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muldermuse · 5 months

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two sinners (Gator Tillman X F!Reader)

ok so this is feral and I wrote it in a day bc I could feel it rotting away in my brain

Gator Tillman is a horrible guy and reader wants to get him back.

18+ only!!! Smut below. Smut includes piv sex, infidelity (pretty big thing), Gator is mean but so is reader, oral (f receiving), rimming (m receiving), slutshaming, mention of anal (f receiving), mention of cuffs used as restraints, brief nipple play, use of the word whore/slut, spitting, dirty talk, praise kink, stalking???. If any of that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

this could be a multi part fic. It was fun to write and I enjoy the dynamic so lemme know if u enjoyed!!!

He’s barely out of you by the time he says it this time. “That’s the last fuckin’ time I do this shit, we’re done”. He spits it at you like it’s acid on his tongue.

You’re lying on your bed completely naked as his come is slowly dripping out of you onto your linen. The first few times you’d done this, you put on fresh linen and lit a floral candle. He never appreciated it so you stopped. His statement would hurt you a lot more if this wasn’t becoming a regular occurrence. It’s become a routine; something it was never supposed to be.

He visits your home, fucks you however you want him to, makes you come as many times as he can, he feels guilt as soon as he finishes, he splashes cold water over his face in your en suite bathroom (leaves it in puddles across your tiled floor and organised surfaces) and then grabs his things and storms out. He’ll be back before the end of the week- he always is.

You’re getting tired of it. It should be harder now he has a girlfriend and you’re seeing a few guys from the local area. But it isn’t. You’re unsure why.

He tells you he hasn’t slept with Glenda yet. His daddy loves her, thinks she’s the sweetest thing he’s ever seen and he’s been vocal about his dislike of you. You think he’s a fucking idiot so you guess it’s good that the feeling is mutual. Gator can’t be with anyone his daddy doesn’t like, you’ve heard him brag about how he could get any gal he wants but you know it’s not true. You’re pretty sure that Gator knows that as well deep down.

You were sleeping together before he got with Glenda. Glenda is a church girl and his daddy’s protege. Roy sets them up and tells Gator he’s been blessed to have Glenda enter his life. Whereas, Roy thinks you have sin in your heart and you know that you do. You believe him that he hasn’t slept with her yet, if he does- it makes the whole relationship real. This is something that you know Gator is trying to avoid. His head is buried deep beneath the sand and he’s trying to find air holes to catch his breath before he suffocates.

You’re sleeping with other people, like Jax from the local store and Steve from the bar. Neither know about each other or about your Gator situation. Jax and Steve take you out on dates and fuck you in their cars and their homes. It’s passionate and sweet. It’s filled with promises and hope. Gator fucks you like he’s trying to get expel something deadly from his body. Gator’s a terrible person and you know that you are too. This is why you’re done with him, not for Glenda or Roy Tillman. Certainly not for Jax and Steve. You’re done because you want him to want you more than he ever has before. He’s an asshole and you want him more desperate than ever for you. You hear him spit in your sink as he comes back into the bedroom.

“You say this shit all the time Gator. What if I’m done with you huh?” You’re still naked and you can feel his cum drying on your inner thighs.

“You’re the one who always comes crawlin’ back to me remember? Jus’ a fuckin’ whore- that’s why I liked usin’ you though so don’t take it personal”. He giggles cruelly as he shrugs his jacket back on.

His words don’t hurt, a few months ago they would’ve made your stomach drop and tears prick in your eyes. But now? It just fuels you.

“Go back to Glenda, Gator”. That will hurt him. You never say her name, you only do it because that sentence is the equivalent of a scorching red hot poker branding his sensitive skin.

“Don’t say her fuckin’ name”. Anger flashes across his eyes. “I am so fuckin’ done with you and I mean it”. You want to laugh at how powerful he perceives his words to be.

“You say fuckin’ shit you don’t mean all the time Gator. It’s like breathing to you”. You wrap a bedsheet around you and get up to stand in front of him.

“That’s it then, you’re done with this right?” He nods. “I don’t wanna see your fuckin’ face or hear from you again. Don’t text me, don’t casually come into my work and don’t fuckin’ turn up here.

Get the fuck out of my fuckin’ house, Gator”

***

Two weeks pass with nothing. You can’t say you’re not impressed. He doesn’t glance at you when you see him on the street. He doesn’t call or text.

Glenda shares pictures on Facebook of the pair of them. She looks happy and he looks uncomfortable. You think that that sums up the entire relationship. You know he’s going to break and speak to you; it’s just waiting.

You carry on seeing Jax and Steve. Jax takes you to a drive in movie theatre and goes down on you on the backseat for the entire movie. He buys you your favourite candies and chips for the ride there and back. He makes you laugh and asks if you want to make it official- you tell him you don’t. He asks when he can see you again.

Steve takes you to a new steakhouse. He gets you a bottle of red wine and when you don’t like how your steak is cooked; he swaps your plates. You go back to his place and ride him on the couch in his living room. You spend the entire time thinking about how you couldn’t do this with Gator because he lives with his daddy. Before you leave, Steve gives you a necklace with your birthstone on. He tells you how much you mean to him, you thank him and drive home.

You don’t miss Gator. You don’t feel positively about him at all. You just like that he wants you and you like the power you hold over him. If you wanted to ruin his life you could. You could tell his daddy and Glenda that he loves fucking a sinner. That he’s fucked you in every possible way they could imagine and he loves it. You could tell them about how he’s been that pussydrunk on you; he’s told you he’s in love with you. Or maybe about how after you ate his ass on his daddy’s dining room table, he told you he wanted to run away with you and that he’d already looked into it and started storing money away. You didn’t say anything back to him, you just stored away these love drunk confessions so you could use them against him.

Gator Tillman is the worst guy you know.

And he makes you feel fucking powerful.

***

It takes 4 weeks in total for him to break.

[received on Monday at 04:32] Gator🐍💩: are u going to the church potluck on Saturday

[received on Monday at 10:12] Gator🐍💩: just bc u went last year, know it’s not ur scene tho.

[received on Monday at 15:05] Gator🐍💩: im goin with Glenda so just don’t want it to be awkward

[received at Tuesday at 01:54] Gator🐍💩: ?? Do you have a new number?

He calls you three times on Wednesday.

You ignore every text and every ring.

His patrol car is parked over the street from you on Thursday. He knows you leave for work at half 6 in the morning. You know you’ll see him again, probably during lunch as he is so fucking predictable. Every Thursday, you go for a bagel at a local deli because you love the mid week special. You can already picture his car parked outside there on the curb waiting for you. So you know it’s a great time to invite your new, very handsome, colleague called Jenson along. Jenson is new to the department and is a quarterback for a local team. He’s made his attraction to you pretty clear, he brings in a coffee for you every morning and has asked you out for drinks before.

You offer to drive Jenson to the deli and, of course, Gator’s car is parked out front. He sees you but you don’t look at him. You can feel his eyes burning into you and Jenson. You grip Jenson’s bicep and throw your head back in a giggle and something mediocrely funny that he said. As you get closer to Gator’s car, you politely smile at him and squeeze Jenson’s arm tighter.

[received on Thursday at 21:45] Gator🐍💩: Jenson Ackerley????? really??? that guys a fuckin asshold

[received on Thursday at 22:35] Gator🐍💩: *asshole

Instead of replying to Gator, you spend Thursday evening exchanging flirty texts with Jenson. You invite him to the Potluck on Sunday and ask if he wants to come back to your place for dessert.

***

He reaches new levels of desperation on Friday.

“Hi, it’s Joe on reception. I’m really sorry to disturb you on your lunch. I have Sheriff Tillman here and he just wants to come to your office if that’s okay?”

You’re sat alone preparing for the rest of your day when Joe’s call comes through. Jenson has finished early for the day and gave you a bouquet of flowers before he left. He smiled when he gave them to you and said he couldn’t wait to spend the day with you on Sunday.

You’re excited as well but for a different reason.

“Hi Joe, I’m sorry but can you tell Gator that I’m just having my lunch with Mr Ackerley so I don’t have time for a chat”

You can hear Gator speaking in the distance after Joe relays your message to him.

“He says it will only take a few minutes”

“Can you apologise for me Joe and tell him that Mr Ackerley and I will see him on Sunday at his Father’s potluck”

You hear Joe recite the message verbatim for Gator. Although you can’t see it, you can imagine the look of disgust on his face and it makes you grin.

You spend Friday evening texting Jenson and telling him in detail what you’re going to do when you get back to your home on Sunday. He asks if you want to ‘skip straight to dessert’ and miss the potluck. You tell him you can’t because you’re planning to see a friend. You don’t tell him who it is.

***

You wear an outfit you know Gator will love on Sunday. It’s a pale green flouncy dress which pushes your tits up and looks amazing. Your hair is half up half down and your make up is dewy with a strawberry scented lip gloss brushed over your lips. You text Jenson and ask him to bring an extra coat for you to wear because you’ll be cold. He doesn’t ask why you don’t just wear your own.

Jenson tells you how beautiful you look on your doorstep and he hands you another bouquet. It’s white peonies and he says it nearly matches your outfit. As you laugh at him, you pull his face to yours to kiss him. He drives to the potluck in his truck and you listen to a country album he’s been telling you about. You haven’t brought a meal but Jenson’s mom has made some pasta salad so you’ll pass that off as your own. His hand stays on your upper thigh the entire ride.

The first person you see at the potluck is Glenda. She looks great, you have to admit. Her blonde hair is in a tight bun sitting at the nape of her neck. Her dress is long, black and covers her body. A diamond crucifix hangs around her neck and you know that Roy made his son buy that for her as a token of his love for her.

You and Glenda don’t get on. You know she doesn’t suspect anything about you and Gator; her mind wouldn’t even dare think about it. You’ve known her since high school and you could lie and say that the only reason you don’t like her is because you existed in different social groups. It isn’t because of that. It’s because Glenda is a truly and fundamentally awful person. You recognised in your younger years that she enjoyed making people miserable. Shaming people about their relationships to god and judging everyone from afar.

She smiles politely at Jenson as he puts his hand on your lower back. She tries not to scowl at you as you hand her the dish of pasta salad. You know she thinks you look like a slut, she’ll definitely run to her friends and tell them about how disgraceful it is that you’ve come into a church community looking like a whore. You smile harder when you think about how Gator has fucked you in his patrol car whilst you wore this dress.

Jenson goes to the grand table in the centre of the hall. As he’s pouring a cup of punch for both of you, he gets accosted by two of Glenda’s friends who take their time complimenting him all the while smirking at you. You feel a presence next to you, you cross your arms to push your tits higher as you turn around.

“Oh, hi Roy, didn’t hear you sneakin’ up on me”. Your grin to him is saccharine and he snarls in response.

“I don’t remember invitin’ you to this, for the church community only. A community you are not part of so it’s time to go”. His voice is gruff and as you go to respond; you see Gator.

You make eye contact across the hall. He looked stressed and then as soon as he saw you; it flickered to what you can only imagine is rage. Glenda is talking away at him and he’s not looking at her. His eyes are trailing up and down your body. He recognises the dress. Jenson obscures your view as he stands in front of you holding out a cup of punch. He wraps his arm around you and whispers lowly in your ear that he’s spiked both of your cups with liquor from his flask. You giggle back at him, get on your tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his jaw.

Although you think it would be hilarious, you want to avoid an interaction with you, Jenson, Glenda and Gator. At this point, you’re unsure if Gator’s heart could take it. Jenson gets pulled away by Glenda’s friends to help arrange the plates for the potluck dishes and of course he does it. He kisses you before he goes and as your lips touch; your eyes never leave Gator’s.

***

It takes twenty minutes for him to grab your wrist and pull you into an empty room. Everyone is too preoccupied with grabbing plates to notice you both leave.

“Real fuckin’ nice. Comin’ here dressed like a fuckin’ slut and can’t keep your fuckin’ hands off some shitty quarterback. You know what people think of you, right?” He’s in your face, the spit from his lips is hitting your mouth and cheeks.

He’s so mad.

And, of course, you fucking love it.

“Surprisingly Gator, I don’t give a fuck what your fuckin’ church girl or asshole daddy think of me…I know what you think about me though”. You move in closer to him and he doesn’t try to back away. His eyes bore into yours and you can hear him try to steady his breath. You can imagine his heart thundering away in his chest. You rest your hands on his vest and slowly unzip it.

“You think I’m a good girl. You’ve said it before- remember? You’ve said it when you fucked me in your patrol car…”

Your fingers move to unbutton his shirt.

“You whispered it to me when Glenda was downstairs and you had me on my knees sucking your cock in your daddy’s bathroom…she had no idea we were in there did she?” You giggle lightly as you feel his heart rate thumping quickly under your fingers.

“And you definitely thought I was a good girl that time you fucked my ass in your bed. Remember? We used the handcuffs, I think you called it me a few times…yeah you definitely did. You said I was such a good fucking girl”.

His shirt is half unbuttoned and his chest is basically heaving under the strain of his rapid heartbeat. You can feel his hard dick pressing into you, you smile at him and take a step back.

“I gotta go though, Jenson is probably waiting for me. We’ll probably shoot off soon, he said- he said, ha, that we’d have dessert back at my place. Who knows? Maybe he’ll get lucky tonight…he probably thinks I’m a good girl too. Maybe I can be his good girl from now on”.

He storms past you, his shoulder barging into yours on his way past and for a second, you’re devastated. Maybe you pushed him too far? Are you going to have to wait another four weeks for him to cave.

But he doesn’t leave.

He just locks the door and pushes a table against it as quietly as he can.

***

He grabs your hips and pulls them towards him.

“You fuckin’ feel that right? You feel how fuckin’ hard you make me. I’ve had this since I fuckin’ left your place four weeks ago. I fuckin’ hate you…I’ve fuckin’ missed you”. You’re not sure you would classify it as a kiss, it’s more like he’s shoving his face against yours.

He runs his hand through your hair and grips it; the power of it forces you to open your mouth. You stick your tongue out and give him your best doe eyes. He smirks and nibbles your jaw. Hard but not hard enough to leave any kind of mark. You maintain eye contact as he spits in your mouth. He raises his eyebrows at you and you swallow without objection. He smirks as you open your mouth and stick your tongue back out.

He kisses your neck and bites it lightly as you fight the urge to run your hands through his hair (Heaven forbid you mess up his slicked back hair).

“Baby, we gotta be quick. They might come lookin’ for us” he mumbles against your neck.

You go to bend over the table pushed against the door but Gator stops you before you can flip your dress up to grant him access.

“No baby, I need to see you. Missed your fuckin’ face too much…wanna watch you get e’en prettier when I make you come”

He kisses you hard as he pushes you down against the table. He gets on his knees in front of you like your pussy is a biblical experience. He kisses your clit through your lace underwear and gently nips it with his teeth.

“Gator, we don’t have time to tease” you try your hardest not to moan outwardly as you speak. You can’t let him know how much he’s affecting you, even though how wet he’s making you has completely given it away.

He rips your underwear off and pulls your tits out of your dress. He takes them between his hands and rolls your nipples with his thumb and forefinger. You can hear him mumbling under his breath but you can’t work out what he’s saying. He always gets transfixed with your boobs.

He doesn’t warn you as he notches his cock into you. You’re wet enough that he slides in with one motion. He’s on your mouth before there’s a chance for a moan to slip out. He thrusts into you slow and deep, he nudges your g spot and your eyes roll back into your head as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

The only sounds filling the room is the soft rhythmic creak of the wooden table, the steady thrusts of Gator’s cock into you and the stifled moans slipping into each others mouths. It’s all too much, the noises, Gator’s cock perfectly grazing your g spot, his tongue in your mouth and the thought that he’s doing this mere feet away from his daddy and girlfriend. Your orgasm hits you out of nowhere and as you squeeze his cock, Gator puts his hand over your mouth and shushes you but he doesn’t stop fucking you. Your eyes roll into the back of his head as you hear him curse above you. This is the most intense sex you’ve ever had with him.

It is so worth the wait.

You know he’s getting close; he has obvious tells that you could recite perfectly. His left leg starts to twitch, his mouth slightly hangs open and his eyes glaze over. He also either gets sentimental or speaks like he’s in a shitty Brazzers porn video. This time it’s a mix of the two.

“Take my fuckin’ come, you take it so fuckin’ good. It’s all yours- it’s all yours”. He thrusts hard inside you twice before he stills. He rests his forehead against yours and presses a soft kiss to your lips. You allow yourself a few seconds to enjoy his tenderness.

You readjust your dress as Gator moves the table away from the door. You slip on Jenson’s coat as you walk over to the locked door.

“I meant what I said y’know…I’ve missed you”. Again, you’re back in the routine. You know it well and you can’t deny how much you enjoy it. He’s going to ask to fuck you tonight, he’ll promise that it’ll be special- that’s what he usually says.

He moves to interlock his pinky finger with yours.

“Get rid of Jenson and let me come round tonight. Tell him you’re sick or somethin’. I wanna…I mean… I gotta to make it up to you. I’ll tell Glenda that I picked up an extra shift. That gives us all night an’ we can take our time”.

As you open your mouth to respond, you hear a knock on the door and Jenson’s voice calling out.

“You in there hon? I think I’m gonna head out…really fancy dessert. Y’know, if you catch my drift”.

***

You tell Jenson in the car that you’re not feeling well. He’s a good guy and offers to stay and look after you. When you say no, he asks for a coffee date later this week and you agree.

As you see his reverse out of your driveway; you text Gator that he can come round if he’s here in the next hour.

He’s back in your bed in less than forty minutes.

#fargo #fargo fx #fargo season 5 #fargo s5 #fargoedit #gator tillman smut #gator tillman #gator Tillman x reader #joe keery #joe keery smut #gator tillman fanfic #gator tillman fic #joe keery x reader #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman x you #gator tillman x f!reader #two sinners works

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edenmemes · 7 months

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baldur's gate 3 starters (part 2)

part 2 / ? .

❝ i’m also worried about me, but i somehow seem to be worried about you more. ❞ ❝ you put the stars to shame. let’s sit here a little while - i want to drink you in. ❞ ❝ i’d tell you not to get in trouble, but i suspect it will find you whether you like it or not. ❞ ❝ well, this seems as good a time as any for me to stop babbling on. ❞ ❝ i just….need some air…clear my head. ❞ ❝ it’s been a long time since i shed a tear. i don’t even know how long. ❞ ❝ i had a feeling you’d show up. it’s sort of our thing. like it’s fate or something. ❞ ❝ i do appreciate your enthusiasm, but let's try to restrain ourselves a little. ❞ ❝ if that was an attempt at flirting, i should let you know i prefer the strong, silent type. ❞ ❝ no matter how far you come, you’re still on the road to ruin. ❞ ❝ i thought you a hunter. wrong. you’re prey - small. snivelling. pathetic. ❞ ❝ and what am i owed? what about the injustices i’ve suffered - am i not entitled to anything? ❞ ❝ i can’t help but feel the strangest twinge of disgust as i look upon you. ❞ ❝ i trust that you will continue to remember who is really on your side. ❞ ❝ better a short life built on truth than immortality woven of lies. ❞ ❝ i won’t make excuses. i can’t make amends. but i want to help, if you’ll let me. ❞ ❝ gods, it’s horrifying…and a touch fascinating. ❞ ❝ there are many names for you --- and all of them inspire dread. ❞ ❝ destiny is at your door; won’t you at least twitch the curtain? ❞ ❝ the gravest crimes committed in this world are committed for love. a hunger crueller than bloodlust. ❞ ❝ you’ve got a backbone, and the makings of a leader. ❞ ❝ revenge sounds so sweet until you’ve taken it. then all you have is…no one left to blame. ❞ ❝ some mistakes can’t be resolved with an apology. some mistakes, you have to carry with you, forever. ❞ ❝ you’re plotting something, aren’t you? come on then - out with it. ❞ ❝ this is not good, if i may state the obvious. ❞ ❝ think of all we’ve been through just to get to this moment. that wasn’t luck. that was us. ❞ ❝ feel like i should laugh but i’m just too godsdamned tired. ❞ ❝ there is something i lost…no, had taken from me. i want it all back. ❞ ❝ careful - you’re in very real danger of hurting my feelings. ❞ ❝ one thing i’ve learned - real saviours never label themselves as such. ❞ ❝ less thinking of bad thoughts, and more breaking of bad bones. ❞ ❝ i rather like interfering. it’s kind of my thing. ❞ ❝ evil is evil, even if it once was innocent. ❞ ❝ you know, i've been catching myself smiling more lately. i think that's your fault.. ❞ ❝ oh, i’m no innocent. but evil? you tell me. ❞ ❝ i still want to believe you’re better than that. but even i am having my doubts. ❞ ❝ i can’t afford to lose my nerve. safer to just not think, and keep forging ahead. ❞ ❝ when all this is over, will you stay with me? for good? ❞ ❝ this is not good, if i may state the obvious. ❞ ❝ is there a reason you're always such an utter drip? do you have some sort of condition? honestly, it's like you hate good news. ❞ ❝ all of nature’s beauty pales in comparison to you. ❞ ❝ i can’t save you from yourself. it hurts terribly, but i can’t. ❞ ❝ if i seem suddenly flush with hope and soft feeling, you have only yourself to blame. ❞ ❝ is there good and evil within us all? ❞

❝ i’ve been watching you fight. your skills are improving. ❞ ❝ you know, for all the sense of dread and horror seeping through this place, i really feel quite at home here. ❞ ❝ and you? you’re wholly without vice or sin or the occasional lapse in judgement? ❞ ❝ i wager you don’t even know how extraordinary you truly are. but i do. ❞ ❝ one might say you’re paragon of luck. i’ll be there when it runs out. ❞ ❝ i've always had a soft spot for the confident ones…they always disappoint though. ❞ ❝ i concealed nothing from you. i simply left out the details that were not pertinent. ❞ ❝ you’re an odd friend. but, i suppose, a friend still. ❞ ❝ i won’t let you do this. i won’t let you win. ❞ ❝ you are my puppet. make no mistake. without me, you have no value. ❞ ❝ well, this seems like a lovely little spot. the sense of impending doom aside. ❞ ❝ whoever your enemies are, they have good reason to fear you. ❞ ❝ this place is astonishing, a bard’s tale made real. ❞ ❝ i may not regret my actions, but i do regret that they were necessary. ❞ ❝ experience has taught me that no matter how bleak things look, there’s always hope. ❞ ❝ if this adventure has taught me anything, it’s that there are things in this world more valuable than power. ❞ ❝ a wise man learns from his mistakes, and strives not to repeat them. ❞ ❝ no more hiding things from me. agreed? ❞ ❝ my friend. my companion. i adore you. ❞ ❝ your face is sour. by all means leave, if i am so distasteful. ❞ ❝ careful, it’s dark around here. would be a terrible shame to lose you forever. ❞ ❝ you startled me. i…i was miles away. ❞ ❝ you have to know who i was. you have to know who i really am. ❞ ❝ nothing special, of course. you’re only the first person who i truly care for. ❞ ❝ you’ve got a backbone, and the makings of a leader. ❞ ❝ anything you ask, i’ll answer as honestly as i can. ❞

#roleplay starters #roleplay meme #rp starters #rp meme

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jeonggukookies · 1 month

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crown's kingdom || two

summary: now engaged to prince jungkook, you both must figure a way to make this alliance work while your enemies try to tear it apart.

– genre: royalty!au, enemies to lovers!au, prince!jungkook, queen!reader, arranged marriage - fluff/angst

– word count 4637

– warnings: please read note if you haven't read changes

index || one

“Look what we have here.” Despite your eyes being completely shut, you knew who took a seat next to you on the bench by recognizing his voice. “I want to say what a beautiful dress you have on there, but I’m afraid I have to tell you the truth. Your morning dress looks like a tablecloth for afternoon lunch.”

To start off your mornings, you woke up before the sun, craving to have at least an hour alone in the chapel, free from anyone to interrupt your morning meditation and prayers. It was one of the few times when you were alone, not surrounded by any servants or guards. You were able to find solace—until Jungkook came.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of having your presence near me at this time?” You asked politely, still with your eyes closed and your hands pressed together, fingers pointed upwards, deep in prayer.

For the last week, you and Jungkook had been doing an excellent job avoiding each other despite the public announcement of the engagement. You always tried to make your schedule as busy as it could be, not wanting to spend a second alone with him. You filled your time up with more violin lessons and analyzing war strategies and patterns from your father’s old journal. Eventually, you were going to have to interact with Jungkook and fool everyone that the two of you were in love, but you didn’t expect him to find out about your schedule, taking the time to wake up early to come find you in the prayer room.

“Perhaps the dress would be better as a tablecloth,” he suggested, pulling at the puffy sleeves, attempting to get a rise out of you. “And perhaps, you on that particular table.”

“To the Divine Spirit, please forgive me for all I have sinned and will sin.” Opening your eyes, you smacked Jungkook’s arm, annoyed by his antics. With a smirk on his face, he’s chuckling, satisfied to get a reaction out of you.

“It’s almost six in the morning, and you really want to start off the day by pissing me off?” You gritted through your teeth, trying not to raise your voice. “Can you be a pain in the ass somewhere else? And not in this sacred space? A place where I find peace?”

“I quite believe this is the perfect time and place to do it,” he remarked, trying to hide the mischievous smile on his face. “You have to get used to it if we are to be wed soon.”

“Do not remind me of this terrible tragedy.” You groaned. “May we pray that the fates decree our union not come to pass."

He rolled his eyes, annoyed with your response. “Why do you act like a grandma? No one our age speaks like that or wakes up this early to pray! Just say, ‘God, I hope we don’t marry.’”

“Are the words too big for you to understand?” You pushed your lower lip out, pretending to feel bad for him. “Is that why you were engaged to Comet? The girl whose named after her own country but can’t spell her name without help from her tutors? You know stupid plus stupid doesn’t cancel each other out, right?”

“And you know praying every day isn’t going to erase any of the sins you’ve committed in the past, right?” He mocked. “I’ve been wondering where you’ve been the last couple of days, and now I realize that I shouldn’t have gone through so many people to find out that you wake up so early to pray. I should have remembered you were so boring.”

You scoffed. “Wow, you must be really thinking about me all the time? To be asking others about my schedule? To be wondering where I am at? You must not have a life, huh?”

“Alright, it’s already been one week, and I’ve had enough. I don’t think I can handle you for the rest of my life.”

“Then do something about it,” you snapped.

“You don’t think I haven’t?” He snapped back, looking at you with the same amount of anger in his eyes. “What do you think I was trying to do for the last week? While you were hiding away in your room, I was trying to secretly change this alliance. Maybe with your help, I can easily break off the engagement and toss you like a pebble in the lake.”

For a moment, you were offended that you were disposable to him, making it seem like you desperately needed him and his country more than he needed you.

You can play this game too, you thought to yourself.

With your index finger, you gestured for him to come closer to you, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “And if you shall give up the position of ruling two countries, maybe even three one day, would the current King of Aurum be happy with that? Could he let you live in peace if you were to ruin the alliance without his permission?”

Jungkook learned his lesson for the day and finally shut his mouth, letting the devotion area be peaceful for the rest of the morning. He put his hands together, silently mouthing along to some basic scriptures.

“Amen,” you whispered, putting your hands together, ready to medicate and pray next to Jungkook.

_________

Dasher, the new Prince of Cometes, could have gone to command his new military forces, started imposing taxes, or simply have done absolutely nothing as his first task as a royal. Instead, he decided the first thing to do was to go to Aurum to renegotiate their alliance as their circumstances had now changed.

After eating breakfast, you were asked to accompany Jungkook to greet the new prince. His parents thought it was a perfect opportunity to showcase the new alliance between the two countries.

“I’m glad you changed out of that old curtain you had earlier,” Jungkook said when you arrived next to his side. The two of you were outside the palace, waiting for the Cometes’s carriage. “You would have made it seem like I downgraded.”

“Well, I sure did.” You forced a smile, looking straight ahead where the horses were coming at a steady pace a few meters away from you. “Don’t understand why I have to be here like I’m you’re fucking babysitter.”

“Here he comes.” You turned your head to look at Jungkook, and you find him already staring back at you. He was holding his breath, having a tense look on his face. It had been a while since you’ve seen Jungkook look this apprehensive. “Can you do this?”

When the two of you were learning all the types of ballroom dances, Jungkook’s face was always pale before he had to perform and get evaluated by our instructor. You knew it wasn’t because he was ten years old, dancing with a girl; he was a perfectionist, afraid to take the wrong step and embarrass himself in front of everyone.

As he had gotten older, he had done a better job at hiding his anxiety, trying to look like the Golden Prince everyone saw him to be. He’s been doing such a great job, that even you forgot he had the capability to be nervous. He wasn’t just a snarky and egomaniacal prince; Jungkook, too, was a human with fears and imperfections.

“Absolutely.” Without giving you any context, you knew what he was asking. He needed your reassurance—that the two of you could convince the future King of Cometes, that your shared hatred will be hidden by the love of your countries. “Don’t be afraid.”

Before the horses came to a complete stop, Jungkook straightened his posture, taking a deep breath. No longer looking nervous, he looked like he was ready to stand his ground, determined to become one of the best kings.

Stepping out of the carriage, a silver-haired man as tall as Jungkook appeared. The man was wearing a close-fitting gray velvet doublet, embellished with white pearls along the seams. With a black linen shirt underneath, the pearls were able to stand out more, showing everyone his new power.

“Prince Jungkook,” the man greeted. “Well isn't it quite lovely to see you again?”

“And now as equals this time, Prince Dasher,” Jungkook slyly commented. “I hope the ride here wasn’t too terrible with all the rain and mud this season.”

“Not at all.” The man turned his focus on you, looking up and down, trying to analyze who you were to stand so close to the Prince of Aurum. “You must be Queen of Caelestia.”

“Please address me as Y/N,” you said politely. “It’s an honor to meet you, Prince Dasher.”

“As to you, Your Grace.” He took a bow, showing his respects. “The rumors must be true then,” he said. “The two of you are going to wed.”

“Unless you’re here to propose to me, then plans can always be altered and rearranged,” Jungkook joked lightly, trying to ease the mood. You bit your lower lip to hold yourself back from laughing at his attempt. The joke itself wasn’t that funny, but the fact that Jungkook thought it was appropriate to say.

“I can assure you that I will not bore you with a proposal of mine.” Dasher took another look at you and Jungkook. He was trying to read the two of you. “And is your bride joining us for our negotiation?”

“She will not,” Jungkook answered right away, not giving you a second to react. There was some hostility in his voice. “Do you request her presence at our meeting between our two countries?”

“Just interesting that the future queen of Aurum will not be there.” Dasher raised his eyebrows. “Unless…”

“Well, we haven’t even decided on invitations! But I promise you that you’ll be one of the first to receive them.” You paused to look at Jungkook, linking your arm to his. “Isn’t that right, Darling?”

He stared back at your eyes, deeply as if he were trying to your deepest, darkest secrets. Letting a small scoff, he smiled and looked back at Dasher. “Well, now that we got introductions out of the way, why don’t we head towards the affairs room to discuss the future of our people?”

________

With the arrival of Prince Dasher, you were expected to attend the evening activities. Typically, the evening activities were full of entertainment like live music, dancing, theater, and more. They were loud and socially draining at times, but you loved going, seeing it as an opportunity to enrich life and cultivate an appreciation for arts and culture.

When walking into the courtiers’ hall, you can tell the King and Queen of Aurum went the extra mile in making tonight’s activities more lavish than usual, catering to their guests. You noticed how there were more servants around, refilling drinks and replacing empty food trays as quickly as they could. They were even using the fancy china that the Queen rarely used, wanting to keep it in mint condition. There were more musicians hired as well. With more musicians, they were able to proudly and loudly play traditional Cometes music, hoping to make the Cometes people feel at home.

There were more people today, all participating in the elegant court dances, and board games and many were socializing, especially the women, probably hoping to find a suitor among the new guests.

“Queen Y/N.” You turned your head to see Kim Taehyung, a Luxuria ambassador who resided in Aurum Court. “It’s a blessing to see you entertained by tonight’s festivities.”

“Well, that can’t be right.” You took a few steps to be face-to-face with him. “Aren’t you always praying for my downfall?”

For the last two years, Kim Taehyung has been a cunning diplomat. On paper, his presence at court might be to handle situations between his country and Aurum, but really, his true mission was to antagonize you at court. Despite his constant terrorizing, you’ve kept your eye on him, following the rule: Keep your friends close and keep your enemies closer.

He chuckled, putting his hands in his pockets. “I haven’t seen you around court to give you my congratulations on your engagement to Jungkook.”

“Thank you, Taehyung.” You forced a smile, and he smiled back.

“And how has this engagement been so far?”

“Quite amazing,” you lied. “Thank you for asking.”

“Is that why everyone is talking about Jungkook and your reluctance to marry each other?” He asked. “You know, Luxuria intelligence predicted this happening years ago. That somehow you would find a way to marry the next King of Aurum. That somehow the alliance between Aurum and Cometes would fall through.”

“If you want to take your anger or frustration out on someone for the sudden change, Prince Dasher is present at court today as well.” You pointed in the direction where Dasher was. “Shall I introduce the two of you and be on my way?”

He took a step closer, trying to intimidate you. “How about instead you go on your way back to Caelestia and abandon this alliance with Aurum?”

“Is that a threat?” You asked, raising your eyebrows and letting out a humorless laugh. “Are you seriously threatening me?”

“Not a threat,” he insisted. “Consider this as….a chance to save your country and people.”

The smile disappeared from your face. You gritted through your teeth, “To save my country and my people, I need to take the chance and marry Jungkook for his armies against YOUR people!”

“Then take the first step and go back home,” he suggested.

“And then how long would Luxuria come after my throne?”

He refused to answer your question, changing the subject immediately. “Do not beg for mercy when I have given you the chance to correct yourself.”

“And have you and your queen considered that mercy doesn’t need to be begged if Luxuria would stop sending its forces to my border?”

He looked around, seeing if anyone was watching your interaction with him. He then smiled. “You may have been safe and across the sea all this time, but do not forget, Queen Y/N, even monarchs cannot escape death.”

For a moment, you froze in place, feeling the anger grow inside your body. From a young age, you were taught that monarchs cannot show their emotions, and they shouldn’t especially show it to their enemies.

Before you could react, Jungkook appeared by your side, putting his arm around you, hand on your shoulder. “Darling! Did you see that the servants made pavlova? We have to go get some before it all runs out, especially since these fruits aren’t even in season!”

“Excuse us,” you mumbled under your breath, directed to Taehyung.

Moving his arm, Jungkook then had his hand gently wrapped around your right wrist, pulling you into a private corner away from all the guests. As your back leaned against the wall, Jungkook let go of your wrist and stood directly in front of you, so you were face to face.

“Don’t push me away,” he said in a low voice. “Are you okay?”

“He-he.” Out of nowhere, you started heavily breathing as if there was a limited amount of air in the room. You were unable to finish your thoughts, interrupted by every scenario going through your head. Tears were about to flood your eyes, ready to leave wet trails on your face.

“Look at me,” Jungkook instructed, cupping your face with his hands, his eyes directly piercing into your soul once again. “Repeat after me. You are a queen.”

“Threat-threatened my-“ Jungkook cut you off.

“I am a queen,” he emphasized, repeating himself slowly this time. “Say it with me. I am a queen.”

“I am a queen,” you repeated, trying to believe the truth in those words. A couple more times, you repeated in a hushed tone, “I am a queen.”

“Don’t let anyone see that you’re afraid,” he said after it seemed like you were finally calming down. “Let me be the only person to see you shaking like a small useless chihuahua.”

“Are you calling me—“ He cut you off again, not letting you finish his sentence.

“I know you’re not useless.” His hands held your face a little tighter, still refusing to break eye contact with you. “You’re a queen. You will be remembered as the benevolent queen of three countries one day. And while all of everyone’s great great great grandchildren are learning about you in history books, no one will remember his name. Don’t let him get to you now and let him become a footnote in the future.”

Nodding, a tear slipped, and you quickly felt Jungkook wiping the tear with his thumb, not letting anyone else see a Queen in a vulnerable state. Your breathing was almost back to normal, feeling some comfort from his words.

“Can you do this?” He asked, repeating his question from earlier.

Despite growing up together all these years, you and Jungkook had never been this up close and personal. Even when paired up for ballroom dancing, the two of you danced awkwardly together, barely touching his fingertips. It felt unreal that you and Jungkook were now alone, staring at each other, ignoring the rest of the world around you. “Yes.”

Jungkook stared at you for another two seconds before he realized the position the two of you were in. His grip became stiff and rigid for a moment before he finally removed his hands from your face and cleared his throat, pretending as if he wasn’t trying to protect you in his arms.

“Thanks.” You coughed awkwardly, still standing in front of him. The two of you never shared an intense moment like that before, a moment filled with insecurity, vulnerability, and comfort.

Jungkook sighed and looked back at you. Without any verbal confirmation, you knew that he silently agreed that everything would go back to normal, that the two of you would go back to pushing each other’s buttons. “I should get going.”

Before you could say anything, Jungkook started to walk away. He was probably already erasing the moment out of his head.

You had to remind yourself that the two of you will wed for your countries, that it won’t be for true love or happily ever after. It'll be a marriage full of moments like these that will mean nothing to him. And you hoped they would mean nothing to you.

__________

By the next morning, Luxuria went through with their warning and sent their troops to your border, threatening your people.

“Once we received word this morning from your mother, we sent supplies to your troops.” You had barged into the room of affairs, surprising Jungkook and the Queen by your sudden appearance. “They will be there as soon as they can. We sent our fastest rider.”

The King didn’t take his eyes off the document he was reading. It seemed like the King had expected you to come in urgently while the Queen, sitting next to him, was visibly annoyed with your sudden intrusion. Jungkook, standing to the side of the room, looked baffled, unsure if he should laugh at your courage or be displeased.

“Thank you,” you said, bowing your head. “These supplies will go a long way, but supplies aren’t the only thing we need.”

“Let me guess..You want soldiers?” The King asked, still not looking at you. “I am afraid that I cannot give you men, but you have my deepest sympathy.”

“I am asking for more than sympathy. I need men, or else these supplies are useless.”

“The men that you need are the same men that we cannot give you.” He finally looked up and shrugged his shoulders.

“As Queen, I have the responsibility to find solutions, and that was through our alliance with your country, which you are not honoring.”

“Keep in mind that you are not the only one with a country to think about,” the King replied. “I am putting my country and its people first.”

“I will not forget this when I am both Queen of Caelestia and Aurum,” you challenged. “I will always put my country first. Do not hold me hostage and fulfill this alliance, or let me go.”

“The two of you need to learn this.” The King paused to point at you and Jungkook. “You are royals. You DO NOT have the luxury of doing what you want. You do what is best for your country. Perhaps, the two of you should stop wasting time. Instead of trying to think of ways to get out of your marriage, start taking action.”

“Father, I think we should help.” You took a quick look at Jungkook, surprised by his answer. “If Caelestia loses, that’ll only make Luxuria a bigger threat to our country.”

“Get out. The two of you, out now,” the King firmly demanded.

The sound of the doors slamming behind you echoed throughout the whole castle. You took a deep breath and started walking to your chambers until Jungkook caught up, walking next to you.

“Hey, I think you’re right. I am on your side.”

“You are?” You were taken back from his statement, not expecting him to be on your side for politics. “Why?”

“Because after your country, mine will be next,” Jungkook explained. “By working together, we can slowly defeat the Luxurian military. I just need some time to convince my father.”

Caught up in a moment of joy, you wrapped your arms around Jungkook, pulling him into a tight hug. Your happiness must have overcome the supposed feelings of animosity you had towards him. “Thank you!”

Jungkook hesitantly and slowly embraced you back.

__________

“This must be the day pigs are going to grow wings and fly,” Lady Adoree exaggerated.

Ladies-in-waiting were the Queen’s female companions, typically wealthy noblewomen. They accompanied you, staying by your side for most events. Not only were they your attendants, but they were also your closest friends. And you were the closest to Lady Adoree.

“Trust me, you’re not the only one who’s surprised by all of this,” you mumbled under your breath.

“I’ve been gone for seven days, and somehow, you and Jungkook are engaged to each other.” She had traveled to Aureus, the capital of Aurum, for the last week to meet with her a suitor, which did not end up well. “Then, he’s willingly trying to help you as if he didn’t try to sabotage this alliance or even your whole life here.”

“Excuse me, Lady Adoree.” The two of you were still at the dining table after finishing lunch, catching up. You looked up and saw Prince Dasher waiting behind Lady Adoree’s chair. “Can I please have a moment with your queen?”

“Prince Dasher,” you greeted as Lady Adoree stood up from her chair, allowing Dasher to take her seat. “I thought you were on your way home.”

“Well, it turns out we still have more negotiations with Aurum to discuss, which is delaying our departure,” he said. “It is not a total disaster as I am blessed to spend another second with a beautiful queen.”

“Are these sweet words repeated to every other queen?” You quipped.

“Just you,” he claimed. “No one else can hear those words from me.”

In the corner of your eye, you could see a vein popping out of Lady Adoree’s forehead. She was frowning, not happy that she had given up her seat just for him to be flirty. Lady Adoree hated talking to guys and drove them away just as much as you did.

“I’m not new to this game,” you reminded him. “What is desired from me?”

Prince Dasher leaned into your ear, whispering, “I heard Prince Jungkook cannot give you the help you need for the Luxuria Troops.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to dull up any emotions on your face. “I’m still not hearing what you want from me.”

Instead of verbally answering, Prince Dasher cleared his throat and pushed his chair back, almost hitting Lady Adoree. He then kneeled on his right knee, causing Lady Adoree to gasp loudly.

“What are you doing?!” You growled. “Get up.”

“My desire is you,” he said. “Now I am no longer the King’s Bastard and am finally the legitimate Prince of Cometes. I am here to seek out the best deal and I believe Caelestia is that.”

“To my knowledge, everyone including yourself knows that I am already betrothed!” You looked around, hoping no one else was in the room witnessing this act.

“I can give you the men you need to fight Luxuria,” he promised.

You sighed. “My attention is yours.”

He beamed at your defeat. “Perhaps the dissolution of your alliance with Aurum will help your country, Queen Y/N.”

Your jaw clenched. “And if we were to wed, do you really think Luxuria will just stop?”

“I think you’ve forgotten,” he stressed. “Luxuria and Cometes have been allies for centuries. I hope you consider this offer.”

__________

Jungkook stayed silent.

It was after midnight, and the two of you met in a private room on the other side of the castle, away from everyone else. No one really came to this side of the castle. It was mainly used to have secret meetings, not wanting to be seen by anyone else.

You were pacing around the room, playing with your hands, anxious to hear his thoughts after telling him Prince Dasher’s offer as he sat down on the bench and had his chin resting on his cupped hands together.

“Are you going to say something?” You stopped walking back and forth and came to a stop. “What are you thinking about?”

He sighed before standing back up to face you. “I-I think you should do it.”

“What?” Your heart sank, pain settling in your chest. Despite being the Queen of Caelestia, you viewed Aurum as if it were your home to you. Even though you had no intention of ruling Aurum and this alliance came out of nowhere, you felt a sense of happiness that you could finally give back to the country that gave you everything.

Aurum was a part of you whether you liked it or not, and with Jungkook’s answer, it seemed like Aurum didn’t want you. And that he didn’t want you. There were a bunch of conflicting emotions going through your mind, but you pushed them away, needing to think about your country. “Are you serious?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Think about it, Y/N. How could you pass this up?”

“What happened to being on my side?!” You exclaimed. “And you’re just going to let it go? Just like that.”

“I don’t want to,” he admitted, quickly taking your hands and holding them. “But there’s nothing I can do to change my father’s mind…to help your country. I’ve tried and tried. We are just in this alliance, and you are getting nothing..”

“You don’t want to marry me,” you said bitterly, letting go of his hold. “That’s the real reason, isn’t it?”.

“It’s not that,” Jungkook denied. There was a sense of desperation in his voice. “Believe me, I know I’ve been trying to get out of this alliance. But I’m not telling you to do it because of that. I’m telling you to do this, because this is what is best for your country.”

“Is that really it?”

“You’ve been Queen your whole life. You should have known that alliances can easily shift,” Jungkook quickly snapped, changing his demeanor suddenly. “Your country gets the help it needs, and my country will not be ruled by an Ice Queen.”

And Jungkook walked away like it was the easiest thing in the world to do.

#bts fanfic #bangtanwriters-net #bts scenarios #jeon jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #crown kingdom #royalty au #jungkook royalty #enemies to lovers #jungkook angst #mine #jungkook x reader

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artist-issues · 9 months

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About Greta Gerwig, Little Women, and Narnia

Greta Gerwig should not be in the Narnia realm at all. As anything.

The Narnia stories are inseparable from Christianity. Greta Gerwig is a Unitarian Universalist. This means she, in her own personal life, doesn’t believe in the saving work of Jesus Christ, which is a core belief of Christianity, and a core theme in Narnia. Everything in the Narnia books hinges on this, from the character motivations to the structure of the fantasy world to the way the magic in Narnia works.

Additionally, the women in Narnia do not adhere to post-modern or even antique feministic values. They are celebrated for their love and tender-heartedness and faith, all of which require self-sacrifice. Aravis of The Horse and His Boy starts out a proud warrior escaping an arranged marriage and ends up a humbled lady of Archenland court marrying the Prince. Susan Pevensie is at her best when she’s tender-hearted and at her worst when she doubts and becomes more concerned about her own identity than others. The school that Eustace and Jill go to in The Silver Chair is derided for it’s feministic views. By contrast, modern feminism is opposed to self-sacrifice, and that is the kind of thing Greta Gerwig demonstrates belief in throughout all of her works.

Am I saying that no person who isn’t a Christian or some type of conservative when it comes to feminism can ever work on Narnia? Absolutely not. I’m not saying that. Lots of people on the Walden Media Narnia movie (the first one), which was great, were not Christians and did not believe in the saving work of Christ. But they stayed faithful to the source material, even if they didn’t believe in the source material themselves. So the story retained it’s autonomy and power.

Greta Gerwig can’t do that. She has already demonstrated that she does not know how to make a story that hangs on to it’s integral source material if she, herself, doesn’t agree with that source material. She can’t be objective, and therefore, she can’t be faithful to what Narnia is.

How do I know that? Little Women.

I don’t care if you liked the Little Women movie by Greta Gerwig. I don’t care if the acting was “amazing” and I don’t care if Timothee Chalamet and Florence Pugh are great in it. I said exactly what I said. Greta Gerwig made a great movie—but she made a terrible adaptation of Little Women.

It was not Little Women. She made changes to Little Women. What changes, you ask? Changes to the specific pieces of the source material that did not reflect Greta Gerwig’s personal views.

That’s the cardinal sin for directors of adaptive stories or remakes—to make changes to the core themes of a classic tale, because you don’t agree with those core themes. That’s called mutilation, not “updates.”

Here’s how she did it in two major ways in Little Women:

She cut out Jo’s humble response to Friedrich’s gentle rebuke of sensation stories, and replaced it with a feministic self-pitying outburst from Joe and s borderline apathetic, cool piece of feminist advice from Friedrich. That takes all the continuity out of it and warps the characters. That scene is so pivotal in the book. It’s Jo, respecting a man who is much older and excellent in character than any other she’s ever known, and feeling immediately humbled by him calling her out. She’d never have responded that way if Laurie called her out. They would have argued. But this scene was supposed to show what Jo needed from a future romantic partner. She needed someone she respected, someone who could be wise and gentle—two things Laurie is not. She needed someone who would help her take her eyes off of worldly success and herself, and onto eternal benefits to mankind, specifically, the effect her stories might have on children. His gentle, respectful, wise love (and the love of characters like Beth) turns Jo from a self-absorbed writer into a selfless mother, like her own Marmee.

But Greta Gerwig never wanted Jo to be a selfless mother. She wanted, and I quote, “Jo’s love to be her work, and her romance with Friedrich secondary.” You know why?

Because that’s what Greta Gerwig believes in. Greta Gerwig’s life is her work. Watch any of her movies, you’ll see the smudge marks of that wholehearted belief all over them. She can’t even be objective when the whole point of a character is to make work secondary, as was certainly the case with the character of Jo March. No. She has to twist up one of the best American heroines ever into an automaton of herself.

The second way she mutilated source material is with Amy and Laurie. In the books, Amy and Laurie grow to love each other out of the character deficiencies that they make up for in one another. At the start of their courtship, Amy is ambitious and Laurie is lazy. Amy wants to marry for advantage, and Laurie wants to make much of his spurned love for Jo by giving up on life. And that’s it.

It’s Amy who first wakes up to feeling something romantic toward Laurie, not Laurie, and Laurie is not the first to make a move on her. Laurie does not know he is in love with Amy until well after she knows she loves him. Then, he does not make the first outward advance on Amy. They both come to the same conclusion together; when they do, she does not resist. In Greta Gerwig’s version, he’s back to falling in love with a girl who’s resisting, because that’s where Timothee Chalamet’s emotional acting shines or whatever.

But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that she adds a feminism speech from Amy, as a reason for her resistance, and she subtracts the scene where Laurie actually proposes. The scene where Laurie proposes, in the book, is so beautiful.

The two characters are in love, they know they’re in love, and neither of them is insecure about it. Amy has learned that she needs a life-partner who knows her and will protect her, like her old home-values did, and not some rich aristocrat or prince. Laurie has learned that he needs a life-partner who can stir him toward change, not through big explosive arguments and hope of conquered affection like Jo, but with gentle love and sheer inspiration, found in Amy.

So, in the most beautiful analogy for courtship that ends in marriage ever, he proposes to her while they’re rowing on a lake. She’s sitting next to him in the middle of the boat, she’s got one oar, he’s got the other, and she says, “How well we pull together, don’t we?” And he says, “so well that I wish we might always be in the same boat. Will you, Amy?” And she says “yes.”

That’s it. No argument. No big, passionate, sentimental explosion like he had with Jo. No wrenched and broken heart-strings. He didn’t have to convince her. She didn’t have to resist. Because entirely without force, and entirely without insecurity, they protected each other’s hearts and came to a conclusion that was based on something so much deeper and more eternal than fleeting passion.

Greta Gerwig cut that out and listened to Meryl Streep and put in another stormy lover’s-quarrel speech from Amy about why she couldn’t be with Laurie because she was in Jo’s shadow, and feminism and marrying for advantage, blah blah blah. It’s terrible. It’s mutilation. It ruins everything the original Little Women had.

it doesn’t matter if she got some of the characters right. It doesn’t matter if she got a lot of the quotes right. It doesn’t matter if all of Act 1 of the movie is mostly-book-accurate. If you change load-bearing themes or character motivations, you show that you can’t be objective and faithful to the source material.

It is fine if Greta Gerwig wants to make a movie about a woman who loves her work more than anything else. It is fine if she wants to make a movie about how women are under-appreciated for their minds and souls, and have characters that go on a journey to prove it. But it is not fine to use someone else’s story to say it. Make your own story, Greta Gerwig.

Oh, you already did? See: Lady Bird? See: Frances Ha? Then come up with something new. Don’t shoehorn your same beliefs into every franchise that is offered to you, like vomiting, then eating the vomit and regurgitating it over and over in new colors. Figure out how to tell someone else’s story in a faithful way, objectively, or else keep your stained hands off until you can clean them up. Especially, keep them off Narnia.

Greta Gerwig makes movies for Greta Gerwig, by Greta Gerwig. She can’t be objective, and for that, she can’t do Narnia. She can’t do it justice, she can’t do it faithfully, because she makes movies for herself, by herself.

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miioouu · 4 months

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Mean dad's best friend! John Price Ending

Helloooo! I’m back from the dead to drop this horrible, disgusting, bad bad final part for Price’s route! I’ve been dealing with some personal issues as well as some terrible creative blocks, so please I know it’s bad, ok? Tw: smut, breeding kink, mention of fingering and oral (female receiving), female reader Wc: 1.4k

Your eyes kept glancing between the two men. Why are you having such a hard time making a choice? It should be obvious right? Although Simon has always been on your mind, the one you're always crawling back to, you know better than that. The voice in the back of your head is telling you to let go, no matter how much your heart will break, there's someone who'll mend it back together.

The thought alone made you smile, you gazed into ocean blues and suddenly, it wasn't that difficult to choose. His grin alone made your heart skip a beat. His hands, the way they smooth down the skin of your waist as he pulls you closer, is enough to make you melt. And you weren't supposed to feel anything for that man; only here to make Ghost jealous, only a mere distraction at first, but he's become so much more, someone you like…loved even.

You try to voice out your choice, although Price stopped you “It's ok sweetheart, I think he got it, right?” His warm eyes turned icy just by looking at the other man. And again, you hate their silent communication, you hate always being left in the dark, but the moment Simon scoffed, giving you his infamous eye roll as he turned away and slipped from your room, it was enough to make you forget all about their lack of communication skills.

It was the way his arms wrap around you as he holds you close, and the way his warm eyes gazed into yours as he smiled so adorably, that’s one of the reasons why you chose John. The way he cared about you, never talked about other women, never told you what to do. Never stern and never rude, only sweetness outside the bedroom and in it too. His hands are always soft as they gently lift your shirt up, just like he is doing right now, calloused but gentle as they brush against your skin, leaving scatters of goosebumps in their trail. His words, praising you with devotion “Maybe I don’t make you feel as good as him. Maybe he really is better than me…But you know, he doesn’t like you the way I do. Noone ever will.” But you only shake your head. Maybe you have been blinded by Ghost’s pure rough lust, but you’re not stupid enough to disregard gentleness and awe.

His lips trailed down your neck, down your collarbones, and when usually he’d like to bite and nibble, he feels as if he doesn’t need to mark you anymore. You’re his, you know it, he knows it, Simon knows it. No need for unnecessary roughness, of reminding that you enjoy him just as much, if not more now. It’s obvious, from the way your head falls back against the pillows, they kind of smell like him. From the way your nails dig in his shoulders as you guide him back down, further down. Soft lips on your soft tummy, making the butterflies erupt in your stomach, the way he kisses you, so carefully, like you were crystal, like you were the finest porcelain, like you were the most fragile thing that has ever seen the light of the earth.

This military man always felt like he belonged in chaos and brutality, the savagery of bullets and loudness of bombs, never did he think he’d find relishing in tenderness and kindness. Cold nights when he’d stay awake praying god would let him see another day of life, now between the warmth of your sheets, god is forgotten, John can only sin and sin over and over again, if this is what hell is like, then so be it, nothing will ever taste as sweet as your arousal. A sloppy man by nature, saliva and drool dripping down his chin as he messily makes out with your folds. Between your thighs, that’s where he truly belonged.

Doe eyes looking up at you from below, it made you smile, how a man like him can’t contain his eagerness. Your fingers ran through his hair, pulling him closer to your core, even closer when your back arched, his fingers suddenly plunging inside you. That’s how he always did it “Wanna make sure you’re ready sweetheart. Don’t ever want to hurt you, not that way at least…” He’d constantly say, to the point where it kept on replaying in your mind, even at the worst possible moments. He’d always make sure you’d cum on his fingers or tongue first, for comfort, as he puts it. But deep down, that’s not the reason. Knowing that he as you wrapped around his fingers, literally, always did something to him. The way you purr, thrash against your sheets when he overstimulates you with just a flicker to your abused clit, the way you beg him “Please, please! Just…put it in, fuck me!” the way you ramble, voice dripping with desperation, high pitched, and whiny. Your whining, your begging, your crying is why he does it. You’d always tell him how nice he is, but he’s cruel really, selfishly so.

It’s only when he thinks you’re ready, or in other words, it’s only when your tears are staining the pillows, only when your nails drew crescent reds on his back, only when he couldn’t take it anymore, would he push you further up the bed and hover above you. He wouldn’t even give you much time to process what’s happening. He already got your legs wrapped around his waist, and when usually he’d growl and complain about having to use protection, this time he skipped it all together. Your eyes went wide, a small gasp escaped your lips when you felt his tip nudging between your lower lips; he found your behaviour just so cute. He chuckles, leaning down, folding you as he does so, whispers lightly in your ear “You’re so adorable like that, sweetheart. So pretty folded in half for me like that…Got to take advantage of that now, soon I won’t be able to do that at all, hmm?” It doesn’t take a genius to know what he meant by that, and even if you had any doubts, he slid into you, hissing in pleasure at the feeling of your tight walls around his cock, reinforcing his idea, making it clear.

And why did he ever doubt you? Was the way you scream his name not enough proof that you loved him? The way you squirm, the way tears cascaded down your cheeks, the way you grabbed into him, all of that, was it not enough to make your decision easier? You’re both too stupid to realise that there shouldn’t have been any hesitation in who you’d choose in the end.

His hips moved against yours, drilling into you at a speed you’ve never experienced from that man before, or anyone for what matters. His hands dug into your hips as he held you steady. You’re panting, biting your lips to keep your moans at bay, but to no avail. He won’t be having that. “Don’t be selfish now my darling. I’ve been patient enough, the least you could do is appreciate me by screaming my name, don’t you think?” And who were you to deny him this request? Your lips parted at his demand, his name rolling off your tongue has him picking up his pace, faster and faster, he’s reaching so deep. Although not in the fields, when Johnny puts his mind into something, he’ll make sure it happens, no matter what it takes. His fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles on the bundle of nerves, it has you twitching underneath him, squirming and shaking, your voice is all choked up when you cum. Your vision is blurry, your limbs feel like jelly as your gummy walls spasm around him, really, he’s not surprised at how fast he cums when he’s with you anymore, never once did it hurt his ego. Your exhausted smile warmed his heart. A kiss on your forehead and a soft whisper of “Thanks for giving me a chance” has you wrap your arms around him to press a sweet peck to his lips. And you thought that was the end of your night, you’re ready to be tucked in and cuddled up against his chest and be lulled to sleep by his heartbeat as usual, but no. “Oh no, where do you think you’re going, darling? No, no we’re not done yet. I got to make sure it takes, wanna see you all round for me. We’re gonna show him, I can give you what you want. I am what you need…”

#john price x reader #john price #captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price smut #captain price x reader #captain price smut #captain john price smut #smut #cod smut #cod x reader #call of duty #price smut #price x reader #female reader

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sungie · 2 years

Text

WHERE THEY KISS YOU [TOKYO REVENGERS]

includes: ran, rindou, kazutora, hanma, inui, koko, chifuyu, mitsuya, shinichiro, sanzu

cw: fluff, slighly suggestive

a/n: and my first tokrev piece! i hope u enjoy <333

masterlist

HAITANI RAN – your hairline.

He’s terrible, really. Cradling your face in his hands, only to barely brush his lips to your hairline with the awful excuse that he’s just too tall to properly kiss you. At sight of your scowl and failed attempts to tug him to your face, he simply smirks and presses patronizing kisses to the top of your head. “If you really wanted me, you’d just grow taller, baby.”

“I’ll fold your kneecaps if you don’t bend over.”

Ran chuckles. He considers it (he really does), then shrugs. Just how far can he push before you snap?

“I’d like to see you try.”

The grin on your face turns downright wicked.

Do it, he thinks. You wouldn't dare.

You do. He watches in amusement as you pull out your phone, scrolling through a long list of contacts. “Pity. I’ll just have to ask Rin, then. Do you think he's into sloppy seconds? What about Haru? Mikey? Oh, maybe Kaku?”

Ran chuckles darkly. "Absolutely not." Rin? Haru? Kaku? He hates the way their names sound on your tongue. He surges forward to press his lips to yours. His mouth swallows your words, admonishing that wicked smirk with a breathlessness that leaves you wobbling on your feet.

He swipes the phone out your hands, only to slyly return it to your back pocket with a hand that lingers much longer than it should. He pulls away, teeth grazing at your bottom lip with a glint in his eyes. “That wasn’t very nice of you, now, was it?"

HAITANI RINDOU – your neck.

Rindou wraps his arms around your waist and droops his head over your shoulder. He scowls at the chatroom displayed on your screen, matched with that stupid daddy’s money he’s grown to hate over the past week.

Isabelle the 4th and you … the loves of my life.

Rindou scoffs. "Pay attention to me," he grumbles. "I'm way better than that pixelated asshole on your phone." He does his best to hide it, but the subtle hints of a whine drag at his words. "Reminds me of Koko. Why couldn't you have gone for that hacker with the tattoos, or something?"

"Later, Rin, I'm about to unlock his bad ending. The red ribbons are so hot, here, look."

His bad ending? Red ribbons? Rindou's moving before he can think twice, his head nudging closer to kiss against your jugular. He feels the gasp shivering across your body before he hears it.

"I'd never give you a bad ending. Just so you know." His lips drag down your neck, taking time to worship the skin above your collarbone.

"It's not a bad ending, just a more exciting one–"

Rindou wraps his arms around your shoulders to tug you flush against him and nips against your skin.

At your shriek, his lips suck at the mark, sharpness fading into a dull ache. “Exciting, huh? You still gonna play that game while I’m off?”

Your laugh makes his heart swell. You turn to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose, tossing your phone on the couch. “No, no, you’re my favorite, Rin.”

“Thought so.”

HANEMIYA KAZUTORA – your earlobe.

“Looks pretty on you,” Kazutora muses, gazing at his earring dangling from your ear. “You know, if you wanted to match you should’ve just said so.”

He laughs at your expression, thankful you can’t pinpoint the blush heating on his skin. Leaning in even closer, he blows at the earring, amused at the way it sings with sudden attention. Would you make pretty sounds for him, too? Before he knows it, he’s pressing a kiss to the top of your ear, peppering his lips against the ridge until he reaches your cheek.

At your whine, he pulls away teasingly. “Hm. Should I kiss you?” An amused smile tugs at his lips. “I don’t know … you did steal from me, after all.”

HANMA SHUJI – your hands.

Hanma kisses the back of your palms. Worships them, revers them. Praise overshadows the underlying sadism of what it means to trace the outlines of sin and punishment against your uninked skin with his tongue. "So soft," he murmurs against you, but you're not stupid, and you must know he means, "so innocent." And not for long.

By the way his hands grow bolder and attention trails elsewhere, his intentions grow clearer with each sear of his mouth. As he makes a pass at your lips, he finally gets a taste of that brattiness he's been after for so long. He grins as you evade him to coyly whisper into his ear. "I know what you are, Shuji. Can't fool me."

"Oh? ♡ And what's that?"

"Cute. I know a perv when I see one."

He'll give it to you, that's for sure. Because you're half right. After all, it takes one to know one.

INUI SEISHU – your wrist.

"That feels nice." Inui presses his lips to the jut of your wrist, folding to lean into the palm of your hand. "Don't go," he whispers into your skin, "stay." He struggles to stay focused, but Inui knows that even with eyes half-lid and sleepy, he can still manage to gaze at you with a quiet intensity that leaves you stuttering.

At your lack of response, he flushes. His hand automatically presses against yours, wary that you'll mumble some excuse to draw it away and dart out the room. "What," he murmurs, "am I not allowed to show you affection?"

Your eyes look like they'll fall out their sockets. "No," you finally say, "no, it's nice, you just, you're never this shameless about it–"

Cute.

"Oh," Inui chuckles. His eyes crease and that stoic facade of his finally crumbles as his lips tug into a faint smile. He presses another chaste kiss to your wrist, reveling in the way you gasp. "You haven't seen me shameless yet."

KOKONOI HAJIME – your jawline.

"I don't think I heard you right," Kokonoi teases. His arms hang above you, effectively pressing you into the wall as he grins, running his tongue between his teeth. "Wanna try again?" He nudges closer to nudge fervid kisses along your jawline. "Don't disappoint me, baby."

Your laughter softens his gaze. He presses his forehead against yours, amusement reflected in his eyes.

"Koko."

"Ah, ah." His fingers tilt your chin up, thumb gently running against your bottom lip. "Wrong answer."

"Hajime," you give in. "Hajime, it's your turn to wash the dishes."

Kokonoi can't resist anymore. He kisses you, one hand supporting the back of your neck, and the other cradling your cheek. "Of course. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Kokonoi," you taunt again, for good measure.

"Nope," he says, gently smushing your cheeks together. "Don't start."

MATSUNO CHIFUYU – your fingers.

Chifuyu plays with your fingers, barely touching them, but interlacing your hands all the same. He runs his thumb along your knuckles, tracing infinities across your joints.

Your mouth is moving, but Chifuyu isn't listening, at least, not really. He's too focused on how soft your skin feels against his, how light his chest feels when he's with you.

"Are you even listening to me?"

He smiles at you, eyes twinkling. "No."

"Chifuyu!"

He presses his lips against each fingertip, peppering kisses across the back of your palm. "Sorry," he murmurs, "I got distracted." He looks at you for a couple seconds, then shrugs guiltily. "You just make me really happy."

He almost whines when you pull your hand away from his, only to press them against your face. Your fingers peep open a crack to expose your eyes. "Flirt," you mumble.

Chifuyu blinks for a few seconds. And then he laughs, gently prying your hands from your face. "So cute," he murmurs, tugging you closer and pressing his lips to your temple. "If it makes a difference, I'll listen this time."

You start talking again, and Chifuyu tries to listen, he really does, but he's staring at your lips now, and he's wondering why he didn't kiss you earlier. He wonders how mad you'd be if he interrupted you a second time.

MITSUYA TAKASHI – your forehead.

Mitsuya presses the last jewel to your skin, then dusts a faint layer of glitter beneath your eyes. Your skin feels soft against his fingertips, so soft. He lets himself look too long, and he feels a pang of guilt when he watches you attempt to press your hands to your face in insecurity.

He nudges your hands away, pressing his lips to the spot between your eyes. "Don't hide," he murmurs, "you're gonna turn a lot of heads tonight."

The familiar spark remerges behind your irises. "You know I only have eyes for you, Takashi."

Mitsuya is too late to hide his smirk. Maybe he doesn't need to. He feels sorry, he really does, for the people too late to realize you already have a boyfriend. "Have fun, baby. Wanna make a bet on how many free drinks you can score?"

"Stop," you whine, "you're so full of it."

"No, I'm telling the truth–"

"Uh huh. My boyfriend's such a smooth-talker."

"Okay, wait."

"Waiting."

"You're beautiful."

Mitsuya laughs when you playfully swat him. "I'd kiss you goodbye, but I'm not messing up your look. Don't worry too much, I'll do it later."

SANO SHINICHIRO – your temple.

Shinichiro sighs as you tug him back toward you. He raises your enjoined hands and lightly twirls you around, a lazy grin resting atop his features. "What?"

The look upon your face makes him falter. “Be careful, Shin. Promise me.”

Shinichiro stares at you for a long second, face softening. He won't deny it feels nice to have someone look out for him. But he doesn't want to see you look so worried.

At his nod, you lightly grip his collar, pulling him down to gaze into your eyes. "Shinichiro. Promise."

“I will. I promise.” He tugs you closer, lips pressing against your temple. "Always, for you."

He stumbles as you wrap your arms around him tightly. "Love you," you murmur into his shirt.

He smiles, head resting atop yours.

SANZU HARUCHIYO – ...

“Kiss,” you tap your lips.

Sanzu grins, greedy fingers tugging your chin forward. His breath fans against your skin, eliciting goosebumps. He leans closer, lips barely brushing against yours, until he pauses, eyes devious. "No."

#tokyo revengers hcs #haitani ran x reader #haitani rindou x reader #kazutora x reader #hanma x reader #inui x reader #kokonoi x reader #chifuyu x reader #shinichiro x reader #mitsuya x reader #sanzu x reader #tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokrev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader

5K notes · View notes

hellowoolf · 3 months

Text

on strawberries and masonry: chapter v

series summary: you atone for your sins, now, in a jackson garden, learning to care for soft things and yourself. joel miller is a lethal sort of similar, and misery loves company

you live in jackson and meet joel and you’re both damaged little babies and fall in love (but i’m drawing this shit out🫶🫶)

warnings: angst, age gap (reader late 20s/early 30s, joel 50s), maria is pregnant, the dinner party trope™️, joel picks reader up (but its actually been foretold that he can hold any weight ever, so don’t even worry about it), jealous!joel, possessive!joel, SMUT !!!!!, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected piv, breeding kink (don't...even start), creampie, FEELINGS !! (as always, let me know if i missed any !!)

word count: 7.9k

authors note: an epilogue will be (probably) on the way but this is our last full chapter !! gag !! this is my first ever series and i'm so elated i decided to write and release it. this last chapter drained me mind body and soul and i don't know how i feel about it but i really hope you enjoy <3

series masterlist | masterlist

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the realization of your feelings for joel, that against all better judgment you’re tumbling somewhat unceremoniously in love with him, nestles itself between your ribs to scratch at your bones. it’s a tolerable ache, at first, and because you refuse to give into anything, you let it remain while joel fucks you on his tongue and fingers. you let him cover your skin in his spit and your slick and the marks of his fingernails, and inch closer to the doom of loving him, believing yourself capable of handling it, willing yourself to handle it. and you do. mostly.

what comes first is a need for him you’re unequipped for. his refusal to fuck you properly again (a promise he has continued to hold himself to) becomes increasingly unendurable, and you’re pushed beyond even the lust for him you’d fought against months earlier. you need him, daily, at least, pulling him behind the stables or coming to slam on his door so you can live another day. you want to please him, to mend him, to save him, even though you know you are incapable, and you try what becomes embarrassingly often to get on your knees for him, but he always denies you. yes, this is the first symptom of your almost-love, a wanting that reaches your innermost self and expands beyond the edges of you.

the second symptom is anger, a nefarious deviousness against him, a spiteful resentment for the small ways he rejects you. you are less cautious with him, nipping at him on patrol or in the dining hall with your own sexuality, constructing heavily unsubtle innuendos and whispering them in his ear. you’re looking to punish him, so irrevocably that he’s compelled to kiss you again, to fuck you again, but until now you’ve failed at ensnaring him fully. you barely recognize yourself this way; you have never been one for this wild sort of flirting, the obvious kind, but you succumb to it regardless.

the softness of him is the worst part. you skim your hands up his thighs and pull on the loops of his belt to tempt him to you in the ways he still refuses to give, and he’ll deny you orgasm as punishment, but still he materializes on your porch, or sits you next to him in the aftermath of the pleasure he does allot you, wet with your arousal, and lets you tell him about your life, leaves you breadcrumbs of his. he likes that spot he found on your neck that night when you cut the strawberry, wraps his palm around the base of your skull to feel the warmth of it, and with his callouses circling your skin you know that this is the most awful thing, the most terrible. it’s shameful, really, that he should show you this kindness when you’re this close to complete devotion to him.

“what d’you think, little wolf?”

little wolf. maybe this trumps even his hand on your head. last week, with three fingers in your dripping cunt joel had stilled his hand in you, let you thrash against him while he smiled into your hairline, and you bit hard into the flesh of his shoulder, leaving the marks of your canines there. easy, little wolf, he’d grunted into you, and he felt you pulse when he said it, so he’s kept the name, uses it often.

“hm?” you lift your head from his thigh, bare legs curled up along the couch while he sits back on the cushions. he’d tugged you from your walk to your garden into his home, licked into you while you pulled on his hair, made you come on his sofa like he’d savor the stain. his hand comes from around the back of your head to your face, thumb sweeping across your chin and along your bottom lip. you take it in your mouth and suck, eyes on his as his own mouth drops open.

“bout the jam. you want me to show you how to make it?” he repeats, voice low and broken as you swirl your tongue along the pad of his thumb. you’d brought the strawberries up again, how many you have and the white fuzz they grow; noah helped you remove the heaters from inside the greenhouse as temperatures rose outside, but a chill remained, and so your plant began a slow death. you’re left now with a small batch you like the idea of preserving in sugar and heat. you like the idea, too, of joel teaching you things, of him watching you learn. you nod slowly. “when?” he tilts his head as he asks. you pull from his finger and trail little unhurried bites along his palm, down the inside of his wrist. you want to suck his blood.

“tomorrow? evening?”

he nods, eyes hooded over as he watches you. slick drips between your thighs and sticks them together, wetting over the dried come he’d pulled from you minutes ago. you smile against his skin, teeth grazing his pulsepoint.

“you a good teacher?”

he grins and grips back at your head, tilting your chin up to his face as he leans down to you. “a real delight, i swear it.”

your noses bump and you want to kiss him (the whole of it is you’d like to suck his tongue into your mouth and hold it there, feel behind his teeth, let him spit onto your tongue), another vice he’s denied you since that first time. he sees it in you, this wanting, so he threads his fingers through your hair to hold you in place. the tug at the roots makes you rub your thighs together and he inches closer, close enough to whisper onto your lips “go home, little wolf,” and pulls himself off the couch. he’s practically limping with how hard he is, the strong outline of his cock casting shadows as he walks away from you, and it only serves to make you wetter, but because you’re certain he won’t let you help him (you tried in the stables this morning, hay softening your fall to your knees, but he’d hauled you back up with a gruff quit it) you pull your pants back on and retreat to your home.

stepping down his porch you bring a hand to your stomach, joel’s refusals of you burning green and orange there. the flames heat your skin and lick through your fingers, and the warmth indulges the part of you that hates him, but the rest of you (the part that loves him, lord help you) bends under the pressure. you drop your hand as you approach your house and find tommy leaned up against the fence post. panic seizes you for a moment, but you tamp it down sharply; surely, he can’t know where you’ve come from, surely he can’t smell him on you.

“isn’t this a little past your bedtime?”

he looks up at you with a smile as you come to stand fully in front of him. “yeah, well, i figured you’d be comin back from the garden right about now.”

something sparkles across your cheeks and you hope he doesn’t notice. “mhm. how’s maria doing? she’s in the, what, second trimester now?”

tommy nods, that boyishness and the pride of fatherhood puffing his chest. “that she is. she’s a wonder, i tell ya. don’t know how the hell she’s doin it. but the nausea’s gone away now, so she’s just restin up.”

“i’ve been wanting to come by and visit, but i didn’t know if she’d want me there.” it’s the truth; you’ve seen very few pregnant women in your life, and the magnitude of it frightens and delights you. besides, as little as she seems to enjoy your company, you suspect it’s a lonely existence, cooped up by the windowsill growing little arms and fingernails, and you’re self-aware enough to know you owe yourself to her.

tommy scratches the back of his neck. “well that’s what i wanted to come ask about, actually.”

you tilt your head. “me coming to visit?”

he hums. “maria’s been wanting some socializin, some…” he waves his hands around, looking for the word, “interaction. i figured you could come over for dinner.”

“just me?” you can’t help the surprise in your voice.

“...no. noah, too. and my brother.”

your throat dries out and you stifle a sputter. yes, indeed, dinner by candlelight with your most long standing existing friends, of which you have only two, a pregnant woman who sees you as you have been (a knife, with a girl on the end), and the man you’ve been fucking but not fucking (and you think you may be in love with him, also, but you try to keep this bit irrelevant). yes, yes. a fantastic idea! what a delight!

“i don’t…i don’t know, tommy. maria’s never been my biggest fan.” please, don’t make me come.

“come on, don’t say that.”

“i don’t mean any offense, i just don’t want to disturb her.”

“you ain’t disturbing her! i’m telling you she’d like it if you came!”

“tommy-”

“she barely tolerates my brother as it is, at least you’ll be there to occupy him. please?” and he asks with such sincerity, such unknowing of the things you’ve done to joel, and you know there is no way out.

“yeah, okay. okay. i’ll be there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“so you’re goin to this…what is it? dinner party?”

joel’s halfway through a bite of something red and meaty when he asks, and you clamp on his moving jaw with your palm.

“don’t talk with your mouth full, sting, it’s not very southern gentlemanly.” he flips your hand away with a grunt and you bite your tongue between your molars to keep from smiling. “yes, i will be there.”

he shakes his head and leans back in his chair, looking out at the milling people filling the dining hall. “i still don’t understand the point of it anyway. the hell we playin family for?”

“joel, you are family.” his eyes flit to yours. “tommy’s family, i mean,” you clarify. he nods, some sort of relieved, the disappointed sort, you feel. you do your best to shake the stick of it, of that feeling, off.

“then why are you goin?”

“well, as it happens, i was invited. besides,” you snort, an unattractive thing but you let it pass, “i think your brother hopes i’ll keep you entertained.”

“entertained? you bein serious?”

you’re golden and beaming with how he looks at you, so incredulous and muscled and stiff with restraint from touching you, you can feel it. “i think his exact verbiage was occupy. he wants me to occupy you.”

“jesus.”

“buck up, cowboy, i’m a delight.”

“uh huh.” you think it’s meant to jab at you, that little grunt, but one end of his mouth turns up as he says it, an imperfect cover of his grin. “he ever do this kinda thing before? before i came?”

you bite the inside of your cheek and look to the ceiling. yes, he did, once. he’d been patrolling with pete mcneilson (a scrawny thing, squirrelish and panicked, but as young as you are) and decided you were fated to be wed, worked his hardest for weeks to set you up. he’d planned the dinner in hopes it would serve as a first date, but your halfway abnormality and owlish inspection of him—tommy’s words, really; he said you looked straight through the poor thing—had frightened him, you suspect. you consider lying, though these days such attempts rarely come out right with joel. you sigh. “yeah, once. maybe two years ago.” joel raises his eyebrows, urging you on. you sort of mumble, “it was a ploy to set me up, really.”

he drops his fork onto the plate, lets it rattle, and you nearly flinch. you’re somewhat surprised to find yourself expecting him to be angry, not that he’s under any obligation to be. really, you might like him to be angry, but he chuckles, instead, biting and smug as he is. “set you up with who?”

“don’t laugh.”

he raises his hands in surrender, grinning, still. “i ain’t, only askin for a name, baby.”

how often he uses it hasn’t dulled the sharp spasm of want that word seizes you with. “no laughing.”

“what did i just say?” he leans closer. “gimme the name, darlin.”

“pete mcneilson.”

joel does not keep his promise. he chokes on his laughter, heaves with it, tenses his ribs to keep it in the box of his chest, but it tears out between you anyway. oh, how gorgeous he is this way. “christ almighty, pete?” and then, shaking his head to himself, he adds “he’d be fuckin helpless.”

you scoff. “the fuck you mean by that?”

joel continues eating again, self-satisfied with some glorious victory that lays itself over his face. “helpless with you, darlin. you’re too damn vicious for him.”

you think for a moment. “little wolf, and all that?”

he clears his throat, laughter dead in the back of his throat but eyes still pinched a little in the tension of his smile. “somethin like that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you think it’s a mistake, going to this dinner, as you walk out your door, smoothing your jeans down your legs. you know it’s a mistake when you walk in and see them all, the whole lot, milling about tommy’s home, your varying degrees of relation to each clashing violently. tommy rushes through the kitchen, mashing boiled potatoes and checking on meat that pours steam from the oven when he vents the door, and maria watches his frenzy with a pleased sort of smile. you know she’ll tense when she sees you here, and so you allow her another moment of secluded safety with her husband, and look around for joel; you’re almost embarrassed at how desperately you search for him, but all of it drains from you when you find him standing next to the dining table with noah, being what could only be described as talked at. you’re filled instead with a gripping warmth, pink and new, at the sight of him, so big and disinterested. he may remain mostly secretive of his feelings with you, but joel is intrigued by you, this much you are certain of, and the picture of him this plainly un-intrigued makes you feel singular, selfish, important to him. yes, tonight is a mistake.

“i can’t believe my eyes, the town ghost has appeared,” noah calls out from across the room. you give him your best attempt at a grin, eyes pulled like gravity and lust to joel but working to keep them ahead.

“in the flesh,” you dip your head in a bow, and noah pulls you into a hug. over the slope of his shoulder you see joel, hip cocked and brittle, and you both have the same thought simultaneously, that he’s never held you like this, not once. for all his increasing softness, he has never held you like this. he’s already angry, you think, gnawing on the figure of you in noah’s arms. you pull away and position yourself between them, nodding to joel, mainly for show. “i haven’t seen you in ages, noah, how are you?” and your sincerity is barely there, so slippery with joel so close, but enough to convince noah.

“haven’t you heard? i’m a mentor, now,” he smiles with sarcasm and a little pride, too. “been showing jesse how we run the patrols and all.”

you’re trying, so hard you are trying. joel is watching you precisely, hawkishly. “so i’ve been told. you started on our patrol route your first day, i think,” and you gesture to joel, but you can’t look at him, knowing you’ll twitch too damningly in his direction.

“ah, yeah, yeah that’s right.” with a playfulness he continues, “of course, we’ve moved onto much harder routes now.”

in the compendium of near-family you’ve concocted in jackson, noah serves as the spirited sort of brotherhood you imagine was normal decades ago. when you met, skittish and cut open as you were, noah found great joy in poking at you; your hardness grated against the easy youth he’s clung to, and you think he liked the challenge of it. as you melted more into the jackson scenery, though, became more earnestly open to friendship with him, he learned instead to lend you this ease, the sarcasm and good humor. there’s something lovely about taking it up when you speak to him, though it’s difficult now, what with the distraction at your side.

you cross your arms. “oh have you? you’re that good a teacher?”

joel coughs next to you, nearly chokes, and you feel the gentle thrum again of a shared thought between you, of yesterday on his couch, of his thumb in your mouth, of the jam (oh fuck, that was meant to be tonight). noah pays no mind, a sweet thing but dull around the edges. “you know it, baby.”

with a squeak of his boots and a grunt under his breath, joel storms into the kitchen and out of sight. you and noah watch him go, your stomach leadened with his absence, and you pull a breath in to lighten the weight, but it’s no use. baby, baby, you know it’s baby that’s driven him away. you feel noah step a little closer to you.

“speaking of, how’s your patrol been? i can’t believe maria finally let you do it.”

you shift: joel, his hands, his voice, the man you killed for him. “they’ve been fine, i guess.”

noah bumps his shoulder into yours. “details, details! you spend every morning with the big bad wolf over there, i mean how does that feel?”

you tilt your head at him. “noah,” you scold.

he brushes off your tone, craning his neck to get a look at joel in the kitchen, continuing, “he seems fucking scary to me. doesn’t he scare you?”

you huff and shove him back, but he looks back at you like he really means it. you’re startled with the sudden urge to tell him the truth, blood and spit and all. it rises in your throat like bile, but you swallow it all back down. “no, not anymore. not…not really.” your voice is heady with the history you and joel have carved with lips and tongues, and you wonder how gory it would all become if you had indulged yourself fully, let the acid of your feelings spill out. as you think it, noah scans your face, looks through it, and you worry for a moment you’re caught, that the whole of it is spread plainly on your features, but tommy comes barreling out of the kitchen with food cradled in his arms, maria in tow, and you’re spared from any further investigation. tommy laughs out your name from the head of the table.

“jesus, i didn’t even see you come in, come sit down!”

you nod, give maria a smile, glance at the globe of her stomach. she’s glowing with it, hand along the curve of her tummy, and she does her best to smile back at you, as soft as she is capable of. noah pulls the remaining empty chair next to him out from the table and you sit, finding joel across from you, biting on his tongue and furious, quietly, desperately furious, looking between you and him. fuck.

like the love, joel’s fury fissures you in two. you are, most viscerally, delighted that joel should be so angry at noah’s arm around the back of your chair. he watches the space between you, daring it to close further, shoulders strung taut like you’re his to fuss over. your heart expands and knocks on your ribcage, arteries singing with the pleasure of it, and arousal pools between your thighs and sticks there.

toe to toe with this delight, though, contends your own boiling rage. how desperately his gaze claws at you serves as a reminder of the ways he denies you of him, of his cock and his tears and his lips on yours. you would gladly give him this, let him bark and snarl like a wild animal in some unhealthy possession of you, if he let you possess him back. but, as it is, the edge of his eyeline cuts you irreparably, marks you with an indictment of you as a lover and him as something less. it makes you fucking furious.

“ellie helps you a bunch in the garden, don’t she?”

you look up to tommy. you haven’t been listening. “hm?”

“ellie. i’m always seein her in the greenhouse.”

you nod, grin at the thought of her. “mhm. she’s been a real help, actually, and it’s nice to spend the time with her. i think a lot of the other kids are sort of afraid of her.”

joel’s eyes gleam over for a moment. he loves her, you know, and whatever rift exists between them has persisted. noah grips your shoulder and shakes it a little, and the shine dries on joel’s brown eyes.

“sounds like a bit of you.”

tommy barks out a laugh and you push noah’s hand away. “yeah, yeah.”

maria lays a hand on tommy’s bicep. “i think it’s good for her. she needs to get acclimated here. she’s not like the other kids.”

you all look to joel. he hasn’t said a thing since you all sat down, actually. he clears his throat, and the rasp of it goes down hard. “no, she ain’t.”

“from what i’ve heard she’s got a real sailors mouth, big brother. that your doin?”

joel’s face pulls into offense. “no.”

“well she musta learned it somewhere,” noah sings. so very sweet, so very dull. joel looks like he might skin him.

“she came like that.”

“came like that?” noah repeats.

this is so very off limits. tommy and maria give each other a look, and they glance across the table to share it with you. stop him, for the love of god. you turn to noah, plead quietly, “just drop it, noah.”

“what? i’m asking him about himself,” and then to tommy and maria, “i can’t ask him about his daughter?”

what began as a wholly good hearted attempt at conversation has morphed, you realize, into the same sort of bear poking noah used to do with you. he’s calling joel’s prickliness and raising him a teasing interrogation. but for all your similarities, joel is not like you now, he will not absorb it as you did. he stares, lethal and still, at noah, elbows on the table.

“come on, we know nothing about the man. i want to hear your stories! give me something.”

joel scoffs and you ask again, “noah, please.”

“how am i doing anything wrong here?” his words devolve into childlike mumbles, unused to being denied this way. “i’m trying to make some fucking conversation.”

voice resigned from subtlety, all desperation, you call across the table, “maria, how’s your pregnancy coming along? tell us a long story about it.”

tommy snorts with your bluntness, but all three millers soften with a breath. maria rubs along her tummy, smiling down and speaking, but you go deaf to it as noah brings his arm all the way up, slinging it across the line of your shoulders. and you know, like all the other touches and like his antagonizing of joel, that he means nothing real by it. but joel takes the world in as meaningful: all of it, including noah. you can’t bear to look at him, but even still you burn with the steaming point of his gaze, frenetic and livid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“joel, jesus, slow down,” you call out as you hurry after him. tommy and maria had let you all loose to the jackson twilight, and with a smiling salute noah pranced off home, brushed already of the dust he knocked loose from joel at the dinner table. but joel eats up the ground in front of him with large, pacing strides, muscles corded in the back of his neck. you want to ride him, punch him in the stomach.

“go home.”

you catch up to him, grip a hand on the sleeve of his coat. “i will not go home. i want you to have a conversation with me first.”

joel doesn’t stop, drags you with him through the front door of his house by the fabric of his jacket. the door slams behind you and as the sound rings out joel whips around, boxing you against the wood. he heaves, little hurricane in his chest, casting shadows on you, even in the dark. “i’m not in the mood for a conversation.”

“yes, sting, i gathered that, but you’re being a fucking asshole.”

he huffs and looks to the ceiling, praying, you think, for divine intervention, or perhaps a lightning bolt to set the house ablaze. he can’t look at you when he asks it. “have you fucked him before?”

“jesus christ, no!”

he laughs, a little insane and swinging like a church bell. “seemed damn cozy in there to me.”

“yes! i’m sure we did! he saved me from bleeding out in the middle of winter joel, i told you that.” he adjusts his stance and peers back down at you, looking almost sorry with the thought of you red and unmoving, but because your fury is insatiable you poke him in the chest, adding, “besides, what if i had? what’s it matter to you anyway?”

he grips your wrist, asks incredulously, “what’s it matter to me?”

“no really, why give a shit? i promise i’ll still let you stick your fucking ring finger into my–”

“not another fucking word.”

the diseased part of you laughs with the irony of this moment, at the anger and jealousy you’d hoped for in the dining hall this afternoon; it isn’t exactly what you’d pictured. you sag with that thought. “please, baby,” his grip on your wrist tightens when you call him that, “throw me a bone. you seem entirely disgraced by the fact that we do…what we do, god forbid anyone found out, you won’t even,” you push a quick breath from your nose, “you won’t even waste the fucking energy to fuck me, kiss me. so tell me, please, what is your problem with–”

“you wanna know my fuckin problem? you drive me fucking crazy. i am clinically fuckin insane, darlin, and it’s your fuckin fault. beggin me to fuck you, fuck your face, i mean jesus, the things you ask of me.” and then, mainly to himself, “i ain’t strong enough for this shit. the hands and the eyes and the,” he remembers you in front of him, faces you again, “and the looking, i mean what—shit—what kind of fuckin look is that? you look at me like–like–”

“like what?”

“like you love me. you look at me like you love me. do you know how fucked up that is darlin? and i’m doin my goddamn best to keep you at arms length and it’s damn near impossible but i knew that first time that i–” another heave, “that i’d fuck you again and i’d love you too. be in love with you. and i couldn’t be that selfish. how could you ask me to be that selfish?”

his fingers around your wrist have formed more into a desperate sort of hold, thumb reaching up into the cup of your palm. the weight of his admission presses through your diaphragm, that i’d love you too, but the rift in you, the love and the anger, is growing savage, and you lash with it.

“i’ve never asked a fucking thing of you. i’ve wanted, jesus joel i’ve wanted, but i never asked you to go on this emotionally stifled quest to prove—prove what exactly? that you’re good? i mean, christ, we’re both awful!” you poke him hard in the chest. “you’re awful and i–i’m awful, and,” the momentum of your fury is slowing, you can feel it dragging its feet, “and you won’t let me get close to you. i’d let you in anywhere. and you won’t,” the loving is thawing from you, and like snow in your hands it drips into water and dirt, down your front, and you’re crying suddenly, caught up in the great tragedy of what you’re about to say. “you won’t let me do it, you won’t let me love you even a little bit. but i can’t help it.” you flatten your palms on his chest, gentle, nearly losing it at the hummingbird winged hum of his heart. “if you can’t do it, i’ll leave you alone. i promise you, sting, i will leave you alone, i won’t ask again, i won’t beg it of you. tell me you don’t feel it and i’ll go.”

he takes a stilted breath in and looks down at your fingers on his front, runs his rough hands up them slowly, feeling you here with him. “i–i…”

you nod, tears hot and fat running lines down your cheeks, and move to pull away. you open his door behind you, facing him still, but he jerks something frantic and closes it again. his hands come up next to your head on the door, and the both of you are so silent you can hear the wood creak with the press of his palms. you wait.

it comes out with a great pain at first, a terrible ache you see in the grimace of his face, but it eases as it goes, eases as he tells you, “i love you, little wolf, i do, i do.”

and then there’s a moment of stillness, of unsureness. what do you do now? what does anyone do now? oh, but he loves you, he loves you, you have to write it on a wall somewhere, burn a forest and bottle the ashes, wreak some irrevocable havoc. he loves you.

you drag a hand from his chest up to his face, and with a shudder he leans into the warmth of it, nods against the skin, affirming some wordless agreement, and leans down to press his lips to yours. and it’s been so long you can’t help the whimper that escapes you, squeaky and wet still with the damp residue of your tears, but he’s soft and hot against you, pulls his hands down around your waist and squeezes into your spine. you say his name against his lips and he nods again, presses harder, groaning when you pull the hair at the nape of his neck. you open your mouths to one another, hoping to suck each other’s souls out, you think, and he licks into your mouth with a moan. you’re still whimpering his name somehow, over and over, meaning nothing by it other than you like the taste of it along with his tongue, joel, joel, joel, and he replies with the heated moving of his hands along your body.

joel grips under your ass, pulls you against his cock as he ruts you into the door, speaks gruffly against your lips, “tell me again.”

and you do, somewhere between your moans, “i love you, i love you,” and he seizes with the sound of it, ducking his head to suck marks into your neck. you hitch a leg over his hip and he takes it as an invitation, dragging his cock through his jeans again along you.

with his face still in the crook of your neck and a muffled up he hoists you fully into his arms to take you up the stairs, and if you were more lucid you would notice you’re in the same spot you were months ago, the first and only other time he let you have him, but as it is you swirl your hips as best you can against him as he walks, biting the skin that beats with his jugular. you’re drunk on the scent of him, on the pressure of his body. he lays you down on his bed and leans over you with wild eyes as he drags the fabric of your shirt up. he mouths along the skin as he bares it, mumbling into your skin, “so pretty here, baby.”

you raise your back from the bed to pull your shirt and bra off fully and he groans, hands flying to grab at your tits, tracing a line between them with his nose. “and here.” you lift your hips and he pins them with his own, the heft of his cock dragging against your clit through your pants and you mewl with it. joel moves back up to your ear, still pulling at the flesh of your breasts and rolling your nipples between his fingers, to whisper, “i’m gonna take you slowly. can you do that, darlin?”

and no, you’re not sure you can, but you nod breathlessly anyway.

“good girl.”

that drives you fully to madness, you think, and you tilt your head back into his bed, writhing into a moan. he smiles into you as he moves his face back down, down, past your sternum, hands moving to pull at your jeans. “can i take these off?”

“yes, please.”

he nods and pulls them from you, and runs his hands back up your legs. you can feel your own dripping, the gusset of your panties soaked through with arousal, and his smile drops as he looks at it, a single finger coming to run down the fabric. you shudder, and so does he, you think, hand still on your thigh tightening as the pad of his finger wipes along the dampness. “fuck. this for me?”

you’re already nodding. “yes, yes, you, please, touch me, please.”

and with that joel is pulling them down your legs, leaving a trail of glistening slick where the fabric sticks to your flesh, and joel heaves you to the edge of his bed, kneeling with a grunt to the floor. you hum around a whine as he bites and licks up the insides of your thighs, his own moans reverberating back to you. his fingers, wrapped around the crease where your legs meet your torso, will leave bruises, you’re sure.

“joel,” you plead, but he doesn’t really hear it, heaving open mouthed around your cunt now, breathing you in.

with a long inhale he drops his forehead to your navel, squeezes you between his hands. “so good, baby, this pussy is so good.”

your eyes slip shut and you feel yourself pulse with his words. joel sees it, too, and finally, fucking finally, closes his plush lips around your clit, slurping and sucking as you all but scream into the space of his room.

“fuck joel, fuck, oh my god.”

“yeah?”

you thread your fingers through his curls and tug, and his groan makes your hole flutter. he circles his tongue around your little button, flattens it, flicks over it with the tip, and the drool of his own spit mixes with your slick as it slides from your hole to his sheets below you. you’re fucking aching now, so empty as he sucks around you, but before you can even plead for them, you feel his two fingers slip inside you, gliding in easy around the wetness he’s pulled from you and the slip of his saliva. he curls them, petting against someplace only he has ever reached, and you keen.

“that’s it, huh? there?” and it’s only halfway smug, all the rest earnest, and you pull harder on his hair. your nerve endings flare up and catch fire, his scissoring fingers within you, his taste buds on your clit, his sheets bunched at your head, it all tears at you with unbearable feeling, you feel with an intensity that blurs your vision. with the pulse around his knuckles, joel can feel how close you are, raising his lips from you with eyes hooded. “oh, you’re close, darlin, i fuckin feel it,” he rasps, and you nod again, delirious and mouth open, as he circles his thumb in the path of spit his tongue left. the noises you make would be humiliating in front of anyone else, you think, but his brows furrow with each of your blasphemous little whines, and so you let them claw out as he watches his fingers thrust in and out of you. “c’mon little wolf, let it go, let me have it.” and you do, you throw it at him, really, pulsing around his fingers and gushing down his hand, moaning wildly something that sounds like his name as he groans with the squelch of it.

he pulls his fingers away only as you relax, spine released and flat again on his bed. he drags his eyes up and down your body, spent but not yet satisfied, as he rids himself of his own clothes, and your pussy shudders with her own heartbeat again as you take him in. his cock reaches stiff between his legs, blushing and pearled with precome, and you lick your lips with finally, finally. he pumps himself once, twice, stalking towards you again, but you stand from the bed with shaky legs, sit him in the wet spot you made together. as you sink to your knees he curses and squeezes the base.

“jesus christ, baby.” but you only smile as you run your nose up the underside of his shaft, tentatively pressing the flat of your tongue along his head to collect what’s escaped him there. the salt and musk of it makes you whine and you fit your lips around him, laving along his skin and watching his hands bunch in the sheets. you smooth your lips down his head, lower, lower, and suck, cunt fully dripping again at the noises he makes. a broken version of your name leaves him as you start to bob your head, spinning your chin as you come up, letting your teeth graze the vein along the underside.

“oh fuck, you—shit—your mouth is so fuckin good,” and he brings a hand, now, to collect your hair and wrap his fingers around it, anchoring himself more than you, “yeah, yeah, that’s it baby, fuck.” you moan into him and his hips twitch as it moves through his skin, and fuck you want him to fuck your throat. you bring your fingers up to move his other hand, clenched taut at his side, to your head, pushing it down to show him. his fingers tighten in your hair as he starts to move you on his own, pulling you into him as you gag and swallow around his head. “oh fuck, oh fuck,” he grunts, hips starting to rut up to meet your face, and your hand finds its way to your clit, rubbing in tight circles as he thrusts deeper, sputtering as he grits out, “fucking gag on it.” you hum, so gloriously pleased with yourself and the taste of him, feeling him twitch in your throat, but with one final drag of your tongue on him he pulls you off. you start to whine but he’s heaving you up by the elbows to straddle his lap, grabbing you by the jaw to bring your face to his. your tongues meet and circle, the both of you groaning at the taste of the other, and he drags his wet cock along your seam. you angle your hips so he catches on your opening and his hands tighten on your waist.

“you still want it, darlin?”

you almost laugh, maybe you do, nodding with your hands on his shoulders. “yes, yes, please.”

and when he pushes in it is not like last time. he’s slow, agonizingly so, as he lets you sink down, your forehead dropping to his as you groan in unison. you clench and throb when your thighs meet, fully seated, and he pulses inside of you, but he doesn’t move yet, brings a finger from your waist to between the wings of your shoulder blades. as you breathe together, chests meeting in full flex, he drags the pad of his finger down, your body open and seizing with feeling of him.

“you like to touch me there,” you whisper.

joel nods. “it holds you up.” and something about it makes you wail. when his finger reaches the bottom, he bands his whole arm around your back, pulls you impossibly closer against his chest and moves his head next to yours, asks into your ear, “can i move now?”

you twitch as his breath fans over the side of your face, whispering back some sort of please, please, and he starts to thrust into you, slowly but deeply, so deeply that his tip kisses your cervix, and you both hold each other tighter as he drags back out.

“fuck, joel, so good.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“you’re fuckin—ah—soakin me, baby.”

between the whispers in your ear joel takes your lobe into his mouth, biting and releasing, kissing the spot beneath it. your body tenses in his arms as his cock ruts in and out of you, still so slow and still so much, and his bicep around your back flexes to keep you in place.

“what is it?”

“fuck me faster, please,” you whimper. you feel his little smile into your skin.

“you said you could take it slow.”

“and i—fuck—i’m trying.”

he groans, long and with the movement of his cock in you. “one more second like this, just like this.” you try to roll your hips again but his grip stills you. “you have no patience, do you?” you shake your head. without a word, he reaches up to push your elbows up and over his shoulders, and you wrap your arms down his back. he nods a little, whispers just like that into your skin, and you throb around him.

the slap of his skin on yours rings through the room as he speeds up, thrusts meeting you, and you scream like this is salvation (you think it might be). neither of you can control your noises now, not that there was much control to begin with, and joel grits out agonized moans into the arc of your ear. your nails scrape up and down the skin of his back as he pounds up into you, clawing marks and holding there. again you’re on his name, repeating it with a fever and a cry, joel, joel, joel.

“fuck, i fuckin love the sound of my name like that, baby. you sound like you’re mine.”

you do your best to nod, head bobbing at his shoulder, i am yours, i am yours, but still it’s only his name coming out. he fucks you harder, holds you harder, moves like a zealot into your softness. he brings a thumb to your clit, circles it tightly, eats up your noises with a gluttony that pulls you right there, right there.

“i’m so close, joel,” you whimper.

“fuck, i know, i fuckin feel it. come on, darlin, come on my cock.”

again, you do, you do as he asks, pulled tight into him as you pulse and thrash, ecstasy washing over you.

“yeah, that’s—oh god—that’s it, that’s it,” he rasps, thrusts unrelenting, slapping against the wetness dripping between you. as the rigid pleasure runs through you and your body relaxes again, he picks you up, knees his way up the bed to place you down beneath him. you watch his face pull together as he forgets his plan for a moment, fucks you into the bed with a hand on the headboard, but he collects himself again and heaves you over by the crook of your knee so your stomach is to the mattress, keeping the head of his cock inside you. you hold yourself up by your knees and elbows, feel his hands spread down your back and around the globes of your ass before he picks up his pace again, hips meeting your ass in harsh bumps that make you scream into his pillows. the kick of him inside you is coaxing your body again towards orgasm, and you arch your back for him.

“such a tight fuckin fit, ain’t it?” you whine in response, pushing your hips back against his. he pulls you up, back flush against his chest, spreads his knees a little to rut deeper up into you. with what sounds like waning sanity, he grits into your ear, “you make it fit for me, darlin, i know you do.” your bag arches off his chest as you go stiff, so startlingly close again. you’re defying your own anatomy now, gone from the confines of your body, submerged fully in a rapture that beads like sweat down your skin. “fuck me, you gonna come again?”

“yeah, yes, fuck” you heave.

he nods against your shoulder and slides the paw of his hand down your front to rub you, using the flat of his hand to press into your clit. “i’m gonna—oh fuck—you’re gonna make me come, where do you want it?”

and you know you shouldn’t, but you’re so fucking close, and you want it. “inside, joel, please.”

his thrusts are stumbling now, losing rhythm. “yeah? you want me to fill you up? fuck,” and he laughs breathlessly, “tha’s how we’ll tell everyone, i’ll fuck you full of my fuckin baby.”

the both of you vibrate with that notion, buzzing together, barely human anymore, and suddenly you’re falling into climax, a third and quick and jolted one, pulling him with you as you clench and flutter, and the pump of his warmth inside of you feels like the most wonderfully selfish thing you’ve ever done. and as his cock softens inside you, a mix of your come sliding out, he’s really just holding you, wrapped up in his arms on his bed. he kisses you in the silence, up the line of your shoulder and to your ear. “stay here, baby,” and he pulls out as you lie all the way down, wipes you both with a rag before climbing up behind you and cradling you in the crook of his body.

night has fallen fully now, but the moonlight peers through his window and marks the wall ahead of you. joel’s hands are warm as they run up your sides, draws his name on your hip. you smile.

“sting.”

J–O–E–L. “hm?”

“will you tell me again?”

he stretches out his fingers and leans his head over yours. you turn to meet his face. and you think it hurts him, still, to say it, but he does, forehead creased with sincerity and a will to tell you anyway. “i love you, little wolf.”

“i love you, too.”

joel thinks a moment. “are you…” you sit up a little to see him fully, and even in the darkness you can see the flush of red around his ears. “do you still want me to show you how to make the jam?”

oh god, he is so tender for such a violent thing. “mhm,” you hum, but turn all the way over to situate yourself into his chest. through the hair spattered there, you add, “later.”

his thumb finds your spine again, traces it like he’s done before. in his arms here, you can admit that this, now, is your greatest achievement, the closest you’ve ever been to sacred. the puffs of his breath on the top of your head, the slowing of your heartbeats as you both drift towards sleep, yes, this is holy, a sanctified thing, the loveliest thing you’ve ever grown.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

aaah !! i can't believe this story has come to a somewhat-end !! i can't thank you all enough for the support on it. as my first fic it was fucking terrifying to put out, but i'm so glad i did 🍓🤍🤍

taglist: @koshkaj-blog @limerence4u @shotgun-shelby @5oh5 (let me know if you wanna be added or removed !!)

#joel miller fic #jackson!joel #joel miller #fem!reader #the last of us #tlou #hello woolf #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #on strawberries and masonry #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x reader

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earthry · 8 months

Note

Hc request: how the Papa's would react if they find out that they have impregnated a sister of sin that they don't care about at all? (bonus points if the papa's are already in a relationship with someone else) thanks in advance in case. <3

Thank you for the request! I hope you don’t mind that for most of the Papas I’ve altered it to the sister in sin lying about being pregnant. Please take care because there is a lot of angst in this one.

tw: papas x afab!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fertility issues, pregnancy mention, happy endings for all, please take care and be safe <3

Primo

Primo has softened up a lot since his retirement— partially because the Ministry was no longer breathing down his neck and partially because of you. He's gained a considerable amount of patience over the years, but as he stares stoically at the sister of sin claiming to be carrying his child he finds none of it.

His questions for her are clinical and curt, asking how far along she is, if she’s 100% sure if it’s his. She must have thought she’d gain favor or his love but she receives none of those. He would never do that to you.

He dreads telling you— most especially since the two of you have been trying for a child of your own for almost two years now. You took each negative test the hardest, the tension and depression growing taunter and taunter until it finally snapped.

The two of you separated for a terrible two months. It was a break but to you there was no guarantee that he would ever take you back and to him there was no guarantee that you would ever come back. He should have known— should have always known that you would come back each time no matter what.

He considers it his own fault that in frustration he had tried to drown himself in another. A sister that looked like you, the same hair and eye color. You were no longer together at that time but it felt like cheating nonetheless— even if he had pretended she was you in amidst their coupling.

Thinking of you and only ever you.

The sister in sin seems to think otherwise however, claiming that they can start a family, that he’ll finally have an heir, a child. He tells her straight up that that will not be happening and she tells him he will come around.

When he tells you, he sits you on the foot of the bed and holds your hands tightly in his. He tells you that it doesn’t change how he feels about you, that he has no intention of having a family with this woman— but you don’t hear any of it.

You are devastated, static rushing in your ears as your eyes begin to feel wet. Your heart drops, numbness starting in the back of your throat and spreading across your body like a poison.

Because this was proof the problem this whole time was you. After trying and trying for two years with no success, but a one night stand had been fruitful with what you so desperately wanted. You try to hold it together, but the tears come hot and fast. He holds you, comforts you, but you’re almost inconsolable.

“It was me this whole time, wasn’t it?” Your voice is tight with grief.

“No, no of course not, tesoro. It’s not you, shhh— shhh you’ve done nothing wrong, nothing at all.”

You are reluctant to try again for a child after that, afraid of failure and drained from being let down again and again after each negative test. Primo is always patient with you no matter what. He understands you’re having a rough time and he does all he can to be there for you. He almost forgets about the sister in sin and his unborn child until it’s brought to light that she had been lying the entire time and it was not his child she was bearing. You nearly collapse in relief and he catches you in his arms, holding you against his chest as you cry in the relief that maybe it wasn’t you, maybe it was just bad luck. Primo will reaffirm you of this and slowly, you begin to warm up to the idea of trying for a baby again.

It takes another three to four months but one night the test turns positive and you nearly shriek for Primo to get another test. You have trouble staying still as you wait, taking three more tests to be sure— and when they all come back positive you can’t stop yourself from crying.

Primo panics at first until you reassure him that they are happy tears. He’ll splay his hand over your belly and kiss you sweetly, telling you he loves you and he knew you could do it. That he never doubted, that he was so so proud of you for pulling through and holding on.

You fall asleep that night in his arms, resting your hand over his against your flat belly and knowing with excitement and love that it would soon swell and grow with new life.

Secondo

His gut response is anger. How dare this sister in sin claim to carry his child? And even if it was his child, how dare she announce it in front of you, his beloved?

His arms are wrapped around your waist with you pulled close to him. He can feel you trembling, feel your heartbeat pounding. He presses comforting kisses to your temple, his hand rubbing your shoulder and back reassuringly. He coldly tells the sister in sin to leave-- and that he will speak with her later. Right now, he has more important things to worry about. Like you. He's worried about you.

As soon as she leaves, he sinks onto his knees in front of you, wrapping his arm around your waist. Murmuring reassurances and apologies, pleading for you to forgive him. He can't lose you, especially not now when the two of you had finally been honest with each other about your feelings.

The sister had been a mistake during the one of the nights he was pining for you, choosing to seek comfort in the arms of another because at that time, he thought he couldn't have you.

You forgive him because he wasn't really at fault here-- it had happened before the two of you started dating so it wasn't as if he betrayed you. To him however, that's exactly what it feels like.

You tell him that it's okay, that you'd always wanted kids anyways and your feelings for him wouldn't change just because he suddenly has a kid now. You joke a little that maybe you can be a step mom or something, if his baby mama let you.

That thought sticks with him for quite some time and he starts planning.

When the baby is born, he offers a very handsome sum of money to the mother of his child to sign all legal rights to him as the father, with a no contact policy between the mother, her family and the child. He isn't at all surprise when she takes the offer, always knowing that she was really only after power and money. He sets her up with a nice house in some far country and tells her to never come back.

They leave a newborn cradled in his arms and he asks if you would like to legally adopt his child. He tells you that you have no obligations to and he won't be upset if you refused.

But you say yes because how could you not love something that was part Secondo? Regardless, blood didn't matter to you-- what mattered was that this was your child now; yours and Secondo’s.

In a few years when you are ready for another little one, Secondo will smugly (and happily) put one in you without even having to be asked. Just tell him you want another one, and oh boy you’d better be ready because he’s very enthusiastic about it.

Terzo

Laughter. Incredulous laughter. He doesn’t believe her and he tells her just as much until she takes a test in front of him and suddenly it’s not funny anymore. Suddenly it’s terrifying.

He’s so, so afraid to break it to you. Your relationship is still a new and fragile thing to him— and he treasures you most dearly. The thought that you might leave after you find out is so debilitating that he doesn’t leave his room for a few days.

You have to beg him to tell you what’s wrong and when he does, he falls apart in your arms.

He had slept around so much before you but it never meant anything— he swears it and pleads for you to believe him. They never loved him or wanted him for anything more than a good fuck or a trophy achievement. They never cared like you do— he would do anything for you to stay and he tells you that while he’s buried in your arms in a tight embrace.

And of course you stay, how could you not? The way he tremors in your arms makes you want to hug him for as long as it takes for him to mend, to heal. You take his face into your hands, cupping his cheeks and using your thumb to wipe away wet tears.

“I’m not going anywhere, amore mio. Never. We will get through this together, okay? You’re not alone anymore.”

He follows you around like a lost puppy for the next few weeks, almost as if he doesn’t quite believe you’ll actually stay and that if you leave his sight for even a moment you’ll disappear forever. After the third week he finally begins to believe you, and he thanks you for being patient with him as if being close to him is a chore.

When Terzo discovers that the sister of sin was lying about him being the father— he’s relieved, so relieved that he cries. He's a little soppy puddle in your arms now and still leaking tears as you wrap your arms around him and let him bury his face into your shoulder.

Not long after that, you eventually bring up the topic of children and starting a family, telling him that you're ready for the next step of your life together. He lets out a whoop and sweeps you off your feet and the two of you end up in a giggling heap on the ground. Dizzy and with scrapped knees but utterly and endlessly happy.

Copia

The two of you already have babies and he tells that to the sister in sin trying to insist that she’s pregnant with his child. He tells her that if he really is the father, he refuses to take responsibility because he already has a family that he’s very happy with.

You and him have been in a committed relationship for several years now and he would never ever do that to you— the sister obviously overestimates how drunk he had been at last week’s orgy. Not that he’s ever attend in the first place, he was too busy smooching you in the confessional stand.

After she storms off in a huff, Copia returns home to you. He’s taking his shoes off when he hears your voice, “Look, is that papa? Is papa home?”

He grins and looks over as you hold up one of your many rat children, this one is named Rigatoni and he squeaks happily at the sight of his papa. You put him down so he can scramble over to climb up Copia’s leg, almost toppling over his chubby little body as he does so. The two of you laugh and Copia picks Rigatoni up to give him smoochies.

The other kids are starting to gather at the sound of their papa's voice, their little heads peeking out from all over the room.

"Welcome home," You tell him warmly, standing up to drift over and give him a kiss (minding your feet of the kids that are darting around and trying to climb up his leg like Rigatoni did).

Copia sighs happily against your lips, and tells you that it's good to be home. Now this is the life— a beautiful spouse and his little mischief of squirmy and squeaking children.

#the band ghost #copia #terzo #secondo #ghost band #ghost bc #primo #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus ii x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #cardinal copia x reader #headcanons #asks

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sgiandubh · 6 months

Note

Hi there. I enjoyed your post about Sam’s brand and it got me thinking. I feel like he’s stuck between trying to do what other people tell him he should to “make it” and trying to do it himself. Other people: you’re hot, show it off, do action movies, date blonde floozies. Himself: I want to be a good person and a decent actor, but what if I’m not? Guess I should work a lot, build a non-acting brand just in case I get fired, but try not to pay too many people to market it, I can do that myself; the liquor has the added benefit of getting his name out there and hopefully giving him another income stream if acting goes to shit. Where this all becomes problematic is that he’s not the person others tell him to be, so he comes off as fake, inconsistent, disingenuous, contradictory. I worry though that he can’t break away from these “advisors” because of whatever hole he and caitriona have themselves in with Starz and their bosses. We may not all agree on what happened in 2016 or why, but it’s obvious something did. The difference between them both since then is stark. The light has dimmed. They’ve aged exponentially. They’re guarded. They’re not the effervescent dynamos they started out as. She looks pissed all the time, like she’ll trot Tony out if necessary, but she won’t look like she enjoys it. She’ll go to awards ceremonies, but she won’t look as gorgeous as she easily could. She won’t be their ingenue. I don’t know, I think they’re stuck and are limited in what they can actually do for themselves, as much as they might like to. I can only hope there is an end in sight for them and they can persevere until then!

PS, I watched She Said last night. Highly recommend for anyone who doesn’t think a network executive could or would force their tent pole stars to deny a relationship.

Dear She Said Anon,

I liked your submission so much, I have read it three times in a row (and damn the late hour!). I have very few things to add to your excellent assessment of what I think is a very complicated situation. The proverbial Scottish parsimony could explain the choice of a minimally budgeted, all hands on deck sales and advertising approach. But we are quickly passing this stage and he should seriously think of hiring true professionals, if he really wants to make a financial lifebelt out of SS.

Yes. There's a price to be paid for all the games they are being served to play (and yes, something terrible happened in January 2016, of which we will probably never have the full details). Both of them are now striving to show us they can (scantily, painfully) exist without the magical Other. She, with that colorless, wrist-grabbing, fist-clenching literally dumb person (strictly meaning that we never hear him). He, with that (forgive me, Father, for I am about to sin) questionable, loud and tacky Oriental consigliere (it is high time I should write that paper on the Persia I know and love, lest you or other Anon think I am racist, or something). You can't figure out more opposite add-ons to Those Two, both serving, I believe, the same purpose: to deflect, at all costs, any attention given to the real state of play.

I haven't watched She Said yet and I welcome and thank you for the suggestion. On a lighter note, I trade for it Call My Agent (I have already mentioned this very, very witty French series, dealing with the life in a Parisian talent agency) - it shouldn't be a problem to find it on Netflix.

Good night, Anon. This one below is me thanking you for your trouble and time writing this wonderful post. Just look at Mitsuko Uchida's genuine Joy while playing Beethoven - same energy as Two People We Know, back in 2014, right?

youtube

#Anon

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snailor-bee · 6 months

Text

Give me what I'm beggin' for (I just wanna get some)

I got hit by the horny train, lol. I love Nanami but wow, season 2 is doing some work, huh? I couldn't resist.

Nanami Kento x GN!Reader / NSFW / 2.8k Summary: Post-mission, you decide to flirt with Nanami a bit, not expecting anything to come from it.

He decides to surprise you with way more than you'd bargained for. But you aren't complaining.

Warning: Although no pronouns are used, reader is wearing a skirt/tights!

-----------------------------------------------------

The mission is a success.

You stand a bit to the side, watching as Nanami takes out the last curse with one blue shimmering fist, his knuckles covered by his familiar spotted yellow tie, speckled with blood.

When he turns to you, eyes barely visible through the green of his lens you give a thumbs up to show that you’re fine. Nanami nods before rolling his shoulders and starting to unwind his tie from his hand.

You swallow reflexively.

The fight hadn’t been that difficult, just terribly long. The two of you had worked up a sweat taking down the sheer number of curses.

Along the way, Nanami had shed his suit jacket and somehow the top few buttons of his blue shirt are open, exposing a bit of his chest, sparkling with sweat from the lights shining down from above you.

The two of you are in an abandoned district, the veil visible above you in between the buildings that are squished together.

You swagger over to him with a grin. “Hey there sexy, you come here often?” you ask, voice teasing. He pauses in his movements, raising a brow. You flutter your eyelashes at him, jokingly.

Normally, he’d just roll his eyes, the motion recognizable by the shifting of his head, even with his eyes hidden. Today he simply hums and resumes pulling his tie away. “Are you injured?” he asks.

“Nah,” you reply, bouncing on your feet. “Are you? You seem a little winded.”

“I’m fine,” Nanami says curtly, shoving the tie into his pocket. “Come here.”

It’s not phased as a question. You tilt your head and walk closer, wondering what he wants.

“Should I call—argh!” you let out a yelp as you get within arms reach and Nanami grabs your wrist, tugging you until you collide with his chest.

“No,” he whispers, breath ghosting out against your lips, leaning down into your space. “Don’t call just yet.” Then he captures your lips with his, releasing your wrist.

You grab onto the open lapels of his shirt, tip-toeing to press even harder against his lips, eyes fluttering closed. When his mouth opens, his tongue seeking entrance into yours, licking against the seam of your lips, you moan loudly.

A thick arm wraps around your waist, pulling you even harder against his unrelenting body, making you shiver as his tongue dives in to plunder your mouth. Your tongues wrap around each other, and you can feel the way he’s hard against your hip.

Interesting. Nanami, the stickler for rules, is feeling a little frisky today, huh? Well, you aren’t about to complain.

When you finally part for air, you’re panting. Nanami licks his lips and it’s so sinful you have to fight down a groan at the sight.

“This way,” he commands and you’re helpless to do anything but follow.

Nanami ends up pulling you into an alleyway, pushing you against a brick wall, and kissing you positively breathless. His big hands grope over your body, making you whine as they roam over your chest, moving lower to grip your thighs tightly. They’re almost large enough to go completely around them.

When you finally break apart, he places a hand on your shoulder, lightly applying pressure so you’ll get on your knees. You follow the silence command easily, the concrete uncomfortable but you barely pay it any mind.

Feeling eager, you undo his belt quickly, wanting to get at the impressive tent he’s pitching. When you finally get his cock free, you wrap your hand around the base.

It’s impressively girthy, and you waste no time angling it towards your face and sucking the tip into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks. The taste of precum spreads over your taste buds and you look up to see Nanami’s expression.

Unsurprisingly it’s mostly blank, but you know how to change that. Taking a deep breath through your nose, you let saliva pool in your mouth before you start to work your mouth down his length. When you get halfway, the head hits the back of your throat, making you gag.

Withdrawing, you breathe a bit more before swallowing down his dick again. You look up and see the way his lips quirk up in a small smirk.

“You’re doing so good,” he encourages, and you moan, muffled, around his cock. You rub your thighs together, pussy already throbbing. The scent of him, sweat and cologne, and the spicy undertones that are just him fill your senses and you just want more. “Let me?” he asks.

You pop off his dick to moan brokenly, your voice already gravelly. “Please,” you say, voice a rasp.

A hand settles on the back of your head, leading you back towards his dick and you try to relax your throat as he immediately thrusts it all the way in, your nose brushing against the pubes at his base. You close your eyes, trying to swallow around the cock that’s bullying its way into your throat, and not gag around it.

His hand clenches and draws you back a few measly inches, enough for you to breathe through your nose before shoving you back down.

You suck around the length of his cock as he uses your mouth, working you up and down his cock, pace unrelenting.

One hand is wrapped around his hip, clinging for dear life, but the other has trailed down between your legs, desperately rubbing against your aching clit.

You don’t dare to do anything else though; Nanami hasn’t said anything about you rutting against the palm of your hand, but if you tried to work in a few fingers he might get upset.

Nanami is a well of patience, if he wants to drag this out as a punishment for you, he absolutely can.

You’re too worked up to want to wait so you try to be good. But it’s so hard when precum is coating the back of your throat, and all you want is to feel his fat cock inside of you.

When he drags you away your eyes flutter open. Tears make your eyelashes clumpy as you look up at him through watery eyes. Nanami growls at whatever expression you’re making. You open your mouth, leaning forward to lick across the head and he shivers.

His cock looks painfully red, ready to burst and he—gently—grabs your underarm and helps you up onto shaky feet.

“Put your hands on the wall,” he whispers to you, his voice husky and deep. It stokes the flames already burning in your gut and you spin around with a swallow. He hikes up your skirt, rubbing appreciatively over your ass, clothed in tights. There’s a slap and you jolt, placing your hands on the brick wall so you don’t move. The hit wasn’t hard—Nanami has so much control over himself it’s sometimes unreal—but it’s just enough to leave a sting that he rubs at soothingly.

The sound of something ripping makes you flinch, and you feel his fingers stroking the folds of your pussy over your underwear.

“Did… did you just rip my tights?!” you ask, offended.

The bulk of his body leans over you, suddenly bringing with it the warmth of his body heat. An arm wraps around your waist, while one of his feet kicks your legs further apart, and he takes on your weight as you stumble.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he says mildly. You wrinkle your nose. That is not the problem, and you open your mouth to tell him so when his fingers hook onto the fabric of your underwear, already drenched from your fluids. You wiggle, confused why he isn’t just moving them aside when he abruptly yanks, tearing the fabric.

“Nanami!” you screech, struggling but the arm around your waist keeps you locked in place and all your squirming does is bring your ass in contact with his cock. It’s a rod of heat as it presses between your ass cheeks, and you freeze.

He chuckles, placing a kiss against your temple. “I’ll pay for that too,” he promises.

“Dick,” you mutter under your breath.

“Patience, I’m getting there,” Nanami says, a smile in his tone. You roll your eyes but can’t help but buck back into him, trying to get his cock where you want it. Your clothes are already ruined, there’s no use in complaining about it now, and besides, you want this.

When his cock finally slips between your thighs, dragging against your cunt deliciously, you can’t help but moan and arch into it. You let your hands take on more of your weight as you lean further into the wall, rising up onto your tiptoes, trying to force him inside.

“Greedy for it, are we?” he asks, running a hand down your spine, the other a brand of heat at your hip, holding it tight. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“Badly,” you groan, wiggling your ass. He thrusts lightly, but his cock only manages to glance across your clit, making you hiss. “So badly, Nanami, babe, give it to me.”

He doesn’t immediately, simply drives you mad as he drags his cock across your folds, spreading your slick all over your tights that are still covering your thighs. It’s infuriating but also intoxicating. Nanami has never let the two of you go this far on a mission. Knowing that the manager is waiting somewhere for the two of you to finish up, that they might wander inside the veil to check out the situation and hear the two of you going at it, makes you moan, and your pussy lets out another wave of juice to spill across Nanami’s dick.

“That’s it,” he says with approval, “get it nice and wet for me.”

Finally, finally, you feel him start to feed the tip inside you. You widen your stance, eagerly thrusting back onto his cock. The hand on your hip keeps you firmly in place though and you whine, high-pitched and needy.

Nanami, of course, notices. He chuckles again, the sound ripping through you like a forest fire. “You want it that badly, hm? Well, okay then.”

He doesn’t give you any more warning than that, just suddenly shoves inside, burying himself to the hilt. You let out a muffled scream, slapping a hand over your mouth. Nanami grunts and pulls back a few inches before shoving back inside.

It feels like your nerves are sizzling, everything trained on the feeling of his cock stretching the walls of your pussy so good. You’ve taken him dozens of times before, but every time it’s like you can’t help but be so turned on by the way it carves into your insides.

With both hands now on your hips, he goes a half a step back, forcing you to follow and your hands scramble for the wall, trying to hold yourself upright.

“Don’t cover your mouth,” Nanami chides. “Let me hear you.”

You look over your shoulder at him, biting your lip. “B-but what if someone hears—ah!” He cuts you off with a punctuated thrust, making you lose your train of thought.

“Let them,” he says, before he pulls mostly out and ramming back inside, the force pushing all the air from your lungs.

He works you into a steady pace, the sounds of your flesh slapping together echoing down the alleyway, alongside your moans.

You’re loud and it should feel embarrassing, but it’s hard to think about anything else but the drag of his cock in and out of you, and the way it feels when he pushes all the way inside, burying himself so deep you swear you can feel it in the pit of your stomach. Nobody else makes you feel this way, the way Nanami so effortlessly takes control and makes you take everything, makes you want to take everything, it’s exhilarating.

Your orgasm is cresting, working up to it with every thrust that makes you almost see stars. “Nanami,” you whine, “’m close!”

A hand travels up the length of your spine to bury itself in the hair at the back of your neck. He tightens his hand into a fist, dragging you back, making you arch even further. It hurts but also feels so good that you can help but moan as he leans over you, making eye contact through the green of his glasses. “That’s it, baby, I got you. Come on my cock for me.”

“Mmm! Please, please!!” you beg. You can’t move, stuck between Nanami’s unrelenting pace and the wall. You wish desperately that you could thrust back into him as he starts pounding into you even faster.

The hand in your hair pulls harder, and the knot that has been tightening suddenly snaps as you sob out your release as you cum, fingers clawing against the brick looking for purchase.

Nanami fucks you through it, not bothering to ease up the ferocity of his thrusts. Once you start to relax, he finally releases your hair allowing you to collapse more fully against the wall, slowing to a stop.

Again, he wraps an arm around your waist, leaning against your back. Your eyes flutter as your body struggles to come down from its high.

“Good?” he asks, and you nod numbly. “Alright, just a little bit longer.” You groan as his cock withdraws and presses back in, slowly, letting you feel every inch of it.

He nips at your jaw before pulling away completely, his cock sliding free from your body. You turn to look at him whining with confusion when he spins you abruptly and grabs you beneath the thighs, lifting you into the air and letting your upper body press against the wall.

Nanami’s cock finds its way through your folds again and you throw your arms around his shoulders as it pierces you, making you cry out. When he buries himself again, he leans forward enough to kiss you and your mouth falls open immediately.

Moans are muffled between you as he starts thrusting once more, easily taking on your weight and you can do nothing but take it.

“Nanami,” you groan against his lips. You hang on for dear life and feel the way his hips crash against your ass, the way it seems like he grows bigger.

He moans your name, before his hips start stuttering, pulling you flush against him as you feel the way his cum starts to coat your insides. For a moment, the two of you just breathe. You feel tingly all over and as Nanami slowly withdraws and lowers to you the ground, your legs are shaky as you attempt to stand straight.

The moment you do, you feel the way his cum sloshes out of you, trailing down your thighs and you shudder with displeasure.

“Why did you rip my undies?!” you demand but he’s already tucking himself away and pulling out his phone. “Don’t ignore me!”

Unfortunately for you, he does just that and you end up in the back of the car, Nanami by your side, arms crossed and scowling.

You can feel the way his cum is still leaking out of your totally drenched pussy, no fabric except for your skirt to catch it, your tights thoroughly ripped around the crotch and your underwear no more than strips of fabric that don’t do anything but dangle uselessly.

The manager luckily doesn’t seem to find anything amiss, but you’re still feeling a little testy. Nanami rests a hand on your thigh making you jump but he squeezes the flesh there and you look up at him with a glare. He leans closer to you to whisper, “What’s wrong?” He says it low enough that the music playing in the car easily covers it.

“You!” you hiss, and he raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re an asshole, making me sit here like this!” You open your knees just a little to demonstrate. Not enough to flash anything but just to get the point across.

Quick as a snake, his hand works its way under your skirt and presses against your core. Just as fast, he withdraws with a hum, leaving you to wheeze next to him.

You watch, wide-eyed, as he brings his fingers up to his lips and gives them a little lick. “I just wanted to make sure you were ready for the next round,” he says, and you blink back with surprise. “But if you aren’t interested…” he trails off mildly, crossing his legs and brushing off invisible lint. “Then that’s fine.”

Grabbing his arm, you narrow your eyes at him, considering. His expression doesn’t change. Your pussy clenches on nothing and feels the soreness that comes from a thorough fucking. More cum gushes out.

You make a decision.

“Your office, on the desk,” you state under your breath, still mindful of the driver. Nanami smirks and tilts his head in agreement.

“Fine with me.” He leans in closer to whisper into your ear, “I’ll finish ripping off whatever’s left.”

You swallow as he settles back, looking pleased, desire once again simmering low in your belly.

Nanami is unfair, you decide.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #bee writes #bee writing

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humanityinahandbag · 10 months

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Steddie: Sticker Fic (Part 1)

“Hey, Munson?” Eddie turned and Steve was there, in his space, leaning forward until Eddie was pressed back into the kitchen island. He could smell Steve’s cologne, could see the moles and freckles across his face, could taste the air around him, like honey and butter and frosting. And then Steve reached out and pressed his fingers to Eddie’s chest, drawing back just as quickly, leaving Eddie’s skin warm and tingling. He’d also left something else on Eddie’s shirt. He barely registered what had happened until he was sitting back down, and Dustin's eyes were on him along with the rest of the kids. "No fair!" Dustin pointed, scowling at Eddie's shirt. "How come you got that one!" "Uh," said Eddie and looked down. I Did an Amooooozing Job Today! said a cow in a cowboy hat.

Eddie Munson was doing his best to push down his absolutely tragic crush on Steve Harrington. He'd been doing a pretty good job of it, too.

And then Steve brought out the goddamn stickers.

(or: Steve flirts using stickers. The kids go feral for them. Puns are everywhere and they are terrible. And Eddie is losing his goddamned mind.)

The first sticker appeared on a Tuesday.

Hellfire Club had been tentatively invited back into the school as a sort of withering olive branch, most of the school officials and adults shamefaced about the whole almost killing a kid in a jock-led Satanic Panic Mob thing. They’d put on their best faces and tried to appeal to Eddie’s mercy (even Principal Higgins had swallowed down his repulsion to say mistakes were made).

But in the end it hadn't made much of a difference, and Eddie Munson got to watch each and every one of their faces fall deeper into sticky guilt when he said “no thank you”.

It wasn't easy. Hellfire had been held in the back of the theater room since he'd started the club. Through bullies, black eyes, and the burning stares of teachers, that room had given Hawkins High at least one space he could be himself without apology. Without danger of being called a fag. Of being too slow to dodge a punch.

It was him, his friends, the stories they crafted.

And giving it up was like leaving a piece of himself behind.

But the fumbled apologies from adults (who should have known better, who'd never liked him, who'd been completely okay throwing words and stones and demanding his head, who suddenly looked to him to absolve their sins) made him feel skeevy. The guilt was warranted, but as his Uncle firmly told him it wasn’t his job to make a bunch of no-good-kid-hunting adults feel better.

"You ain't their priest, son. If they can hunt my boy so easily, then they shouldn't have any problems hunting down someone to listen to their goddamn confession, too."

Eddie had the scars along his body, a chunk of flesh eaten from his thigh, and a missing left nipple to show for their mistake . He had nightmares and flashbacks and nights where he woke up in a cold sweat expecting to see a mob outside his window shouting vile, obscene words to cut him deep or vines crawling across his ceiling to cut him even deeper.

So he’d said no, even if it meant he might have needed to give up one of his most sacred spaces in the world.

And then Steve Harrington (with his perfect smile and whiskey eyes and warm touch) had stepped in and said, “why don’t you just have Hellfire at my house?” and that was that.

Steve Harrington's house provided safety, a giant ass dining room table, from-scratch cookies and cakes that Steve insisted on baking each and every time they met.

It also provided Steve, who was wonderful and sweet and kind and-

And.

And whatever the reason (that Eddie was definitely not avoiding, not at all), it was enough for Eddie to wind up at the head of Steve's dining room table, leering at the small group from behind his screen.

It was snickerdoodle that day; Jeff's favorite. Eddie had already put back two and was happily considering a third. The rest of Hellfire looked like they were regretting eating any as Eddie hunched forward in the ridiculous oak dining chair. Dustin was green in the face, staring down at his miniature like he might as well have dug a tiny grave right then and there.

"You arrive at a door." Eddie steepled his fingers, resting his chin against the points. "Ancient symbols are carved throughout. Runes from another time, another place."

"Shit," Gareth murmured. "God, not another fucking door."

"Your only other escape is through the tunnels where you came, but you can already hear the Orc armies clashing their way through. What do you do, oh mighty heroes?"

"We're fucked." Dustin threw up his hands, pressing the heels against his eyes. "Oh Jesus we're so fucked."

"We're not fucked!" Lucas said, even if his face said otherwise. "We need- shit, we need a strategy! Will-?"

"I'm barely hanging on!" Will stared down at his character sheet, scribbling notes down furiously. "We could do an observation check-"

Dustin groaned. "We don't have time for that!"

"Well then what are we supposed to do, Genius," Erica snapped. "Sit here and die?"

The table erupted into an argument, insults and strategies twisting together through the fray, Eddie watching it all delighted.

From the corner of his eye he could see Steve leaving the kitchen with a fresh plate of what looked like carrot sticks. He walked carefully and silently through, mostly ignored by the still bickering group as he began to collect the empty cookie plates and gather napkins, stepping from spot to spot to curiously look over shoulders.

"Enjoying the peace and quiet, Harrington?"

Steve snorted, dropping the plate of carrots by Eddie's elbow. "Oh yeah. Getting in a quick meditation."

Eddie laughed, glancing back down at his notes to hide the blush already crawling up his collar, scribbling out a quick direction on the paper.

And then-

“What the hell is that?”

-the table fell silent.

There could have been a million reasons for those words to be said by any one of the Hellfire Club, and so Eddie wasn't much phased by the squawk from the other side of the table beyond the sea of miniatures and D20s. It was only when the other kids began to grumble that he looked up from behind his screen.

What he found was a scene that didn’t fully belong at the table of dark cloth and menacing figurines and leather clad nerds who were all now staring at Mike Wheeler holding up his character sheet, staring at Steve who had been coming over to grab empty plates from the middle of the miniature battle.

The character sheet, which was now adorned with a circle just bigger than a quarter.

Eddie squinted. The circle was a bright, neon green with a star in the middle. And the star was wearing- Huh. He squinted again, and, yup. The star was wearing sunglasses.

Steve turned back, empty stack of plates in one hand. “It’s a sticker.”

“No shit, Steve,” said Mike. “What’s it doing here though.”

Steve shrugged. “I thought your little dude was cool. So.” He reached into his pocket with his free hand and held up a roll of stickers. Eddie could see more sunglass wearing stars scattered in between a small galaxy of suns giving them the thumbs up and a moon with a backwards hat.

"We're not babies, Steve."

Steve rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to be a dick about it. Just say thank you.”

“Whatever,” said Mike, which was as close to thanks as he ever got. “I’m throwing it away.”

“Do what you want,” said Steve. He rolled his eyes and looked down at Eddie. “So ungrateful,” he said, as if Eddie was meant to commiserate somehow with a freshman.

Then again, Eddie was always happy to play along. “Oh yeah. Kid doesn’t know how good he’s got it. Crowning achievement, that prize.”

“You jealous, Munson?”

Eddie snorted. “Sure, Harrignton. Whatever you want to tell yourself. Now stop distracting my sheepies. We’ve got stuff to- to…”

He trailed off when Steve leaned closer. His cologne was woodsy and dark and from the angle where he leaned, Eddie could see chest hair poking from the open neck of his polo shirt. He reached out and pressed his fingers against Eddie’s shoulder. His touch was firm and sure and Eddie wanted to sink against it. “Well,” he said, “I’d hate to be a distraction.” And then he leaned back like nothing had happened, getting the kids’ attention with a sharp whistle and a call for pizza orders.

When Eddie looked down, there was a sticker on his shoulder.

Eyes on the Prize said a festive looking potato.

Eddie did his best to scoff, swallowing back the thrumming in his chest.

Though if he put the stupid thing inside his binder afterwards. Well. That was no one else's business but his own.

Want to read the rest of this fic? This is only a part of chapter 1! The rest of it (as well as the next three chapters) can be found on AO3!

If you want to watch Steve Harrington woo Eddie Munson with stickers, then this might be the right story for you.

Warning: (Slaps story) This baby can hold so many bad puns.

#my writing #fic #stranger things fic #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #virgin eddie munson #writing #fanfiction #Warning: (Slaps story) This baby can hold so many bad puns

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captainkirkk · 10 months

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✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Persistence Is A Sin by PlotlessWanderer

Part 1 of Persistence Verse

He stared Bruce Wayne in his dead blank eyes with the full force of his conditional training behind him and told Batman exactly what he was doing wrong. Clenching shaking hands, praying he wouldn't vomit, Tim faced the demon his hero had become and refused to be moved.

Persistence won out over apathy in the end. Tim wore Batman down through sheer stubbornness and blunt honesty. He wasn't looking to replace what Bruce had lost, wasn't trying to be the stand in for a dead boy. Sometimes he wasn't quite sure what he was doing, exactly, but he always knew that whatever it was, it was necessary.

(Tim won't let his heroes fade away without a fight. Even if he has to bring it right to their doorstep and insist they fight too)

Slipping by incogneat_oh

'There is a small plaster on his arm where Bruce had taken a blood sample. It itches. And the computer runs tests.

They don’t believe him when he says he’s fine.

“It was Ivy,” Dick says, tossing Tim a ball.

Tim just shrugs, says, “I feel fine.” '

(Tim is not fine.)

Catch and Release by snackbaskets

There's a tradition among the family: when in danger, you grab the smallest Robin and hang on tight. But like all traditions, this one had to start somewhere, right?

Alternately: three times Dick bodily attacks his father (with love)

The Disastrous Life of Saiki K

Local Gods by EsteriaSilversmith

Saiki may have been able to keep anyone from finding out about his psychic abilities, but enough wierd things have happened around PK Academy that the students had to come up with /some/ kind of explanation.

(Aka Saiki's love of sweets comes back to haunt him in the strangest of ways)

Shades of abnormality by TimesBeingWhatTheyAre

Some days Saiki didn’t feel comfortable in his skin.

Canon-compliant AU in which Saiki is genderfluid

The Sandman

The Cat of the Endless by Salmaka

Hob sighs, content to see the cat there and closes his eyes, ready to fall asleep again. He is not quite willing to wake up fully just yet.

But then it hits him.

He doesn’t have a cat.

Clone Wars

The Trouble with Tookas by thosenearandfarwars

Never trust somebody a tooka dislikes.

despite all (despite everything) by never_going_home

Cody is a mess. Obi-Wan is also a mess. They should probably kiss about it at some point.

Featuring: awful horrible terrible siblings, multiple people being So Fucking Done with codywan's pining, an all-inclusive couples' resort, and shenanigans to the extreme.

Sometimes, Cody lies awake in the ship’s night-cycle and thinks about the holo Waxer had found in some forgotten article in the depths of a ‘net archive. It had been grainy and out of focus and half-corrupted, but still clearly the general, comforting some wounded child, twenty years younger, hair long and matted, chin bare of beard, cheeks hollow with hunger and grief. His eyes, though, haunted and full of flinty resolve—his eyes had been the same, the only recognisable part of that child-stranger’s face.

(Nobody could fault Obi-Wan Kenobi for his leadership. The problem, then, lies with Cody.)

hear the silence in your head by firelord_zutara

Despite how wrong wrong wrong his Commander feels in the Force, it’s still a relief when Obi-Wan rounds the corner and sees Cody running towards him, there and whole and alive. That is, until Obi-Wan’s entire universe crumbles in an instant when Cody starts shooting at him.

Or: Instead of Tup being the one with the malfunctioning inhibitor chip, it's Cody.

#weekly fic round up #fic recs #my posts #saiki k fic recs #dc recs #sw recs #misc recs

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thenightfolknetwork · 25 days

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I am an antichrist.

The Real thing, born to a seventh virgin daughter after her soul was consumed by my father, Satan, in a ritual of fire, glory and light.

I was raised as instructed by The Book— Don't ask which Book, you don't want to know, the knowledge would melt your eardrums— to be the destroyer of the world, the prince of sins and the devourer of souls. I am the One Who Will Bring Fire to the earth, I am the One who will run the blood of innocents through the streets and boil the sea with my mere desire, I am the dark side of the moon, I am humanity's nightmare, I am—

I am 12 years old.

And I'm at school.

I just learned about ecosystems: The delicate balance of a food chain, the harmony that exists in the earth when a network of fungi extracts nitrogen from the earth and a rotting tree leaves the soil rich for next spring.

I found out about corals recently too. They are alive and an extremely complex life form for something that will never move, corals don't die as long as nothing kills them, isn't that a strange and wonderful concept?

I always wanted to be the World Destroyer.

It never occurred to me that bringing hell to earth would mean no deer or bees or coyotes.

If you increase the average sea temperature by more than two degrees, millions of corals will die. I don't know if I want to boil the sea if that's the end result.

But I am the Antichrist and I like being the Antichrist. I like to be Apotheosis, the crack in the glass, the rotten apple, the mercury in the water.

But I also like the world as it is, even if it doesn't bow down to me in fear.

What do I do?

(What do I say to my father?)

This is the problem with prophecies – they always put the subject under such a tremendous amount of pressure! I feel sure that, if your father had simply not mentioned his plans for your future, you would have grown up without these anxieties and likely gone on to fulfil your unholy purpose without a second thought, in a time frame that felt sensible and natural to you.

Instead, you've been burdened with a terrible and unreasonable amount of responsibility. No wonder you're feeling torn! This is more than any twelve year old should have to consider.

The important thing to remember is that you don't have to make a decision about this right away. You are the Antichrist and you will remain the Antichrist while you take a little while to decide the best course of action for you. The end of the world will still be there when you're ready for it.

As to the apocalypse itself, this is the other reason prophecies can be so frustrating. They are simply never specific enough to be helpful. Yes, you may be destined to end the world – but which world, exactly? And how much of that 'blood of innocents, boiling seas' stuff is literal, and how much is just a religious scribe getting carried away with himself?

In my experience, there are many, many ways a person might fulfil a prophecy without having to bring a fiery demise to this particular realm of existence. You might take a short hop over to another reality and destroy an uninhabited world, for example.

Alternatively, you might take your prophecy in a more metaphorical sense. “The world” we live in today is one that allows billionaires and business magnates destroy our environment in the name of profit. Perhaps you could fulfil your great purpose by destroying the social and political structures that make that world possible.

I understand your trepidation about bringing this up with your father. However, I really do think that you should consider it. Looking after you is his job, after all, and I'm sure he wouldn't want you struggling with these feelings alone. Reach out to him, and let him know how you feel.

You don’t have to decide this all at once. Whatever else you say to your father, you need to make it clear that you will not be embarking on any sort of apotheosis until you've at least finished your GCSEs. You are a child, and you deserve to have a proper childhood, whatever the future might hold for you.

#answered #the nightfolk network #monstrous agonies

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bizaar · 7 months

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Endless Summer ✧

Part 2: She Drives Me Crazy

Cruel Summer Masterlist

First - Next

pairing: eddie munson x afab!reader

warnings: sexual content (18+ minors dni), touch starved!eddie, mentions of drug usage, swearing, bullying, self-deprecation, masturbation (m), oral (m receiving), mentions of slight sexual trauma (nothing serious or icky, just soul-crushing humiliation)

word count: 18.5k

a/n: listen, if there's one thing about me, I'm gonna write eddie a little bit pathetic and a little bit more traumatized than is rightly fair. this chapter should really be called "to all the girls who have treated eddie munson terribly before"

There is absolutely nothing rational about the crush Eddie has on you.

It’s a wickedly cruel twist of fate to find himself yearning like this, especially for someone like you.

You, who is so untouchable that he feels like he’s going to burst into flames for so much as looking at you, who is so far removed from his league that you might as well be on another planet.

It’s really not fair. He’s been through this before, he’s supposed to know better by now, but when has life been anything even remotely close to fair for Eddie?

It’s driving him more than a little crazy. You’re driving him more than a little crazy, because you’re just about the closest thing to popular as you can get, and he’s a leper – untouchable, same as you, only from the complete opposite end of the spectrum.

You hang out with cheerleaders and jocks and the arguable social elite of Hawkins High, and Eddie skulks around with his group of loser friends, so far down at the bottom of the food chain that their link is not even attached.

You’re the day and he’s the night – polar opposites. The way he sees it, you should hate him, just like all your shitty friends do, and he should hate you right back because that’s just the way things are, but against all odds, he doesn’t feel that way.

Against his better judgement, Eddie likes you. He really, really likes you, which is stupid because he doesn’t even know you, despite what happened that night at Tina Burton’s party last year, despite the way you’d turned big watery eyes up at him, despite all the things you’d said back and forth to each other.

All the things that haunt him at night that he’s certain you don’t remember.

He knows he’s just going to end up getting hurt over it, letting himself get so attached to someone so far removed from his orbit. He can already feel the beginnings of that pain, hairline fissures forming cracks over the surface of the calcified muscle in his chest that he’s worked so hard to turn to stone.

He’s always fine until he sees you, then his mouth goes dry and his hands start to shake, and he feels the ominous prelude to the terrible hurt that lies waiting for him just over the horizon.

You’re going to break his heart someday, Eddie knows that for certain, and at this point he’s just counting the days until you do.

Maybe he’ll get over you before that can happen. Maybe something will happen that will cure him of the fever he’s got for you and save him from that impending heartache, but for now, he’s completely and utterly obsessed with you in a totally uncool, irrational, sweaty palms sort of way.

He’s halfway down the road to loving you without ever having held a real conversation with you, all because you went and committed the unforgivable sin of treating him with the smallest shred of basic human decency.

If that isn’t the crutch upon which Eddie leans, he doesn’t know what is. All he knows is that ever since that party, he’s been desperate for your attention, starved for it, really, and he doesn’t know what to do about that.

Except make a fool out of himself in front of half the school population, diverting Carol Perkins’s attention away from you and taking the full brunt of her ire just to try and save you.

He doesn’t know why he did that – it’s yet another thing he should know better than to do, especially considering the bruise he’s got on his kidneys from the way Tommy Hagan shoved him into a locker later that day and threatened major bodily harm for embarrassing Carol like he did.

Whatever, she’s a bitch and so is Tommy and they’ve both been that way since Middle School. It was high time somebody knocked her down a peg, and if Eddie was the one who had to do it? So be it, especially if that meant coming to your rescue.

He would do just about anything for you, except talk to you. He’s not brave enough to do that, because for as obsessed with you as he is, as violently as he craves your attention, you scare the ever-loving shit out of him.

Still, in the deep blue hours of the early morning, Eddie lies awake imagining all the things he secretly yearns for – all that boyfriend-girlfriend shit. Like holding your hand in a movie theatre, taking you out and giving you a chaste kiss on the forehead at the end of the night, making enough money to afford to buy you flowers and chocolates and jewelry and whatever else your little heart desires.

Then there are his secret aspirations, the ones that live in the safe space behind his lungs like glittering little jewels, the ones Eddie only entertains when he’s safe and solitary, and really down bad for you. That’s when he starts fantasizing about getting on his knees for you, giving you a ring, marrying you – Christ on a bike, he’s pathetic.

But he keeps those wishes locked up tight, because he knows the circle you run in, the creatures that swim in your tide pool.

It’s only a matter of time before you go and get yourself a stupid jock boyfriend and the sky comes crashing down on Eddie’s head. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do when that happens, how he’s supposed to endure it.

He thinks about it a lot, and it terrifies him.

How it will be bad enough having to watch you go around with him, whoever he’ll end up being, holding his hand, sitting perched on his lap, falling into his arms and letting him stick his tongue down your throat, but worse than that is how you’ll probably end up getting knocked up and married to the bastard right out of high school.

Because on top of being a stupid jock with a shining future that promises him collegiate glory in the way of sports scholarships and a good job waiting for him the moment he graduates, he’ll probably be a good Christian boy, too, so he’ll do right by you, come hell or high water – the son of a bitch.

Worst still is how all that plays directly into the vicious cycle of boys and girls that has existed in this town since time immemorial. In the very likely event that this future comes to pass, you’re almost guaranteed to settle down right here in Hawkins, just like everyone and their mothers and fathers do, and Eddie is just going to have to endure the way that cycle perpetuates itself, because this town is a gravity well in the worst possible way.

As likely as you are guaranteed to stay, so is he, and it is a particular brand of quiet doom that keeps him up at night.

Eddie knows he’s got no prospects, no future, no chance of getting out and finally escaping this place. So, in the event that this terrible future does come to pass, he resigns himself to the fact that he’s just going to have to sit there and continue to watch you live your life in the arms of someone else.

Eddie would do right by you, if you gave him the chance. He’d work himself to the bone to buy you a house with a fence and a yard and a dog, to put presents under the tree at Christmas and raise your kids right, but that’s not in the cards for him. Thats not the kind of American Dream that is afforded to someone like him.

That’s what’s going to break his heart in the end, and it’s fucking tragic, really.

Life would be so much easier if Eddie could just find a way to be a little less himself and a little more the deviant everyone makes him out to be.

If all he wanted was to get you on your knees and ram his cock down your throat, abuse that pretty little mouth of yours, he could find a way to work with that. He might even manage to coax you out to the van so he can fuck you nasty in the back and be done with all these bullshit feelings.

Hell, maybe he’ll get lucky, and you’ll come to him.

He knows what people say about him, after all.

Word on the street is that Eddie Munson is easy, he’ll trade weed for head – he fell for that exactly one time, and it was a mistake that he is still paying for, all because Tina Burton gave him a forty second blow job for an eighth, and then she went and told all her little friends and suddenly it was open season.

He’s lost count of how many times a deal has ended with some put-together ASB type balancing their open disdain for him with their horny little fantasies, batting their lashes at him and resting a sleazy hand on his thigh.

He guesses he was just lucky that the talk of the town was the exchange and not the fact that he came so fast, but it’s cold comfort when everybody is suddenly forgetting their money and offering to pay him in “favors” — really, how do all these rich kids expect him to pay his bills?

It’s not like you can cash orgasms in at the bank... well, not in this little conservative corner of Indiana, at least.

The only solace he can take in that is that you’ve never been lumped in with that crowd. He’s never had the pleasure of selling to you, so he’s never had to endure the sick prelude of waiting on you in some parking lot, wondering how this deal is going to play out.

No, with you he’s doomed to walk around yearning like some kind of lovesick virgin.

Even now, he’s stuck replaying his most recent interaction with you over and over in his head in an infinite loop, analyzing every minute detail, searching for meaning in the brief moments you’d shared.

He thinks about what happened in the parking lot that morning the week before, or at least what he can remember of it, considering how he’d spent the minutes leading up to your interaction bogarting Adam’s bong in the back of his van.

Eddie was high as a fucking kite – higher even – and he didn’t see you coming.

You caught your Walkman in one hand with an impressive feline grace after you collided – thank God, he could barely afford new brake shoes for the van, let alone even begin to try navigating the waters of replacing something like a cassette player.

Considering he wasn’t immediately aware of who he’d just crashed into, Eddie set his teeth and braced himself for the incoming volley of verbal abuse that was sure to be hurled his way, and he found himself standing a little more than dumbstruck when it never came.

Even more so when an apology arrived in its stead.

“Oh, shit— I’m sorry!”

The sound of your voice shot him full of holes and sent adrenaline like lightning rocketing down to the tips of his fingers and toes.

Out of everyone it could have been in this goddamn town, the last person he expected to see was you standing there, thankfully without your ever-present group of horrible friends — still Eddie was not prepared to face you, not as high as he was. He couldn’t muster his armor, snap all his carefully constructed shields into place, and it filled him with a blind, bleary panic.

Why, oh why did it have to be you?

Because Hawkins is a small town, made that much smaller when you are so painfully aware of someone that you constantly feel like you’re about to fly apart at the seams. Then again, he’s not exactly sure why he was so shocked to see it was you, considering it’s hard not to feel like he is tripping over you every time Eddie turns around these days. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so terrifying, never knowing where you are going to pop up next – goddamn pervasive is what you are, like a jump scare waiting for him around every corner, only that never seemed to happen before.

Before Tina’s party, the most he could say about you is that he’d seen you around. At school, in town, at the arcade and the movies, and that he thought you might have been a year or two behind him. He might have even been able to drum up your name if he really pressed himself to think, but before that night, before you turned those big sad eyes up at him and confessed all your sins, he’d never thought of you as more than just a living accessory to the insufferable unit that is Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins.

Now, he can’t seem to make himself think about anything but you.

And then came the impressive dressing down you’d received over something so blatantly untrue that even Eddie is shocked Carol is stupid enough to believe it.

People talk, and Tommy Hagan’s trying so hard to convince everyone he doesn’t secretly get his rocks off to Steve Harrington that he’s willing to throw you under the bus to do so. He’s telling people you came on to him at a party last weekend (one which Eddie is only slightly embarrassed to admit that he knows you didn’t attend) and that you got a little too handsy.

He’s saying you tried to grab his dick, or something vague like that.

“I woulda let her do it,” Eddie overheard him saying from the back of homeroom, “Only she was too drunk to know what it was she was trying to get her hands on.”

The group of thickskulled meatheads listening in all erupted into braying donkey laughter after that, and Eddie had to bite his lip to keep from correcting them.

Not only is that ridiculous, considering Tommy’s obvious proclivity toward his own gender (all the signs are there, even a blind man could see it) but that specific Saturday night which he is referring to, Eddie just so happened to see you shepherding a gaggle of manic cheering boys out from the back of your beat up little green Toyota and across the parking lot into the Palace Arcade.

He’d been parked in that same lot, perched on the hood of the van and waiting around for a no-show hookup who was already twenty-five minutes late.

Trust Rick to keep him waiting.

Normally, Eddie operates on a strict policy that gives his clientele ten minutes of leeway before he hits the breeze. Normally he’s not desperate enough to hang around in a parking lot waiting for someone, but he needed the contraband, because he was expected to bring it to the very party that you skipped out on. The one Tommy Hagan is insisting you attended.

How tragic it is that he’s got the perfect alibi for you, one he’s not free to go spreading around, because Rick never showed and Eddie elected to wander into the Arcade rather than try to show up at that party empty handed – his occupation is, after all, the only reason he is ever invited to those social gatherings at Tina’s big ugly house. Maybe at first it was out of some kind of misplaced obligation for so summarily ruining his reputation the way she did, but any remorse she feels for spreading that rumor about what he will and won’t trade his stock for has long since evaporated. Anyway, Eddie hates parties, so as far as he figured he wouldn’t be missing anything.

He had an arguably much better time feeding quarters into the machines and fending off Keith when he came wandering over to watch over his shoulder like a dead eyed zombie while Eddie tried to balance playing Dig-Dug and Dragon’s Lair and keeping a very close eye on you.

You didn’t go to the party, but neither did Eddie, and he’s not brave enough to defend you from the people who did, because doing so would be admitting that he effectively stalked you around the arcade for the better part of three hours. His friends were happy enough to let him know just how creepy that was, and how maybe he ought to keep that information to himself.

Eddie agreed, because he doesn’t need that extra layer to his already tarnished reputation – people already think he’s a devil worshiping freak, it would do him no good to add “stalker creep” to his resume.

Still, despite all the time he’s spent sitting around thinking about you, fantasizing about you, fucking his fist to the image of you that now lives burned into his mind’s eye (two weeks ago he’d had the misfortune of witnessing your skirt blow up walking into class on a particularly gusty day and Eddie swears he’s got a friction burn on his cock from all the time he’s spent jerking off to the memory of it) he never in his wildest dreams expected you to be nice, to give him the time of day.

It’s part of the reason he’d been so frustrated with his stupid crush on you, because you were supposed to be mean and scary, just like all of your friends.

There has always been a certain safety in that, in how untouchable you were to him, back when there was not a chance in hell that he’d ever be able to act on any of his feelings toward you, but suddenly none of that was true, and there were pitfalls abound.

In that moment, stoned out of his mind in the parking lot and staring down at you, he’d somehow slipped behind the veil into a world where he wasn’t some creature to be reviled, where he was a human being with thoughts and feelings and fears and dreams. Somehow, you could see that version of him shining through to the real world, and it was intoxicating like nothing he’d ever experienced, being seen like that.

Before he knew it, Eddie was on his knees for you.

He knows he mumbled some sort of slurred apology, something unintelligible to be sure, and he knows you made a joke that took him far too long to get.

He laughed when it finally hit him, too loud to be appropriate, and all of that knowledge would go on to haunt him later that afternoon when he sat revisiting that moment and everything else that had happened that day.

He’d made a fool of himself, which was nothing new, but his knees still stung from where the gravel had embedded itself in his flesh through the tear in his jeans while he gathered your books.

That close, Eddie could smell your perfume, something cloyingly sweet that had lingered in his sinuses all morning, though not unpleasantly so. He could also hear the faint melody of the music blaring from your headphones — you were listening to Magic Man by Heart, which somehow felt extremely appropriate, especially with whatever it was steadily going on between the two of you.

Come on home girl, he said with a smile, you don’t have to love me yet, let’s get high a while...

It was almost startling, the window into your life that it opened to him, and he is still not sure why except that it’s just not what he expected from someone in the same social tide pool as Steve Harrington.

Eddie hadn’t been aware of how he was staring at you until you glanced up at him with your big pretty eyes, the same one’s that have held him in a vice ever since that night …

Then Carol screeched your name from somewhere across the lot and ruined everything.

You reacted like you’d been caught smoking or something, and snatched the last of your things up, brushing Eddie’s fingers with yours as you did and sending a bolt of electricity shooting up to his shoulder and exploding in a smattering of sparks across his chest.

You offered him an apologetic smile that was little more than a horizontal stretch of your lips and promised to see him later in a way that was completely absentminded but still made his knees wobble.

Oh, now, why’d you have to go and say something like that? All it did was leave him hoping, scanning the sea of faces for you between every break in classes, heart pounding erratically in the fear that he wouldn’t see you, and the fear that he would.

What did he expect to do if he did? Say hi? Wave to you?

What if he did and you reacted badly? What if you ignored him? What if you laughed at him?

The possibilities were infinite and terrifying, and it made the promise that you’d see him again feel all the more dangerous. It left him feeling like he was a kid again, going out day after day and trying in vain to win the affections of the other kids who lived on his block and hated him as a rule.

It wasn’t until the end of the day that Eddie spied the last of your belongings, overlooked and left behind in your rush to answer Carol’s call. It was a beat-up, dog-eared paperback copy of Dune, tucked in behind the front left tire of the van. Eddie fished it out at the expense of its cover, which, wedged beneath the tire, came tearing off.

Whoops…

He flipped through the pages, finding them littered in your loopy handwriting, and it opened yet another window into the elusive creature that you are.

He fully intended to give it back to you, but he just never seemed to get around to it.

Seeing you, even just in passing as has been an almost daily occurrence over the past year has started to make his insides go tight and squirmy in a very specific way he hasn’t felt in years.

Eddie can’t remember the last time he wanted somebody as badly as he wants you.

Yes, he does.

Stacey Keats. She was a year older and had done away with his virginity one cruel summer in a fumbling press of bodies that didn’t last long enough to make it through to the end of Queen’s Crazy Little Thing Called Love, which Eddie still can’t hear without cringing bodily.

At the time, he would have thrown himself into traffic for her, head over heels in love by the time she ushered him out the door that sweaty afternoon with a fond pat on the head and a promise to see him again soon. And it only got worse from there, particularly with the way she’d kept him around and tucked snugly between her legs from June to mid-August. He was half surprised he wasn’t pickled by the end of that summer, more surprised though with how bad he was down for her so fast. He went all the way, flowers and dinner with her parents, he even went and embarrassed himself by telling her he loved her. It wasn’t his fault, not really, because it’s not like Stacey did anything to discourage the snowballing effect of his hormones, easily confused for genuine feelings.

By the time school came back into session, Eddie was all ego. He waltzed back onto campus that first day, fully convinced that he was a sex god with an older girlfriend – big man on campus – only Stacey evidently didn’t get that memo.

She looked at him like he had two heads when he approached her at her locker, like she would kill him where he stood for daring to speak to her, standing there among her group of tittering friends, and Eddie learned the hard way that now the summer was over, he had ceased to exist in her sphere.

Oh, God – huah-fuck! – right there, Eddie – don’t stop, don’t stop! turned into …what the hell are you looking at? in less than seventy-two hours, and it left Eddie feeling like he could curl up and die, right there in the hallway.

Whether he liked it or not, he was not her boyfriend, he was just some schmuck she’d used to pass the time while her friends were away for the summer. Now that they were back, he’d gone back to being less than the worms in the ground.

“I thought you said you loved me,” Eddie choked on the words as they slithered out from somewhere deep down in the hollow of his chest, and the harsh, unforgiving laughter that erupted from that group of girls still haunts him sometimes late at night when the trailer park gets a little too quiet.

That summer with Stacey Keats was a very hard lesson he didn’t expect to have to learn, one that took him a very long time to recover from.

If there’s one thing Eddie knows, it is that time heals no wounds – distance is the only balm that soothes anything, and it’s the only thing keeping him from drowning in the sea of you. He’s desperate for you, but not so desperate that he’s about to throw himself down on a spear, so Eddie exiles himself to the slow death of playing your shadow, because the safest way to love you is to do so at arm’s length.

Still, attention is the high he craves like nothing else, and there is no greater fix than your attention, undivided, unwavering, fixed solely on him, but he doesn’t have any classes with you.

There are no easy excuses to get you to look at him, so he does the first thing he can think of.

He does what comes naturally.

He jumps up on the table, he gets loud and obnoxious and theatrical, he makes a scene and gets in trouble, just like he’d done today.

He’d been slapped with an in-school detention for it, but it was worth every second he spent under Mrs. O’Donnell’s glare, if only because of the way you’d looked at him, the way you’d smiled.

Wednesdays are for band practice, and because of Gareth’s drum set, they almost exclusively occur in his garage, in among the holiday decorations and mismatched second-hand furniture they’d cobbled together to create a comfortable hang out spot for themselves.

It’s there Eddie sits, tucked into the corner of a stained and fraying corduroy couch, finger pads throbbing from their recently concluded practice and brain spinning as he scrambles to understand just how the conversation changed over to him so quickly. One minute they were shooting the shit, talking about all the inane nonsense teen boys could be expected to discuss, and then the conversation strayed to girls, as it naturally does in a room so brimming with unchecked teen hormones. Someone said your name and it made Eddie’s guts seize, caught strangely off guard by the hard shift in conversation topics, as if he isn’t always just sitting around waiting for the topic of you to come up naturally.

His reaction must have been palpable, as suddenly he was getting a lecture on his love life – or lack thereof.

“Will you just go talk to her?” Gareth sighs.

Eddie shakes his head, letting the stinging sensation of his hair striking his face ground him.

“No, I can’t.”

His refusal does not sit right with the newest member of his group.

“Why the fuck not?” He demands.

It’s strange to be spoken to so directly by someone he’s more or less only just met, but it’s Gareth, so Eddie lets it slide. What’s more, he answers truthfully.

“Because I’m me.” Eddie begins, gesturing vaguely and fumbling for the words to best express the conundrum that haunts him day in and out, “And she’s—” Untouchable, ethereal, and perhaps most important, off limits.

“Nice.” Gareth presses, “She’s nice and she’s funny and she’s cool – and she wants her book back, so you might as well just go talk to her.”

Eddie hangs his head in his hands and grinds out a sound of thick aggravated desperation.

Of course, you’re all those things, and it would be slightly reassuring to hear all of that confirmed by an inside source if it weren’t for the fact that you were hopelessly and irrevocably out of his league.

There is the soft whisk of a lighter being flicked over and over somewhere to Eddie’s left as Adam tries and fails to light his nasty, tar caked bong.

“Quit being a pussy, Man.” He huffs.

It ignites a fire in the hollow of Eddie’s chest, and he snatches the lighter out of his hand, leveling his bandmate with a hateful look.

“What am I supposed to do?” He demands, “Just waltz on over and ask her how her day is going? Just say something stupid like, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this? I’m sure that's exactly what she wants.”

Gareth hardly lets him finish.

“Yes, it is! Trust me, Man. I know her, I talk to her basically every day.”

As if Eddie needs any reminder of that, as if he isn’t already violently jealous of the easy proximity Gareth shares with you by complete and total accident. He suddenly can’t help but picture the way he’d seen the two of you sitting with your heads bowed together when he wandered past Mr. Kapz’s room earlier in the year, taking the long way back to class from the principal’s office in a blatant attempt to try and steal a look at you. Imagine his surprise to find the door wedged open, giving him the perfect vantage to see you and Gareth, snickering over something Eddie was desperate to be included in on — he’s not proud about the way he iced Gareth out over that in the days that followed, but that green eyed monster has a funny little way of making an ass out of people, and Eddie is in no way immune to its clutches.

In fact, jealousy claws ravenously at his heart thinking about it now, about what should be his moment, passing pipettes back and forth and leaning over beakers and Bunson burners – stealing glances as he pours over textbooks with you, intimate one-on-one study sessions … it makes his ears burn just thinking about everything he’s missing out on, everything he’s sure Gareth is taking for granted.

Lucky bastard.

It’s not fair, but it’s just one more thing in a long line of unfairness that has punctuated every beat of Eddie’s natural life since the day he was born.

“Seriously. You ought to just go and talk to her. I mean, really, what do you have to lose?”

Everything.

Eddie grits his teeth to try and bite back the venom pooling on his tongue.

“Why don’t you go talk to her since you’re such good friends?”

Gareth pulls a face, like it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.

“Because I’m not the idiot pining over her.” he says, prodding Eddie in the center of his chest with an accusatory finger.

He snorts.

“I’m not pining over her.”

A loud rumble of dissent washes over the table, startling Eddie.

“I’m not!” He insists, and it only causes the group to erupt into a fit of booing and hissing.

They’re quickly talking among themselves, tossing playful handfuls of things at each other and making commentary on what complete and utter bullshit that is.

“What’s it been, a year since that party?” Jeff starts, “All we ever get from you is oh, woe and misery, she’s so cool and I am but a pathetic loser, however shall my withered heart go on?”

He clasps his hands and tucks them at his jaw, tilting his head down and batting his eyes to affect the wistfully theatrical look of a maiden asking after her Romeo as he says it, voice jumping up an octave or two.

Eddie’s face goes hot with righteous indignation, and he opens his mouth to try and say something to defend himself, but the guys are already speaking over him, trading snide comments back and forth at his expense. Something squirms in his midsection as he comes to the sickening realization that this is apparently a widely discussed topic of conversation. It’s one thing to talk about it as a group, but behind his back? He won’t deny that it doesn’t sting a little.

Before Eddie can make the effort to silence them, Gareth takes it upon himself, shouting something unintelligible, just to try and get a word in and taking his chance when there is a lull in the heated conversation.

“Look! I wasn’t gonna tell you this—” he starts, “But… she knows, okay?��

The vagueness of the statement is startling like the clanging of a bell, and suddenly Eddie’s ears are ringing.

“She–she knows?” He echoes, “She knows.” Eddie’s mind is suddenly crawling with spiders as he tries to balance the question over what that could possibly mean and the knowledge of what he is certain it means.

If he’s right, he’s going to kill Gareth, right here, right now.

Eddie sits there, waiting for his friend to elaborate, watching unblinking as the freshman sits fidgeting, pursing his lips and looking anywhere he can, anywhere but directly at Eddie.

He grits his teeth and braces himself for the answer to a question he already knows.

“What exactly does she know? Gareth?”

Flannel clad shoulders jump up to his ears.

“Obviously that you have her book…” Gareth hums with a flippant shrug, then he grows sheepish, and he drops his tone as the words come tumbling out in a rush, “And … it may or may not have come up that you feel a certain way about her…”

He might as well have stood up and kicked Eddie in the teeth with the way it hits him. Like getting swamped at the beach, like the rush of the undertow pulling him down to crash against the rocks.

Eddie is flayed alive as a deafening roar of dissent kicks up from their little huddle.

He doesn’t hear it though, because he’s too busy feeling his brain melt out of his ears.

His vision goes spotty and for half a moment he is sure he is about to keel over from the shock of such violent betrayal.

“YOU TOLD HER?” Eddie shrieks, fisting his hands in his hair and feeling his lungs go flat in his chest.

He could die. He could literally lay down and die right here on the floor of Gareth’s garage.

Thankfully, the outrage is a mutual thing.

“Judas!” Jeff shouts, drowning out whatever curse Adam is busy laying at the junior member of their group’s feet.

Gareth throws up his hands in a lame attempt at defending himself from the onslaught of vitriol suddenly being hurled his way.

He has to shout to be heard over the others.

“She pulled it out of me okay!” He cries, as if that makes it any better.

Eddie slumps forward, elbows braced on his knees, and scrubs his hands over his face miserably to try and hide the way his cheeks are burning with shame.

This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

“Oh, God!” He moans pitifully between his fingers, flinching with every new shock of humiliation that strikes him like bolts to the chest, one right after the other, “How could you do this to me?”

Gareth is the worst. A thousand curses upon Gareth. Eddie hopes he fucking dies, he hopes something falls out of the sky and crushes him flat, and pitifully, he hopes the same for himself.

“Explain yourself.” Jeff demands, and when the boy hesitates, he raises his voice, “Now, Gareth!”

“Okay, okay. Her exact words were: I don’t bite — if he likes me, he should just come and talk to me.”

A dissenting groan rumbles through the garage as Adam and Jeff exchange disappointed glances. What Gareth did was unforgivable, Eddie is furious, but somehow the feeling is a little more muted than it was a moment ago.

Because he can’t help but get caught on one tiny little, microscopic detail in your words, parroted from Gareth’s stupid, flapping mouth. A word suddenly materializes in Eddie’s mind and clangs around the planes of his skull, beating his brain into submission as it does.

Permission.

He suddenly has permission to approach you.

Eddie sits in a stunned silence – or at least he thinks he does, the words are tumbling out of his mouth before he even realizes that there is a question forming in his mind.

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do with that?!” He shouts.

And Gareth has evidently had his fill of the abuse being hurled his way.

“Fucking ask her out!” He fires back.

The room goes oddly silent as his demand bounces back and forth between the bodies and the walls and the ceiling and the floors.

The mood shifts, and suddenly Eddie can’t help but notice the way his friends have changed sides. They’re not on his team anymore – what’s more, they’re agreeing with Gareth.

You know, he’s right, they’re saying. That idea’s not half bad, they’re saying.

Eddie’s tongue goes fat in his mouth and suddenly his palms are sweating at the mere suggestion of asking you out.

He’s barely bridged the gap of talking to you, and now suddenly he’s expected to … to what?

Ask you out.

Jesus Christ.

“Sure,” He huffs, feeling his face get hot as his voice cracks, “Sure, I’ll just do that. I’ll just go up to her and ask her out in front of Carol and Tommy and-and-and fucking Steve, right? What could possibly go wrong?”

“Quit being so dramatic, Man. What are you so afraid of?” Gareth demands, and Eddie’s insides go tight.

Everything. Everything and anything he can imagine. Breaking the invisible rules very clearly set into place for him and being skinned alive for it. Tarred and feathered and ridden out on a rail, pushed further into the fringes than he already exists and condemned for having the audacity to approach you. Hunted down and killed for the simple act of speaking to someone like you, who by all rights he should not even be allowed to look at, let alone think about the way that he does. In a nice little town like this? Eddie would not put it past them.

Even if he were brave enough, even if he had the audacity, what is he supposed to even say to you?

Hi, I’m Eddie. I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at Tina Burton’s party last October, and I’ve been obsessed with you ever since — here’s your book back. D’you want to go to the movies or buy drugs or something? Can I hold your hand or should I just go and deposit myself into the nearest dumpster for your convenience? Great, thanks for your time, I’ll see myself out.

Somewhere Stacey’s friends are howling with laughter and Eddie is sinking further and further beneath the tide.

“She’s not like that dude,” Gareth presses, almost as if he’d been privy to Eddie’s inner turmoil, “I swear on my life! She really, really wants you to talk to her…”

“Oh, fuck off — you know you just ruined my life, right? Do you understand that?” He snaps, slumping back into the fraying couch cushions, arms crossed tight over his chest, grinding his teeth and doing his very best to kill Gareth where he stands, “Jesus fucking Christ – I’m gonna have to change schools after this.”

Somewhere beside him, Adam snickers.

“Dude, you’re gonna have to change towns.”

He shuts up quick when Eddie socks him hard in the shoulder.

“Alright, fine,” Gareth says, throwing his hands up, “You know what? Fuck it. She’d kill me for telling you this, but she likes you, okay?”

Jeff and Adam kick up another one of those roaring cries of dissent.

“Whoa!”

“Holy shit, just like that?”

Only once again, Eddie doesn’t hear them. He’s too busy trying to get his bearings again after being knocked off his feet from the impact of the truth bomb Gareth just dropped on him.

You like him? You like him… he doesn’t understand.

“... what do you mean she likes me?”

Gareth pulls a face.

“What are you, stupid or something?” He scoffs, “I mean she likes you!”

He keeps saying that, like it’s going to clear things up for him, like he’s speaking plain English and spelling it out for him, which, as far as Eddie can tell, he is, but he still doesn’t understand.

Maybe he is stupid, but he just can’t seem to make sense of that information. It does not compute.

Before he can ask after it again, however, Adam shrugs beside him.

“Actually, I heard about that too.” He says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

Eddie’s heart seizes in his chest and explodes. There are spots and colors dancing across his vision and his head snaps over so quickly he feels something pop in his neck.

He’s only half surprised when his head doesn’t roll right off of his shoulders, when his eyes don’t pop out of his skull.

“You what?”

“There’s a rumor going around.” He says, rolling his eyes and gesturing vaguely, “You know how it is, there’s always a rumor going around.”

“... that bullshit about the party on Saturday? I already told you guys, I saw her at the arcade–”

“No, not that one. This one’s new.” Adam says absently, suddenly wrist deep in a can of Pringles as he explains, “Word on the street is she’s into you,”

Eddie feels himself pulling a face.

“Who says?”

Adam shrugs and pops a handful of potato chips into his mouth.

“Carol Perkins.” he says, chewing noisily.

It hits him like a fist to the gut.

“She told you that?” Eddie gasps and feels himself go hot and then cold when Adam’s thick shoulders jump up toward his ears.

“Well, not exactly. I heard her talking to Tammy Thompson about it in fifth period, apparently that’s what all that noise at lunch was about–”

It just about breaks his brain with the way it makes perfect sense. Eddie didn’t know what could have happened to turn Carol so fanatically giddy back in the lunchroom when only moments before she’d been trying with every particle of her being to awaken her latent psychic abilities and kill him where he stood. Whatever happened was distressing enough to send you running from the cafeteria, and Eddie had only spent the rest of the afternoon wondering about it, wishing he’d gone after you.

Of course, with the information that has just come to light, that wish is amplified tenfold.

Oh, God – why on Earth didn’t he go after you? Especially now that he knows what he knows?

Then again, he doesn’t really know anything, does he? It’s just a rumor, but it doesn’t make it any less terrible to hear. It’s not the knowledge of what is evidently making its way through the student body like chicken pox that haunts him so much as it is the fact that he almost followed you right out of the lunchroom this afternoon, but he chickened out, like he always does.

Adam is still going, elaborating on the specificities of his latest foray into eavesdropping on popular girls, who said what and all that good stuff.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute! This doesn’t make sense.” Eddie says, “This doesn’t make any goddamn sense.”

Then Gareth huffs out a sigh and braces his hands on his knees before starting again, much slower this time.

“Think about the way you feel about her.” He says, “You like her, right? You’re crazy about her? You sit around all day imagining doing all that fluffy boyfriend-girlfriend shit with her like holding her hand?”

It makes him suddenly and painfully shy, and Eddie moves instinctually, snatching a snarled lock of his hair to drag across his face to try and guard against the way he is sure he must be blushing beet red.

“You don’t have to make it sound so weird…” he mumbles.

“It’s not weird, Dude. It’s mutual.” Gareth stresses, “I guarantee you she’s sitting around thinking about all that ooey-gooey stuff too, when I tell you she likes you, I mean she was practically vibrating when I told her.”

Eddie can hardly stand it. He suddenly feels like he’s about to burst.

“Stop.” He says, “Just… just shut up and give me –” He can’t think, his brain is turning to mush in his skull, “Just gimme a second to think…”

Gareth does as he’s told, despite the look of stark confusion etched across his face. He sits there and he waits for Eddie to say something, same as everyone else.

Even Eddie is just sitting there, holding his breath and waiting for his brain to click back over, for the other shoe to drop and for a big stupid shit eating grin to spread across his friend’s face, because he’s fucking with him … right? He’s got to be.

Only Gareth is still just sitting there, staring back at Eddie and growing more and more nervous the longer he stares at him.

Eddie looks to Adam for assistance, then, begging him to explain it to him, clear things up where he’s evidently too goddamn stupid to understand. He does this silently, however, because he can’t get the words out around the way his throat is closing up.

You like him? How can you like him? What’s wrong with you?

Then, devastatingly, Jeff tilts his head down and pushes his shoulders up.

“Yeah… I heard something about that too.”

And that solidifies it. Three for three. Matching slots that send glittering little coins spilling out of the machine and all over Eddie’s feet with a loud DING DING DING!

Somehow all it does is send a sick feeling bleeding into the pit of his stomach.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie’s brain is melting again – you like him, “Why didn’t you tell me? You all knew, and none of you told me…”

“Well…” Jeff starts, opening his mouth to explain and coming up short. “We were gonna tell you, it’s just…”

“You were busy, Man.” Adam presses.

“No I wasn’t,” Eddie insists, violently shaking his head, hard enough that the ends of his hair whip around to sting his face, “No I fucking wasn’t, not when it comes to that. You guys should have told me.”

“Sure, and get our heads bitten off because you turn into such a fucking weirdo whenever she comes up – we definitely should have told you.” Gareth snorts, oozing sarcasm and glowering at Eddie from where he sits among the fraying cushions, clearly still sore about being dog-piled on. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because now you know.” He shrugs, “You like her. She likes you. Circle of life.”

Sure. Circle of life, not Eddie’s life though. Not his American Dream.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s on his feet and gathering his things - his jacket, his keys, and the heavy bag of weed sitting untouched in the middle of the table where he had so graciously bestowed it upon his friends at his arrival, free of charge, just because he’s that damn generous.

He picks things up and drops them again, spins in aimless circles as he remembers something and instantly forgets it as another thing crosses his mind and chases it off. He tries to think, tries to approach this from a rational standpoint, but his brain is pulling in four different directions under the duress of this new information.

He doesn’t know what to do and he’s panicking a little bit.

You like him? No, you don’t like him. You can’t, he’s a leper. If you like him that means there’s something wrong with you, and there’s nothing wrong with you – you’re perfect, which means the guys are wrong or they are lying to him.

More than likely, though, Carol is lying, and it’s a trap. For you or for him, Eddie can’t decide, but he knows for certain that if he takes the bait he’s going to get hurt. Seriously hurt.

He’s smarter than this, right? He knows how to protect himself from something like this, right? So why the hell is he suddenly considering it? How come his heart is beating so fast in that flighty, hopeful sort of way?

It’s a trap. You don’t like him… but you do.

You like him and you want him to talk to you, so much so that you went out of your way to make sure he knows. You want your book back, and he’s got to give it to you because you know he has it and you gave him permission to approach you, but how can he do that without giving you his heart right alongside it? With sharks like Carol and Tina lurking in your waters, how is he supposed to do this?

He’s not, he decides in an instant.

Eddie can’t do this. He can’t he can’t he can’t.

I thought you loved me, he’s still whimpering, eyes wet and brimming, lips and knees wobbling, and Stacey’s friends are laughing at him.

They’re still laughing.

Somewhere in the muted rationale of his subconscious, Eddie knows he’s freaking out, and that he’d better get out of here if he wants to keep any shreds of leftover dignity he has. So, he snatches up his keys and his jacket and the bag of weed and Sweetheart and everything else that belongs to him here in Gareth’s garage and struggles to fit all his things in his hands as he turns and bolts for the van.

Behind him, he can hear Jeff shouting at him, asking him where he’s going, but he’s already slamming the door shut and whipping the van into reverse.

Music blaring loud enough to rattle the windows, gas pedal pressed to the floor, Eddie drives much too fast for how dark the streets are and how little attention he’s paying to the road. But that’s nothing out of the ordinary. That’s just how he learned to drive.

The next thing he knows, he’s stumbling up the steps of the trailer and falling through the front door.

Wayne’s not home, which is good – the last thing he wants to do is have to try and explain why he looks like he’s seen a ghost, which Eddie is sure would be the first and exact words out of his uncle’s mouth if he could see him now.

Pale, sweating, face pulled tight into a thousand-yard stare.

Eddie’s brain has completely shut off by now, and for the sake of his own self-preservation, he clicks over into autopilot, going through the motions on complete muscle memory.

He moves aimlessly about the trailer, throwing his things down, kicking his shoes off, sloughing off his jacket and all his extra layers where he’s suddenly become too hot.

Strangely, he doesn’t feel like a human being right now, he feels like vapor, like at any moment a stiff breeze is going to blow through the room and send him scattering to every corner of the world… because you like him.

Eddie tries to remember what normal human activity looks like, what he would naturally do when he comes home like this, despite how completely unnatural it suddenly all feels.

He makes a mental list and goes down the line: shoes off? Check, stuff stashed? More like thrown haphazardly across his bed, but sure, check.

Now what … dinner? He’s not hungry. Vapor doesn’t need to eat.

Homework? Pfft, as if.

It’s sitting forgotten in his locker, wedged between the sheet metal siding and the tattered paperback scribbled over with your loopy handwriting.

Eddie’s going hot and cold again, skin prickling with ravenous possibility – you like him, he’s got permission to approach you.

He blinks, and suddenly he’s in the shower, standing under the tap and letting the water pressure blow his brains out in a desperate attempt to try and make his brain stop buzzing and start working again. He watches the water drip from his lashes down to the swirling tide at his feet and tries and tries and tries to make himself flesh and bone again so that he doesn’t go slipping down the drain.

He blinks again, once, twice, and then suddenly he’s sitting in the Laz-E boy with his knees up, scratching at the fraying fabric and staring unblinking at the fuzzy pictures moving frantically across the television screen.

Lucy and Desi are arguing in black and white – the laugh track tells him it’s meant to be comedic, but Eddie’s too busy grinding his teeth together to feel anything but static, because you like him. Because suddenly his future is blown wide and open and there’s a chance for something new… something good, for once.

Blink, blink, blink.

“Hello?”

Eddie’s standing at the telephone, garroting his finger with the cord, and just like that he’s human again, trying to remember how he got here and who he’s talking to on the other line.

“...Did you mean it?” The words are out before Eddie can settle back into himself completely.

There is a brief pause as the person on the other end evidently processes the question.

“Oh, hey Eddie.” Gareth mumbles, voice thick with disuse, “...what time is it?”

He finds the clock on the wall and stares it in the face, watching the minute hand take a steady turn around the sun.

3:45. Whoops.

“It’s late.” Eddie says quickly, vaguely, “Sorry – it couldn’t wait.”

“...Alright, Man. What was the question?”

He hardly takes the time to wonder what exactly he’s been doing for the last few hours he’d spent as a cloud of vapor, but the question is burning on his tongue like a hot coal and he can’t help but spit it out.

“Did you mean what you said? Does she really like me?”

The long suffering sigh that comes through the phone is ever so faintly tinged with static and makes Eddie’s back teeth buzz.

“Yes,”

“And you’re not just bullshitting me.”

“No. I’m not bullshitting you.” Gareth says, and Eddie wonders if he’s finally going to get around to believing him this time.

It’s still terrifying, but doing things scared is a skill that Eddie has had in his tool kit since he was very small. He clings to the warmth of its jagged familiarity and forces himself to breathe deep.

“Okay…” He clears his throat, “Okay. So, um… s-so, what do I do now?”

“You know what to do.” Gareth insists, “You fuckin’ talk to her, Man.”

Yeah. He was afraid he was going to say that, but Eddie is a blank slate in desperate need of guidance and nods into the phone, conveniently forgetting that Gareth can’t see him do it.

“When?” He asks.

“Tomorrow’s always good.”

His heart thumps against his ribs and Eddie fails to swallow down the lump forming in his throat.

“Jesus.” He mumbles, “Isn’t that kind of soon? Shouldn’t I like… make a plan or something?”

Gareth pauses, like he really has to consider it and the only indicator that Eddie has been holding his breath is when his lungs begin to burn. He tries to breathe out as quietly as he possibly can as Gareth answers him.

“I don’t know,” He hums, “I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’re gonna spend your life sitting around just making plans or if you’re gonna nut up and finally do something about it – she’s not gonna wait around for you forever.”

Eddie knows that. Of course he knows that, he’s got a goddamn contingency plan for that, but for as often as he sits around entertaining that fantasy, he hates it.

He hates it with every fibre of his being and Gareth is right, but it doesn’t make it any less worrisome. You like Eddie, sure, but only for now, and only until your stupid imaginary jock boyfriend shows up to sweep you off your feet. He's waiting for you, just over the horizon, waiting impatiently. Who’s to say the sands of time can’t be hurried along if the nice young man decides he’s done waiting for you and decides to come and fetch you himself?

What’s Eddie supposed to do when that happens?

He’s not so dull that he doesn’t recognize that there is a very brief window of opportunity open to him here, only a crack, but just enough that if he’s quick he can slip through. It’s dangerous. He’s most definitely going to get burned if he does this, but if he doesn’t, he knows he’s going to spend the rest of his life regretting it. Even if that not-so-distant future comes to pass, even if you do eventually end up in his arms and he manages to whisk you away from all that cloying Suburbia, he’ll regret not having run to you sooner, he’ll regret the life he wasted without you.

“So, what are you gonna do?”

“Fuck…” Eddie says through his teeth, letting his head slip forward to hit the wall with a muffled thump. “...I guess I’m gonna talk to her.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow…” Today, technically, but he’s not going to waste time getting caught up on the specificities of daylight hours or just how late he’s calling, “At lunch. If she’s not socked in with all her shitty friends? …I’ll go talk to her.”

On the other end of the line, Gareth makes a pleased sound in the hollow of his throat, and Eddie makes a mental note to punch him the next time he sees him, just to wipe away the smug look he knows he’s got plastered across his face.

“Good - just be yourself and she’ll love you.”

Eddie appreciates the sentiment, despite how blatantly untrue it is.

“I’m seriously doubt that.”

“Yeah, of course she will, give her that cool line you said earlier,"

He doesn’t have to work to remember what line Gareth is talking about – What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this – like he thinks he’s Humphrey Bogart or something.

“Not a chance in hell.” Eddie bites.

“What? Why not?”

“Because it’s stupid.”

Gareth clicks his tongue.

“Oh, come on, at least it would be different? Seriously, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Public humiliation on a global scale.” Eddie posits, “Gut wrenching shame ... Murder.”

“Yeah exactly, so no pressure.”

Eddie makes a thoughtful sound in the hollow of his throat to try and humor his friend, but he suddenly can’t stop thinking about how none of this would be happening if Gareth had just kept his big mouth shut. This is his fault, Eddie is taking a chance at something for the first time in his life, putting himself out there knowing full well that he is probably going to get seriously hurt, and it’s all Gareth’s fault.

“Listen Gareth.” He starts, “I just want you to know, truly and sincerely from the bottom of my heart, you’re an asshole.”

He snorts.

“I know.”

An hour after Eddie hangs up and drags himself off to bed, Wayne gets home. Eddie lies there, wide awake and staring up at his ceiling, listening to the heavy thumping of his uncle’s footsteps moving through the trailer – into the kitchenette where the whine and thump of the fridge being opened and shut again reveals the lack of food in the house, then down the hall and into the bathroom where there is the hiss of the shower turning on, and a sharp expletive muttered under Wayne’s breath as he discovers that Eddie went and used up all the hot water, trying to force himself back into the shape of something vaguely human.

Finally, the thump thump thumping footsteps recede down the hall, followed soon by the gentle murmuring of the television being flicked on as Wayne cuts his losses and settles in. Eddie lies awake, knotting his fingers together as he worries about what he’s promised to do in only a few hours time.

He tries to tell himself he doesn’t have to worry about that right now, because that’s tomorrow’s problem, for now, he’s got all the time in the world, but somehow, he just can’t seem to make it stick.

Then the rain starts.

It persists all throughout what is left of the night, thundering down into the tin roofing of the trailer and kicking up the right kind of racket to quickly lull Eddie into a deep and dreamless sleep – it’s what seems like mere moments before Wayne is knocking on his bedroom door, startling him awake and rousing him with the promise of fresh coffee brewing on the stovetop.

Just like that, it is today, and there begins Eddie’s ticking clock, counting down to the impending doom that awaits him.

It rains all day with absolutely no sign of stopping and it feels appropriate for the dour mood a night spent lying awake caught in the throes of anxiety has twisted him into – the world mirroring his frame of mind.

When the time finally comes, and the noon bell rings dismissing the student body for lunch, Eddie nearly drops his lunch pail twice from the titanic outpouring of sweat that has decided to pool in his palms. His heart jumps violently between his throat and his stomach as he makes his way down the hall, dragging his feet like they’ve been set in concrete as he takes the long march toward the cafeteria, staring at the oh-so-tantalizing exit sign, shining above his head like a sickly green beacon.

He could just leave, he realizes. Feign some kind of sudden onset illness and run for the hills, abandon this insane endeavor, and — and …and and and?

And what?

Go home and hide under his covers, condemn himself to a lifetime of regret, jerking off and moping around all because he’s too scared to talk to a pretty girl?

No way in hell. He’d never live it down.

Suddenly, a strong hand comes down in a hard clap against his back, ringing out and startling Eddie bad enough to send him leaping damn near out of his skin.

Visions of authority figures pass through his mind at the speed of light, teachers, principals, cops, Chief Hopper himself, all come to cart him away for some perceived misdemeanor Eddie doesn’t recall committing— perfect, hallelujah.

“You ready, Man?”

It’s only Gareth – fucker, this is only happening because of him and his big stupid mouth – and Eddie has to remind himself that he’s the one who has spent the last several months needling him for information about you.

This is nobody’s fault but his own.

Still, he resists the urge to double over and brace his hands on his knees.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” he huffs.

Gareth grips him tightly by the shoulder and gives him a good-natured shake. “That’s the spirit,” He says, then steers Eddie hard to the right down the hall toward the cafeteria “Let’s go.”

The lunchroom is exceedingly crowded, the day’s dreary weather simultaneously mirroring Eddie’s mood and driving the school’s population to pack themselves indoors in lieu of the typically coveted outdoor seating.

Eddie takes this as a good sign because maybe it means all your nasty little friends will have descended like flies and he won’t have to submit himself to the slow and terrible death of public humiliation – strange how despite the armor he has amassed over the years, something as simple as talking to someone he’s not meant to interact with drives him to the edge of panic.

He knows the rules, and he knows how to follow them to avoid mutilation.

The summer is over, and Stacey’s friends are back…

The crowd parts as best they can when Eddie appears, like they always do, though it’s a little more difficult for everyone to get out of his way, crammed shoulder to shoulder the way they are.

In an instant he is granted a clear path to the usual lunch table, where Jeff is already seated, grinning stupidly and gesturing less than discreetly toward your table where – Christ, there you are, sitting alone and quietly pouring over a book.

Great, so that means he knows about what he and Gareth talked about on the phone last night – this morning – whatever.

Eddie swallows hard and locks his knees to try and keep them from wobbling as he assesses the situation. He’d given himself one condition in talking to you – that he’d only do it if you weren’t socked in with your shitty friends, and lo and behold there you are… alone.

Why the fuck are you alone when the cafeteria is standing room only? Without even turning his head, he can clock half a dozen people meandering around looking for seats, so why hasn’t anyone asked to join you?

Because you’re untouchable, that’s why. In the best, most terrifying possible way.

You need a personal invitation to join that table, one that is not so readily extended to just anyone and will most certainly never be done for Eddie.

And he’s just supposed to waltz over to you like he owns the place? The thought makes his legs turn to jelly.

“Muster thy courage, good sir, and proceed!” Gareth says, giving Eddie a neighborly shove.

He staggers forward and, thankfully, manages to stay on his feet – the last thing he needs is to go sprawling onto his belly in front of God and everyone he knows. There would be no recovering from that humiliation, and he’s almost sorry it didn’t happen, because it would be the perfect excuse to abandon this endeavor entirely.

Enough of that, he tells himself, Just cowboy up and get this over with.

Eddie grits his teeth as he takes a step, and then another, feeling the waters of his courage lap at his ankles like the surf – then, a high, braying laughter jumps up above the monotonous drone of all of his classmates talking at once, and Eddie’s stomach bottoms out. There goes his courage, drawing back with the tide, abandoning him.

Without a second thought, he walks right past your table and straight for his, planting himself firmly into the seat across from Jeff so that his back is to you.

The silence that lingers over the table is stupefying and heavy, particularly with the way Jeff is gawping at him.

“What are you doing?” He starts, followed very quickly by Gareth’s long-suffering sigh.

“Eddie, come on–” He starts, but he doesn’t let him finish.

“Shut up shut up shut up – just let me think!” He hisses before forcing himself to take a deep, steadying breath.

Eddie holds it in his lungs until it burns and then breathes out slowly, noisily.

It's all his friends can do but stand there, staring helplessly, like he’s completely lost his mind.

Maybe he has, because here he is, actually doing this.

“Okay – so she’s alone…” Eddie begins.

Gareth cuts him off.

“Not anymore, Tina just sat down.” He says sheepishly.

The name sends a bolt of fear lancing through his midsection.

“Tina who–?”

Eddie just about nearly breaks his neck whipping around to see the dark-haired girl who took it upon herself to arrive in the seven seconds it’s been since he took his eyes off of you — Tina Burton.

Of course. Of all the people in this goddamn town, Carol, Steve Harrington, even his own goddamn father would have been preferrable to Tina fucking Burton, who stripped his walls down so completely that she only knows what his fucking dick looks like – tastes like, even… Jesus Christ almighty.

Fuck his stupid fucking life.

Eddie watches you fold your book closed and carefully tuck it into your bag, offering the girl a weak smile that fades the minute she looks away. He lingers too long, and after a moment, like you could feel him staring at you, your eyes flick up and Eddie jerks back around to face his friends, hands clenched into stressed fists, face burning with anticipation.

“What are you gonna do?” Jeff asks.

Eddie shakes his head and wishes people would stop asking him that.

“I don’t know…” He says, “I need… I just – I need a second to think.”

Easier said than done with the din of the lunchroom pressing in on him, much louder than it typically ever is. He feels like he’s turning to vapor again, first his fingers and his hands, then his wrists and forearms, all dissipating and wafting up toward the ceiling. Eddie rubs his hands together to try and keep himself solid with a little bit of friction, and he pictures his window of opportunity, swiftly slamming shut.

He grits his teeth and considers his options here.

He would very much rather avoid public humiliation if he can manage it, but he doesn’t want to spend his life regretting you, wishing he’d been brave enough, wishing he’d followed you out of the lunchroom, wishing he just fucking talked to you.

Move or die, something inside of him stresses, and the next thing Eddie knows, he’s got his hands braced on the table and he’s pushing up on creaky, wobbly legs.

“You got this man.” Gareth says in a way that he imagines is meant to be reassuring, the words settle heavily, one by one in the pit of his stomach as he turns.

Another deep breath, and then another… one more for good measure, and then Eddie crosses the lunchroom on stiff, stilted legs, fighting the urge to wipe his sweaty, trembling palms down the front of his jeans

He can see you sitting there, enduring whatever it is Tina is saying to you, but her lips are moving too quickly to make out the words. In no time at all, the need to lipread is quickly discarded as Eddie closes the distance between your tables enough to suddenly hear your conversation.

“I heard a rumor,” Tina Burton is telling you, her voice lilting in a malicious singsong.

Uh oh.

“I’m so sure you did.” You mutter, rolling your eyes and very pointedly not looking at her.

Your feigned disinterest does nothing to deter the other girl.

“It’s a good one,” She hums, “Carol told me all about it.”

You and everyone else, apparently. Eddie thinks, watching you closely for any sign of clairvoyant warning of his approach. He’s nearly there now, only a matter of moments before he bridges the gap and really has to commit to this.

Tina’s taunting is finally enough to grab your attention. Your head snaps up and your eyes go wide as you regard her with a suspicious look that leaves Eddie feeling like he’s intruding on this moment, that he should turn right back around and go back to his seat.

“What did she tell you?” You demand, and then suddenly Eddie’s out of time, and he’s standing right there, watching your face twist up into a mask of horror as Tina elaborates.

“She says you’ve got yourself a little crush–”

“Hi,” Eddie says and immediately feels himself break into a sweat when Tina’s eyes go bright, and she shows him her teeth in a wicked grin.

“Speak of the Devil!” She gasps.

Eddie suppresses a flinch, guts seizing and twisting themselves into a Gordian knot to suddenly be under the bright light of your attention when your head snaps over to him.

He stares at you, mind suddenly and horrifically blank, and watches helplessly as you stare back at him, wide eyed and mouth falling open in what is perhaps the most appropriate response he could think of.

That’s more or less how everyone reacts when he approaches them unprompted – he told Gareth you didn’t want him coming up to you like this.

This is the worst idea he’s ever had in his life.

He’s wrestling with that urge to bolt again, excuse himself and go back to where he belongs, but Eddie locks his knees and reminds himself that this is where he belongs right now.

You gave him permission.

She wants you to talk to her.

Somehow, with every passing second, that seems a little less true, because you’re just staring at each other, wide eyed and trembling as you both wait for the other to speak.

Personally, Eddie thinks it should be you, considering you’re the one who apparently wanted to talk to him so bad, but then again, he’s the one who just rocked up to your table and interrupted your conversation, so it probably should be him.

Some wildly stubborn part of him is refusing to break, however, because he’s done his part. He’s here, isn’t he? You sent for him, and he answered the call, so now it’s your turn to meet him out on this limb. Only you don’t seem to have gotten that memo, so the silence endures.

It’s incredibly awkward, and after an agonizing moment, even Tina begins to feel it.

She furrows her brow and gives you an incredulous look when you continue to fail to respond to Eddie’s greeting. She clears her throat, trying to prompt you, and when you just keep sitting there staring back at him, she endeavors to kick start you back into working action – literally kicking you under the table.

You flinch and the spell is broken in a rush of rapid blinking and a strangled sound ekeing up out of your throat as you endeavor to clear it.

“Oh – hi!” You stammer, an octave higher than your typical cadence, “Hi!... Hi, E-Eddie… hi. Hi, Eddie.”

Somehow, it’s worse than the stunned silence, and he feels his stomach bottoming out.

This is going great, no, really. He’s so glad he did this.

Tina snorts, and the sound makes the two of you jump in tandem.

“You’re doing great,” She drawls when you look at her, chin propped up on her hand, batting her eyes at you with an unimpressed, half-lidded gaze.

Eddie feels his guts seize on your behalf, especially when your face flushes with a deep shade of color, and there he goes turning himself into a shield for you again.

“Hey,” He bites, before quickly rethinking his tone and beginning again, “...would you mind…? Can-can you give us a minute, Tina?”

Eddie hates the way her name feels in his mouth, and more than that, he hates the look she gives him to hear him say it.

Her brows come down over her eyes and her lips twist up maliciously. She can see right through him, and how mortifying a thing it is to be so readily perceived by someone like her.

“Why?” She asks, stretching the word in a teasing lilt that makes Eddie’s insides go tight.

The subtext behind the question is so unbearably clear it makes him feel like he could be sick right there on the floor all over his reeboks – why, she asks, when what she really means is, what do you want with her? An accusation, more than a question.

Eddie can practically feel the color creeping up his neck as he is violently assaulted by memories of Tina’s hair, sticky with product, gripped between his trembling fingers – that haunting sound she made when his hips jerked involuntarily forward and he hit the back of her throat, and even worse, the sound he’d made when she choked and the muscles of her throat constricted on him, ripping him right over the edge before he’d even begun.

He’s never going to get over the humiliation of that moment, no matter how long he lives.

Why, God, why did it have to be her?

Eddie grits his teeth, swallowing that same strangled sound he’d made that terrible day, suddenly lurking on the back of his tongue, and does his best to stay calm, collected – cordial.

“Just give us a minute, okay?” He pleads, hating himself for it.

She gives him a hard, condescending look.

“Oh, Honey,” She stresses, brows tweaking up in faux concern as she makes a point to look at you, then back at him, “Don’t worry. That’s all the time you’re gonna need, anyway.”

It punches his lungs flat in his chest and Eddie feels something cold land heavily in the pit of his stomach.

It’s about as much as he could have expected from her – Tina’s always got to have the last word, but to her credit, she braces her hands on the table and stands, giving you one last parting look and winking before she shoulders her bag and saunters off.

No doubt to go and report back to the rest of the Hawkins Elite, which means he’s suddenly on a ticking clock, and it’s almost enough to make Eddie bolt from there, but he’s once again frozen to the spot.

Cautiously, Eddie glances back over his shoulder to where his friends sit, watching with rapt attention. They offer enthusiastic thumbs up when they see him looking, and he cringes.

Eddie clears his throat and you whip back around, still looking just as stunned as you had a moment before.

“S-so… uh,” He begins, scratching at the back of his neck and realizing much too late that he has absolutely no idea what he plans to say to you – why the fuck didn’t he practice something in all the time he’s spend worrying about this moment?

Christ on a goddamn bike.

“Do you… I mean – why don’t you sit down?” You ask, and gesture quickly to the seat across from you.

Eddie’s heart jumps up into his throat. Suddenly, his palms are sweating, and he feels his knees wobble beneath him.

Relax relax relax. He tells himself, You’re allowed to do this, you’re right where you’re supposed to be.

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie says slowly, sliding carefully into the seat across from you.

Once he’s settled, he braces his hands on his knees before second guessing the motion and – stupidly – extends his hand to you.

“Hi,” He says again, like a goddamn broken record.

He can’t help it, it’s the only word that keeps surfacing when he tries to think of something to say to you.

You stare back at him, blinking as the word lingers between you, and Eddie kicks himself for sounding so goddamn stupid.

“Hi,” You say slowly, the gentlest hint of a smirk quirking the corners of your lips as you reach across and take his hand, and then, “You already said that.”

Oh, that’s fantastic. Keep going, Moron, let’s see what else you’ve got in that big empty head of yours.

“Yeah… yeah, I did. Sorry.”

You shake your head.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” You insist kindly, and it throws him for a loop.

He doesn’t? That’s … odd… because sorry has always been the safest thing to be with people.

Keep your head down and apologize, no matter what, that’s more or less become Eddie’s motto. It’s how he’s survived so long in a town that hates him on principle, but he supposes this is just another instance of you giving him some kind of permission he’s never had before: he’s allowed to come and talk to you, and he doesn’t have to be sorry for doing so.

The thought alone is enough to leave him feeling lightheaded in the strangest way.

“Oh. Right. Okay.” He swallows hard as you shake hands, and Eddie quickly releases you, feeling like his skin is burning from where you touched him.

He curls his fingers into a fist, trying to trap the sensation there in his palm.

“So,” You begin, tucking your hands neatly together in front of you on the table and pulling your shoulders up to your ears in a painfully endearing way, “What’s up?”

“Uh… Gareth.” Eddie says quickly, lamely.

Your eyes go momentarily bright at the mention of his name, and Eddie tries not to succumb to the misplaced sick feeling it causes in the pit of his stomach.

He suddenly can’t stop picturing the two of you sitting in Mr. Kapz’s class, with your heads bowed together conspiratorially, whispering back and forth to one another.

Eddie tells himself he’s not jealous, and he’s not going to let the feeling ruin this, but his throat is going dry, and his mind is going even more blank than it already was.

“Gareth? What about him.”

“He, uh, he said you guys were talking and … well actually, what he said was that you said – n-not that he’s telling me about the stuff that you guys talk about in class or anything –”

You smile as he continues to ramble, nose scrunching up in a way that is entirely too endearing and makes Eddie feel fuzzy and much too warm for all his layers of denim and leather.

“What did Gareth say?” You ask gently, clearly trying to help him get to his point.

“He said… well he said that I should come over and say hi. So…” Don’t say it, don’t you dare say it again, “Hi, I guess.”

Fucking moron.

You giggle.

“Hi.”

It’s like that stiff breeze he’s been waiting on, only miraculously it doesn’t send him scattering to the furthest corners of the Earth. Strangely, it’s almost grounding and Eddie can suddenly feel his courage come rushing back, like a crashing wave of the tide finally returning to shore.

He smiles, glances down at his hands, clasped together, and knocks his knuckles against the table.

“He also said I should ask you what a place like this is doing in a girl like you, but that’s – fuck, no! Wait a second, that’s not how that goes.”

As if the giggling wasn’t bad enough, his titanic fuck up causes you to laugh out loud, and it just about blows his goddamn brains out – Jesus fuck.

It’s the greatest thing Eddie’s ever heard in his life. Fuck Sabbath and Dio and Metallica and all that noise, his new favorite song is the musical lilt of your laughter.

It makes his heart seize and throb and suddenly he can feel himself smiling so much wider than before, foolishly, in the goofy way where he knows that goddamn dimple of his must be showing. Eddie’s only cognizant enough to be half embarrassed about that, mostly because he can’t decide if he thinks you’re laughing at him – somehow, he doesn’t think that’s the case.

Your laughter is the furthest thing from malicious he’s ever heard, and he feels himself go hot, then cold as goosebumps break out across the expanse of his body.

You’re so pretty, he can hardly stand it, and if he doesn’t hear you laugh again, like, immediately, he’s going to drop dead.

Eddie breathes out an anxious chuckle to match yours and shakes his head, relishing in the way it causes his hair to fall forward and curtain his blushing features.

It’s quite a thing to be under the force of your undivided attention – he imagines this is what it must feel like for an ant to wander under a magnifying glass.

“So, Gareth told me a little something too…” You say once your giggling has finally subsided.

Eddie’s heart jumps up into his throat and he can’t help but get caught on the way you’re looking at him, so patiently with your arms crossed over the table in front of you. He also can’t help but notice the way it pushes your tits up in that pretty little cardigan you’re wearing, but that’s neither here nor there, despite the way it makes his throat feel like it’s going to close up.

When he doesn’t answer, you tilt your head forward coquettishly and raise your brows at him.

“...about my book?” You prompt.

Oh.

Eddie can’t decide if he’s relieved about that or not, considering for a moment of blinding terror he was so sure you were about to ask him to confess his feelings for you, but of course that’s not what you would mean. Giving you your book back was the whole point of this, wasn’t it?

“Right…” Eddie says quickly, shaking his head to try and dislodge any lingering haze of panic, “Yeah, of course. I, uh, I have your book.”

You light up like a kid on Christmas and clap your hands together theatrically. .

“You do?” You gasp, feigning amazement. It’s entirely too cute.

“Yeah, it’s in my locker.”

“Oh.”

Oh? What does that mean, oh? Was he supposed to bring it with him? Obviously, based on the way your brow is creasing with disappointment.

And how he hates to disappoint you, he’s suddenly desperate to rectify his mistake, slap a band aid over the suddenly obvious pitfall he’s blundered into.

“I mean. It’s not a problem,” Eddie says quickly, pushing up from the table, “I can go get it for you – it’ll take like two seconds if you wanna just sit tight…?”

You make a dissenting sound in the hollow of your throat that he is entirely helpless to comprehend until you begin scooping your things into your bag, like you’ve suddenly remembered that you have to be somewhere.

“Actually,” You start, shaking your head, “Now that I think about it, Tina will be back with reinforcements any minute now, so it’s probably better if I go with you.”

“...wait, really? You wanna go with me?” Eddie stammers, hoping you don’t see him flinch as you stand to meet him and come a little closer into his space than he was rightly prepared for.

“Yeah, sure.” You say, carefully tucking your chair in and shouldering your bag. “If that’s okay with you?”

“It’s okay.” Eddie says immediately and perhaps a touch too loud, nodding emphatically, “Yeah, it’s totally okay.”

You smile, all teeth, eyes scrunching tight, and Eddie’s stomach seizes.

“Great.” You hum, “Lead the way.”

It takes Eddie three tries to get his locker open, and when he does, he just about whips himself in the face with the door. He’s never been the type of person concerned about the state of the individual spaces that belong to him. His bedroom, his van, they’re both black holes of mess that he’s never been readily concerned about, and least of all the state of his locker with all its crumpled papers and scribbled graffiti, but suddenly with you standing there, peering into the dark little cubby, he’s kicking himself for not keeping it cleaner or more pleasing to the eye in an aesthetic sort of way.

He tries to tell himself it’s not that bad, and then you see it.

“Oh!” You say suddenly, scrunching your nose as you peer at the picture Eddie remembers too late that he has taped to the inside of his locker door – the pinup he’d torn out of a magazine. The model lays stretched over a shag rug with her legs pulled up and her arms splayed over her head, arching her back to push her big fake tits out.

Eddie feels an electric shock of adrenaline rip through his body as he slaps his hand over the magazine spread with a hard metallic bang. How typical would it be to have this going so well, only to scare you off with the goddamn porn he’s got plastered to the inside of his locker? What the hell is the matter with him?

Only you’re not scandalized, you’re grinning, eyes bright and teasing.

“Who is she?” You ask.

“Nobody.” He chokes, absolutely mortified as he watches you bite your lip.

“It said January Embers.”

Eddie opens his mouth to make some sort of an excuse – it's just a joke, oh, where did that come from? Those guys got me again, ha-ha, but somehow he can’t muster the ability to cover for himself, not under the heat of your gaze.

“Pretend you didn’t see that.” he says, brows pulling down over his eyes.

You give him a wry look, like you’re trying to decide whether or not to play along before tucking your hands behind your back and pulling your shoulders up to your ears in mock innocence.

“See what?”

Oh, good girl.

The thought is startling and makes Eddie’s face burn more than being caught with a nudie photo taped to the inside of his locker. He clears his throat and keeps his hand pressed firmly to the glossy page as he retrieves your tattered paperback with the other before slamming the door shut tight again, once again hiding his shame.

“Oh, well, thank you very much, Sir.” You chirp when he passes it to you and Eddie feels the tips of his ears go hot and his jeans get a little tighter.

Stop it, stop it! Get a hold of yourself, Munson.

He watches as you turn the book over in your hands with a gentle kind of reverence, not inspecting it, he thinks so much as reacquainting yourself with a treasured thing. It makes his insides go warm and fuzzy, especially with the way your eyes flit up and you catch him staring at you.

“Gareth said you found it in the parking lot?”

It’s strange to hear his name spoken, your mutual point of contact, the only reason any of this is happening right now. It stirs something in his chest, not that same jealousy, so much as a selfish aversion to bringing him into this moment.

This is Eddie’s moment with you, and Gareth has no business intruding in on it, despite all the work he’d done to manufacture it.

“Yeah…” Eddie says thickly, “I’ve been meaning to give it back to you, but…”

But I’ve been too scared to come talk to you.

“Never found the right time?”

“Exactly.”

You hum thoughtfully and nod, and Eddie is strangely pleased to have satisfied you with the answer.

He watches you hug the tattered book to your chest, before leveling him with a suspicious look, peering at him through your lashes in stark contrast to the wry quirk of your lips.

“So, did you read it?”

“No,” Eddie lies, suddenly unable to stop thinking about the way he’d spent a long evening laying on his bed flipping through its pages, pouring over all your scribbled little annotations, trying so, so hard to look through the text and into your mind, “Absolutely not.” Your brows come down over your eyes like you don’t believe him, but your feigned annoyance is betrayed by the shy smile pulling at the corner of your lips. Eddie watches your gaze track sideways, and he instantly feels lesser not to have your eyes upon him, but then your features soften, and you get a far away, wistful look on your face that punches his lungs flat.

“Hey,” you say softly, “The rain’s stopped…”

Eddie turns to follow your gaze down the hall to the doors he hadn’t noticed.

They’re standing open, revealing the cold light filtering down from the break in the clouds and causing the pavement to glisten.

He thinks back to what you said, about Tina and reinforcements and how it was better that you go with him… you’re better off with him… better off than you would be with your stupid jock boyfriend and the vicious cycle of boys and girls.

Suddenly, Eddie feels a little braver than is perhaps wise, fueled by the promise of a future he’d never once considered. A chance he was never meant to have.

Eddie knows he’s going out much further on this limb than is rightly safe, but this is already going so much better than he ever could have hoped, and the high of his winning streak makes him foolish.

“D’you…? I mean, I wanna show you something… if you’ve got time… that is.” he says, bashfully.

He tries not to get caught on the subtle way your eyes light up before you check your watch, then you shrug your shoulders and glance back up at him through your lashes in a way that makes him feel sick in the sweetest way.

“We’ve got twenty minutes before the bell rings,” You hum, “Is it gonna take longer than that?”

Eddie shakes his head.

“Have you ever been to the picnic table out in the woods?”

He second guesses the question the moment it leaves his lips.

Oh, God, why did he ask you that?

Eddie holds his breath and waits for you to wrinkle your brow and ask the obvious question – you mean where you deal drugs to all the jocks and cheerleaders? You don’t though, you bite your lip and shake your head, and he blesses you for it, feeling the corners of his mouth twisting up as he smiles at you and grows suddenly shy.

Eddie drops his gaze to his shoes and gives a lopsided shrug.

“It’s – uh – it’s real pretty out there, especially after it rains.”

You’re grinning when he dares to steal a glance up at you, a wide stretch of your lips with a hint of your pearly teeth, and you nod.

“Show me.”

He’d thought it was enough simply to extend this interaction as far out to his locker, but now, headed out those doors like they were the threshold to everything he never dared to hope for, Eddie’s won the lottery.

He’s the luckiest man alive, and he’s painfully aware of the sound of your footsteps, crunching in the wet leaves behind him as you follow him out across campus, headed into the woods. He wonders what people would think if they could see you, what kind of rumors that would kick up in the toxic swirling miasma of high school politics. Eddie imagines all his classmates watching you go with their faces pressed flat against the windows, eyes bugging out on stalks.

Quick! Somebody save that poor girl before he leads her into the underworld! But it took no coaxing at all for you to follow him out here. You came on your own volition, one willing step after the other, down into the darkened hollow with him.

It’s not all that dark, actually. As the sun breaks free of the clouds, it streams through the canopy to leave dappled little puddles of silvery light embedded across the forest floor, and you’re sliding onto the bench opposite Eddie with no prompting at all.

For a few moments of nagging terror, you find yourselves sitting there in another one of those awkward silences, avoiding each other’s gazes and looking around like you’ve only just realized that you’re alone out here, really alone, and you have nothing to talk about.

It’s briefly terrifying, until you thankfully come to the rescue.

“You know…” you start, laying your palms flat against the splintered wood tabletop, “This isn’t the first time we’ve… hung out.”

He levels you with an incredulous look.

“It’s not?”

Of course it’s not, but that can’t possibly be what you mean, despite the way you shake your head and wait for him to meet you down the path of your thinking.

“You don’t remember?”

Of course he does, but he wants to hear you say it, so he plays dumb and shakes his head.

Your eyes flit down to your hands and you hum thoughtfully in the hollow of your throat.

“That’s okay,” you assure him with a lopsided shrug, “It was a while ago. I probably wouldn’t remember me either.”

It physically pains him, forcing himself to sit there and resist the urge to tell you otherwise. Even if he hadn’t spent the last year caught in the clutches of that night, it would be hard not to remember someone when you’ve lived in the same place with the same people your whole life, it’s only just that you’ve been largely invisible to him until very recently.

And not even for the obvious reasons like you came back to school after having suddenly developed massive tits over the summer, or got your braces off or something stupid like that – as far as Eddie can tell, you’re just the same as you’ve always been – same hair, same body, same clothes – you’ve only just miraculously happened to stray into his orbit for the first time, and he’s so goddamn pleased you did.

“Tina’s party.” You prompt, “Last October–”

“I remember.” He says, perhaps a little too quickly, and wonders just how much of it you remember.

That night, the one that haunts his every waking moment – the one that arguably ruined his life, if he was speaking bluntly, getting him so fucked up over you.

You had no business being at a party like that.

Eddie knew you’d never smoked from the second someone suggested they pass the blunt around. Probably never even been offered anything like that, judging by the way your eyes bugged out of your skull when the contraband came out. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for you, looking so small and scared standing next to him, but try as he might, Eddie couldn’t save you from the crushing pressure of your peers. One thing almost no one tells you about smoking weed is that it’s worse when you cough – that’s the sort of thing you have to discover for yourself, taking a hit and coughing and choking and spluttering and somehow ending up so much higher than everyone around you, which is exactly what happened to you.

He found you slumped over against the wall a little while after the game ended, barely conscious and subsequently abandoned by your shit-ass friends.

Ever the soft-hearted moron he is, he endeavored to take responsibility for you, because he didn’t need that kind of heat if something happened to you while under the influence of something he was pedaling, and you oh so desperately needed his pity.

So, he made you drink water, and then he dragged you outside for a few deep breaths of fresh air.

At first, all he was trying to do was keep you upright, holding you pressed against his body like that, but then your brain started working again and you came unglued. You pressed your face into the front of his shirt and wailed about how nobody likes you and he commiserated with an awkward pat to your back that you melted beneath. Eddie remembers the smell of your shampoo when you snuggled up against him, and being so starved for basic human contact, he’d only gone and put his nose in the crown of your head before turning his cheek to rest heavily on you. He held you, and you held him right back, and just like that Eddie felt something healing inside of him, something he didn’t realize was broken until it was put back together.

You called him nice and nuzzled up against him — he called you Sweet Girl and petted your hair back from your face, and he felt the gentle brush of your lips on the taught columns of his throat when you told him you liked that.

There he sat, crouched between the trash cans on the side of Tina Burton’s garage, still so fresh off of that humiliating afternoon with her, cuddling with some overly-stoned girl who, up to this very moment, had only lived in Eddie’s fantasies, dredged up to torture him with the memories of someone clinging to him so sweetly and saying such nice things.

“You were so kind to me,” You say softly, bringing Eddie back to the moment, the here and now where you are a creature of flesh and blood and not something out of his imagination, “… I never got the chance to thank you for, you know… looking after me. Being so nice.” You shrug your shoulders in a way that is almost shy and Eddie feels his heart begin to swell painfully in his chest. “I mean, it’s more than I can say for my friends…”

And if that isn’t the truest thing anyone has ever said.

He remembers how they came stalking around the corner and found him there watching over you, and how Carol said something nasty about date-rape that scared the shit out of him.

Eddie skipped school the entire week following that party in the gut-wrenching fear of that rumor taking root, but thankfully, after he bolted, someone drove the Burton’s Cadillac through the fence and into their pool, and all was mercifully forgotten, including all traces of the moment you’d shared.

But you’d called him nice, and you’d done it again just now….

Sweet Girl, he thinks.

Eddie’s throat is going tight, his palms are going sweaty… he’d throw himself into traffic for you…

Oh no…

“Hey… it’s, uh — it was-it was my pleasure.”

He tries so hard to remind himself that he doesn’t know you — that he didn’t know Stacey Keats and he got his heart broken for it.

This is not his beautiful house, this is not his beautiful wife, and this most certainly is not his American Dream.

He doesn’t love you, and he most certainly isn’t suddenly trying to picture what you look like first thing in the morning with a cup of coffee or last thing at night, face scrunched up in a yawn as you say goodnight. He’s not thinking about the way he’d match his tie to your dress for Prom or homecoming or whatever dance he’s certainly not imagining taking you to, he’s not trying to remember the name of that wine Wayne told him he ought to order if he ever takes a girl out to a fancy place like Enzo’s, and he’s definitely, definitely not thinking about getting you out of that nice, soft cardigan of yours… popping the buttons slowly, one by one, teasing you within an inch of your life and holding you at bay while you do everything in your power to try and rub up against him, to steal yourself a little bit of pleasure where he’s oh so tenderly denying you…

Patience, Sweet Girl, he’d tell you, curling a gentle hand around your throat and holding you there, All good things to those who wait…

Yeah… Eddie’s definitely not thinking about that…

He feels his tongue dart out to drag a sheen of moisture over his top lip, and his guts seize when — for the briefest moment — your eyes flick down to watch.

Did he imagine that? Christ, is he already so far gone for you that he’s hallucinating the possibility of reciprocation?

It would be so easy to kiss you right now, all he would have to do is lean across the table, or maybe come around to your side of the bench. The thought is intrusive and startling, but when Eddie doesn’t burst into flames for having such an untoward thought about someone like you, he lets himself wonder if you’d let him do it. Probably not, maybe you’re just playing nice, counting the seconds until he offers you weed at a discount or turns you loose so you can go scurrying back to your friends.

But you’re still here, nothing’s stopping you if you want to leave, and you’re sitting there so pretty, just batting your lashes at him.

“You’re not what I expected.” He says suddenly, before he even realizes the words were forming on his tongue.

Your features twist up quizzically.

“What do you mean?”

Eddie fumbles for the words, gesturing vaguely as he does.

“It’s just… you’re so approachable, and — and… nice?”

You snort out an undainty sound of laughter and he can’t help but laugh right along with you, goofy deep throated giggles bubbling up from inside of him and twisting his face up in what he knows has got to be a big stupid grin. He can’t help it. Sitting there, grinning back at you, Eddie is suddenly convinced he’s in love.

“Who says I’m not nice?” You ask, tilting forward in a way that Eddie is powerless to help but mirror.

“Uh, nobody. Nobody says that, it’s just… I mean aren’t you supposed to be popular or something?”

You scoff.

“Ah— so, here’s the thing about that — Carol’s the popular one … you know Carol, right?”

He feels the corner of his mouth twitch as he exercises every bit of willpower he possesses not to react.

“Sure, I know Carol.” Eddie says slowly, “She’s… fine.”

“It’s okay, you can say it.” You tell him.

“She’s awful.”

And then you go and flip everything he thinks he knows off of the table with one simple gesture, and you nod.

“Yeah …she’s pretty much the worst.”

He has absolutely no idea what to think after that, so Eddie makes the diplomatic decision to keep his mouth shut and only offers you a tight-lipped smile when your eyes flit up to regard him.

Without question, there is understanding there, lying quietly between you – you didn’t ask him why he was inviting you out to the spot where he sells drugs to all your friends, and he doesn’t ask you why you hang out with them in the first place. Suddenly, you’re simpatico in the fact that you don’t understand each other, and neither of you care.

“Anyway, she’s only popular because of who she hangs out with and I’m just the lucky fella who gets dragged along for the ride.” You say, “I don’t think people really notice if I’m even there half the time – they certainly don’t notice when I’m not.”

Case and point, that rumor Tommy is touting about what you apparently did at a party you didn’t even attend, and suddenly, Eddie understands how all your shitty little friends could believe it.

Well, he doesn’t understand, but he supposes it at least makes a little more sense, in a totally vapid, head-assed sort of way.

“That’s … bizarre.” He says, “So you’re just out here hanging out with the cool kids on complete and total accident?”

“Pretty much.” You hum, rolling your shoulders and heaving a wistful sigh, “...Anyway, what about you?”

“What about me?”

You bite your lip and the way you turn suddenly shy, averting your gaze down to your hands has Eddie’s stomach turning in knots. You like him, you like him, you like him… Eddie has to resist the urge to say it out loud, less a question than an accusation, a point of fact he has no business thrusting upon you.

“You’re nice too.” You mumble, almost like you’re confirming what he’d just elected not to say to you.

It leaves him feeling just a little bit winded, because, Christ, you’re gonna give him a big head if you keep talking so sweet like that… and you’re gonna give him a raging hard on if you keep looking at him like that, all shy, glancing up at him through your lashes.

Maybe he should kiss you.

Maybe he’s reading the signs wrong, maybe this is one of those lessons he never got around to learning, like that afternoon when Tina Burton put her hand on his thigh and gave him the same look when she suggested she pay for the weed “some other way” but try as he might, Eddie can’t get a sense of any hidden danger here, and he can suddenly hear Gareth posing that ominous question to him over the phone.

What’s the worst that can happen?

Then, in the distance, the bell rings bringing with it a bright burst of panic surging through his chest and sending stinging shocks all the way down to his fingers and toes.

No, not yet, he silently pleads to no one in particular, Five more minutes... please...

Eddie watches with a sick anxiety as you twist around to stare back through the hollow, back toward where you’d come from, where the school sits waiting for you, and he mourns the impending end of this moment — this perfect, perfect moment, everything he ever hoped it would be.

More, because he hadn’t been stupid enough to dare to hope it would be this good. For one giddy moment, he briefly entertains the idea of inviting you back to the van, but he stops the thought in his tracks.

Invite you back to do what?

Smoke?

Fuck?

Neither, honestly, all he wants is to talk to you some more, but there’s no way he can properly express that, not with his reputation being what it is.

And even if he tried? What kind of a reaction is that going to get out of you, if you suddenly start to think this was all some convoluted ploy to get into your pants or something? Or worse, if he opens up to you and it turns out you’re just playing nice and very good at faking it.

But that hasn’t been the case so far. He’d already pushed his luck much further past the breaking point asking you to come out here, and somehow, against all odds, you’re still sitting there.

You could have bolted the second the bell rang, but you didn’t, and a bigger part of Eddie than he is ready to address is sure that’s got to mean something… that you actually want to be here with him.

You’re going to be late going back if he keeps you any longer, and that same part of him wishes you wouldn’t go back, that you would stay and linger a little longer in this moment.

Stay here with him, just for a little while.

“Well… I should go,” You start, spreading your palms flat across the table, and he feels a sick wave of disappointment wash over him like a fever as he watches you stand, “Chemistry calls,”

The statement is punctuated with your slow rise from the bench and a goofy, overexaggerated show of jerking your thumbs over your shoulder, just like the way he’d done back in the cafeteria but so much better on you.

He really does think he might love you and it turns his tongue to a fat, useless thing sitting heavy in his mouth.

“Do… d’you want me to pass any messages on to Gareth?” You ask suddenly.

Yes, tell him I could kiss him. That he’s the greatest man to ever walk the face of this Earth, that he’s my goddamn hero.

“When he asks how it went, tell the smug bastard to mind his own business.”

You pull a face, features scrunching, brows knitting over your pretty eyes.

“How it went?” You echo.

Eddie dismisses the notion with a flippant wave.

“You’ll know when you know.”

You snort undaintily and roll your eyes.

“Okay… I’ll see you later,” you hum, and this time, the promise is hopeful.

“Sure.” He says, nodding.

You reward him with another one of those bright smiles, all pearly teeth and crinkled eyes, and then you turn and start out back toward the light.

Eddie watches you go, feeling his heart thumping solidly in his chest as you reach the end of the hollow and turn to leave him with one last parting glance, a shy wave, and then you’re gone.

He misses you already.

“You like me,” he says quietly to himself, testing the words on his lips and feeling a warm satisfaction flood his body when they come out sounding right.

Eddie lingers a little longer after that, basking in the afterglow of everything that just happened, everything he’s spent so long wishing and hoping for, and wondering too late whether he ought to have followed you, or maybe even walked you to class. It’s probably best that he didn’t, he decides. The scandal of seeing you steal away into the woods together was probably shocking enough for anyone who cared to notice, he can’t imagine what seeing the pair of you walking back together would do.

He turns his gaze down at the table, to where you’d been sitting only moments ago, and there he sees it.

A tattered, heavily annotated copy of Dune, missing its front cover.

Permission. Eddie thinks reverently as he snatches it up and folds it in against his chest.

He supposes he’ll just have to give it back to you the next time he sees you, and the promise of an impending next time fills him with joy – he’s positively giddy with it, and practically skipping as he makes his way back out of the hollow.

Christ, he’s such a loser, and he’s down bad for you.

baby taglist: @thrutheburnout, @vintagehellfire,

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #joseph quinn eddie munson #stranger things fic #endless summer fic #cruel summer prequel #if you would like to be added to the taglist please let me know and I will do my best but this lady is still very broken sometimes #the taglist i mean ... not me #sometimes me lmao

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