of Aiden’s chest, jaw grasped tight, forcing her to stare ahead, right at him .

     “One more step and I’ll open up your girl, Mills, I swear to God.”

    He was erratic. Voice shaking, breath puffing hot against the side of Ray’s face while her hands trembled, her own lungs barely able to gasp a clean swallow of air with how deeply the blade of his knife was pressed into her skin. When his voice came from the darkness, it was a balm to all her fears. Salvation, safety, love .

        “Alrigh’. Easy , Aiden. Let’s talk about this.”

    Ray’s feet stumbled under her when she was jerked backwards, open hands flinching in the air as the man behind her yanked her painfully to move with him.

        “No, no more talking. I am done with the fucking talking . Either you give me what I want, right now, or I take away the only thing you love. I’ll kill her, Mills. I swear .”

    Ray was panting now, hyperventilating around the choking blade. She couldn’t move if she wanted to. She was paralyzed in her fear. 

    “ Dad -”

    He stepped out of the shadowed tree line, rifle slung over his back, heavy winter coat expanding his already impossibly large frame. Slowly, he raised his hands, stance mirroring hers as his eyes shone in the dim light. When he spoke next, he was talking to Aiden, but staring at her. 

    “Alright. No talkin’. We do whatever you want, Aiden, however you want ta do it. Just say the word.”

   The press of the knife lessend. Ray felt her heart thundering, pulse spiking as she took deep pulls of air into her lungs, eyes welling up in relife and fear and hope as she watched her father step closer. She couldn't stop herself when she spoke again, desperate for him.

    “Daddy, I’m scared .” 

   Pain furled across his face at the terror in her tone and the use of an innocent name she hadn’t called him since she was a young child.

      “I know, babygirl. I know.”

    The bell rang out. George’s voice came, calm but precise, from the director's chair. “Cut!”

     Hot flood lights thawed the freezing air on set in a second as they doused the forest clearing in a golden glare. Samson drew the chilly prop knife away from Sarah’s throat. Pedro dropped his hands down to his sides and grinned at her. 

     The clapperboard snapped to mark the take.

     She was bolting toward her co-star before the camera had a chance to stop rolling, coiling  her arms tight around herself as she ran, “Fuck, I’m freezing .”

      Pedro threw his arms open, lifting the flaps of his warm winter jacket, ready to swaddle her the second her chest met his.

      “C’mere, you.”

     Somewhere behind them, Samson laughed. Sarah plastered herself against Pedro, pinning her icy hands between their bodies as the man grabbed the flaps of his jacket and wrapped them around her tight, squeezing narrow shoulders and rocking them back and forth on the spot. 

      “Still can’t believe Laura put you in this for a night shoot. Shirts paper thin, not gonna do a fuckin’ thing against the wind. Hey, George! This the last take? We’re all tired as hell, an babygirl ‘s about to lose her damn fingers.” 

    Relishing in the warmth pouring over her body and the ragged, woodsy smell of his cologne - which Sarah can tell Pedro applied a bit too liberally that morning - she didn’t say a peep, instead closing her eyes and burrowing her head as deep as she could in the collar of his shirt. 

    George’s voice came steady and tired in reply. “Yep, last take for tonight. I’ll put it through to get approved tomorrow - hopefully we won’t have to torture y’all with a reshoot.”

  Stepping down from his chair, the older man picked up his empty coffee cup off the grass, slotting the huge jumble of scripts against his hip as he began to walk away. 

   “Sarah, I liked what you did with it, good job. Samson, if we gotta shoot again, not so much shaking the knife, just hold it steady against her steady. Remember, you’re full of adrenaline, ready to go in for the kill. Otherwise, nicely done.”

   Pedro’s voice rumbled through Sarah as he called after their director with false offense. “Hey! What about me? I don’t get any notes?”

   Glancing over his shoulder with a good humored smile, George shook his head.

   “What about you, Pedro? You get it perfect - every single time. Now, stop fishing for compliments, and get her inside. I don’t want the best half of my father - daughter duo freezing to death in a shit hole like Toronto.”

     Smiling to herself, Sarah mumbled into her friend’s jacket. “You gonna let him get away with that diss, Mr. Emmy winner?”

    Rubbing his hands in quick passes of friction up and down her spine, the man hummed. 

    “Not a diss from where I’m standin’. You are the best part of our duo, babygirl .”

     He slipped briefly into Mills' deep, Texan accent for the last word. Sarah pulled a face and batted him on the chest. 

    “As if you fucking belive it. Carry me inside, I’m freezing, and exhausted.”

    Scoffing at her attitude, Pedro drew his head back the tiniest bit, peering down the handsome crook of his nose at her.

    “ Carry you? Nah. Don’t think I can do that on account ‘a my - what did you call them? Geriatric knee caps?”

     Groaning, Sarah hugged her arms around his waist tightly and searched for the humility to repent. 

    “Look, I’m sorry, OK? I was just teasing. Your knee caps aren’t geriatric, and you aren't geriatric so please, please carry me inside.” 

    Clicking his tongue like he would if he were still playing Mills, Pedro slid his hands down to grip the backs of her thighs, squeezing once in warning before hoisting her up around his waist.

    “All the things you’ve done to me, and I still carry you to bed. How do you manage it, Sarah? With those big brown eyes, fuckin’ can’t say no to anything.”

    Smiling, the girl let her head roll against the strong jut of his shoulder, watching the forest set shrink away behind them as he took her the short distance back to the trailers, every step bumping the flat of her stomach against his slightly softer one.

    The door to her caravan was unlocked, and Pedro deftly knocked the handle down with his boot, showing Sarah, without words and beyond a doubt, that he most certainly was not geriatric.

    Lights flicked on automatically as he walked up the short length of steps and trod into the sleek temporary living space. Last week’s scripts were scattered thoughtlessly over the built in couch, and two pairs of dirty bowls crowded the small table along with half drunk mugs of tea. Her kitchen wasn’t much better, with an open box of cereal and a quarter drunk gallon of whole milk left out on the counter. 

       Sarah made a fuzzy minded note to herself that she should throw both away the next day as Pedro muttered something disapproving in Italian so she couldn’t understand it. She hated when he did that.

      Her bedroom was the least shameful, with fresh floral sheets thrown over the queen sized mattress and none of her four sets of pillows scattered on the floor. Baby Bear lay lopsided against the headboard, looking up at her with mournful glass eyes as Pedro lowered her to the soft hug of the mattress. 

        The clock on her bedside said it was quarter past one in the morning. Sarah rolled her head, closing her eyes as she felt the laces of her - or, more accurately, Ray’s - boots being undone. 

        He undressed her slowly, careful and exact, mindful of the wardrobe pieces but always more conscious of her, his big, warm hands skimming her skin as he tugged off Ray’s jeans and pinched off her woolen socks. 

      The last thing to go was the thermal, beige colored and totally inadequate. He said something to himself as he drew it up over her head to unveil her sports bra benithe, muttering in quick, breathy sweeps of his first language while he balled it up and chucked it at the back wall.

     Stripped down to her underpants and bra, Sarah slowly opened her eyes again, peeking up at him through her lashes as he gestured for her to sit up. 

     She did. He took hold of the bottom of the tightly fitted bra, jutting his chin toward her nightstand as he began to peel the compressing fabric up.

    “You enjoyin’ the book I got you?”  

     Blinking hazily in the direction of what he was referring to, Sarah saw the pastel yellow cover and smiled.  

I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy.

       Lifting her arms to help with the challenging process of getting the activewear off, she laughed a little.

      “My mother wasn’t that bad, Pedro. Yes, she forced me into a career I didn’t want, but it was nothing like what Jennette went through.”

      Tossing the bra aside where he had thrown the shirt, the man looked down at Sarah with a disapproving pinch in his brows.

      “But you do relate to it. I didn’t give it to you to say what she did to you was that bad, I gave it to you as a reminder that you made the right choice last year. I don’t want you to start spiraling. You needed to cut her off, if you hadn’t she would have kept on taking from you. Money. Love. All the other shit she didn’t deserve.” 

    Sighing, Sarah sank back, nipples pebbling in the cool air of the trailer as she took hold of one corner of her duvet to pull it over herself, closing her eyes and blindly feeling around the bed for her teddy.

     “I know, Ped. I’m not spiraling, I’m just tired. Its been a long week.”

     Footsteps padded by her bedside. The feather-soft- fur of Baby Bear brushed the skin of her naked chest, pressed against her by a warm hand. Pedro’s mustache tickled her cheek as he leaned down to kiss her there. 

     “Get some rest, bambino . Remember, I’m just across the lot if you need me.”

      The rumbled pet name made Sarah smile as she moved her hand blindly to find the top of his head, gently scraping her fingernails through the soft, fluffy hair that grew there. 

     “I’m not seventeen anymore.”

     A soft chuckle came from the man at her sleepy, disgruntled tone. She didn’t have those nightmares anymore. She wasn’t a child anymore.

     “Maybe, but you’ll always be my babygirl, Sarah.”

      She didn’t remember him leaving, or herself falling asleep, but in a blink, it was morning again, light filtering through the small cracks around the blinds and waking her. 

      When she walked out of her bedroom, Sarah saw her dirty bowls washed and dried on the side board of the stainless steel sink. Her scripts sat in a perfect stack on the small dining table.     

Opening the mini fridge, there was a fresh bottle of milk and, when she looked toward the breakfast nook, two new boxes of her favorite cereal, a pink sticky note tacked to the front of one.

        Remember to look after yourself, bambi. If you’re struggling, tell me. I am here for you, always.

~P

#shortandsweet #original female character #orignal character #original novel #orignal writing #original character #original poem #original post #original art #ao3 original work #ao3 writer #ao3feed #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dark writing #dark romance

[bizaar]

Cruel Summer - Part 14

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 8k

warnings: fluff, allusions to sex/sexual content, swearing, slight angst (Edward J. Munson continues to be the most dramatic person on the planet) mentions of Barb's death/violence

a.n.: this was a much longer chapter that I had to split up for the sake of my sanity - taglist continues to be broken, sorry chat! if you would like to stay updated you should probably just follow me at this point because we're seriously almost done here

It takes you much longer to make it back to the trailer than it had to leave it behind, simply because Eddie can’t stop himself from pulling you close every couple of steps to kiss you again. Long, sloven presses of lips and swiping tongues begging for passage between your mouths. It’s all teeth and ragged breath and soft touches and the honest-to-God biblical revival of unchecked teenage hormones. 

You have to get back, this he knows very well, but now that he’s got you back, he just can’t stop loving on you. Kissing you has always been too easy - as natural as breathing, and you’re such a receptive lover – always have been, from the very start. 

And it’s not like you’re doing much to stop him, giggling and pushing against his chest without any real intention of separating yourself from him. Breathless insistences of “we really need to get back” that don’t mean anything at all when you’re fisting your hands in his jacket and pulling him right back to you for another round.

Not that Eddie’s complaining. He’s too busy fighting the overwhelming urge to bend you over right here in the underbrush.

The only thing really stopping him from popping the button of your jeans and wrestling you out of them is the nagging threat of his inner voice reminding him what a patently bad idea that is, because “that’s how you get killed in a horror movie”. 

It’s the only reliable basis of logic anymore. As far as Eddie is concerned, over the course of a very short week, his life has inexplicably devolved into the plot of a bad horror movie, which, in this scenario, regrettably makes you the horny couple who gets slaughtered whilst bunnyfucking out in the woods. 

As appealing as that sounds, he’s not about to let that happen.

Because you hate a cliche and you have to get back, for reasons that are extremely hard to rationalize when you’re pressed up against him and making all those pretty little sounds.

Eddie casually catches your southbound hands before they can find their way to his belt buckle and expertly replaces them on his shoulders, tut-tutting the way you whine out your displeasure with the move.   

Bad girl, he thinks, Needy girl. 

It’s the honeymoon phase and then some, a speedrun of that long expanse of ooey—gooey fairytale bliss that sees the both of you unable to keep your hands off of each other. Only this time around it’s not the halls and alcoves of Hawkins High witnessing your very public displays of affection, but the trees and the whirling cosmos and everything beyond that Carl Sagan ever promised – it’s super fucking romantic. 

You spent the duration of the not-so-long walk back making your own, much more tangible promises.

“I love you,” You tell him for what must be the hundredth time, eager to make up for lost time.  

“I know,” Eddie assures you, cradling your face and ducking down for the next in a long line of all the kisses he owes you for every time you say it. “But we gotta go.” he says against your lips, “Harrington’s gonna be pissed.” 

You whine pathetically. It’s a muffled sound that Eddie feels more than he hears. 

Normally that would have been enough to sway him considering you’re usually the one with the functioning brain, and he’s the raging pit of electric hormones,

Still, hearing you all needy like that tends to cause the rational part of Eddie’s brain to shut off. Many occasions of you pawing at him just like that have ended with a thick and wanton utterance of “aw hell” that sees Eddie throwing caution —and very often, your panties— to the wind.

But this is neither the time nor the place (though more the former than the latter, because it would not be the first time you’d gotten your rocks off out in the woods – horny teens don’t tend to make smart decisions about location when the mood strikes them that hard). 

Still, one of you has got to retain some of your faculties, because you really do need to get back, despite the way his lizard brain doth protest. 

Get back? Where? Harrington who? What’s he so goddamn pissed about and who even cares?   

“More,” You plead, and you always get what you want with him.

“Okay,” Eddie says, lips clicking with a lewd, wet smack when he parts with you, “One more for the road.”

He didn’t need to even give you that kind of permission, because you’re already chasing him again the second he parts from you. 

“Okay,” You hum, snaking your arms up around his neck and pressing yourself bodily against him, backing him into the tree he hadn’t realized was behind him until the bark is digging painfully into his spine.

He doesn’t care, not when you’re rubbing up against him like that. 

You’re both so unbearably gross and horror movie logic be damned, Eddie just can’t help himself. 

“Maybe just one more.” He hums, hand snaking unwisely up the back of your shirt to twist at the clasp of your bra. 

“Okay,” You sigh into his mouth.

When you finally make it back to the park, stealing across the grounds hand in hand, all smiles and giggles and clothes pulled out of shape like kids stumbling home well past curfew, Steve is indeed raging.

He’s there to whip the door open and bathe you in the accusing orange glow of incandescent light that has you balking as you come clambering up the steps. His looming, perfectly coiffed figure is almost comedic, backlit in the doorway with his hands on his hips, literally tapping his foot, and he’s quick to lay into you like he thought he was your goddamn father or something – not Eddie’s father, of course, which would have been an arguably terrifying turn of events, and not even much like your father, who Eddie has still never met, and at this point is not entirely sure he ever will. 

He’s not even sure your parents really know he exists outside of general rumor – they certainly don’t know what he does with their daughter out in the woods, considering they barely acknowledge the fact that you exist. 

That’s fine by him, it just means he gets you all to himself. 

Steve grabs you by the elbow and yanks you over the threshold and back into the warm, cozy embrace of home – what good is a house when you’re all the home Eddie needs – already halfway through a lecture about how you’ve been gone “way longer than ten minutes” and demanding to know “what the hell took you so goddamn long” because, in case you haven’t noticed, the fate of the world is oh so casually resting on your collective shoulders. 

Not that any of that currently matters, Eddie isn’t listening. He’s completely blissed out, far too busy watching with wrapt attention as you pull your pretty pink, kiss-bitten lips in past your teeth in a miserable attempt at trying not to smile while Steve goes blue in the face.

It’s so unbearably You, though he thinks perhaps only as a result of him rubbing off on you in the worst way – or in the best way, who can say? – giggling in the middle of a dressing down, really playing into the hand you’ve been dealt. 

Christ, you’re adorable … and you love him. 

You love him you love him you love him – and he loves you, he should tell you - no, he needs to tell you…

It takes every bit of Eddie’s limited capacity for self-control not to seize you and drag you right back to him. He’s not finished loving on you just yet – he quietly hopes that there will never come a time when he’s ever finished. 

He’s never been the type to give a second thought to laying a big sloppy kiss on you in front of whoever the fuck happens to be watching, but he knows how public displays of affection make you uncomfortable and he’s not so love-drunk that he can’t respect your boundaries. 

He cannot, however, stop smiling. He knows he’s got to look a goddamn fool, grinning ear to ear like the fate of the world and all their lives don’t hang in the balance — his face is starting to hurt. 

He hasn’t realized how he’s missed that until now, the cramping of his facial muscles against something he’s powerless to resist. 

There’s an entire conversation going on in front of him without his knowledge – he couldn’t repeat a word anyone has said in the past five minutes if someone put a gun to his head, but he could talk endlessly about all the soft little noises you’d been making only a short while back. 

He could go on about those for days, write tomes of essays and sonnets waxing poetic about them, but the loud shouting voice of Dustin returning to the room from whatever odd corner of the trailer he’d been hiding in cuts the lecture thankfully short. 

“There you are!” He squawks, stomping out from the hall. 

He’s standing there looking suddenly very small dressed in an overlarge grey sweatshirt and the deconstructed pieces of the Gilley suit someone had thought to grab from the War Zone. It is his carefully selected uniform for bat-tle, as he’d put it back in the field – you’d booed and hissed at the audacity of such a terrible pun, much to Henderson’s patent chagrin.   

“Do you have any idea how long you two were gone? We were worried sick!” He squawks.  

“Now, where have I heard that before?” You hum, casting a sly, sidelong glance in Eddie’s direction before squeezing past Dustin to disappear down the hall toward the bathroom so you can wash the woods off of you. 

“You know your shirt’s on inside out,” Dustin calls moodily after you. “And backwards,” 

You ignore him. 

Eddie watches you go and gets a little lost in the familiar swaying of your gait. Suddenly he’s back at school, watching you skip away down the hall toward your next class, the tantalizing promise of later hanging in the air. You glance back at him and smile sweetly, and he’s instantly shot full of holes. 

You love him, you love him, you love him. 

“Eddie!” Dustin grouses, drawing him back to the close quarters and warm, incandescent glow of his living room — and he realizes, once again, he’s missed every word of the boy’s outraged spiel, “Are you even listening to me?”

“Sure am.” Eddie lies.

Dustin narrows his eyes.  

“Then what did I just say?”

He shrugs and shoves past him as he spies the carefully folded pile of items from the jaunt to the army surplus store, though more specifically one decidedly metal bandolier sitting in a burnished brass pile on the dining table. 

It sets Eddie’s magpie brain to fluttering and he’s reaching for it before he’s even realized he’s moved.  

“No idea,” Eddie says good-naturedly, clapping a hand fondly down on the top of Dustin’s head as he passes him by.

He can feel the boy’s eyes on him, turning to follow as he saunters across the room.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dustin demands.

“Not a thing, Henderson,” He assures him, electing to snatch the belt up rather than confess the undying overwhelming vice of puppy love he’s gripped in.

He turns the thing over in his hands, eyeing it with great interest - it’s just about the coolest damn thing he’s ever seen.

"You sure about that?"

"Hundred percent," Eddie says, "Everything's just fine."

After that, it’s twenty-five minutes or so of finishing touches before Eddie slinks off to his bedroom.

Everyone has armed themselves in some kind of battle garb, armor picked up from the War Zone for the impending task, but nobody had thought to grab anything for you. It hadn’t even crossed their mind because back then you didn’t need any sort of protection, not while the most you’d been expected to do was stand watch in the living room for any curious onlookers come to peek in on the murder scene at the Munson residence. 

Now, with such a daunting task ahead of you, Eddie knows you’re going to need all the help you can get. So he upends his dresser drawers, looking for something — anything that might put some kind of a barrier between you and the flurry of teeth and claws that await you.

Steve’s already returned the battle vest, decidedly worse for wear but not bad enough to be decommissioned, and Eddie fully intends to swathe you in it. It’s not much, but it’s better than the same torn jeans and old t-shirt you’ve been wearing for the last three days. It’s something, at least, 

His room is dark compared to the rest of the trailer. It hadn’t seemed like a smart thing to go flipping on any more lights, on the off chance that someone noticed and decided to come snooping. He doesn’t mind much, considering his aversion to flipping on the overhead light in the first place – Eddie much prefers the ambiance of the table lamp, and he is well-practiced in navigating the dimly lit space  

The front room is abuzz with noise and ambivalent movement. Voices filter in and out and saturate the room in the warm glow of company, the aural equivalent of the incandescent bulbs burning overhead. 

It reminds Eddie of something he has only felt very few times in his life: what it feels like to belong, to be a part of something, even if that something is nothing more than camaraderie forged in the face of impending doom. Somehow he can’t find it in him to be worried about it, not while he’s among friends. 

The mere thought of the word brings a bitter scoff rising up from the deepest part of his chest, and he has to work very hard to swallow it back down again. 

It’s what gets him more than anything, more than the danger of the Upsidedown or the armed hicks crawling the streets, hungry for his blood – it’s that after everything he’s been through over the past few days, suddenly he’s back home and (relatively) safe, because of his friends.

Not Gareth or Jeff or Adam or even Wayne, but astoundingly thanks to Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, and Dustin (less baffling but still bizarre) —his strange collection of new friends, who put their lives and reputations on the line to find him and bring him back from the precipice, despite barely knowing him.

It’s more than a little jarring, and Eddie isn’t quite sure how he feels about it. 

Whatever the feeling is, it’s largely a positive thing. He’s glad they’re all here – and it goes without saying that he’s glad you’re here. 

He’d say it anyway. 

He’s glad you’re here when you have every reason not to be, but you’d promised that you loved him even when you hated him, which actually might have hurt his feelings if he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to hear it. 

Without you, he’s not sure he would have such a strange new group of friends rallying around him, embracing him. 

And maybe that’s not a fair assumption. Maybe Dustin had more of a hand in facilitating his rescue than he’s accounting for— credit where credit is due and all that — but Eddie will be the first to admit that he’s totally and completely biased. You’re far and beyond his favorite person here, and he’s not shy about admitting that. 

The thing he really hates to admit, however, is that he’s glad you’re coming with them to the other side – which seems stupid. 

He was being smarter when he was angry that you were crazy enough to go volunteering yourself to play the bait, but hadn’t he spent the duration of the last jaunt to the Upsidedown bombarding you with psychic postcards? Wish you were here doesn’t even begin to cut it. 

He almost forgets to care about how aggressively he’d rejected the idea of you putting your life on the line only a few hours ago because when it came down to it, that’s what it took to win back your love.

Not that he ever really lost it in the first place (and not that he actually knew that) but Boy Howdy hadn’t you done your utmost to tow that line and make him work for it?  

If only Eddie had known it would be that easy – it wasn’t easy, it was the worst suffering he’s ever experienced – he wouldn’t have fought so hard to keep you from running headlong into peril.

More than that, if he had any idea of what the two of you were going to get up to on your walk back through the woods, he would have thrown you to the wolves and jumped right in after you. 

Maybe not, but the sentiment feels dramatic and appropriate for the status quo as it currently stands.

Danger, it seems, has become his new middle name. Or maybe it’s yours, considering you’re the one who keeps getting him into these situations … except that’s only true because Eddie initially dragged you into all this, so maybe the name belongs to the both of you. 

Maybe you married into the name and now you’re Mr. and Mrs. Danger. 

It’s a stupid thought, and it makes him laugh.  

Snickering to himself in the dark, Eddie upends the last of his drawers and makes a mental note to tell you that joke after all this —  if either of you survives this, that is. 

It’s a dismal thought that makes quick work of chasing away any sense of the levity he’d felt moments before. 

Once he’s satisfied with the excavation of everything he owns, Eddie lays out a series of choices across the stark bed: the first-generation Hellfire shirt, the black one with the short sleeves and white collar, a grey Hawkin’s Phys. Ed shirt with “Munson” scrawled across the nameplate in obnoxiously large print (his old gym clothes), and a super faded Misfits tee he’s had for years and years. 

None of them are particularly significant, only that they are some of the only clean articles of clothing he could find, and he wants you to have options. 

He wouldn’t presume to make the decision for you, because somehow this feels important, as silly as that seems. You deserve to choose what kind of armor you’re going to wear to herald the doom they bring to Vecna.

Eddie finds you in the kitchen with Steve, running through a series of stretches, learning tips and tricks on how to breathe so as best to oxygenate your muscles, and having the very basics of general athleticism explained to you. 

It’s a lifetime of athletics boiled down to a five-minute lecture – Eddie only catches the tail end of it, but it’s riveting stuff.

“The worst thing you can do when you’re running hard like that for distance is start to hyperventilate – you know, gasping for air,”  Steve tells you, and Eddie half expects you to roll your eyes and make some snappy remark about being molly-coddled like that, but oddly enough all you do is nod.

For once, you’ve got nothing snide to say – remarkably, Steve has your undivided attention, and even he seems a little unsure of what to do with it as he continues.  

“If you start in with that, you won’t be able to catch your breath and you’re gonna pass out.” He says matter-of-factly, “If you pass out, you’re dead, you got that? That’s worse than a worst-case scenario, that’s a game over.”

“Yikes,” Eddie can’t help himself from saying, summarily drawing your attention. 

In the span of a microsecond, you go from serious as a heart attack and nodding like your life depends on it – which it very likely does – to dopey grinning, staring wistfully up at him with honest-to-god heart eyes. 

Eddie wonders if you and Steve can hear his heart beating against his ribcage. 

Just like that, the lesson is over, because now that Eddie is here, Steve is never going to get your attention back. 

“Sorry to butt in,” He says tentatively, curling his hands around your shoulders, “D’you mind if I borrow Barry Allen here for a second?”

Steve levels him with a blank if not highly irritable look as the reference sails clear over his head. 

Harrington, Steve: Fucking jerk Not so bad, I guess. Worshipped by Henderson. Doesn’t know who Ozzy Osbourne is. Total fucking cheeseball. Has apparently never heard of The Flash. 

You, thankfully, are not so hopelessly ignorant.

“Nerd.” You scoff, shoving Eddie playfully – then you notice the thousand-yard stare gracing Steve’s features, and you’re quick to explain, “Barry Allen is–”

“I don’t care.” He says – it doesn’t feel mean so much as deeply uninterested, “Just try to remember what I told you.”

“Sure. Don’t pass out.” You say with a lopsided shrug.  

“Exactly. And no more sneaking off.” Eddie can’t help but get the sense that the second part is more for him than you, especially with the knowing look Steve gives him. 

He just can’t help but tease him a little.  

“No need,” Eddie says, curling his arms around you and jerking his head back down the hall. “Bedroom’s right back there, Big Boy — care to join us?”

“Oh, gross—”

“For the love of…”  

Steve rolls his eyes and breathes the beginnings of a long-suffering sigh – Eddie is quick to let him off the hook. 

“I’m kidding.” He assures the both of you. 

You shove your way out of his arms and Steve shakes his head, in a clear attempt at trying to mask how visibly relieved he is to hear it.

“Yeah well, who can ever tell with you two,” he says, reaching out to clap Eddie on the shoulder before turning his attention to all the other hundreds of little preparations that still need to be made.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You call indignantly. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve replies, “Your shirt’s on backwards, by the way.” 

After that, it takes no effort at all for Eddie to coax you down the hall. Back in the relative dark of his bedroom, you choose the Hawkins Phys. Ed shirt graffitied with his name, and he can’t help but puff up a little with the warm glow of satisfaction for the choice as he watches you shrug out of your clothes.

Out of one shirt and into another, both of them his – the forest green gym shorts are yours, though, and it’s only pure happenstance that they’d gone unnoticed when he packed you away last fall. Stuffed into the back of the drawer they remained, since who knows when – from one of the hundreds of times you’ve slept over, he’s sure. 

It feels a little bit like fate, if he believed in such a thing. Like they’d sat waiting for you, knowing you’d need them here and now, the matching pair to Eddie’s old gym shirt.

Once the shorts are tied tight and the shirt is over your head, you pull it taught by the hem to regard the chicken scratch scrawling of Munson with what he hopes is satisfaction. 

Good, he thinks. Let the name do some good for once, let it shield you from anything that means you harm. Everything means you harm down there, even the air you breathe, but he can’t think about that right now, lest he succumb to his wits and try once more in vain to talk you out of this.

At least this way he can wrap himself around you, make a shield of his things. 

“How’s that feel?” Eddie asks tentatively, watching you turn to regard yourself in what bit of the mirror you can see around Sweetheart.

You level him with a dour look.

“Like gym class.” You answer, flapping your arms at your sides matter-of-factly, “Why do you still have these?”

Eddie shrugs, pushing up from where he’s been sitting on the edge of the box spring with one leg tucked neatly beneath him. 

“‘Cause I’m full of school spirit, remember?” 

You roll your eyes. 

“Right. How could I forget? You’ve got pep in your step.”

“Go Tigers.” 

Eddie holds his battle vest dutifully in place so you can fit your arms through the holes, then pulls it snugly around you like a worn, patchy, denim hug – you’re swimming in it, and normally it would be incredibly endearing, but his heart is suddenly thumping solidly in his chest, and his insides are churning.

The fear is creeping in again.

“Anyway, have a little respect, will you?” he says, poking at the scrawling of his name across your belly. “This is lucky.”

Your brows marry over your eyes, and it’s almost enough to distract from the gnawing dread settling into his bones.

“How d’you figure?”

“Munsons are resilient.” He explains, “We’re hard to kill,” 

Like some kind of unwanted household pest, skittering around Hawkins and coming back time and time again no matter what this town does to try and eradicate them. 

Like cockroaches, he thinks miserably, but of course, he won’t tell you that. 

“Good for you, I guess,” You say, “But not all of us have the good fortune of being a Munson.”

It’s ever so slightly shocking, hearing you say that. He’s never heard anyone refer to his family name as being one of good fortune, and suddenly he doesn’t know what to do with that endearment.

Nobody wants to be a Munson. He imagines the way his mother must have panicked when she came to realize the terrible mistake she’d made in hitching her wagon to his father, but by then it was too late because he’d already taken root in her – Eddie had always been the ball and chain that stopped his mother from escaping the name, what it did to her…  

No, nobody wants to be a Munson… but maybe it doesn’t have to be like it’s always been. 

Eddie tilts his head left to press his shoulder to his ear as he considers the notion – then raises his hand to make a slow, gentle chopping motion down against your shoulder – one, then the other – summarily knighting you. 

“I dub thee: Honorary Munson.” He teases. 

You bite your tongue against the giggling suddenly bubbling up inside you and roll your eyes. 

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” You say. 

“Oh, so suddenly you’re the expert?”

“It’s just not very official, is all.”  

He stares at you a moment, letting the words sink in and feeling his heart beat heavily against his ribcage. 

Suddenly he can’t stop thinking about where you’d been this time last year, propped up against one another on the sofa in the next room.  

Eddie had been sick as a dog that whole week, certain he was always just moments from death’s eternal embrace, and yet laying there with his head in your lap, watching some forgettable movie of the week, he was happy. Happier than he would have been stuffed into the van for sixteen hours, at least. 

That’s all he ever wanted, a life of quiet intimacy, where everybody was content to mind their own damn business, leave you to your devices. 

Let all his grand plans and schemes fall through, so long as it means he gets to spend the rest of his life doing nothing with you.

Filthy rich or dirt poor, he doesn’t care so long as it's with you. 

That’s all he wants, all he’s ever wanted, and he’s been certain of that since way too early on in your relationship, and it was a problem. 

You weren’t even friends yet the first time he lost himself in a flight of fancy over how the rest of your lives would play out – the milestones you’d hit together. 

Eddie shrugs against the way his heart is in his throat as he makes quick work of removing the ring with the dark stone from his finger. He reaches for your hand and hopes you can’t see the way he’s trembling as he slides it easily back into place over your middle finger – it’s nothing really, you’d already asked him for that ring a year into your relationship and worn it proudly up until last summer. 

All he’s doing is righting a wrong, putting something back where it belongs, but somehow, this time it feels more important than that. This time it feels like a promise. 

“There,” He says gently, feeling unbearably vulnerable as he watches you closely for your reaction, “How’s that for official?” 

You’re beaming as you bring your hand up to look at the ring, admiring the scuffed, dingy stone like it were some kind of glittering diamond he’d spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on rather than the forgotten heirloom he'd found stashed in a dusty corner of his grandmother’s house a hundred years ago. 

“Cool.” You hum.

“So cool.”  

He reaches up to pull the vest tighter around you again before he’s realized he’s even moved, and then suddenly Eddie’s got his arms around you, hugging you tight against his body — his natural state of being, it seems. 

You respond in turn by burying your face into the crook of his neck and sighing against him as he presses his cheek to your temple. 

For as long a moment as he dares, he just holds you like that while the fear creeps up again. 

Don’t go don’t go please don’t go.

“Can I ask you something?” 

Your response buzzes against his flesh and sends goosebumps crawling across his body.

“Always,” 

Eddie’s hand comes down to trace the length of your arm, a gentle up and down, grazing the pads of his fingers along the soft and tender flesh he knows so well. 

His insides go tight and squirmy, and he feels a potent cocktail of nerves and nostalgic shyness bleed into his bloodstream.

He never actually asked you out the first time around. You sort of just mutually fell into the routine of scrambling to spend every spare second you had with each other, until one day he looked up and your lives were woven together.

It feels stupid to suddenly be shy about it, but he can’t let you cross that gate without putting it out there, even if you say no, even if you laugh in his face.

Eddie clears his throat to try and steady his voice. 

“When all this is over — if we make it out, I mean — can I take you to the movies or something?”

You don’t answer, not right away, but he feels you still against him in a way that makes his nerves scream. After an agonizing moment, your hands snake up to rest on his shoulders and you push against him, though not with enough force to dislodge you from Eddie’s grasp more than a few inches.

He grips you by your elbows and holds you there, reluctant to let you go until it is absolutely necessary as you lean back and stick him to the spot with a wry look — eyes narrowed, lips curled.

He knows you’re about to tease him, considering everything you’ve been through, but those nerves are quickly turning sour in his stomach and Eddie doesn’t think he can stand to hear you say something sarcastic right now, not when he’s teetering so close to the edge. 

Why does it suddenly feel like if he lets you go he’ll lose you all over again? His eyes feel puffy with the notion, and you thankfully pick up on it, like you always do, reaching up to stroke the highest point of his cheek with the backs of your knuckles.

The scratchy fabric of your bandage tickles him and he swallows the ragged breath threatening to burst forth from his lungs. 

Eddie clears his throat again to middling results before he continues.

“I bet that stupid Gremlins ripoff is still playing in the city…” He says thickly, then rolls his eyes and offers a lopsided shrug he hopes appears as casual as he means it to be, “I mean … unless you already saw it or whatever.” 

“Critters.” You posit. 

“Right.”

You shake your head. 

“Haven’t seen it.” 

“Right.” He says again, because it’s all he can do to stop himself from falling to his knees and begging you not to do this. 

He’d do just about anything to make you stay here where it’s safe, even if that means marching himself into town and right into the hands of the Hawkins Police. 

But that’s not gonna stop Vecna, and if they don’t stop him then there’s no point to any of this. 

They need you there on the other side, and it's tearing him to little melancholy pieces.  

Your lips quirk up into a wry if not entirely sympathetic smile.

“Are you asking me out, Munson?” You ask, gently teasing him in a dutiful attempt to try and leaven the mood.

Eddie forces out a thick, wet bark of laughter and tilts his head forward to rest against yours. 

“Nah, no way. ‘Course not.” he sniffs, “What, d’you think I like you or something?”

You hum thoughtfully and twist your head to the side so that his forehead is pressed against your temple and take a long hard look at the ring sitting snugly on your middle finger. It’s the wrong one, but the intention is still there.

Same as before, same as he’d felt way too early on in your relationship, Eddie would marry you tomorrow if you’d have him – make a real Munson out of you and do it better than any of the previous generations before him ever managed to. Break the cycle and finally do things right.  

Neither of you may be around to indulge in that whimsy tomorrow.

You wrinkle your nose. 

“Yeah, you know, I kind of got that impression,”

“Well, that’s stupid.” Eddie rasps, “And gross.”

“So gross.” You hum, pushing up on your toes to slant your lips against his.

It's only a chaste peck, made a little less so by a cheeky swipe of your tongue against his bottom lip – it’s all you have time for before there is a rapping of someone’s knuckles against the door frame, cutting the moment short.   

You drop back down and spin around to face whoever it is come to intrude on your moment – only Nancy, thankfully, lingering in the doorway. You stand in front of Eddie with your back against him, like you mean to shield him from prying eyes until he can collect himself again. 

If she notices the way he quickly brushes the wetness from his eyes, she doesn’t mention it, because Nancy Wheeler is nothing if not entirely classy. 

“It’s time, you guys.” She says softly, and Eddie feels his guts seize in terror. 

As if you anticipated the feeling, you reach back and squeeze his hand, nodding curtly. 

“We’ll be right out,” you promise. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sliding through the gate is probably the worst thing you have ever experienced in your entire life, made all the worse by the way you’d had to ask Eddie for a boost because you’ve always been hopeless at the rope climb and you’re not about to start down the journey of self-improvement now.  

“Cheerleader-style,” you’d explained, showing him what position to get into when he asked how best to do that.

He’d rolled his eyes and taken your foot in his hands.

“That’s not Cheerleader-style,” He snarked, which made Steve choke on a surprised bark of laughter. 

And that’s how you knew the world was well and truly coming to an end. Because Eddie made a stupid sex joke and it was enough to make Steve Harrington laugh. 

You’re so, incredibly fucked.

The reverse suction of gravity pulling you down through at the highest point of the gate and turning your world topsy turvy is the second worst thing you’ve ever experienced, and it sees you landing hard on your ass on the other side.

Your fall was mercifully broken by the bizarro version of Eddie’s mattress — somehow more disgusting than its real-world doppelgänger — which Steve had thankfully thought to pull out from the other room.

You’d only just managed to slide off of the thing before Eddie came crashing down after you, landing gracelessly on his back with a hard thump mere inches from where you’d been only moments before.

Everything moves much too quickly after that.

You follow A Team out into the murky underdark waiting just outside the tin door and have to plant roots in the ground to stop yourself from turning right back around and going for the safety of the gate.

Suddenly, faced with the dark and the debris and the perpetual bloody thunderstorm, sitting watch and babysitting the hole in the ceiling doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. But it’s far too late to start thinking about changing your mind, especially when B Team comes shuffling down the front steps to see you off. 

You distract yourself by playing Mother Hen, turning around to fuss needlessly over your boys. 

Your boys, your precious boys…

You pull Dustin’s hood up and secure it in place with the headband he’d chosen to add to his armor, straighten the Gilley suit, and tweak his nose for good measure, garnering an indignant squawk from the boy before you move over to Eddie.

You’re less frantic with him, and you can feel his eyes on you as you pull the zipper of his army-grade vest tight up to the collar, the demon-faced logo of the Hellfire club winking out of existence as you do. You can’t help but smooth your hands across his chest, attempting in vain to press out the wrinkles there and banish your nerves alongside them. 

It’s not enough, you think, this isn’t gonna stop anything from hurting him.

You have to heave a sharp, steadying breath to quell the sick feeling suddenly stirring in your stomach, and you tell yourself it’s better than nothing. 

It’s certainly better than what you’ve got, which is to say nothing at all – at least he’s got layers to protect against scraping claws and gnashing teeth, he’s got a shield and one of those wicked-looking spears the Sinclairs had prepared back in the field while you’d wasted precious time goofing off. 

You wish you had a suit of armor, but you’ve got to move faster than you ever have, you can’t afford to be weighed down by any more protective layers than a pair of cotton shorts, Eddie’s vest – you’re thankful to have it, it’s the next best thing to carrying him with you (along with the faintest tinge of Steve, regrettably) but somehow you know it’s not going to be enough if something down here decides to try and make a meal out of you. 

You’re cold, at least you think you are, somehow simultaneously shivering under the heavy, dank chill of the Upsidedown and growing sticky with sweat in the cloying humidity. 

This place is a fucking nightmare — this place is where Barb died. 

Suddenly you can’t stop thinking about that night in ‘83, about the party she disappeared from. You don’t know much about it, only that it had been Tommy and Carol at Steve’s place — your old friends who had at the point only recently ejected you from their circle.

Barb was only there because they had a vacancy to fill in the form of Nancy, and she came along by default. Suddenly you can’t help but feel that if Eddie hadn’t waltzed in and turned your world upside down, you would have been at that party, and it probably would have been your face on all the missing person posters and milk cartons.

Barb would still be here, getting ready to take her SATs and live the rest of her life, and you would have been dragged screaming into the abyss, never to be seen again. 

You’re thankfully rescued from the spiral of trying to determine how your karma tallies up against the guilt you feel over it and pulled from the mire of your thoughts by the sound of your name tumbling gently from Eddie’s lips.

When you glance up at him, he’s giving you a deeply concerned look, and you wonder how much of the journey through your thoughts had been reflected across your face. 

You feel the corners of your mouth twitch in your best attempt at offering him a reassuring smile, but you know it doesn’t reach your eyes. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Eddie says.

“No, yeah of course. It’s gonna be fine.” You mumble, painfully aware of how the tremble in your voice betrays that statement, so you try again, “It’s gonna be fun.” 

It’s not even convincing enough to come across as sarcastic — you’re terrified. 

Then, like he’s only just remembered something vitally important, Dustin perks up and begins patting himself down, frantically fumbling in his pockets as you watch without really seeing. He produces a clunky black Casio, the kind with a calculator built into the face, and immediately goes to work strapping it to your wrist.

“I already set it up to count you down.” He explains, “All you have to do is hit start and go, it’ll keep us in sync.”

You swallow hard as you stare at it — you remember the year he got the watch for his birthday, how excited he was about all its features.

You’d thought it was unbearably sweet that he was so thrilled about a cheap watch from Melvald’s General Store, but you desperately wish you were back there now, timing Dustin to see how fast he could run around the block (the answer was not very fast at all, and he’d been royally pissed when Mike beat his time by nearly half.) 

He nudges you to bring your attention back again, this time he’s holding a walkie-talkie out to you. 

You take it and sling it around your shoulders.

“It’s gonna be fine,” You say again, somehow less convincing than before. 

However, neither Eddie nor Dustin gets the opportunity to say otherwise because Steve is suddenly there, sending you leaping damn near out of your skin with the simple act of resting a tentative hand on your shoulder. 

“You ready?” He asks.

No, you want to tell him, but your throat is closing up and you don’t think you could have squeaked out an answer even if you tried. 

You swallow hard against the tightness there and nod.

“Okay,” He says solemnly, turning his attention to B Team - Team Distraction, “Keep your radios on – stay in contact, stick to the plan—”

“And don’t get killed.” Eddie pipes up, winking at you. 

As you turn on your heel and trail after the others across the park, you curl your hands into fists and silently hope you can manage to do all of those things at once. 

It takes every bit of willpower you possess not to turn around and look back – if you look back you’re going to lose what tiny bit of nerve you’d been able to muster – but you didn't look back the last time you’d walked away from Eddie, left him standing there at the foot of those stairs.

The radio crackles, at your hip, and through it comes Eddie’s voice, calling your name.

“–Copy.”

You snatch the walkie-talkie up so quickly that you nearly crack yourself in the mouth, twisting around and stumbling over your feet, almost crashing into Robin as you do. 

“What’s up, Eds?” You answer.

You can barely see him out in the dark, but he’s still there, watching you go. You can’t make out his features, but somehow you know he’s grinning that stupid grin.

“You’re supposed to say over – over.” He teases, voice lilting in that same old sing-song tone.

You roll your eyes.

“What do you want, Eddie … over.”

“Just to tell you your butt looks great in those shorts –”

You’re instantly blushing as Robin makes a harsh sound of undainty laughter at your side. 

“Eddie–!” you hiss.

“Over and out.”

It’s not a long walk to the Creel House, but it’s made that much shorter by the cloud of doom hanging over your head.  

You’d always done your utmost to avoid the place, what with its reputation for being haunted. It’s eerie enough in the daytime, but here and now, with the darkness crushing in on all sides, you can’t help the chill that creeps down your spine.

When you were thirteen, you’d very nearly had a falling out with Carol Perkins, who was still your best friend at the time, over your refusal to enter the house on a dare.

With high school looming, she was at the start of a sudden and violent transition that would inevitably see her become the mean girl she is today. As such, she was subsequently worried that you were making her look bad in front of her cool new friends, who wanted absolutely nothing to do with you, but were still busy making up their minds about her.

She called you a pussy, and you happily accepted the title, staying safely outside of the house while the older girls all filed in to play with the Ouija board one of them had brought along. 

Carol stayed with you, out of some lingering sense of misplaced loyalty, you imagine, and as a result lost some of the budding clout she so desperately craved from the others — from that day on to the eventual implosion of your so-called friendship three years later, she never let you forget it.

Knowing what you know now, pressed up against Nancy sitting crouched beneath the rotting jungle gym across the street, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief that you’d always had enough foresight to stay out of the house – Vecna’s home. 

Suddenly, you think you can see movement. Figures skulking around in the dark on the third floor, a ghoulish face peering out at you from the attic window. 

You tell yourself the house is empty, that Vecna isn’t up there, despite how patently untrue you know that to be. Part of you wants to take some sort of comfort in knowing that you won’t have to enter the house, but all you feel is the violent buzzing of your anxiety. 

You gasp out loud when the radio crackles, slapping your hands over your mouth and startling yourself as much as your companions. 

“B Team to A Team, do you copy?” Dustin’s voice comes rasping over the static. 

You watch as Steve brings the radio up to his mouth without ever taking his eyes off of the house, you wish you were half as calm as he looked. 

“Copy.” 

“We’re all set back here – go for Phase One?”

“Ready when you are.” 

You feel yourself break into a cold sweat. 

Phase one means you’re one deck. This is all happening very fast – too fast, if anyone were to ask you. Nobody is asking. 

Then, in the distance you hear the first crunch of chords, a rippling echo of a sound that knocks you on your ass, right back to nights and weekends at the Hideout and half a hundred other dingy dives across Roane County. 

Your breath catches in your throat.

If you close your eyes, you imagine you could picture yourself sitting parked behind a slapdash Corroded Coffin merch table set against a far wall, piled high with t-shirts, bumper stickers, and boxes upon boxes of cassettes. 

In your mind’s eye, Eddie leans into the microphone and introduces the band to middling enthusiasm. 

“This one goes out to all the ladies,” he says, like he always does before the first song because of how you’d once expressed vehement disdain for front men who would dare do something so cheesy. 

Your nerves are a swarm of bees in your bloodstream as you suck in a breath through chattering teeth and the sound continues, three descending notes that bleed into a quick, hard riff that shoots adrenaline like lightning down to the tips of your fingers.

It only takes you half a moment to realize you know this song, and the buzzing of your adrenaline surges, thought differently than before – blinding terror has suddenly bled away to be replaced by the kind of heart pounding excitment that comes from standing in the crowd at a rock concert. 

Oh my God, You think, He’s so fucking cool…

It breathes a spark of courage into you, and with a series of short, deep breaths, you fill your lungs and ready yourself to move. Without the necessary prompting you’d all agreed upon, you scramble out from beneath the jungle gym much to Steve’s hushed chagrin. 

You curl your hands into trembling fists as you pad across the grass out into the street, stopping just short of the curb and turning your gaze up at the looming Victorian. In the intermittent flashes of crimson lightning, you can see the bats crawling across its visage, like thousands of teeming maggots, squirming in the belly of a roadkill carcass. 

You suck in a breath and hold it, watching, waiting.

Eddie’s guitar has piqued their interest, just as you’d planned for, now you’ve got to make sure they follow through with that curiosity and clear a path for Nancy and the rest. 

Phase one is in effect – time to go to work.

#eddie munson #cruel summer fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic #eddie munson fanfic #joseph quinn eddie munson #joseph quinn fic

[steddieas-shegoes]

this place is such great motivation for anyone trying to move the fuck away from hibernation

chapter 7: i will die in the house that i grew up in also on ao3 all chapters masterpost rated e

🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰

Neither of them got more than an hour of sleep.

Steve curled into his side, tried to hide his sniffling and silent crying, but wasn’t doing a great job. Eddie let his own tears fall silently as he tried to think of any possible way to make this work for them.

Mia woke up as usual for a bottle, but Steve wordlessly got up the moment he heard her whine on the baby monitor.

Eddie could get used to something like this.

He just couldn’t get used to it here.

- - - - - - - - -

The next morning, while Steve was in the shower, Eddie made coffee and oatmeal for them.

Robin was already standing at the counter with a cup of orange juice and a magazine.

She took one look at him and set both down on the counter.

“What happened?”

Steve should talk to her, not him. He wasn’t that close with Robin even before she left Hawkins. They hung out, of course, but never alone, and rarely even talked to each other outside of the group.

He couldn’t be the one to explain this to her.

“Maybe you should talk to Steve,” he suggested, focusing on his task so he wouldn’t break down in tears.

“You look like someone died. Did someone die? Oh my god, who died?” She started pacing behind him, her breathing getting louder and faster by the step. “Steve would’ve already been out here if it was one of the kids. It can’t be Hop, he would be devastated. You wouldn’t be able to be out here making coffee.”

“Robin, no one died,” Eddie said, pressing the start button on the coffeemaker.

“Then why are you miserable? Did he break up with you?” Now she sounded pissed. “I swear, how many times do I have to tell that idiot to just let himself be happy? He could have nice things if he just stopped questioning everything all the time. I don’t know what the hell he needs to believe it. A sign from God himself? He doesn’t even believe in God, never mind.”

“Robin.” Steve’s broken voice came from the kitchen doorway. They both turned to him at the same time, taking in his still-wet hair, his comfy clothes.

Robin ran to him, already opening her arms in comfort.

Eddie turned back to the cabinets in front of him, hoping it would be easy to find the oatmeal. He ignored the whispers coming from them, grateful when they finally left the kitchen area so he wouldn’t have to hear his name again.

Steve deserved to be able to talk this through with someone else.

But so did Eddie.

He checked the clock and saw that it was a decent enough time to call Wayne. Mia was still asleep, but probably wouldn’t be for much longer. He had to do it now or risk not doing it at all.

Wayne answered in two rings, probably busy making himself breakfast near the phone in the kitchen.

The moment Eddie heard his gruff voice say “Ed? That you?”, he broke down in tears.

“What’s happened? You need me to come get ya? Is Mia okay? Are you?”

“I can’t- Wayne, I can’t-“ He gasped, breaths painful and harsh as he started to realize that this really wasn’t gonna work.

“Hey, where’s Steve? You need to take a breath, son. Nice and slow like I showed ya.”

Eddie tried, but it hurt.

Hands were on his back and the phone was being pulled from his grip, but the tunnel vision kept him from properly seeing who it was. He would assume Steve, but if he was able to think clearly he would have registered Steve talking to Wayne in the distance and two hands still being on his shoulders a lot faster.

“Keep breathing in and out, Eddie. It’s okay. Everyone is safe. Steve’s talking to your uncle. Just keep breathing.”

Robin was the one touching him.

His eyes focused on her, immediately noticing the panic on her face.

“S-sorry,” he managed to get out.

“Hey, don’t apologize. Just breathe.”

Robin was pretty damn good at this. He thought about Steve telling him how she was the one who usually got him through panic attacks and nightmares, how she would hold him until he could remember he was human again, how she could talk him out of the worst feelings in the world.

She kept squeezing his shoulders and arms every few seconds, giving him a silent reminder to breathe in. She didn’t break eye contact with him, even though he knew it was sometimes hard for her to maintain it in regular conversation.

“Thanks, Robin. I got it from here,” Steve was taking her place in front of him, warm hands cupping his face. “Hey baby, think you can move to the couch?”

Eddie nodded and managed to stand up —when did he even actually end up sitting on the floor?— with Steve’s help.

The couch was a lot better than the floor, but only until he heard a small cry come from Mia’s room, and the panic started again. He started to get up, but Steve pushed him back down.

“I’ll get her. Will it help to hold her or make it worse?” Steve asked calmly, the hand on his shoulder a comforting weight.

“Help.”

Steve was up and out of the room quickly after that, and Eddie could faintly hear him talking to Mia, fake cheer in his voice as he said good morning to her.

He listened as Mia babbled incoherently and started saying ‘mama’ as they came out to sit in front of him.

“Give Daddy a big hug, just like I told you!” Steve held Mia out towards him and he pulled her close, hugging her against his chest. “I’ll get her breakfast ready.”

Steve seemed hesitant to actually go, but he managed to sneak away before Mia noticed.

Eddie let Mia babble at him, sounds that probably meant a lot to her, but just sounded like gibberish to him. He didn’t mind though, every sound was a reminder that she was here in his arms, safe, and he was safe, and they were gonna be fine.

They would have to be fine.

And they would have to be fine without Steve.

Somehow.

“Oh, princess, I dunno what to do,” he mumbled against the top of her head. She was too young to remember his crisis, so he let a few more tears fall as she kept babbling at him.

He heard footsteps coming back towards them and looked up to see Robin sitting down across from him.

“Hey,” she whispered. “I’ll handle her breakfast if you wanna go talk with Steve. He’s trying to do that thing where he’s big and strong and doesn’t need to cry, but we both know he’s on the edge of a breakdown and the only person who could handle it right now is you. I’m built for the after.”

Eddie let out a snort, picturing the way she probably had to be around for at least a few of Steve’s breakdowns, trying so hard to comfort him with words and hugs that just weren’t right. Steve was particular about how he received comfort, and even as well as Robin knew him, she just never quite got it right.

“Mia, you wanna hang out with Birdie? She’s pretty cool. Likes to talk a lot just like you,” Eddie winked at Robin. “And I bet she’ll even read you a story if you’re nice to her.”

Mia looked over at Robin, studying her in the way that babies always do with strangers.

She looked back at Eddie with the most serious face, let out the tiniest of sighs, and reached out for Robin.

Eddie relaxed as Robin took her, still clearly nervous and awkward, but trying her best.

“Let’s go! I hear you like bananas. Well, I’ve got the best bananas in the world in my kitchen waiting for you. I even cut them up so you can feed yourself. Apparently that’s something babies your age can do with finger foods. That’s so crazy to me. You’re barely even alive! Like you haven’t even been alive a year yet and you already figured out how to shove food in your mouth! That’s so cool.”

Eddie laughed as Robin’s voice faded, her nervous rambling probably entertaining Mia the more it went on.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the couch behind him, already trying to think about what he and Steve could possibly do.

This was a shit situation all around.

“Hey,” Steve said from next to him, sinking down to join him on the floor. “Think we should probably try to figure some stuff out while Mia’s distracted.”

“Yeah, probably should.”

But he didn’t know where to begin, didn’t know where they’d end up, and hated that getting anywhere would involve them talking about things neither of them wanted.

“So you can’t live here,” Steve started, placing his hand on Eddie’s knee, a calming presence that Eddie needed more than anything else. “And I can’t live in Hawkins.”

“Seems that way.”

“Is there anything I could do to make this feel like an option? Maybe we could look at apartments somewhere else in the city?” Steve suggested.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I could do the apartment thing until Mia’s older.”

“Not even a first floor one?” Steve asked, trying to think of everything. “No balcony.”

“No balcony, but more likely for break-ins.” Eddie sighed. “It’s not just the balcony thing. I’m sure there’s plenty of places with no balcony. It’s just all of it. Being in a building with a bunch of strangers. Having to park so far from where we live and walk half a block or more just to get inside. With a baby that’s tough, it’ll probably be just as tough with a toddler, especially if I have my hands full. And just all the people. What if someone tries to take her?”

“Eds, I know you’re worried and it’s okay to be worried, but you wouldn’t have to do things alone.”

“Not always, no. You’d help, I know that.” Eddie covered Steve’s hand on his leg. “But you can’t always do everything with me.”

“No. I guess not,” Steve sounded so resigned, like he just had all of his worries confirmed. Maybe he had. “And Hawkins is…it’s just not an option for me. Not long-term. I could maybe do it for a few months while we figure something else out, but I can’t just stay there. I don’t want you to be stuck there either. Or Mia.”

“I know. I don’t wanna be stuck there either.”

“So…what now?”

“I think we just have to search for other options. Would you be okay leaving here?” Eddie asked, hopeful.

Hawkins was out, but maybe they could find somewhere close to here that wasn’t the actual city. Maybe they could get the best of both worlds somehow.

“I would if I still had access to decent money somehow. I make surprisingly good money at the restaurant, and if I can’t work there, I have to be able to find somewhere like it.” Steve kissed his cheek. “We could look at some of the suburbs?”

“Aren’t those mostly houses?” Eddie shook his head. “I can’t afford a house, sweetheart.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it wouldn’t be easy. But I do have some savings from when my parents sold the house and gave me half. And Robin could come with us if it’s close enough, as long as I could drive her to classes. She could help pay towards everything.” Steve shrugged. “I dunno, maybe I could grab the classifieds and see if anything decent is available?”

“Today? So I can help,” Eddie felt hope blooming in his chest. Dangerous, potentially painful, but there nonetheless. “I wanna help.”

“Yeah, Eds. I’ll go run to the corner store and grab one while you get Mia ready for the day. Maybe we could go to the park for a bit? I promise I’ll be by your side the entire time.”

Eddie nodded. It sounded nice. It sounded really nice actually.

He could picture a life like this with Steve: going to the park with Mia after they all had a nice breakfast, maybe stopping at a coffee shop on the way back to grab some hot chocolate during the winter or an iced coffee during the summer, finding happiness in the little moments as a family.

He just couldn’t picture it here.

“I’ll go make sure Robin hasn’t had a panic attack,” Eddie stood up, leaning down to help Steve get up too. “We’ll be alright?”

“We’ll be just fine, baby. We’re gonna make this work. I promise.”

Eddie had to believe him.

********

Their day was lovely.

Steve stuck to his word about staying right by his side, Robin even tagged along for some of the walk before she had to head to work. Mia babbled as they pushed her in the stroller Steve had in their coat closet.

She waved at everyone, which would be cute if it didn’t make Eddie’s chest squeeze with anxiety. Steve kept sliding his hand to Eddie’s back when people weren’t looking to comfort him, to remind him that they were fine and safe and that nothing would happen to Mia.

The park was a bit worse for his anxiety at first, until he realized that Steve wouldn’t let Mia be more than an arm’s length away from him as she crawled across the toddler play area. There were small steps and slides for her to climb on and she was having a blast. Eddie just needed to remember that she would be fine.

They stopped at Steve’s favorite sandwich shop on the walk back to the apartment.

“Steve! Who is this?” An older woman with curls coming out of her hat yelled across the busy shop. “You bring friends to see me at my busiest time, what is wrong with you?”

Steve blushed, looked back at Eddie with a fond smile.

“This is Eddie and Mia, you remember me telling you about them?” Steve nudged them closer to the counter as he spoke, ignoring the eyes on him in the store. “They came to visit for the weekend.”

“Oh, blessed day! This is Eddie and Mia? Charlie, come see!” She yelled towards the back kitchen area where it looked like most of the prep was happening. “Charlie!” She yelled again when he didn’t come fast enough.

Another older woman walked out the back and Eddie’s mouth fell open.

“My love, if you interrupt my cutting tomatoes again, I will make you deal with them,” Charlie said as she came forward with a smile. “Oh! Steve!”

“Eds, this is Maryann and her partner Charlie. They make sure I’m fed,” Steve introduced them before both women came bustling around the counter to coo at Mia.

“Oh she is too precious. I could just eat her right up,” Maryann said as she tickled Mia’s belly.

“She must get her looks from Eddie. Not a drop of Steve’s unruly hair to be seen on her,” Charlie teased with a wink. “And those dimples. You’ll have your hands full with this one.”

Eddie’s mind was reeling as he took in the way they were casually touching, smiling at each other the way Steve and Eddie smiled at each other.

“Are you two…” Eddie asked.

Charlie and Maryann froze and looked up at him, brows furrowing as they took in his confusion.

“Well, aren’t you?” Charlie asked.

“I-“

“You’re scaring him,” Maryann scolded Charlie before offering a gentle hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “We are. It’s not exactly a secret, but we don’t really shout it from the rooftops either. This one had his whole sexuality crisis in our shop.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “He what?”

“Oh yeah. New in town, stopped to grab food after a shift, started crying the moment he saw Maryann kiss my cheek. We made him stay with us for the night until he calmed down. He told us all about you and what he’d left behind.” Charlie was smirking as Steve turned a darker shade of red. “I remember he said this was the first time he’d ever realized the way he loved you.”

Eddie glanced at Steve, who was trying to distract himself from the conversation by letting Mia play with his hands.

“And what did you guys say?”

“Well, I told him to go back and tell you how he feels. Maryann was a bit more reasonable and said he should wait it out a bit and make sure it wasn’t just a panic from moving.” Charlie nudged Eddie. “Must’ve still been head over heels for ya if you’re here now.”

“Are we done embarrassing me now?” Steve asked as he pulled Mia from her stroller. She was kicking and waving her hands excitedly, babbling now that more attention was on her again. “Mia would like to say a proper hello.”

Steve silently asked Eddie for permission to let them hold Mia, and of course he nodded in confirmation. These two were obviously important to Steve, and Steve wouldn’t keep anyone he couldn’t trust around.

Both of them started fawning over her, and Steve stood next to Eddie with a fond smile on his face.

“So, you had a whole crisis in this sandwich shop? Over me?” Eddie watched Mia giggling with them, relaxed for maybe the first time since he arrived.

“Sort of. They’re being a little dramatic. I just missed you.” Steve squeezed his hand in his own before turning back towards the commotion. “Alright, can we get some service? I’m sure the people waiting behind us aren’t that thrilled about waiting this long.”

“Oh, hush. They can wait or they can leave. Family comes first,” Maryann said while smiling at Mia. “Right, Mimi?”

“Mimi!” Mia mimicked, surprising everyone huddled together.

“Oh boy, she’s never gonna stop with that,” Eddie faked annoyance, but his words were dripping with fondness. “Everyone and everything will be Mimi.”

“Mama!” Mia yelled and reached back out to Steve.

“Except for Mama, apparently,” Charlie smirked. “Lovely to meet you both. Better visit us next time you’re around. I better finish cutting the tomatoes before the boss gets to yellin’.”

“As if I ever yell at you!” Maryann replied, swatting at Charlie with a towel from her apron. “Alright, let’s get you boys some food. The usual for you?”

Steve nodded. “And the club for Eddie. Any way we can get some toasted bread for the princess to snack on until we get home?”

“Of course. We might even have some grapes back there we can cut up for her if you want.”

“Please,” Eddie agreed, pulling his wallet out to pay.

“Oh, put that away. Family of Steve’s doesn’t pay for their food.”

Eddie flushed, but did as he was told, too scared of Maryann to not listen. He slipped his wallet back into his pocket and took Mia from Steve’s arms so he could be the one to grab their food when it was ready.

He pushed the stroller with one hand while holding Mia, slipping past a few tables full of people who were all engrossed in their own conversations. He could feel Steve’s eyes following him as he tried to find a table for them to sit down.

The shop was packed, but there were two tables in the far corner by the window facing the street. Eddie plopped down in one of the chairs and let Mia sit on the edge of the table in front of him. She watched out the window as people passed by, quiet as she took in her surroundings.

“You see all the people? You think they know that a princess is here?” Eddie asked her quietly, smiling when she started kicking her feet. “Look at that yellow car. That’s a taxi. You know what a taxi is? It’s a car that drives people where they need to go so they don’t have to walk or drive their own car.”

“Mama?” Mia turned back to Eddie.

“No, Mama doesn’t take taxis. Mama walks and drives his own car.”

“Mama!” Mia said again, louder.

“I brought you some treats, princess,” Steve said as he sat down in the seat across from them. “And some for Mia, too.”

Eddie squinted his eyes across the table. “Watch yourself, princess.”

Steve smirked before setting Eddie’s sandwich to the side.

Eddie adjusted Mia in his lap so she was facing the table while Steve broke up pieces of the bread and spread it in front of her with cut up grapes and applesauce.

“Did they do this just for her?” Eddie asked, looking over at the growing line at the counter. “They’re too busy to do special requests.”

“They don’t mind. One thing you should know about them is that they will do whatever they want whether you think they should do it or not.” Steve started opening the wrapping around Eddie’s sandwich for him so he could eat with one hand. “Now, when you take a bite of this, you’re gonna fall in love with them just like I did.”

And he did.

He’d had plenty of club sandwiches in his life, but this was different. The chicken was smoked with rosemary and garlic, and the mayo had some kind of spice mixed into it.

Mia seemed to love her snacks, and Steve quickly made her a bottle when he noticed the time on the clock behind the counter. He took her from Eddie so he could finish eating in peace.

They worked so well together. Eddie wanted to keep this.

They’d figure it out.

***********

Robin got back from her shift early that night, and she insisted on them going out.

“Mia’s just gonna sleep the whole time anyway, and you two may not get to have alone time again for a while,” she said as she heated up a can of soup on the stove for her dinner. “Steve gets a huge discount at the restaurant he works at. Just go there.”

“We need reservations-“

“Yeah, right. We both know they always have a table for emergencies and you’re their best server. They’d be stupid to not seat you.”

“And how exactly do I explain being on a date with a man?” Steve asked with his hands on his hips.

“It’s a business dinner with one of your father’s colleagues. It’s to keep up appearances or whatever. I dunno. No one’s gonna question it,” Robin rolled her eyes.

She was probably right, but it still made them both a little nervous to be dressing up and going out on an actual date together. In public. Where anyone could make assumptions about what they were to each other.

Plus, he had to leave Mia here.

He trusted Robin, he did. But if Mia woke up and was scared or sick or something, what would happen? What if someone broke in and tried to kidnap her while Robin was in the bathroom?

“Eddie, I promise I will keep my eyes on her the entire time. I’ll sit in her room and watch her every breath. I’ll call the restaurant if there’s an emergency. I know CPR for babies. It’ll be fine,” Robin didn’t even turn around while she spoke, just sensing his panic from the silence.

“Okay, but we won’t be gone long. Two hours max.”

“Sure, whatever. Just be quiet when you get back. I might be passed out in the crib with her.”

Steve snorted, but pushed Eddie out of the kitchen and towards his room.

“I know you didn’t bring super nice clothes, so you can borrow one of my button downs and a jacket,” Steve started going through his closet and pulling things out as he found things that might work for him. “I’d offer something of Robin’s, but she wears a small. It’d never cover your shoulders.”

As they got ready, Steve snuck kisses to his lips and his neck, silent check-ins that he couldn’t quite believe belonged to him. Steve belonged to him. He belonged to Steve.

That wouldn’t change now, not even if they still had no idea how to actually be together.

“Hey,” Eddie said as Steve was finishing tying his shoes. Steve looked up at him with his brows raised in question, his hair flopping in front of his eyes. “I love you.”

Steve visibly melted at the admission, cheeks tinting pink. “I love you, too.”

“Let’s go on our date.”

**********

The restaurant was beautiful.

No wonder Steve made good tips.

The hostess gave him a hug when they walked in, ignoring professionalism entirely when Steve introduced him as “that Eddie.”

She sat them in a table mostly hidden from the main room, clearly a table set to the side for people who may need extra privacy or people without a reservation.

The server was nice, though he didn’t seem to recognize Steve, or if he did, he must not know him that well.

“That’s the guy who usually only works weekday mornings. He took my shifts this weekend as a favor to the manager, but he hates working weekends,” Steve explained after he walked away with their drink orders placed.

They talked about the menu a bit, Steve making recommendations based on what he knew Eddie liked, as well as letting him know that the eggplant parmesan was surprisingly tasteless in comparison to most of the rest of the menu and to avoid it at all costs.

As they waited for their food, Steve’s ankle brushed against Eddie’s.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice filled with affection.

“Hey,” Eddie replied, equally soft.

“I think I found a house.”

Eddie nearly spit out the sip of water he had in his mouth. “What?”

“I was looking through the ads while you were changing Mia earlier and I think I found one that works for us. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, decent backyard, in a pretty small neighborhood. It’s three miles outside the city so we’d have pretty easy access, but would also have the privacy of living outside of town.” Steve smirked. “And with my down payment from savings, our mortgage would only be a couple hundred a month. If Robin comes to help out, it would actually be cheaper than the apartment by the end of it.”

Eddie gaped at him, his heart racing at the thought of the problem already being resolved.

“It may need some work on the porch, but I figure we could probably buy what we need relatively cheap and maybe Wayne could come out one weekend to help fix it up. The master bathroom needs a deep cleaning, but I can do that once it’s ours.”

“Stevie-“

“It already passed inspection though other than that, so they reduced the price a bit since it’ll involve some other costs once we move in. And since it’s so close, we’d just fill up my car for a few trips so no need for renting a truck. And Robin already said it looked nice!”

“Steve.” Eddie placed his ankles against Steve’s legs under the table and squeezed. “Can we go look at it tomorrow before I leave?”

“You want to?” Steve settled back in his chair.

“Yeah. I want to make this work. We can look at it and see if it’ll be good for all of us,” Eddie smiled reassuringly.

He knew Steve felt just as much, if not more, pressure to make this work for them. He’d been so set on making his apartment work.

And Eddie knew that if he could let go of his anxiety, it would’ve been perfect. But since he couldn’t, Steve felt even more like perfection was the only option.

“And if it’s not?” Steve asked.

“Then we’ll find something else. I’m not giving up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

*********

They’d promised Robin they’d be quiet when they got back, but they hadn’t made any promises about after they made it to Steve’s room.

They knew they had to still be as quiet as possible with Mia sleeping next door, but they knew she was a deep enough sleeper that a few noises wouldn’t disturb her.

Robin, however, was a very light sleeper, if she was even sleeping, and would probably hear everything.

“Shit, Stevie, you’re leaking through your pants, sweetheart,” Eddie gasped against his mouth as he pushed him against the closed door. His hips rutted forward as Steve nipped at his bottom lip in response. “Guess I should clean you up, huh?”

“Please,” Steve begged, his eyes glassy and needy.

“Being so good for me,” Eddie unbuttoned his pants as he kissed down his neck, holding him up against the door with one hand as he worked his pants down. “Lean on my shoulders if you need to, sweet boy.”

Steve didn’t need to be told twice, his hands gripping Eddie’s shoulders tight as Eddie dropped to his knees. He licked at Steve’s leaking tip, smiling to himself as Steve huffed around a quiet moan.

“Put your shirt in your mouth if you need help being quiet,” Eddie ordered.

Steve didn’t at first, apparently confident that he could control himself when Eddie took all of him down his throat in one go. His knees did almost buckle, but he remained surprisingly quiet, possibly from the shock of the wet heat surrounding his cock now.

“Think I should let you fuck me? Get you all wet and then you can fuck me against this door?” Eddie kissed up and down Steve’s length as he spoke. “I could prep myself right now with how much you’re leaking. Don’t even need lube when you’re this wet.”

Steve finally let out a whimper, and Eddie put a pin in it for later.

He hadn’t bottomed in a long time and he’d need more prep than he could give himself like this. But next time, maybe when they had their own home, when they could take their time and open each other up, take turns inside each other, maybe then Steve could fuck him.

Definitely then if Eddie’s twitching cock had any say in the matter.

“Shit, Eds, gonna come,” Steve whined out.

“Already? Barely even had my mouth on you,” Eddie looked up at him with fake innocence, his hand moving up and down Steve’s length with purpose.

He knew Steve had already been on edge in the car ride home, Eddie’s hands drifting up and down his thigh as he maneuvered through the city streets to avoid as much traffic as possible.

His hands had been shaking as he unlocked the main door downstairs and the apartment’s front door, Eddie watching and breathing hot on his neck while he did so.

Eddie would be lying if he said he wasn’t just as close as him. Seeing what he did to Steve was a major turn on.

“Wanna swallow it all. Come in my mouth, big boy,” Eddie said before swallowing him down again.

Steve barely covered the surprised moan he let out as his cum shot down Eddie’s throat.

Eddie’s answering moan was louder, maybe pushing the boundary of the acceptable noise level for the apartment, but he couldn’t control it.

Having Steve like this was all he ever wanted.

He licked up the few drips of cum as he pulled off of Steve, looking up at Steve’s messy hair and sweaty face.

“Sorry I didn’t get to fuck you,” Steve breathed out.

“Next time,” Eddie stood up, placed a kiss on Steve’s lips, and watched as Steve’s eyes closed and his head fell back against the door. “You wanna get in bed?”

“Mhm,” Steve nodded.

“Alright, get all of this off. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Wait-“ Steve grabbed his wrist before he could turn away completely. “Wanna take care of you.”

“You can in bed, sweet boy.”

“Mkay.”

Steve would be lucky to last a single minute once his head hit the pillow, but Eddie would be fine without getting off. He’d calm down soon.

Steve managed to throw off his shirt and get his shoes kicked off so he could finish taking his pants all the way off. He got under the covers and blinked his eyes open to watch as Eddie undressed and joined him.

“Fuck my thighs?” Steve asked him, eyes blinking slower as sleep started to win.

“You’re tired, sweetheart.”

“Want you to anyways,” Steve sighed as he turned over, his back facing Eddie. “Make a mess.”

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart. You’re gonna kill me,” Eddie huffed a laugh as he reached into the drawer that he knew had a hidden bottle of lube. “You want me to fuck you so bad you don’t even care if you’re asleep?”

“Mhm.”

“Fuck, okay. Lift this leg for a second,” Eddie patted at his left leg before he poured some lube on his hand. “Gonna get you nice and wet so I can fuck you good.”

Steve let out a long moan at the words, but his leg was shaking with the effort of holding it up when he was this tired, so Eddie took pity on him.

He lathered lube on his inner thighs and rubbed some on his own throbbing cock before throwing the bottle behind him and hoping it landed closed somewhere. He pushed between Steve’s legs, already on the verge of coming too quickly.

He gently moved Steve’s leg down, moaning at the squeeze around his dick, the easy glide through the heat of Steve’s thighs.

It wouldn’t take long, maybe a few thrusts, but God, Eddie would have to do this again sometime when he wasn’t already so close to the edge. It felt almost as good as actually fucking him, almost better knowing that Steve was letting him use him while he was too tired to do anything.

He knew Steve was unconscious now, watched his chest heaving up and down slowly, his lips pursed open as he breathed. Eddie kissed the back of his neck, lingering for a moment so he could breathe in the faint musk of Steve’s sweat mixing with his spicy cologne.

“So perfect for me,” Eddie whispered against his skin as he pushed forward and pulled back. “Love you so much.”

He spilled between Steve’s thighs less than a minute later, hips still moving even when the overstimulation started to be painful instead of just too much pleasure.

Steve didn’t wake up, but he did shift slightly, making Eddie wince as he pulled away to clean them both up.

As he wiped up the lube and cum all over Steve’s thighs, Steve’s eyes blinked open for a moment. Eddie paused and watched as Steve smiled down at him.

“Better?” Steve rasped out.

“Much better. Thank you, sweetheart,” Eddie kissed his thigh, his stomach, his chest. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mkay. Love you.”

“Love you so much.”

Eddie settled next to him, lifting his arm when Steve cuddled into his side and wrapping it around his shoulders.

They’d have this every night.

Soon.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ao3 fic #chaptered fic #mechanic eddie munson #single dad eddie munson

[winniethewife]

It's undeniably real (Layla El-Faouly x The Moonknight system x Reader)

Chapter 7: And we kissed, as though nothing could fall

Warning: Angst, Hurt/No Comfort (yet), gun violence, abduction

Last Chapter ~ Next Chapter

Words: 1093

Sometimes I swear that in the silence I can hear everything come crashing down. I can see them, their loving deep brown eyes looking at me, they know I didn’t mean to, I can’t control this. Our life hangs in the balance, I just have to tip the scales…

This was not how I expected my return to Egypt to be. I thought about going through the markets with Marc and Layla, eating snacks and laughing, going on tours of temples with Steven as he told me everything I could ever want to know about everything, andI’m sure Jake would have taken me dancing anywhere music plays, his hands on my body as we moved to the music…But that wasn’t the case. Instead we were here to take out a dangerous cult, “The cult of the Jackal” they seem to barely have a goal or mission stamen besides causing chaos and attempting to assassinate anyone with a decent amount of power. They claim to have some Tie to the God Anubis but Khonshu assured Marc that the god of funeral rites had nothing to do with them. They just have delusions of grandeur.

I lay on top of the building sniper rifle in hand as I watch from a distance as Marc and Layla talk with an informant. Waiting for a signal. I feel the edge of the numbness in my mind. I was learning to ignore it but it wasn’t easy. I watch through the scope of the rifle as they argue. I have no idea what’s happening but Marc is managing to keep his cool, I can tell he’s not pleased with something they said. Layla however is unreadable, her fake plastic smile fools most. I take a second to scan the area for threats again, as I scan I hear something behind me I turn around to see one of the cultist’s gun aimed at me, I move as quickly as I can but as the shot rang out I feel a sharp sting in my shoulder, my hand goes to the spot where I felt the sting feeling the wet gush of blood. As I pull my hand away, I see the blood on my hand. The dark red color burned into my mind as I feel myself start to loose consciousness, in the distance I hear yelling, Layla…Marc…I hear them, but I can’t focus, I feel my body lifted over someone’s shoulder. Everything goes dark.

~

“You said you knew where they were located. And now you’re telling us you have no idea where they are?” Marc was sick and tired of these people and their ever changing information. As the guy starts to speak and make excuses that’s when they hear it, A gunshot. Marc turns towards the sound and watches in horror as the scene unfold. He watches as the cultist lifts her over his shoulder and turns to leave.

“NO!” He shouts as he starts to run to her. The voices of his alters fill the back of his mind with panic but he manages to block them out as he runs at a break neck speed. He hears Layla scream her name behind him as they boths start on the chase following the cultist with their partner over his shoulder. As they move through the city just as they think they are going to catch him, the cultist throws her into a car and they drive away.

“Fuck NO!” Marc stops in his tracks and feels his heart breaking.

“Give me the body amigo, I’ll get us a car, I’ll get her back.” Jake urges and Marc can’t find a reason to argue. He watches as Layla starts to chase the car and he feels the weight of everything.

“Go, Jake go.” He mutters as he feels himself fall back into the headspace letting Jake to the front.

~

Jake followed the car furiously through the streets of Cairo, Layla swears she’s never seen him this mad before and she’s been the one he’s been mad at more than once. She’s has a death grip on the seat underneath her. This was her best friend, the wonderful woman that she had spent her whole life by her side and all she could do was pray that Jake kept on the car in front of him, and that she was still alive.

Layla races to the back seat to find her, pale, eyes rolled back as she breaths shallow fading breaths, Layla pulls her in, not caring about the blood, pulling her down as bullets fly around them. She looks at her wound, Clean shot straight through the shoulder, shattering her collarbone and shoulder blade. She’s gotta get to a hospital as soon as possible. Layla ripping her shirt padding the wound, trying to stop the bleeding as quickly as she can.

“Please…Hold on for me Habibi…Hold on…” She mutters as they speed along the street. To her surprise Jakes hand slipped into hers, He gives him her a quick glance before refocusing on the road, she catches a whisper on his lips.

“Voy por ti mi amor. Haré que esos bastardos paguen.” Jake looked determined like nothing in the world will stop him. However on the inside He was scared as hell, thinking a mile a minute. They wouldn’t take her if she was dead, but they’d been driving around in circles for too long, depending on where she was shot…He couldn’t think like that. He squeezes Layla’s hand before letting go and turning the wheel as they follow the car down an alley before they finally stop. Jake doesn’t think twice, jumping out of the car and summoning the suit in one fluid motoion as he races to the driver’s door.

“I’m here, we’re here, it’s going to be okay…It has to be okay.” Layla softly croons as she tries to not let the situation get to her. “I love y-you, God Damn it I Love you. You can’t leave us like this. We’ve got so much to do habibi, So much life left to live. Damn it live!” She cried as she holds her lover in her arms. Finally the bullets stop flying and Jake appears.

“Let me take her, Let me take…Layla we have to move now! Vamos!” Jake insisted as he takes their lover in his arms and rushes to the car. They only had so much time. He looks at her frail body in his arms. They have to make it, He’ll never forgive himself if they don’t.

~

Translation:

Voy por ti mi amor. Haré que esos bastardos paguen.: I'm coming for you my love. I'll make those bastards pay.

Vamos!: Lets go!

Masterlist

Taglist: @redeyerhaenyra @summonthesoups

#moon knight #marc spector #x reader #jake lockley #layla el faouly x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #moonknight x reader #steven grant x reader #polyamory #poly representation #moon knight system #moon boys #layla el faouly #Spotify #steven grant #angst #tw Guns #tw abduction #hurt comfort

[pikapeppa]

Hi there. It’s me again. I’m having so many feelings right now. I wanted to thank you AGAIN for your tutorials and your incredible writing inspiration. 

I’ve been a fan of your Horizon fics and your writing style for years. The way you capture voices, the way you write smut, the consistency with which you update and finish your fics… And your writing feels so accessible, which I hope you take as a compliment. It’s easy and enjoyable to read while still capturing such incredible emotion and story beats.

I wanted to tell you that I DID IT. I finished my first longfic! 9 chapters, 90,300 words! (It’s called Secret Fandom: Avatar Legend of Korra)

I wrote a story about two characters in a secret relationship. It’s got romance, smut, humor, and the teensiest bit of angst. I’ve had parts of this fic in my head for literally YEARS but I didn’t know where to start or how to actually follow through with this story! But YOU. Your fics. Your writing tutorials! They gave me the courage to buckle down and write it!

I wanted to capture their voices, I DID. I have received numerous comments complimenting the way I portrayed the characters. One person literally said “I could hear her voice in my head” about one of the characters and I just about passed out.

I wanted to finish this fic, I DID. I followed your guide: I knew how I wanted it to end. I outlined. I wrote the story in order. I held on to some chapters here and there to space it out and build anticipation. (I also found a couple of beta readers who helped me TREMENDOUSLY with the editing process.)

I run a blog for the pairing I wrote, and I actually got people reaching out and asking me when I’d have the next chapter and if they could have previews… Just an incredible reception overall to this fic, given that it’s a smaller fanbase.

I just really need to say thank you for the part you played in this. Your writing really did inspire me, in particular Becoming Whole gave me lots of inspiration for the way I wrote and even some parts of the plot (an experienced character guiding an inexperienced character through his first relationship!) and of course your tutorials really gave me a lot of help and insight on how to accomplish what I wanted!

PIKAPEPPA you are a HERO and an INSPIRATION.

Thank you A MILLION TIMES.

MY FRIEND. BABE. MY BELOVED. OMFG I'M SO SO FUCKING HAPPY FOR YOU AND SO PROUD I JUST 😭❤❤❤ I AM IN A GLASS CAGE OF EMOTION!!!

No but forreal OH MY GOD. This is so incredible and momentous and I'm absolutely thrilled for you!! There is nothing like being told that your readers can hear your characters' voices in your writing and I AM SO SO THRILLED FOR YOU 😭❤❤ Also, can I just say, the fact that I've been able to kind of track the progress of your writing journey through the asks you've sent me, and for this to be the culmination of it? I AM OVER THE MOON FOR YOU OMG SERIOUSLY okay I'm going to stop screaming at you I swear. I'M SO HAPPY FOR YOU THOUGH OMG. YOU DID THE THING!!!!!

And also, THANK YOU for saying my writing is accessible, that is absolutely a compliment!! I know that one of the things I look for in a fic is the feeling that you can just breeze through it and enjoy it without getting bogged down trying to decipher complex prose LMAO so I'm thrilled to hear it!!

In conclusion: I am SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU that you created the story that had been kicking around in your head for years. And I'm thrilled that my tutorials and writing could play a role in that! THANK YOU FOR BRINGING ME ALONG WITH YOUR JOURNEY, THIS MEANS SO MUCH TO ME 😭❤❤❤

Everyone, check out SweetVenom's fic Secret here on AO3! It's Mako/Prince Wu (Legend of Korra), ~90k words, rated E! And if anyone wants a peek at my tutorials, you can find a list of them here on Tumblr!

--all the love from your friendly neighbourhood Pika! xoxo

#fanfic writer's life #pikapeppa tutors #no but the way i smiled and laughed in sheer delight when i read this ask YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW 😭❤❤❤