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queenimmadolla · 2 months

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𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

“Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around.

Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

“I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.”

“Wha’?”

“Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

“Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair.

While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him.

Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him.

The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention.

Someone.

Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side.

Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it.

Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough.

Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie.

He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

“It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

NOW, 1989

“Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

“Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand.

When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying.

You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job.

You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan.

So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

Your mother was murdered.

Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional.

The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery.

Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself.

You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace.

The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells.

He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting.

So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead.

“Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

It was a little odd, but you did.

When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

“I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

“I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him.

You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

“Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

“Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

“YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring.

“He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

“Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

“Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.”

Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss.

“I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked.

“I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

“Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.”

You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

“It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that.

“That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.”

Didn’t feel like it.

Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

“No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

“Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

“You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands.

“And I can. Please, let me do this.”

You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

“It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it.

You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

“So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject.

“It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university.

Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

“See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?”

You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, spill.”

Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

“Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!”

This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile.

“Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush.

“Steve Harrington.”

“STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

“Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

“He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

“Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

“Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

“And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again.

“Does he flirt with you?”

“No.”

“See him flirt with any girls?”

“Nope.”

“Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

“Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

“He’s on the spectrum?”

Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

It got quiet for a few moments.

”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most.

She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

“Reefer Rick?”

“Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

Munson.

You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

“I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

“How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

“Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

“Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

“No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

“How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

“H-He’s your favorite…?”

“Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

“You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you.

“Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

“He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea.

“Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

Maybe a drink would calm you down.

You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

“The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now.

“What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

“Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

Oh, shit.

Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

”Funny seeing you here.”

You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

“Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off.

“It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

“I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

“Oh.”

He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

OH, THANK FUCK.

“Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

“So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

“Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

“Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

“Hey, Carol.”

Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

“You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl.

“Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

“Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

“You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

“I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

“Oopsie.”

But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

“Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy.

Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning.

You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

“You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

“You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

“Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

“You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

“I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

“Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

“Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it.

Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

“You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

“Wall.”

“Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

“Great Wall of China.”

Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

“Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense.

Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

“Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing.

“Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

“Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

“Does that feel good?”

You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.”

Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

“I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within.

She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

“Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you.

His right arm was out, palm up.

He was waiting for you.

You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

“Sissy. . .”

“Sissy…”

“SISSY!”

You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect.

What the hell?

“You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways.

You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

“It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

“Oh my god…”

“So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

“Ooh, your knees…”

You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

“I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

“Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

“You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist.

“Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once.

“Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

“It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

“Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

“Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

“It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

“Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

“That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

“Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

“I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

“─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

“And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing.

“That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning.

You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

“Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

“I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

“Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

“THAT WE DO!”

You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

“What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

“Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

“Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

“Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

“Mm. White wine?”

It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

“Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

“He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

You shot him a glare.

“Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers.

You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

Then your eyes snapped open.

Oh, god. You were a loser.

After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

“Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

“Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

“Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation.

“She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

“I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

“Yes, we got a free soda!”

Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

“Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

“Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

“Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

“You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

“All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.”

“Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

“I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

“I bet you can.”

After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house.

Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder.

And it was coming from outside your front door.

You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home.

You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

“Uuuhhhnng…”

This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

“Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

“OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life.

“Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!”

You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs.

You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

“Stop it!”

“Leave me alone!”

“Go away, I’m just a girl!”

The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located.

On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature.

You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it.

Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

“It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.”

He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation,

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

“Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

“I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

“Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

“Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

“C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Freak like me #lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein inspo #Zombie!eddie munson #dead!eddie munson #undead!eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #Eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #Steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x black!reader

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eywathemother · 1 year

Text

Fish Lips part 2

Ship: Aonung x Kiri's twin sister!Reader

Warnings: Language, bullying, gore, fighting, talk of war, injury and blood, slow burn, enemies to lovers (not really a warning just some people don't like that trope), death of (a) character(s), not proofread

Words: 2,700

Keys: (y/n) = your name,,(y/i/n) = your Ikran's name,, Neural Queue= the braid extension of a Na'vi's nervous system that allows them to link up to animals and Ewya,,(y/II/n) = your ilu's name,,

Chapters; Introduction || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 || Part 10 ||

Spoilers for Avatar: The Way of Water A whole ass lot.

I'm literally just shitting out these chapters instead of doing homework. My fixation on this series is crazyy. It takes me 4 hours minimum to write them too, god.

Also almost 100 Followers already???!!! It's incredible it's only been two days I'm so happy you all love my series; I was worried it would be too slow! You all have been so kind!! Enjoy Part 2!

Taglist; @akinatrix

Leave a comment if you'd like to become a taglist member.

You and the rest of your siblings had been hanging around the water. After eating your guys breakfast, you really didn't have anything else to do and your parents were speaking with Ronal and Tonowari again about who knows what.

" I kind of like it here, it's nice." Neteyam said, trying to be optimistic. " It's not home." Kiri spoke, Tuk on her knees behind her putting a braid in Kiri's hair." It's pretty I'll give it that." You sighed, flicking a rock at Lo'ak's foot." Hey, ow." He hissed at you, and you laughed at him. You heard your mother calling from her spot as Ronal and Tonowari began to walk away.

" Mom's calling us." Tuk stated and you groaned eternally. You all stood up and Tuk hopped on your back." I wish we could go home." She said sullenly, you felt Neteyam ruffle her hair." It's alright Tuk, you'll love it here."

The walk back was silent until you arrived at your Marui. " Okay, Sully's fall in." Your father said, and you huffed earning a stern stare from Neytiri you all stopped in the living room where your father was waiting. " Remember family meeting." Neteyam grabbed Lo'ak's arm pulling him down in between you and him." Alright take a knee let's go." Everyone did but Kiri refused." Kiri." Neytiri scolded and Kiri knelt with a huff." What." She responded.

"Okay, I need you kids on your best behavior." Jake looked between all of you." I mean it."

" Learn fast, pull your weight." He turned to you and Lo'ak, a stern look on his face." Don't cause trouble. Got it." Lo'ak nodded." Yes sir." Neteyam huffed in amusement grabbing the back of Lo'ak's neck. Lo'ak immediately responded with a hiss and you giggled.

" (y/n)." Neytiri looked at you, expecting your answer, the smile falling off your face immediately." Yes sir." Tuk breathed in looking at your father." I want to go home." She cried, fresh tears running down her face.

"Oh Tuk." Neytiri, Tuk wiped her eyes, and you bent over a bit to rub her knee in comfort. She placed her small one on yours and played with your pinky as Jake bent down to look into her eyes." Tuk, this is our home now." He held her other hand looking away.

" We're gonna get through this." He looked over at Neytiri, letting go of Tuk's hand. " We're gonna get through this if we have each other's backs, alright?"

Neytiri looked up at you all." What does your father always say?" Your mother asked." Sully's stick together." Neteyam said while everyone else mumbled and grumbled. " That's right Sully's stick together." Jake agreed and Neytiri rubbed Kiri's knee who was fiddling with her hands and not paying attention.

" Now this time with a little more feeling." Jake looked at everyone as you all repeated yourself, your head was down, and you grumbled it more than anything, but he took it.

They let you go and you all went to the edge of a walk area Tsireya asked for you all to go to after breakfast."Good morning, are you guys ready for your training?" Tsireya asked with a smile from behind you all, the boy Rotxo and Aonung next to her. You turned to face them. Not very happy that you had to also be taught by two douchebags.

" Let's go." Tsireya said and all three of them jumped into the water. " Come on." Neteyam said, running to jump into the water after them. Lo'ak soon followed. Once you and Kiri dived into the water you both went off to do your own thing as you watched the other three try and catch up to the others.

You looked at a school of fish, they had beautiful patterns and swam so elegantly. They didn't even mind you being there, you turned to your sister smiling who was fixated on a group of blue and white plants.

She pointed into a hole that was hidden in between the plants and you swam over to see a thin and bright pink fish swim out passed your head. You both silently giggled and continued to explore.

A quick few hours had passed of both Kiri and you exploring by yourselves until Tsireya came up to you both while you were having lunch at the edge of one of the walkways near your house.

She sat down next to you, unwrapping her lunch and turned to you." Where were you both?" She asked, she sounded a bit agitated, but she hid it well underneath her soft voice. " Oh sorry, we wondered a bit." Kiri apologized and you shrugged." You don't need to watch us anyways we're not babies." You retorted taking a bite of your fish.

" It isn't about babysitting. We're trying to teach you our ways so you can survive here." Tsireya put a friendly arm on your shoulder, and you shrugged it off. Your ears were back, and your tail wagged showing your irritation and aggressiveness towards her words.

You stood up walking away to your house where your mother and father were eating and decided to dine with them.

" I-I'm sorry if I offended your sister." Tsireya apologized to Kiri, but Kiri shook her head." It's not you she just misses her home in the forest." Kiri took a small bite of her seaweed wrap." She's a pain really, even at home she was always getting into trouble and starting fights. She's always been rough around the edges, you just got to get to know her more."

Tsireya nodded but still felt guilty for agitating you like that.

Later that day after helping Ronal pick sea urchins for dinner, you were walking back with a basket for Ronal when you saw Aonung hanging by the entrance to the housing area.

You scoffed and made your way towards the pathway up to the housing area but before you could get passed Aonung he stopped you was." What's your problem?" He looked at your face in amusement, you scoffed shaking your head and climbing up the steps.

" It's not nice to ignore people." Aonung grabbed your arm, you tugged away." Does it bruise your inflated ego if I do?" He cocked his head, smiling fading a bit." What makes you think I have an inflated ego."

You laughed at him." Pretty boy, you for sure have a higher than average self-confidence, it radiates off of you." You poked his chest, and he batted your hand away." Well, if we're making assumptions about the other, you seem like the type to throw a tantrum whenever things don't go your way, big baby. It radiates off of you." He mocked you at the end and you barred your teeth as he smiled at you in amusement, you gave him the reaction he was looking for.

" Aw is tough girl gonna throw one right now?" He cocked his head, he feigned sadness and stuck out his bottom lip. You tried your best to bite your lip and compose yourself. " Well, it must suck to have to resort to mockery for entertainment. Only a child would do such a thing. Aoyoung?" You giggled internally at your stupid pun; sure, it was a stupid childish joke, but you couldn't help yourself.

He scoffed." You shouldn't even be here, you're not one of us. You don't belong here, five fingered freak." He hissed at you and even though you know the whole point of this conversation was to dig at the other you couldn't help but feel wounded by his words.

" I might not be one of you, but at least I don't bully people for their differences like a lowlife like yourself does." You hissed back walking away and towards his family's home to give the basket to Ronal.

" Thank you kindly." She gave you a curt nod, taking it from you and turned back to whatever she was doing. You walked out of the door with your ears and head down, thinking of what Aonung said. Tsireya who was sitting next to her mom noticed but didn't get up to ask what was wrong. She knew she'd probably get in trouble for leaving her mother to all the work, so she decided to finish up her work quickly to try and catch up to you later.

You walked the sandy path towards the area Tonowari said the Banshee's could rest at which was a big rock point a little farther out of the village. You sat next to your Ikran who was obviously trying to sleep. So, you just sat next to her head and petting her head and neck slowly and calmly.

You stared to your left, where your home was, miles upon miles away. You wanted to cry again; you missed your grandmother. You missed fighting for your home and your family. You didn't enjoy war, but you'd rather be in it fighting than running away and leaving your family to deal with it.

" Hello, (y/n)." Tsireya's voice rung out and you looked over at her, as she admired your Ikran." Wow, she's beautiful. I've never actually seen an Ikran in person before until you guys came." She admitted as she took a step closer." May I pet her?" She asked and you thought for a moment. Your Ikran wasn't the friendliest but if you guided Tsireya's hand she might allow her to pet her.

" Give me your hand." You reached your hand out and opened your palm for her to place her hand in. When she did you pulled her a bit closer and allowed (y/i/n) to sniff her." Do not look in her eye." You warned and Tsireya got a bit nervous, looking down.

" Her name is (y/i/n)." You told her as you stared at your beloved Ikran." She's been my Ikran for four years now." You pet her snout, Tsireya cautiously following your actions." Wow." She expressed with a smile looking at the patterns on your Ikran.

" I'm assuming you didn't come to me to ask to pet (y/i/n), did you?" You looked up at her and she nodded." I saw you were upset when you came to hand the basket over to my mother. I wanted to make sure you're alright." She smiled at you, looking away a bit.

You sighed." Yes I am, I just miss my home is all." You admitted and she nodded there was a pause of silence until she spoke again." Maybe you can go hunting with Aonung and Rotxo next time they go." You gave her a quizzical look." Why?"

" Well, you'll be able to see more of the ocean and you might make some friends. They go in a group, and you might find someone in their group to befriend." She looked pleased with her idea, but you scrunched up your face in distaste.

" Maybe I can go hunting with you instead of Aonung." You proposed and she scratched her neck." Why don't you want to go with Aonung?" She paused." He did something didn't he?"

She huffed, tapping your knee." I'll deal with that, okay." You rolled your eyes." That's kind of you but don't bother that ass-uh, it's not worth it." She breathed through her nose." Yeah..he is an ass. Are you sure?" You nodded." Yes, maybe you and I could do something together instead. Like...how about I take you on a ride with (y/i/n)?"

She gasped." Really! I would love to!" You chuckled in amusement at her excitement." We just have to introduce you a little more to (y/i/n)." She nodded." Yes of course." She gave one last pet of (y/i/n)'s snout and then waved goodbye turning and leaving.

You stayed for a little longer, waiting for her to disappear around the corner before leaving. You took your time walking back, knowing you'd probably get scolded.

You were right, as you walked towards your Marui your mother immediately came out from the side." Where were you!?" She yelled and grabbed your face in her hands, turning it to make sure you were okay." I'm fine mom, I was just-."

"The rule is you come home by eclipse!" Your mother interrupted you, pulling you inside where your father was sitting with irritation written all over his face." Father I-"

" Why is it hard for you to follow instructions?" You bowed your head as your mother held onto your arm." It's a simple task, a simple one!" Your siblings sat in the back of the Marui, awkwardly listening in on the conversation.

Kiri sent you a 'why are you like this' look which you glared at her." From now on, you stick with your sister Kiri unless told otherwise." He looked at you, for conformation that you understood." Yes sir." You grumbled.

Neytiri watched you as Jake scolded you." It's bedtime." She broke through the silence, and you quietly sat up your hammock next to Kiri. " You need to stop causing trouble, (y/n)." Neteyam whispered in your ear. He grabbed your ear, and you snapped your teeth at him.

" Neteyam." Neytiri warned and he fell back into quietness, snickering at you. Lo'ak just rolled his eyes, but he understood constantly getting scolded, so he didn't tease you for it.

As everyone got done your father knelt in the small space in the back of the Marui." (y/n)." He called you over and you huffed, Kiri gave you a ' your butt is grounded' face. You were gonna slap her silly if she kept making those faces at you.

You squatted in front of your father as Tuk whined in the background for her toy that she sleeps with." Where did you put it last?" Lo'ak asked flipping over things, earning a whack on the head from Neytiri." Stop messing with things, we'll find it Tuk-Tuk." She comforted your youngest sibling.

" Look here." Jake ordered and you turned your head towards him." I understand this move has been hard for you but try and follow the rules and keep our reputation decent." He sighed rubbing his hands together. " Stay out of trouble." He repeated his words from the family meeting earlier that day.

" Yes sir." You looked down at your fingers, you really weren't trying to do anything wrong this time.

"Okay, goodnight kid." He whispered ruffling your hair. You sat there for a bit until Kiri threw one of Tuk's toys at you." Hey troublemaker help us find Tuk's stuffy bear."

" His name is Rocky." Took corrected Kiri who rolled her eyes." His name sounds uncomfortable to sleep with." Lo'ak replied, flipping over something in the corner earning a second whack and a warning hiss from Neytiri.

You moved Infront of Lo'ak to your bag to see if it might've been placed with your stuff since during the trip you held most of Tuk's things.

" It's your fault that's its name in the first place." Neteyam stated and Lo'ak smacked his arm. Neteyam kicked his butt which caused Lo'ak to fall forward bumping into you making you drop the half-made necklace you were holding in your hand." Asshole!" You yelled, watching as the beads fell off the string.

" Oopsie." Lo'ak sarcastically sang, and you pinched his forearm." Oow, mom (y/n) pinched my arm." He dramatically wailed and Neytiri came over grabbing both your ears." Stop it, right now." She commanded, if you kept this up, she'd soon be chiding you.

" I found it!" Jake shouted and Tuk ran over to grab it." Thanks daddy." She giggled as he tossed her into her hammock." You're welcome babygirl." He tickled her stomach making her giggle and shriek while you and Lo'ak held your ears, kicking at each other.

"Alright get to bed. Get." Neytiri snapped her finger pointing at your hammock and you climbed into it. Not before 'accidentally' tripping Lo'ak." You-"

" Hey, what did your mother say?" Jake grumbled, not even paying attention." It was an accident." You sassed and Lo'ak scoffed." No, you did it on purpose." He argued back.

" Did not."

" Did to."

" Hey! How many times do we need to repeat ourselves?" Jake yelled, silencing you both as Kiri and Neteyam snickered to themselves, earning a glare from Neytiri." Sorry sir." You both said in unison, finally laying down and going to bed.

#atwow #atwow x reader #aonung x reader #aonung #aonung x you #loak #atwow loak #atwow aonung #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar x reader #avatar ao'nung #ao'nung #ao'nung x reader #ao'nung x you

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year

Text

Begin Again: Chapter 4/4

Summary: The year is 1988. After the loss of a beloved family member, you find yourself inheriting an old coffee shop. The quiet bartender at the Hideout across the street just so happens to catch your eye.

(20k words; eddie munson x afab!reader; sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie vibes)

Note: Tumblr ate my formatting, so AO3 is probably best. 🙃

Warnings: Vignette style (sorta); Eddie’s post S4 trauma; panic attacks; nightmares; family member loss; grief; alcohol use; nightmares; suicidal ideation; smut 18+ only.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CH

Winter 1988/1989

He leaves you alone in the coffee shop.

The smell of the coffee brewing grows sour, your stomach churning with the dread seeping into your veins with every throb of your heart.

Your four walls, your space, now empty without him there to fill it.

You never realized how much sound he’s brought into your life, how much color, how much of his light.

And in a moment, Chance had thrown a shade over it. Squashed it just as it had really started to grow.

Chance’s words roll around in your head.

Chrissy. Fred. Patrick. Jason.

Names without faces, people you’ve never met, people you’ll never meet.

Because they’re dead.

All of them.

Gone.

He says it’s Eddie.

It’s not Eddie.

There’s no reality you could ever find yourself in where you believe the lie that Eddie’s done something like this.

Not this man, not the one who consumes fantasy literature like it’s a lifeblood, who talks DnD with his youngest friends animatedly and conjures up new ideas for sprawling campaigns full of high stakes and grandeur, who flips Max upside down in his arms when he greets her until her laughter shakes deep within her bones and a smile lights up her whole face, the man who drinks out of a Garfield mug when he visits his Uncle, who listens to ABBA and Blondie with you and his friends even when he claims to hate it.

Not this man.

Never this man.

But now you need to find Eddie, tell him everything’s okay, that you don’t think he did it.

You know he thinks you do.

Could see it in the way he looked at you, in the way he flinched from your touch.

The title of murderer.

The weight of it.

You can only imagine how crushing that is, how hard it’s been to keep those accusations to himself all this time, to carry it on his back each and every day.

To live near to those who might whisper behind your back, question how you’re free, ponder your innocence.

You decide to close up early, dismissing your customers as nicely as possible, feigning issues with your machines. A patron grumbles that they were working moments ago, but you only offer them free coffees for their next visit and wave as they all bustle down the street.

It’s likely not the most professional thing you’ve done, but it’s necessary, your fingers removing your apron from around your hips before moving to go snatch your keys from behind the counter.

The front door locks with a click behind you, eyes flashing across the parking lot to find Eddie’s van missing. He’s likely skipped work, and you understand why he would, but all it does is curl the guilt further in your gut.

That you hadn’t done more, said more, chased after him—something.

You run upstairs to your apartment, grabbing your things and rummaging about, trying to make it look some semblance of normal before you grab your pocketbook in hand and rush over to your wall phone, dialing one of the first numbers in your phone book.

Max picks up on ring number two.

Your breath shudders out as you ask, “Is Eddie there?”

“He was, but not anymore,” she says honestly. You can hear her shuffle around on the other end, a huff filling the line. “He looked upset. Did something happen?

“He heard Chance and I talking.”

“Okay, and? Chance is a dick, we all know this, so what did he do?”

“He told me about March. Of eighty six.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” you tell her, quickly adding, “but I don’t believe him.”

You hear her huff once more, followed by the rustle of something in the distance. “Good, because whatever he told you isn’t true. He doesn’t know half of what really happened, and I doubt he ever looked into it. Which, you’d think we would have since the idiot works for the police.”

“So you know where Eddie might be?”

“He’s at Steve’s,” she says simply, like she knows, and of course she does.

He’s her brother. Minus the blood and title, of course, but her brother all the same. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“For what?”

“You’re picking me up,” she states plainly, and you almost laugh.

Almost.

But she sounds serious, and you’ve seen Maxine angry and you don’t want to be in the line of fire on the receiving end if she ever explodes.

“I’m picking you up,” you agree, swallowing thickly. “Hey, Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Just…I know you’re my boss, but don’t hurt him, okay?”

“Gosh, Max—no. I…I lo—really care about him.”

“So I’ll see you in fifteen?” She says, as if she knows the exact distance between yours and the Munson’s.

And you suppose she does after all this time.

You nod, even though she can’t see you, and say, “I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”

You’re there in twelve, the roads zooming on by as you turn and weave through the pathways that are almost second nature now. Muscle memory, because of all the time you’ve spent with them. With his family, who has, in a way, sort of become yours as well.

She’s there as she said she would be, sitting on the front step to the little home, hair billowing around her in the wind.

She drops down into your passenger seat without a word. The sound of her buckle sliding into place greets your ears, her dirty shoes kicking out before her, that delicate profile of hers set into a firm look.

“I heard what you said, you know?” She says after some time.

It’s quiet, a little lilting, her lips curling a bit at the edges. You know that look. It’s the same look she’s given Eddie after catching him in a state of disarray after a night spent making out with you like the two of you are teenagers all over again, and not twenty-three year olds with careers and rent to pay.

“What do you mean?” It’s a trap. You know it is, but you’ll give in just this once.

“I heard you start to say you love him,” she teases, tongue sticking out slightly.

It’s the truth.

It’s not a hard thing to do—falling for Eddie Munson, that is.

And still, your heart thunders away at the thought of it. For years you’ve spent trying to never form lasting connections with others. You’re in and out of places quicker than you can, never getting too close, never making those lasting ties.

And now you’ve gone and tied yourself to him, a single strand, an invisible string that tethers you to him.

It’s terrifying, and still there’s this sense of peace that fills your blood. Cool it before it can sizzle and burn.

“You definitely said it,” she says once more, as if you didn’t hear her the first time.

But you did. You said the words and you heard her, but she’s not the first person you want to say them to.

The person who deserves them the most is currently hiding out at Steve Harrington’s home, likely reliving the pain of the events of two years ago, exposed like a nerve by someone who only wants the worst for you.

You suppose you can’t fault Chance, either. You saw the pain in his eyes. The grief over the loss of his friends.

Three.

Three in a lifetime is already too much, but three in one week is a tragedy.

There’s no denying that fact.

‘He doesn’t know half of it…’

Max’s words swirl in your mind. Over and over again on an endless loop.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, but there’s a slow smirk sliding across your lips, fingers curling around the steering wheel as you peel out of the Munson’s driveway, heading in the direction of Steve Harrington’s family home.

It’s on the way that Max starts to talk, warning you in a sense, of what you’re about to hear.

“It’s…a lot to take in,” she says, and there’s a seriousness in her tone unfamiliar to you.

She’s usually always meddling with the kids, the rowdier and more hot headed one of the bunch. You’ve seen her interact with her friends, always just as fiery and explosive as her friends. You’ve seen her get angry with Eddie till her face turns red. But there’s always this sense of ease that accompanies it.

A laugh at the end of a snide remark, a smirk, a gentle tilt of the lips.

It’s not present this time, and an uneasiness settles into your blood.

“Just…when they tell you, promise me you’ll keep an open mind. You’re going to hear things that sound impossible, and that’s because honestly even we thought they were, but it’s…the truth. It’s the truth that the media swallowed up, the truth the government hid. But it doesn’t make it not real—it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And it’s crap because the world moved on, and yet we were left to deal with it.”

She means your friends.

You know that.

The fact that this ‘they’ she speaks of telling you this tale is the same group of kids that you’ve grown to know, your friends you’ve flourished with all these months, the man you’re falling in love with.

“Max, I just want to know the truth. So whatever you all say, I’m here to listen. I want to know. It’s important that I know,” you tell her seriously, pulling into the driveway to the sprawling home.

Your head slams against the headrest of your driver’s seat, hands coming up to cup over your eyes. Your breath draws right in your lungs, eyes burning from the prick of tears. A new fear dawns, unwanted and unbidden.

You voice it, a quiet strain of your voice that comes out as a broken sob. A fearful questioning of, “What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he hates me?”

“He couldn’t,” she tells you, voice stern.

“What if he does, though? You didn’t see the way he looked at me. He was there, but he wasn’t. It’s like he went away in his mind and he didn’t want me there.”

She chuckles. “Have you seen the way that idiot looks at you? It’s honestly disgusting. All puppy dog eyes and goo.” You break out into a watery laugh and, satisfied, she continues, “Look—Chance’s friends…well, not Chrissy, but Chance’s friends are assholes. I’m not saying they got what they deserved, because no one deserves to die. But they were terrible to him. He probably saw Chance and saw you and thought he’d turned you against him. Just like they turned the whole town against him in eighty six.”

There are no words that come to mind after what she says. After the truth she reveals. You’re not sure of what it even means, and yet you think of your customers in your early days or the shop opening. The way some, however rarely, would look at him and mutter amongst themselves when he happened to stop by. You remember the woman at the supermarket with her blonde hair and haunting eyes. The depth of her warning as she stood beside you on line at the register, telling you Eddie wasn’t a good man, telling him he should have never come back.

You think of the fact Eddie moved out of his own childhood home to make room for Max. But you also recall how much freer he is when he’s out of town. His smiles come easier, he seems lighter…brighter, without the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

The pieces start to slide into place, a push here, a click there. You think of your puzzle he’d brought you both for your first date, now finished and tucked away. How the image became clearer and clearer with each passing moment.

It’s the same now.

That clarity that takes shape.

The reasons why Eddie’s open in some regards, and keeps others very close to his chest. The evasions he’s had to create in his backstory with you, to protect you from the truth of it all.

To protect you from the danger of it, if what Max claims is true.

“Are you ready?” Max’s voice stirs you from your silent reverie. A quiet beckon. A soft lilt that drags you from your thoughts.

You’re not.

There’s nothing that can ever prepare you for what you are about to hear, and yet you twist the key in the ignition all the same. You tug your keys free and toss them into your pocketbook, opening your car door without another word. Max tips her head over the roof of your vehicle, looking to you for reassurance…or merely to see how you’re doing—you’re not really sure. But you dip your head all the same, shutting the door into place, fingers trailing along metal and window, heart racing in your chest at what you are about to enter into.

The walk to the front door is harrowing. You don’t really know what to expect. Max gives you a warning, sure, but nothing compares to reality. Especially not as you knock on the front door and Robin is there to greet you. She offers a kind smile and a hug, her voice quiet as she mutters she’s happy you’re both there. Max glances over her shoulder as you enter the home, your eyes trailing the insides. You’ve been here multiple times, but it feels different now. There’s a whole world you’re not privy to—a world that Eddie’s been a part of, Max and Robin, Steve and the others. The world that those who warned you of this town only spoke of as if they were conspiracies. The gates of hell, satanic cults, gruesome deaths. The fact there are some truths there weighs heavily on your mind, hands shaking a bit as you enter the kitchen and Steve is there to greet you with a warm hug.

You wonder briefly if Charlotte knows. If she’s privy to the world outside of your own that your friends have dealt with. This unshakeable strength they all seem to hold. But you hug him all the same, heart hammering away against his as your arms come to wrap around his neck, his breath a comforting puff against your ear. He steps back momentarily to look at you, all long dark hair, wrinkles high against his forehead. He’s too young for those, but they linger all the same, written into his features alongside the pain you see so clearly there now. The pain of the unknown swirling in your gut, the unknown that has Max reaching across the space between you to curl her hand in your own, squeezing tight.

You squeeze her hand back and look at both your friends as they stand before you, merely basking in silence, all your minds a swirling mass of chaos. Robin speaks first, voice wobbly, words fast and disconcerting in your ears. “He’s…he’s not doing well, babe. He came here a wreck. He never intended for you to find out this way.”

You know that. You do.

It’s why you’ve always been respectful. It’s why you’ve always been weary of what Eddie wants, why you’ve made it a mission to always have an open heart and open mind toward him. And in a few moments Chance had thrown it all into the wind. Obliterated the safety net you were forging, the space you wanted Eddie to live in—to thrive in.

“Max…she warned you, right?” It’s Steve who asks next. The boy with the loud and boisterous personality, always a little piqued, and yet he’s serious now. Guarded toward his best friend. Your heart swells because Eddie has people like these; people who will defend him tooth and nail, even from you.

Even from the woman who has spent nearly every day with him for the past few months.

And still, you nod all the same, your hand still entwined with Max’s. “Max…she warned me.”

Steve and Robin pass one another a look, and you’re brought into the living room. It’s dark there, the lights dimmer than you remember, your friends settling down in different areas about the room. Steve and Robin to the couch. Max on the floor. There are two seats brought out into the living area, set there like they were expected to be there all along. Separated by a few inches sure, but placed there with intent. You glance down at the one, wondering if it’s meant for you, and catch the stiff nod from Steve as you eye the wood carefully.

You drop down into it and hear the slow slide of a door in the distance, the tall form of Eddie catching your eye.

He’s as beautiful as you saw him last. A picture of black, red and white before your eyes. His eyes dark, his shoulders hard, body lithe and lean. You think of those moments from early this morning, his arms around your waist, chest against your back. Lips at your ear as he whispered what you meant to him, as he kissed you like you were the most precious thing in his life. Unbreakable, like he meant to keep you. Like he meant to hold you safe for the rest of his days. You know he means it now, can see it in the way his eyes flicker as they meet yours, as water clouds those swirling depths of chocolate brown.

There’s love there.

It’s not lost on you as he scans the room and lands on yours, holding for a moment, whispering those unspoken words into the space between you.

Unmistakable and yours alone.

You will the same into your eyes as he settles down beside you, legs spread wide, cup of whatever he’s drinking poised at the ready in his hand.

He says nothing. Remains stoic as Steve and Robin straighten in their seats, cushions of the couch forgotten as their elbows lean onto thighs, ready to regale their tales of this world outside their own.

The part of you that’s grown to love him over these months wishes to reach out to him. You want to stretch your hand into the space between you and curl your fingers within his own. To comfort him in the way you know only you can—body, mind and soul. But he remains in the gap between you, separated by inches that feel like miles. There’s a moment, however brief, when his fingers twitch against his thigh and you wonder if he intends to reach across and touch you.

But he never does.

He never does, and you suppose you cannot be upset with him for that.

He’s hard lines, harsh beauty, and adamant walls.

Impenetrable.

Fierce.

You pray they don’t remain that way—that your months of progress don't reverse in a moment's time.

Steve glances about the room, between his best friend Robin beside him, down to where Max sits staring at Eddie on the floor, Eddie with his grim expression as his eyes meet hers, and then lastly on you when he exhales and says, “What we’re about to tell you, you can’t tell anyone. It stays a secret, it stays within the group.”

“It stays within the party,” Max adds, shifting away from Eddie’s stare enough to look at you. “It’ll mean you’re part of it.”

“One of the family.” Robin laughs weakly, passing you a sympathetic smile. “Part of our dysfunctional family.”

Your eyes shift amongst them with a swallow, and then slide briefly to Eddie’s. There’s…there's something there. A softness, a quiet whisper behind his gaze, but you don’t know what it means. Can’t decipher the meaning behind how he looks at you; you just know it curls deep within the pit of your belly, makes you warm, reminds you it’ll be okay.

Everything will be okay.

“I’ll take it with me to the grave,” you tell Steve.

His hand cards through those long strands of dark hair and he stands up from the couch, walking across the room to tend to the fire churning in the fireplace. Once he’s happy with the flames sparking and dancing within, his hand comes to rest on the ledge, his other hand resting on his hip as he glances down at a dirty spot on the carpet.

“I guess we’ll start from the beginning then…”

And it begins.

They start from the beginning. With the missing boy Will. With Will, who you know and works at your shop. Kind, sweet Will with the world on his shoulders and nothing but love inside his heart.

Steve recounts the loss of Barbara Holland, a friend of Nancy’s. You learn about the gate that opened in Hawkins to another world. This Upside Down that sounds as harrowing as it truly is.

You learn early on that El has superpowers. She has psionic capabilities, can lift things with her mind, step into alternate dimensions when she goes away in her mind.

El, with her dark hair and bright soul. That innocence that always seems to burn bright behind her gaze.

El, who you learn has fought monsters bigger than her.

Steve walks you through that first encounter with the Upside Down, the demogorgon he faced, his words careful as he explains the appearance to you. A standing, hulking monster, with endless rows of teeth, intent to bring death to those that encounter it.

You’re told about their next encounters.

Max moves to town with her family. Her crappy step-father, her late step-brother, and her late mother move in and immediately she’s thrown into this world she’s never planned for. Apparently Dustin finds some sort of tadpole creature that eventually grows into a demodog. Another monster like the one Steve explained earlier, but this time there are multiple, and they move in what seem to be packs. You learn about Will’s possession by the Mind Flayer, the loss of their friend Bob, their first experience with the ‘hive mind.’

“It all sort of…works in tandem,” Max clarifies. “All tied to one power source.”

El closes the gate this time, they tell you, and for a while it seems everything is okay again. They start to heal, the kids begin to go back to their normal lives, Steve and Robin start working at the Starcourt Mall.

“That parking lot that’s still empty?” It’s your first question in a while, you’ve simply been taking in everything they have to say, trying to be respectful of their experience.

“Yes,” Robin says, frowning as Max glances down at her shoelaces.

Eddie watches the younger girl like a hawk. His face is tight and drawn as Max says, “My brother didn’t die in a fire.”

It’s July and the kids are on summer break. All is well in Hawkins. They’re having fun, being kids, living for the first time in a long time. And then there’s the issue of Billy. Billy, who has always been rough around the edges. Not a good person at all, from what you’ve been told, but he had been alive and had been well one day, and then the next it was like he was different.

Max recalls him being a lot of blank stares in his room, a lot more standoffish. But there becomes this issue around Hawkins, of people becoming aggressive, something to do with kitchen chemicals? And a girl at the pool Billy worked at had gone missing.

Heather, Max explains.

As this is all going on, Steve and Robin explain their encounters with Russian code and their involvement with a secret organization taking place quite literally inside the belly of the mall.

There’s a Mind Flayer building an army, some gigantic beast of a thing, that towers over the building. The same thing that had put itself inside of Will, the same thing that also puts itself inside of Billy.

Your head spins with it all, from the explanation of how Robin and Steve were tortured for information inside the Russian base, to Max and the other kids fighting this monster inside of their friend Hopper’s home. There’s the battle at the Starcourt Mall, when they’re all later reunited, where Max watched her brother die after laying his life down to protect her and her friends.

It’s overwhelming.

Your chest aches, and you’re grateful when Eddie calls the meeting to a halt, catching the glittery tears on Max’s cheeks that she tries to swipe away when no one is looking.

Eddie slips out of the room with the younger girl in tow. There’s a brief moment he makes eye contact with you, his mouth working slowly like he anticipates saying something before thinking better of it.

It’s been only hours and yet you feel like he’s been gone longer, the sting of the emotional distance between you two burning deep in your chest.

“Babe, don’t take it personally, okay?” Robin runs a hand up and down your arm, pouring you a glass of something strong and full of ice.

Your face pinches as you take a sip, throat burning from the harsh bite of whatever she’s put into the concoction. “What is this? Battery acid?”

“Very likely,” Steve muses from the doorway, coming to loop an arm around your shoulders. You lean into his side, seeking out the comfort of a friend in the moment. His fingers curl around your skin, giving you a squeeze. “They went for a walk. Eddie said they’ll be back in five. The next part…it’s Eddie’s bit. It’s what happened back in March and…it’s a lot. He’s never really shared it outside of the group. He wanted to tell you before…you know, before Chance. He told me he wanted to. He was finally ready.”

Your heart clenches at the thought. Here Eddie was, ready to open up to you fully and bare his soul to you, and Chance came along to throw a wrench into the whole thing. Robbed Eddie of the opportunity that was meant for him all along.

“I just…a whole world underneath Hawkins?” Your throat swells around the words, around the reality of what you’ve been told the past few hours.

Before you came here, you heard all these ludicrous rumors about the happenings of the small town you were running to. To know they’re fact, to know they’ve been hidden behind lies and government workings—it’s a crazy reality to swallow. A world where monsters exist and walk the earth, a world where gates to new dimensions exist.

It’s your world now.

“And El—having powers?”

Robin comes forward to join you on your other side, sliding a hand into the center of your back. “I felt the same when I found out.”

You feel the need to sit. To really soak in the words swirling around in your brain like little specks of confetti twirling to the ground. Dozens of strands of thoughts in an endless funnel of wind and disarray. But you lean into the warmth of your friends instead, relishing in their closeness, when the glass door to the outside slides open and Eddie and Max reappear.

She’s a little red in the face. Bitten and kissed by the wind, but the rims around her eyes catch your attention next. The telltale sign she’s been crying, paired with that of her sleeve dragging along the bottom of her nose, bumping her glasses that always sit a little too loosely on her face.

Eddie’s dark eyes scan your face, like he’s shocked you’re still there, and you pass him a weak smile. There’s the barest of twitches in his face, and most would miss it, but he offers you that.

A slight smile.

You’ll take it.

“Are we good to keep going?” Robin asks, glancing about the room.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Eddie says, and it’s the first time you’ve heard him speak in hours. It jolts you, drawing a wince out of him.

Robin turns back to you, eying your drink in your hand as the others head back into the living area. “You might want to keep that close.”

She’s not wrong.

Eddie’s fingers toy with the silver of his rings, twirling them round and round low against his knuckles. “So, uh, it’s March…of eighty six and, you know, I’m still the Freak around town. So you can imagine I’m just a tad confused when Chrissy Cunningham, the Queen of Hawkins High, comes to me for a deal.” His eyes flash to yours, a grimace pulling at his mouth. “Used to deal. Don’t anymore, but—I, ah, yeah, sorry sweetheart. But Chrissy is not herself. I didn’t really know her much, but she’s just perpetually happy. I mean, I guess she had to be. Cheerleading captain, about to be valedictorian, friends with everyone. So I meet her in the woods behind the school and she looks scared as shit. Like—maybe I should have paid more attention to it, maybe that was my mistake, but…she asks me for ketamine.”

You train your eyes on Eddie as he speaks. He’s a shadow before you, hollows of his features glowing from the orange hue spilling from the mouth of the fireplace. He’s all long limbs spread out, legs before him, slender and spidery, bent as his back rests against the wooden chair. His hands rest against his thighs, where he continues to twirl the metal around his digits, head bent low and mind seemingly back in the forest that day in eighty six.

“I…brought her back to my trailer that night and I couldn't find the ketamine. So I leave her in the damn living room and when I come back she’s just standing there. Blank face, nothing behind her eyes, just gone. And I’m yelling at her over and over and over again, but whatever this thing is that’s pulling at her just…she never hears me. I wonder if she did, even now. Like if she knew I was trying to save her and—” He pauses as your hand curls around his kneecap, and you worry for a moment he’s going to push you away, to reject this comfort, but his hand slides over your own and squeezes lightly.

He doesn’t let go.

What he explains next has your throat closing around the truth of it. Chance’s words swirl in your ears. The fact Jason Carver, fueled by jealousy over being cuckolded by Eddie Munson, killed his girlfriend. But the reality is that much more horrifying. Because Eddie recounts the moments with ultra clarity, the memory of them burned into his retinas for the rest of his life, of the girl levitating above the ground. The way her body stretched across the ceiling as her bones snapped one by one in her body, before she died right before his eyes.

“We all met…that next day,” Max says with a bitter laugh, gesturing between Eddie and the rest of the group, including herself.

So they were bound by the untimely death of Chrissy, Steve explains, recalling how they all went looking for Eddie with Dustin’s help, because Max had seen flickering lights coming from Eddie’s trailer and disrupting her own, just before he had run.

A sign of the Upside Down. Their first sign that Eddie had been innocent in all of it.

“Held a glass bottle to my throat,” Steve laughs as he explains those tense few moments of their ‘friendship.’

“You kind of deserved it. Jabbed me right in the ribs with that oar,” Eddie says, but there’s a lightness to his tone reserved for his loved ones. “His name was Vecna. This…thing, this person, responsible for cursing Chrissy. And…Fred, Patrick, and Max.”

Your eyes flicker up to Max at Eddie’s admission, blue eyes flashing with your own. “Max.”

“The asshole cursed me,” she says simply. “So what happened to Chrissy, what happened to Fred, we knew was likely coming my way. And it did—but we found a solution.”

“Thank goodness for that Walkman,” Robin exhales. “We found that music could bring people out of Vecna’s…soupy mind trance. Happy memories, favorite moments, your favorite song.”

“The song you could listen to over and over again on repeat…” You mutter the words out, feeling your eyes burn at the memory of Eddie asking you for yours so many weeks ago in your apartment.

“What’s your favorite song? If you had to pick one, what would it be? The one you can play over and over again and never get bored of?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly, the words meant only for you. Your stomach twists painfully. “That one.”

Proof he cared, even then.

It’s a race against a clock.

It’s not long before Eddie’s a suspect in the murders he never committed, and it’s paired with the looming threat over Max’s life. One night in particular, Robin tells you, Jason Carver and his friends find Eddie at the boathouse and come with weapons in hand. You know their intention, from the way Eddie’s breath catches, was never to merely talk about the situation.

Hunt the Freak, he tells you bitterly, recalling those moments out on Lover’s Lake, just before Patrick suffered the same fate as Chrissy.

Two.

Eddie watches two people die that week.

You shudder out a breath as they tell you about the Upside Down. As Steve tugs the neck of his sweater down enough to show you the lines around his throat, and then slips up the side of his sweater enough to show you the scarring on his side that looks like a splash of sun against his skin. It reminds you of the ones that litter Eddie’s arms, the smaller ones on his face and neck, the ridges of his abdomen you barely felt before he pulled away from you.

“We’re, like, the most screwed up blood brothers to exist,” Steve says bitterly, his shirt dropping down into place. “Matching scars and all.”

“Demobats,” Robin explains, shuddering at the end. “Scary little shitheads.”

It paints a picture for you—clearer now than ever before.

Fills the gaps in your understanding over these nine months.

Yet another memory flashing behind your eyes of Eddie in your kitchen. Of wings and claws and the sound of skittering against your window. The choked breath from Eddie’s lungs that suddenly stopped working. The panic attack he suffers in your kitchen.

You think you start to grasp an understanding as they talk about how a plan began to form. They gathered a bunch of weapons with the intention of using Max and Eddie and Dustin to create distractions for Vecna. To give enough time for the others to try and kill him. But even the best laid plans go to hell—and it’s proven correct in both aspects.

Eddie and Max, to make things simpler, both die that night.

Max, with her limbs broken and mangled, blood dripping from her eyes. And Eddie, with his flesh torn into over and over again, countless rows of teeth sinking into skin, taking pieces of him, ripping him into ribbons, robbing him of life.

It chokes you. Chokes Eddie as Steve explains the parts of the story Eddie’s mouth can’t work around. The gaps are still too raw to fill in by himself. You don’t blame him.

You press the heel of your palm into your eyes, feeling Eddie’s fingers tighten around your own, the severity in his gaze making the room come crashing around you.

“Eddie never…he never murdered any of those people,” Max says, but you know that.

You’ve known that.

In the end, Eddie spends a few weeks in the hospital.

Max spends months there.

His name is cleared relatively swiftly. Steve is a bit cagey as to how they manage to get Eddie’s name pulled from any further headlines, but you know it’s because there was nothing to hold together a case against him.

Jason is suddenly the blame for the events that occurred, and laid to rest on that March day.

It’s a lot to process.

The room feels heavy with it, thick in a way that reminds you of honey. Sticky, yet missing all that sweetness.

Steve suggests you all stay for the night. Get some rest. Recount the stories in the morning.

It’s been hours and every inch of your body aches from work and your eyes feel tired, burning with the unshed tears lingering on your lash line.

Steve lets you borrow some of his things, an oversized sweatshirt, some pants you need to roll up multiple times, and leads you and Eddie down the hall of the second story to the home, pausing in front of a bedroom.

“It’s a guest room,” he says, gesturing inside. “We’ll talk more in the morning. Goodnight, you two.”

It’s normal for you to expect mirth or a deeper scheme behind Steve’s eyes. The sense of teasing there that you’ve grown to know and love, and yet standing before that bedroom in the lonely hall has you unsure of where to look, Steve only whistles and shifts awkwardly before leaving you to your solitude. Neither of you speaks for a time, bodies shifting in the darkness, not touching and awkward.

This morning you had been curled as tight as two could be, your spine to his chest, your thighs to his, those strong arms of his wrapped around your waist, his chin over your shoulder, lips to your ear.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” he whispered.

Your heart stuttered. Faltered from the weight of what he was saying. Your fingers slid up to curl into his hair, his face leaning into your touch. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before either, Eddie.”

It was the truth then, it’s still the truth now, and yet there’s a chasm that grows wider by the second in that hallway, and for fear of watching it grow anymore, you take the initiative and push past the man to slip inside the guest room.

Neither of you speaks as you move about the room and take in your surroundings. There’s a simple dresser in one corner, a lamp on a stand that sits in another, and there’s only one bed.

One.

It’s a thought that might have thrilled you some other time, and now it only fills you with a maelstrom of emotions. In the past few hours your conversations have been reduced to sparing words, your touches to brushes of fingers. And now there’s a silence that screams between you, those murky depths curling and lapping at your ankles.

You drop your borrowed clothes onto the bed, glancing over your shoulder to where Eddie stands awkwardly in the doorway. The fullness of his form is outlined in golden light emanating from the hall, those dark eyes of his searching.

“You can take the bathroom,” you tell him, “I’ll tell you when I’m done and you can come out.”

He’s seen you in nothing but a pair of jeans before, yet somehow changing around him feels more intimate. Especially with the disquiet between you two. So there’s no protests on his part as he reaches into the side dresser, as if he’s done this before, and snatches a pair of pants and a shirt from within. He opens his mouth to speak and you feel your soul soar for a moment, before he’s snapping it shut again and slipping inside.

When the door clicks shut, you let out a shaky breath and change in silence.

Eddie knocks on the bathroom door moments later, your voice beckoning him out when you’re finally and fully dressed again. You’re moving about and folding your original clothes up onto the dresser when he moves to go sit down on the bed and you maneuver around him to get ready for sleep.

He watches you in silence as you wash your face and brush your teeth, wiping down the countertops after, a habit from working at Sunshine Coffee for so long now. You know why you’re really doing it, though. It’s a temporary distraction from the deeper issue at hand: the rift between the two of you.

Sighing, you slip back into the bedroom and walk around to the opposite side of the bed closest to the lamp and slide underneath the covers. Eddie watches, still upright, as you turn onto your side and reach over, asking if you can shut the light.

“Uh…yeah, yeah that’s fine,” he says softly from behind you, and the room drowns in darkness.

You pinch your eyes shut to try and get some rest, chest aching, heart clanging like a damn cymbal, but your mind only spins. You’re certain you’ll find no rest tonight, only the dizzying free fall of your wandering thoughts.

That is, until the bed dips beside you and you feel Eddie pull back the covers, sliding down against the mattress to rest a head on the pillow beside you. You feel his hand accidentally brush your hip and from behind you a following, “Sorry,” that spills through his lips.

You laugh, because it just feels so silly.

You’re not mad at him, but there’s still this disturbance hanging in the air. The worry to push him beyond his boundaries, beyond what he feels comfortable with now after sharing his past with you. If he wants to remain in silence, you want him to remain in silence. You want whatever he wants—whatever he needs at the moment.

“What’s that?” Eddie asks, his voice tight.

“Nothing…I just—nothing.”

He doesn’t speak for a bit. Only settles down far enough on the other side of the bed you can feel the heat radiating from him, but not even the ghost of touch from his form.

A beat of silence passes.

And then—

“Sweetheart, I hate this.”

Your head nuzzles further into your pillow, voice a little shaky as you whisper back, “What do you mean?”

“I left earlier because I thought the worst. I thought—I thought you believed him. Wouldn’t be the first time someone was turned against me,” he says a little breathlessly. Jason. Jason did that. And the ramifications of it are still present to this day; you’ve seen it first hand. “That was dumb as shit for me to think. I…I wanted to tell you. I was going to, he just beat me to it first. Should have come from me, should have been sooner, should have—”

“Eddie, it’s okay.”

“It’s not, though.”

“Seriously it’s—”

“I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry,” he says, and you shatter.

Eyes flush against your cheeks, lashes dancing along the topmost points of your cheekbones, you mutter, “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. At all. I need you to understand that.”

“Then why aren’t you talking to me? You’re all the way on the other side of the bed. You won’t even look at me.”

“Because I know how hard tonight was and I didnt want to push you. Eddie, what you told me tonight…it’s important and it’s huge and the fact you’ve trusted me with it means everything to me. But I also want you to take the time you need. Process what you’re feeling and all of that.”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Where you’re too nice,” he says. “I just want to hold you.”

“Then hold me, Eddie. You never need permission to hold me,” you whisper back, sighing as his arm comes to loop around your waist and tug you flush against his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

Your fingers drag slowly around his bare forearm, feeling gooseflesh pimple the surface of his skin. “For what happened. For what Chance did. For eighty six. For all the people who have been unkind to you. I wish they could all see what I see.”

You roll over then, seeking his face in the dark. His eyes are molten honey, soft in a way that has your fingers seeking the warmth of his chest over his tee shirt, feeling the divots and lines of his abdomen against fingertips. He’s lean and lithe and perfectly yours, with a heart that melts yours.

He just never sees it that way. But you suppose that’s what loving someone means. It's choosing them, even when they don’t choose themselves. It’s the good and bad days, not just the ones that are bright shades of orange, pinks and reds behind rose-colored glasses. It’s standing by them no matter the circumstances, supporting them fully. It’s the whole hearted acceptance that resides in your heart for him.

For who he was, who he is now, and who he will be.

“I’m happy you know now,” he says, rubbing a thumb along the bump of your chin affectionately. “I’m tired of being nervous. I’m tired of the constant looking over my shoulder and running. It’s been almost three years.”

“It takes time, Eddie.”

Your fingers reach up to cup the curve of his jaw, dancing along the scarring there. It still kills you to know he’d been broken and on the brink of death in the middle of this other world that resides beneath your own.

That he had been inches from death and still held on, only to find the world outside just as cruel as the one that nearly killed him.

“What you’ve been through—what you’ve all been through,” you start, exhaling as his forehead drops closer to your own, pressing there to linger. “It changes you. There’s no way it couldn’t. And yet you’re all still living, you’re all still loving and showing your past that it can’t rule you. You’re so brave. I don’t think you’re running anymore.”

“I don’t want to,” his fingers slide down along the slope of your face, the line of your throat, skipping along your collarbone. “You’re the first person I’ve opened up to in a long time. I’m afraid I’m going to fuck it up.”

“You’re the first person I’ve opened up to in a long time.” His hand slides down the slope of your shoulder, along your bicep. “We’re bound to make mistakes. But we get to make them together. It’s a learning process.”

“I’ve never been good at that,” he teases, chuckling lightly.

“It might be a steep learning curve, but I think we’ve got it.”

His fingers trail down your forearm, before tangling in the space between the two of you on the mattress. He lifts your hand and brings the center of your palm to his lips, presses a kiss to the center there, eyes lingering on your face.

“We’re good?” He asks against your skin, his eyes practically molten in the night.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

He sighs in relief, biting softly at the skin at the heel of your palm, earning a laugh from you. You’re about to protest when his face pushes into your collar bone and he practically drapes himself over you, his long limbs tangling with your own.

“What would your friends think knowing you’re basically a koala bear in bed?”

“I’ll deny it,” he mumbles against your skin, the outline of his smile making your stomach tumble.

Your fingers come to curl in the tangle of his dark mass of hair at the back of his head and hold him as close as he can possibly be to your frame. “I’m glad you stopped running, Eddie. I don’t think we’d have met if you didn’t. And I’m really glad we met. Really, really glad.”

His head lifts at your words, those dark eyes of his searching your face in the barely lit room. He brushes the bump of your chin again with his thumb, resting it in the dip below your lip. His eyes flicker southward, and you lean forward a bit, just as he presses his mouth to yours, silencing all other thoughts from your mind.

There’s only this moment, this bedroom sequestered away from the world, these hands holding you, this boy kissing you, whispering how much he cares for you, and your hearts full to the brim because the world lies ahead and it’s yours for the taking.

There is no more running.

The next morning dawns bright for a winter day.

The first official day, really.

It’s all pearlescent skies, overcast, pale clouds stretched in what looks like a blanket across it. It looks like it’ll snow, the news forecasting a foot of it just before the holidays.

It’s how you wake up beside Eddie that next morning. His arms slung low about your hips, his breath at your ear, the curtains parted enough to allow you the view of the backyard.

Your fingers dance along the tops of his hands, along the hair along his forearm.

Today feels different somehow.

Your relationship has taken a new turn. A hurdle overcome. Now there’s only a blank canvas—open spaces to fill with new memories.

Eddie also sleeps easily. The few times you’ve slept beside him he’s either not slept at all and waited for the sun to rise and you to head off to work to finally allow himself rest once the night bled into day, or has fallen asleep and woken up in the throes of a nightmare or tossed and turned in his restlessness.

Now his chest rises and falls steadily at your back, his mind quieting enough for him to do so. You shift slowly, gently enough so as to not wake him, onto your side to look up at him. He’s all smooth edges now. The wrinkle between his brows is gone, face unmarked by any thoughts warring in his mind, those pillowy lips of his parted slightly. He looks younger than his twenty three years. Your fingers trail up to touch his cheek, fingertips running along smooth pale skin, earning a sigh from the man.

A hand at your back presses you closer to him, a little ‘oof’ spilling from your lips as your face meets his chest and his head comes to rest at the top of yours.

“What day is it?” He mumbles against your head.

“Saturday. We’re both off.”

“Oh,” he hums thoughtfully. “So we have the day to do nothing.”

“No, we have the day to go shopping. You haven’t gotten any Christmas presents and we have four days until the big day,” you remind him. “We’re spending it at the Wheeler’s, remember?”

You’d anticipated spending the holidays with Eddie at the very least. Your own family was traveling to Florida to seek out warmer weather instead of the bitter cold of Hawkins. Had brushed off your invitation with a simple, “Next time, honey.”

Nancy’s invitation came later. She’d cornered you at a get together over at Steve’s and said she’d really like you to come. That her house was more than large enough and that her parents were looking to have everyone get together. The more the merrier.

You were over the moon about it. Your first real “family” holiday season.

He only groans.

“It’ll be fun. We’ll spend the whole day together wrapping gifts and watching movies.”

“With Max.” He says it like he doesn’t enjoy her company, but you know he doesn’t mean it.

“Yes, with Max. She has shopping to do as well.”

He huffs out a laugh that warms your skin. “We have vastly different ideas of fun.” He pushes back just enough to drop a kiss to your forehead, before shifting up onto his elbows. “We should probably head downstairs soon. I hear them moving around in the kitchen. They’ll be looking for us.” He leans down to press his lips into the curve of your neck, sighing. “Just wanna stay here instead.”

For emphasis, he drops back down and hugs you tight, resting his head against your collar bone.

In the end, you win out, managing to extricate Eddie long enough to dress and ready for the new day. In the kitchen, Steve stands over the stove, working up some breakfast, while Max and Robin sit at the kitchen table, faces impassive as the two of you slip back into the room. When they notice the way his hand brushes your back as he slides a chair out and you move to take a seat, the mild discomfort fizzles and conversation resumes.

“Did you two sleep well last night?” Steve asks, waving his spatula like a sword for emphasis. “It’s almost ten.”

“Like a baby, Harrington.”

You snort at Eddie’s words, thanking Max as she hands you and Eddie steaming cups of coffee just as she knows you like them. You thank her, smiling warmly.

“You two kiss and make up? Because I’m not about to spend the day with you two pouring at each other non stop,” Max asks, nonplussed.

You choke a little on your coffee.

Eddie’s face hardens.

“Red.”

“What?”

She shrugs, biting into a strawberry as Steve starts shoveling breakfast onto everyone’s plates.

Your chest warms.

In the end you manage to get all the shopping you need to do finished.

It’s not without its struggles, however.

Max and Eddie separate are two different storms.

Max with her fiery, sometimes explosive energy. Not to mention that deadpan that endears you to her, her open opinions, the brashness in which she lives her life.

And then there’s Eddie. Charismatic and explosive like her, all frenetic energy as he moves in and out of stores, looking for the perfect gifts for those he cares about most.

She urges him to hurry up, he barks back at her to let him think.

It’s a constant back and forth that has you both amused and frightened, because you’re never quite sure if they’re seconds away from fighting in the mall. Onlookers question if the two of them are okay, to which you mutter back “siblings” and they nod in understanding, like they know exactly what that implies.

And later, as the three of you return to his dimly lit apartment, illuminated only by the Christmas tree the two of you lovingly decorated together, you bask in the warmth of their familial bond. The way the two of them curl up together on the couch watching The Grinch Who Stole Christmas as you work on putting together something to eat for dinner. Every so often you glance over your shoulder, catching the way Eddie’s arm curls around the younger teen, how she seeks out his warmth.

It dawns on you—the depth of this moment. These two souls are so willingly open to allow you into their lives. Into their hearts. It’s taken time, months really, and the fact they trust you wholeheartedly now is not lost on you. You’ve never had a close family. Always absent, leaving you to your own devices.

You understand Max and Eddie are a family now, bound by unexplainable trauma, and yet they are family all the same. And in a way, though you wouldn’t voice it to them right now, watching them from afar like this…them allowing you into the safety of this moment…it almost feels like family for you, too.

This overwhelming sense of belonging that curls around your insides, makes them warm, brings a wave of tears to your eyes. Eddie catches the glitter on your lashes, untangling himself from Max just as you dip your head into your shoulder, ladle spinning through your freshly made sauce, trying to hide yourself from his sight.

“Hey, hey. Don’t you hide from me,” he urges, tapping at your cheek, earning a watery laugh from you.

“‘M fine,” you mumble, sniffling noisily. The tears recede and lift your gaze to his to prove it to him, but Eddie remains at your side, curling an arm around your hip to drag you close. “Really, I promise.”

He presses his forehead into your cheek. “Let me see that smile.” You snort as his lips smack a kiss there, loud enough to draw Max’s attention.

You hear her scoff, her drawl of distaste, but there’s a smile on her face all the same.

“Just feeling really happy is all,” you reassure him, a smile sliding onto your face.

He slides a hand down your arm and curls his fingers into your own, squeezing your tangled digits. “I know what you mean.”

The three of you eat your chicken parmigiana in comfortable silence, Eddie only groaning every so often in enthusiasm over the fact he’s being fed. You snort, knowing very early on in your friendship that the best way to Eddie Munson’s heart was through his stomach.

Later, it’s Max and you sitting at the kitchen table wrapping gifts as you walk Eddie through baking a tray of cookies. You’ve already successfully wrapped the gifts you all got for Wayne, as well as the smaller gifts for the kids and your friends. Eddie had told you he’s terrible at wrapping gifts, at which you had told him it’s not about the wrapping but the fact love was put into the package. But he reassures you all the same he’ll be better put to use doing something else. So you’d set him up with some baking supplies in his small kitchen, and gathered things for you and Max to get started with.

“Small round circles,” you tell him, watching his fingers hesitantly roll dough within his palms, now bare from their usual rings.

“He’s really got the easier job,” Max grumbles.

She’s been…struggling, to say the least. Every so often she curses under her breath when a tab of tape gets stuck to her fingers instead of the package, or she doesn’t have enough paper to cover a box because she underestimated. You try to assist her as much as she’ll allow, but she reassures you over and over again she’s fine (she’s not) and that she doesn’t need help (she does).

“Why is that, Red?” Eddie asks, the line of flour on his cheek a slash of white against his face.

And there on the table, in a mess of crinkly red paper and endless tabs of tape keeping things positioned in place, lies one of Lucas’ gifts.

She holds it up with an uneasy laugh and Eddie tries to hide his own chuckles into the lip of his coffee cup.

It’s not perfect, no, but this moment is.

The Wheeler’s truly go all out for the holidays. Upon entering their home, Eddie’s palm in your own, your eyes are drawn to the endless holiday decorations. Their tree is dressed to the nines, all wide and fluffy branches, glowing lights, endless ornaments that twinkle against green branches.

There are lights twined around all the railways and banisters, illuminating the room in a pale glow. There are centerpieces on all their tables, little candles with tiny wreaths around the bases, the smell of pine filling your nostrils as you take a turn about the place.

Karen Wheeler is there in a flurry, ready to take your jackets. “I hope the drive wasn’t too bad, sweetie,” she says to Eddie, brushing the snow from his shoulders.

It’s been snowing all afternoon. A few inches now blanket the streets of Hawkins, and though it did provide for a harder drive, you find that it only adds to your experience in town with the people you love. A true white holiday season.

Last year you’d been somewhere tropical, in a bathing suit on the beach, sipping a margarita funded by your parents. Now Karen moves about you and helps you slip out of your jacket, coming around front to look at you, a giant smile blooming across her face.

“You’re a doll! Eddie, she’s so beautiful.” She turns to him, then glances your way. “Come on in. Be a dear and help me with the table, would you? Nancy, your friend is here!”

It’s not long before you’re put to work, setting up table placements, smiling and waving every time another arrival comes through the front door.

Dinner is warm and bright. Full of laughter, full of quiet conversation and guests asking to pass the pasta, a roll, the chicken. It’s memories told about the kids through the years, Hopper regaling you with moments that make El flush deep scarlet in embarrassment. It’s Max leaning into Eddie when she grows a little morose, and him curling an arm around her shoulder to whisper against her ear because he knows what she’s feeling. It’s Wayne crying later when Eddie gives him a new mug that says “World’s Best Dad” and Max rushing over to tackle you and Eddie when you give her the tickets to a concert she’d been talking about taking Lucas to.

All around the room people pass around gifts, room full, hearts fuller.

Charlotte and Steve slip away after a while to go kiss beneath the mistletoe, Nancy and Jonathan hold one another close on the couch, Robin and Vickie glance lovingly at one another as Vickie holds a new sweater up to her chest.

The kids thank Karen for their new socks, knitted hats, and warm mittens.

You smile as Eddie slides your new necklace around your neck, a locket with a picture of the two of you on one side, and a picture of him on the other, just so you’ll always have him close.

He kisses you and tells you his thanks over the new cassette tapes and guitar strings you'd gotten him, the new fantasy books he’s been meaning to read, and a couple of things for his new campaigns he’s been dreaming up.

“Hey, Eddie,” you tell him, as people retreat to the dessert table and dining area, leaving the living room mostly unattended.

He brushes your hair back into place and trails his finger over the locket. “Yeah, sweetheart.”

“I have another gift for you—and before you get upset, it’s little. It’s…well, here.” You slide the little pouch into his hand, the drawstrings pulled tight.

Tentative fingers move to open the little bag, dropping the item inside into his open palm. His head tilts to the side, shifting the key with a fingertip. “What’s this?”

“It’s a key. To my apartment. So you always know you’re welcome. And also because…all my life I’ve been running from reality. Bouncing between place to place so I don’t have to really get to know people. Trying to protect my heart because I didn’t want to get hurt. Never really allowing anyone to get all that close. Until I came here…and met you.”

“I’m not understanding.”

You shift closer to him where you sit on the floor, your knee brushing his own as you lift the key and dangle it in the air between you two. “I thought about it. About the shop, about the friends I’ve made here, and how I feel about you and I want to stay. I’m going to stay in Hawkins.”

Home.

You’re finally home.

And the slow smile that starts to spread across Eddie’s lips as he finally understands is all you need to see to know you’ve made the right choice.

His eyes shine with the reflection of Christmas tree lights, and swim with affection for you.

Home.

You’re staying here in Hawkins, staying with him, choosing this.

So if his voice wobbles a little, you say nothing of it, because he’s glowing. “That’s…that’s the best gift you could have given me.”

You curl the key into both your hands and squeeze tight, the imprint of it cool against your skin.

But it’s the easiest decision you’ve made in a long time.

“Merry Christmas, Eddie.”

Hawkins feels even more like home the next afternoon.

It comes unexpectedly, as most things do, with the door blowing open from the cold winter air, bringing Eddie along with it. His head is bent down, looking at something within his jacket. You’re worried he’s hurt from the way he’s cradling his side, but what you find instead makes you pause.

Hidden within the side of his jacket is a silvery ball of fur, with a tiny button nose, two dark eyes, and a set of ears that look funny on its small head.

“Eddie, what is that?” You ask, already knowing your answer, but wanting to hear your boyfriend fess up all the same.

He tucks it closer to his side and mutters, “Nothing.” The kitten gives a tiny meow and Eddie melts, his dark eyes growing softer by the moment as one of those ringed fingers comes to rub along the furry head.

You take a step closer, glancing into his jacket to see the little one. It peers out curiously, leaning into Eddie’s side as if it knows that he’s his protector already. “It’s not nothing because it looks like a kitten. A living, breathing kitten.”

Eddie rubs the tiny head again. “That’s because itisakitten.”

“What was that?”

“It is a kitten,” he says simply, pulling the jacket away to hold the baby in front of him.

“Why is there a kitten in my apartment?” You step closer, stroking a finger along one of the too-big ears. The kitten purrs and leans into the touch.

He rubs a thumb along the tiny little spine and says, “Well, you see, I was walking over here from work and I heard this tiny little thing meowing by the dumpster. And I had to pick it up. It was calling my name.”

You pause in your gentle stroking, and the kitten's eyes pop open. “It was saying Eddie?”

He nods, and you move to rub underneath its chin. “Yes, so clearly, you should have heard it.”

“Eddie…” you warn, just as a tiny, sandpaper tongue drags along your fingertip.

You melt a little bit, and Eddie takes note.

“My apartment doesn’t allow pets. But this apartment is yours. Fully and completely yours.”

“Eddie no.” And as much as your mind screams no, the kitten stares at you and your resolve crumbles all the more.

“Look at it. How can you deny this face?” He holds the kitten up beside his face.

And you know he’s talking about denying the kitten, but the look on Eddie’s face is just as hard to say no to. All pouty lips, bit doe eyes, lashes batting at you obnoxiously.

So it really should come as no surprise to you when the two of you spend the next day at the vet with the kitten (a boy, they tell you) and then the pet store after (Eddie tells you he needs toys, though you tell him food is more important) with a very giddy Eddie who spends way more money than he really needs to to spoil his new “son.”

Later that evening, after you’ve all eaten (kitten included) you sit around on the floor as Eddie rolls a ball toward the little one and grins widely as it pats a tiny little paw against the surface until the bell inside jingles.

You’ve been like this for hours, taking turns showing the little one new things, figuring out which toys he likes best, getting him used to the two of you and his new home.

“It is really cute,” you say as it comes to curl up in Eddie’s lap, sound asleep.

“He’s really cute,” Eddie agrees, running a gentle hand along its back.

“What do we name him?”

“He was chewing on my buttons in the car. How about Chewbacca? Get it?”

You laugh, incredulous. “Chewbacca? Eddie, this is our son.”

He snorts at that. But you suppose this is your fur-child now. Both of yours.

“Yes, I understand that, and I happen to think Chewbacca is a wonderful name,” he says plainly, not quite getting the issue here.

“He doesn’t even look like Chewbacca. He’s silver.” You rub at the little head, leaning over to kiss the tiny nose.

“How about Chewy for short? Chewbacca is his full government name, though. Chewbacca Munson.”

“What if I wanted him to have my last name?”

“We can hyphen.”

“Wow, I’m surprised you compromised that quickly.”

He shrugs, leaning over to kiss you on the temple. “It doesn’t slip my mind you’re keeping him here. Thank you for indulging a childhood wish of mine to have a pet.”

You snort, but your grin is megawatt. “You’re lucky I l—like you so much.”

Your friends are inside, the sound of music and chatter drifting from the opened patio door. The countdown to the new year is set to start soon, but you’re staring up at the sky, Eddie’s arms low around your waist, his chin against your shoulder as the two of you stargaze. He reminds you of the constellations he’s already shown you, then starts to point out the newer ones you’re not familiar with.

You’ve been like this for a while now. Him holding you close, keeping you warm, your breaths curling in the winter air. There’s a whole party happening just feet away, and yet you’re exactly where you want to be the most.

“They’re going to be looking for us soon,” you whisper, though you find you don’t really care.

A particularly loud laugh echoes from inside, the outline of Steve and Charlotte’s forms illuminated across from you as Robin tells them a story with a wide smile on her pretty features.

She waves and you wave back, returning your eyes to the stars, to the boy who you’d believe hung them if he told you so.

“Hey, sweetheart?” His voice is quiet. Timid.

You turn around in his arms to face him, his lips a little chapped from the cold, that too-big jacket of his becoming your blanket as he cradles you in the circle of his arms.

“Yeah?”

“There was something I wanted to talk to you about. Something kind of serious,” he says, and you feel your lips tug southward. At the furrow of your brows, he shakes his head, cupping the side of your cheek with his hand. “Wait—maybe not the best wording. I, uh, it’s serious in a good way.”

“In a good way…” you repeat slowly, chewing idly at your bottom lip.

Now his brow furrows, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’m not…I’m messing this up. Okay, I’m going to just come out and say it…”

“You’re worrying me,” you mutter, a little breathless, hand coming to rest over his hand comfortingly.

“I…”

“Hey lovebirds, wanna stop sucking face? The countdown starts in five minutes!” Steve shouts outside, Charlotte shushing him with a hand on his shoulder. Her giggly apology reaches your ears and the two of you turn to find them staring your way.

“Can we get some privacy?” Eddie calls back, face pinching in his frustration.

“Come on, Stevie. Leave them alone,” Charlotte agrees, tugging at his arm. “We’ll catch up later. Sorry, guys.”

The patio door slides shut once more and you’re left alone with your favorite boy. He huffs out a sigh, sliding his arms back around your form, breathing a cloud between the two of you.

You’re not expecting him to just blurt out his next sentence. Not expecting the words at all, and yet they’re the same words you’ve been holding to yourself for safe keeping, for that perfect moment like this one. The moment where it’s the two of you, overwhelmed in one another, hidden away in a stolen moment captured in time.

Because it’s New Years Eve and Eddie’s just said, “I’m in love with you.”

Because it’s New Year’s Eve and your tears prick, voice a broken sob as you whisper back, “I’m in love with you, too.”

It’s New Year’s Eve and you’re spending it with the person you want to go make countless memories with in the next three hundred and sixty five days. You want all his days, good and bad. To brave the storms should they come, to chase away his nightmares, to rejoice in the happy times. You want to wake to him in the morning and kiss him goodnight before bed. You want to dance in the kitchen as you cook together, to taste his sugar sweet lips on those days you try something new to bake. You want those new adventures, dinners with Wayne and Max, play time with Chewbacca. You want the game nights with your friends, to listen to him play Dungeons and Dragons with the kids, to go on that camping trip Steve, Robin and the others talked about come summer time.

You wanted it all, want it all, with the boy standing before you with all the love in the world behind his eyes.

“I’m in love with you,” you repeat, just as the sound of the countdown spills from inside.

Ten…

He curls a hand around your face once more.

Nine…

You brush at the hair near his shoulders, feeling him warm beneath your skin.

Eight…

He tugs you closer, always closer.

Seven…

You slide your hands into his jacket, hands resting against his back.

Six…

He tells you he’s in love with you once more.

Five…

You press your forehead to his, smiling up at him.

Four…

He glances down at you through those dark lashes.

Three…

You feel his breath dance along your bottom lip.

Two…

You wish him a Happy New Year.

One…

He kisses you as party poppers explode showers of confetti inside. Kisses you as shouts fill your ears. Kisses you until butterflies dance to life in your belly, until fireworks dance behind your eyes, and the rest of the world falls away.

It all dissolves around you, and you’re just standing there in the arms of the man you love.

Nothing else matters.

All that matters is this moment, this boy, this love.

It starts, you suppose, in the car ride. The atmosphere has a new heaviness, a thrill that boils in the cabin. Your fingers slide through Eddie’s, toying with the rings resting cool from the winter air against your thigh. You’re not sure what possesses you. Not sure if it’s the happiness from the evening, the weight of his confession, the way your heart feels full to burst—but it has you feeling bolder, has you slowly trailing your fingers along your opposite thigh. A slow path, a gentle up and down, over and over again.

His eyes flash to yours, linger briefly on your exposed flesh, the warmth of your skin. You catch the way his tongue dips to his lip, the pinch of his teeth against skin, before flashing back to the road. You’re almost home, only minutes now, but you’re itching for touch. For his touch in particular, warm against your skin, along the outline of your leg muscle, inside your thigh, at your center where you want him most.

You feel the first little brush of his fingers as they slip free from yours, the tantalizing trail of them, along the thigh nearest to him. A gentle drag of skin against skin, venturing higher every time. His fingertips tease the hem of your ruched satin dress, now bunched near your hip, leaving only inches between where he lingers now and your clothed center. There is a question in his eyes, a pass of chocolate brown eyes in the night as he looks your way, and you dip your head, understanding his meaning.

His fingers start a new exploration, a curious slide along your inner thigh, a gentle sweep that leaves gooseflesh in its wake. It’s unfamiliar to him and you, and yet it elicits a soft sigh from your lips, head falling back against the headrest. Taking this as all the coaxing he needs, he pushes up higher, halting at the edge of your panties. There is a brief moment where he pauses, and you wonder if he’s about to freeze up and end this before you’ve even had a chance to begin the night, but he dissuades those fears when he shifts and presses his middle finger against the spot of slick already forming against the gray material.

He curses, his eyes sliding up to the ceiling in a silent prayer, hand tightening in a white knuckle grip against the steering wheel. “Wanna touch you.”

“Then touch me, Eddie,” you breathe out, shuddering as he pushes the material to the side and slides a finger through your folds, dragging in a curious line.

It's a wonky, unpracticed pattern that he tries once…then twice, and pulls back.

“Show me. Show me what you like.”

It sounds choked.

A little gasp, a soft plea.

Understanding what he means, you reach down to join him, dragging a line down your center, swirling in the pool of slick at your entrance before circling the bead of your clit. His eyes dart from the road to where your finger starts to move in small circles, toes already curling within your heels.

He watches like that for a few moments. Captures the way your chest rises and falls with each sweep of your finger, the heaviness of your breath, the shudder of each pass of air through lungs. And it doesn’t take long before he’s replacing your fingers with his own, following the same path you’d taken. Dragging those thicker digits from your entrance up to your clit, starting the slow slide of his fingers along hot flesh, murmuring, “You look so pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, baby.”

Your answer is a hum, a broken whisper of, “Right there, Eddie. Just like that.”

You’re already close.

You feel the beginnings of your orgasm beckoning, dragged closer by your own ministrations, and swifter now with Eddie’s fuller fingers, your hand coming out to grab at his thigh. You can’t help the whine that spills from you as that heat coils higher in your belly, the rubber band pulling taut, ready to snap as he moves faster under your guidance.

Your fingers dig down where they rest against his flesh. His eyes sweep back over to you, molten and dark in the moonlight, stuttering along where he’s touching you in a way he’s never done so before. He looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, mesmerized by the way you look in this moment. It’s terrifying and exciting, eyes shut against the feeling. Flames lick at you as he pulls into the back of your coffee shop and parks the van. You barely register the click of his key pulling from the ignition before his mouth is on yours, face crashing into you from over the center console. You’re immediately moaning into his mouth and driving your hips up further into his hand to seek more friction as the rubber band snaps and sweet release spills into your system.

“Oh shit,” he breathes against your lips, brushing kiss after kiss along your face as your hips fall back against the seat, your eyes heavy as you try to catch your breath, looking up at him with a little laugh. “Was that good? I—”

You silence him with a kiss, whispering, “Inside,” against his skin.

He barely has a moment to lock the door before you’re grasping his hand and rushing him up the stairs, humming as the door locks close behind the two of you and you’re finally and blessedly alone. You both toe off your shoes as you maneuver your way over to the bed, connected at the mouth, hands reaching to grab at clothes, a clash of lips, tongues and teeth.

“Chewy, stay in your room. Your parents are busy!” Eddie scolds, the kitten in question already sound asleep in his little makeshift bed.

You giggle airily as the backs of your thighs hit your mattress, back falling into plush comforters as he crawls over you, walking you backward up the bed until your head rests upon your mountain of pillows.

“Say it again?” He asks, marking a path down your cheek, along your neck, pulling a whimper from you as he sucks a hickey into your collarbone.

“I’m in love with you, Eddie.”

He’s kissing you again, your head swimming with the ecstasy of the moment. It’s slower this time. Not like in the car where it’s a frantic, wild thing. There’s all the time now in the world to taste, tease and explore. His tongue sweeping low against your lip, sliding along yours, licking into your mouth with slow, languid kisses.

He moans into your mouth, a sweet thing you swallow as his body slides closer to yours, the beat of his heart a tattoo against your sternum. A frantic flutter you slide your palm up between the two of you to feel, tethering yourself to this moment—to this man.

His guitar string callused fingers drag a familiar path along your thigh, sliding your dress up higher over your hips, baring you to him once more. His fingers come to slide between your folds, still puffy from your orgasm, making you shudder and mewl against his skin. Hips move upward at the sensation, seeking friction, seeking him.

In your impatience, you fist both sides of your dress in your hands, Eddie’s hands falling away from you long enough to let you sit up and pull the material up and over your body. You feel bared to him, already nearly naked against your mattress because the dress had called for no bra lines, and a forearm moves to drape across your chest.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie coos, cupping the side of your cheek. “You’re so beautiful. There’s no need to hide with me. I love you. I love you so much, sweetheart.”

Your arm drops away and he replaces it with his lips.

This part he knows.

This part he’s practiced on you already.

One hand comes up to knead one breast, while he pastes wet kiss after wet kiss to the other, tongue laving over your flesh, sucking into supple skin until you’re bucking up against his clothed thigh, rubbing your center against the fullness of it—seeking something, anything, to satisfy the need swirling in your gut.

“Come here,” you nearly beg, curling your fingers in the hair at the back of his head, tugging him back upward to your lips. You kiss him soundly, mewling as his thigh shifts and his hips roll forward, the hardness of him rubbing just right against your core, robbing you of all air. “Missed you.”

“I’m right here,” he chuckles, fingers dancing along your thigh. “Not going anywhere.”

“Want to touch you, Eds. But only if you’re ready.”

He leans back onto his haunches above you, hair a wild mess, chest rising and falling swiftly. He looks beautiful like this, just as he always does, all dark eyes and swirling heat living in them. They’re blown out now in his desire, in a way you’ve not seen him before. Heat flares at the thought it’s meant only for you, reserved only for you at this moment, just as his fingers reach for the hem of his shirt and hesitate.

“I can shut the light,” you whisper, hand coming to smooth up and down his thigh.

You want him to be comfortable. Fully at ease in a moment you know is already nerve wracking for him. It’s his first time with you, but it’s also his first time baring himself fully to another human after what transpired two years ago. His eyes shift to the left, to a faraway spot on the wall, like he’s mulling it over.

You stretch your arm out toward your lamp when a hand curls around your wrist like a bracelet. Eddie’s voice breaks into the silence with a soft, “No, leave it.”

He reaches behind his back and tugs the shirt up and over himself, slipping it off to toss it into the far corner somewhere. He waits. Waits for you to scream and run, to push him away you’re sure, what with the way his mouth settles into a firm line, his hands shaking where they rest at his thighs.

You’re familiar with his scars. At least the ones on his face, his neck, the spattering of them along his arms. The ones that litter his torso break your heart all over again for the boy on the floor of the Upside Down. The boy who had been close to death, and lived to tell the tale. The boy with the biggest heart you’ve ever known.

You lift yourself up to sit, hand coming up to hover over his abdomen, gaze flashing up to his momentarily. “Can I?”

He dips his head once, releasing a shaky exhale as your fingers trail along the first scar along his abdominal muscles, then further up along the two smaller ones to your left.

“Do they hurt?” You feel his stomach jolt as you drift back southward again, the softness of his abdomen dancing beneath your fingertips. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“No, not anymore. Not for a while now,” he manages to get out, watching your fingers where they linger against him, one of his hands sliding along the crown of your head comfortingly.

His left side, just over his heart, is the worst. A ridge of patchwork done by the plastic surgeons at the hospital, all puckered flesh, hills, bumps and divots. The demobats had tried to take him from you, tried to rob you of ever knowing this man, and your eyes water as you curl your palm over his ribcage, catching the soft shudder of his breath as his eyes fall closed.

You love him.

You love him fully and completely. Even in this body he resents, because it houses his soul. And it’s his soul you long for, want to entwine yourself to, want to cherish for as long as he’ll allow you. Even in this body that he rejects because it no longer looks as it used to, because it’s this body that has held you, has loved you, respected you.

It’s him.

You’ve never loved another person like this before, this feeling of fullness that makes your head swim. It drives you to lean forward, brushing a kiss over his heart, feeling him warm beneath your touch. His hand comes up to curl against the back of your head, your head turning so your ear rests over his sternum, arms looping around his back.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, as those ringed fingers curl around your chin and tip your head enough for him to kiss you sweetly.

When you pull away, you hear the first whimper fall from him. A choked garble that threatens to cleave you in two. Tears slide down his cheeks, along the bump of his cheek, salty tracks you brush away with your hands.

“I’m crying during sex and we haven’t even had sex yet,” he says pitifully, sniffling loudly.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, thumbing at his scarred cheek. “It’s okay. If you want to stop, we stop. We don’t have to do this now.”

“I want to. I really want to.”

After that it’s a swirl of movement. You slide your underwear down and kick them off as he moves to clamber off the bed, fumbling with his belt buckle and struggling in the process. You jump up to help him, his hands falling to his sides, as you unhook the belt and tug it free from his jeans, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. You toy with the button on his jeans next, earning a sharp hiss from him as the zipper slides down and you accidentally brush him beneath his boxers, heart thudding when you find him hot and hard already. Swallowing, you watch as he wiggles the jeans down his thighs and stands there in nothing more than a pair of boxers, leaning across the space to kiss you once more.

You can feel the way he trembles, nervousness bubbling as he lowers you back against the mattress, elbows on either side of your head so he can cradle you. Your fingers trail along the hem of his boxers, eliciting a sigh from him, before they slip further within and wrap around silky hot flesh. He’s thick, thicker than anyone you’ve been with. You wonder for a moment if he’ll fit as you drag your thumb along his slit, collecting the bead of precum there. The curse he lets out has you slowly moving your palm up and down his length, watching him pinch his bottom lip between his teeth, shuddering above you.

His eyes flash open then, head shaking as he reaches to grip your hand where it rests against the base of him. “Wait, wait, wait. I’m gonna blow if you do that. I’m already scared I’m only going to last ten seconds. That’ll have me tapped out in five, baby.”

You snort as he leans forward to brush a kiss against your breast, your hand falling away from him to curl instead in the comforter beneath you. Emboldened, Eddie reaches down and slides his boxers off, kicking them into one of the various piles strewn about your floor now. He pops out stiff and ready, your eyes barely having time to take in the sight of him before he’s kneeling back down onto the bed, stealing a soft kiss that has you feeling warm like honey, all sticky sweet and languid.

“Do you have a condom? I didn’t think to bring one. I wasn’t…I didn’t know we’d be doing this, not that I’m sad about it. I’m actually really happy and—”

“I’m on the pill,” you explain, and the furrow between his brows softens, head slowly nodding. “But I have some right here.”

You reach over into your bedside table and he reaches over to pull a foil from the box. You watch him open it with shaky hands, chuckling to himself as it almost falls out of the packaging.

You reach out to see if he needs assistance sliding it on, muttering as you watch him roll the condom down himself. “I got them at the store the other day.”

“Oh—well that’s good. Safety first and all of that,” he says, chuckling nervously. You shift a bit beneath him, moving up further, making room for both your bodies, as his hand marks a slow path along your ribcage. “This is where my experience stops.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I’ve got you. Just remember we have nothing but time.”

“Okay,” he says, voice a little wobbly as he lowers himself against you, grabbing himself in hand. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready since we were in the car,” you laugh, making him smile as he slowly drags himself up and down through your slick, bumping your clit in a way that has your eyes clamping shut, voice hitching in a whine. “Eddie.”

He understands your breathy plea, sliding lower until his tip rests at your entrance, full and warm as he presses in slowly. You both shudder out a moan, your fingers coming up to grip his shoulder at the slight burn of the unexpected fullness of him.

He’s babbling your name into your throat, gasping at the feel of you fluttering around him, muttering how much he loves you into your neck. And you’re rolling your hips up further into him, wanting to be full of him, wanting to be as close as you’ve ever been until he’s cursing against your skin and burying himself to the hilt.

“Oh, hell. Okay. I’m inside of you.”

You snort, shoving playfully at his side as you adjust to him. “That’s typically how this works.”

He swallows thickly, hips rocking shallowly against yours. “Can I move?”

“Yeah, hon. Please.”

He starts off uneasily. Moving a little too swiftly against you as his human instinct takes its time to kick in. You grip at his shoulder, trying to steady him, gasping into his neck at the still delicious drag of him along your walls.

“Hey, Eddie,” you whimper, and his eyes pop open to look down at you.

“Oh no. Baby, I’m not hurting you, am I?” He stills inside you, hands coming to rest on either side of your face, those dark eyes round with fear.

“No…no. I just wanted to say go slow,” you whisper, mewling into his mouth as he does exactly that. Pulls back gently and rolls his hips forward in a way that has your eyes rolling back a bit, shuddering out a breath. “Y-yeah. Like that—just like that.”

“Is this good? Want it to be good for you, because—” He groans into your shoulder as your hips rise up from the bed to meet him, hands sliding up and over his back, thigh curling around his hip to keep him closer. “Shit. You feel so good. Like you were…like you were made for me.”

“You are.” You whine as he palms your breast, kissing the corner of your mouth, rocking against you in a way that has you seeing stars. If he kept going, if he kept hitting that spot over and over again—“Doing so good, Eddie. Making me feel so good, so full of you—mmmm—”

But it’s all over soon after your praises fill the room. You clamp your nails down as his shoulder as his hips move more erratically, sweat on his forehead pooling, his teeth pinching at his lip as his eyes slam shut.

“I’m close. I’m so close, I’m sorry baby—”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Just let go, I got you.”

His thrusting grows erratic as his chest falls forward and presses you down into the mattress. You feel him give one more final snap of his hips before he comes to a halt, trembling against your form with a curse. He’s gasping as he spasms inside, riding out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

He remains against you like that for a moment, panting heavily against your skin, pasting kiss after kiss into your sternum before he finally pulls out of you with a low whine.

You gasp out a breath and slide a palm over your racing heart, watching him walk over to your bathroom to discard the condom. When he returns, he loops an arm over your waist, fingers wandering against your belly, the curve of your hip, the tops of your thighs.

You shudder out a breath as he grazes your center, asking, “What are you doing?”

“You didn’t…finish, right?”

He leans down to press the softest of kisses to your lips, the answering shake of your head all he needs before he runs a finger along your slit, a gentle drag from your entrance before following the pattern against your sensitive clit you showed him in the car.

“Eddie…” Your heel shifts to press against the mattress, thigh falling open, baring yourself fully to him. “It’s okay. Really.”

“Wanna kiss you there, sweetheart.”

You chuckle heartily at his brazenness as he starts dropping kiss after kiss along your breasts, down the line of your sternum, across your belly where he sucks a little hickey into the skin below your belly button until your chuckling against his smiling mouth, his hand coming up to curl with yours resting by your hip. He gives you a little squeeze and laces your fingers with his as he starts kissing along the tops of your hip bones, the span of skin between them that makes you gasp against your pillow, head rolling back.

He doesn’t stop the slow torture there. You’re not sure where he’s learned this, but you’re silently thanking them with a plea as his lips mark a scorching path along the insides of your thighs, his other hand curling around the meat of your leg to open you further to him, nose tickling your sensitive flesh until you’re shifting your hips against the mattress, earning a nip against the inside of your thigh.

“Eddie, please,” you whimper, breath robbed from your lungs as he finally slides the flat of his tongue from your center up to your clit, drawing a tentative circle there.

“Tell me what to do. What you like. Wanna make it good.”

“To the left. And just like that, keep doing that.”

You’re a shaking mess as his ringed hand leaves yours and joins his tongue, prodding where you want him most, and you practically cry out your “yes” as he slips a finger inside.

“Like that, like that,” you babble, hand dropping down to rest at his full head of curls. When his second finger eases in, you feel your walls clamp down around him, his answering chuckle vibrating against your sensitive flesh. “If you curl your fingers like that—ah, yeah, just like that—”

You break off into a sob as he mimics your ‘come hither’ motion, his fingers moving in tandem with his tongue in a way that has your legs shaking on either side of his head, fingers twisting tight into his curls. You’re afraid you’ve hurt him at first, whipping your hand back, but he reaches up and slides it back into place, pressing your open palm against his hair so you can tug as you teeter closer and closer toward the edge.

“I’m so close, Eddie. You’re doing so good,” you pant, white flashing behind your eyes as he crooks those fingers against the part of you that has the flame flickering in your gut burning brighter and brighter, coil growing tighter as his tongue works you, his own sighs after a particularly hard tug of his hair against your center vibrating down to the tips of your toes.

The flames dance higher.

Burn brighter.

Become all consuming as tears prick in the corner of your eyes.

Because it’s Eddie.

Eddie Munson, the man who walked into your coffee shop all those months ago. The man with the quiet soul and loud mind. The man who cracked into a smile at your silly factoids and your ridiculous jokes. The man who had first been your friend and became so much more. Who tended to you when you were sick, helped make your house a home, created a little family with you by adding Chewy into the mix.

The man who became a safe place to land. A shoulder to rest your head. A door to walk into at the end of the day, to seek shelter from a storm with, to love endlessly and be loved in return.

It’s him, and in a way you think it’s always been him.

You snap with a low keen, trembling as your orgasm rushes over you, Eddie’s head peeking up just enough to watch it roll over you as his fingers continue their gentle slide.

You writhe beneath him as pleasure hits a peak and settles back into a low simmer, his head coming up to kiss you on the lips when he finally pulls out and joins you near your pillow. Your hand comes up to rest at the back of his neck, holding him to you, your mouths moving slowly over one another, tongues licking into mouths, neither one of you wanting to part from the other.

You’re not sure how long you lay like that in the circle of his embrace, his arm around your waist, your bare chests pressed to one another, ankles tangled beneath bedsheets. All you know is you hate to see him go as he slips out from the bed once more, sliding on his discarded boxers, into your bathroom. You hear the water run momentarily before shutting off, his frame reappearing with a washcloth in hand.

He helps you clean in silence. His fingers gentle along your still sensitive flesh, punctuating each slide of damp cloth with a kiss against your temple, before tossing it into the heap of clothing strewn about your floor. After that is a slide of hands as he helps you up and off of your bed, slipping his sweater over your head and letting it fall into place at your thighs. Your fingers skirt his side, along his bare chest, as he leads you into your bathroom and the two of you get ready for bed in silence.

He’s just been inside you, wholly and fully, but all you can think of is how these moments are your favorites. The ones only you’re privy to. The way Eddie slides lotion over his scars to maintain the elasticity of his skin, the care he takes in washing his face thanks to Steve’s incessant urging, the snap of his hair tie as he pulls his hair away from his face.

You stand before him as you brush, his larger form swallowing yours, fingers coming to toy with the hairs at the nape of your neck, thumb brushing lightly against skin. And as you spit into the sink and flush water down the drain, he spins you in his arms and presses your backside against the counter, drawing you to your tippy toes as he kisses you soundly, swallowing your sigh of happiness.

“Ready for bed?” You ask, running your hands down his chest, curling along his sides.

And he is. You find as much as the two of you slip back into your blankets, him drawing you close to his chest, pressing a kiss to the slope of your shoulder. You barely have a chance to whisper goodnight before he’s shutting his eyes and slipping off into a deep sleep.

You bury yourself closer to him and follow him into rest.

Eddie’s sure he’s dead.

Has to be.

It’s the only explanation for the way he wakes with you resting against his chest, your mouth slightly parted, little sighs filling the air.

He has to be dead, because last night Eddie Munson was Hawkin’s resident twenty-three year old virgin, and now he’s no longer a virgin and in bed with the love of his life.

Only he’s not dead. He feels the throb of his heart in his ribcage, the sound of it rattling in his ears thanks to your otherwise silent apartment.

Last night feels like a wispy dream he made up in his mind. Your hands in his hair, your body closer than ever before to his, the way you gasped and moaned in his ear. The feeling of you wrapped around him, hips rising to meet him, driving him further and further over the edge. He pictures the look on your face in utter bliss, watching you writhe for him, bringing you to that peak and watching it rush over you, leaving you shaking in his arms with him as your anchor.

All his life he’d thought himself unworthy of love. His father hadn’t been around much—always in and out of jail, and when he was around his way of showing love was teaching him how to shotgun a beer and hot wire a car. His mother, god he loved his mother, but when his father fell deeper and deeper into his poor habits, she retreated to other things to fill her heart.

Wayne had been the one to give him a home, to give him shelter, to let him know what a family looked like. A real family, at least. And then there was Max. The rough and tumble girl from across the street, with a personality that matched the fiery hue of her hair. She showed him what it was like to love someone like your own kin. Like blood. To want to cover them, protect them from the world, keep them safe.

And then there was you. The girl who had walked into his life and changed the course of it. For two years he retreated into his shadows. Craved the darkness they provided, the safety of drawing away from others. Hiding, because it seemed easier than facing the world. For a while, he was content with his core group; the same kids who had been with him during the worst week of his life, stood by him when he needed it the most, loved him when he lay broken and battered in the hospital. When the town turned on him, even after he’d been exonerated, they were there to protect his name. To try and fight back the rumors that threatened to swallow him whole. They never saw him as a murderer, never saw him as anything but Eddie Munson, loved him beyond the whispers of those who wanted to see him fall.

Loved him beyond those who wanted to run him out of town, wanted to believe the lie that he had the heart to kill all those kids, wanted to put a blame on the fact half of Hawkins had been ripped apart and sunk into the hell that lingered beneath.

You walked in and changed all of that.

Loved him despite his shadows, coaxed him out of them, wanted to see the parts of him he desired to keep hidden. You called to him, a gentle whisper, those small gestures that slowly broke away at the walls he erected to keep others out. You were patient, a constant beam of light in his world, a gentle smile on the days where he hated himself more than words could ever say.

You loved him in the light.

Loved him proudly in public, despite the way people might have looked onward in stores. Loved him even after knowing what he had gone through in eighty six, loved him despite the scar ravaged body that lingered beneath his clothes.

You’d given him a home to place his heart within. A roof to keep it covered. Your hands are there to cradle it and hold it close. And he trusts you. Whole heartedly trusts you.

Smiles against the crown of your head as he recalls telling you he loved you the night before, the way tears like stars glittered on your lower lashes, the choked hiccup of your breath as you whispered back in a broken voice you loved him, too.

“Are you awake?” You mumble beside him, humming softly as your arms come to stretch above you. He aches at the feel of your chest pressing further into his, cock stirring to life at your hip when you lean over and kiss him soundly. “Oh, good morning to you too.”

“Shut up,” he laughs, feeling his cheeks warm. Only you’re pressing further into him, hips flush against him, making him shudder. “Too early.”

“Is it?” You practically simper the words and his chest tightens further, gasping at the feel of your fingers along his chest, down his abdomen, dancing along the thatch of hair at the base of him before curling your palm around him fully. “We have no plans, it’s just us…”

He reaches down to grab your hand, already missing the heat of you around him, and presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. Sighing, he leans up onto his elbows and stares down at your face. Beautiful, even freshly washed for bed, you’re so beautiful it stirs an ache deep within his chest.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

You lean up and brush your lips against his. Tentative at first, and then coaxing as you slip your tongue along his, breaking apart long enough to rasp out, “I love you, too.”

Soon it’s a flurry of movement. He slips out of his boxers, kicks them down around his ankles, and moves to shift between your thighs. He remembers you’re on the pill and grabs himself in hand, feeling you beckon him forward with a swivel of your hips as he dips himself to the slick already pooling at your center. This time, as he sheathes himself fully, he languishes in the mutual gasp that fills the spaces between the two of you. Nearly chokes on a sob as he rolls his hips forward and back and feels you shifting to meet him thrust for thrust. You chase your end together, a slow ebb and flow, a quiet that wraps around your hearts save for your mingling breaths and moans.

You mewl into his skin that you love him.

To keep going.

Right there, you gasp out, when he hits that spot that has your eyes rolling back in your skull. Hits it over and over again as you start to shake beneath him, your impending orgasm drawing closer and closer.

It’s not like last night. The nervous, awkward feeling of exploring new lovers for the first time. Today he relishes the feeling of you around him, of rocking his hips into yours, of drawing out your pleasure, watching your face pinch, listening to your sounds. He wants to memorize every one. Every look that passes along your features as he moves against you, pushing your head further and further into your pillow.

With every movement he tries to show you his love. Tries to kiss you in a way that pours every bit of him into you.

He wants you to know that you’re it, this is it, this moment and this girl.

He’s done running.

He’s found home.

He’s found you.

Today feels like making love. Up until this moment he thought it was a cheesy thing people said about sex. But now he knows it’s real, feels the severity of it as he holds you in his arms, safe and sound from the rest of the world.

“Fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever get over how beautiful you are.”

You only gasp his name in reply. Hands come to slide up along his back as he picks up his pace. Rolls his hips down into yours, hitting that spongy part of you that has your thighs trembling where they curl around his hips.

His forehead drops against yours, your eyes coming up to meet him as he tells you he loves you over and over again, hand curling tight with yours against the pillow beneath your head.

Forever.

For the first time, he wants that.

You shatter around him. Walls clamping down as you practically sob his name.

He’s not long after, moaning low and heavy into your skin, heart pounding in his ears. You whimper and writhe against him, as he slows in you, coming down from his own high.

He flops down onto his back and feels you shift beside him in the bed, coming to rest along his chest, hand trailing along his abdomen.

“Better?” He laughs, curling his arm beneath your head.

“Last night was perfect. Stop that.”

“Yes…yes it was. But this was better, no?”

You level him with a stare and he bursts out into laughter, waking Chewy who scampers over to hop in the bed with the two of you.

Your little family.

“Happy New Year, Eddie,” you whisper, reaching across to lace your fingers with his. “I have a feeling it’ll be a good one.”

“Happy New Year, sweetheart.”

Spring, 1991

“Baby showers are so weird,” Steve mutters, bringing the lip of his beer bottle to his mouth to take a sip.

The two of them stand near the door leading to the patio, glancing out to where Steve’s wife, Charlotte, sits in a circle of her closest friends who are all ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ over the dozens of new little girl outfits she’s received.

Steve continues, “Bunch of girls sitting around opening gifts for someone who isn’t even here yet.”

“Also kind of weird because it’s sort of like a ‘congratulations, your dick works’ celebration.”

“You two are disgusting,” Robin says. “Neanderthals. Babe, you live with this man?”

You’re at Robin’s side, wearing that dress that flutters around your thighs when you walk, looking pretty as ever. You still rob him of his breath even after the past two years.

“That I do,” you laugh, kissing him as you brush by to go grab more desserts from the countertop. “Have fun, boys!”

The two of you slip back out from where you came, Steve waiting until the door slides shut fully when he asks, “So when are you going to ask her? That ring has been burning a hole in your closet for weeks now.”

“Soon…” he says, watching as you walk around with a tray filled with cookies in your arms, passing them out to greedy guests. “I’m just waiting for the perfect moment.”

His first attempt has him sweating. Literal sweat dripping from his pores as the two of you sit at that too-ritzy restaurant Steve suggested you try. It’s not his scene, and it’s not yours. You prefer eating indoors, within the comfort of your now shared apartment, with Chewy always nearby to beg for table scraps (you always yell at him not to give him people food, but he’s quick to remind you he’s a growing boy).

This—the candles on the table, the multiple forks and spoons he’s not sure what to do with, the intricately folded napkins. He feels so out of place.

But the plan is as follows for the evening: the music will change to something soft and romantic just as the waiter walks out with your glasses of champagne and dessert. He’s requested a little note to be written in scrawling letters, set to read “will you marry me?” As you’re reading (and hopefully crying) he plans on dropping onto one knee and popping the ring box open.

It’s foolproof, Steve and Robin have reassured him only about fifty times now.

He just knows it needs to be perfect.

You deserve nothing less.

However, nothing ever goes quite as planned. You’re holding his hand, talking about the shop, when a table near you starts to shift. A trio of men start singing, actually singing, to the woman staring up wide-eyed at them, clearly enjoying a moment she’s been dreaming about. She’s a hysterical crying mess, Eddie’s horrified, and you look ready to sink into the ground from second hand embarrassment as one of the men steps forward and asks her to marry him in front of the whole room.

“Shit,” Eddie curses, and you pry your attention away long enough from the now frantically kissing couple to look over to him.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing, sweetheart,” he says, glancing up to where the waiter is standing with a tray holding your dessert and glasses.

He’s waiting for him, he realizes, to give the go ahead.

But now his head is spinning, because he’s definitely not singing to you, he’s not prepared any fancy speeches or grand gestures, and definitely won’t be topping that display.

He just wanted to get down on one knee and let the words pour out of him in the moment.

The plan comes to a halt even further when you huff out, “I understand the whole public engagement idea, but I don’t think that’s for me. I feel like…I don’t know, I’d want it to be more intimate. Just you and me. Us.”

It’s like a record scratch in his ears, lungs relieved of all air as he tugs on his collar because he’s choking now too.

Is the room getting hotter?

The waiter glances over and Eddie shakes his head stiffly, reassuring you he’s fine when your hand reaches out to cup his forearm.

“Check,” Eddie mouths to the man when you’re not looking.

So no, it didn't happen that day.

The second attempt fares worse than the first. You’re cooking beside him in the kitchen and he’s about to get down on one knee when the phone blares from the far wall.

The two of you stand close to the receiver when the familiar voice of Dustin fills Eddie’s ears, grating and frantic, like he’s recently run a marathon or something.

“Dustin Henderson, resident butthead, what do you want?” Eddie drawls, earning a soft shove from you where you stand beside him.

“Aren’t you twenty-five?”

“Some things never change,” he says, and he can practically hear the kids' eyes rolling in his skull on the other end. “Is someone dying, because I was kind of in the middle of something.”

“That’s disgusting and you should be ashamed of yourself,” Dustin groans.

“Not that kind of thing, you perv.”

“Look, I need help not being single and miserable…”

“That doesn’t sound like someone dying.”

“It might be soon if I don’t fix things with Suzie.”

“Okay, so how do you suppose—”

“Not from you! You’re not romantic,” Dustin continues, leaving Eddie a spluttering mess because he was, in fact, about to be romantic. Probably the most romantic he’s ever been in his life. So fuck him, he thinks. “I need your girlfriend.”

It didn't happen that day either.

The third attempt has you in the hospital, Eddie nearly wearing a hole into the ground as he asks the doctors a million and one questions. Is she going to be okay? What kind of medicine can she take? How long will she need to be on crutches for? Do they have to amputate? (He knows that one is a little dramatic, and he’s only asking because his brain is practically shaking in his skull, but he has to know).

You were taking a walk through your favorite park, following along a trail you’ve walked many times now, his sights set on the little lake in the middle of it that is viewable from a small bridge that sits beneath a canopy of leaves.

The only different thing about that day was the way you stepped funny and rolled your ankle, falling to the ground clutching at the offended limb with tears in your eyes. He’d been a mess, an absolute mess even though you told him over and over again you were okay, that it’s likely nothing serious, even though you were the one hurt in the first place.

But he drives like a bat out of hell to the hospital, only to sit in a waiting room for hours, before you’re taken for x-rays.

You have a broken ankle, and his heart aches when they cover your limb in a cast.

That afternoon it’s all dinner in bed and cuddling with Chewy and him as he props your foot up on a mountain of pillows, refusing to let you lift a finger for anything.

Not even the remote, he tells you when you grumble that you’re fine.

Definitely not the right time to propose, he decides, and shelves it for another.

He finds you a few days later sitting on the floor with your injured ankle resting in front of you and your palm upturned. He catches the sight of the velvet box next, the way your eyes behold the box like you’ve never seen anything like it before in your life.

“Oh no,” he cries out, rushing over to where you sit on the ground. “No, no, no. I had it all planned out. Well not planned out; I’ve had to change the plans a few times now, actually. But I wanted to make it special, take you somewhere or do something we like to do and ask you—”

“Eddie.”

It’s ruined.

The whole thing is ruined. He presses the heel of his palm to his forehead and groans.

“Eddie,” you try again, and he lifts his head to see you turning to look at him.

There are tears in your eyes, but you don’t seem sad. He’s just ruined your proposal and you’re not upset?

“Eddie, ask me now.”

He feels himself stumble a bit. Stutters out, “W-what?”

“Ask me now.”

You swallow thickly, handing him the ring box as he settles down on the ground in front of you. Chewy pokes his head up from the top of the couch, tail swishing at his two humans.

“A few years ago a new girl moved to town. There’s this idiot that works across the street from her shop at the bar, and he’s kind of a dick to her at first. You can laugh, it’s true. But it’s funny because she’s never deterred by it. She starts writing these little facts on his cups, and these corny little jokes that make her laugh and make it really hard for him not to laugh too because she’s just so pretty. They become friends…sort of. You see, he doesn’t really like to let many people in, and here she is with this big personality. Everyone falls in love with her, I mean��how wouldn’t they. Except for him. Or so he thinks.”

You’ve moved closer, your knees against his, one of his hands in your lap, curled in your own.

“He starts helping out with her apartment and realizes the more he hangs out with her, the more he likes her. He starts to feel less like a monster, and more like someone capable of love. She peels back those little layers and is so patient with it, never pushes him, always puts his feelings first. And then, he realizes he’d be a complete dingus to not tell her he likes her. And then the most surprising thing happens.”

You’re laughing through your tears, but laughing all the same and asking, “What is that?”

“They fall in love. Him for the first time ever, and he realizes…he wants that person every day for the rest of his life.”

He pops the box open and watches your hand come up to press against your lips, taking in the single diamond on a slender gold band.

“I love you so much, sweetheart. Every day more than the one that came before it. And I want that, I want this…us, for the rest of my life,” he says thickly, trying to hold back his own tears. “If you say yes, of course.”

“Yes, Eddie, yes,” you whisper, holding out your hand so he can slide it onto your ring finger.

It’s a perfect fit.

Then again, you’ve always been.

Eddie Munson marries the girl of his dreams six months later.

It’s a small ceremony, surrounded by your closest friends in the Wheeler’s backyard. You share personal vows with one another, words that encompass the years you’ve known one another, the love you share, the dreams for the future.

He promises to love you for the rest of his life as Steve—newly officiated for this occasion—instructs him to slide your wedding band onto your finger. And you do the same, standing there in a pretty white dress, your own words falling around him and filling his heart as you push the solid gold ring onto his own hand.

You dance under twinkling lights the kids have twined around the trees, hearts full to burst.

Wayne tells him he’s proud to call him son and wishes you well as you part for the night, Max joining soon after to hug the two of you and remind you she’ll be by the apartment often to check up on Chewy (her favorite and only nephew).

You slip into your hotel room in a flurry of kisses, a sea of white tulle around you, your hands in his suit and his working on undoing the line of buttons down your back.

You fall into one another as you always do, his lips against yours, bodies burning, sighs mingling into one as he slides home for the first time with his new wife.

He holds you close, one arm low around your back, the backs of his knuckles against your cheek. Tells you he loves you as the two of you creep closer and closer to mutual bliss.

Later, after you’re both cleaned up and spent, he tucks you close to his chest and hums the song you danced to at your wedding.

He’s happy.

Happier than he’s ever been in his life.

“Fun fact: Becoming your husband made this the best day of my life.”

You press your head further into his chest, finger toying with the new ring on his finger. “Fun fact: Becoming your wife is mine.”

Tag List: @clinicallyonline17, @sidthedollface2, @lazywillow6748, @idkidknemore, @blue-eyed-lion , @emma77645 , @bambipowerblueaddition , @aysheashea , @lezzy-bennet @yeehawbitchs

#eddie munson x you #Eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson fluff

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starcrossedxwriter · 7 months

Text

Wicked Fantasies Part 6 (MBJ x OC)

Warnings: Look… its literally just angst lol you're gonna feel things! Don't say I didn't warn you. NSFW

A/N: This is like 2 weeks later than I promised (SO sorry, y'all!) but I hope you enjoy!

***

“This isn’t so bad,” Michael argued. “She’s just complaining that she hasn’t met me yet and some other shit that isn’t even true. Why’s that a problem?”

Alex shook her head as she scrolled on her phone. Her eyes did not even leave her phone screen as she spoke, her nails furiously tapping across the glass screen. “It’s not what she said that’s the problem. It’s that she’s talking at all… the only things I want to see in the media about the two of you are cute photos from date night, not tell alls from family members. Does she know about your… previous career?”

This was the first time his manager had even directed a question at Raven, who had sat silently since they arrived. She was so angry that she could not even revel in the fact that she was at Michael’s house for the first time, not regulated to her usual place in his bachelor pad. She thought being invited to this intimate part of his life would make her happier. But instead of feeling joy and welcomed, she merely felt like a burden. She was only there out of necessity to fix the crisis her own sister created.

This is why you can never be more, she reminded herself. Paris had started to rip out the weeds of doubt that grew in her soul, siphoning away the power of the notion that they could not be more. It had made her fall deeper in love with him, made her seriously ponder whether his feelings for her stretched into deeper territory.. But this? This reminded her of a sickening fact.

No matter how many trips he charted for her, gifts he showered her with, or kindness he showed, she did not belong here with him in the real world. It was as if every intimate detail of his home and his real life that she saw screamed at her that she was out of place, punching above her weight, and needed to return to where she belonged: the outskirts of his life in the condo where he took one-night stands and flings that meant nothing once the sun rose. Because as soon as their arrangement was done, she would be nothing to him again. And while Paris had made her feel like she could still win in the ring, now she felt as if she was merely being punched right back down where she belonged.

“No. Well… she doesn’t know about the prostitution. But… I always thought she figured out I was a stripper somehow.”

Alex, who previously had been engrossed in her phone, lifted her head in surprise. “You were a stripper too? Would’ve been nice to know before now,” she muttered under her breath.

Raven’s long stiletto nails bit into the palm of her hand as she tried not to let one comment push her right off the cliff she was teetering on. She knew Alex was not intending to be judgmental but that did not stop her from feeling the sting of it. Every choice she made in her life since the moment she came into the world seemed to be a bad one for everyone else. She could not do anything right.

“I was a 19 year old with no skills who needed to pay for college. I wasn’t facing a fucking mountain of options. So I did the best I could with a shitty situation... Sorry my choices as a desperate teenager are making your job so difficult,” Raven snapped.

“I didn’t me-”

“Alex.” Michael’s stern voice cut through the budding tension, stealing the words right out of Alex’s mouth. Michael’s dominance and power seemed to have an effect on everyone, though Raven suspected it was because he was not the type to abuse it. Alex immediately let the rest of her sentence fade away, opting to apologize instead.

Michael’s eyes had not left Raven’s body since they got in the car. He hated how her eyes actively avoided him, he had been unable to look in her beautiful brown eyes for over an hour and that killed him. They were the most expressive part of her, windows into her soul and every feeling she had. She shied away from his comforting touch in the car so he kept his distance but even still, he could see how her entire frame trembled ever so slightly. Her furrowed brow… her silence. God, her silence was so deafeningly loud in his ears. He was not used to it. Even if it was awkward ramblings, she was rarely silent with him. This was a side of her he had never seen. It was not sadness or resignation, he had seen both of those, and she seemed to be able to push through those just fine. No, this was something else and it was red hot and all consuming to the point where he could tell she could not hide it. It was a far cry from the woman who was sound asleep on his shoulder on the plane two hours prior.

“I’m sorry,” Alex raised her hands. “I’m sorry. I’d never judge anyone for doing what they need to. I just need to know what else your sister could say.”

“She has no proof… just speculation. But that’s it. She doesn’t know anything about my life now… we aren’t close.”

At first, she had immediately handed Alex back her phone, uninterested in reading whatever lies her sister decided to spew. However, when Michael summarized it for her, the notions in it were so absurd, she had to read them for herself. She instantly wished she had not.

It was as dramatic as it was false, her sister complaining about how Raven had changed and alienated her own family since her romance with the superstar had begun. She spun a web of tall tales about how Raven never spoke to them anymore, how close they once were and how much the family missed her, how Raven had told them Michael was too busy to meet them. By the time Raven got to the end of the article, she was shaking.

She supposed the silver lining was that the article was more of a personal attack on her character than their relationship, which she was used to from her sister. She just had not expected her sister to drag it into the public eye like this. And while reading her words agitated some of her deepest wounds, they fueled more anger in her than any other emotion. Anger was not an emotion Raven often felt where her family was concerned. Slight frustration, sadness, hurt, guilt? She felt all of those often but she was used to it and often brushed them off. But true anger? That was rare, or rather, it was rare that she let herself feel true anger. And now, it hit her as high, powerful waves crashing against her shores.

“So she’s just lookin’ for her 15 minutes. Fine. But she can’t say anything else, this’s gotta be it.”

“Who cares if she mouths off to the media?” Michael asked. He knew why Alex cared and why he should care. But at that moment, all he could actually care about was minimizing this for Raven’s sake. He knew her well enough to know that the only person she would blame for this was herself, not her idiot sister. And it seemed to him that she blamed herself for far too much where her family was concerned. He did not want to add another unnecessary thing to that list. Nor did he want her to feel the burden of this because she was quite the opposite of a burden to him and he would clean up 100 PR nightmares for her without a second thought. They had taken 10 steps forward in Paris, walls came crumbling down for both of them. If he did not fix this fast, Raven would retreat 15 steps back from him and he could not take that.

“That’s not the point! She’s smoke and TMZ knows where there’s smoke, there’s a fuckin’ fire. And y’all two and this whole situation is a damn forest fire. We don’t need TMZ or a fuckin’ Inspector Gadget head ass Tik Toker to look into Raven’s life or past anymore than they already have. So you need to shut her up now. Is she a fan of his or somethin?”

Raven scoffed. “If wanting to add him to her list of fuck buddies means she’s a fan then sure… she’s a fan.” Her anger meant she could not hide the bitterness in her voice, could not pretend to have a kind word to say about her sister who seemed to take joy in going out of her way to ruin all the good things in her life.

“Well, that shit definitely ain’t happenin’,” Michael stated with a growl.

“I mean, no nigga, I wasn’t gonna suggest you fuck her sister.” Alex rolled her eyes.

“Maybe we s-should just end this. I’m causing more problems than I’m fixing.” Raven’s voice was so quiet, Michael almost did not hear her. It hurt her heart to even consider it but Paris had rubbed her raw, left her and her emotions exposed in ways she had not experienced in a long time. And she had not minded that at first, she savored the closeness and vulnerability with another person. But now, all of her emotions felt dialed up by ten in that vulnerability and that overwhelmed her. She was overwhelmed by the rage she felt at her family for trying to use Michael the way they used her. She thought she couldn’t ruin him but she felt as if she already was. “I’m r-ruining everything…”

Michael’s heart stopped, his head shaking vehemently before any words could even escape his lips. “What? No… why would we do that?”

Raven’s head fell into her hands as she let out a frustrated and strangled sigh that sounded like a sob.

“Ok, let’s all take a breath. I’m sorry, I probably made this seem like a bigger deal than it is. We don’t need to stop or end it if you aren’t ready to. This is still a good plan, no one is ruining anything. We can fix this. We just need to give her what she wants. If you just meet her, take a picture with her, get her tickets to a high profile event or party or whatever she wants, then maybe she’ll settle down and keep her mouth shut.”

“She won’t,” Raven mumbled to no one in particular.

“Everyone has a price and we just need to find hers,” Alex continued texting on her phone.

“She won’t because she’s an attention seeking bitch. She’s never had a real job or ambition or anything going for her and just takes and takes and takes from everyone with no thought. I can give her the fucking world and she’ll come back with her hand still out!” Raven exploded, jumping up from her seat as the words escaped her lips before she could even hope to stop them. She buried her face in her hands and turned away from both of them as she heard them in the space, instantly regretting them. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Michael sighed and gestured toward the door, Alex walking out of the room with him. He closed the door behind them.

“So I take it there’s some bad blood there?” Alex asked as she leaned on the door.

“Lots of it. You know how family shit is… lots of heavy ass baggage there. Let me talk to her and I’ll call you tonight with a game plan. I think she just feels betrayed and upset and needs to process all that.”

“Understood,” Alex raised her hands in surrender. “Take your time, give her what she needs. Sorry this had to happen as soon as you came back. She seemed really happy when y’all got off the plane, I didn’t mean to ruin it.”

Michael shook his head. “Doing your job isn’t ruining anything. But my guess is the timing of this, on her sister’s part, wasn’t random. Sucks too… the past week was the most relaxed I’ve ever seen her, first time she seemed actually happy.” Michael stared through the glass panels of his office door to watch her. He could see the tension in her shoulders from all the way over here, could tell they were shaking slightly from silent tears.

He turned away to look back at Alex whose eyes were big with shock.

“What?”

“You’re in love with her.”

“Alexxxx…” he dragged out her name, his manager scoffing and dragging him by the arm further away from the door.

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Bakari. I’ve run a couple PR relationships in my time and most fail miserably. Been trying to figure out why this one seems to be working so well… I knew it wasn’t cause you’re that good of an actor, no shade. It’s because you… Michael Bakari Jordan love her. You’re not having to play for the cameras because you’re actually in love with her. Look me in my eyes and tell me I’m wrong.”

Michael sucked his teeth. “I love her.” He admitted. “And I know what you’re gonna say… it can’t work and it’s stupid and I’ll need to end it like we always planned. I know, I got it.”

He started to move past her when her hand grabbed his bicep to stop him.

“I was actually gonna say that I’m happy for you. Been waiting for you to wise up and find someone for real. If she’s what you want, I support it and you 100%. And we can figure out how to spin it.” She jerked her head back toward the office. “Go take care of your girl. Call

me later.”

They shared a hug before Michael disappeared back into the office. Raven sniffled and quickly wiped her tears away before standing up and walking over to him. She tried to put a positive look on her face and tone in her voice as she spoke.

“I’m sorry… that outburst was m-mean and totally unnecessary. And not helpful. She’s right, we need a game plan and everything. Where’s Alex? I want to apologize and then I can fix this.”

He perched on the edge and widened his stance so he could pull her in between his legs. His arm wrapped around her waist as he pulled her into his chest. He did not like how she braced her forearms against his chest to avoid fully melting into his embrace.

“I don’t need you to do anything and Alex doesn’t need an apology. She’s fine. I care more about whether you’re good or not. You’re upset.”

She shook her head. “I’m not upset.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “You just called your sister an attention seeking bitch. Ain’t gon’ hear an argument from me but that’s not like you. You’re pissed, rightfully so. Tell me why though, don’t bottle that shit up.”

Raven stared at him for a moment, her mouth opening and closing a couple times as she tried to find the words to tell him. Tell him that she was near out of relentless hope and optimism, that a not-so-small part of her hated her sister and wished she never had to see her again, that she wanted to cut her and her dad out of her life completely but she wasn’t brave enough to be truly alone so she couldn’t, that a bigger part of her wanted to call TMZ and tell them all about how horrible her family has been to her her entire life, that it cut deeper than she imagined it would to read her sister describe a relationship between them that had always been her dream but she actively denied her. She wanted to tell him that she was tired, that she felt guilty and ashamed for dragging him into this mess, that she didn’t deserve his care and kindness because all she had done was ruin his life.

It was all too much, the avalanche of emotions she felt picked up speed and power with every moment she stood in his presence. And she needed it to stop, needed to throw up some type of blockade so she was not run over and drowned by it. She needed walls again, barriers. And the only way she could think to recreate those was to put both physical and emotional distance between herself and the man in front of her. He was the only person who forced her to exist in her vulnerability, to feel everything and not shy away from it. But that was dangerous. She was not built for it. Once the avalanche hit, she knew she would not get back up. So, she had to get out.

So she did the only thing she could think of, she threw up the walls of a working girl. She knew they would not hold for long, not with his persistence, but they would hold long enough for her to reign it all in again. Long enough for her to lock her feelings back up in their cage where they belonged.

“I’m not angry.” Her tone left no room for argument as she pried herself out of his embrace and walked back to the couch to grab her bag off the floor. “I’m not angry. Kiara’s not a… bad person. She’s just… Kiara’s the Sun and I imagine the Sun would be upset if Pluto tried to steal its spotlight too. She’s the center of my family’s world and she hates it when it seems like I’m trying to take that away. It’s fine. I’ll give her whatever she needs to feel like the Sun again and that I humbled myself back to my position as Pluto. Everyone wins.” She said it in such a matter-of-fact way that, if he didn’t know her, he would have missed the bitterness in her words.

“You don’t need to pretend with me, Rae. You can be upset.”

“Nothing to be upset about. This is just how it is… I’m used to it. She wants something and she knows I’m gonna give it to her. I’ll call her and figure out what she wants and we’ll fix this.”

She started to fiddle on her phone before Michael pried it out of her hand and threw it on his desk.

“I don’t give a fuck about what your sister wants right now… I care about what you need.”

“I don’t really need anything from you or anyone else right now.” Her words clipped and colder than Michael had ever heard her before. “Least of all a damn therapist.”

Her heart broke at the hurt that flashed across his eyes but she decided that was fine. She needed distance and however she achieved that, even if it was by pushing him away, it would work for her. However, before he could respond, her phone started to buzz loudly on the desk.

“Speak of the devil.” Michael handed Raven her phone back, her sister’s name popping up across the screen.

“Hey Kiara.” She put the phone on speaker phone so Michael could hear.

“I’m surprised you didn’t call me all day, I know you saw the article.”

Raven and Michael shared a knowing glance that made Michael’s blood boil. She had done this just to outshine Raven who had been in the media and tabloids multiple times in the last week from their trip. Michael had guessed that but knowing her sister went to such lengths to diminish her sister bothered him far more than he could describe. Was there no one in his girl’s life that allowed her to shine?

“Yea I saw it. I’m sure you also saw that Michael and I weren’t in the country. We just saw it when we landed about an hour ago.”

“Yea I saw you both... Why didn’t you invite me??”

Raven let out a small huff. “Do you even have a passport?”

“No… but I could’ve gotten one. it's not fair that you get to go while I’m stuck here. And with my favorite actor. All my friends sending me clips of your stories and pictures and shit. And I didn’t even know you were gonna be there. And I had to lie and tell them that you invited me but I couldn’t go. You don’t include me in shit and you keep makin’ me look fuckin’ stupid. You probably didn’t think about me once!”

“I mean no, you weren’t the first thing that came to mind when my boyfriend invited me on a trip to Paris. I’m allowed to have and enjoy experiences on my own. Also no one forced you to lie, who would have expected you to be invited on a trip with me and my boyfriend?”

She heard Kiara scoff on the other side of the phone. “‘My boyfriend,’” she mimicked back. “You better enjoy this lil 15 minutes of fame you’re getting from him cause it won’t last. Ain’t like you’re worth his time. He’ll wise up, realize he needs a real woman, a girl like me.”

“Did you want something?” Raven interrupted, turning her head from Michael so he could not see just how deeply her words cut. She would never argue that she was good enough for the man sitting next to her but hearing someone else validate those insecurities hurt.. Her sister certainly knew which wounds to cut into. “Or was your tell all just to ruin my trip?”

“Oh well… None of this would’ve happened if you had gotten me even one of the things I asked for weeks ago. Like damn, I know he’s busy but he don’t even have a real job. He could come out and met me when I asked.”

Michael’s face twisted up in a look of faux offense that would have been a perfect gif, which made the edges of Raven’s lips curl into a small smile as she stifled her laugh. How did he manage to make her smile even when she felt utterly incapable of the action?

“Acting is a real job, Kiara. And I invited you all here to meet him. But no, I wasn’t gonna ask him to get you a Birkin, I don’t even have a Birkin.”

Michael resisted the urge to cut in and ask her if she wanted one. Because he could easily have one at the house by sunset if she did.

“Dad and I can’t afford to jet set out to LA… the hotels, the food, all that shit. We’re barely getting by as it is.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Barely getting by” when they both worked and Raven often paid most of the major bills.

As she was talking, Michael gestured for her to mute the phone. “Tell her I’ll pay for the flights and invite them to Thanksgiving.” At Raven’s wary face, Michael just nodded. “Just trust me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the price of the flights was the issue. H-how about we pay for the flights and your hotel and… you could come for Thanksgiving this year? Michael’s family are great cooks so it’ll be nice. And you can meet him?”

“Really?? Thanksgiving at Michael’s house?”

“Yea,” the words were almost painful to get out. Part of her wanted to believe this could be a good thing but the more logical part knew that it would not soften anything between all of them. After all, they were not coming to see her, they were coming to gawk at Michael. “But you can’t talk to the media anymore, Kiara. Seriously, you can meet him and everything but you can’t go give a tell all to TMZ or Page Six or any of them anymore. Understand?”

“Fineeeee. No more media. I’ll tell dad. Send me the flight and hotel information. Make sure to put us up somewhere nice… you know like the Ritz or a five-star hotel. And can you have a car for us while we’re there? We’re gonna wanna sightsee and everything.”

“Of course,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“Ok. See you then, bye.”

Raven clenched her phone in her hand, resisting the urge to chuck it across the room.

“Damn, sis’s got expensive taste,” Michael muttered.

Raven’s laugh was cold and humorless. “It’s easy to have expensive taste when it’s not your money. You sure about this? Thanksgiving? Here?”

“What? Thanksgiving is the time people spend with family. We can get a nice group shot and they can feel included. And I’ll get her somethin’ expensive and nice… nothin’ crazy. That’s all she seems to want anyway. Hearing how she talks to you… I don’t want ‘em here anymore than you do but this is the best solution. You had plans or somethin’?”

“No, no… I just didn’t… I didn’t even know I was invited to the Jordan Family Thanksgiving dinner,” she chuckled, pulling at the sleeve of her jacket awkwardly.

Michael’s face twisted up in confusion. “Of course you’re invited. Moms would kill me if I didn’t. But yea I guess I should’ve asked if you had plans first. What do you usually do?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. I order Chinese and I pick a marathon of movies to watch in bed. Same with Christmas except I usually pick a new recipe to try and I always watch the Grinch,” she chuckled.

“You spend Thanksgiving and Christmas alone?”

She shrugged and gestured toward her phone. “If you had to pick between alone and that, which would you choose?” At his silence, she nodded. “Exactly. They never want to see me anyway so I make it easy on everyone.”

“Well, this year’s gonna be different.”

Raven scoffed. “How so?”

Michael closed the distance between them and rested his hands on her hips. “Well, one, you’ll have me, which means your family will be on their best behavior. If they aren’t, two, you have me and my family as a buffer. And three, you have me… and I ain’t gon’ tolerate disrespect like that in my house. You say the word and dinner’s over.”

“You can’t kick people out of your house for me,” she whispered, her eyes avoiding the intense stare in his.

“Who says I can’t? Thought I’d made that clear by now that I’d do anything for you. And when you’re with me, I’m not just gon’ protect you physically… all of you is safe with me.”

Those walls she threw up? Already starting to crash down around her. Why does he do this to me?? And why can’t I resist it? She thought to herself as she looked at him.

“Thank you. But hopefully, they’ll be on their best behavior and then who knows, maybe they’ll see your family and want to turn a new leaf? This could be good?” In her heart, she knew that would not be how this particular story played out but she had to try… had to hope and dream that it could be different. She studied him for a sign that he agreed, and believed her. But he offered her nothing but a peck on the forehead.

“Yea, maybe.”

They stood there for a moment before Raven felt the overwhelming urge to run again. She hated this feeling… the contrasting emotions of wanting to melt into him and run from him at full speed.

“D-do you think Allen would mind taking me home?”

“I thought you were gonna stay with me tonight?”

“Yea but I thought we were going to the condo… you want me to stay the night… here?”

“I just thought after last week…” he stopped himself. “Here is just more comfortable than the condo. Besides, ma asked if you could stay for dinner so she can meet you. Wouldn’t want to disappoint her, would you?” At her continued expression of speculation, Michael added. “She also has been buggin’ the hell outta me to meet you so honestly, you’d be savin’ my ass.”

Raven smiled and nodded. There was not anything but wallowing and frustration waiting for her back at her own apartment. And she had loved falling asleep in Michael’s arms during the last week. She was not ready to fall asleep alone again.

“Just remember that next time you’re punishing me,” she winked at him.

“Deal.”

***

“Bakari!” Donna called over to Michael who was standing outside with his dad overseeing the fried turkey for dinner.

“What’s up, ma?” He jogged over to her as she continued moving around the kitchen. Michael had offered, as he did every year, to have dinner catered but his mother could not dream of not cooking Thanksgiving dinner with her own two hands. Michael never pressed too hard though because he knew no caterer would ever beat his mom and dad’s cooking.

“I think a certain girl needs your attention more than your father and that turkey,” she gestured toward Raven whose hands were filled with neatly folded napkins as she sat each one on each place setting around their giant farm style table.

Michael’s eyes scanned over her body. He could see the tension in her shoulders but she had been tense since they woke up that morning. She had also been quiet all day, simply getting up and heading down to the kitchen to assist his mother. While she was more than happy for the help and it gave the two a chance to chat and bond, Michael knew Raven’s motives were not completely altruistic. She needed the distraction.

“She’s setting the table, what’s wrong?”

His mother lowered her voice. “She’s set and reset that table 5 times now in between asking me if I need help 100 times and apologizing for her family being late.” She gestured toward the pitcher which held a fall sangria for dinner. “Poor girl’s been on her feet helpin’ me all day and she’s a dream but she needs to relax. Pour her a drink, get her outta my kitchen, and make her sit down till dinner, please?”

“Yes ma’am.” He kissed his mom on the cheek before quickly grabbing a glass and pouring a tall drink before walking over to her.

“I think those napkins will be fine wherever you put them, baby girl,” he whispered in her ear, causing Raven to jump slightly.

She clutched her chest, glancing down at the table setting and set of napkins in her hand. “Sorry… was in my own head. Something about it still doesn’t look right still,” she whispered as she started to rearrange the setting in front of her again.

Michael eyed her for a moment before grabbing the things out of her hand and setting them down. He called for his sister to take over setting the table before grabbing Raven’s hand and pulling her behind him into his bedroom upstairs. He closed the door and handed her the glass.

“Drink.” He instructed.

Raven took a sip before lowering the glass again to hand back to him.

“Nope, drink the whole thing and then tell me why you’re so scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Yea you are. Tell me why.” Michael wasn’t dumb. Raven had been off since her family landed in LA, more tense, quieter and not herself. He wished he could get the version of her from Paris back but that woman was buried deep beneath the seemingly never-ending bull her family put her through.

Raven took another big gulp of the drink before sitting on the edge of Michael’s bed, her dress riding up her bare thighs slightly. His eyes sparked with lust but he tempered himself. That was not the point of bringing her up here.

“I’m not… scared. That’s not what it is. I just… Well, first, I’m frustrated because they’re late. I explicitly told them 2 so they could meet everyone and chat and mingle and it’s almost 4. I spent over an hour on that damn charcuterie board. And they haven’t called me or texted or anything. And now your mom probably thinks I was raised by inconsiderate ass wolves.”

“Rae, my mom doesn’t care in the slightest. Food wasn’t gonna be done at 2 anyway so they haven’t missed anything or messed up anything. And you know that. So what’s really bothering you? We aren’t leaving this room til you tell me.”

She sucked her teeth in annoyance before sighing. She knew he would make good on his promise not to let her leave until she was honest.

“I’ve lived in LA for years. Did my masters out here, became a published author here, built a life here and you know how many times I’ve asked them to visit? And the first time they come, it's not even to see me. It’s to meet you. They’ve been in LA for 3 whole days… you know they haven’t made an effort to see me once? Never mind the fact that every restaurant they have a reservation to, we booked. Every excursion, you booked and paid for. And it shouldn’t bother me,” she whispered, throwing the entire drink back before wiping the corner of her lips. “It shouldn’t… bother me. Usually it doesn’t bother me. After all, this’s been it, my whole life. But since I met your family… I see how you are with them a-and I spend time with you all and it’s like breathing in rare fresh air? A-and I dunno, it just… the polluted air is a lot harder to breathe in than it used to be.”

Since they returned from Paris, Raven had become a staple in the Jordan household. They still returned to the condo some nights after dates as it was often easier than getting back to his mansion in the hills. Raven had fallen in love with Michael’s family and it seemed his family had taken quite a liking to her as well. His nephew loved to have Raven read to him as she did the best silly voices, and she, his mom, and sister had already gone out without Michael for manis, pedis, and dinner - with his card, of course.

Raven would never forget their first dinner the night they got back from Paris. She had been in such a bad mood but ten minutes at the table with Michael’s entire family had lightened her spirits significantly. His dad was charming and told stories that had Raven’s muscles aching from laughter; his mom so sweet and spent half the dinner asking questions about Raven’s book after having it finished it while they were away; his brother was quiet but he and Michael’s friendship made her heart want to melt; and his sister was witty and made Raven want to be her friend immediately. Everytime Raven spent time with them, they made her feel like part of the family. And she fell into it, despite her efforts to avoid it, with ease, like she had been part of the fabric for years. It caused some guilt to swell as she remembered that the girl they loved so much was a lie and that she and Michael were deceiving them. However, as her own family continued to disappoint her, it was nice to be a part of something so pure and loving.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Michael’s sister poked her head into the room. “But your family’s car just pulled up.”

Raven immediately stood up and handed the wine glass back to Michael. She went over to the full-length mirror in his room to adjust her outfit and ensure she looked perfect before putting on the most forced smile Michael had ever seen grace her lips.

“Come on, we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Michael grabbed her arm to stop her as she tried to walk around him.

“I told myself I’d stay out of it… your family, your rules. But word of advice, if you’ll let me?” When she said nothing, he continued. “People treat you how you allow them. And just because you’ve allowed this disregard for 30 years doesn’t mean you have to allow it now or that you deserve it. It hurts more now because you know you deserve more. And you’ve experienced more. So demand more.”

“And if they don’t give it?” Raven’s voice broke slightly with that question because she knew what his answer would be, what she should have done many years ago but did not have the courage to do.

“Somethin’ isn’t always better than nothin’. Especially when that somethin’ is just dead weight you have to drag around behind you. No one ever got far with dead weight.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, Raven desperately wanting to melt into him and the comfort he provided. He laced his fingers in hers and kissed her hand. “That’s all I’m gonna say. We’re gonna have a good time, promise. You’re with me so you know I gotchu. You ready?”

“Yea, I think so,” she smiled at him before following him out of his room and downstairs.

As they descended the stairs, she was unsurprised to find the deep baritone of her father filling the foyer of Michael’s mansion as he greeted everyone. Raven fixed her face to maintain a smile as she and Michael finally made it to the bottom of the stairs. She could feel her sister’s eyes studying her, taking in her designer dress, the signature red bottoms of her heels, and the diamond necklace and earrings glistening against her skin that Michael had bought her in Paris. It may have been a role, but Raven could not lie, she enjoyed dressing the part of a movie star’s girlfriend more than she thought she would. A petty part of her also did not hate the way her sister’s nose seemed to flare with jealousy at it.

“How y’all doin? I’m Michael?” Michael stepped forward and offered her father and sister a hug.

Raven’s eyes narrowed as her sister tried to linger in the very chaste hug Michael offered. Neither of them acknowledged her as they introduced themselves to Michael and his family, Raven awkwardly teetering on her heels behind him.

“It’s so great to meet you, son. Loved that Tom Clancy movie of yours. Watch it all the time,” her dad boasted as if he was Michael’s greatest fan.

Raven rolled her eyes behind Michael, knowing how much he hated when the first thing out of someone’s mouth when he meets them is their favorite role of his.

“Thank you, thank you. That was a fun one.” Michael reached behind him and pulled Raven to his side. He protectively tucked her under his arm and smiled down at her. “Great girl you have here.”

“Hey dad,” Raven offered, stepping forward to accept the half hug her father offered. She knew it was merely for show but she accepted it anyway. “Kiara,” her tone made her seem far more excited to see both of them than she was. But unlike her family, she was painfully aware of the studious eyes of Michael’s family watching them. And while their foundation had cracks the size of the Grand Canyon in it, she did not want Michael’s family to see them.

Her sister could not even stop eye fucking Michael long enough to give her a hug. She merely nodded in her direction.

Michael, thankfully, ended the awkward silence between the family members by gesturing for everyone to follow him to the kitchen. There, the island was heavily laden with food that his mom deemed ready to serve. Everyone grabbed serving dishes and started helping move things to the table. Seeing an opportunity to grab her father and her sister, Raven pulled them off to the side for a moment while Michael’s family got ready for dinner.

There was an awkward silence as the three of them stood in Michael’s living room before Raven found her voice again. She did not know why she was nervous, this was her family after all.

“Just wanted to see how the trip’s going? A-and ask if y’all had plans tomorrow. Thought maybe, you could come see my apartment? And then maybe we could go hiking to the Hollywood sign, it’s such a nice view of the city. And Michael got us all reservations at a new Japanese spot tomorrow night.”

Kiara turned her nose up at the mere idea. “Hiking?? No. Dad’s taking me shopping tomorrow on Rodeo Drive. It’ll probably take up the whole day, sorry. But dinner with Michael sounds good.”

Raven’s heart deflated a bit. Another outstretched hand pushed away. “Oh… yea of course. Shopping sounds fun. Maybe I could meet you all?”

“That’s ok. We know you’re busy,” her dad interjected, waving his hand to dismiss her suggestion.

“Oh… well, it’s just… you leave Saturday, I wanted to spend some time with y’all before you leave? I tried calling you both, I haven’t seen you all week. I invited you all out here, thought we’d get to at least spend a little time together before you leave.”

“We’re spending time together right now. We’ve been really busy. We came to meet Michael and enjoy the city. That’s what we’ve been doing. Besides, we all know Michael paid for us to come, not you.”

Raven scoffed, already frustrated and they had not been there for more than 5 minutes. She regretted everything about this plan. Her time with Michael’s family, this sanctuary she had found with them in his home, now felt tainted as if their mere presence had poisoned that sweet, fresh air. She knew she should have been more excited to see them, after all, it had been longer than she could remember since she saw them in the flesh. But now, that small part of her that never wanted to see them again only seemed to get larger and larger with every moment she stood in their presence.

Why do you even bother?

“Oh, should I start itemizing everything I’ve paid for in the last decade? Is that the best way to get yall to, you know, actually care to spend time with me? I mean I’ve been asking y’all to come out this way for years. I just thought… since we haven’t really seen each other in a while, this could be a good chance to reconnect. But shopping is more important than me, everything seems to be,” she muttered more to herself than to them. Before her sister could cut in with another smart comment, Raven added. “Can you make sure to thank Michael for this trip you’re enjoying so much? He really went all out of y’all.”

“You don’t need to lecture me on good manners, Raven. I did raise you both,” her father spoke up, clearly annoyed and bored of this conversation.

Raven bit down the retort that she was not sure please and thank you were even phrases in their vocabulary and just nodded.

“Is that all?” her sister asked cooly.

“Yea, yea that’s all.”

Both of them immediately left to return to the dining room where Michael’s family gathered, leaving Raven in the living room. She let out a deep shaky breath as a welcomed face popped out around the corner. However, she cringed slightly, fearful that he heard that entire exchange.

She walked over to him, Michael immediately pulling her into a tight embrace. Her head thudded against his chest. “Please tell me you didn’t hear any of that.”

“Don’t think me lying to you is gonna make you feel any better.” His fingers brushed aside the curls that spilled into her face. .

His hand rubbed soothing circles into her back before he kissed her on the top of her head. This time Raven did not even attempt to shy away, she fully melted into his embrace, at least as much as she could without breaking down.

“Say the word and they’re gone,” he reminded her, leaning back so he could look in her eyes.

Raven could tell he was completely serious, that he would kick both of them out without a second thought or a care. However, she knew that was not a possibility.

“As much as I hate it, we need them, remember?” She sighed. “For once, I do actually need them. So I’m gonna do what I’ve always done.”

“And what’s that?”

She shrugged, pulling herself out of his embrace. “Suffer through it.” She answered simply.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Keep my glass full,” she answered bluntly. “I can already tell it’s gonna be a long fucking afternoon.”

***

“So Kiara, what do you do?” Donna asked as she sat down from transitioning the dinner dishes out and replacing them with dessert.

Raven did not know how she was going to eat the slice of apple pie Michael cut for her. Everything had been so delicious, she had eaten two plates and would have gotten a third if her sister had not made a backhanded, loud compliment about her food and her figure. While she could count the number of plates she had eaten with ease, the same could not be said for the glasses of sangria.

She had not lied when she said she needed it. Tipsy Raven cared far less about her sister’s consistent jabs to make her feel inferior and puff herself up to Michael nor did she care about how her father objectively ignored her for the entire dinner. He talked of her and around her but not once did he direct a question or comment to her. She could not tell which slight bothered her more, the disrespect or the disregard.

“I was doing hair for a while but I really love to cook so I’m going back to school to be a chef.”

Everyone around the table offered the appropriate congratulations and well wishes while Raven merely smiled and stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Kiara changed career paths about as often as she changed boyfriends, which was damn near monthly. Being a chef was just another way to throw her dad and Raven’s money down the toilet.

“Once I finish school, maybe you can float some clients my way? My dream is to be a personal chef.”

Raven downed her glass before filling it again. She found that drinking was the only way to stop herself from commenting on everything they did that frustrated her. However, that was an incredibly foolish drinking game to play. Because everything they did today seemed to frustrate her, every slight seemed amplified now that it was in the presence of Michael and his family. Each one fueled that anger she often ignored and suppressed. She should have known this was coming, that they would try to ask him for favors. She didn’t even ask him for favors. All they did was take and it was one thing to do that to her, but Michael did not deserve it.

You don’t deserve it either, a small voice that sounded oddly like the man sitting next to her reminded her.

“Maybe finish school first before you start chatting up my man for clients,” Raven teased, keeping her tone light and playful though she knew Kiara could see the lack of amusement in her eyes.

“Well, we all gotta start somewhere right? Can’t all be big time like you, sis?”

Raven smiled, “Well, you can be if you work hard… and don't rely on boyfriends, dad and I for everything,” she added the last part under her breath, however, she knew her sister could hear her. Michael’s hand went to rest of her thigh as if he could sense the change in her demeanor and mood almost immediately.

“Oh we loved Raven’s book,” Donna offered, transitioning the conversation away from her sister. “Such a talented and vivid writer. I probably talked the poor girl’s ear off when we first met about it. Was she always like that?”

Raven’s dad chuckled. “Yea she always had her nose buried in a book or a notebook writing somethin. She used to write these little short stories, got a drawer full of ‘em back at the house.”

“That’s so sweet. I’m not much of a fantasy reader,” Donna admitted. “But she had me hooked from the first chapter. Such a beautiful story.”

“Yea the book was really great,” he added lamely, unable to offer much beyond that because, as Raven knew, he had not read her book. “I always encouraged them both to follow their dreams, great to see her accomplish so much.”

Something about hearing him talk about her passion, her life’s work, the thing she tolled and fought for and had to give up, as if he cared about it at all made all those years of suppressed rage finally boil over. She could suffer through a lot, it was true, but she could not listen to that, listen to him lie and pretend to be supportive or caring when he was nothing of the sort. And now, she did not even care who knew it. This was simply not a piece of fiction she would allow him to sell.

“What was your favorite part of the book, dad?” Raven had not said much throughout dinner, allowing her sister to monopolize most of the conversation. However, it seemed as though Michael was the only person who realized the unfortunate turn their Thanksgiving dinner was about to take. He leaned in closer to her, quietly whispering in her ear but he knew his sweet nothings meant just that at this point: nothing. She was too far gone to hear them or register them. Her body felt as if it was almost vibrating with rage. He wished he could take her outside and give her a few plates to smash but he knew his mom would not appreciate that.

“Oh all of it. Whole thing was great.”

“Huh…” she muttered, taking a long gulp of her drink before reaching for the pitcher to refill it. “Who’s your favorite character?”

“Maybe we should slow down on…” Michael quietly whispered in her ear, subtly trying to beat her to the pitcher but she grabbed it first and poured another large glass. She raised her hand to stop his sentence.

“Didn’t realize there’d be a pop quiz,” he let out a deep chuckle as the tension around the table grew to levels that were impossible to ignore.

“Not a pop quiz. Just tell me one thing about the book you loved so much and encouraged me to write. Favorite plot twist, favorite scene, favorite character… hell, name one character you remember at all?”

“What the fuck, Rae? What’s your problem?”

Raven let out a humorless laugh as she leaned back in her seat. She downed her entire drink in one go, sitting the glass down before folding her arms casually.

“What’s my problem? What’s my problem? Right now, my problem is this fiction you’re spinning as if you give a rat’s ass about my book, my career, or me when if someone put a gun to your head, you wouldn’t be able to tell them the name of my book, let alone anything about it. My problem is the fact that I invited you all here to spend time with me, my boyfriend, and his family, all for you to ignore me for most of dinner. My problem is that you wax poetic about stories I wrote as a kid when, if you had ever bothered to read a single one of them, you would have seen a child writing herself into literally any other world and family to escape the pitiful one she had. I have a lot of problems, too many to list right now. But the common denominator in all of them is you two.”

Everyone’s movements and side conversations halted at her outburst. The silence and her deep breaths were only interrupted by Michael’s brother accidentally dropping his fork against his dinner china, the loud clanging filling everyone’s ears as they stared at Raven and her father.

She was not one to start a scene or draw attention to herself. But she could not let any of this go on for another moment.

“Baby… why don’t we take a break for a minute?” Michael asked, standing to pull her chair out. Raven knew that if she sat there for a minute longer, she’d lose whatever little composure she had left, so she forced herself to heed Michael’s advice. She wiped her lips and immediately threw her napkin down on the table to stand and leave.

“Excuse me.”

However, as she turned around, she heard her father’s voice.

“I didn’t mean to cause an issue. I tried my best with her and Kiara but you know, some kids are just harder to handle than others.”

As soon as those words hit her ears, she exploded. Before she even realized it, she had returned to the table and was leaning over it yelling at her father.

“‘You tried your best??’ YOU TRIED YOUR BEST? You never tried! All you’ve done is give the bare minimum and suffer through my presence like I’m was a fuckin’ pest you couldn’t get rid of!”

“You think you can talk to me that way? I’m still your father! All I’ve ever done is love you and take care of you.”

Raven scoffed, throwing her hands in the air. Michael shifted so he was standing behind her, an arm wrapped around her waist as if to stop her from jumping across the table. It was not that he thought she would actually do anything, baby girl did not seem like the scrapping type. But he prayed his presence would calm her down if nothing else. This was a side of her he had never seen before. He could not lie, it was kinda sexy, seeing her finally stick up for herself and be assertive.

In a part of her brain that felt distant and detached, she could feel Michael’s presence, hear his soft whispers to calm down. And she knew and appreciated what he was trying to do: stop her from doing something she’d ultimately regret. But at that moment, she did not know if she wanted to be stopped.

“All you’ve ever done is give me scraps! Scraps of support, scraps of your attention, but not an ounce of your love or affection. All to punish me for the sin of being born.” She had always bought into her family’s narrative that she was to blame for what happened. But it was as if the small voice that nagged at her her entire life was finally roaring. This was not her fault. No part of it was. “You can’t be mad at God for that shitty situation and you won’t be mad at mom for making her choice. So for 30 years, I’ve endured you hating me because you needed someone to be mad at. When you ignored birthday after birthday and accomplishment after accomplishment and need after need, I persisted in trying to win your love and win your affection. When you threw me out and cut me off after one year of college, I dusted myself off and kept going. When you rebuffed every attempt to reconnect and build a new relationship, I kept reaching out, kept trying. When you ignored me on every holiday and at every visit and everything, I still showed up. And when you ask for everything I have despite not deserving a cent of it, I give it. Every single time. Even after I lost my book deal last year and my career and didn’t know how I was gonna pinch pennies together for rent, I put myself and my needs last to help you two every single fuckin’ time. And you both expect me to be gracious for scraps while I kill myself to give you the Sun, Moon and stars and you take and you take and you take without so much as a thank you.” Every ‘take’ punctured by her hand slamming down on the farm-style dining table. “It’s not enough and I refuse to spend the next 30 years pretending it is. I’m done!”

“God, you’re such an embarrassment,” Kiara muttered.

“Oh fuck you, Kiara!” She cried out. “You miserable, attention-seeking bitch. You can say whatever you want about me but unlike you, I made something of my life and I did it all on my own. Meanwhile, you float through life without a single responsibility or thing to your name that someone else didn’t give you. And you can’t stand the fact that my life, despite both of your best efforts, is better than yours.”

“Wow. Nice to know how you really feel about your family.”

“I’ve never had a family. You both made damn sure of that. You want me out of your lives so bad? Fine. I’m out. Let’s see how far both of you get without taking from me. Get out. Both of you.”

Raven had no authority to kick someone out of a house that was not even hers but she could not hope to care. She knew Michael would not argue with her or lobby for them to stay after she just cussed them out six ways to Sunday in front of his entire family.

“You can’t kick us out!”

“Yes she can,” Michael piped up, speaking for the first time since the blow up began.

The intense stare down continued before her father and sister angrily stood up and stalked to the door.

“And Kiara!” Her sister stopped walking to turn around to her. “Say another word about me or my relationship to the media and I won’t hesitate to tell this entire world what a shitty person and sister you are. See how your friends like that story then.”

Her sister merely glared at her before stomping out of the house behind their father. As soon as she heard the door shut, Raven felt the adrenaline in her system crash and the weight of what just happened set in.

What the fuck did you just do? And in front of Michael’s family?

She let out a shaky breath as a wave of shame hit her. “U-Um… I am… I am s-so so so sorry,” she whispered. She rang her hands together, unable to make eye contact with anyone in the room. She had not felt this embarrassed in a long time. “I-I should go too.” She pulled herself away from Michael and tried to race toward the door, ignoring his calls for her to stay. However, before she could leave the dining room, Michael’s mom stopped her.

She grabbed the young woman’s hands and patted them softly.

“No, no you aren’t. No one leaves my table till dessert is over. You’re gonna sit and finish your pie with family.”

The tears brimming in Raven’s eyes spilled over.

“I-I’m sorry for r-ruining dinner.”

The older woman laughed. “That ain’t the first blow up this family’s seen at a dinner table… won’t be the last. Go on and sit down.”

She steered Raven’s body back into Michael’s arms who pulled back her chair for her to sit. She ate her pie in silence, conversation flowing with ease around her. The Jordans acted as if her meltdown was just par the course, though she knew they were likely just trying to make her feel better. But still, she appreciated it. Within 15 minutes of eating dessert, the mood across the table felt lighter and easier than it had all day. Raven calmed down enough to laugh and joke. By the end of several rounds of drinks and a very rowdy spades game to cap off the evening, Raven’s heart and soul also felt lighter than they had in years.

However, that quickly ended when she and Michael finally retreated to his suite for the evening. She collapsed onto the edge of his bed and kicked off her shoes, her movements sluggish and slow as if the weight of what she had done was finally creeping on her now that she was alone.

“I’m… alone,” she whispered to herself.

“What?” Michael crouched down in front of her, her eyes misting over slightly as she realized the truth.

“I’ve always been alone for the most part… after my grandma died. And I couldn’t keep a relationship going for long ever. It’s always just been… me. But it was ok because even though they were awful, I still had… family a-and there was still hope that it could be something. But now… now I have no one cause they’ll never come around after what I said to them.” She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand. “I don’t regret it, I was holding on to something that just wasn’t ever gonna be anything. But the dead weight was… something? Didn’t expect how empty I’d feel without it.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes. “It’s stupid,” she whispered. “Sorry.” She cleared her throat and stood up to walk to his bathroom. “Give me a minute to get my life together and then we can do what you actually pay me for and not this sad shit.”

Michael watched as she dapped her eyes in the mirror to rid them of tears before she reached behind her and pulled down the zipper of her dress. She looked gorgeous, her body clad in another one of her lingerie sets from Paris. This one was a nude brown that perfectly matched her skin. He knew she was merely trying to use sex to move on and forget, and he would oblige. But he could not do so without saying one thing.

“You have me.” It was not a question, but a firm statement. A matter of fact statement that left no room for arguments or questions.

Raven’s hands paused as she tried to fix her hair for a few minutes. She turned and smiled at him, closing the distance between them.

“Yea I have you… But this’ll end and you’ll find the right girl for you and then…”she shook her head, not wanting to think about that: being alone or being without him. “Thank you… for today.”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Usually, Michael initiated their kisses and they were domineering, hurried and passionate. While this moment held the same passion, it was slow and measured, each second inching past them. And Raven used every second to convey what her simple thank you could not. She prayed he felt it and appreciated it, because at that moment, the small action was all she had left to give. She did not have the energy for grand speeches or words.

She broke off their kiss and slid down to her knees, assuming the same position she did almost every time they had sex.

However, tonight, Michael decided he needed something different, that she needed something different. His finger gently lifted her chin so her eyes were on him.

“You take care of me every time we have sex. Let me take care of you for once.”

He did not let her question it as he helped her to her feet and led her to his bed, gently pushing her down. She let out a dramatic huff that made him chuckle.

He stood over her for a moment, his eyes taking in the hills of her breasts, the soft panes of her stomach, her thick plush thighs. He often found himself just staring at her and this moment was no different, moments where he wanted to commit her beauty to memory, burn her image in his brain matter.

“You are fuckin’ gorgeous,” he whispered. “You know how beautiful you are?” he asked as he sucked on the skin of her neck.

She turned her head, giving him more access to the skin of her neck as he sucked and bit. She whimpered slightly as his kisses moved down her body, savoring the taste of her soft supple skin. He took his time, however, this felt completely different than when he teased her. Then, he was purposefully avoiding giving her what she wanted. Now, her moans created the roadmap he followed. His lips and hands lingered where she needed them to, only pausing to shower her with praises. As his kisses continued, Raven lost all control of her senses, of the world around her. Everything else, the pain and emotions of the day faded away as every thought in her mind and every cell in her physical body turned their focus on him.

“I love everything about you. The way you moan, the way you beg me for more, the face you make when I make you cum.”

“Michael, please,” she whimpered.

He paused his ministrations and grasped her chin with a featherlike touch, her eyes focusing on him.

“I’m gonna take care you, I promise. Always. Trust me.” He hoped that the look in his eyes conveyed the truth, that her pleasure was not the only part of her he would take care of. He would worship and care for her mind, body, and spirit.

His fingers hooked into her lace panties and slid them off, settling between her plush thighs for his favorite meal of the day. Her eyes clenched shut as he spelled his adoration and love for her with his tongue on her clit. Michael had always been a generous lover but river always bent toward his pleasure. Every action, while it brought her pleasure, carried the reminder that it was not for her pleasure, it was for his. And she loved it, craved it, got off on it. It was one of the benefits of the arrangement to her.

But it had been so long since she had had sex like this, where the river flowed toward her and only her, where someone was so committed to bringing her mind numbing pleasure and ensuring she knew she was cared for and safe. She knew why he was doing it, after seeing how unsafe she was with her own family. She knew it was not real but she could not close the gates to her heart fast enough and stop herself from feeling it, from enjoying it. Every touch was gentle and sweet and let her know she was safe in his arms, safe in his sanctuary. And even though she knew she could not stay there with him forever, she loved him even more for letting her in from the cold for a moment.

Michael’s eyes never left her face as he devoured her, every moan, groan, and plea for mercy spurred him on. Her thighs clamped around his head as he pushed her farther and farther up her mountain to the peak of desire. He knew Raven’s body almost as well as he knew his own now, increasing his speed and efforts when he felt her legs shake and heard her moans grow louder.

It did not take much longer for Raven to feel the snap of a powerful orgasm crash over her. She let out a continuous stream of praise and lewd words as she road those waves of sweet bliss.

“That’s it, baby. Cum for me. Fuck, you taste so good.” He emerged from between her legs, kissing her deeply.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and used his strength to hoist her farther up onto the bed. He placed her legs on his shoulders and lined himself up with her entrance. Raven offered him a raised eyebrow at the position choice, she could not remember the last time they did missionary on the bed like this. On creative surfaces, like tables? Sure.

“I wanna look you in the eye when I make you cum. Keep your eyes on me, baby,” he whispered, Raven’s heart’s fluttering as she felt him fill her to the brim.

“Fuckkkk,” she cried out as he drove into her deeply. Every stroke felt like heaven, a promised land he was so graciously sending her to. There was a vulnerability to the position that she had not expected, the way he looked at her with every thrust forward and retreat.

“Look at me.” He demanded as her eyes fluttered closed. As soon as her eyes were trained on his, he uttered three words Raven never would have thought to hear from his lips. “I love you.”

Raven was rendered speechless, her moans catching in her throat as she felt her stomach drop 100 stories.

Did he say what I think he said? She thought to herself, her brain trying to cut through layers of pleasure fog to work properly.

“You deserve the entire world, Rae. You deserve someone who’ll give you this world… the sun, the moon, and the stars. And I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve this. But I’ll spend everything I have, I’ll give everything I am to make sure you got it. I want more than an arrangement and six months with you… I want you, all of you, for as long as you’ll allow me.”

His words directly clashed with the narrative she had in her mind, the seeds of doubt life and her family had sowed. And despite her heart begging her to scream the words back at him, those doubts stopped her. She heard his words but she did not believe them or rather, she could not believe them.

She did love him, she was so in love with him. It was a devastating, beautiful, painful, once-in-a-lifetime sort of love she thought she would only read in the pages of love stories. But she felt it… every devastatingly beautiful moment of it every time she was in his presence, every time she felt his touch, every time he comforted her or looked into her eyes.

But the words, those three precious words, were stuck in her throat. A barrier of fear and doubt, made even heavier by the events of the day, weighed them down. Instead of celebrating that the man she so desperately loved felt the same about her, she could only focus on how that just could not simply be true. The story she had built in her mind that she was not good enough, that she did not deserve him, that he could never love her, a part of her brain clung to it as a lifeline. She had given Michael this grand speech about living and falling but she could not do it herself. Because if she gave in and allowed him to love her, truly love her, and then this was all a lie? That was the crash she did not think she could survive. She could handle her family hurting her. It knocked her down but she could always get back up again. But Michael? He would be her armageddon. If he hurt her, she would not get back up again.

The avalanche was hurling toward her once again, only this time she was standing at the bottom without a barrier or way to outrun it. She was mere feet away from being swept up by it and all the emotion and vulnerability it brought in its wake. The day had just been too much, too heavy. And emotionally, she had not been prepared for any of the twists and turns the day had brought. She suddenly felt overwhelmed, so out of control of everything, particularly her emotions, the one thing she usually had under control.

She felt tears sting the back of her eyes but she knew they were not good tears, the tears Michael usually induced during sex. No, these were entirely different. She quickly realized she needed a break, a moment. And the only thing in this world that she could control in this particular moment was the man above her. He was the catalyst every single time, the cannon blast that started the avalanche, that forced her to feel everything all at once. And she needed that to stop. She needed him to stop.

“Wakanda…” she choked out, her voice as broken and small as she felt.

She did not have a chance to repeat it as Michael immediately stopped his movements in mid stroke, his face stricken and concerned.

“Shit.” He slid out of her without a second thought and braced himself over her, shocked to find tears streaming down her face, her body trembling. He immediately grabbed the blanket that was hanging half off the bed, wrapping her nude form tightly in it. “Hey, hey. You’re ok, you’re ok. You’re having a panic attack. Deep breaths for me.”

Raven curled into a small ball under the blanket, gasping for breath. Michael pressed her hand into his chest.

“Focus on me, baby girl. That’s it. Deep breaths.”

She closed her eyes and focused on the faint thumps of his heart in his chest, the way it rose and fell against her hand as she tried to sync up her breathing to his. He held tightly to her hand as she took long deep breaths. It felt like hours passed before either of them moved, before she felt calm enough to speak, but she knew it had likely only been a few minutes.

“First a concussion,” she wiped her tears. “And now, a panic attack. I must be the worst woman you’ve ever had sex with,” she let out a watery chuckle.

“Or the best?” he offered in a voice so gentle and quiet, it made a new set of tears well up in her eyes. She did not deserve him. “What happened? Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. “N-no, you d-didn’t. I j-just couldn’t… you can’t look at me l-like that o-or keep doing stuff l-like this. Pretending you love me just to make me feel b-better.” She shook her head rapidly. “I know you feel obligated to be g-gentle and shit when I’m having a bad day. But i-it’s just confusing. I know t-this isn’t real a-and I c-cant take anyone else pretending to love me or care about me when they r-really don’t.”

“I’ve never done anything for you that I didn’t want to do, Raven. I’m not kind and gentle with you because I feel obligated. I’m kind and gentle because I want to be, because you deserve it. Do you find yourself so undeserving of all these things that it is that hard to believe that I’m in love with you? That I do all this shit for you because this is real to me??”

“There’s no way that is true! You don’t love me!” She argued.

“Yes I do!”

Raven wanted to pull her hair out and scream at him. “Stop saying that! W-we are just fantasies to each other, Michael! P-playing a role that the other needs filled and j-just because the fantasy is nice, doesn’t mean I should kid myself into believing it is real. You’ll toss me aside as soon as this agreement is done because everything you feel is based on a fantasy!”

“You aren’t some fantasy to me, Raven!”

“Fine! Not a fantasy! But everything we are is conditional… even you have to admit that. I mean we have a fuckin’ contract! Everything we are is based on me fulfilling those conditions! You can dress me up like a girlfriend but I know what I am when the cameras go away, Michael. I’m the girl you met in a hotel who was paid to fuck you!”

He jumped off the bed and grabbed his phone, thrusting it into her hand. “Robert Pearson. Call him.”

“W-who is that?” she asked, completely bewildered by the change in the conversation.

“He’s one of the top reporters at TMZ. Call him, call him right now and tell him this whole thing is a fuckin’ sham. Hell, want me to start an Instagram live for you so you can tell the whole fucking world? I’ll do it.”

She threw the phone back on the bed and stood up, wrapping the blanket around her like a dress. “I’m not gonna fucking call anyone or do that!”

“But you could! That’s my point! You could call TMZ right now and tell him this whole thing was a sham, sell a fuckin’ tell all and I’d still love you. I’d honestly thank you for it because then I wouldn’t have to pretend I only love you because of some arrangement. I could admit that I love you for you. I love you for your vulnerability, your spirit, the fact that you give and you give and expect nothing in return and don’t even stop giving all of yourself when everyone else would. I love that you talk in fuckin’ sonnets and monologues. I love your relentless optimism and hope. I love your smile, the way you can’t look someone in the eye when they compliment you but it lights up your entire being. I love that you’ve got a wild imagination and you're quirky and funny and…” he threw his hands up in the air. “I. Love. You. I am in love with you. You can keep telling me to stop saying it, you can ignore it, pretend you don’t hear it, you can reject it. But it won’t change it. I love you. No conditions, no expectations. Just you for you. The question is do you love me?” he demanded.

“It’s not that simple!” She tried to move around him but he blocked her way. She needed to get out of her, needed to escape this chaos. “Move, Michael.”

“No! It is that simple. Do you love me? Forget everythin’ else. What you think you do and don’t deserve. Do. You. Love. Me?”

“Of course, I fuckin’ love you!” she cried out. “I fell in love with you the morning I woke up with a concussion and you were sitting in my hospital room. I love you! But t-there’s… no one loves me like that. What you’re claiming to feel… no one feels that for me a-and there’s no way that you, a man who could get any one of the billions of women on this planet, would be the first. There’s no way you would settle for loving me.” She let out a deep sigh. “A-and my heart can’t take it… I can’t take the rejection and pain from people I love who don’t love me back anymore. I c-can’t. Which means I can’t believe that you love me. I’ve taken all I can take a-and if I accept that you love me, then I risk you rejecting o-or hurting me. And when you do, it’ll kill me.” The last word hung in the air as she sank down to the floor by his bed, her head buried in her hands.

Michael settled down on the floor next to her, his hand grasping hers as he intertwined their fingers. There was so much to unpack in her words, so much that he knew he would not be able to convince her of or solve in one night. But there was one thing he knew he could assure her of right then and there.

“There were a hundred ways I could’ve spun what happened between us that first night, hundreds of ways I could’ve dealt with you that would not have led us to this moment. But I chose the road I chose, not so I could have a body to use or fix a crisis. But because you stole my soul the moment you turned around in that hotel room. Loving you isn’t fuckin’ settling, it’s everythin’ I’ve wanted for damn near a decade but didn’t think I could have again. We’ve been standing on the edge of this cliff, waiting for the other to be ready to jump for months now. And I’m ready and you’re holdin’ on for dear fuckin’ life. I’m askin’ you to let go and trust that I won’t hurt you. I know that’s scary… shit I’m scared too. But I’m willing to jump if you are.” His thumb wiped away her falling tears before kissing her on the forehead. “I’m not lookin’ for an answer tonight, love. I know today… this week’s been a lot for you. I didn’t mean to add another thing on top of all the other shit, I just… needed you to know how I felt.”

“Don’t… don’t apologize. I-I j-just got overwhelmed b-by everything. It’s been a day of unexpected emotional confessions,” she chuckled. “I…” she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m really scared. Scared of being hurt, scared of falling even more in love with you a-and another good thing being taken from me. B-But I want this for real with you too. I don’t wanna keep pretending what we have isn’t real when we know it is. If you’re ready to jump, so am I. And we can just be scaredy cats while we fall together?”

He pulled her into his lap and pressed his lips to hers softly. “Not a fan of you callin’ me a scaredy cat,” he teased. “But yea. I meant it when I told you, you’re safe with me. All of you. And I’ll do whatever I gotta do to make sure you believe that shit.”

Her heart fluttered a bit. She knew he meant his words. If there was one thing she had always been with Michael, it was safe. And she adored that about him.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love the way that shit sounds. Say it again.” .

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” her lips tugged upward into a grin as he started peppering her face with kisses and having her repeat the phrase over and over again. He picked them both off the ground and continued kissing her and causing her to giggle as he placed her back in bed.

He settled her under the covers and pulled her tightly into his arms. Their legs were quickly tangled in each other’s as she laid her head on his chest. They laid there in silence for a while before Raven sat up. As much as she enjoyed cuddling in his arms, Raven wanted more. Emboldened by their confessions of love, she pushed herself to her knees and straddled his hips.

“You used your safe word. We ain’t gotta…” she pressed a finger to his lips stopping him.

“I know what I want and need, Bakari,” she whispered, using his nickname, which was only reserved for family and close friends for the first time. Michael was not much of a crier but hearing his nickname on her lips made his heart skip one or two beats, made tears sting the back of his eyes. “And I want you. You showed me how much you loved me… now let me show you.” She gave him a sly smirk before shifting between his legs to taste him.

The pair lost track of how many times they moaned or screamed those three magic words to each other. But by the time they were finished, their bodies a tangled mess of limbs and bodily fluid, Raven knew, in her heart, that his words were true. And so she fell asleep nestled in his warm embrace, feeling true happiness with anther person for the first time in her life.

Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii @certifiedlesbianbaddie @pipsqueak-98 @nyifly22 @destinio1 @twocentaur @gopaperless @musicisme333 @roguekiki @majesticbrownjawn @taurusqueen83 @mysteryuz @miamormilan @itsknor-thedeep @naj-ay444 @mads-grace4 @nayaesworld @kholdkill @msniaimani @nccu-rnc @apenasumlug4r

***

A/N: The babes finally confessed their love for each other!!! Woohoo! How do you think our two lovebirds make the jump from fake romance to a real relationship? Thank you for reading! Drop a comment and let me know what you thought :)

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #michael b jordan x reader #mbjordanedit #black panther #michael b jordan fanfic #creed 3 #adonis creed #creed iii

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ladamedusoif · 7 months

Text

Visiting - Chapter 11: My Favourite Work of Art

(Moodboard by @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: Work stresses and the pressures of an impending public talk threaten to derail Ben and Lyd's attempts to do Valentine's Day their way, while news spreads of their romance among the student body.

Word Count: 10k (I'm...sorry?)

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (series and chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; Ben and Lydia are contemporaries; canon is not a thing here; slow burn; idiots to lovers; smut; fingering; oral sex; safe PiV sex; enthusiastic consent; strong language; alcohol consumption; praise kink; self-esteem issues; body and weight insecurity; office sex; students thinking people in their 40s are 'old' (they aren't); some references to previous emotional abuse; references to stress; some minor angst; fluff central and I'm loving it

A/N (further notes at the end of the chapter):

The title for this chapter comes from Chet Baker's 'My Funny Valentine'.

youtube

Thank you to everyone who's shown so much love for this pair so far - every comment, reblog, like, interaction, ask is just a joy to me.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Chapter 10 - Chapter 12

Cross-posting to AO3 (and if you're reading on there, too, and yelling along in the comments - I love you, thank you!)

@julesonrecord and @lunapascal - thank you, extended family members of the dorksicles.

Taglist:

@lunapascal , @julesonrecord , @tessa-quayle , @vermillionwinter , @iamskyereads , @tieronecrush , @perennialdoll247 , @love-the-abyss , @imaswellkid , @intheorangebedroom , @javierisms , @fuckyeahdindjarin , @littlemisspascal , @khindahra , @pedrostories , @readingiskeepingmegoing , @rhoorl , @red-red-rogue , @princessanglophile , @katareyoudrilling @survivingandenduring , @trulybetty @fictionismyreality @sunnywithachanceofjavi , @joeldjarin , @lahoozaherr, @s-u-t, @its-nebuleuse

“Okay - dirty gin martini for Lyd, whiskey sour for Evan, and for me, a negroni sbagliato -”

Ani pauses, looking expectantly at you and Evan.

In unison, you look at each other and pronounce: “with Prosecco in it”, in your sultriest tones, before giggling as Ani settles back into their dark red leather chair, drink in hand.

Evan raises his crystal-cut tumbler. “To us. And to our people.”

“Our people?” Ani arches an eyebrow.

“David, Cass…” He turns in your direction. “And of course, the other half of dorkdom’s greatest love story: Benjamin.”

You roll your eyes, raise your glass, and take a sip of the ice cold cocktail. “To our lovely people.”

Ani and Evan sip their drinks contentedly. You’d tried to meet for a drink every week or so, schedules permitting, since you came to Barrow, and Evan had been adamant that the routine would continue now that you were, in his words, “sickeningly loved-up”.

“Speaking of our lovely people,” Evan asks, reclining in his chair, “what are your V-Day plans?”

Ani scoffs audibly. “V-Day. Fuck, Ev. Me and Cass are going to a nice hotel for the weekend at the end of February, and I’m sending her one of those ridiculous heart-shaped cookies on the day, iced with the message Fuck Heteronormative Capitalism.” They trace their hand through the air, as if illustrating the inscription. Then, a little more quietly: “And, uh, a nice bouquet of her favourite flowers, obviously.”

Evan sighs happily. “I knew you were a romantic, Ani Sen. We’re sending flowers too - David said some shit about how we’re appropriating and queering the established gestures of heteronormative romance, but I know he just wants some cool blooms in his apartment.”

“Everyone loves getting flowers,” you add. “I bet even the most performatively straight dude wouldn’t say no to a really nice hand-tied arrangement.”

You become very aware that both Evan and Ani have trained their gazes on you.

“And what, pray, has love’s young dream cooked up for the great festival of lurrrrrve?” Evan rolls his rs with relish.

“Uh…” You stare at the olive in your glass and take a fortifying sip of your martini.

“We haven’t really talked about it yet. It’s just been so busy and stressful lately - for Ben especially, but for me too. I’ve got that big public talk at the end of next week, you know, and he’s got that big submission to the college board about the diversity and inclusion plan, and that’s due on 15 February, of all days, and it’s hard, because it’s all still so new and so lovely, and we’re having such a gorgeous time, and we love each other so much and we’re trying not to be stressed, but we kind of are, and yeah - yeah. I guess it just hasn’t been on our radar.”

Ani squeezes your hand gently. “Oh, babe. It’s okay, it’s not like it actually matters, right? If your relationship has to conform on one day, then you’ve got bigger problems. And you two are so happy. Even if a bit stressed. Right?”

You nod. “Really, really happy. Fuck, it’s just my overthinking shit again. Should we do something, is it bad if we don’t, is it too late to arrange something at this stage…”

Evan clears his throat. “Girl, you’re spiralling. Again. Look, I’m sorry. Please don’t feel you have to do something just because of me asking.” He sips his whiskey sour as you smile over at him.

“I am making him a gift, though.”

Evan and Ani wheel around in their seats dramatically.

“OH FUCK YOU MISS OH NO PLANS SO STRESSED OH DON’T MIND ME JUST MAKING A GIFT!” Ani shrieks.

You lean over in your seat, laughing hard, grateful for all the love in your life here: the warm, platonic love of your friends as well as the extraordinary, unique love you shared with Ben.

Deep down, though, you know you should probably ask him about Valentine’s Day. Just in case.

“Hi baby, it’s me!”

You close Ben’s front door behind you and drop the key he’d given you on the hall table. The house seems oddly quiet. It wasn’t particularly late, and you could see the lamps were on in the front room, so you assumed he was up. You take off your coat, hang it up, and wander in the direction of the living room.

Since getting together properly - becoming an “us”, as you’d said that cold Saturday morning a month before - you had not spent a night apart. Within a week, he had a drawer at your place and you had one at his; there were two toothbrushes in each of your bathrooms, now; and while you still valued having your own place, for now, you had begun to settle into a kind of loving domesticity stretched across two locations.

If you’d been twenty years younger, this would have been moving worryingly fast. Now, though, it felt right in every way. You’d both been through enough to know what you wanted, and to know how you felt about each other. Even in the midst of a stressful time, each passing day only deepened the love that was still so new. Each tiny act of love, however practical or mundane, strengthened the bond between you.

An example: Ben was astonished when, one evening at your place when you realised he’d not only removed your laundry from the dryer but carefully folded it and placed it in the basket, ready for you to put away (he still didn’t really know where everything went), you’d thrown yourself at him for a huge hug, tears in your eyes.

“I just folded your laundry, baby, it’s not a big thing! Why are you crying?”

You looked at him, slightly blurry through your tearful gaze, thinking about what you could say to explain. That you’d spent over a decade in a relationship where your partner wouldn’t even think of taking your laundry out of the dryer, let alone folding it and neatly leaving it for you to put away. That you’d become so attuned to a partner doing absolutely nothing to make your life better or easier that you had come to see even the tiniest gesture as a major one.

Instead, you’d leaned in and kissed Ben softly on the mouth. “I’m crying because I’m so happy. Because you’re the kindest, most loving man I’ve ever met. And you love me.”

You open the door into the living room now, slightly mellow after your martini, and discover Ben sitting up, asleep on the couch: glasses askew, papers and notes for the diversity initiative scattered around his sleeping form, and (somehow, miraculously) his laptop still safely on his knees, his broad hands resting lightly on the keyboard.

Your heart melts at the sight. You tiptoe carefully over towards him, afraid of startling him and sending the laptop flying.

“Ben?” you whisper, very gently stroking the crown of his head before lifting his laptop onto the coffee table. “Hey. It’s me.”

He blinks awake and his eyes pop open as he turns and sees you, smiling warmly at the sight. “Lyddie. Hi, darling. Shit… was I asleep?”

You sit beside him on the arm of the couch, not wanting to disturb the random spread of paperwork, and feel his arm wrap around your waist. “You were. Fuck, baby, you’re working too hard on this.”

He shakes his head drowsily, rummaging around for his notes and looking for his laptop. “It has to be perfect.”

You put a hand on his, to still his movements. “No such thing. And even if there was, it won’t be perfect if you’re writing it half-asleep, Ben.” You look in the direction of the kitchen. “Did you at least eat?”

He nods and smiles cheekily. “I did, but only because some sexy art historian came over last night and brought enough lasagne to feed the five thousand. Or at least, to feed two academics for a couple of nights.”

“Sexy, huh?” You lean closer to him, admiring the line of his neck as he looks up at you, eyes scanning your upper body for a moment before meeting yours again. “Well, now that I know you’re fed and watered…why don’t you put away the work for tonight and take a sexy art historian to bed?”

Ben trails his hand under your sleep shirt, gently stroking the soft flesh of your breast with his thumb as you kiss languidly, your hand reaching into his boxers.

He shifts on top of you as you tug down his shorts and hitch up your knees. You feel him resting hard and heavy on your soft belly as he continues to kiss you, one hand caressing your face with the greatest care.

But it’s pretty obvious he’s fighting sleep. His eyelids are heavy, he struggles to keep his eyes open, and when they’re closed - even as he kisses you - you feel like he might just nod off there and then. No one wants their boyfriend to fall asleep on top of them, of course - but he’s got a good excuse. And he’s trying so valiantly to stay awake that your heart swells with affection.

“Baby,” you murmur. “Baby?”

“Mmmmmfh?”

“Baby, look at me.”

His beautiful dark eyes barely peek at you from under his heavy lids, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Darling, you’re nodding off. You need to sleep, love.”

Ben looks disappointed in himself, even as he shifts his body off you and back to his side of the bed. “I’m so sorry, Lyd. I shouldn’t be falling asleep on you like that, that’s not fair.”

You turn to face him and reach for his hand. “Ben, you were asleep on the fucking couch at 9.30pm. You’re getting up really early to go to work on the project. It has nothing to do with me or you or what we feel for each other.” You kiss him softly. “You’re just really overworked.”

He trails his long fingers over your hip. “Well…maybe. But I want you, darling. You know that, right?”

You nod. “Of course I do. And you can show me tomorrow, hmmm? So get a good night’s sleep. You’ll need it.”

He grabs you with a growl and pulls you in to him, holding you close as you squeal delightedly. “You too, baby. I’m a man of my word.”

“And I’m a woman of mine.”

The two of you blink awake at 6am after a blissfully uninterrupted night of sleep, feeling thoroughly restored.

“My lovely girl.”

“My handsome boy.”

A lazy kiss and cuddle soon becomes more urgent: hands roaming under each other’s nightclothes, seeking to discard them as quickly as possible; soft giggles as your head gets stuck in your sleep shirt turning to gentle sighs of pleasure as he dips his clever fingers between your legs; low moans from him as you straddle his body and take him inside you; cries of mutual pleasure as you come in quick succession.

You turn your heads to face each other as you flop back onto the bed, sweating, sated, and wide awake. Ben looks at his phone.

“Not bad going for quarter to 7 in the morning, huh?”

You laugh out loud, turning to rest a hand on his tummy. “What’s that Dusty Springfield song?” You sing lightly: “Just a little lovin’/Early in the morning/Beats a cup of coffee/For starting off the day”

Ben is staring at you like you’re a marvel. “Well, shit. You really can sing. Is there anything you can’t do?”

You flash him a sceptical look. “If I start listing all those things, we’ll be here all week. But thank you.”

He reaches over and pulls you to him for another cuddle.

“Hey, Ben?” you ask, head resting on his shoulder. “Do you…do you want to, like, do something, for Valentine’s? I understand if it’s not your thing, I’m not a fan of the cheesy stuff but I thought -”

“Fuck. I got you a - no, never mind what I got you. But I completely forgot about making actual plans.” He traces a line along your shoulder. “Other than spending time with you, of course.”

“You know that’s fine with me, love.”

He shakes his head lightly. “No, we should at least go for dinner.” He kisses your forehead, nose pressing against your scalp. “It’s been a very long time since I had a Valentine.”

Later that morning, you pop your head into the faculty office, where Susan is typing rapidly and humming contentedly to herself.

“Hi, Susan. You don’t happen to know what room Ben’s in for his ten o’clock lecture, do you?”

She looks up at you and beams, a dreamy look in her eyes. “I remember this phase with Nick. Couldn’t stay away from each other.”

“Well, uh, not quite…” You hold up the dark blue hardcover notebook in your right hand. “He needs this for the session and I’m not sure if he knows he left it at home. I’d like to get there before the lecture starts, so if you know the room…?”

She gives her head a little shake, as if snapping herself out of her reverie, and with a few clicks of her mouse brings up the master timetable. “Okay… yep. Aubyn Building, room 015 - that’s the small-ish lecture theatre on the ground floor.” You thank her and are about to dash off when she calls you back.

Susan’s smile has become slightly menacing as she stares you down. “We’re all so happy for the two of you. But don’t you dare hurt that lovely man.”

You gulp audibly. “I promise I won’t. Um…yeah. See you later, Susan.”

You arrive at the lecture room with five minutes to spare, and most of the students are already sitting in the tiered rows, chattering brightly to each other as they whip out their laptops and tablets to take notes (or, let’s face it, do anything but take notes). Ben, dressed in a chartreuse green sweater with the collar of his white button-down shirt just visible, is standing at the podium and staring into his messenger bag with a puzzled expression. Though the lecture theatre is not particularly large, he’s wearing one of the radio mics available in the bigger teaching rooms, to ensure his voice will carry without strain.

You bounce quickly down the steps in your denim pinafore dress and floral-print blouse, brandishing the notebook. “Looking for something?” You keep your voice low, not wanting to make a fuss in front of Ben’s entire sophomore option class.

He raises his head and turns, smiling in surprise and delight. “I was starting to wonder if it had fallen out on the way over here this morning,” he says, taking the notebook and looking at it like it’s a Shakespeare First Folio. “I’d have been in trouble without this today.”

You shrug. “You’d have been fine, you know this stuff inside and out. But I remember you making revisions to the lecture in the notebook, so I’m glad I got it to you in time. See you later.” You turn and walk back towards the stairs to the exit.

“Thanks baby, love you.” Ben’s tone is casual, because telling you he loves you is now a kind of reflex for him, and vice versa.

Except right now, he’s got a radio mic on, and his sweet, nonchalant declaration of love has just been broadcast to the entire lecture theatre. You’ve never seen a classroom full of chatty students fall silent quite so quickly before.

You try to look back as subtly as possible. He’s flushed pink at the podium, the colour stark against the white of his collar and the green of his sweater, eyes wide and panicked behind his glasses as he stammers and stutters. All the while, the students swivel their heads looking at the two of you, whispers and giggles starting to build in their ranks.

“It’s okay!” you mouth to him. “See you later!”

The eyes of the students bore into you as you make your way towards the classroom door, trying desperately to avoid any accidental eye contact. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a handful who are also taking your class this semester - some of whom you’ll see for a seminar in just two hours’ time.

Oh, fuck.

As you walk back to your building you try to reason with yourself. It’s not like you’re hiding your relationship, even if you’re not going around broadcasting your feelings for each other to all and sundry, and it’s not inappropriate or against the rules for you to be together. The students would probably have worked it out at some point. Hell, you got the feeling some of them already thought you were together. And it’s not like Ben had uttered something graphic or overly intimate, right?

All he said was he loves you. In front of a whole class of students. Who heard every word.

You buy a coffee from the little cart outside the library and try to reassure yourself. “It’s fine,” you think to yourself. “They’ll forget it quickly and move on to the next drama.”

Your seminar with the sophomores has been reassuringly drama-free thus far, save for some knowing glances from the students who’d been in Ben’s lecture earlier that morning. The students are working in small groups on exercises you’ve set around image analysis, using iPads to zoom in on a selection of visual sources and referring back to the set text for that week as they put together their commentary.

You glance out the glass-panelled door of the classroom, just in time to make eye contact, unexpectedly, with Ben as he moves down the hallway. He grins at you, and your face immediately breaks into a smile.

“Omigoooood, they’re so fuckin cute!” It’s not clear if the student realised quite how loud they were being, or whether they meant for you to hear, but their whispered comment immediately attracts your attention. They flush and sink down a little in their seat, looking like they might be about to burst into tears. “I’m so sorry Lydia, I didn’t mean…”

You bite your lip and think for a moment, folding your arms as you bring yourself to sit on the desk at the top of the room. “Y’know what? Get it out of your systems.”

The students stare at you, open-mouthed. “You mean…?”

“I mean: get it out of your systems, in whatever way you want. Within reason and appropriate personal boundaries. But only if you promise to focus on the sources afterwards, okay?”

They nod, looking at each other as if to confirm that they’re not being set up. One girl shyly raises her hand. “Um…so are you and professor Morales…”

“We are a couple, yes. Next quest-“

The babble from the students drowns you out.

Awwwwwwww she’s so fuckin cute I mean of course he would wanna be with her dude he was never with Professor Arden what the fuck dude girl don’t get upset you were never gonna get with a professor I don’t care what you read in stories I thought they were together already do you think they’re getting married omg what if they have babies no don’t be silly they’re probably too old it’s just so nice that old people can fall in love

At the sound of “old people” you call a halt. “Alright, I think you’ve got it out of your system. Fair?”

A student near the back lifts their hand. “You’re happy, though, right? You look happy.”

You nod and smile. “Yeah, I’m happy. We’re happy. Okay, so, if we return to what Hall says he-“

Another hand. “Does this mean you’re gonna stay at Barrow?”

You feel your heart sink and you try to keep a bright expression on your face. “Haven’t got that far yet.”

A girl near the front looks panic-stricken. “Oh my god. Is Professor Ben gonna leave with you?!” Her classmates look equally stressed out by the thought, looking at you as if you’re about to take away their favourite pet.

“I… no? I don’t…uh…” You try valiantly to suppress the panic building in your own chest. “Like I said. Haven’t got that far, not for you to worry about. Okay?”

They nod, but eye you suspiciously for the rest of the session.

Ben is packing up his things when you knock on his office door later that evening, ready to go home. It’s his busiest day in the week and you haven’t even been able to meet for lunch or a quick coffee. He looks up from his bag, smiles at you, and then immediately flushes pink again.

“I’m so, so sorry about earlier, Lyddie, I completely forgot where we were and then the radio mic and oh god, I’m sorry, I’m so-“

You stop his anxious train of thought with a little kiss to the lips. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been fretting over that all day?”

He shrugs, but his eyes answer in the affirmative. You move in for a little hug.

“Darling, it’s fine. They’d have found out sooner or later, even if I wasn’t quite expecting a mass announcement to your option class.”

“I know, but… fuck. You know what students are like.” He closes the flap on his bag and reaches for his woollen coat and sky-blue scarf, hanging on the coatstand. “Evan told me that - and I quote - our ‘shenans’ had completely derailed his queer theory workshop group, because they wouldn’t - and I quote again - ‘shut the fuck up about it’.”

He switches off his desk lamp and you both move into the hallway, Ben turning back to lock his door. You stroll down the corridor and around the corner towards the stairs that lead to the main entrance.

“I should probably warn you,” you offer, “that you might hear some rumours about you leaving.”

He turns abruptly, looking completely lost.

“Remember you walked past my classroom today? Well, my seminar group asked me if I was staying, because of us. I said I didn’t know…and then one of them asked if you were going to leave when my year was done.”

His eyes widen.

“And you said…?”

You have no idea if your answer is what he would have wanted you to say to them.

“And I said no, I don’t know, haven’t got there yet, etc.” You exhale. “I just worried that you might hear it back once it’s been filtered through the student rumour mill a few times.”

Ben reaches for your hand as you reach the door of the building, giving it a squeeze. He’s quieter, not saying much but continuing to hold your hand as you walk with him towards the staff secure bike shelter, where he unlocks his bicycle and pops his messenger bag in one of the panniers on the back.

“Oh!” he exclaims as he finishes affixing his bike lights, “I do have some good news.”

You raise your eyebrows expectantly.

“Lino’s had ONE table left on Valentine’s Day. Now, admittedly it’s at 5pm but if you’re okay with an early dinner…”

“Early dinner means more time at home with you for, um, dessert?”

He rolls his eyes, smiles, and gives you a soft kiss before putting on his bike helmet. Errant curls stick up here and there through the vents in the blue plastic and you melt all over again.

“I’ll see you at your place? Hope you’re ready for my famous enchiladas!”

You nod and wave before turning in the opposite direction towards the pedestrian route, leading off campus and towards your street.

As you walk, you find it difficult to shake off the memory of how quiet he had become after you told him about the students and their questions. Would he have answered them differently?

Regardless of how happy and comfortable and forever your relationship feels right now, you know deep down it’s far too early to talk about the future in that much detail. You don’t want him to think you’re asking him to make a call - make a commitment - that he’s probably still a long way off even thinking about.

You also know, though, that there’s an invisible countdown to the day you’ll need to have the conversation, and that it started running the moment you first kissed.

“Lyddie? You ready? Gotta go, my love.”

Ben calls to you from your living room. You’re standing in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom, stomach twisting with nerves ahead of your public lecture, and you wish to God you looked…well, better.

Your slides are prepped. Your notes are ready. You’ve run through the talk’s outline with Ani as well as Ben. “You got this,” you murmur to yourself, and try to suppress the voice that wants to chime in with a jibe about your body, your grey hairs, your wrinkles.

You blot your lipstick and emerge into the living room. “Okay, let’s go.”

Ben turns, mouth slightly open, and raises his eyebrows as his gaze takes you in from head to toe.

You tend to wear skirts and dresses when you teach. But for this talk, for whatever reason, you’ve pulled out a scarlet red pantsuit, high-waisted pants cut slim to the leg and tapering to end just above the ankle, jacket with wide lapels and long enough to end just below your ass. Underneath, a vintage-style cream satin blouse, buttoned to the neck and a black velvet ribbon tied under the collar in place of a necktie.

Black velvet pumps on your feet, oversized brass earrings, a vintage brooch your grandmother had given you on your lapel, and a slick of Lady Danger across your mouth.

He runs a thumb over his lower lip.

“Oh, god, it’s shit, isn’t it? I should have known I couldn’t get away with this, not with my fat arse and stupid tummy and ugh, it’s like I don’t realise how shit I actually look until -”

“LYD!”

You take a step back. Ben didn’t yell, exactly, but you’ve never heard him speak so firmly to you.

His face softens and he moves to hug you. “Aw, god, Lyd, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it’s just - please stop picking holes in yourself. Please. You do it so often, it’s like an involuntary response.”

He kisses the top of your head. “I’d never lie to you, Lydia. So believe me when I say: you look fucking incredible in that.”

You giggle, head resting against his chest. “You’re just saying that.”

He breaks away, meets your gaze, and sighs. “I said I don’t lie. And I say you look…” his eyes flit up and down your body appreciatively. “You look perfect. Smart, and stylish, and so goddamned sexy I don’t know how I’m going to get through watching you in that for an hour.”

You burst out laughing. “Alright, darling man. You’ve convinced me. ALLONS-Y!”

You steal a glance at your watch as you reach the last paragraph of your paper. For once in your life, you’ve got your timing spot on.

“To bring this talk to a close, let’s situate these visual representations of revolutionary military masculinities across painting and print can help to shift our understanding of what it meant to literally embody the values of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic empire.”

The final slide. The final points. A confident “Thank you.” And, to your delight, sustained applause in the packed lecture theatre. You look up towards the back rows, dead centre, where Ben, Ani, Evan, Jen, and David had said they’d be sitting - far enough away from the front so that you won’t see them and get distracted, but within a clear line of sight from the podium in case you panic and need some reassurance.

Ani is pumping their fist in the air, whooping and hollering. Evan is applauding hard, mouthing “YES, GIRL!”

Ben isn’t taking his eyes off you, a huge smile on his face as he applauds and applauds, not showing any intention of stopping. He looks…proud. You look up at him, shrugging and mouthing the words “Was it okay?”

He nods enthusiastically, and mouths back: “You’re fucking amazing.”

When the questions and discussion are over, and the majority of the audience have filed out of the theatre, Ani and Evan come down to the rostrum to invite you and Ben for drinks to celebrate what Evan was calling “your triumph.”

“I’ll even buy you champagne,” he promises, hugging you tightly. “Well. Maybe one glass. Or two glasses. I’m not made of money.”

“I am there. I can think of nothing better than a glass of champagne right now.”

Ani grins. “Hey, Lyd? We’ll be at the Lake Bar in the hotel. You guys can just follow us whenever, you probably need to leave stuff in your office anyway. Sound good?”

You turn back to Ani and nod. “Sounds very good. The Lake Bar! Fancy pants.”

The Lake Bar is tiny but formal, the only bar in Barrow’s only hotel and certainly not your usual haunt for drinks with friends. It’s also probably the only place you could get champagne for many miles.

“Text me when you guys are heading out, okay?”

You nod as they walk up the steps of the lecture theatre and begin to pack up your notes. It’s just the two of you, at last.

“You okay there, Benjamin? I’m just going to leave this stuff in my office, and then we can -“

Before you can finish your sentence, he’s cupping your face in his big hands and kissing you like a man off to war. You reciprocate, opening your lips gladly when his tongue sweeps over them and moaning softly into his mouth. You can feel the shiver of pleasure that runs through him.

You break away, his hand stroking your cheek affectionately. You reach out to wipe the traces of your lipstick off his mouth.

“So it was okay, then?”

“Yeah, it was okay, I guess.” He laughs, warm and deep, and takes hold of your hand, leading the way quickly up and out of the theatre and in the direction of your office. You giggle as you try to keep up, Ben looking back at you every so often with a huge smile on his face.

You turn on your desk lamp, shuck off your tote bag full of notes, and exhale, stretching your arms and rolling your shoulders. “Fuck, I’m so relieved that’s done. Can I have a congratulatory hug?”

Ben drops his coat on the spare chair and wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly. Your hands feel the stretch of the cotton plaid of his shirt against his broad back, and the sensation goes straight to your core.

“I’m so proud of you, Lyddie,” he murmurs. “You’re fucking amazing. Watching you do your thing up there, so smart and funny and bright and engaging and -”

You can feel his cock hardening against you, even through his dark jeans. You raise an eyebrow and lean back to look at Ben.

“Um… does the sight of me in full academic flow do it for you, Professor?”

He blushes a little and gives you a flash of his most puppy-dog expression, brown eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Y’know, I think it does. Especially in this outfit. Fuck, you look so good.”

He tilts his head, and the sensation of his soft mouth and coarse beard against the delicate skin of your neck makes you sigh with pleasure.

“Tell me.”

He chuckles lightly as he continues to ghost kisses against your throat. “It’s fucking sexy watching your mind work like that,” he says, voice low and warm, as your hands move up his chest to start loosening his tie. “Such an intelligent, gorgeous girl.”

His praise makes your cunt ache for him. You perch on the edge of your desk, the position so familiar from the night of the holiday party a couple of months before, and grab a tissue to wipe off what remains of your lipstick before kissing him hard as you reach for his waistband. He holds you up with one broad hand at your back, as he hastily works your blouse open with the other.

Ben’s about to slip his fingers under your waistband when this fantasy scenario made real is abruptly interrupted by a cheery, southern English voice greeting you.

“Hiya!”

“What the FUCK?” Ben swivels around, holding an arm across your chest in a chivalrous attempt at giving you privacy, while trying to buckle his belt with the other. You do up your blouse as best you can and thank the universe that you hadn’t got as far as shedding your pants yet.

“I thought you’d locked the door,” you mutter, as you stand up and Ben shifts behind you so he can do up his waistband.

“I thought YOU had locked the door.”

To your astonishment, though, the owner of the cheery English voice doesn’t seem to have realised that he’s interrupted anything, or noticed your hasty efforts to make yourselves decent.

In fact, he’s kept up a stream of consciousness chatter since he came into your office, oblivious to your and Ben’s panic. When you finally direct your attention to him he’s saying something about Napoleon and pyramids while searching for something in the brown satchel he’s wearing across his body.

“I…hi?” He pulls out an iPad covered in what look like stickers depicting Egyptian deities and looks up at you, mouth slightly open.

“Hi. I’m sorry, can you repeat all that, please? We…I mean, I didn’t catch a lot of it. Who - who are you, again?”

The man gives you a lopsided smile. He’s small, angular, and dark, wavy hair parted at the side and falling untidily over his eyes. There’s what can only be described as an aura of chaos surrounding him.

“I’m Steven!” He seems surprised that he’s having to introduce himself. “I’m a postdoctoral fellow in archaeology - well, now, actually I’m an Egyptologist by trade, in point of fact, but you don’t have an Egyptology department so I’m in archaeology, haha.” He steps towards you, flipping open the cover of his iPad. “I was at your talk just now - really good by the way, really liked some of the paintings you had in the slides - and I thought blimey, wonder if she’s got thoughts on Denon’s Description of Egypt, and then I thought oh well Steven you’ve got it on your iPad don’t you? And I said right well I bet she’d like to talk about that and I looked up your office and-”

Ben has moved to the door of your office and looks pointedly at you over Steven’s head as the postdoc swipes frantically through his files, trying to locate the book in question. “Professor? I’ll be in my office, whenever you’re finished with, um, Steven.”

“Aha! Here it is in all its glory.” Steven has found the digitised copy of the huge, early nineteenth-century study of Egypt, undertaken to document the expedition led by Napoleon in the late 1790s. You smile politely and shrug in Ben’s direction as he sighs and heads in the direction of his office.

You’d managed to keep your chat to a minimum, in part by promising to meet Steven during your office hours that coming week. A familiar silhouette appears at your open door.

“You finished talking Egyptology, Lyd?” Ben leans against the doorframe.

“I am. He’s a sweet kid, really. I mean, I don’t think he’s that young, but…” You give your head a little shake, as if resetting yourself. “Anyway. Let’s go. I’m surprised Evan hasn’t left us some furious voice notes.”

Ben steps into your office, shutting the door very carefully behind him and swiping the air to dismiss the idea as he strides towards you. “Pfffft. They’ll be alright, they’re in a bar.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, twirling the curls at the nape of his neck around your fingers. “Darling, we’re already running very late…”

“So?” He guides you back to sit on the edge of your desk and resumes his trail of kisses down the side of your neck.

“So…” You pull him close to you, fingers hooked inside his waistband, and moan as his hands rove up your body, grabbing handfuls of you through the silk of your blouse.

He quirks an eyebrow and smiles, looking down at your fingers already working to undo his belt buckle. “You want to stop, Lyd, and we’ll stop. Do you want to stop?”

You lean in and kiss him as you discard your suit jacket, push yourself further back on the desk, and guide his hands under your own waistband.

“Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

“How many drinks have we had now? Two?!” Jen looks at her phone and shakes her head. “I’m starting to worry.”

“I’m not,” Evan mutters darkly over the rim of his glass. “I’m gonna win our bet, Jennykins.” He shifts his gaze towards the door of the hotel bar. “Aha! Right on cue.”

He leads the group in a slow, sardonic hand-clap as you and Ben walk sheepishly over to your table, apologising profusely as you take off your coats and hats.

“Guys, I’m so sorry!” You settle into a cosy leather chair beside Jen. “A postdoc called to my office to talk about the Egyptian campaign and…”

Jen looks at you, then at Ani, who looks at David, who looks at Evan, who casts an appraising eye over Ben.

“Well, I’ll take that twenty bucks now, Jennifer. And Benjamin? You owe each of us a drink.”

“Me?” Ben looks incredulous. “Why?!”

Jen pats her old friend’s arm and shakes her head sympathetically. “Hon, your shirt isn't tucked in properly and Lydia seems to have lost her little necktie. Be real.”

Ben’s ears turn a deep pink as he stands up and fishes for his wallet.

He’s up very early on Valentine’s Day, the looming deadline for his report and funding application pulling him, reluctantly, out of your arms and your bed.

You stir under the comforter, propping yourself up to watch him dress. You bite your lip as he pulls on his white undervest, admiring the way the ribbed cotton fabric fits so beautifully over the solid breadth of his torso and tummy. He slips on a pale blue shirt, leaving it open as he looks for his pants.

You can’t help yourself. “Ooof.”

Ben turns around as he grabs his pants, and quirks a smile at you. “Ooof?”

“Just like what I see, that’s all. Ooof.”

He grins as he sits down on the edge of the bed. “I look forward to hearing more about this later, Lyddie.”

You reach around and wrap your arms around his middle, kissing the back of his neck. “Happy Valentine’s, darling.”

In truth, you didn’t mind the extra couple of early morning hours on your own, as it gave you time to finish and wrap Ben’s gift before heading to work. You’re brushing your teeth when you hear your door buzzer sound.

“Delivery for, uh, Lydia?” It’s barely 9am on Valentine’s Day and the delivery guy already sounds like he’s in the throes of an existential crisis.

You run down to the main door and sign for your delivery: a perfect bouquet of palest pink camellias, wrapped in brown paper. You smile as you inhale their scent, and immediately put them in a vase.

LYDIA: Thank you for the flowers, love. They’re perfect. And camellias! You really didn’t have to.

BEN: No flowers for my girl on Valentine’s? Who do you think I am?!😉

BEN: (I read an article about how environmentally-unfriendly roses are at this time of year and they suggested camellias. I’m so glad you like them.)

LYDIA: I love them. And I love you.

Before you leave for work, you take one camellia bloom from the vase and cut it slightly shorter. You wrap the stem in moist paper towels, then in plastic wrap, and place it carefully in a ziploc bag to bring to your office.

“Check her out. Fuck, I love her.”

Over coffee, Ani is showing you photos they’ve got from Cass, who received her enormous Fuck Heteronormative Capitalism cookie bright and early that morning. In one, she’s holding up the heart-shaped biscuit triumphantly; in another, she’s snapped it in half with a raging expression; and finally, there’s one of her eating an enormous chunk of it, face slightly smeared with half-melted chocolate chips and frosting.

“Aww!”

Ani stares at you. “What?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever actually said that in front of me.” You smile gently. “I’m so happy for you two. Looks like Valentine’s really is changing you, huh…”

“You shut the fuck up right now or I will lick that ridiculous cupcake you’ve got.”

They’re pointing aggressively at the college canteen’s special baked offering for the big day, a red velvet cupcake topped with an extraordinary amount of frosting and covered in edible red glitter.

You chuckle and stick a finger in the frosting, picking up a generous amount before popping it in your mouth. “Aha! Touché.” Your phone lights up with an incoming call from Ben, and you swipe to answer with your clean hand.

“Hi, love! You okay? You must be really up against it if you can’t even come for coffee…”

“Uh… yeah. It’s…yeah.”

You get up from your seat, mouthing to Ani that you’ll be back, and move into the hallway. “Ben? What’s wrong?”

He exhales. “They’ve asked for another section to be added to the proposal by tomorrow. I thought I could get it out of the way quickly but then I realised it needed more data and I’m trying to find that and put the details in and it’s just complicated and I dunno it’s not really hanging together and -”

“Ben? Breathe.”

He inhales and exhales slowly. His voice is quiet and hesitant.

“I don’t think I can get it done by five, Lyd. I’m - fuck. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so disappointed in myself, and I’ll try so hard to make this up to you, I promise.”

You lean against the wall as a group of chattering students ambles past. “Darling. There’s nothing to make up to me, nothing at all. We’ll have dinner at the weekend or something, I’ll see you later tonight, it’ll be perfect.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you can almost feel his disappointment through the phone.

“Ben? Honestly, I don’t mind.”

He sighs. “Okay. I love you very much, you know?”

“I do. And I love you very much too. I’ll pop by with some coffee later, okay?”

You hang up and rejoin Ani in the staff lounge.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah…” You’re thinking, trying to formulate a plan. “Hey - what are you doing around five this evening?”

The desk light is on in Ben’s office when you call by later that evening, but there’s no sign of him. You peer through the glass panel, and there he is: sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of his desk, printed-out drafts of the various sections of the proposal spread out in front of him and a pot of coloured highlighter markers to hand.

His tie is loosened, top collar buttons undone, and his brown-framed glasses have fallen forward on his nose. From the looks of things, he’s been running his hands through his hair a lot, curls standing on end and falling this way and that, the light catching the streaks of silver that pepper his dark hair.

He looks tired, but he breaks into a wide smile when he sees you and pushes himself up to standing as you enter the room. You place the large insulated bag and jute grocery tote you’ve been carrying on a chair and he wraps you in a warm, tight hug.

“Is it weird that I really needed this hug?” he mumbles into the crown of your head.

You smile and breathe in his familiar scent: more top notes of coffee today, the spicy undertone of his cologne, the clean smell of his shower gel - your shower gel, actually - and the hints of paper and pencils that seem to be part of his olfactory essence.

“Not weird at all.” You pull away and look at him, gently caressing the side of his face. “I hope you’re hungry, by the way.”

Ben looks puzzled as you reach for the two bags, unzipping the insulated carrier and flooding the office with the delicious scent of good Italian food.

“Lyddie, what the fuck is going on?”

You reach into the jute bag and retrieve two plates, two tumblers, some cutlery, and a bottle of red wine, placing them on Ben’s desk.

“If Ben Morales can’t come to Lino’s, then Lino’s will come to Ben Morales. Okay if I move some of these papers, love?”

He nods, brow furrowed as he tries to make his overworked brain understand. You shift his work materials out of the way and lay out two table settings on one side of the desk.

“Mixed mushroom fettucine, right?” Ben nods again, and you place the takeaway container on one of the plates. “And the carbonara for me, and some sides of green salad and that gorgeous focaccia they do… Okay! Sit.”

Ben pulls a chair up to the desk and opens the container of pasta, sighing happily at the aroma. You open the wine and pour a small glass each, and are ready to settle down to your own meal when you realise you’ve forgotten something.

“Shit! Wait. Hold on.” You reach again into the tote bag and pull out two of your vintage candlesticks, cheap finds from thrift stores over the years, as well as a pack of tall white candles and some matches. Their soft light flickers against the walls of books, illuminating the lines and contours of your faces as you share this most idiosyncratic and intimate of Valentine’s dinners.

Ben raises his glass, and you clink yours off it. “How… how?”

You shrug, twirling some linguine around your fork. “I promised Ani I’d cover for them at the next open day if they drove me over to Lino’s. The guys over there were only too glad to box up the food as a takeout - especially when they heard who it was for.”

Ben sips his wine. “I still don’t know what I did to deserve you. And I still feel bad that our first Valentine’s Day plans were a bust.”

You reach for his hand, rubbing your thumb over his tattoo. “You deserve everything good because you’re you. Our plans weren’t a bust - we’re still having dinner, aren’t we?” He smiles as he concedes the point.

“And… first Valentine’s Day, hmmm?” You raise your eyebrows.

Ben looks into your eyes as he turns your hand over to hold it in his broad palm. There’s a voice inside him that wants to tell you straight out, here and now, that he wants this for the rest of his life, the rest of your lives: you, him, an “us”, forever.

But there’s another, louder voice that tells him it’s still a bit too early for that. He doesn’t want to spook you, or make you think he’s asking for some kind of commitment so soon.

So he just raises his eyebrows and grins at you. “First of many, I hope?”

His key turns in the door at about 10pm. You pop your head round the door of the living room as he’s walking down his hallway, coat and bag already discarded near the front door.

“Is it…?”

“It is…done. And sent.” He does a series of air punches as he saunters towards you, and you wave your arms in the air with delight before leaning in for a kiss, taking his hands, and pulling him gently towards the living room.

“So - there are about two hours of Valentine’s Day left. Not that expressing and celebrating love is a one-day affair, of course.”

“Of course!” he nods with exaggerated seriousness, before his expression shifts to one of surprised delight when he sees the candles flickering around his living room, the bright fire that’s burning in the small stove, and the champagne on the table.

The soft light catches his sparkling eyes. “Oh, you’re too cute, Lyddie.”

“But if you’re too tired…”

He pulls you to him and kisses you hard, hands gliding down the silk fabric of the vintage robe you’re wearing and seeking out handfuls of you along the way.

“I will take that as a ‘no, I am not too tired, Lyd’.”

He arches an eyebrow and takes off his glasses, the lenses already a little fogged up. “Definitely not too tired.” He looks you up and down, admiring the loose folds of the printed silk. “That’s a beautiful thing.”

“Picked it up for next to nothing in a second-hand shop years ago.” You preen a little to show it off. “You sure you’re not too tired?”

He nods solemnly, and you undo the belt of the robe, letting it fall open as you stand in front of him.

“Oh, my god.” Ben moves close to you, slipping his long fingers under the edge of the robe to reveal the soft flesh of your bare shoulders and the full, plush outline of your naked breasts. “Oh, fuck me.”

“That is indeed the plan, love.”

He pauses and chuckles, then eases the rest of the robe off you and places it on the armchair before exploring the contours and creases and folds of your bare form with his gentle fingertips. His mouth is open a little, as if he’s astonished by the sight of you: illuminated in candlelight. Soft. Warm. Curvy. Inviting.

“You’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs. “Let’s go to bed.”

You tilt your head in the direction of the fireplace and the cosy fire burning in the stove. He sees the soft blankets and pillows laid out on the rug in front of the hearth, and he smiles and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. You start to undress him, loosening his tie and helping him out of his shirt and pants.

He moves as if to take off his undervest and boxer briefs and you still his hands. “Uh… maybe keep the vest. For the moment.”

The light from the stove casts shadows over you, body writhing on the blankets as Ben works another orgasm from you with a quirk of his thick, talented fingers.

He’s focused his attention on you, on your pleasure, since you’d stretched out together in front of the hearth. “It’s only fair,” he’d whispered, kissing your neck and collarbones, his warm, solid frame resting above you. “Want to show you how much I love you - all of you.”

With his mouth and fingers leading the way, he had taken you on a kind of guided tour of your own body, praising every bit of you as he went. The curve of your hips. The specific shape of your mouth. The softness of your belly. The strength of your thighs. The line of your neck. The velvet weight of your breasts when he holds them in his big hands.

He sucked lightly on your nipples, tracing his thumb over the pebbled skin. “These are spectacular tits, Lyd. Better than I’d ever imagined.”

You’d laughed and wound your fingers through his hair. “Did you often imagine what my tits were like before you actually got to see them, or…”

He groaned in embarrassment, burying his head against your chest. “Maybe a little.” He lifted his face slightly and looked up at you. “I was admiring respectfully. You can’t blame me, they’re fucking amazing.”

He quickly worked his way down your body, running his mouth and tongue over the soft flesh of your middle and settling himself between your thighs before reaching his hand up to part the wet folds of your pussy, sighing happily as he did so.

“And this is…so beautiful.”

He trailed two fingers along the wet seam, slipping the tips into your cunt, before they were replaced by his lips and tongue.

One orgasm. Two. And now, what was this - three?

You whine with need. “Please, baby. Want you now.”

He shifts his body on top of yours and kisses you deeply as you wrap your legs around him, then leans in to whisper in your ear.

“Can I roll you over and take you from behind?”

You kiss him again before shifting onto your front, enjoying the sensation of the soft blankets against your naked breasts and belly. Ben grabs another pillow and places it under your head. His weight on top of you is warm and grounding, the broad span of his shoulders eclipsing yours.

He brings his lips to the back of your neck as he gently slips inside with a long, low moan, feeling the plush flesh of your ass against him as he bottoms out. Even as he starts to move, even as he picks up the pace and fucks you harder, he’s ever the conscientious, considerate lover. Every now and then he leans in to ask if you’re okay, if it feels good for you, to tell you how beautiful you are, and to remind you how much he loves you.

You can tell he’s close, and you know another peak is building in you. You reach up and pull one of the cushions from under your head.

“Can you pull back just for a second? Wanna lift my hips up and…”

He does as he’s asked and you slip the cushion under your hips, adjusting yourself until you hear him groan with pleasure and you know it’s just the right angle for the two of you. Ben slips a hand under you to cup your breast as he fucks you hard, pulling one final climax from you just as he cries out your name and spills inside you.

He pulls out and reaches to turn you round, bringing your bodies flush together and covering your face with soft kisses as you run your fingers through his damp hair. You drag up one of the blankets to cover your bodies, and you lie there, entwined together exchanging gentle kisses in the glow of the fire.

Disentangled and cleaned up, the two of you nestle together on the couch to drink some champagne: you back in your robe, Ben in a soft old t-shirt and flannel pyjama pants.

“I’m sorry this isn’t more glamorous, Ben.”

He cuddles you closer. “Best night ever, and it’s all down to you.”

He puts his glass on the side table and reaches beside the couch to retrieve a small gift bag. “Happy Valentine’s, my love. I only wish I could give you everything.”

You smile and shake your head. “I’ve got everything I need.”

The gift bag contains a rectangular jewellery box and what feels like a gift-wrapped book. “I should explain why there’s no card,” Ben says, looking a little anxious. “They were all just a bit… cringey. Is that the word? They just weren’t you. So… the book is a gift but also a card. Kind of. If that makes sense. Does that make sense?”

You kiss him lightly and open the paper to reveal what looks like a mid twentieth-century hardback book, wrapped in a bright blue dust jacket. You laugh when you look at the author’s name and title:

H.E. BATES

LOVE FOR LYDIA

“You know I’ve never actually read this?”

Ben smiles broadly, his eyes crinkling. “Neither have I, but… well. It’s self-explanatory.”

You open the book and read the inscription on the inside.

To Lyddie, for whom my love would fill countless volumes. B x

Tú

que ayer sólo eras toda la hermosura

eres tambien todo el amor, ahora.

You

who were merely all beauty yesterday

are today all love, as well

J.L. Borges, ‘Sabados’ (1923)

“I know it’s a little bit soppy.”

“Soppy?” You’re wiping away tears with the sleeve of your robe. “Ben, this is - I don’t have words, it’s beautiful. Perfect, in fact.”

“Do you want to open the other one?” He gestures towards the jewellery box, resting on your lap.

“Ohh, baby.” Inside is a fine gold chain with a little gold disc hanging from it, no more than a centimetre and a half in diameter. It’s delicately engraved with your initials, arranged in a sort of cypher design.

It is elegant, beautiful, and you can’t quite believe that someone would love you enough to even think of a gift like this, let alone give it to you. The inner doubts about whether you ‘deserve’ this kind of love are mostly under control these days, but never too far from the surface.

“It’s so perfect, darling, it’s… It’s…it’s too much, Ben, I don’t -“

“Don’t you dare say you don’t deserve this.” He looks deadly serious. “Do you want to try it on?”

The gold feels warm against your skin, and you admire the way it reflects the candlelight as you lean in and kiss him before standing up and fetching a gift box that you’d hidden behind the TV.

“Okay, now it’s your turn, Benjamin.” He takes the gift box and carefully takes off the lid to reveal something neatly wrapped in tissue paper underneath.

You settle back beside him on the couch. “I really hope you like this, and that you don’t think it’s inappropriate. But - tell me if it is, okay?”

He nods, a slightly suspicious look in his eyes, and begins to fold back the layers of tissue paper to reveal a crisp, white cotton poplin shirt with a camp-style collar decorated with red embroidery. His initial uncertainty rapidly gives way to recognition as he lifts the shirt out of the box.

A little while ago, not long after you had officially got together, you had been chatting one evening about the family photographs on display in his living room. Your gaze had settled again on the photo of his father as a young man, so uncannily similar to his son.

“Other than the hair and the fact that your eyes are exactly the same as your mother’s, you’re a carbon copy of him. You just need a similar shirt and you could recreate the image.”

Ben had picked up the photo so you could look at it in more detail together. “He had this shirt for years. It’s a traditional style, but they come in all sorts of variations. His was gorgeous, though - that embroidery was like a dark red, I think. I loved it when I was a kid and he wore it, he just looked so cool.” He’d smiled warmly at the image of Diego Morales, captured forever in his youthful prime. “Fuck, I miss him so much.”

You leaned in and cuddled him. “Do you have one? Of the shirts, I mean”, you’d asked, and Ben had shook his head.

“Never found one that was as nice as Dad’s.”

It is a relatively simple design - short sleeved, button-up, with four pockets, two on each side - but you have added embroidered details to each of the pockets, to match the collar. The shirt itself was an easy enough job - after doing your research on the exact style and its history, you’d made it one Saturday when Ben was doing an open day at the college and you could lock yourself away in your apartment. The embroidery had been more challenging, especially as you were trying to approximate what you could make out of the pattern on Diego’s shirt.

Like Ben, you were unable to find a Valentine’s card that didn’t make you want to vomit. So you have, instead, stitched a tiny message along the fabric facing just inside the collar - his initials, your initials, and the year.

Every stitch and every seam was, in its own way, a tangible expression of how much he meant to you.

Ben is silent as he looks at the shirt, taking in the details. He runs his fingers along the hand embroidery and feels the small pearl buttons. You worry that this might actually be too much - too intimate a gift for so early in a relationship, too close to the grief he felt for his father - and that you have got this horribly, desperately wrong.

“B-Ben?”

He turns slowly to you, tears in his eyes, the shirt still in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Ben, I just -“

He places the shirt back in the box and pulls you close to him. He struggles to get the words out. “Thank you. Thank you, Lyd, this is - wow.” He looks at the shirt again and bites his lip. “It’s the most beautiful gift I think I’ve ever been given.”

He notices the tiny lettering inside the collar. “Oh, fuck me. You made this?!”

You bury your head against him, mumbling into his chest. “Yes is that weird oh god is it weird?”

He laughs and wraps an arm around you. “How could you making me a version of my dad’s guayabera be weird? It’s… fuck. I love it. And I love you. So fucking much.”

“I’m so glad you like it, darling.”

His gaze is earnest as he reaches for your hand. “It means the world to me. You mean the world to me.”

You take the box and place it on the coffee table so that you can cuddle in against his broad, warm chest, bringing an arm around his middle as he enfolds you in his strong, safe embrace.

You mean the world to him. He means the world to you. Isn’t that all that matters?

The countdown to the hard decisions might be rapidly running out, but for tonight, at least, they could wait. You close your eyes and focus on the reassuring rhythm of Ben’s heartbeat.

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N:

The song Lydia sings a line of to Ben after their morning exertions is 'Just A Little Lovin'', by Dusty Springfield.

youtube

The shirt Ben's dad is wearing, and that Lydia recreates for Ben as his Valentine's gift, is inspired by the traditional guayabera summer shirt that is thought to have originated in either Mexico or Cuba, but is worn throughout Central and parts of South America in the summer months.

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