#so!! she’s been doing this for five-six years now… goodness lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

belokhvostikova · 10 months

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | The day has come when you finally return from your suspension, and Eddie is there to provide the detailed account to the tribulations that occurred, but one thing is to be noted: Eddie Munson stayed by your side through it all.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, therapy, bullying, sexist slut shaming, brief allusions to an eating disorder, slight mentions of unwarranted touching, strained parental relationship, harassment, minimal violence, mentions of domestic abuse, and mentions and childhood neglect and abuse.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Watched Harry Potter during writing, so I inserted a reference that totally didn’t exist in the timeline, lol. But I do wonder, do you think Eddie Munson would have liked Harry Potter, and what house is he in?! I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞

“I’m tellin’ you, Ms. K, it was like straight out of a movie!”

Ms. K, he had gotten comfortable. It was good. Great even. Because that Thursday morning, the entire hour-long session consisted of I don't know’s, maybe’s, and I guess’. And yes, Ms. Kelly is a licensed counselor, but she’s also human, and it was starting to frustrate her a bit. Just a teeny tiny bit. But it was progress, nonetheless, and she had let Eddie Munson know that he had her full attention and that there was no judgment. And for that, he was forever grateful. Now, she’d never compare nor expose the intimate details of other students’ tribulations to anyone, but my god, was Eddie Munson a unique character in comparison to the others. There was a switch in him, and evident one. Because that impromptu talk that Thursday morning, she had seen the hardening exterior of Eddie Munson that he casted on the daily basis. No conversation. Blank face. Vehement resentment to vulnerability. But she had studied this field for six years of her life, and she took notice of the yearn in his eyes that was telling him to just speak. Talk. Let it all out. And fortunately it came. By Friday afternoon, he had detailed the events of his life, the weakness of his mother, the ruffian character of his father, and the mistakes of his life as a result. You. Though, he chose to refrain from using your name. There was still some slight embarrassment from telling a school faculty member about his crush. The last thing he needed was Ms. Kelly grinning across the parking lot to him when you returned. And by Monday afternoon—today, the day you came—he��d spoken to her like she was his best friend.

“Was it now?” There was a lingering smile on her face, as Eddie confided about his day, completely relaxed and comfortable with speaking. No tense shoulders. No rigid posture. No nasty tone. “In what ways, Eddie?”

“Well, you should have seen the way she walked in. I mean, my god! Complete badass- oh, I’m so sorry,” He corrected his word choice, “I mean, like totally cool, like she didn’t care what anyone had to say.”

If you knew how Eddie was describing your return to Hawkins High, you would have wished it to be that glamorous. But as it’s been established before, reality is the biggest pain in the ass, and you were terrifyingly panicking in the front seat of your father’s BMW.

Ms. Kelly chuckled at his revelation. “I’ll take your word for it, Eddie.” She nodded. “But while I’m sure this particular person made their grand entrance, I want to know about you. How did seeing them make you feel after taking that needed time apart? Take me back to this morning.”

“Okay.” Eddie agreed. “Uh, this morning…”

This morning.

The crowded parking lot had been filling with the cars and bikes of students loitering before the shrilling ring of the commencing bell. Yearbooks. Yearbooks were everywhere, in the hands of teenagers eager to have their friends commemorate the ending year with the valued signature of friendship and camaraderie. It fucking disgusted him. Everyone smiling about as if they didn’t cast out the one person who dedicated their high school years to taking the very photos everyone was gushing about: the Homecoming dance, the Winter Formal, spirit week. Everything. Every memory that made the school year so great, captured by your work, yet everyone was seemingly ready to throw you away because of him.

It was why he was camping out in the grand lavishness of his van. Black Sabbath was yelling beyond the walls of his vehicle, prompting to receive the dirty looks he’d been all too accustomed to, as he sat back with a lit cigarette hanging from his dry lips. Grant Goodman and Gareth Emerson had been stationed by the bike racks, where Jeff Best had just arrived on his trusty wheels. His friends. Conversed like normal, probably waiting for the arrival of Eddie, as they did everyday, but Eddie had no plans of coming out of his car. Yet, at least. Looking a little to the left, he took notice of Dustin Henderson spewing nonsense to the once infamous "King" Steve Harrington, who once actually bumped into Eddie’s shoulder in the hallway and threw him a dirty look during their shared years. He always wondered what Dustin Henderson saw in “The Hair,” maybe he’s changed? I mean, he does seem to be the personal chauffeur of Robin Buckley, who he was once in a band with before he abruptly quit after seeing the mandatory outfits. And she was always cool. Weird, but cool. Mike Wheeler had joined their conversation, alongside Lucas Sinclair, which is when he caught wind of Nancy Wheeler rushing into school with her quiet friend, he believed her name was Barb Holland. Looking at them walk away, Eddie wondered what would be the possibility of convincing Nancy Wheeler into letting you rejoin the Yearbook Committee. Surely with the way sales were booming, more help was needed, right? And she had to feel bad for what unfolded for you, right? And with the quickest glimpse away, he followed the shy figure of Chrissy Cunningham, who walked with her books held tightly, and a talkative Jessica Lewis trailing behind, seemingly attempting to question the cheerleader. Because when Eddie looked to the other side, he saw Jason Carver longing for his leaving girlfriend with a look of dejection, and Andy McAvoy on an endeavor to hype him up. Trouble in paradise? Eddie Munson could sit and ponder on the endless possibilities of the lives of his peers, but his meaningless thoughts were adjourned under the sudden stop and stare of every student.

You.

“Hey, look at- look at me, damn it!” Your eyes peeled from your entangled fingers that sat trembling on your shaking legs, and looked over to his stern glare. He pierced his disappointment into you, drilling into the anxiety of already returning to school after everything that had occurred. “You go in there and stir up any more trouble with your school work or that filth I caught you with, you’re dead. You understand me, young lady? Huh?!”

“Yes, dad.” You mustered up a whisper.

“Go. Don’t be fucking late and ruin for your future more.” Your hand clutched the door handle, and for a second you stopped. God knows what would happen when everybody saw you. Monday’s cafeteria scene didn’t exactly leave everyone with the greatest impression of you and you knew exactly how high school students operated in a small town like Hawkins. You were branded with a title, a degrading one that was farther from the truth, but what good does the truth do when claiming that the sweetheart of a cheerleader with a bright future of success gets fucked by the satanic cultist in return for a favor is far more entertaining for the gossiping lives of high school teenager? By now, you were either pregnant with the devil’s baby or coked up with drugs on the side of the street, or both. People had their bets, the more twisted the better. But not a single thought of your pain. Not a single thought that you were hurting at the sheer size of all that went wrong, just because you were simply being nice. Because thinking of the repercussion of their words took the fun out of everything. And to them, people like you don’t deserve the time of day. You were like Eddie Munson now. And Eddie Munson deserved the pain of the world because he was… different. That was Hawkins, Indiana. That was reality. You begrudgingly pulled the handle. “Remember,” your father stopped you, “those kids say anything, just remember you put that on yourself, and you better take it as a lesson. Go.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. His words were his words, not the world’s. You had shed enough tears over the years of childhood, and his reign over you wasn’t going to continue. You could repeat that mantra over and over, and maybe in the long run it would finally cement that his words were not the truth. But for now, you could only pretend it didn’t hurt until it would eventually not. But inside, there was a little girl asking what was so wrong with her that her daddy couldn’t do the one innate job that came with parenthood: to love her. You wouldn’t know it, but a seven-year-old Eddie Munson was wondering the exact same thing.

You got out with a slam to his face that verbalized all the screaming you couldn’t do. Your eyes met his through the window, and it was different. What once used to be cordial civility, where he asked and you did, had now entered its endgame. Something so severe it lacked the chance of recovery. And maybe that was okay. Maybe that was for the best. Because like he did with his emotions, he ran. And the screeches of his tires left the remnants of a relationship that was once so profoundly beautiful when your tiny fist curled around his finger. This would be the end between you and your father. And you were ready to accept that.

You blinked any tears away, as you stood suffocated by the exhaustion of his BMW, leaving you vulnerable in the empty parking spot. Because when you peered it up, your chest heaved at the sudden realization that everyone was staring at you. Glares. Whispers. Snickers. The pointing. The so obvious pointing that your peers were conspiring against you. The ones who once smiled and waved at you. The ones who once greeted you so kindly. All of them, whispering and pointing followed by their teasing laugh just at the mere sight of you.

Everything was bombarding you so fast.

The clamminess of your hands. The constriction of your throat. The pounding of your heart. The deafening ringing in your ears. The stinging of your nails, as your hands balled so tightly against themselves, but you deserved the crescent shape burns to your palms, you deserved the pain, because you put that on yourself, you better take it as a le- no.

For years, you endured and cemented the hateful words of your father as veracity, letting his speech be the reason why so badly ached inside to perfect every endearing mistake about yourself. Thursday, you scrubbed your body with the refreshing scents of your shower routine and ate full dinners. Friday, you purged your room of any remnants of your old life—polaroids, scrapbooks, notes, memorabilia—discarded to let you know it was okay to move on. Saturday, you wake up in the early hours of the morning, long before the sun rose, and followed the path Eddie Munson once rescued from—onto the roof, over the trimming, down the trellis—and you ran, ran down the dark streets of your neighborhood until you excreted all your pain of your body through the glorious sweats of a morning run. Sunday, you swore to never accept your father’s words ever again.

You were you, and that was perfectly okay. You make mistakes, but that’s what makes you profoundly magnificent. You saw that in others, and you were going to see that in yourself.

Eddie’s head whipped in the direction of others, and through the smudges of his dirty window, his eyes melted at your frozen stature. This is what he was waiting for. He jumped out of his car, the rattle of his door echoing, following the slam he didn’t intend to be so harsh. But it got your attention from across the parking lot, and that’s all that mattered.

You met his kind eyes, ones so round and deep, you couldn’t believe they once glared at you with such seethe just last week. But they weren’t now. In fact, they creased at the corners, as his small smile plumped his cheeks. And though small, that smile was the very reassurance you needed. He looked great- healthy, even. The dark circles of his eyes were not bruised mauve from a drunken haze of staying up all night and hungover throughout the afternoon. No, they were merely there from the natural pigmentation of his skin, as the scleras of his eyes shined white with innocence. His cheeks were rosy and full, letting you know he’d stuffed himself with some needed food outside a six-pack of beer. And though it was a habit he knew many were not fond of which honestly made him want to do it even more, he plucked the smoking cigarette from his lips and put it out with the step of his foot. You recall the moment from early September, long before you knew Eddie Munson, when he stalked up to you and Chrissy with the biggest grin on his snickering face asking if you had a lighter on hand. You, the goody two-shoes cheerleader who had the healthiest set of lungs, as the idea of nicotine made your nose scrunch with grimace. You and Chrissy Cunningham would have been the last people on Earth to have a lighter on hand. While you answered him with a shake to your head, Eddie ticked his tongue in disappointment, but before he could begrudgingly leave, you softly spoke, “Be sure to be careful, don’t want you getting sick from those. That’d be awful.” You had heard the news of what led down the road of cigarette smoking. And while Eddie would have typically told anyone who tried to place their unwarranted input on his life choices to fuck off, his grin merely grew ten times its size at your consideration, “‘Preciate that, sweetheart, I’ll keep that in mind.” Eddie felt like his heart was going to lunge out after you as you walked away. You didn’t know it, but Eddie had driven himself up a wall debating on whether or not to ask you that simple question. You were always just so breathtakingly mesmerizing, it was nerve-racking.

Yes, Eddie Munson has had a long time crush on you.

Your nails released from their stabbing hold into your palms, as your hands relaxed. Eddie saw your softening composure and sighed with relief, seeing that torturing breath that nestled in your throat finally escape into the spring air. As much as Eddie Munson would have loved to tell his fellow schoolmates to fuck themselves and leave you alone, he knew his interference was the last thing you would have wanted. So in the most gentle way possible, he subtly threw you a thumbs up with a stupid grin that made the twenty-year-old metalhead look like a jolly child trying to cheer up their friend.

But it made you quietly giggle, and that’s all he cared about.

You readjusted the straps to your backpack, and took a deep breath. And though you were internally screaming inside, you strided past the gossiping clumps of judgmental teenagers, and their choice to deduce you into degrading, misogynistic names held no merit against your faux confidence. Head held high with a stern gaze to the school, you walked through their whispers with a straight face to let them know they couldn’t get to you. And it was convincing enough. Because Eddie Munson was bouncing on the balls of his feet with bursting gasconade at your powerful strut. Eddie wishes he was half as cool as you.

“So, yeah, it, uh, it made me really happy. Like, just seeing them being so… okay with themselves and not taking any of the crap that other people were saying was great. I, uh, I loved seeing that.” He lips smiled tightly into a thin line to restrain from busting out into a hearty grin, though Ms. Kelly could see it in his face just how important this moment was for him.

“That’s wonderful, Eddie. So the break was good?” She leaned over her desk to ask.

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded his head. “Um, I’ll be honest, at first- that first day I really wanted to call them to let them know I was taking the steps to be, um, y’know, better, but I figured them seeing me now would have been more important, I guess.”

“Yes.” Ms. Kelly agreed. “That was a good call on your part, Eddie.”

“Yeah, so as much as I wanted to just talk to them, I made sure I didn’t.” He assured. “And I really liked that I held back. Um,” Eddie nervously chuckled, as he picked the threads of his jeans, “would it be stupid to say that I’m proud of myself for that? That I was actually able to work on my self-control and boundaries even if it was just something small?”

“Of course, not, Eddie!” Ms. Kelly flashed him a kind smile, which had Eddie shyly grinning. “That’s an incredible thing to make progress on, and nothing in your journey will ever be too small to recognize, okay? I want you to understand that. I know it’s difficult to acknowledge these steps as a win, and I know it’s even harder granting yourself the right to be proud, because you believe you’ve committed too many wrong to ever feel for yourself, but remember Eddie, those hesitations are merely the result of the words that were placed upon you with intent to hurt you, and they don’t dictate your life. You do. Don’t give those words the power to hurt you. You deserve to be proud.”

A fervent nod to his head proffered the understanding that he was taking in her truth with deep care. The insistent curses of his dad and the bullshit rhetoric of students or the townspeople held no value to the words in which Eddie thought of himself. And if he wanted to be proud, he should be proud.

“Yeah, um, I am proud of myself- I know it’s like the bare minimum, but I’m happy.” He smiled. “And um, it was pretty amazing knowing that they were in the same boat as me, like, while I’m trying to get better, they are, too. I know that they struggle with what other people say about them, too, and seeing them walk in with all the confidence in the world was really… it was quite literally the greatest thing ever. I’m happy they’re getting happy; that we’re working on ourselves.”

“And how’s that going with you specifically?” Ms. Kelly attentively asked. “What else have you done to progress?”

“Well, um, I took your advice and opened up more with my uncle.” He huffed a laugh at the memory. “You should have seen the look on his face when I told him that I was basically in therapy.”

She questioned, “Was he angry?”

“No, not angry. More, like, ‘I didn’t even know this kid knew what therapy was’ kinda shock. He definitely didn’t expect it when I sat him down, but he’s a good man, and he, uh, listened to me. The whole time.”

“And how was it?”

“Hard and strange.” He gulped. “See, my uncle, he’s endured a lot for me; he’s an old man who works his ass off to pay the bills and provide basic, crappy dinners and I- I honestly feel really fuc- bad. I feel really bad. That, y’know, he has to do all that stuff for me when he didn’t even want to, like, have kids in the first place.” Eddie sighed. “And, truthfully, I just didn’t want to burden him with anymore of my problems, like I did to my mom and dad. I’ve already caused enough issues with the cafeteria incident, not graduating twice, getting in trouble with the cops. I just- I just know he has to be tired of me, so I was scared to talk to him.”

“Eddie,” Ms. Kelly grabbed his attention, “do you feel that if you hadn’t acted a certain way, talked a certain way, your parents wouldn’t have… touched you as a child?”

His once relaxed composure stiffened under her sudden interrogation. His eyes bolted around the room, trying to refrain his mind from wandering into the suffocating memory of his chubby hands spilling the last of the juice that was supposed to last his family for the rest of week all over the floor. He wanted to be a simple baby who was capable of listening to his mommy's words and just wait a minute, but his tiny throat was hurting from being dry and mommy had forgotten about him when daddy came home screaming about the place being a mess. His little mouth gasped in fear, running to the counter, his short arms reached and reached and his efforts had to turn to opening the bottom cabinet that was a couple inches above the floor and provided him the extra height to finally retrieve the paper. Feet pattering back to his proliferating spill, his hands haphazardly ripped a multitude of sheets and threw them to the floor. But the juice was not absorbing as fast as he wanted, and his tiny body was beating with terror, as daddy’s voice was booming through the walls of their house as he yelled at mommy in their room. He whimpered in panic as he tried to clean and clean, but the $3 pack of store brand tissue merely bled through, the jumble ball of paper causing his sticky mess to spread. It was to no avail, and daddy soon marched his way back to the kitchen. The second Eddie heard the towering footsteps, he peered up through his neglected hair that barely made life visible over his eyes, and saw the big scary face that hurt him every day. Eddie cleared his throat and murmured, “I don’t know.”

She signed a sympathetic breath, “What your parents did to you as a child has nothing to do with who you are or your personality, and it is absolutely not your fault.” Ms. Kelly spoke her declaration with firm gentleness. “You, Eddie, were not and will not be a burden in anyone’s life. You were dealt a misfortunate hand in life, but you were nowhere near the cause of it. You merely survived.”

Rubbing his eyes before his tears could soak his lashes, Eddie sighed, and sat back in his chair quietly. “I, uh, I said it was strange, and it was, because my uncle and I don’t really talk of that matter. When I was younger, he’d tell me it was okay to just let that life go, that I was okay with him, and it did help in that moment. But I kinda feel like it just gradually grew to become this big elephant in the room that we always avoided for the sake of peace. But during the weekend, I finally got the balls to just do it, and well, it was definitely uncomfortable but in a good way. I told him what was happening with me and how I felt, and he did the same, which honestly I wasn’t expecting. I-it was good. Great even.”

“These moments of clarity are valuable, Eddie.” Ms. Kelly spoke. “These times when speaking is all you do with another person are important to have and the uncomfortableness, the rawness, of it all paves the way to recovery. And it may be disturbing, absolutely not linear, but these are the steps that matter. And you’re doing an amazing job, Eddie.”

“Th-thank you, really, Ms. K.” He nodded his head gratefully. “I, uh, I always knew I talked a lot, my friends always teasin’ me about it, but I’m really enjoying it. Talking these things out with you and others.” He smiled.

“I enjoy it, too. Wouldn’t have spent thousands studying it just to hate it.” She joked, which gave him room for a small chuckle. “Want to tell me about the rest of your day?”

“Oh, yeah,” he sat up, wiping the sweat from his palms onto the worn denim of jeans, “lunch was pretty great, too, so basically…”

That confident facade of yours had broken in the midst of third period.

There was only so much scrutinizing stares you could handle from students- even staff who had sipped their coffee and gossiped about the day of your demise, discussing how their perfect student fell under the wrong influence right under their noses. Having to hear their patronizing “We’re here to help you catch up after your… circumstance” that was seemingly always followed by a grimacing look casted by a fake smile of sympathy that made your mouth want to heat up and hurl the stew that was your breakfast.

But third period had been different. Worse.

Unlike your previous classes—where you’d been indebted for having sane teachers who let you choose your own seating, prompting you into picking the back desk in the furthest row that provided some shielding to the obtrusive scowls—your third period had not been granted that same privilege, as your third period had Mr. Fitzgerald holding the reins to the functionality of the class. A bitter bitter old man who denounced the teenagers of Hawkins High as the devil incarnate, you should have seen the sheer look of terror and disgust when he first came face-to-face with the Eddie Munson.

And that infamous look matched that of the look he gave you when you stepped into his AP Calculus class that midday for the first time in a week. “Ms. Y/N, back already?” He stopped you the second you stepped foot in his dungeon classroom.

“Uh, yes, sir-”

“I sure hope you are well aware of the fact that this Advanced Placement class holds no room for coddling, and I can assure you no one will be holding your hand through the lessons you deliberately missed during your vacation.” He pontificated in your face. Your cheeks flared in a crashing heat as your settling classmates chuckled at the spotlight he casted upon you. “Come on, front and center.” He pointed to the empty chair that was surrounded by students in the center of the classroom, and meticulously sat right next to Andy McAvoy, who was daggering a provoked face of wrath at your presence.

Mr. Fitzgerald had practically placed a dunce hat on your head for everyone to laugh at.

You shrunk in your seat every passing minute, as glares laser beamed into you from the front, side, back. Your palpitating heart had no room to rest, as Mr. Fitzgerald took it upon himself to randomly select you—every single time—to answer questions about a lesson you weren’t even present to have learned about, enabling the other fourteen students to snicker at every stuttering I don’t know you had to mutter with shame and embarrassment that flared your body with burns of embarrassment.

The ache in your head had pounded your focus into oblivion, making the numbers and letters of your worksheet blend into incomprehensible blurs that had your hand twitching with the belief that you were already failing, and that dazzling A+ that made your father pat you on the back when he demanded your report card would slip into your biggest fear: an A-. In retrospect, an A- was a highly respectable grade, but when you’ve been conditioned to dictate your self-worth on the basis of academic validation, having your grade slip seemed like the biggest indication that your father's words were the truth. You were going to fail in life. And right now, all you wanted was the thumbs-up of a particular boy to let you know everything was going to be okay.

And everything started crashing down when you heard it.

“Freak’s whore.”

Andy McAvoy had full intentions of letting everyone hear his vile conviction, murmuring for the surrounding people to hear but taking advantage of Mr. Fitzgerald’s aging ears and whispering it so it went unknown to the authoritative figure.

“Can’t believe she tried to get with me.” He smiled to Karry Koven, as she giggled and stared at you.

It was a lie. It was the most loaded lie you ever heard. For the past two years, Andy McAvoy had made it his life's mission to claim you as his own, after Jason proffered the idea of double-dating with him and Chrissy. The idea hadn’t been too bad of an offer, until you actually went, and his sleazy hands felt the need to wander your body despite your consistent attempts to keep things at a platonic level. With Chrissy Cunningham and Jason Carver coupling up, it only seemed fair for their best friends to follow suit, and such belief left Andy’s arrogant mind to believing to be entitled to your body.

“Such a gross slut, can’t even imagine what that freak gave her.”

In the last ten minutes of class, you excused yourself to the bathroom and silently cried in the lonely stall.

It was a setback. A major one. And your old self would have cursed at you for letting some meaningless words get to you, but you were allowing yourself the mistakes that came with the experience of being human, and if being hurt by the sexist comments of a jock who got a shot to his ego because a girl rejected them, then so be it. You were distraught, and words were bound to get to you. Crying was the release you needed to let yourself recuperate and continue your day.

The bell had rung for lunch, you quickly wiped the remaining tears of your face with the rough paper towels stationed at the sink, and caught yourself in the reflecting glass of the mirror. Truthfully, how embarrassing would it be to give yourself a pep talk in the grimy bathrooms of your high school? Last time you entered the lunchroom, hell had broken loose, and your image was severed with the humiliating speech of Jason Carver and the deafening punch of Eddie Munson’s fist.

But before the optimistic phrases that you gathered from every movie you ever seen could be spoken to yourself, the cacophonous laughs of a group of girls pummeled their way into the bathroom, but they were quickly silenced upon seeing your presence. You knew what would come if you stayed, and you genuinely did not need more nasty comments thrown at your face, so with grace, you flashed a friendly smile that they predictably did not return on their scowling faces, and walked past them into the bustling halls.

It was now or never.

“C’mon, you don’t even like peaches!” Dustin slumped in his chair, as his efforts into devouring Jeff’s fruit side came to bust.

Jeff smiled with pleasure. “Yeah, but there’s something about not letting you have it that just makes me really happy.” The table chimed in with laughter.

“You guys are all mean.” He huffed with crossed arms, which simply elicited more laughs. “Mean, mean, mean people.”

“Don’t pout, Henderson, I’ll be sure to have Jeff’s character fall off a cliff in this week's campaign.” Eddie chucked down a pretzel with a teasing grin.

“What?!” Jeff sat up, as the laughs turned against him. “You can’t do that, you’re totally just bluffing!”

“You might as well.” Grant chuckled. “It will make it more interesting, and we deserve interesting after you bailed on us Friday.” He sternly pointed his spork at Eddie, which quickly met the table when he smacked it away.

“I told you,” Eddie sighed, “I was busy.” One day he'd tell his friends of his therapy sessions. But at the moment, they were acting like high school boys, and today was not the day to reveal so.

“Aw, were you pretending your guitar was a girl?” Gareth snided with kissy faces, that made the boys obnoxiously laugh harder, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Please, Emerson, I can’t remember the last time a girl spoke to you that wasn’t your mom.” He retorted back. “And I’d be careful if I were you, Gareth the Great could have the same demise off that cli…”

Eddie had trailed his words into silence when his eyes landed on you.

There, through the heavy doors of the crowding cafeteria, you were once again making an entrance that was completely out of your control. If you had it your way, your figure would be dismissed, like a ghost people could not perceive. But that was never an option for you. Even before, happy waves and nice greetings were always following you, but the current trend in the bubble of Hawkins High was picking the next girl to surmise as a slut because you made the decision to be nice to a group of boys, and how dare you do so, especially when those boys were no good satanists who would perform human sacrifices in woods in the middle of the night? It’s funny how high school worked in the isolation of a small town.

So once again, the stares were happening, as everyone decided to switch their hushed conversations to the entertaining topic of you; laughing their harsh opinions to their circle of friends or seeing how far they could fabricate more rumors. Your eyes landed on the table you once sat at, your designated chair no longer reserved for your being, but rather piled with sneakers of Jason Carver who decided to use your seat as a footrest. It didn’t take a genius to know you were no longer welcomed within that group, their blatant stares making it beyond the realms of obvious.

But you didn’t need them. You didn’t need Jessica Lewis’ patronizing comments. You didn’t need Andy McAvoy’s unwarranted touches. You didn’t need Jason Carver’s pesting control over everyone.

The neglected half of the lunchroom table where the kids of the drama club took residence on the other end would be perfectly okay for you. Ignoring their judgmental looks, you sat quiet in desolation, as everyone around you chortled at the downfall of the perfect cheerleader.

“Eddie!” Gareth waved his hand in his face, snapping Eddie back to reality.

“Holy shit, you were totally checking out Y/N!” Mike laughed.

“N-no, I wasn’t.” His hair fervently moved with the vehement shakes to his head. “Everyone is fucking staring at her.”

“But you were staring staring, Eddie.” Jeff teased with a big grin. "Like how you stared at that one older chick with the huge boobs at the Hideout that one time."

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

With heavy sigh, you decided the best option was productivity, and the sweetness of your precisely cut strawberries were fueling you with the needed energy to focus on the piling stack of missing work you were due to accomplish. Equations and word problems could provide enough distraction from the myriad of bullying that was hurtling against you, and in a very unlikely case, homework was easing your mind into a peaceful state. If this is how you had to finish out your senior year, then it was something you’d be okay with coming to terms with. Aloneness could be a scary thing, and you were facing it in the terrors of your dark room where you were shut in and locked away, as you held yourself while the tears dampened your pillow case. But aloneness was also a wonderful thing, where in moments like these, when it felt like everyone was against you, you could lavish in the company of yourself—food and task at hand—because you liked the way your mind worked, you liked the way you perceived the world, it was unique to yourself and it was a beautiful thing to explore on your own.

But a soft tap to your shoulder had pulled you from your studies, and you peered up, being met with a comforting smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Chrissy.”

“Is it okay if I sit with you?” She pointed the chair across from you.

Your agreeing nod led her to plopping down and pulling her lunch out, as though this interaction was something of normality. You looked around, the stares had intensified with the sudden movements of Chrissy Cunningham joining you for lunch. While the act of two best friends eating together was everything but abnormal, the events of last Monday had foreseen your rumored recent fuck punching her boyfriend, and the idea of you and Chrissy would have assumed to be severed.

But here she was, sitting with you without a care of the world.

You watched her dejectedly sigh at the sight of her pre-packed lunch clearly made by the hands of her mother. Green. Bland. Portioned so small it wouldn’t stuff a toddler. You pushed your tray of food to her. “Have some of mine.” You smiled, switching her plate with yours. “Maybe we can give yours to Mrs. Durberry’s pet lizard.” And she laughed that grateful laugh that you always seemed to cause whenever you’d save her appetite from the terrible choices of her mother with a joke to make her feel better. And she comfortably took the other half of your sandwich.

“Have, um, have people been saying stuff about you?” She delicately asked with a mouthful of food.

With a smile on your face, you nodded. “Yeah. Nothing I wasn’t expecting, though.” You shrugged. “Are you, uh, are you okay sitting with me? Like Jason might-”

“I broke up with Jason.” She interjected.

Looking back, you met his disbelief scowl that was certainly blaming you for the ending of his relationship. “You did? Already?”

She nodded her head. “I didn’t want to wait it out, because I knew that if I took too long I would just procrastinate, and I probably wouldn’t get the courage to actually do it. But I did.” She sighed.

“Are you okay?” Three years of a relationship, filled with young love, innocence, and first times were all gone in a matter of seconds when Chrissy arrived at the doorstep of Jason’s house. But a revelation Chrissy had to come to terms with was the fact that years together, the length of a relationship, holds no merit to the satisfaction of one’s mind and heart, and Jason Carver was simply someone he used to not be. The once skinny sophomore who sat the benches of all games had grown to be a young man with screwed priorities that came at the expense of his girlfriend’s comfortability, especially when she was becoming someone she didn’t want to be.

“Yeah.” She quietly answered. “Um, he didn’t exactly take it well, and my mom can’t seem to wrap her head around the idea that I just didn’t like who he was anymore. They both keep pestering me about it.”

“Don’t listen to whatever they might be saying.” You advised. “Really, if getting away from him is what you want- what you need, please don’t let them take that away from you.”

“I won’t.” She smiled. “Hey, are you still coming back to practice? Coach has been dying to have you back. As much as Jessica likes to think, she is not a good flyer.”

You giggled. “Ugh, I would have loved to see that. But yeah, I told my dad I’d be staying for practice. Though, I’m heavily expecting to come out with a broken leg, because those girls are totally dropping me for, you know, associating with he who must not be named.”

“Don’t worry, coach has literally been on a frenzy ever since you left, she’ll take care of them. Seriously, Y/N, as much as they’d like to admit otherwise, we have been a mess without you.” Chrissy reassured. “And um, how are things… w-with your dad. I, uh, I saw the locks when-”

“It’s fine, Chrissy, really. Don’t worry about it.” You murmured, more as an excuse to forget about it. “I’m learning to deal with it. But let's just talk about something else.” You swallowed the lump in your throat.

Chrissy agreed for your comfort. Because for once, speaking with Chrissy about the miniscule things of life felt like the stability of normalcy you had been yearning for.

“You’re totally staring at her!” Jeff laughed, as Eddie once again was caught up in the glimpses of you.

‘Wh- How many times do I have to tell you I’m not?” He slid back in his chair in embarrassment. There was only so much lying he could do to cover his averting eyes, but the truth was screaming past any attempts of delusion.

“Oh, so you were staring at Chrissy, you like her then?” Gareth smiled, as Eddie sauntered right into his trap.

“No! Not Chrissy, Y/N’s the one- ugh!” Eddie’s head dropped into the safety of his hands, as his friends’ laughter echoed around the table. While he truly had nothing to be embarrassed about—he quite literally drunkenly admitted his feelings to you already—the discomfort of letting his feelings be known was still new territory for Eddie, and building a friendship on the basis of teasing the living shit out of each other didn’t exactly make his progress any easier. Though, under that frustration, a small teetering curl to his lips and blushing cheeks were appearing behind the cover of his hands. Talking about you did that to him.

“You should totally talk to her.” Dustin reached over to hit his arm, but a switch had flipped in Eddie, and his head shot up with his hand grabbing the boy’s arm before it could make contact.

Everyone was taken aback by his sudden reflexes. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Don’t tell me you're nervous.” Dustin laughed, as he pulled his arm away with sass. “It’s not like you haven’t talked to her before. Granted you were basically an ass and she probably hates you.”

If only they knew.

“Wait,” Mike interjected, “is that why you punched Carver in the face last week?”

“And why you left lunch to go find her friend that one time?” Grant added.

“Okay, okay, okay.” Eddie sighed. “Not that this is any of your guys’ business, but yeah- and that’s all you're getting out of me, so knock it off with the interrogation, please?” He shoved a handful of pretzels into his mouth to cope with the stress.

“Why not just go talk to her and apologize?” Jeff suggested.

“Do you honestly think someone like her would like someone like him- ow?!” Gareth chuckled before a crushed can of soda hit the side of his head.

“I did apologize to her.” Eddie disregarded Gareth’s comment, answering Jeff with a mouth full of mush and crumbs. “Just don’t wanna bother her with anymore of my talking.” His denim sleeve wiped his lips.

“Well,” Dustin sighed, as he retrieved something from his backpack. “I’ll go bother her.” He smiled, and Eddie cocked his head to the now standing kid.

“What?!”

“You heard me.” Dustin affirmed. “She’s the only reason why my sexy photo is in this yearbook,” he patted the glossy cover to the infamous book, “might as well get her to sign it.”

“Wait! No, Dustin!” Eddie gritted through his teeth, but the young freshman had a goal in mind, one that his Dungeon Master could not interfere with. Even if it meant his character would be doomed with a fateful death at the bottom of a cliff that coming Friday. “Please, Henderson!”

The curly tendrils freed from the cap on his head bounced as he happily ignored the stressed calls of Eddie from the table. In truth, Eddie’s tensity came from a place beyond whatever stupid comment Dustin might make about him to you. He had spent the last four days respecting your boundaries despite his desires to talk to you, and Dustin’s presence might lead you to believe this was his way in getting someone to speak to you on his behalf—something you strictly told him not to do when he was crying hungover on your bed—he’d definitively ruin his chance at ever getting you to trust him again.

But Dustin Henderson had all the confidence in the world, something you would come to admire in the boy as you got to know him, and he placed himself at the end of the table, where you and Chrissy had resided, interrupting your talks of dinner plans.

“Uh-hem.” He cleared his throat with precise certitude. “Ladies,” Dustin then turned to you, “Hi! I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Dustin Henderson. You took the photo of my club, Hellfire.”

“Yeah, yeah, Dustin, I remember you." You smiled.

“Awesome!” He squealed on the tips of his toes. “I didn’t actually think you’d remember me.” He giggly confessed. “But anyways, I was wondering if you’d like to, um- would it be okay if you signed my yearbook?” He opened the page to the appointed spot where signatures were entitled to, his page particularly filled with the names, messages, and small doodles of his friends.

“Oh, Dustin, I’d be so very honored.” His grin consumed his face at your acceptance.

“Oh!” Chrissy perked. “Here’s a pen you could use!” Handing over her trusty pink pen that had recently grown accustomed to the tribulations of your friendship.

Muttering a small thank you as you took her pen, you uncapped the lid to meet one of the many large spaces of white that surrounded his page. Your heart had gently ached at the realization that not many people had signed his yearbook. The sophistication you oozed defied the laws of coolness in the Dustin Henderson Doctrine. While Eddie Munson’s ability to create and personify some of the greatest campaigns of Dungeons and Dragons he’d ever seen was downright incredible, and Steve Harrington’s ability to sway any cute girl’s Friday night plans to now revolve around him was thoroughly unbelievable, your coolness was surpassing those of the men he looked up to. Maybe it was because you were a beautiful girl who was actually nice to him. Maybe it was because he knew you could play into his antics. Either way, you were ranking yourself to the top of Dustin Henderson’s Favorite People List. And if he ever found out you made way better chocolate chip cookies than his mom, he would have placed you above the woman who birthed him. Because you wrote a, albeit short, cute little message just for him:

Has't a most wondrous summ'r cutie, t's been the greatest privilege knowing thee, kind solid'r - Y/N

“Thank you so much!” He gushed at your writing, making you laugh.

“Anytime, Dustin.” You gave Chrissy her pen back. “Anything else we can help you with?”

“Ooh, yeah!” He got extremely excited at the open invitation. Your kindness was placing him at a vulnerable spot, that vulnerable spot being the potential strangling hands of Eddie Munson if he ever found out what Dustin was about to do. “So, uh, y’know, Eddie, right?”

Your burrows furrowed playfully. “Hm, yeah, I know, Eddie.”

“Well, uh, see don’t tell him I told you this, because he would totally kill me, but he kinda sorta has a crush on you.” You turned around and briefly caught Eddie Munson staring at you before his eyes went big and he snapped his head to the other side of the cafeteria as if he didn’t get caught. Ugh, he was just so-

“No way!” Chrissy gasped with fake dramatics as she squealed. “A cute boy likes you!” She sprightly spoke.

“You’re totally messing with me, aren’t you?” You joined in on her theatrics for the sake of letting Dustin Henderson believe he was the brains behind the union of his two friends—as if the confessions of last week's events didn’t happen at all. “The Eddie Munson likes me?! There’s no way, he’s way too cool!” You rhapsodized.

Oblivious to it all, Dustin jumped with excitement for his friend. “No, he actually does! He totally blushes and everything when we talk about you!”

“That’s so cute!” Chrissy effused. “You guys should, like, totally get married, you’d be so cute together.”

“Oh, totally!” You playfully giggled before turning to Dustin. “Dusty, be sure to tell Eddie to let me get my nails done first before he proposes. I can’t have my hands looking ugly for our engagement photoshoot.”

“Uh, y-yeah, okay!” Dustin shrugged along, completely heedless to the idea that you and Chrissy were just joking around, but his lack of communication with girls had him believing whatever this conversation was transpiring to be was merely the normal gist of what girl talk had to be. Also, there was a small part of you that wanted to give Eddie Munson a heart attack when Dustin returned with the grand news.

“Great, it’s settled then!” You smiled. “I have full trust that you will relay the message, good sir.” You popped a strawberry into your mouth, as Dustin swiftly shook his head.

“Yes! Yes, totally!” His curls shook with his head.

“Alrighty then, Dustin, maybe you can talk Eddie into letting you be his best man.” You smiled. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks again for everything!” He waved you both off excitedly, eager to run and tell Eddie the good news.

Chrissy and you watched him nearly trip over his own two feet as he speed-walk to the table he had came from—not wanting to fall victim to Mr. Long’s threat of no running on the school grounds, as he monitored the lunchroom. “He’s so adorable.” You two giggled as you both watched him flee.

Dustin had plopped in his chair with a heaving chest, as his table began torpedoing an onslaught of questions, Eddie’s queries being the harshest. “Do you literally want to die?!” The metalhead slammed his hand onto the table, ignoring the stinging burn that came right after. “Why would you go up to her?! What did you say?! What did she say?!”

“She said…” Dustin huffed too long for Eddie’s thinning patiences, “she said that I was a cutie-”

“What?!”

“-and that she wants to marry you.”

“What?!”

You and Chrissy Cunningham laughed across the cafeteria at his booming voice.

“So yeah, that totally means they want me, right?”

Ms. Kelly had suddenly turned into a love coach.

“Uh, well, I’m sure the feeling is… mutual between the two of you.” She hesitantly answered, not sure how to exactly approach the love life of her teenage students, but glad enough her response made Eddie smile.

“Okay, good, I think that, too.” He giddily adjusted in his chair.

“But remember, Eddie, don’t determine your happiness on the basis of this person.” Ms. Kelly reminded. “Root that within yourself, because if things don’t… work out in a sense, we don’t want you losing that progress.”

“No, I know.” He quietly muttered, as his hand rubbed the slight stubble of his chin. “That, uh, that’s actually one of things that really scared me into getting help, I guess. See, remember those, um, terrible things I did when, y’know, they said they didn’t want me around?” She nodded her head gently to allow him to continue. “I, um- my dad would do those things. Like, whenever my mom had done something he didn’t like, he would just get plastered, say these gross things, and then, um, start…hitting.” Eddie huffed out a large breath that burned his chest. “And seeing me be that- be my dad- becoming him was just a scary reality check that I’m just like him, a-and I don’t want to be. I spent years wishing so hard that I wouldn’t be, y’know, that I wouldn’t be those kids who turned into their parents, that Wayne taught me better than that, but there I fucking was scaring her- them, scaring them. Sorry.” He cleared him through shamefully as he got worked up.

“Don’t be sorry, Eddie.” She smiled. “This is your moment to let your thoughts and feelings be known. And by hearing you, I want you to leave today’s session vitalizing the importance that you are not your father. You’re not your mother, either. Or your uncle, or anyone for that matter. Eddie, you are you. There is a pattern within you that wavers from trying so hard to stray away from hurting others like your parents did to you, to straying away from the possibility of getting hurt like your parents did to you. And it’s wonderful that you’re recognizing that, but you need to understand that you’re merely getting stuck in an endless cycle of trying to satisfy those end goals, that your mind is running in circles and blurring the line between what's working and what’s not, and it’s doing harm.”

Eddie chewed on his thumb nail taking in the revelation. “I don’t know how to fix that.” He defeatedly admitted.

“You need to not be driven by fear, Eddie.” Ms. Kelly answered. “That image of your father is a scary thing to come to terms with, and I’m not saying you’re wrong for being terrified of it, because it truly was a dark part of your life, but you need to face it rather than run from it. You mentioned that you and your uncle rarely speak of the life you once had with your parents, and that suppression- that shut in, that’s what’s inhibiting you from growing to be someone that is not like your father or mother. Your upbringing has rooted a fear in you that’s scared of being hurt, and it’s not unusual, the majority of the world is scared at the possibility of being hurt, but the majority don't acknowledge that that fear is the cause of why our personal progress is being stunted. No one wants the uncomfortable conversations. No one wants to face the reality of the world. But the truth is Eddie, it’s better to be hurt organically by the troubles of the world rather than self-destruct our minds under the guise that we’re protecting ourselves. It’s good to focus on oneself, but we need to understand when we’re crossing that boundary into self-immolation, which is far more scary.”

Eddie Munson had sat in silence for a minute to digest her words. “And that’s what I’m doing.” He whispered to himself.

“But you’re getting help.” Ms. Kelly interjected his thoughts with a delicate smile. “And that’s far more progress than most people get to.”

“I think, uh, I think it really, I don’t know, frustrates me that I didn’t understand that in the first place. Because, well, I mean, even you know I’m not the smartest person around-”

“Academic intelligence has nothing to do with this, Eddie.” Ms. Kelly assured. “Even the smartest people have difficulty understanding their problems.”

“Yeah, I guess what I’m trying to say is that… I just get angry that I can’t be smart enough to figure this stuff out. Like, I know you said this isn’t based on intelligence, it’s just that when things don’t work out the way I want them to, and it turns out my plans were actually stupid, I just get so aggravated with myself, and then I get so aggravated with the other person for not doing as I want, even though it’s not their fault.” He released a puff of air from his cheeks at the admission

“Would you say your anger has become an issue?”

Eddie huffed a shameful chuckle. “God, how much of an ass would I be if I said yes? Sorry for the language, Ms. K, but I really am such an asshole. Pretty cynical, too. And nihilistic. Pessimistic. A person even said I was a sulking asshole if the picture wasn’t clear enough for you.” He nodded with a tight-lipped smile.

And though it may have been a little unprofessional, Ms. Kelly allowed herself a small chuckle at his words. “Well, those are quite some characteristics to have.” She kindly joked. “How often do your efforts result to violence, Eddie? Is it a gradual transition from yelling to hitting for you?”

“Uh, yeah, it definitely is.” He sighed. “I mean, I think you’re aware of how many fights I’ve been pushed into-”

“Would you say you cause most of them?”

“Um, not necessarily cause, more so… provoke.” He laughed.

“Instigate for a reaction?” Ms. Kelly questioned.

And with a snap and point of his finger, Eddie agreed. “Ooh, yeah! Instigate for a reaction sounds a lot better.” He smiled before doubling down. “But, uh, totally know I shouldn’t. It’s just… kinda fun.”

“Fun?”

“Well, yeah, y’know, most people at this school don’t like me.” Eddie emphasized. "Even the teachers don’t. And, I guess, poking fun at the groups of people who hate me kinda shows them I don’t care, if that makes sense? Like I can make fun of them just as they do to me and my friends. So, I guess getting angry does kinda happen often, and it does always seem to escalate. If people aren’t listening to my yelling, then they’ll definitely listen to me fighting them, y’know?”

“Is that what happened during last week’s cafeteria incident when you hit another student?”

“Basically.” Eddie nodded. “The dude, he was just spewing a bunch of bullshit about someone, and well, when I told him to shut up and tried to “save the day,” I guess, my anger definitely got out of hand and I punched the guy. Honestly, I hate the guy, so I had no problem doing it, but I also thought that I was, uh, stopping the other person that he was talking about from getting hurt more. Like we, uh, talked about- the thing that I do. And obviously, my judgment was severely off, and well, it only made the situation worse that I only ended up hurting them, too.”

“So you’re seeing where these patterns coincide?” Ms. Kelly asked.

“Yeah.” Eddie acknowledged. “And if I’m being completely honest, I almost made the same mistake again today.”

“How so?” Her eyebrow raised.

“Uh, well, I almost hit the same guy for bothering that person, again.” He sighed. “Kinda happened right before I got here, actually. It was after school…”

The once crowded halls had dissipated into quietness, as the final bell had rung to announce the coming end of the school day fifteen minutes ago.

Stalling. Stalling is what you were doing under the guise that you were merely reorganizing your locker, and any straggler who walked by would have seen that, given that your locker never approached the definitive line of chaos. But your heart was hammering at the thought of returning to cheer practice, and the coolness radiating off the metal lockers was enough to keep your forehead from sweating. There were no butterflies in your stomach, no, those insects had turned into the pesky creatures of crickets who bounced around with an end goal of causing turbulence in your worrying stomach, like the annoyance they cause during an attempt at peaceful sleep during a quiet night.

There was something deathly petrifying about high school teenagers. Their judgment. Comments. Bullying. Rumors. You knew now why groups of adults thoroughly went through the endeavors of avoiding them in public spaces. You’d just spent an entire day on the receiving end of their hate, and it was draining.

At the south end of the hall, the familiar faces of the members of the cheer squad pummeled out of the girls’ bathroom in loud conversations and giggles. You watched them walk together, laugh together, like you once used to do before they made the ultimate decision to lavish in your reputation’s demise. But as you followed their movements into the grand doors of the Hawkins High gymnasium, your attention had diverged you from the impeding steps of an deranged man’s end goal in mind, and the sudden slam of your locker door closing left you snapping your head to meet Jason Carver’s huffing breath before he cornered you against the lockers.

Nostrils flared with heaving sighs, his forehead pressed down against yours until your head shoved harshly onto the metal. “You think you’re funny telling Chrissy to leave me?! Huh?!”

Eddie Munson had been on his second cigarette of the day, waiting in the sanctitude of his van, just as he did in the early hours of the morning before school started. But where a pervade of parked cars and students once rested, just an empty parking lot stood, and it provided him the peace of mind to gather the thoughts he want to speak about before he entered the counselor’s room and sat down with Ms. Kelly for what had become their fourth daily session. He grew to like Ms. Kelly a lot. So when the digits of watch striked green of the numbers of 3:45 p.m, Eddie put out the shortening cigarette onto the pavement of the ground, and entered the school building, so as to not be late for their meeting. He’d grown to respect her too much to contempt the time she chose to work overtime just for him.

“Get off of me!” You pushed his chest away, allowing him to stumble and put some distance between you two. “I didn’t tell Chrissy to do anything!”

“Bullshit! Everyone saw you two hanging together at lunch, and conveniently right after she broke up with me! Do you really think I’m that stupid?” His reddening face started walking closer to you, but you kept up with his movements, as the adrenaline in your system moved your feet back with every inch of him coming closer.

“Chrissy broke up with you because you’re an asshole, not because of anything I told her!” You stressed. “God, literally look at what you’re doing, what you did to me- to anyone who’s different from you, of course, she doesn’t want to be with you anymore!”

“Everything I’m doing is for her! It’s your fucking fault I have to stoop this low!” He screamed. “You wanna be a slut and fuck around with that freak, then fine by me, but I will not let you drag Chrissy down with you!”

As unfortunate as the situation was, Eddie Munson strolled in at the perfect time. Upon opening the double, glass doors of the school, he was impaled by the screaming match happening between you two. The second his eyes landed on your fraught face, that anger- that anger that seethed with vexation at the need to protect you from getting hurt was coursing through his bloodstream with a strangulating wave of worry that was going to hurtle its way through any obstacle to make sure you were okay; just as it occurred when Jason Carver ambushed you in the cafeteria, just as it occurred when your father ambushed you in your bedroom.

Eddie was desperate to ensure your safety and security.

Too distracted by the yelling words of Jason Carver, and with the jocks back turned away from Eddie’s stature, his presence went unnoticed until his ring hand clenched around the collar of his letterman jacket, and threw him up against the lockers with a bang.

“Are you fucking bothering her?” His calm voice gritted through his teeth, as Eddie pinned him to the wall. “Because last time that happened, it didn’t turn out so well for you, did it?” The threat lingered heavily in Jason’s head. The Hawkins High Tigers were paving their way through playoffs, and the championship game was right at their fingertips, but the crashing sting of Eddie Munson’s ringed fist on his face or body could hinder the basketball team's progress.

“Eddie.” Your quiet voice lulled him away from the worries of Jason, and he watched your distressed figure of cinched brows and a chewed up lip trembling feet away from the violence of angry men.

Eddie dropped his hold from Jason’s jacket, and stared down at the comb-over that peered up to him with irritated eyes. “You come near her again, and you’ll be fucking dead.” He whispered, far too quiet for your ears to pick on, and he did that with honest intentions.

But before Jason could curse the words he wanted into Eddie’s face, the heavy doors of gym opening turned everyone’s attention to Chrissy Cunningham and cheer coach, Coach Hannigan, who walked out with large smiles—though Chrissy’s dropped faster than the speed of light upon seeing the three of you uncomfortably together.

“Oh,” Chrissy squeaked with confusion, but enough pep to let Coach Hannigan believe all was good. “Um, there- there’s Y/N.” Chrissy hesitantly smiled, as that had been the entire reason why the two of them walked out in the first place, to find you.

“There’s my girl!” If there was anyone who truly showed their support for the girls of Hawkins High, it was Coach Hannigan, who dedicated her faculty years to teaching the inner workings of American Literature by day and coached her girls to be the best representative of the school, because she believed you all deserved to be seen by night. “It’s been far too long! That Higgins doesn’t know what he’s doing, am I right?” Her boisterous laugh echoed through the halls, as you, Eddie, and Jason tried to appear as normal as can be. “When I got news of what he did to you, I was like "man, excessive much." I think we’re all counting the days until he retires, ha!” She spoke enthusiastically, as she patted you on the shoulder, which is when she took notice of Jason Carver and Eddie Munson looking nervously uncomfortable. “Woah, odd pairing.” She joked to you, to which you had to join in with an awkward laugh, Eddie and Jason abruptly separated under her comment. “You lot, okay?” Her colloquial use of British slang with her deep Midwestern accent was surely fitting to the oddity that was Coach Hannigan, but my god, was it comforting in a time like this.

“Just fine.” Jason muttered. “Better get to practice.” He raked his hand to adjust the hairs Eddie had disturbed during their minor push and shove, before walking away past everyone.

“Well, I guess we should, too!” Coach Hannigan signaled over to you and Chrissy to get along. “I’m tired of seeing that dang Jessica girl tryin’ to stay steady in air, dangnamit.”

As the three of you walked away, you turned back to meet Eddie’s anxious eyes. His fears racking in his mind, wondering if he’d just done the very thing you asked him not to do, overstep. He didn’t want to scare you anymore. He didn’t want to hurt you anymore. But he believed his being was doing you more harm than good, and his stomach churned at the possibility that maybe you’d be better off if he just got out of your life and left you alone. But in a blink of an eye, Eddie watched your small hand aim him a subtle thumbs up with an ever so tiny grin. Eddie released the breath he’d been holding in.

Everything was going to be okay.

“You know, Eddie, if you’re watching someone be harassed, it’s okay to tell me.” Ms. Kelly calmly responded.

“I-” Eddie dejectedly sighed, as he leaned back in his chair. “I know I should, it’s just, y’know, they don’t even know I’m talking about them to you, hell, I haven’t even had a full conversation with them today. I don’t know how long they want to continue this “no communication” stuff, and I really don’t want to make them feeling like I’m, I don’t know, betraying their boundaries. I’ve done a lot to them already.”

“Well,” Ms. Kelly huffed, “if you do get a chance to speak with this person, just know it’s okay to encourage them to speak to me.” She smiled.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks.” Eddie relaxed.

“Can I ask you, Eddie, is the reason why you didn’t choose violence with this bully because of this particular person?”

“Uh, yeah.” He answered. ‘Like I said, last time I did, it really hurt this person because of how much the situation blew up. And, uh, I just really don’t think they like the… hatefulness that comes with hitting. Like they're scared of it, and I don't want to scare them anymore.”

“Are you scared of it? The violence?” She questioned.

“Honestly, no- the, uh, physical stuff, no, I have no issue with it. When I was younger, yeah, obviously, I was a kid, but now, um, I know getting violent kinda let’s people know not to mess with me, I guess.”

“Because it gets you your way.”

Eddie winced at the truth behind the comment. When you had hung up on him that fateful night, aggression had surged within Eddie, because you were slipping through the cracks of weakness. Doing your own thing. Making your own decision. Doing the right thing. It was great, but it was something Eddie couldn’t come to terms with. It was why he chose the inebriations of alcohol to throw him over the precipice of sanity and persuaded him to do the actions he knew were wrong. But he couldn’t do that sober. His moral compass wouldn’t allow that. It’s the only reason why he showed up to your window in a drunken haze. Because Eddie Munson couldn’t understand. He couldn’t understand his feelings. His thoughts. Why his mother always stayed with his father when that man was doing far worse, and you were choosing to give up on him so easily. Verbalizing the words in his head made him want to throw up, because he knew how disgusting it was to think like that.

“God, I hate hearing that.” He murmured in shame, as his fingers stressfully brushed over his eyebrows.

“But it’s true? At least to some extent?” Ms. Kelly delicately asked. He could only nod his head in agreement to her statements. “Your mother, Eddie, if you don’t mind me asking, what would she do whenever your father got violent?”

He sadly sighed. “She’d just, y’know, take it. Would only get worse if she didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Ms. Kelly shook her head along, as his words confirmed the ideas in her head. “Eddie, seeing that at any age, let alone as a child, can be truly detrimental to the mind and its development. What I’m evaluating is that your father’s intolerable acceptance to the word “no” has manifested onto you. Witnessing your father’s beratement and abuse, and your mother’s inability to leave has decisively skewed your perception and ego to lead you to believing you are entitled to have things- have people do as you say, and when they don’t, you lash out… like you were taught to do.”

Eddie’s stomach sank at the admission of Ms. Kelly’s findings. The truth laid in her words, and Eddie Munson was coming to terms with the fact that there were aspects of his being that truly did not make him a good person. Was there room for improvement? Yes, there was, and that was the whole purpose of Ms. Kelly’s evaluation. It was not to point the finger and ridicule him. No, it was to lay the foundation to discovering the ugly truths behind what makes us us, and unfortunately for Eddie Munson, his upbringing of hatred and abuse had developed him into an angry man yearning for what? Stability. Maybe you and Eddie Munson were a lot more alike than you both realized.

“Eddie, I’m going to revert back to what I previously said, I want you leaving today’s session vitalizing the importance that you are not your father.” Ms. Kelly reiterated, and Eddie shuttered a breath. “Your decisions may reflect his, but you’re seeking help. You’re talking about your problems. You’re ready to put the work in and make a change.”

“I’m not him.” Eddie spoke to himself.

“No, you’re not.” Ms. Kelly smiled. “You’re a good person who was left to make bad decisions. Don’t let your father take control of your life. Don’t give him that power. Face your fear of him, and don’t give him the authority to let you become a bad person. You are not him.”

Eddie nodded his head, absorbing the words of today’s session, as their hour-long conversation was coming to its last minutes. “Thank you.” He softly gave his gratitude, just as he did at the end of every meeting.

“Like always, Eddie, it’s no problem. Was there anything else you wanted to mention before you leave for the day?” He gently shook his head, spilling all that he could and digesting every truth and advice his brain could handle. Today had been a good day. And he really needed that.

“No, I think I’m okay.” He assured her with a small smile, as he stood and adjusted her chair back to its original position.

“Can I expect you tomorrow afternoon?” She asked.

“Uh, yeah, I can make it.” He answered after slight deliberation. Corroded Coffin wasn’t expected until well into the night, and he was surely certain his buzzing crowd of five drunks wouldn’t mind if the guitarist ran a little late for their weekly taste of garage metal.

With a bid farewell, Eddie left Ms. Kelly's office with a heavy mind.

Ms. Kelly had delicately put away his file before making a mental note to speak with Jason Carver first thing in the morning about his harmful actions. Eddie’s attempt at anonymity hadn’t thoroughly worked out in his favor. Ms. Kelly knew of the cafeteria incident, and who it involved. Ms. Kelly knew of Jason’s infamous reputation. She’d received a number of saddened students in her office who had fallen victim to his words. She was able to place the puzzles of his story with ease, though never announced it for his comfort. She would be sure to have a long talk with Jason the following morning. And she’d be sure to be on the lookout for you whenever you were ready to talk. Again, Eddie was quite oblivious to the obvious nature of anonymity. But at least he meant well.

Approaching the doors to the school, Eddie was already yanking his pack of cigarettes from his jacket, ready to finish the evening off with his third of the day. That was until he stepped outside, and saw you waiting at the entrance in your practice clothes, leading him to getting flushed with a wave of deja vu, as you looked exactly as you did the day you took his picture.

You turned at the opening of double doors, an endearing smile posing on your face as you saw him abruptly stop at the doorway. “Oh, hey.” You waved to him kindly. Holy shit, you were actually speaking to him. You know, Eddie Munson had dedicated the entirety of his weekend rehearsing what he wanted to say to you, the right words and everything, he’d even came up with a short script of lines as to what to say that were currently residing in the back pocket of his pants, but it was long forgotten by this point, and he couldn’t muster up a single word. You giggled at his frozen state, “You can say “hi” back, Eddie, it’s okay.”

But instead of a greeting, Eddie had walked up to you frantically. “Look, I’m so sorry, I swear I’m not, like, following you around or anything. I was just coming back from a-”

“Hey, Eddie, it’s okay, really.” You softly nodded. “I didn’t think you were.”

He swallowed thickly, unsure of what to say exactly, so he landed on a simple “How have you been?”

“I’ve been… decently okay.” You shrugged.

“Getting okay?” He awkwardly asked.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “slowly but surely. Trying to, at least.”

“Y’know, if you wanted to, you could always talk with Ms. Kelly.” He sincerely spoke. “She’s, uh, she’s helped with a lot. I just, um- we just finished my fourth session. I’ve been seeing her since Thursday.”

You cocked your head in surprise. “Really?” He nodded his quickly. “You’ve been talking to the counselor?” You briefly spoke with Chrissy about her weekly sessions, but it had never been something you dived into for the sake of her privacy. Seeing Eddie Munson turn to therapy was exceeding beyond the expectations of what you had subconsciously set for him when you told him to get better.

“Yeah, it’s been helping me process things- my emotions n’ all.” Eddie smiled, because just last week, that would have been something he would have been embarrassed to admit.

“That- that’s really great, Eddie. I’m proud of you.” Your eyes twinkled with admiration for his effort. “Yeah, I’ll definitely think about it.”

Once again, Eddie’s brain was short-circuiting under your highlighted features that were glowing from the setting sun. You could visibly make out his eyes raking your face before quicking peering into the parking lot, as to not look so creepy. “So… uh, did practice- is practice over already? You waiting for a ride? Need one?”

“Coach Hannigan let us out early after Jessica Lewis puked all over the field.” You laughed, as he grimaced. “The school’s lunch choice of lasagna was definitely not cut out for tumbling. But, uh, I’m just waiting for Chrissy.” You pointed across the parking lot, where Chrissy was speaking with her father. “I convinced my dad to let us have dinner at Benny’s Diner, and now she’s trying to convince hers.”

“Ah,” Eddie nodded, “y’know, speaking of lunch, uh, Dustin had some pretty- pretty interesting things to say about his little visit to your table.” He smirked behind a piece of his hair that he decided to play with to ease his nerves.

You giggled at his antics. “Did he now?” You played around.

“Yeah, he said, uh- the little shrimp said you called him a cutie. Like absolutely wrote it out and everything.” He felt giddy inside that he was making you laugh right now. “And, hey, y’know me, I’m totally not the jealous type or whatever, but that little shit sure did have a blast rubbing it in my face.”

Despite the burn in your cheeks, you couldn’t stop the giggles that were coming out. “Oh, that reminds me,” you opened and dug around your cheer bag, pulling out a damn yearbook, “Nancy had stopped me before the end of the school day and gifted me this bad boy. You wanna be the first to sign it?”

Eddie’s eyebrows had creased his forehead with their sudden rising. “Really? Me?”

“Yeah,” you handed him the book with a retrieved pen from your backpack, where he began his work, “it’ll also give you good leverage over Dustin, and he’ll be begging to sign mine once he finds out you did.”

Eddie laughed, as he scribbled onto the white page of the book. “Y’know, if you need me to talk to Nancy, I could probably convince her to let you back on the committee.”

“Are you crazy?” You huffed out a chuckle. “I committed treason against Nancy Wheeler, I’ve been exiled from the land of Yearbook Committee, there’s no hope of going back for me.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He smiled, as he continued his writing.

“Do you have a really long middle name I don’t know about?” You tried peaking over the book, but he simply scooted away. “Hey, what’s taking you so long?”

“I gotta make this special for you, sweetheart.” He grinned over to you. “Not every day a pretty girl asks me to sign their yearbook.”

You bit your lip to suppress the ever growing smile on your face, as your cheeks heated with fluster. And soon after, Eddie finally handed back your yearbook, where you were met his three-worded message, and an adorable little sketch of a pretty princess being protected by her knight in shining armor—coincidently sporting the lushes locks of a very metal hairstyle—who was saving her from the scary, large dragon:

For the prettiest princess in the land - E.M

Your finger delicately traced his harsh lines, and Eddie melted as he noticed your beaming smile shining brighter than the sun. “I, uh, I would totally let you sign mine, but see, I’m actually protesting the Yearbook Committee for the human rights violation they oppressed onto their ex-member. Totally standing in solidarity for her. And it’s definitely not because I can’t afford one.” He smirked.

“Oh, yeah, no, I totally get it.” you giggled. “Don’t worry, we’ll revolt against the tyrants of the student body government for their complicit association, and overthrow them for the proletariat.”

Oh my god, you were going to make his knees give out.

Eddie rubbed his face with his hands to get it together, but his reddening face was peaking through his cracking facade of staying collected, and you loved it.

“Y’know, Dustin had also mentioned something else during lunch… something about you wanting to marry-”

“Y/N!” Chrissy shouted and waved over. “He said yes, come on!”

You turned to Eddie with the biggest teasing grin on your face. “Oh, saved by the cheerleader. Guess we’ll never know.” You smirked.

“You little-”

“I’ll see you around, Eddie, bye-bye!” You waved him off.

“Have a good night, princess.” He smiled back.

“Be careful,” You pointed to the pack of cigarettes that lingered in his hand. “I don't want you getting sick from those. That’d be awful, Eddie!” You shouted, as you walked away to Chrissy’s father’s car.

Eddie Munson had to run away immediately, his knees were beginning to buckle.

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | @sierrahhh @harrysgothicbitch @niallerlover8022 @aunicornmademedoit @spring-picnics @sleepy-bunnie @eggo-segual @bambi-horror @aheadfullofsteverogers @sademoloser @freakymunson @princess-eddie @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @negativity4you @nope-thanks @allsortsedits @callingmrsbarnes @f0rgggg @hurricane-abigail @sweet-sunflower64

@redlovett @goldstars-to-all @eddiesguitarskills @goslytherin @sashaphantomhive @maxinehufflepuffprincess @emeritusemeritus @angel-upon @middle-of-the-earth @scarletwitchwhore @my-tearsricochet @pixiepaintt @ericasdumbworld @animechick555 @gewrgia-black @hookandchain @roseanddaggerlarry @prestinalove @sebismyhubby @maddsunn

@zoeymunson @corrcdedcoffin @sweetmariihs2 @thefemininemystiquee @monserat @findmeincorneliastreet @sheneedsrocknroll92 @silent-stories @batkin028 @btbabyy

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #the yearbook: club pictures

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theragethatisdesire · 10 months

Text

much ado about nothing chapter 1 - eren x reader - 18+!!!

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

i am so excited for you guys to finally meet the eren that has been haunting my dreams for the last few weeks lol.

specific cws for this chapter: drug use/mentions, alcohol use, a wee pinch of smut (fantasizing specifically), swearing, floch being the actual worst

“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?” - As You Like It by William Shakespeare (Act III, Scene 5)

You take advantage of the short ride to your fourth-floor apartment to release your heavy tote bag from your shoulder, wincing as it crashes against the elevator floor. The little boom makes your head pound, and you rub your eyes hard enough to see stars, trying to suppress a frustrated groan. It’s week six of the semester, midterm week, and as an undergraduate professor, you’re feeling the pressure as much as your students.

You’re feeling the pressure twofold; you may have thirty-five midterm essays to grade, but you also have four to write for your Master’s program, absolutely none of which you’ve started. You’ve called Eldia University home for the last six years, and while the library is essentially a second apartment to you at this point, the four thirteen-hour days you’ve pulled there just this week are starting to take a toll on your sanity.

The front door of your apartment looks like an oasis in a desert, and your knees nearly buckle when you crack the door and the scent of home hits your nose.

“That you?” Historia’s voice reaches your ears, floating from living room.

“Yeah,” you call back, placing your keys on the little decorative key holder Historia bought junior year, slumping with relief when you abandon your tote by the door. You’re burnt out, but Historia has lived with you for almost four years now; being around her is as good as being alone. You scrounge around in the fridge for a well-earned beer, popping it open and rounding the corner to join her in the living room. To your surprise, she isn’t alone.

“Stor?” Your initial reaction is confusion, quickly elevating to alarm when the man sitting across from Historia turns his body to you, giving you a glimpse of several baggies full of pills. Your cute, hand-painted coffee table is currently covered in drugs.

Historia smiles sheepishly. “My professors fucking hate me. Just a little study aid.”

You nod slowly, the panic dissipating in your chest– so she hasn’t fully gone off the deep end. You’ve both used Adderall to get this far along in your academic careers, not liberally, but desperate times and all that.

Now that the source of the pills is sorted, you draw your attention to the unfamiliar man looking laughably huge in comparison to the little Urban Outfitters bean bag he’s perched on. He’s lifted his face to look at you now, eyes none-too-subtly flicking down to where your tits are being pushed together by your crossed arms. Scummy, you think, but oddly enough, you don’t mind. He’s hot, like where-do-they-even-make-guys-like-you hot, deep brown hair pulled into a messy bun and brooding, bloodshot eyes scanning you up and down. The side of his pouty mouth quirks up.

“Hi,” you state awkwardly, offering your name. You’ve partied, sure, but you’ve never been into the druggie scene, never gotten the hang of interacting with these guys that possess the nonchalant confidence that only drug dealers can tout.

“Eren.” The name fits him well, simple but unique. His voice is deeper than you expected, a low rumble. He shuffles through the pill baggies he’s brought with him. “Want anything? I have 40 and 60 milligram Adderalls and Vyvanse, some extended release…”

“I’m clocked out for the day,” you tip your beer bottle at him meaningfully. Eren’s smile grows at your little quip.

“Thought I’d ask while I’m here.”

“Thanks,” you say, unsure of what to do with yourself now. You settle for plopping down beside Historia on the couch, sipping your beer quietly as you watch the little transaction take place on your coffee table. You’re not involved, not after the obligatory introductions, but he’s piqued your interest. You listen as he walks Historia through what she’s purchased, how many, and how much it will cost.

When Historia leaves to grab her wallet, he turns his gaze towards you. “Grad school?”

You’re surprised; he’s so casual, borderline bored, with the way he carries himself that you hadn’t expected idle conversation from him. “Yeah, I teach a couple undergraduate classes, too.”

“That’s a lot,” Eren looks impressed, “you must be pretty smart, then.”

“Pretty broke, you mean. I get a huge discount on my tuition if I teach while I take classes,” you explain. Eren nods along, a curious glint in his green eyes. It strikes you that he’s not just hot, he’s actually pretty, in a grungy, bad-boy sort of way. Historia returns with a beer for herself and her money, snapping you out of your private realization and whatever strange tension has begun to build across the coffee table.

You find yourself admiring his large hands, taking note of the little sparrow tattoo nestled on the back of his hand behind his thumb, watching intently as he counts Historia’s cash. Your stomach twists in a way it hasn’t in a very long time as he bids you goodbye. Oh boy.

“I take this as a sign that we’re going out tonight?” Historia gestures to both of your beers. You’re a little shaken from the last five minutes, blinking slowly as your Shakespeare-saturated brain works through what she’s said.

“I mean, I wasn’t going to go out out, but I could definitely blow off some steam.”

“Thank god you said that,” Historia sighs dramatically, flopping back into her seat beside you and taking a long swig out of her bottle, “Ymir’s going home this weekend, and I’d look like such a sad sack if I went and sat at Scout’s by myself.”

You chuckle, thinking fondly of the grimey dive bar you’ve both developed an affinity for. “That would be pretty pathetic, but I’m happy to be of service. Scout’s it is.”

“Should we text Sasha?” Historia starts rattling on about what she wants to wear– something cute, but not too cute, but not trying not to look cute– and your tired mind drifts back to…Eren, oddly enough. You want to think into why he asked if you were in school, why he looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn’t put together, but you were as realistic as you were imaginative. Sure, Eren didn’t exactly seem the type to make small talk, but you’d known him for all of five seconds. And maybe that wasn’t a look, maybe it was just…his face? You’re out of ideas, mulling it over when Historia snaps her fingers in front of your face.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

You sigh, busted. “Nope. Not one word.”

“Are you seriously that braindead from the library? And here I was thinking you got home early today,” Historia shakes her head pityingly.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, and before you can stop yourself: “How do you know that Eren guy?”

“I was going to ask how you didn’t know Eren,” Historia says, eyes widening incredulously, “who was your dealer in college?”

You grimace. “Floch.”

“Figures,” Historia rolls her eyes with a visible shudder, “I still don’t know why you ever–”

“Stor, focus,” you reroute her before that unfortunate conversation can be rehashed, “Eren?”

“I think he sold Ymir and me some molly at a party sophomore year– no, wait, maybe junior?” Historia shrugs. “I don’t really know, actually. He’s just one of those guys everyone knows one way or the other.”

“Not me I guess,” you take a sip, trying your best to look nonchalant. Historia knows you too well, however, a wicked grin playing at her mouth.

“You think he’s cute, don’t you?”

“What? No, he’s like, a sketchy drug dealer. No way.” Your face grows warm, betraying you.

“Eren’s not sketchy,” Historia says decisively. She catches the disbelieving expression on your face. “He’s really not. He lives like, three blocks from us, and he hangs out with Armin and them.”

“Armin?” You picture the soft-spoken blonde man you’ve befriended from your graduate courses who always wears sweater vests and prefers tea to coffee. Armin’s damn near a genius, far too bright for your small program. “Like, Armin Armin?”

“They’re like, best friends,” Historia affirms, “see? Not sketch. Plus, he’s super fucking hot.”

“You’re literally a lesbian,” you deadpan, “how would you know?”

“I may fuck women, but I have eyes,” Historia smirks, “plus, he was totally checking you out. When was the last time you even got laid?”

Embarrassingly, you have to think on that one. It’s been at least since before the semester started, and you were so busy with those summer courses, not to mention that bartending job you’d taken for extra cash… “I…I honestly don’t know.”

“See?” Historia wiggles her feet under her bottom excitedly, sitting up on her knees. “I have his number–”

“I am literally twenty-four years old. Don’t you think we’re a little too mature to run around fucking our drug dealers?”

“On account of my lovely, beautiful girlfriend and aforementioned lesbianism, I am. You, on the other hand, are not,” Historia grins, pulls out her phone, “you sure you don’t even want his Snapchat?”

“My Snapchat career died when I drank my last Four Loko like, three years ago,” you scoff, shoving her phone away from you. “Don’t you have a not-cute outfit to put on, anyway?”

Historia narrows her eyes at you. “It’s not not cute, it’s trying not to be cute while simultaneously being cute!”

“What?”

“I actually confused myself a little with that one,” she admits, scratching her head, “but you’re right. The sooner we can get to the bar, the better.”

You both scramble through the pile of clean clothing on your floors, each of you too busy and overworked to bother putting it away, and before you know it, you’re in your happy place: chatting with Sasha and Historia, tucked snug against the sticky bar at Scout’s. You’ve all been coming here since the fake ID days; you still remember Historia’s twenty-first, when she had smacked her real driver’s license into the chest of the grumpy old barkeep, Levi, with a triumphant “Ha!”. He’d given you all a round of free shots, and then promptly thrown you out and banned you for a week as time-out. You’d all taken to calling him “Captain” because of the way he ran his bar tight like a navy ship.

“Oh, Captain Levi!” Sasha sing-songs down the bar at him, waving her empty beer bottle and blowing him a kiss. Levi’s unimpressed, dropping another Bud Light onto a coaster in front of her and walking away without a word. “He hates me.”

“He hates you,” you agree, nodding into– what is this, your third beer? Fourth? You’ve already resigned yourself to a lazy Saturday morning, deciding (after some prodding from Historia and Sasha) that your overworked brain deserves more than a two-hour break.

“I don’t get why,” Sasha pouts, digging her hand into the complimentary peanuts the Captain had flung at you upon arrival, “I always tip well.”

“You have to tip well because you annoy the shit out of him every time we come,” Historia corrects her, glancing towards the door.

You frown at her. “Who are you looking for? That’s like, the fourth time you’ve checked the door since we got here.”

Historia makes a show of faux-innocence, checking her phone and looking back at the door again. “No one.”

“Ymir’s out of town, and we’re both here, so that rules out the only suspects I can think of,” Sasha shrugs. You watch Historia closely, the way she checks her phone every few moments, the way her eyes haven’t landed anywhere but you or the door for the last ten minutes, remembering the way she had insisted you tug your shirt down to bare a little more cleavage a few minutes ago…your heart drops.

“You. Fucking. Didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Historia’s got a smile tucked under her teeth now, another glance toward the door.

“You didn’t!”

“Didn’t what?” Sasha whips back and forth between you two, panicked. “Didn’t what?”

“You did not invite him.”

“I didn’t invite him–”

“Who?” Sasha demands. You seethe, refusing to take your withering glare off of Historia.

“Her fucking dealer.”

“You have a dealer now, Stor?” Sasha’s eyes fly wide with worry.

“He’s not my dealer,” Historia rolls her eyes, “it’s Eren.”

“Eren Jaeger?” Sasha calms instantly, even looking bored. “Why does that matter? Is he bringing Armin?”

“He came over earlier, and he was totally checking her out–”

You interrupt Historia’s explanation, exasperated. “How does everyone know Eren?”

“I told you, he’s just one of those guys–”

“Everyone knows, I know,” you grumble, taking a long sip, “but even Sasha knows him, and I don’t? I mean, come on.”

“I only know him through Connie,” Sasha pets your arm, chastising, “and my old roommate was hooking up with him for awhile. He’s seriously packing.”

“I heard that!” Historia practically squeals, shaking Sasha’s arm. “Is it true?”

“Who cares?” You shoot daggers at both of them, well aware that you’re making a show out of your annoyance. A small part of your brain does care what’s lurking behind Eren’s zipper, but it’s not like you’re going to act on it. “Why did you invite him, Historia? We don’t even know the guy.”

“I told you,” Historia shows you her phone, proof on the screen, “I didn’t invite him. I just happened to mention we’d be here, and it turns out he’s coming anyway. See?”

> thanks for coming by such short notice earlier! is anyone having a kickback tonight? we’re stopping in at scouts but not sure ab later.

> Not that i know of but me and min will be there later i have a few guys picking up around 10 see u then.

The English major part of your brain instantly hates the way he texts; what kind of psycho doesn’t include a single punctuation mark in between three independent clauses excepting a period at the end?

“He texts like he’s illiterate,” you wrinkle your nose. Historia and Sasha groan.

“He’s a dude, he probably is illiterate, but who cares? I’m talking like eight inches–” Sasha’s cut off by Captain Levi reaching across the bar to slam her beer back onto its coaster from where she had moved it onto the hardwood, fixing her with a disgusted glare. “Oops.”

“Poor Captain,” you muse, watching as he dutifully polishes a set of clean tumbler glasses. “No wonder he hates you.”

“He hates everyone, if it makes you feel any better.” A familiar voice floats over your shoulder, and you smile, swiveling on your barstool to lock eyes with Armin. You hug him like you hadn’t just seen him this morning, the few drinks you’ve had pushing you to be a little over affectionate.

“How are you?”

“Thirsty,” Armin responds, smiling bashfully. Your excitement fizzles into nerves when you notice who’s behind him. Eren got his hands tucked into the pockets of a well-loved, olive-green hoodie (that makes his eyes pop, an unhelpful part of your brain notices), one corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Funny seeing you here,” Eren exchanges a conspiratorial glance with Historia, one that makes your entire face warm.

“Very funny,” you say dryly, shooting a nasty look in Historia’s direction, “work or pleasure?”

“Mostly the former,” Eren says, reaching over the bar to grab two beers from the ice well, “but might as well.”

Your jaw drops; you look back to the Captain, waiting for him to throw Eren out of his bar, but the Captain simply nods coolly at Eren, returning to his polishing.

“How did you just survive that?” You can’t help but gape at him. Eren hands one of the beers to Armin, shrugging.

“I keep half of his late-night staff awake and on-task. Call it a perk of the job.” You want to hate the ease with which he says it, but the lack of arrogance in his voice stops you. He’s not like other dealers you’ve met, always covered in tacky face tattoos and posting Instagram stories of, like, three hundred dollars, showing it off like it’s enough to buy more than a decent used TV with. In fact, you couldn’t picture Eren showing anything off; he’s self-assured, but not smug. Cool, but not out of touch.

“We’ve been coming here for years, and the Captain still hates us.” You’re loath to admit it, but you’re a little– but just a little– impressed. Eren raises an eyebrow at Sasha behind you, telling some story to Armin that evidently requires so much enthusiasm that she’s waving her hands wildly, nearly knocking her beer over. Armin catches the bottle as it happens, looking over his shoulder anxiously at Levi.

“I wonder why.”

“Sasha’s just…” you want to defend your friend, but she’s busy tipping her beer over for the second time, “easily excited.”

“And you’re not?” Eren asks quizzically, amusement clear on his face. In comparison to his unreadable resting expression, any form of emotion looks good crossing his features. A nervous fluttering erupts in your stomach, one you desperately try to quell.

“Hey! I’m fun, just…not as fun as Sasha.”

“I don’t think many people are,” Eren agrees, wincing as Sasha’s beer finally escapes Armin’s quick fingers, crashing over the bar. Levi rushes over to scold her, something that makes both of you laugh.

When you turn back to Eren, his eyes are looking over the top of your head in the direction of the door. A sandy-haired frat dude has entered, looking around and tapping his foot with an obviousness that rivals having walked in with a huge neon sign that read Looking for my plug. Annoyance flickers on Eren’s face for a moment, and he sighs.

“Gimme a sec,” he sets his beer beside yours, “I’ll be right back.”

You haven’t indulged in the conversation long enough to require the promise of a return, but as you watch him walk towards the door, steer the frat dude into a corner you know the cameras don’t catch, you catch a hint of excitement in yourself for him to come back. You pick anxiously at the label on your beer bottle, putting conscious effort into looking anywhere but the back of Eren’s head until an unpleasant, familiar scent envelops you. Your stomach roils.

“Hey you,” Floch slides into Eren’s formerly-occupied spot, smiling saccharinely sweet, “where have you been hiding?”

You can practically feel Historia and Sasha bristling behind you; Floch isn’t an ex, exactly, more like a prolonged series of lapses in judgment. You sigh, trying to look just interested in him enough not to be rude.

“You know me, I stay busy.”

“So busy you can make time for Scout’s without inviting me?”

You feel the grimace flicker momentarily across your face. “You’re here anyway, aren’t you?”

“Would have come earlier if I knew you were going to be here,” he gets closer, his tacky cologne clouding the air around you. You nearly groan; what had ever possessed you to hook up with this guy? Multiple times? The thorn he is in your side now is what you deserve for your stupidity.

“Can we just cut to the chase?” You surprise even yourself with how curt you sound. “I’m too busy for anything like…that at the moment.”

Floch pouts, contrived innocence on his freckled face. “Anything like what?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Eren’s pushing his way back into the spot he’d been standing, interrupting whatever weak-willed excuse you were preparing to offer Floch. Floch’s clearly flustered, moving aside to make room for Eren, eyes flickering between the both of you.

“Hey Jaeger, good to see you again, man,” Floch slaps a stiff hand on Eren’s shoulder. The look on Eren’s face can only be described as a mixture of bewilderment and thinly-veiled distaste; you have to hide your snicker behind your hand.

“Yeah, you too…?”

“Floch Forster,” Floch’s eyes dart off to the side, a light flush rising to his cheeks. “I think we actually met a while ago, at Onyo’s birthday thing? I’m a friend of hers.”

Eren’s eyes meet yours; you try to make the most subtle expression you can to alert Eren to the fact that you and Floch are most definitely not friends. Eren inclines his head ever so slightly to confirm that he’s picked up on your signal, turning to Floch and using the few inches he has on him to bully the other man further out of your space.

“Okay well, Floch, we were sort of in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind…”

You blink, startled at Eren’s bluntness, the sort of outright tone that’s only used by someone who can back up their shit. Floch’s taken aback, backing up by a foot or so, but he furrows his brow. He’s never been one to go down easy.

“In the middle of what, exactly? We can’t all be friends?”

Eren chuckles lightly, but the threat is there. “No.”

Floch’s features twist with anger. “What’s your problem, dude?”

“No problem,” Eren says coolly, “just in the middle of something.”

Floch looks to you to confirm, and you nod your head silently, angling your barstool towards Eren to make your point. “I’ll see you around, Floch.”

“Yeah,” Floch’s frown grows deeper, but he mercifully makes his way back to his table, “see ya.”

A beat of pregnant, awkward silence passes between you and Eren as Floch retreats, the unasked question weighing the air down between you.

“So, he’s not–”

“Please tell me that isn’t–”

You both speak at the same time, cutting yourselves off with a laugh. Eren brings his beer to his lips, grinning. “You first.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s not an ex.”

Eren raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Could have fooled me.”

“He’s just…a bad decision or two, that’s all.” That’s as gently as you can put it without bringing up the days when you were as fun as Sasha, maybe even more so, pounding as much tequila as you could get your hands on and going home with more than a few unsavory characters. You’ve left most of that life behind now, but Floch loves to rear his head at the worst moments and rarely backs down without a fight. “Thanks for getting him out of here, by the way.”

“You didn’t seem overly interested,” Eren finishes his beer, leans forward onto the bar and makes a little hand signal to Levi. You smirk.

“Only get the first round free?”

“Two more,” Eren ignores your teasing to speak to Levi, pointing between himself and your near-empty bottle. He pulls out a twenty, slides it to Levi, holds up his hand when Levi offers him change.

“Big spender too, huh?”

Eren rolls his eyes, something playful toying at the corner of his mouth. “Just because me and ‘Min drink for free, doesn’t mean you do. If I’m getting you a beer, I’m going to pay for it.”

“And tip triple what it’s worth?”

“Honestly,” Eren leans close to you and lowers his voice, something woody and intoxicating wafting off of him, “I think I pissed off your ex, and if he’s anything like the guy I think he is, he’s going to get trashed and try to fight the pinball machine in the corner. It’s the least I can do.”

His proximity goes to your head, makes your brain cloudy. He’s close enough that you can see his pulse thudding in his throat. You swallow hard, scramble for a response. “Aren’t you quite the philanthropist? And he’s not my ex.”

“Go tell him that,” Eren scoffs, “get the pinball fight on early.”

“Do you talk to every girl like this?”

“Like what?”

“Patronizing,” you say accusingly, letting a sip of cold beer wash over your tongue, hoping it will shock you out of your little trance. To your surprise, a divot appears between Eren’s thick brows and his bottom lip sticks out a bit in a pout.

“‘M not trying to be patronizing,” he leans on the bar, god, now he’s even closer, “sorry if it came off that way.”

“I was teasing,” you smile half-heartedly, leaning back in your barstool to get a few precious inches between you two.

“I just…really don’t like that kid. Gives me a bad vibe.”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head there,” you agree, chancing a glance back over your shoulder to the redheaded man at the hightop. Floch doesn’t notice you peeking, too caught up in making a group of underclassmen who are definitely underage giggle demurely at whatever he was saying. That was always something you hated about him; he was so showy, always having to establish himself as the center of attention in every room. He was just so unlike…Eren. You want to smack a palm to your forehead, knock the thought right out of your brain.

Something catches Eren’s attention, and you turn to look. Yet another antsy frat boy is hovering by the door, sweating bullets. Eren glances down at you apologetically, but you only smile back at him, understanding.

“Go ahead.”

“Two seconds,” Eren promises, pressing his beer into your hand as a guarantor of his return.

The next hour or so passes in mostly the same fashion; Eren alternates between standing beside you and making inconspicuous handshakes with a few more customers that come ambling into the bar. Some are anxiety-ridden like the first two, some appear to be friends, clapping Eren on the back and pulling a bright, genuine smile out of him that makes your stomach do backflips. You shoot the shit in the meantime, bickering over trivial topics like the best late-night pizza shops around and which streaming service is actually worth the money.

You don’t learn anything too substantial about Eren, but you do learn a few things. He seems to enjoy listening to you talk about literature, a welcome change from Historia and Sasha, psychology graduate students who tend to zone out whenever you let a term like “character development” slip. His eyes light up when you go into a detailed rant about how Hamlet isn’t overrated and anyone who thinks it is just doesn’t know how to properly analyze it, and he cackles when you inform him that Dante’s Inferno is essentially Bible-based fanfiction that has irreparably altered the Christian religion for the worse.

You learn that family is a sore spot, an innocent, obligatory question from you about life back home casting a shadow over Eren’s face. You immediately backtrack, of course, but pocket his reaction so you can avoid the topic later. You learn that he’s a cat person; he has a little black kitten at home named Gumi from his favorite anime. You learn that he’s deathly allergic to pistachios, but not any other nuts for some reason that his childhood doctors could never pinpoint. Most recently, you’ve learned that he hates tequila, basing this observation on his fake-retching reaction when Sasha orders a round of shots.

He raises his eyebrows, impressed, when you throw yours back without flinching. “So you’re a tequila girl, huh?”

“I’m blowing off steam,” you brush him off. You can hear your voice developing a slight slur to it, though, and behind you, Sasha and Historia are starting to sing some old, classic rock song you used to pregame with. You know your fun night out has started to reach its expiration date.

“Not driving, right?”

“God no,” you shake your head vigorously, “I live around the corner, remember?”

“That’s right,” Eren’s mouth quirks up in a way that makes you think he’s not thinking about the past, but of a potential future he could file that address away for. Warmth pools in your stomach, bubbling low and molten in your core; yeah, you need to get out of here.

“Speaking of…” you pull your purse around to set it in your lap, rifling through it for your credit card, “we should probably head that way soon. When I start taking shots and Sasha starts singing, it’s bedtime.”

Eren blushes; you have to hold back a giddy laugh at how cute it looks on him. “You don’t need that.”

“Don’t need what?’

“Your card.”

You roll your eyes at him. “I get that you have friends in high places here, but my name is permanently engraved on the Captain’s shit list, so I actually have to pay my tab.”

“I, uh, sorta took care of it while you were in the bathroom. Figured you’d be heading out soon.” Eren rubs a hand over the back of his neck. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he almost looks bashful.

You blink, processing his words. “Eren…you didn’t have to do that.”

“Wanted to,” he shrugs, turning to face the community of sticky bottles on Levi’s side of the bar, the pink on his cheeks deepening.

“I’m going home alone,” you clarify, just in case you’ve given him the wrong impression. Well, it might not necessarily be the wrong impression; you’ve been trying to keep the simmering under your skin contained all night, but you’re still not going to take him home…at least not the first day you’ve met him, you tell yourself.

“Yeah, I know,” he chuckles, “I didn’t pay because I thought it’d convince you to go home with me. Sometimes people are just nice.”

You’re a little stunned. Somehow you think you’d be less surprised if he had said he paid it with the expectation of you fucking him. “...right. Well, thank you, anyway. You really didn’t have to.”

“No problem,” Eren’s air of casual coolness has returned, he slings an arm around your shoulder when you slide off of your barstool to land on the floor beside him, squeezing your body tight to his in a little half-hug. “It was cool talking to you. Sure you don’t need an escort?”

He eyes Sasha and Historia behind you, giving their goodbyes to Armin via a peppering of kisses all over his now-red face. You shake your head up at him, feeling rather incapacitated with the weight of his muscly arm bearing down on your shoulders. “I think we’ll survive.”

“I’ll see you soon, then.” The promise glitters in his eyes as it leaves his lips, leaves your head in a whirl.

To your disappointment, he hugs Historia and Sasha goodbye, too, and you make your drunken way home, arms linked as you charge through the October chill. Your friends beg for details of your night, Historia gloating intermittently, but you aren’t even sure what to tell them. Nothing of importance had really happened, and yet, it felt like it had.

As you drift into what will hopefully be a long night of much-needed sleep, you try to make a mental list of all the things you need to do to set up your class’ next unit. You’re moving onto Shakespeare, but your hazy mind keeps inexplicably wandering back to green eyes, plush lips, long fingers wrapping around a sweaty bottle. You hadn’t actually been lying to Floch when you told him you were far too busy for anything remotely resembling male companionship for the time being, but something about Eren…he was stuck to your dwindling consciousness, the most irrelevant details of your conversation together playing on a loop in your head. Much ado about nothing, indeed.

#aot x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren x you #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #mabn #aot fanfiction #aot smut

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kai-anderson-whore · 8 months

Note

Can I have an Evan request? Could it be that they have an age gap (I’m 22 lol) and she is insecure and it ends with fluff and maybe smut??

Of course sorry it took a bit to write and I hope you like it🥰

Do you love me? (Evan peters x fem reader smut)

Summary: you and Evan have been secretly dating for six months but you don’t want to hide anymore

Warnings: smut, fluff, p in v intercourse, self doubt, questioning of relationships, private relationships let me know if I missed anything

Word count: 1,6k

•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•..•°˚˚°•.•¤❅¤•.•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•.

You sat on your boyfriend's bed strolling through instagram seeing all the photos of the event he had attended last night. You hadn't attended the event since you and Evan weren't publicly a couple. You knew Evan likes to keep his personal life private but you couldn't help but feel insecure you had been dating for a little over six months and you couldn't go and do normal couple things because no one knew.

You could say you love him but neither of you said it yet. He was a few years older than you you were 22 and him only just turning 36. You knew if you both came out publicly about your relationship some may have not so nice opinions but you didn't care. Evan made you happy unlike anyone had before in previous relationships. He is kind, funny, humbling despite his line of work and just the most sweetest person ever.

You just worship the ground that man walks on. But the worry and insecurities still remain within you, 'I'm I really good enough for him?', 'does he love me?', 'is he going to break up with me that's why we aren't public?'. The thoughts ate you up. Biting your nails looking at how happy he was in photos with other celebrities.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Evan walking in with a towel wrapped securely around his waist, droplets of water dripping from his hair. "Hey babe" he smiled sweetly grabbing some clean underwear and sweatpants from his drawer. "Hey" you mumbled still lost inside your head you hadn't realised that Evan placed a chaste kiss on your lips.

"You okay?" He asked noticing your lack of awareness. You nodded your head saying you were fine but Evan knew you weren't. "Are you sure you look like your about to cry, come on babe talk to me" he whispered now sitting down in front of you. Your head hung low in shame the tears pricked your eyes.

"Hey don't cry" his voice become more soft like you would crumble at any given moment. His arms wrapped around your frame as you just sobbed into his arms. Evan just let you cry everything out till you were ready to talk, his hand rubbing your back soothing you, soft whispers of "it's okay" and "just let it all out" whilst placing his lips on top of your head.

You stayed huddled into his bare chest for about five minutes just letting all the buildup of your suppressed emotions out finally. "Evan do you even like me?" You asked not looking into his eyes fearing they would show you something that you didn't want to see. Evan scrunched his face in confusion not knowing where this had came from. He was absolutely smitten with you from the moment he laid eyes on you and it was beyond him why you would think differently.

A soft chuckle of disbelief and nervousness left Evans lips "what makes you say that?" He asked his hand still stroking your back comfortingly. You finally looked up at him seeing a pang of hurt within his brown orbs. "It's just your friends know about us and that but we can't even go out in public because we aren't official I'm not caring about the media and all that I just want the hiding to stop it's killing me" you sobbed more.

Evan hadn't realised that it upset you that much. He would love to be open about your relationship to everyone but with the past and who he is he preferred to have a private life. "I didn't know it upset you y/n I completely understand why it is upsetting you but I want you to know over these past six months you shook up my whole world for the better, and yes I do like you a lot in fact it's not even that anymore" Evan paused taking a deep breath unsure if he should drop the bomb on you both at this moment.

"It's what Evan?" You asked feeling scared incase he took his words back. You studied his every feature focusing more so on his perfect brown eyes. They showed something more towards you. Evan parted his lips licking them "I love you y/n" he blurted out. Your eyes went wide he finally said those three words that you had been dying to hear.

"W-what" you lowly gasped not fully processing what he just said. "I love you and I'm so sorry for making you feel like this and questioning my feelings towards you. but god y/n I love the bones off you and we should go public about your relationship" Evan remained his strong eye contact with you. You felt your heard swell with joy from his words. The tears that treacle down your face went from sorrow to pure joy.

"I love you too Evan" you whispered a smile cracked on to Evans lips before crashing them on your own plumped ones. The kiss wasn't like anything before it was soft yet full with passion, like he was trying to express himself more or like it would be the very last kiss you'd ever have.

His hand placed on your cheek holding you close. your lips moved in sync your hands tangled through his locks as he gently pushed you further down the mattress his body shifted between your legs, his hand moved to your side caressing your soft skin from beneath your thin nightdress. The other supporting him upright. You could feel his erection hidden by the towel on your inner thigh slightly grinding against the bare skin for friction.

A small whine left your lips as Evan pulled away only to remove your nightdress only leaving you in your underwear. "God how did I get so lucky" he happily sighed before pressing his lips back on yours. He swiped his tongue along your bottom lip seeking entry which you accepted. Your tongues danced with each other your hands trailed along his arms down to his chest driving Evan wild.

Your hands went lower hovering over the towel covering him, slightly tugging on the fabric for it to drop off Evans hips. You bit your lip in excitement as Evan began pulling your panties down discarding them on the wooden floor. You could feel the heat raising within your heat the anticipation clawing at you waiting on his next move.

Evan lined himself up with your entrance your core desperate to be fulfilled. With one gentle push of his hips he entered slowly into you, you lowly gasped your hands on his shoulders. Your face scrunched as Evan pushed deeper into you but his lips peppered along your skin as a way to focus on something else.

“It’s okay baby” he whispered in your ear pulling out almost fully before thrusting into you passionately, a moan left your lips your hands making their way to evans back slightly digging your nails into his back earning a groan from him.

“I love you so much” Evan’s hot breath fanned your face, a droopy smile on his lips, passion and admiration within his brown eyes. “I love you too” you hummed lightly as Evan picked up a steady passionate rhythm. Both of your breathing became heavy, your mind clouded by Evan you were completely like putty in his hands.

The room soon was filled by moans and grunts from you both. Evan started to pick up the pace of his thrusts into you, his head dipping into your shoulders, your hands tugging at his hair driving him wild. A repeat of “I love you’s” left both your lips. It wasn’t like anything you did before it was like you both unlocked this new passion for one another a whole new meaning as your body’s united as one.

“I’m so close Evan” you moaned out your hips bucking upwards as Evan hit that spot guaranteed to make you see stars. “Me too baby” he says slick sweat decorating your skin, you hair tossled over the pillow but Evan thought you couldn’t get anymore beautiful. The way your eyes would roll back with each thrust he delivered to you, the your lips would part open letting your moans slip freely like music to his ears.

With a few more thrusts you felt that knot in your core begin to unravel. another loud moan left your lips as you reached your climax, your back arched a “fuck fuck” you cried out the euphoric feeling of your orgasm triggering Evan’s filling you up with his hot seed. His thrusts were sloppy milking you through your highs till he practically collapsed on top of you.

All you could hear was heavy breathing your hand strokes the back of Evan’s neck trying to regain your breaths. “I really mean it y/n I love you” Evan stated glancing at you with those eyes that always captivate you into a trance. “I know I love you too” you smiled sweetly with sleepy eyes.

Evan pulled out of you a whimpered sigh escaping from your lips at the loss of contact. Evan grabbed a towel helping you get cleaned up. You throw on your nightdress back on once you were all clean Evan discarded the towel in the dirty laundry basket in the corner of the room before climbing into bed with you.

You laid your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you holding you close. “Goodnight y/n” he mumbles sleepily “goodnight Evan I love you” you yawned eyes closed but you could feel him smiling down at you “I love you too”.

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honeyedmiller · 7 months

Text

Something In the Orange | Joel Miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, post-outbreak!Joel, takes place in Jackson, tiny bit of angst if u squint, implied smut, Ellie and Joel are on good terms (cus I said so okay? okay d:), established relationship, age gap (unmentioned), pet names, no use of y/n. 18+, minors dni.

word count: 1.7k

synopsis: you and joel enjoy a peaceful autumn morning together.

just felt sappy and soft bc autumn is finally here (still waiting for the weather to cool down in socal though lol) but here's a little one shot full of comfort and fluff

When you were little, you never understood why your grandparents enjoyed sitting out on their front porch for hours on end.

Now that you’re older, wiser, and the apocalyptic world seemed to have consumed your soul, you got it.

There was something in the simplicity of just sitting and enjoying nature as it was. You hadn’t been granted that luxury of simplicity in twenty years.

Now, you sit on the front porch of your shared home in your lover’s flannel and a pair of sweats adorning your body, blanket wrapped over your shoulders, and a hot cup of coffee simmering in your hand.

It was peaceful. Autumn was here, and she greeted Jackson wholly with hues of oranges, reds and browns, golden sunlight rising just above the horizon at six forty-five in the morning.

You knew the sun’d wake Joel soon enough. You left him his favorite mug on the counter and the rest of the coffee in the old coffee pot Maria and Tommy graciously gifted you two when you moved into your new home.

You, Ellie and Joel were still adjusting to Jackson. Adjusting to the community, adjusting to not having to scavenge for food, adjusting to the thought of not having to watch your back every five seconds, and adjusting to the fact that you were safe. Joel was here, you were here, you had a home, a comfy and warm bed, and you had safety.

Something you never in your life thought you’d take for granted, until the first day of the outbreak. Safety wasn’t something you had in twenty years.

Of course, you felt safe with Joel. You knew he’d do anything in his power to make sure you and Ellie were alright.

You also knew adjusting to this new life in Jackson was hitting him the hardest. Ellie’d made a few friends by now, slowly getting into the groove of things around here. You’d spent a lot of time with Maria and the newest Miller baby, helping around the community in any way that you could. Joel went on patrol with Tommy and a few others frequently just to keep the community safe.

But, in the early morning hours, Joel’d be drenched in sweat and writhe unknowingly in his sleep until you woke him up from whatever terrible nightmare he’d been having, soothing him back to sleep as you brushed your fingers through his damp curls and he clung onto you for dear life.

The first couple of months were the roughest for him. If he wasn’t having those nightmares, he’d be tossing and turning, wide awake until the sun came up. He was bone-tired and grumpy all of the time.

Luckily, things seemed to get a bit better over time. You both didn’t jolt awake and the slightest little sound anymore. You both got to sleep in. No one had to stay on watch while the other slept. You could both also enjoy intimate moments in peace now, too.

There was no rushing. No need for a quickie (unless Joel was feeling friskier than usual around you when he’d downed a few glasses of whiskey and consensually had to have his way with you in the bathroom of the Tipsy Bison). You both could enjoy each other in all glory. It was all slow kisses and the taste of pine scented skin and the slow drag of fingertips over each other’s bodies and fulfilling each other’s despair for one another.

Slowing down and enjoying your newfound life in Jackson with Joel and Ellie had been everything you’ve wished for since you three left the Boston QZ. You’d all been through hell and back, and you finally had paradise to live in.

You looked out ahead of you, seeing the red and orange leaves swirl around in the light breeze. It was a colder morning, with fresh dewdrops on the grass and the smell of earth wafting around you.

You heard the front door of the house open, seeing Joel appear with slightly messy hair, body adorned in plaid pajama pants and a black sweater. He looked so handsome even in the dawn of the day. He held his favorite coffee mug in hand, padding over to where you sat. You scooted over for him, the soreness between the apex of your thighs making you wince a bit.

Joel’d made the sweetest love to you the previous night and into the early hours of the morning, whispering to you how beautiful you were and how lucky he was to have you.

Joel was never a man of many words and surely had a hard time saying his emotions, but for you, he had no problem showing you how much he really loved you.

“Mornin’, honey.” Joel murmured as he sat down next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders as he pulled you into his body. Joel’s body radiated so much warmth that the slight chill you felt was instantly gone as you snuggled into him. You hummed as you took a sip of your coffee, resting your head on his shoulder afterward. He turned his head down to you to kiss your temple, letting his lips linger for a few seconds.

“Good morning, my love.” You say, planting your free hand on his knee.

You and Joel loved to spend your days off close to each other, enjoying each other’s presence—even if it was doused in pure silence. Just being by his side or in his arms was the quiet reassurance that kept you going.

Joel’s grip tightened around your shoulder as his thumb brushed your flannel-clad arm in a soothing, back and forth motion.

“‘S a beautiful mornin’ out.” Joel’s voice is soft and steady; a voice he only reserved for you and Ellie. He was brooding and constantly sported a harsh brow while towering over most residents in Jackson, but with you, the only lines on his face that appeared were his crow’s feet when you made him smile or laugh.

“It is. ‘M so happy we can finally just do this.” You sigh, sipping your coffee once more.

“Do what, darlin’?” He asks, using a free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He kissed your forehead tenderly this time, then your nose. He smiled softly down at you as he awaited your explanation.

“Just… sit. In peace. Enjoy each other’s company. It’s all almost so… normal, being here with you. ‘S finally starting to feel like home. Our home, Joel.”

He squeezed your arm the tiniest bit before finally bringing his lips down to yours. He tasted like coffee and mint toothpaste.

“You are my home, baby. Wherever you go, I’m there with you. I love you.” Joel’s voice is just above a whisper, as if he said his words any louder it would ruin the sacredness of them.

“I love you too.”

He brings you in for another tender kiss before pulling apart from you. The sunlight caressed Joel’s tan skin with an ethereal glow, allowing you to bask in how handsome he was. It was rare when he wouldn’t shy away from your adoring stare. He’d always grumble that he wasn’t much to look at or to ‘quit starin’, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

Now that the days were shorter and nights were longer, you took advantage of just simply admiring him while the daylight encapsulated his beautiful features. Full, brownish-gray hair, beautiful brown eyes that looked like honey in the sunlight, tan skin that was peppered with freckles and tiny scars, a strong nose that fit his face perfectly, a (now) neatly groomed mustache with a sparse beard to tie it together.

“Quit starin’ at me like that, darlin’.” Joel chuckled, shaking his head.

“What, I can’t admire my man?” Joel’s heart always skipped a beat when you threw any endearment his way, but you calling him your man was the icing on the cake.

A tinge of a blush dusted his cheekbones, and you grinned as you brought a hand up to his soft hair.

“Don’t go all shy on me now, Miller.” Your teased, and he rolled his eyes while shaking his head.

“Shut up.” He mumbled playfully against your lips, pressing his lips to yours once more.

“Yeah? Why don’t you make me, cowboy?” You quirked a brow as you moved your body back, actively avoiding Joel’s kisses of affection. He grinned at you and set his now-empty coffee mug on the wooden planks of the porch beneath you both, wrapping an arm around your waist as he buried his face into your neck. He began to pepper kisses along your pulse point, making you laugh. He nipped at your skin in a couple of spots, shuffling your bodies so his hips were slotted between your legs.

It wasn’t like him to show this much PDA on the front porch of your home where a bystander could easily see you both, but you loved that he didn’t seem to have a care in the world at the moment.

His face hovered over yours once more, knuckles brushing against your collarbone and down your sternum. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your hands cup his face gently, thumbs swiping over his cheekbones as you stared at him lovingly. You turn your head to the side in the slightest to admire the sun now adorning the red and orange leaves on the ground with rays of gold, giving the atmosphere around you an orange glow.

Autumn had always been your favorite season. It reminded you of a simpler time when you were younger. Your grandmother would bake ghost sugar cookies with you and watch Halloweentown every time it came on TV, and your parents would take you trick-or-treating until you finally decided that you were “too old” at the age of thirteen. Oh, how you wished you weren’t in a hurry to grow up.

It reminded you that there’s beauty even in an untimely ending. That’s what most things in this apocalyptic life were: untimely endings.

But you were here, in Jackson, safe with the love of your life right above you. You turned your head back to him, kissing him once more as the rigid air chilled you once again.

“Take me to bed, Joel. Please.” You whisper, and he gets up from above you slowly, holding out his hand to you as you made your way into your home, needy fingers gripping at warm skin and teeth colliding as you both desperately kissed one another trying to make it upstairs to your bedroom.

When you finally did, you both relished in the peacefulness this life in Jackson had to offer, the early October sun shining through your window as you both found home within each other once again.

tag list: @pamasaur ; @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin ; @cool-iguana ; @party-hearses ; @nostalxgic ; @amanitacowboy ; @worhols ; @planet-marz1

#joel miller #joel miller one shot #joel miller fluff #post outbreak!joel #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagines #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller blurb #joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller story #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal one shot

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 6 days

Text

The Dangers of Hope Epilogue

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: None.

Word Count: 5,849

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: So this is it, the epilogue, the end. I'm so sad to say goodbye to this series. I've really loved writing it, even if it kicked my ass a couple of times. I know I've said this already, but it definitely bears repeating - I'm so unbelievably grateful for the love and support you've all shown this series. Thanks so much - and I hope you enjoy this little peak into Dean and Y/N's lives a decade later. This ended up about twice as long as I'd planned. Lol! Enjoy! ❤️

Main Master List || Series Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

Spring, 10 Years Later

The rumbling engine of the Impala was silenced as Dean pulled into the garage and parked Baby in her spot. The camp had eight cars now, so they'd had to expand the garage two summers before. The cars got shuffled around all the time, but Baby always kept her spot on the end. Everyone knew it was her spot.

The late afternoon sun shone in through the garage windows as Dean removed the keys from the ignition and pushed them back into his black, denim jacket pocket.

Sam was sitting beside him and shot him a questioning look when Dean didn't immediately jump out. “Dean?”

Dean nodded and then looked over at his little brother. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

Sam sighed. He'd already answered this question from his brother, in various forms, three or four times.

The Deerling Survivors Camp, a small camp located almost seventy miles away, had sent a message to Dean a week earlier, requesting a face-to-face meeting. Dean had asked Sam to come along and they'd stayed overnight at the fledgling camp. The pseudo-leader there, just a young kid who’d been thrust into the role, had asked them to let Deerling join Camp Chitaqua, and after seeing the shape of the camp, Dean had agreed on the spot.

Years earlier the four smaller camps surrounding Chitaqua had joined them, expanding the camp by miles and miles and raising the population by more than two hundred people. It had been a big decision, and Dean had consulted with the council for a couple days before agreeing to the expansion.

It was a very good decision in the end, since they now had enough land to plant six, four acre farm plots. They made sure to rotate crops, leaving one field fallow every season and using it for grazing pasture. But all that fertile land meant that the campers all had plenty of fresh vegetables. Their expanded size also allowed them to enlarge their barn, so they could now house and care for four cows and a bull, two horses, dozens of chickens, a rooster, two pigs, and eight sheep.

They'd bartered and traded with other camps for most of their animals or found them wandering around alone and unclaimed. But they bought their sheep from a farmer living in what used to be Iowa. A lot of farmers had started over there, scratching out a new life from the soil, now that the world had started turning once again.

Seven years ago they'd finally succeeded in producing a vaccine. It had taken a lot of hard work. For three years, every single person that worked on it did so with nothing more than a promise of a better tomorrow.

It had taken another two plus years to get the word and the vaccine out to people, but now most of the population was vaccinated. The vaccine had also been carried overseas. They couldn't be sure how things were going across the pond because communication was still very limited. But they'd heard rumors that it was going well.

Some infrastructure was up and running again; they had electricity in some places, and some cities had running water again. There were even some places that had phone lines connected - in and around the bigger cities where people were beginning to congregate.

Things seemed to be progressing quickly out west in the former California, where they'd reportedly started broadcasting some form of Television again. Not very many people had TVs anymore to watch, but it seemed comforting to people just to know something resembling their former lives was returning.

Not everything was perfect, of course. There was no centralized government, or structured, widespread laws. Most areas had variations of camps like Chitaqua with leaders in charge, or occasionally small, internally elected governments that ran the camp. Lawlessness still existed in a lot of places, but it was being beaten further back every day as groups banded together.

There were also still some areas that were uninhabitable because massive groups of Croats still roamed there. The researchers that had created the vaccine were working on a cure for those who’d already been infected, but thus far they’d proved unsuccessful. Croat attacks still happened sometimes, but the vaccine meant that people just had to deal with the bite itself, making sure it was healing properly - something that was becoming easier as medical stations were springing up in and around larger populations as well, as doctors went back to healing people as they’d been trained to do.

Chitaqua had a physician, Dr. Turner, who lived in the camp. The Medical Tent was no more and instead the doctor’s office and their cache of medical supplies were now housed in a big log structure that had been tiled inside to keep it as clean and sanitary as possible. Patrick was happy to be rid of guard duties these days, working alongside Dr. Turner to watch over the health and well-being of the campers.

There weren’t many tents left nowadays either. They had a bunch stored away in case the camp ended up with a big influx of new campers and temporary housing was needed. But most people lived in log cabins of varying sizes, dotted over the two and a half square miles of the camp. There were well over five hundred people in the camp now, since amalgamating the four other camps. They also had a reputation for being a prosperous, strong community, so people tended to migrate there as well - which continued to add to their numbers.

Now, after the meeting with the Deerling camp, they’d be adding another ninety-six people to their ranks, inflating their population to nearly seven hundred people. Dean was worried about the fact that he’d made the decision to absorb the smaller camp without consulting the council this time.

The council was a group made up of eight other people besides Dean. Sam and Y/N were on it, as well as Brandy, Risa, Dr. Turner, and three other campers who were there representing the hunters, the farmers and the builders.

Day-to day decisions were still handled by Dean, but he relied on the council for other bigger decisions - taking their thoughts, ideas and opinions into account before he ultimately made a decision. Agreeing to take in another flock of people and develop another thirty acres of land was definitely one of those big decisions he’d normally take to the council, which was why, Sam knew, Dean had been second guessing his unilateral decision to say yes to Deerling’s request.

Sam shook his head at his brother as he answered Dean’s worry again. “Dean, you acted out of generosity, the council will understand. I can vouch for the fact that those campers need a lot of help very quickly. Those kids were starving, you could see that.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I know, but I just brought the camp more strain on resources with no benefits.”

Sam shrugged. “Well, there’s the land.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, unfarmable land that’s separated from us by almost eighty miles. And Brisbane camp sits between us and Deerling, and they already think we’re trying to take them over. Joining with a group on the other side of them is gonna make them even more suspicious and possibly turn them unfriendly.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I should have consulted the council.”

“Dean, there’s no way the council would have opted to just let a bunch of kids and sick people die. They’re definitely going to agree with your decision, and this way you’ve simply ensured that we can get food and medicine out to them by tomorrow instead of making them wait days for it. Trust me, you made the right decision.”

Dean grunted his response, still unsure.

Sam slapped the back of his hand against Dean’s shoulder. “Now, I’m gonna go talk with the Doc about getting supplies together and coming out there with me tomorrow. Will you talk with Brandy later about food?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.” A smile finally lit his face. “And then I’m goin’ home.”

Sam smiled and opened his door to climb out of the Impala. “Good plan. Give Y/N and the kids a kiss for me.”

Dean climbed out too and slammed his door behind him. He called Sam back as his brother began to walk away.

“We should also figure out a time and day to have a sit down with the new leader from Brisbane, talk with her about our intentions regarding Deerling. She’s tough, but she seems more approachable and level-headed than their last leader. Maybe we can convince her we’re not looking to take anything over.”

Sam nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

Dean frowned. “What’s her name again?”

“Eileen Leahy.”

Dean noticed his brother’s cheeks turn pink and he immediately turned back into an annoying big brother, his grin wide.

“Right, right, you met with her alone last time. She’s cute, huh? Something we should know? Maybe you should invite her over to our place for dinner next week. We can have our little sit down conversation then. What do you think?”

Sam had already turned and started walking away. “You’re an idiot!” He called back over his shoulder. But Dean made a mental note to tell Y/N all about it later.

With Y/N firmly in mind he started out across the camp. Their cabin was situated on top of a low hill in the Southwest section of the camp, not all that far from where their old red tent used to sit.

They’d built their cabin when they came back to Chitaqua eight years ago after helping to set up the research facility. The vaccine was still a year away, but they’d done all they could do and they were ecstatic that after two years of traveling back and forth from camp, gathering doctors, researchers and searching for other psychic kids, (they’d only found two others) and after Y/N had given gallons of her blood to science, they could finally come home for good.

Not long after returning home, Y/N realized she was pregnant and Dean became obsessed with building them a beautiful home. It was around that time that the camps had all joined together and building homes for everyone became a priority of the camp.

The builders grew in numbers as they took on apprentices and taught them the trade so that more people in the camp could join in the work. It took almost four years of constant building, but eventually all five hundred plus campers had permanent homes.

Gotta pull the tents out for the Deerling folks, Dean thought as he walked, his mind immediately occupied with figuring out the logistics of where the new campers could stay, and how they could join in the life of the camp, once they were all healthy.

He stopped by Food Storage and spoke with Brandy as Sam had requested. And just as his brother had suspected, when he explained the situation, Brandy was one council member who was very glad he’d made the decision he had. He felt more sure now that the others would feel the same.

As Dean wound his way through camp he got stopped quite a few times, people wanting to talk with him about one concern or another. He generally pointed them in the direction of the person or group in the camp that could help them. But he also got stopped by friends wanting to say hi and talk for a moment or two.

He was happy to talk, but anxious to get home to Y/N.

He looked out towards the large school building where Y/N still taught every day. The new building had been built on the site where the main cabin had been burned down. It was even bigger than the old cabin, with six rooms for the seven teachers that worked there now.

Y/N was also the principal of the school for all intents and purposes; she and the other teachers taught over two hundred kids from ages five to sixteen. Theresa had finished school and immediately joined the staff as a teacher, working with Y/N every day and loving it. Brandy was so proud.

But Dean wasn’t surprised to see the building empty now, however; he knew it was a day off. He picked up his pace, weaving through the buildings that resided where the old tents had taken up space.

They’d greatly expanded the food storage, and had an entirely different rations system now that fresh vegetables, fruit, fish and game made up the vast majority of their diet. Brandy was still in charge and was constantly innovating to make things easier and to stretch their food as far as they could in order to feed everyone.

The former tent area also housed three large storage sheds, a small building that worked as an office/meeting space for whatever group needed to use it, and a small mill where they processed the wheat they grew - that process had included a steep learning curve, but they’d eventually made it work.

There was also a small, open area where a kind of market had popped up organically as the campers traded amongst themselves for things like homemade jewelry, homemade clothes, and other non-essentials.

He walked behind the buildings and began climbing the gently rising path that led to their cabin at the top of the hill. About halfway home he heard loud barking and looked up to see their seven year old Bernese-Husky cross, Clifford, bounding towards him, the way he usually did when any of the family came home.

“Hey, boy.” Dean said softly, scratching him behind the ears. “Miss me?”

Clifford barked happily in answer and ran ahead and then back to where Dean stood, obviously urging him on towards home. Dean laughed and sped up, chasing after the big dog who sometimes still acted like a puppy.

As the path through the trees ended, opening up into their wide front yard, Dean sighed deeply. “Home sweet home.” He murmured.

Even though he'd been away less than two days, he was still so happy to be home. He felt the peace that filled him up every time he stepped around the last bend in the path and caught sight of their home in the distance.

The way smoke curled lazily from the chimney and the scent of something delicious wafted through the half open Dutch door, never failed to make him ache to get his arms around his wife and bask in her light. Dean shook his head at his sentimental thoughts, but hurried his pace to get inside.

As he drew closer however, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and he turned his head to see his son walking East, coming out from behind the house. Dean figured he was heading over to his friend Freddie's, and he was about to continue on into the cabin, but then he noticed what his eight-year-old was holding in his hand.

“Gabriel Eric Winchester!”

Dean's voice bellowed out, freezing the young boy where he stood. Dean strode towards him, anger clear on his face. To the boy's credit, even when he turned and saw his father's anger, he still walked forward slowly, until he was standing directly in front of him.

The gun he held, however, was tucked just behind his back, as though he was hoping Dean hadn't noticed it.

Dean held his hand out. “Give that to me this second.”

Gabe's face fell and he brought the gun forward reluctantly, dropping it onto Dean's palm.

Dean immediately checked to make sure the small, .38 caliber, Smith and Wesson revolver was unloaded and when he saw it was, he held it in his fist, directly in front of Gabe's eyes.

“What the hell do you think you're doing with this?”

His son's eyes were wide and they got watery quickly.

He shrugged. “I was just gonna bring it to Freddie's. Josh said he could teach us to shoot.” He said, referring to his friend’s older brother. “Just cans on a fence.” He was quick to reassure Dean.

“And did you ask your mother if you could remove a gun from the weapons chest?” Dean asked, already well aware of the answer.

Gabe shook his head. “No.” He said quietly.

“How did you get it?” Dean asked brusquely.

Gabriel’s voice was still soft as he admitted what he’d done. “I grabbed it yesterday when mom took out a rifle to scare away some raccoons that were trying to get into the compost. Josh said he could teach us if we had guns. So when I saw it last night I just…” He trailed off as he looked up at Dean's face.

“So what you're telling me,” Dean said quietly, “is that while your mother's back was turned you STOLE a gun and planned to use it without asking either of us for permission.”

Gabe's tears spilled down his cheek at his father's disappointed tone and accurate words. He nodded and then sniffed.

“I'm sorry.” He said thickly.

Dean crouched down so he could look his son in the eye. “Gabe, a gun is not a toy. I thought you knew this. It's not something to mess around with or use on a whim. It is a weapon. It's incredibly dangerous. If you'd gone off and started shooting, even just at cans, you could have seriously hurt or killed yourself or your friends. Do you understand me?”

Gabe nodded but bit his lip. “But you carry a gun.” He said, pointing to the ever present gun strapped to Dean’s thigh. “And you started using guns when you were even younger than me. I heard you talking about it to mom before. And I…” He sniffled again. “I just wanted to be like you.”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “Oh, buddy, I want you to be so much more than me. Your mom and I, we've worked really hard to make things better for you guys, to make the world safer so that when you grow up, hopefully you won’t have to walk around with a gun strapped to you at all times. It’s my job to protect the people in this camp. That’s why I carry a gun, and why I sometimes carry a rifle. But that’s not your job. Your job is to just be a little boy.”

Dean saw Gabriel pout a bit about being called a little boy. He smiled gently and squeezed his son’s shoulders. “Trust me, buddy, you should enjoy being a kid, don’t try to grow up too quickly.”

Gabe nodded begrudgingly and Dean pulled his son in for a hug. After a moment, he pulled back from him and stood up straight again, before nodding towards the cabin. “Go to your room now until supper, and when you come out, you’ll owe your mother an apology for going behind her back. Also, nothing but school and home for a week, do you understand?”

Gabe looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it when Dean gave him a stern look. “Yes, sir.” He said in acceptance and turned to run into the cabin.

“Gabriel!” Dean called. When his son turned back, the tear tracks on his grubby cheeks still visible, Dean spoke quietly but with conviction. “I love you and that’s why I know you can do better.”

Gabe’s face lost some of its forlorn look and he gave Dean a slightly awkward smile, lightly banging his fist against the side of his leg. “Love you too, Dad.” He said quickly before bolting for the house.

Dean shook his head and slipped the gun into his inside jacket pocket. He’d have to have a few more conversations with his son about gun safety and responsibility, but he was confident he could drill the dangers into him.

He walked up the stairs to the front door, more than ready to see Y/N and his girls. When he walked inside, however, he could hear voices coming from behind the kitchen door, and they didn’t sound very happy.

He pushed open the swinging door and saw Y/N and Emma inside. Y/N’s face lit up. “Dean!” She said happily as she saw him and crossed to the door to pull him down for a kiss.

“Ew.” Emma said.

It was the standard reaction from all of their kids when they kissed in front of them. Emma had a hand over her eyes as Dean finished the kiss and looked over to where she stood by the sideboard that held all their plates, cups and glasses.

“You can look now, kiddo, we’re all finished.” Dean told her with a grin. “For the moment.”

Emma rolled her eyes and made Dean chuckle. Y/N frowned up at him. “Did I hear you yelling at Gabe?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, gotta talk to you about that, but you guys sounded angry when I came in. Anything wrong?”

Y/N looked at Emma and shrugged. “I’ve been telling Emma that she needs to invite her new friend for dinner.”

Dean’s brow wrinkled as he looked at Emma. “You don’t want to bring your friend over for dinner?”

Emma looked at Y/N with frustration, clearly annoyed that she’d told Dean anything.

Dean tried again. “What’s going on kiddo, since when don’t you want us to meet your friends? Who is it, by the way? Didn’t realize any new kids had started at the school.”

Y/N shook her head. “Jeffrey’s not a new student, he’s just a new…friend.” She said meaningfully.

Dean caught on and his face immediately dissolved into a scowl. “Oh.” He said without enthusiasm, crossing his arms over his chest.

“See?” Emma barked out, pointing at Dean, but talking to Y/N. “I told you this is how he’d be!!”

“What?” Dean asked defensively. “What are you talking about?”

Emma folded her arms, her posture and scowl mirroring Dean’s. “You get like this every time I bring a boy home, even when he’s absolutely just a friend. You scare the shit out of them!”

“Emma!” Y/N said, reprimanding her for her language..

But Dean just scoffed. “I don’t know what you mean. How do I scare them?”

Emma glared at him. “You interrogate them, Daddy, you know you do.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, if they’re too freaked out to answer a few simple questions then-”

“Simple questions?” Emma interrupted with a humorless laugh. “When I invited Timothy Sutherland over here you forced him to sit down and answer a thousand questions about his family, his background, where he grew up, what his plans were when we finished school. He ran out of here and never looked back.”

Dean threw his arms out. “Do you really wanna date a loser like that anyway? Who can’t even answer a couple questions?”

“Ugh!” Emma stomped her foot and stormed out the back door.

Silence reigned for a moment when Emma left before Y/N turned towards Dean, giving him a tilted smile. “So, welcome home!” She said in a would-be cheerful voice..

Dean sighed as he pulled her back into his arms and kissed the top of her head. They enjoyed the simple peace of each other’s embrace for a few minutes before Y/N spoke.

“What happened with Gabe?” She asked.

“He stole a gun and was gonna go shoot cans with Josh and Freddie Young.”

“What?” Y/N shouted, pulling back to look into Dean’s face.

He nodded. “Yeah, but don’t worry, I handled it. He’s in his room till supper and he’s grounded for a week. And I talked to him about how dangerous guns were. I have more conversations planned around the subject for the near future.”

Y/N shook her head before laying it back on Dean’s chest. “Good lord.”

After a couple minutes Y/N pulled away and poured them each a cup of coffee. They settled beside each other at the wooden table and instinctively linked fingers.

Dean took a sip of coffee and sighed. “I don’t really interrogate all her boyfriends, do I?”

Y/N pursed her lips. “Well, she’s never actually had a real boyfriend. And I don’t think that's because boys don’t want to date her. She’s smart and kind, beautiful and well-liked. So…” She shrugged. “It seems probable that the boys who like her are just too intimidated by her father - you know, the legend who fought monsters, Croats, angels, and WON - the soldier that leads the camp, wears a gun, and asks scary questions, all while donning a very good mean-face.”

Dean exhaled loudly, but before he could respond, their youngest child came bouncing into the room. She was just six years old, and looked so much like Emma at that age that it sometimes caught Dean off guard.

But she was definitely her own little bundle of energy. Having never known hunger or hardship, she was all bright smiles and busy excitement. It seemed as though she’d been born smiling and simply hadn't stopped. Very little bothered her, and she was absolutely spoiled by the entire family, including their found family members in the camp.

Everyone loved Hope.

“Daddy, you’re home!” Hope shouted as she jumped into his lap.

“Oof.” He grunted as she landed hard on some sensitive places. “Hey sweetheart!” He said, slightly out of breath.

“I missed you. Mommy said you might not come home until tomorrow, but I said that you would come home quick because you like to be home and you don’t like to stay away. Right?”

He nodded, trying to keep up with her racing words. “Yeah, baby, I love to be home.”

Before his sentence was ended Hope was on to her next thought. “I saw Emmie running out the back door and I tried to talk to her, but she looked mad. She was sitting on the tree swing in the back and I wanted a turn, so I told her to push me, but she just helped me on the swing and then she left to walk through the front yard and leave. And when I tried to follow her, she told me not to leave the yard and to go inside and see you cause you were back. So, I did.” She paused for breath before asking, “Why was Emmie mad?”

Y/N answered. “It’s nothing sweet pea. Why don’t you help me make supper? You can shuck the corn.”

Hope clapped her hands. “Yes, I want to pull all the strings off.”

Y/N held her daughter’s hand as she hopped off of Dean’s lap, and then leaned forward to kiss Dean slowly.

“Ew.” Hope said, shielding her eyes as her sister had.

Y/N smiled against Dean’s lips and whispered to him. “Go talk to your daughter.”

Dean nodded and stood up, bending to kiss Hope’s shiny chestnut curls on the crown of her head. “Hey, promise me something short one.” He said, continuing when she looked up at him. “Promise you’ll take a really long time to grow up, okay?”

She smiled at him, cheeks round and rosy. “Okay, daddy.”

He winked at Y/N who smiled indulgently. “She promises.”

***

Dean instinctively knew where he’d find his oldest child. She coped with stress and frustration the same way he did, the way he’d taught her to.

He walked through the door of the garage and sure enough, there was Emma, wearing old, blue coveralls that were too big for her, and bent over the hood of the little Chevy hatchback that sat next to the Impala. He knew she heard him come in, but she didn’t say anything, just kept working.

Dean hopped up on Baby’s hood and waited for her to be ready to talk. Eventually, she caved and looked over at him, her face slightly shuttered and a little hard to read. “Hi.” She said simply.

He smiled at her. “Hey kiddo.” He nodded at the open hood she was under. “How are things looking? Still need a new oil pan?”

Emma shook her head. “No, I replaced that last week. Risa found me one in the back of the storage shed.”

“Good.” Dean said. They were both quiet as Emma leaned back in and continued working.

After a moment she cleared her throat. “Looks like I’m gonna need new brake pads though. Think we could go to Lowry’s and see what he’s got.” She asked, referring to a guy in Brisbane who collected car parts and often traded with them.

“Sure. I’ll be busy for the next day or so. But we can go after that. One day after school?” He asked.

Emma nodded and stood up, wiping her hands on the rag she had stuffed in her pocket. She was quiet as she slammed the hood closed and then stepped out of the coveralls and hung them up on the hook beside the door.

She wandered over to Baby and hoisted herself up beside Dean on the hood. After a moment she leaned her head onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Dad. I’m glad you’re home.”

Dean lifted his arm so she could snuggle closer, and then wrapped it tightly around her shoulders, squeezing her into his side.

“No, you don’t have to apologize, baby. Apparently I’ve been unconsciously scaring away the tons of boys who would otherwise be beating down our door. Though, if I’m being completely truthful, it probably wasn’t entirely unconscious. Cause I just know not a one of them is gonna be good enough for you.”

Emma chuckled. “I don’t think it’s tons of boys, Daddy. And I’m not interested in a bunch of boys. I’m interested in Jeffery. And I really do want you to meet him. I think if you give him a chance you’d like him. He’s really sweet and funny and just…” She sighed. “I just like him.”

Dean squeezed her again and felt his chest constrict with love and bittersweet memories, remembering how she used to crawl into his lap and let him read her to sleep. Those days were long gone, but she was still that little girl to him and she probably always would be. But he knew she was growing up and he needed to loosen his grip, at least a little.

So he sighed now and nodded. “Okay, kiddo. If you like him, I’m sure I’ll like him too. So, invite him over for dinner one evening and I swear to keep my questions to a minimum and be perfectly cordial.”

Emma laughed. “I don’t know if cordial is ever a word I’d use to describe you, Dad. Let’s just try to leave out the death stares.”

***

That evening after dinner, it was Gabe and Hope’s turn to do dishes. Gabriel washed and Hope dried with some assistance from Dean. As they were finishing up, Keisha and Julianne showed up on their doorstep asking if Emma was free to go for a walk around camp.

Y/N nodded when Emma looked to her for permission. “That’s fine. Be home before dark. Oh, here.” She said to the twins, grabbing a bag and passing it to them. “Take these home to your mom, it's the dress patterns she loaned me.”

Keisha went to take it, but Y/N pulled it back. “On second thought, nevermind. I’ll bring it to her tomorrow afternoon. Gives me a reason to visit and gossip.”

The girls all laughed and then waved as they headed out the door. Dean had to smile as they walked away, their high pitched voices and giggles floating back to them on a breeze. Some things hadn’t changed and he was grateful.

Gabe went to his room to read, since he was housebound for the next while. Hope played with some well loved and worn out dolls for a little bit before they took her to her room and put her to bed. They tucked Gabe in not long after, and then took their coffee cups out onto their little front porch and sat in one of the big Adirondack chairs that Dean and Sam had built three years ago.

Y/N settled happily into Dean’s lap, her hands cupped around her warm mug. The late spring air was soft and warm, and the sounds of the camp drifted up the hill towards them. They listened contentedly for a little while as Clifford came out of the house and flopped down on Dean’s feet.

They talked about the kids and they talked about the Deerling camp; they talked about Sam, and Y/N admonished Dean for teasing him about Eileen.

“Be nice.” She scolded. “I hope he will bring her to dinner. If he likes her, I mean.”

They talked about anything and everything, and as the sun began to set, Emma came up the path and smiled as she saw her parents cuddled together in one chair. As much as she rolled her eyes and hid her face when they started getting kissy, she loved how much they loved each other. And she knew she’d never settle for anything less than what they had together.

She told them goodnight and went inside, Clifford rising slowly to follow her and sleep at the end of her bed as he did every night.

Soon the fireflies were buzzing loudly and the camp was getting quiet, so Dean stood up with Y/N still in his arms, leaving their coffee cups to sit on the porch until morning. She laughed as her husband carried her effortlessly into their bedroom.

He set her on her feet and locked the door before he buried his hands in her hair and pulled her to him, crushing her lips beneath his own. Y/N moaned softly and immediately pulled off his flannel shirt and yanked his t-shirt over his head so she could spread her hands across the wide expanse of his still beautifully muscled torso.

“God I missed you.” She breathed, even though it had only been one night. “I hate when you go away.”

He smiled against her skin as he stripped her down to her bra and panties. “Missed you too, sweetheart. Promise not to go anywhere ever again.”

Y/N laughed at his impossible promise as he lifted her so she could wrap her legs around his waist. He continued kissing her as he crossed the room and lowered her to the bed. She wouldn’t let go of him and pulled him down on top of her.

Dean chuckled at her hold on him and then mouthed his way down her body, licking and nipping at her skin. Ten years later she still had the ability to make him instantly hard and aching for her.

They spent most of the night making up for the one they’d been apart. In the darkest part of the night they found light and life in each other’s arms and fell asleep knowing tomorrow would dawn bright and busy - filled with responsibilities, joy, love and most of all…

…hope.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @alwaystiredandconfused @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only: @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @hobby27 @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96

#endverse!dean #endverse!dean x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #endverse!dean fan fic series #endverse

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lowkeyremi · 4 months

Note

Hey there! was looking through your stuff and realized you’ve never written about Iida before. So guess what? IM gonna be the change…

Could you possibly write a scenario of Iida going through the motions of proposing to the reader? How he’s super meticulous and everything has to go according to plan to where things just…don’t? lol.

But things work out anyways because of course it’s Tenya Iida.

You can do gender neutral or fem, I really don’t care. Thanks!

— lovelyiida ❤︎︎

Perfection t. iida x gn!reader

remi's note: hiiiii!!! i do need to branch out on who i write about don't i? lolll anyway i was super happy to see you requested. you're one of my fav writers on here and it's an honor to write for u!! this is such a cute idea too bc he's def an over thinker and needs everything to go 100% his way. also. wow. this was wayyyy longer than i intended for it to be <3

cw: fluff, slight angst in the beginning, things don't quite go as planned, tenya goes to his big bro for advice, silliness, a little bit of swearing.

He's tense of course, sitting in his office as the time ticks by. He wants to call his brother just one more time but he knows exactly what he's going to say, "Tenya, you're stressing this too much, they're going to say yes." Which is not what he wants to hear. He needs an absolute fool proof plan and then some.

As he's sitting there thinking his secretary walks in, she looks tired and Tenya pities making her stay a little after her shift finished. "Sir, don't you think it's about time for you to head out? I don't mean to intrude but your partner did get off of work about two hours ago, correct?" She asks looking at her watch.

Two hours? He looks back at the clock. His stomach drops automatically, you must be worried about him. Tenya's never more than an hour late from work, except on nights he tells you he'll be working late.

"Oh my, I suppose I should get home.. I didn't realize how much time has passed by." Truth is, he's not ready to go home. There are already about twenty five different failed scenarios he can think of at the top of his head.

The secretary notices this and she gives him a soft smile, "I'm sure they'll say yes, sir. You guys have been together for six years now and for as long as I've worked for you I haven't seen your partner's love waver." He should be comforted by her words but he's too caught up in his thoughts to feel any comfort.

"I can't do it tonight. I wanted to take them out for dinner and do it afterwards but it's too late tonight. I think I'll aim for this weekend." He sighs quietly. This is the 8th time he's failed to propose to you. He really has been trying, but it's so.. hard.

You're amazing in so many ways and such a kind hearted person. At the same time you can be strict and helpful. You're absolutely everything Tenya's wanted and needed in his life, so it's hard. He doesn't want to propose to you only for you to deny him.

These thoughts shouldn't consume him because he knows you love him. You've given him plenty of your firsts, and him the same. That ugly little voice in the back of his mind won't leave him alone though. It's the same voice that made him think avenging his brother for Stain's wrong doing was okay. The same voice that told him it was okay to dress up as a civilian in order to save Bakugo. The same voice that gets him into so much trouble.

"Good night, Ms. Suzuki." He says waving in her direction as he packs every thing in his brief case.

"Good night, Sir, you've got this." She says, and he sucks in a breath as her heels click away from his office.

Does he have this?

He doesn't remember much, doesn't even remember driving home. Yet here he is unlocking the door. Upon opening it he can see the soft glow of the TV in the living room. The smell of take out reaches his nose and he immediately relaxes.

"I'm home, baby." He says loud enough for you to hear. His eyes soften as you jump up off the couch to greet him.

"And where were you at mister?" There's a smirk covering your face and he opens his arms to embrace you in a hug.

"Work," he sighs before continuing, "I didn't notice the time until Ms. Suzuki mentioned it." He hears you click your tongue. He feels so at home with your arms wrapped around his neck.

"If you keep overworking that poor lady she might just quit." He smiles at your lecture.

"I know, I know. Tell me about your day? I'm not feeling too good." He says quietly.

"Sick?" You ask checking his forehead. He shakes his head 'no'.

"I just feel like shit right now." He slumps slightly. Your eyes soften and you lead him to the table for some dinner.

He listens to you talk about your promotion and how one of your co workers pulled you aside to tell you that you did not deserve your new position.

"Congratulations, my dear. I wish I could have bought you some flowers. I didn't receive your messages, because I had my personal phone off today. Also don't take their word to heart, they're just jealous of you." He picks up some noodles with his chopsticks.

"It's nothing to worry about Tenya, I promise. Also I know they were jealous but it's still hard to ignore. What about you? How was your day?" He wants to tell you, he really does. He wants to tell you about how much he's struggled to propose to you these last few weeks but he doesn't.

"Nothing really interesting happened today, just the usual." You can tell there's something he's not telling you but instead of prying you nod your head. If he wants to tell you he will.

It's been about four days since then and Tenya is sitting in his brother's home holding his nephew.

"Uncle Tenya?" The small child asks.

"Yes, Hachiro?" He looks just like his mother Tenya thinks. The only feature the little boy did get from Tensei was his red eyes.

"When will you marry [name]? I want a cousin." Tenya's first question is does he know how kids are made?

"Well, um. I'm not sure. I haven't asked them yet. What do you mean you want a cousin?" He asks the child to elaborate.

"Well I mean my mommy and daddy had me somehow so you and [name] can get me a cousin, right? I want someone to play with." He sounds sincere and it makes his heart tug a little bit. Hachiro is absolutely adorable.

"Don't bother your uncle with such questions, your friend is here for your playdate." Tensei says to Hachiro who immediately hops out of Tenya's lap to run down the stairs where his mother and best friend await him.

"That kid, he's something alright." Tensei chuckles sitting down with two cups of tea.

"Thank you for letting me come over on such short notice." Tenya's stressed because he believes tomorrow is the day he will actually ask the question.

"Of course, what's up little bro?" Tensei sips at his tea.

"I think tomorrow- tomorrow I'm going to do it. For real this time." His breathing becomes shaky and his brother's eyes light up.

"You can do it, Tenya. Let me tell you from experience, it won't be a perfect fairytale proposal but in the end it will work out. When I decided to marry Maria it was so awkward because I had to have our translator there to tell her what I was saying. Since then, I've been learning english. She loves to look back and laugh at our engagement though." He says with a smile.

Tenya thinks to the day his brother called him and told him that he asked Maria to marry him. Tenya asked him if he learned the phrase in english to which he responded with "um... our translator was there to tell her what I was saying and vice versa." He thought it was the silliest thing he'd ever heard.

"Basically my proposal can't be worse than yours?" Tenya asks with a smirk to which is brother playfully punches his shoulder.

"That is not what I said you little brat." The two break into laughter and Tenya feels much lighter.

"I've got to go get things set up." He responds standing up. His brother also stands up and the two hug each other.

"Call me and tell me how it goes afterward!" He nods and on the way out he tells his nephew and sister in law goodbye.

You were still at work by the time Tenya got home. He calls your favorite restaurant. In order to ask of a special request. He knows they don't do reservations but he wants to know if he can make an exception for this special moment.

"Sorry sir, we don't do reservations. It's a policy." The woman over the phone says and he's crushed.

Suddenly he has the idea to order out, "Can I call back tomorrow and place an order for pick up?"

"You most certainly can, Sir!" Her voice has no hatred just pure kindness.

"Alright, thank you. Goodbye." As soon as she says bye back to him he hangs up quickly forming a plan. He'll order your favorite food to go and set up a cute date at your favorite park, then when you're finished eating, the two of you will walk over to the water fountain you met at and he'll get down on one knee for you.

It's simple, he'd really love to go all out but he can't bear the stress of something potentially going wrong.

He hopes you'll like it.

He asked you to meet up at the park you used to frequent when you guys first started dating.

He's shaking slightly, while looking at the placement of the rose petals and candles. He'd sent a picture to his brother and Midoriya for assurance. Both told him it looked really good.

He's dressed in a blue button down and black slacks, not too fancy but not plain.

He sees you walk up to the table, a smile finds its way to your face and your eyes sparkle.

"What's all of this?" You ask. He helps you sit down on the wooden bench. You take in the beautifully set table. It's slightly windy but you don't mind.

"Um. I- i uh you know. Felt like we haven't been on a proper date in awhile so decided to set up a little something."

"Well you've out done yourself, baby. This looks so pretty." A little bit of stress is lifted off his shoulders. He's happy to hear you compliment his work.

The two of you eat your favorite food. You happen to notice another white box that sits closer to the end of the table.

"Ooooo, is that the cake I like from that place?" You ask pointing at the box. He nods quickly. His face flushes slightly when he sees you smile. It warms his heart.

"It is." You look into his red eyes trying to find the true meaning of this date, but your boyfriend is good at keeping his composure.

You won't give up much to his dismay, "This must be a very special dinner if you got me this cake." He shakes his head and shrugs.

"I promise it's nothing out of the ordinary." He calmly baits you into a different topic of some of your favorite foods which you go on about for twenty seven minutes. Yes, he was counting.

"Are you ready for cake?" He shouldn't even have to ask because he already knows the answer but he asks anyway.

"Of course I want cake! Can I cut it?" Tenya's calm demeanor drops right at that moment. He's starting to panic because he didn't bring a knife for the cake. It's only a minor inconvenience but still causes him to doubt himself.

"I'm guessing you didn't bring a knife, huh? It's alright, I'll cut it with the end of the fork!" You scooch over to grab the box, mouth watering at the thought of your favorite cake.

"You sure? I could run down to the nearest convenience store and-"

"Relax, honey, you're over thinking this. We won't die, I promise." Your words ground him. He takes deep breathes until he's calm again.

"Right. Sorry my love." The disappointment on his face causes you to frown.

"Aw come on, don't apologize. I promise it's fine." You cup his chin with your free hand and he leans into the touch with a small smile.

"Are we walking to the fountain? I'm stuffed, I don't wanna walk too far." He nods at your question. He's smiling like a teenaged boy and you're wondering what he's up too.

With your hands intertwined and the cool wind hitting your face, you feel content. There's no place on earth you'd rather be than right here.

The beautiful fountain where you met Tenya was close in sight. You could see the lights that were placed inside of it shining brightly.

There's a small thunk that reaches your ears and you turn around thinking you might have dropped something.

When you stop to turn around, you notice a small velvety box that had fallen to the ground.. it must be Tenya's.

"Tenya, wait. You dropped something." He turns around to see what it is and when he does all the color drains from his face.

"Fuck... fuck! The one time everything needs to be perfect I fuck it up." He says cursing himself. You realize what the box is and a giddy feeling takes over.

"Tenya, please calm down. It's okay I'll pretend I didn't see it." You say closing your eyes. It makes him chuckle a little bit to see you act so innocent.

"I appreciate the effort but the surprise is ruined..." He sighs and rubs his face roughly.

"Tenyaaaa. Were you going to take me where we first met and propose?" You ask with a wobbly smile.

"Mhm." You can tell he's upset over it being "ruined" but this is about the happiest day of your life. He's so sweet and thoughtful and knowing him he's probably been stressing this for a long time.

"My poor boyfriend stressing this moment, oh come here baby." You stretch your arms out for a hug and he doesn't hesitate to hug you back.

"Yes, by the way." You whisper into his ear and he scoffs playfully.

"I can I ask the question first?" You roll your eyes the stray tears falling onto his shirt.

"[name], I can't even lie I've been stressing this moment for the past couple of weeks. Let me tell you it has NOT been easy. I've consulted to my brother and Midoriya countless times in order to ensure a perfect proposal and if I'm being honest I should have taken Tensei's advice of 'it won't be perfect' it would have saved me a lot of stress.... but, would you do the honor of marrying me, being my equal, and staying with me through any and everything?" His voice is shaky and he's blushing so hard that you want a picture to show to everyone.

"Yes! Yes I will. WOOP WOOP. He likes it so he's about to put a ring on it!!!" You yell in excitement to no one in particular.

He's crying and laughing at how silly you are.

"I don't know what I was so afraid of."

"Me either!" You agree.

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cloveroctobers · 5 months

Text

OCTOBER PROMPTS 🎃 — 13. Tara Carpenter

A/N: The way y’all voted on that poll was a true landslide lol I guess I didn’t realize how huge the tara stans are. So here goes something for my final fall prompt, hope this doesn’t flop like scream 7 will 🤭🤫🫠 but this is a short and simple ending so I do hope you enjoy this.

PROMPTS are from HERE & HERE + I’m using: going to a pumpkin patch + “you look cold, do you want a hug?” + “you think someone died here?”

WARNINGS: slight language I think? Dark humor. Age-difference: with Tara being twenty-one and oc/reader being twenty-five/six + Chad and Tara never became a thing in this timeline!

<- read my previous october anthology prompt here.

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Being at a pumpkin patch in mid-November when the skies were painted like pale ice in a frozen lake and the trees lost their copper leaves for good was questionable for Tara. The air no longer had its crispness to it but it started to feel more along the lines of a wild animal taking bites out of your face here in New York. However Tara couldn’t find herself complaining—well despite the fact that Sam turned this into a group outing—Tara couldn’t wait to see Johnnie.

Johnnie was Sam’s age, older than Tara, and easily became likable in Tara’s eyes although Sam often gave Johnnie a hard time even in the beginning. Of course they still had to be cautious but Tara always stood on the fact that she just wanted to live life after it’s been at risk of being taken away for good. She wouldn’t be as naive as last year but something about Johnnie had Tara’s insides turning into mush—in a good way though—not in a decaying guts kind of way.

The train ride was recommended by Johnnie to her family’s farm from the city and that became a whole debacle between the friends, until Tara waved her phone in the air saying that she already purchased a ticket while the rest could spend forever trying to figure out what they wanted to do. Mindy found this humorous how whenever Johnnie was mentioned, Tara made it her mission to be tuned into the conversation if she checked out.

Mindy was the first to pick up on the signs before Tara did and took great pride in Tara coming to her first out of the core four. Chad would argue against that saying he was actually the first since Tara did start to vent when they pulled a all nighter together. However he actually had no clue who Tara could be talking about and ended up eavesdropping when she chatted to Mindy one afternoon when he was supposed to be studying…basically pick a twin to believe at this point.

Tara couldn’t wipe the smile off her face on the train ride, fingers rapidly flying over her screen to the dimpled grin on her face when she spotted Johnnie helping out at the entrance of her family’s pumpkin patch.

“They’re with me, cousin.” Johnnie informs the family member with hair as white as snow, before grabbing up the walkie to contact someone else to head to the front and help out, now being off the clock with her friends here.

“Can we get more free perks for Christmas?” Chad asks as they briefly embrace and Johnnie rolls her eyes.

Johnnie folded her arms, “Why? So you can continue bringing your flings around and eat their tongues instead of enjoying the scenery?”

Chad frowned, “who are these flings that you speak of? I’m here enjoying the pumpkins with my favorite sister.”

As he goes to toss an arm over the curly haired girl’s shoulder, she shoves him away, “save it for the jury, Chad. I saw you eyeing that pretty girl with the shell earrings and racer jacket not too long ago.”

“I mean…she could be the one.” Chad couldn’t even bother to deny his wandering eyes.

Sam, Mindy, and Tara all share a groan while Danny snickers at Chad’s usual antics before being elbowed by Sam.

“Hey Tara,” Johnnie says, falling into step with the smaller girl; after informing everyone of the many activities the farm included.

Tara smiles up at her, “Hey Johnnie…remind me why we’re going pumpkin hunting so late into the season?”

“Well…I’m having a Friendsgiving next weekend at my spot and…that maybe partly true but I also wanted to hang out with you again before that.” Johnnie was honest with this, which made Tara slowly nod her head in appreciation.

Johnnie used to attend the same university as the three, received her degrees, started her business of creating designs on amputee’s prosthetics and moved to New Jersey two months ago to purchase her own home. So her having her shit together was definitely inspiring (and not to mention attractive) in Tara’s eyes and although she didn’t have everything figured out herself, one thing she was sure of: spending time with Johnnie felt right, scary yet comfortable and safe.

“Ohhh that’s right, I almost forgot about that.” Tara widens her eyes in realization, cursing to herself that she actually did forget about this but knew she could blame it on being swamped in school work, while Johnnie stumbles.

With a hand on her chest, she sighs playfully, “you wound me carpenter.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tara replies with a longing stare as they approach the line in front of a few booths.

Johnnie leans towards Tara who doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath, “what’re you in the mood for?”

“…hmm?” Tara asks, quickly pulling her eyes back to the line when Johnnie tries to catch her eye.

Johnnie laughs, “the menu. Anything catch your interest?”

“Well,” Tara starts as the autumn chill washes over the attendees on the farm, making her hunch her mesh covered shoulders a bit and clasp her hands together, “what would you recommend?”

“Everything.”

Tara scoffs as Johnnie winks at her.

“Can you even see the menu up ahead?”

“I’m not blind.”

“Nah, just short.” Johnnie teases while Tara quickly tosses a middle finger at the older girl.

Johnnie laughs to herself, picking up on tara’s attire which failed to keep her warm on this breezy farm. So Johnnie takes the opportunity to stand behind Tara instead, who is now bouncing on her tippy toes to what may seem like she was attempting to see the menu but it was probably to keep her blood flowing better.

Tara’s almost ready to swing until her belly realizes the familiar rasp by her ear, “you look cold, do you want a hug?”

Before her mouth can fumble out an answer, tatted hands come into Tara’s view as Johnnie locks her arms across Tara’s shoulders. She doesn’t find herself going stiff but easily welcomes Johnnie’s touch. A small smile graces Tara’s lips as her eyes fall in love with the dainty details of ink that decorate Johnnie’s skin. The artwork tells a story of Johnnie’s big heart which some may view as a contrast to her androgynous exterior much like the striking scar through Tara’s palm. That same scar Johnnie lightly draws a fingertip over from time to time and does so right now as Tara buries her nose against the side of Johnnie’s tatted other thumb.

Tara can even smell the balance of scents on Johnnie’s warm skin, a light creamy but earthy scent that makes Tara envision curling underneath blankets and staring out at Misty mountains instead of crowded streets full of loud voices, and suspicious faces. A sense of serenity that Tara wasn’t sure she’d ever find until she met Johnnie.

“What ya smiling at?”

Tara pries her eyes open, knowing she had been caught but keeps her eyes on the line that she didn’t realize moved forward some. “Nothing. You just think you’re so smooth when you could have been said you wanted to hold my hand earlier.”

Johnnie quickly places a peck to Tara’s temple so fast that she thinks she imagines it, “I want to do more than just hold your hand,” Johnnie ends up whispering before unraveling herself from Tara, who has to fight to hold herself up right.

“S’orry.” She mutters to those behind her as Johnnie takes the lead, heading right up to the stand, falling into small chatter with the worker before introducing an awkward Tara.

Tara is wide eyed as Johnnie banters back and forth for a little before they both set eyes on Tara.

“What?” Tara raises a brow, finding that she’s zoned out again just gazing at Johnnie socialize.

“You strike me as a apple nacho’s kinda girl.” The male worker says while Johnnie pretends to think about it.

“I’d say a apple cider donut but you’re of course welcome to try whichever or anything else on the board.” Johnnie responds, “on me.”

Tara tilts her head to the side, “what’re you getting?”

“The apple nachos,” Johnnie states.

Tara nods, “then I’ll get the donut…as long as you share.”

“Sure, sure. Anything you want,” Johnnie beams before turning back to the man, “you heard the lady!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He fans Johnnie with a knowing look before shouting out to the cooks off to the side.

With a carton tray full of crisp apple pastries—nachos, a side of caramel, two forks, and a yellow bag full of mini apple cider donuts, the two continued traveling through the large field together.

“Where have these been my entire life?” Tara groans after savoring the dessert.

Johnnie laughs, “right up here on this farm, I take it you’re enjoying those nachos?”

“Enjoying? More like I’d love to marry them! Can’t you tell by the way I’m murdering these bitches?! Perfect crunch on the outside and crisp from the apple on the inside, all with a side of caramel sauce?! It’s so delicious to the point i can’t even apologize for the noises you’re hearing because it’s your fault and I hope we finish them before the rest try to get any.” Tara admits through her rant while Johnnie abruptly stops.

Tara lifts her head, ready to question what was going on but Johnnie steered them in a different direction, “then we better head the other way since they’re all up by the goats and llamas.”

“Good call,” Tara says peeking over her shoulder to see Sam all cuddled up with Danny.

Disgustingly so.

Johnnie’s family farm was nice to be at although the temperature was constantly dropping but there weren’t many people out this evening, which was fine by Tara. The further they circled around the farm the closer they got to one of the rides here. It was the Ali baba—the large swing on the boot of a bulldozer? The pair stood beside each other outside the gate, watching as a few faces disappeared higher into the now gravel colored sky from side to side.

“you think someone died here?” Tara asks around the donut she previously stuffed her freckled face with.

Johnnie glances at tara and rotates to her better ear, “huh?”

The air from the ride and the earth along with the carnival music made it a bit difficult but after tara finishes the donut she speaks a bit louder, repeating the question, “you think someone died here?”

A couple shoot Tara a nasty look as they exit from behind the fence and Johnnie smirks at them with a mocking wave, leaning against the metal gate. Tara let’s out a snort as she leans towards Johnnie.

“Where’s that coming from?” Johnnie sweeps Tara’s bangs to the side.

Tara shrugs, “apparently horror films are not just a one month thing with Mindy. We’re now on your favorite series: final destination.”

Johnnie dips her head in understanding, “Ah,” and almost feels flattered that Tara remembered, “well this farms been open for about fifteen years and that ride’s only been around for the past five maybe? As far I know…no deaths. Why? You wanna get on?”

“Hell yeah I do,” Tara nods with a grin, “and I don’t care that I may puke everything up. As long as you promise to hold my hand.”

Johnnie taps her chin before matching Tara’s smile after lightly pressing their foreheads together, “I think I can do that, babe.”

‘Babe?!’ Tara thinks to herself as Johnnie takes their trash to the nearest barrel before meeting Tara half way with her hand held out.

And Tara doesn’t hesitate as she slips her smaller hand into Johnnie’s tatted one. She gives Tara’s hand a squeeze, fingers interlocked which Tara gazes down at while Johnnie watches Tara. When tara flicks her brown doe eyes back to meet Johnnie’s, they smile sweetly once more, feeling like this could be the start of—nope not something new! but a romance worth taking a stab-wait that’s not right either! chance on.

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#Spotify #queued #scream #scream 2023 #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x female reader #Tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega #sam carpenter #scream 7 #fall prompts #mindy meeks martin #chad meeks martin

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ladykailitha · 1 year

Text

Oh For a Muse of Fire! Part 5

This is for @goodolefashionedloverboi and @zerokrox-blog who while I was writing this said the same thing Robin does in this in the comments of part 3. “Eddie this isn’t high school anymore, shut up!!” LOL! Thanks for the laughs, guys.

Also originally I had a darker meeting with Joyce (she tells him that if something else happens involving him {the fight with Michelle and the seizure being the first two strikes} he be out of the class) but then I realized Joyce would never. So she didn’t.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Robin’s feet ached as she makes her way to her apartment. Diamond worked the bar to help Opal out, but Steve was missed. Diamond could tend and often did, but it didn’t have the flare Steve did when he slung drinks. Not that Opal was bad either, but again...she was biased and she missed her Steve.

She was so focused on getting home that she nearly ran someone over in her rush.

“Oh shit!” she said, trying to untangle herself from the poor person.

“Buckley?” a voice above her asked.

She looked up to see Eddie holding her up to keep her from falling to the ground.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Robin asked as she finally got her feet under her. “If you followed Alice and Steve back here, I’ll call cops. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he said holding his hands up in surrender. “For starters I live it that building over there.” He pointed at the building across from her and Steve’s apartment. “I moved in last month.”

Robin eyed him suspiciously. “You aren’t here to harass Steve?”

Eddie frowned. “When did you get so far up King Steve’s ass? I knew you in band, you hated him as much as I did.”

Robin put her hands on her hips. “Look, yes Steve was an ass in high school, but he changed. And you don’t get go throwing the past in his face. It’s been five years, man. Let. It. Go.”

Eddie shrugged. “You have that girl take Steve back to your apartment because Loch Nora is too far away?” At her blank expression. “You know when you insinuated that I followed him here?”

Robin frowned. “Steve and I live together...” she said slowly as if she was talking to an idiot.

“I didn’t think Harrington was your type, Buckley,” he said, raising an eyebrow knowingly.

“He’s not and he knows that, too,” she defended.

“We are talking about the guy who slung the slurs ‘queer’ and ‘fag’ around like his stupid baseball bat, right?” Eddie growled.

“It’s been years!” she bit back. “Let. It. Go.”

Eddie just threw his arms in the air. “Whatever, I need to get home.” And he stalked off toward the building he said was his.

Robin watched as he ran up the stairs, biting her lip. She was going to have to tell Steve about their new neighbor.

Fuck.

Robin opened the door to their apartment to see Steve on the couch reading, the only light on in the place is the lamp above him.

“Shit, the seizure cause a migraine?” she whispered as slipped out of her coat and shoes.

He nodded and set the book down. “So it’s a good thing I got you to call me in.”

She nodded and sat down next to him. “I missed you.”

Steve nodded and curled up against her side. “I called Dr Thompson and set up an appointment. I shouldn’t be seizing after just one missed dose.”

“Yeah,” Robin agreed, threading her fingers through his hair. “It really scared me.”

“I’m glad you were there,” he murmured. “Did Joyce call you?”

She sighed. As much as she would like to lie and tell him yes. He needed to know the truth. “It was Eddie.”

Steve huffed a bitter laugh. “I guess he’s not a complete ass. He just doesn’t like me.”

“Yeah, well,” she grumbled. “He also lives in the building across from us.”

Steve straightened up to look her in the eye. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Yup!” she said, popping the P. “Met him outside just now.”

He cuddled back up to her side. “I just have to last six months and then I’m gone.”

“I’ll beat him up if he says anything to you,” she growled. “I swear it. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the stress of him being an ass was what caused your seizure.”

Steve sighed heavily. She was probably right was the problem. Dr Thompson was going to ask about stressors and Eddie Munson was going to have to go on the list.

She stroked his hair until he fell asleep against her.

Eddie didn’t have band practice the next night, so he offered to pick Chrissy up from work. Which she gratefully accepted. When he pulled up to the bar, standing next to her was a large, burly man in a white pinstripe suit. He looked like the comic book character the Kingpin come to life. The only thing he was missing was a gigantic cigar to chew on.

When Eddie pulled up to the curb, Chrissy waved at the man before climbing in.

As he pulled out of the parking lot he asked, “Who was that, then?”

Chrissy smiled. “That’s my boss, Diamond. He’s really nice. Sometimes if it’s too dark, he’ll walk me to the bus stop and stay with me until it comes.”

Eddie nodded. “Seems like a nice guy.”

Chrissy nodded. “They’ve all been great. Although apparently I haven’t met the weekend bouncer, Onyx and he’s not so nice.”

He hummed. “Well, he wouldn’t be a very good bouncer if he was nice.”

She laughed. “That’s what Garnet said.”

“Garnet is the guy you’re training to take over for?” Eddie asked, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music in his head.

Chrissy grinned. “He’s really nice. And despite the silly rule of not knowing who we are outside of work, he still really close with most of the crew.”

Eddie grinned back. “So a real mother hen, huh?”

Chrissy shrugged. “I mean, I guess. I think the only reason he hasn’t offered to drive me home after work is that Diamond would frown on it.”

He licked his lips slowly. “I’m glad you got this job, sweetheart. It seems like you’re going to do great.”

They were silent in the van for awhile.

“Oh!” Chrissy said suddenly. “You have to come to open mic night!”

Eddie deflated. “A posh place like The Queen’s Crown isn’t going to want to listen to a bunch of washed up metalheads.”

Chrissy pushed at his shoulder. “Apparently lots of big name bands have gotten their start at The Queen’s Crown. What harm would it do to try? You get up there, play three songs, and leave. And maybe, just maybe Diamond will pick Corroded Coffin for one of his fancy gigs where actual fucking music producers show up.”

Eddie pulled over to the side of the road to look her in the eye. “Come again?”

Chrissy rolled her eyes. “Open mic night is one Saturday a month. And from that list of ten or so bands and solo artists, he picks three to show up and do a full set in front music producers. Not everyone gets a record deal, but they all get a chance.”

Eddie let out a shuddered breath. “Holy fuck, Chrissy.”

She kissed his cheek. “I thought you’d like that. Which is why I signed you guys up for the next one.”

Eddie blinked at her for a moment and then threw his arms around her tightly. “You’re the best!” He kissed her cheek. “Why didn’t we work out again?”

Chrissy laughed, pushing him off her. “Because I’m gay?”

Eddie laughed, too. “Oh, yeah. That’s right.” He grinned at her and then pulled back into traffic to take her home.

Steve showed up early to the next class as requested. He was so nervous. He was really worried that she was going to kick him out of her class. He was keeping his head down and his mouth shut. He didn’t want to take a summer class, because then he wouldn’t graduate in June and he’d lose his student teaching position.

Joyce waved him in. “Come in, come in.”

Steve shuffled in and closed the door behind him. He walked up to her desk.

“Pull up a chair,” she instructed.

He pulled out one of the stools and straddled it. “You wanted to speak to me?”

Joyce nodded. “How are you doing?”

Steve shrugged his shoulders. “I’m okay, I guess. I have an appointment with my neurologist next week to discuss what happened.”

She laced her fingers together and placed her hands on her desk. “How long has this been going on?”

Steve didn’t want to say, but she leveled her mom stare at him and he folded. “Since my second concussion about seven years ago.” And then silently begged her not to do the math.

But she did it anyway. “Ah. From your fist fight with Jonathan.”

Yup. Her oldest son had one hell of a right hook. “I’d rather you didn’t tell him that I have seizures because of that fight. He doesn’t need the guilt.”

She tilted her head and sighed gently. “You say it was your second concussion. When was your first?”

Steve cleared his throat and looked down at the floor. “When I was about one years old, my mom accidentally dropped me and I was rushed to the hospital. My neurologist tells me that when Jonathan hit me he knocked loose something from that first injury that caused the seizures and the migraines.”

“Oh, Steve...” she murmured. “That’s awful. I wish you boys would tell me what you were fighting over.”

Steve licked his lips. Yeah. He was going to take that little secret to his grave, thanks. The last thing he was going to tell Joyce, especially now that she was his teacher was that Steve had hit him when he caught Jonathan taking pictures of girls undressing. And Jonathan had hit back harder.

Him and Jonathan made up later. Steve got him to agree to never do that again, and he wouldn’t tell his mother that her sweet boy was a pervert.

Joyce shook her head. “Are you able to continue the class?” she asked after several long moments of awkward silence.

Steve nodded. “It was a fluke thing. I’ve had a lot of changes in my life recently and it activated my epilepsy. My doctor will probably adjust my dosage for awhile and then I’ll be back to normal.” He cocked his head to the side. “Or as normal as I get.”

Joyce nodded. “If you need anything let me know. I want to see you do well in this class.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I do too.”

She looked up at the clock. “All right, it’s about time for class to start, so go ahead and sit down. I’ll open the door.”

Steve got up and went to his seat. He watched as the other students filed in. That had gone better than he hoped it would. Robin would tell him that it was just his anxiety talking when he got like this. Didn’t stop his brain from filling in the worst doom’s day scenarios, though.

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Epilogue

Tag List: @artiststarme @allbymyselfexceptformycactus @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @itsall-taken @m-owo-n @zerokrox-blog @runyousillydetective @grimmfitzz @wonderland-girl143-blog @sapphirecobalt-1@scheodingers-muppet @victor-thee-corvid @apricottree @bookbinderbitch @sleepyboosstuff @biatcgh @pixiefallingupthestairs @grtwdsmwhr @thepainisspicy @carlyv @eboyawstenn @bisexualdisastersworld @bidisastersworld @abstractnaturaldisaster @evix-syne666 @nerdsconquerall @lololol-1234 @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @a-little-unsteddie @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @elluminis @tailsfromthecrypt @danili666 @plyerice27 @alittlegreyfish @n0-1-important @no-upper-limit-to-stupidity

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #art school au #gay steve harrington #bisexual eddie munson #ladykailtiha writes

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melrosing · 1 year

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sparknotes for ep 2 of my made up Robert's Rebellion adaptation because I don't trust HBO :) this part is more detailed because the introductions are over and I am having fun. once again, some changes: Rhaegar and Joncon canonically meet when squiring together, but I want to introduce him slightly earlier so now they'll first meet with Joncon as a page at the Red Keep (so he's maybe a little younger than Rhaegar). also, spot bonifer hasty - this is just before he finds jesus Prev Part - Episode 1

Next Part - Episode 3

Episode 2: The Boys Are Fightinggg

It’s been five/six years since ep 1. We open in the library of the Red Keep, where a fourteen year old Rhaegar Targaryen sits reading a heavy tome, brow pinched. After a moment, he shuts it carefully and rises to walk to a window overlooking the training grounds. A maester asks if he’s alright, and Rhaegar answers “it seems I must learn to fight” (cryptic lil fuck)

Opening credits roll. They’re the same as GOT except the music is caramelldansen

Joanna Lannister at Casterly Rock, sat in her solar with Genna; she’s visibly pregnant. A maid enters the solar looked panicked, and insists she speak to Joanna alone. Joanna allows this, and the maid confides something (guess what) concerning the twins. After ascertaining the maid won’t speak (and maybe issuing a tiny little threat), Joanna dismisses her with a bag of gold

Joanna confronts her children one at a time. Cersei is belligerent, insisting it was only a game. Jaime is distressed, unable to comprehend why what they were doing was wrong. Joanna states she will be placing their rooms apart, with a guard on Cersei’s etc - and don’t make her tell their dad. Both children look utterly horrified by that prospect, and Joanna seems uneasy threatening it

Aerys and Tywin at the King’s council. Lots of matters on the table etc. Some guy called Denys Darklyn is asking for a charter for Duskendale (it's clearly not the first time), which Tywin dismisses. Some Kingsguard has died, and they need a replacement. Tywin makes some suggestions of his own, and asks Aerys which he would prefer. Aerys is not really listening, only waving his hand over the flame of a candle. Tywin interrupts his musings, and Aerys burns himself in surprise. Asking the King his input on some matter, Aerys has little to offer. Tywin says something faintly facetious regarding the King’s attention span, and Aerys thinks he sees Pycelle smile

Rhaella, also pregnant, is in the gardens at the Red Keep, sat beneath a memorial statue of her parents. She grasps a bunch of flowers that she presumably means to lay at their feet, touches her bump and looks uneasy. Watching on is a castle guard who stands at the garden gate; Rhaella meets his eyes, pleading him closer, and they hold one another’s gaze for a long moment. Ultimately the guard breaks it, and looks down to his feet. Rhaella, looking away in despair, stiffly but violently shreds her flowers, and drops the remains beneath the statue before rising and leaving the garden

Anime boy Rhaegar learning to fight in the training yard. He seems a little surprised if reassured by his own skill, overpowering the master at arms at one point. Young page Jon Connington watches on, looking like he’s about to burst into applause. Aerys himself looks on from a high window, and looks Intensely Bothered

Aerys walking through the halls past a small crowd of men. He hears one say that Tywin truly rules the Seven Kingdoms, and turns abruptly to see the speaker - one Ilyn Payne, who looks shocked to see Aerys there. Aerys looks violent, like he might do something for a moment, but is ushered onwards by Barristan Selmy

Rhaella and Rhaegar at the dinner table in the royal… chambers??? whatever lol. Rhaella says she’s heard Rhaegar is fighting: that is good. Rhaegar is not super responsive to this praise. Rhaella then asks her son if she thinks the baby will be a boy or a girl. Rhaegar looks at her sadly

Aerys arrives belatedly to ruin dinner, decides he dislikes how quiet and miserable his family looks. Cracks a shit joke, doesn’t like the way his son looks at him, reads judgement in the kid’s eyes. Aerys is about to escalate in this sudden disagreement with his son, when Rhaella begins panicking - there’s blood pooling beneath the table. As Aerys realises what’s happening his anger abruptly turns to Rhaella, and he looks like he might strike her - then Rhaegar stands between them, and silently warns him off. Aerys is furious, but it works, and he storms out

Now Aerys is storming into the throne room, where Tywin sits his throne, listening to the grievances of some visiting lord. Aerys identifies Ilyn Payne at the sidelines, calls him over, and orders his tongue ripped out. This is appropriately grim :) Tywin looks on, displeased but unable to say anything. Aerys orders him off of his throne then takes it himself, and announces that as king he is ordering a tourney: the winner will join his Kingsguard

#asoiaf #cw miscarriage #sparknotes robert's rebellion

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pumpkin-bread · 5 months

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Born of Lilah, adopted daughter of King Valis, and her wife, Sunny. These little ones are royalty, technically - but what matters most is they are from a loving family and are sure to be little drops of sunshine to whatever lair they end up in.

The princesses and their family traveled from territory to territory, seeking out Lilah's sister, Helena.

After 6 long years, they found the lost princess, tending to her own small clan of dragons and treating them for various stages of shade infection.

Though Helena would not allow them close, they chose to settle there on the edge of the Hewn City. Not so close that Helena feared for their safety, but close enough to visit and speak with each other once more.

And so, finally with a place to call home once more, princesses Sunny and Lilah had their first nest in over half a decade.

Their five beautiful children were raised in a loving home, and adored by their grandfather, mothers, and even their distant aunt.

But now it's time for them to find their own clans out there in the world.

--------

Delia followed in Sunny's footsteps as a healer, and grew quite proficient in it in time. She hopes to find a clan where she can help dragons in need, just like her mother did so long ago.

Nea found her passion in tending to animals, though there were few to care for out in the frontier. She hopes to run her own farm one day.

Orin always felt he stuck out like a sore thumb amongst his pearlcatcher siblings, though his family insisted otherwise. He still finds himself hoping he'll find a clan he fits into better.

Nellie found her home with her much older brother, off in the Shadow territory. Their moms are, of course, utterly thrilled!

And, last but not least, Prince Cashmere - Cash, for short, really, really wanted to become a warrior for good. He saw the pain his shade-touched neighbors went through, being shunned by society and so very fearful, and he wanted to do anything he could to help them and others like them. He's... really not sure how. But getting strong would surely help a LITTLE.

All are up on AH.

(Nellie went to my friend. I couldn't bear to sell her publicly. I almost kept her lol.

And it really has been SIX years since their last nest!!)

#flight rising #lore babies #lore dragon sales #fr dragons #dragon sales #BOOST PLS links get suppressed

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boxofbonesfic · 2 years

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I wanna write a fic about a comedian!reader just making jokes at the expense of Cap and she gets some good burns in and the reader doesn’t realise that he’s there with Sam or Bucky in the back and he’s just fuming. And then when her set is over, he confronts her either by following her home or just in the dressing room 🤤 also this is totally free for anyone willing to write it btw, I never see comedian!reader fics.

Title: Last Laugh

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Comedian!Reader

Summary: Your jokes land you in some hot water with their subject–Captain America. Turns out, America’s golden boy’s a bit of a bully–and you kind of like it.

Warnings: Mean Steve, Sub!Reader, Smut, Light BDSM, Semi-public sex, MINORS DNI

A/N: omg i wasn't expecting all of this to come from the relatively short idea i had in my head, but uh. things happen lol. i hope you all enjoy! divider by @firefly-graphics!

“Capscicle is definitely the right way to describe him,” you say conspiratorially, like you’re whispering to the audience through the microphone. They laugh, of course. They’re eating it up, the audience erupting into low laughter right on cue. Even that is appropriate, it’s not the big laugh, the one that’s meant to buy you time to take a drink of water, maybe a few breaths between jokes if you’re lucky.

“They defrosted that guy what, like five, six years ago now, right?”

Steve clenches his fists.

This is the third show of yours he’s seen. The first was at a benefit–he doesn’t remember for what, something Tony organized–and he’d laughed along good naturedly and thought no more about it. Until Sam showed him the youtube video of your latest cold open for a larger comedian. You’d ribbed all of the Avengers, sure; they were hot gossip, always a crowd pleaser. But you seemed to enjoy digging at him especially, dropping hit after hit, and all of them at his expense.

“Captain white America.” You say, rolling your eyes. “No, no, I like, him, I do, he’s a nice guy. I met him, you know.”

He’s made sure to wear a hat, glasses. Still no facial hair, but it’s enough that no one recognizes him. No one’s expecting the butt of your jokes to be sitting in the audience, jaw clenched and lips pursed. Steve can take a joke–he can take a lot of jokes–but your lighthearted ribbing doesn’t feel so lighthearted, not when–

“So like… between you and me, guys… how many women d’you think have gotten, like, to see the shield up close, you know what I mean?” You wink, and the audience erupts into laughter. You hold the mic out towards the audience, and to Steve’s chagrin, people actually begin answering.

“Ten!”

“Twelve!”

“Five!”

You nod along encouragingly for a few seconds before you shake your head and screw your pretty face into a disbelieving scowl.

“Y’all buggin’, you know it’s none.”

There’s only a single beat of complete silence before raucous laughter erupts across the crowd, their disbelief, your delivery–it’s perfect. They laugh for a few minutes, and you, on cue, walk over to the stool that your glass of water rests on and take a deep sip.

“No, no, you know it’s none! Mister straight laced? Fucking? I can’t see it, I’m sorry. No, you know who fucks? The guy with the metal arm. I know he fucks.” This one earns you another loud round of laughter as Steve fumes silently. He’s taken great care to maintain a good reputation since he’s been back. There had been a time when standing up for one’s country was an unimpeachable act–now, apparently, it is fodder for the drivel that passes for comedy these days.

“The guy with the metal wings? Oh my god.” You stumble dramatically, and hold your hand tightly to your chest like you’re going to pass out. “He lays it down. I know it.” You look out over the audience and shake your head one last time. “But Cap? I’m not buying it. That man wears tightie whities. That is a man who is in the gym not because he wants to be, but because he needs to be. There’s nothing. Else.” You blow out a breath.

“I rest my case.”

The audience laughs again, and you give them a cheerful salute, your plump lips turning up into a bright smile.

“Thank you guys, it’s been a blast! Stay tuned for the main event, I hope you all have a good night!” They clap loudly and readily for you, and you give another little bow before slipping backstage. Steve is already standing up from his seat, shuffling over to the bar to keep you in sight. There’s a door behind the curtains, and with the flurry of activity on set, he manages to slip behind it, stepping into the long concrete hallway. There are a couple of doors, one clearly meant for the main act, closed, though he spies shapes moving under the door and hears the low murmur of speech when he presses his ear to it.

The other door is slightly ajar, and when he peers through the crack, he sees you sitting in an armchair as you toe off the red sneakers on your feet. You’re holding a phone to your ear, chatting in a quiet voice to someone on the other line.

“No, no, I think it actually went really well. Yeah, I’m excited to see you guys too, mom.”

Steve knocks on the doorframe, rapping his knuckles against it hard. He’s had weeks to stew in it, watching clips of your shows online as you dig at him. Tony and Sam tell him to take it all in good stride, and he’d certainly given it the old college try. But there was just something he couldn’t abide; maybe it was your smug fucking attitude, or the shit eating grin that graces your pouty lips after every jab–he doesn’t know. What he does know, is that it makes him want to put you in your place.

Tonight’s show especially.

Steve enjoys the surprised squeak you emit when you tug the door open fully, muttering a hushed “gotta go” to your mother, shoving the phone into your pocket.

“Mr.--”

“Steve.” He replies, taking off the glasses and shoving them into the pocket of his jacket. “Or Capscicle. Whichever you like.” You wince.

“Please. Why don’t you come in,” you say, stepping aside to allow him into the small dressing room. It’s clear you’re a little embarrassed, but it isn’t enough. It isn’t an apology.

Not yet.

He doesn’t sit down, leaning against the sparse vanity with his muscular arms crossed. Steve knows he’s big, intimidating. He’s counting on it. You shrink

“I take it you were, um. In the audience.”

Steve nods. “Oh yes, sweetheart. The whole time.” He cocks his head at you as his lip curls. “You know, in my day, it was just plain inappropriate to talk about a person in public like that.”

You swallow thickly, and his eyes track the movement. The skin of your throat looks soft, almost as soft as your lips as you sink your teeth anxiously into them.

“I… I–I know I can make some, er, raunchy jokes, but–”

“You think you’re funny?” He asks, leaning forward. You look like you want to melt into the chair, and you cast a furtive glance up at him.

“S-sir–”

He’s not sure why that sends a jolt through him, his cock throbbing in his pants. Something about the way you’re peering up at him through your lashes nervously as you fidget. He wants to hear it again.

“Oh look. You can be respectful,” he sneers, and when you look up at him with misty eyes, he has to shift so that you don’t see the outline of his cock beginning to press against the seam of his pants. “Amazing.” He can tell you’ve never been confronted over something you’ve said before, maybe it’s given you false confidence that no one ever would.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, looking down at your hands. You shift subtly, the movement so slight that Steve wouldn’t have seen it if he wasn’t paying such close attention. You squeeze your thighs together, your hands clenching on your jeans, and Steve’s eyes widen just a fraction at the sight.

Enjoying it. She’s enjoying it. You look away towards the door. And she hates it.

“What was that?” Steve leans forward dramatically, holding his hand up to his ear. “Couldn’t quite hear you, doll.” Fuck, it’s hot to watch you grit your teeth before pouting up at him. “One more time.”

“I’m sorry.” You hiss, pressing yourself further down into the chair. “Happy now?”

“No.” Steve inspects his nails. “I don’t think you really mean it.” You squirm, and he just knows your inner thighs are soaked. He can practically smell it. “Let’s try it again. A little more sincerity, sweetheart. Get on your knees, I think that would be fitting.”

Your eyes widen, flicking towards the door again. Weighing your options, no doubt. Reluctantly though, you sink to your knees, and Steve’s sardonic smirk grows wider.

“I’m. Sorry.” You grit out. “Better?”

“How can I accept your apology when you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, doll? Seems kind of silly when you think about it, doesn’t it?” He wants to touch you–your skin looks butter soft–and he reaches forward cupping your chin as he runs his thumb over the apple of your cheek.

“I–” You swallow thickly. “I want to a-apologize.” His hand slides down your jaw, and the words stick in your mouth a little as his thumb dips into the hollow at the base of your throat. “I d-didn’t know w-what I was talking about–!” The words die as you inhale sharply, air hissing through your teeth.

“Keep going,” he says softly. “I’m listening.” Steve hadn’t really been paying all that much attention to your body, but now he can’t help but appreciate how nicely your breasts sit in that tight, white top. He’d been too busy thinking about adjusting your attitude for that, but now…

“I, I sh-should never have, ah–” Your nipples harden to points underneath the soft fabric as Steve drags his finger down your clavicle, between your breasts. Your eyes dart toward the door, and then back to him. “Ste–” His raised eyebrow stops you. “Sir, um, the… the door.”

“If you move before you’ve finished your apology I’m going to stop.”

The ball is in your court, even if only for a moment. This is it, the time to walk away–and you don’t move. There’s a nervous, excited gleam in your eye as you swallow again. You remain on your knees, your palms flat on your thighs.

“Well then. I’m waiting.”

The self-righteous little huff that leaves your pouty lips makes him want to shove his cock down your slim throat and hold it there until your eyes roll, but he’ll save that for next time. He doesn’t have to waste time considering if there will be a next time or not, not really. Steve satisfies himself with tugging down the already generous vee of your shirt. No bra. He clears his throat.

“I shouldn’t have talked about you like that, sir. It…wasn’t my place.” He can tell it’s eating you up, having to grovel, but it’s making you wet too, he’d bet money on it. Steve reluctantly releases your shirt, and urges you to your shaky feet. Dimly, he can hear the murmur of the audience down the hallway, the feedback from the mic—but none of that matters.

“Better. I like that one. Feels much more honest.” A sly grin spreads across his features as he slides down his zipper. “And honesty is such a praiseworthy trait.”

You’re already wriggling out of those sinfully tight jeans, the left leg around your ankle when Steve scoops you up easily. You manage to finish kicking them off as he’s resting your ass on the vanity, his eyes dropping eagerly to the scrap of fabric covering your pussy. He was right, wetness glistens on your inner thighs, the crotch dark and slick with your want of him. Your eyes drop eagerly down to his cock, and Steve can’t help the sardonic chuckle that bubbles from his chest.

“What was that you said? About seeing the shield up close?” He asks, fisting his cock with one large hand. You suck your lower lip between your teeth, looking away embarrassedly. “At least now you can honestly say he fucks. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” The knowing look on his face inspires a bashful one on yours. He doesn’t let you look away, though, dragging his fingers against the damp fabric covering your core. “You were curious, weren’t you, doll?”

“A-all of America’s curious, Steve.”

He snorts. “All of America didn’t call me frigid.” Your mouth opens as though you’re going to dispute it, but a look from him silences you. This is still a punishment, after all. He hooks his fingers underneath the elastic band, and begins inching your panties down your thighs. His nostrils flare at the scent of you, his tongue drawing itself across his lips in anticipation.

“I didn’t ah, shit—” Steve cuts off your protests by parting your sticky folds with an insistent finger. He can’t help but bring it to his lips, savoring you right from the source. You’re soaked already, slick, dewy wetness gathering at your entrance, all for him.

“Doll, you are fucking soaked,” he mutters lowly, enjoying the hiss of air through your teeth. You whine sharply as he circles your clit slowly, hips jerking as he flicks against it with his thumb. Your plump lips part in a delicate o as he slides a thick finger into the slick, clenching heat of your cunt, and your hands fly up to tangle in his cotton-t-shirt. He groans at the feel of you—hot, wet, tight, sucking eagerly at his fingers.

Steve isn’t sure if he kissed you, or if you kissed him, but suddenly your, full lips are pressed against his, and he’s devouring every breathy exhalation and raspy plea. Fingers still slick with you, he smears your wetness against the head of his cock, a muffled curse leaving his lips as he slides against you. There’s a lull in the ambient noise from outside, but Steve can’t be bothered to wonder if the two of you have been caught, not when the aching head of his cock is pressing into the velvet tightness of your cunt.

The back of your head lands with a dull thud on the mirror as Steve slides home, the fingers of one hand knotted in his shirt as you brace the other against his massive shoulder.

“Oh fuck,” you moan, there are tears in your lashes when you look up at him. “Steve, I-, fuck, I can’t—” He draws out slow before slamming home, turning your ragged plea to babble.

“What d’you mean you can’t, sweetheart?” He pants, fingers digging into your hip as he drags your ass forward, bending your knees around his waist. Your eyes roll and you moan pathetically as he sinks in even deeper. “Isn’t this what you wanted? You were practically fucking begging for it on stage,” he snarls, laying into you with heavy thrusts that make you squeal and squirm against him.

The mirror on the vanity rattles dangerously in its frame as he fucks you, the wood creaking and groaning underneath your bodies. He doesn’t care about that, though, not when you’re panting his name like a prayer as your pussy squeezes him like a fucking fist—

“Y-yes!” You’re practically sobbing with pleasure, eyes wide and pupils dilated as you stare embarrassedly up at him.

“Oh doll,” he purrs, sinking into you with another wet squelch; “All you had to do was ask.”

You’re so perfect inside, like smooth, hot velvet; Steve can’t get enough. He can’t remember what other punishment he had planned—probably more of a stern talking to than anything—but this is much better. You whining underneath him, begging him while he ruts into you is a more perfect ending to this than he could possibly have imagined. Your cunt flutters around him, your ragged, desperate moans ringing in his ears.

“Come on and cum,” he growls the words against your damp throat, dragging his teeth against the bruise he knows will be there tomorrow. “Make a nice mess on my cock, sweetheart.” Steve reaches between you to press the pad of his thumb hard against your swollen clit. You keen, your legs trembling around his waist as your cunt grips him like a vice.

Even if he’d wanted to, Steve can’t stop himself from cumming, driving himself in to the hilt as you milk him. Fireworks, supernovas explode behind his shut eyes as he presses his forehead against yours, holding you still while he empties himself into you. It’s almost primal, the need to make sure you get every last drop as his cock spends itself against your womb.

When he finally does pull away, it’s to the sound of raucous applause echoing down the hallway. You’re panting a little, wiping sweat soaked strands of hair from your forehead with the back of your hand as Steve looks on.

“I take it back,” you reply hoarsely after a moment. “You, sir, most definitely fuck. Your ability to take a joke however, is going to need some work.”

Steve’s face heats, even as he quirks an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You grin. “Yeah. It’s not like you can fuck me backstage at all my shows.”

“Can’t I?” He asks, stepping forward to brace his hands around your hips. “I’m free most Saturday nights…” he trails off, and warm heat enters his belly at the sight of the slight smile playing at the edges of your lips. It’s a different kind of heat, though. Softer—but more intimate, maybe.

“Unless you’re saving the world,” you reply, cocking your head as you loop your own arms around the back of his neck.

“Unless I’m saving the world.” He agrees.

“Well, then, Mr. Rogers,” you say, poking one finger into the hard muscle of his chest. “I guess I’ll see you at curtain.”

fin

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