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supernovafics · 3 months

Note

With your I’ll be there for you series would you be interested in writing about Steve discovering that he has feelings for reader? I think it would be sweet for him to just find even the silliest things she does cute and then him having a little melt down because he realised he’s liked her along. The series is such a great idea! 💭

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 4.4k words

warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption, drunk!steve, mentions of steve's dad being shitty, angst

summary: in which steve’s drunk and you don’t hesitate to cancel a date to take care of him

author's note: thanks for the request! probably from the moment i started this series/universe i knew that i wanted to have steve realize his feelings first so this request was quite literally perfect for that lol. this is slightly “while you were sleeping” by laufey inspired hence the title. the slow burn is finally starting to come to an end !! (i’m both happy and sad about that lmao) anyways enjoy<3333

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Winter 1986

You were in the middle of debating between a black skirt and a brown plaid one that Robin convinced you to buy when you two went thrifting just a few days ago when the phone rang.

Leaving both options on your bed, you went to the kitchen to answer it, bottomless aside from the stockings you had already put on because of the cold late February weather.

“Hello?”

“Steve?” You recognized his voice for the most part, but he sounded a little different. A little far away, like he was calling from the oldest phone in the universe.

“Oh, hey.” The way he said the simple two words both confused and amused you because it sounded as if he didn’t expect you to be the person on the other end of the line.

You laughed a bit. “‘Oh, hey’? Don’t sound so disappointed. You called me.”

“I know. Sorry. I meant to call Eddie,” He said, and it was then that you heard what should’ve been obvious from the moment he said “Hello” to you— the way his words weren’t necessarily slurry, just slower than usual.

He was drunk, and you now recognized the voice that you had become so used to hearing since Steve’s sixteenth birthday when he snuck his dad’s whiskey and you both only had two shots of it before feeling it fully.

“Why would you call him? Aren’t you two together right now?” You asked, your confusion taking precedence over the amusement you felt in this moment.

Earlier that day, before you left the apartment to head to your twelve o’clock class, he told you that he was going to tag along with Robin, Vickie, and Eddie to some art show thing after his shift that night at Family Video; you would’ve gone too if you didn’t already have plans for the night.

“Also, I didn’t know that you could get drunk at an art show,” You added. “I’ll definitely make sure to go next time.”

“I didn’t go with them,” He told you, and before you could ask where he was, he answered the unspoken question. “I’m actually at a bar right now.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What? Why?”

“Very long story. Dad shit. What else is new, right?” Steve answered with a breath of a laugh.

He made his words sound lighthearted and as if whatever happened didn’t really affect him, but you, of course, didn’t see it that way. Without even being with Steve right then, standing in front of him and reading his facial expressions, you still saw through what he was trying to play off as “no big deal.” You’d known him more than long enough to know that anything involving his dad was usually always serious. And whatever shitty things his dad said to him this time around drove Steve to a bar rather than back here to the apartment to frustratingly rant to you, and that only worried you.

“Which bar are you at?” You asked softly.

“The only place in town, other than The Hideout, that doesn’t card,” He said and then immediately continued. “But, wait, don’t come here, though. I don’t want you to come get me. That’s why I was trying to call Eddie. I know you have your date tonight.”

Just for a second— actually, probably the entire time you’d been talking to Steve— you’d forgotten about the date, forgotten about the reason why you’d just been debating which skirt to wear, forgotten about what you were supposed to leave for in twenty minutes. And that slightly surprised you because, for the last couple of days, you’d been really excited about it.

Meeting Jamie felt like a sort of “meet cute” moment that was straight out of a romcom, one that you probably would’ve laughed at because of how cheesy it was. You bumped into him in the hallway on the floor of your apartment. He was your neighbor’s, Miss Johnson’s, nephew, and you learned that even though he went to a college about an hour away, he was trying to visit her more often. He had been in the middle of leaving when you saw him, and you gave a friendly wave and smile at first and he started a conversation with you. You two then spent an hour talking in the hallway before you headed inside your apartment to start studying for a test and he asked for your number, which led to more long conversations over the next few days until he asked you on a date.

In a way, it startled you how giddy you found yourself feeling about him after only those few days, how easily and quickly you liked him. It was the first crush that you had in a while that didn’t feel completely hopeless.

But now all of that was the last thing on your mind. It quickly became pushed to the side because you knew that your best friend needed you.

You shook your head in this moment even though Steve couldn’t see you. “No, it’s okay, I’ll come.”

“No, don’t, don’t. I’ll just call Eddie.”

He’s probably not home right now, was what you wanted to tell Steve, but you refrained from doing so at that moment. Instead, you said, “I’ll call him for you.”

The drunken sigh in relief Steve let out was immediate. “Okay, thanks, I don’t think I have any more change for this payphone, anyway.”

“Okay, just stay put and stop drinking.”

“The bartender already cut me off.”

“Good,” You said before saying a final goodbye to him and hanging up.

You then picked the phone up again to dial a different number. You, of course, didn’t attempt to call Eddie and you instead called Jamie. He was completely understanding when you told him that you had to cancel the date because of an emergency, and he said that you two could do the dinner and movie on a different night, which you quickly agreed on.

You put on the brown plaid skirt— quickly deciding that it looked better with the white top you were wearing, anyway— before slipping on a pair of shoes and grabbing your coat, shoving your car keys and wallet into the pockets, and then leaving the apartment.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The drive to Webster’s took less than fifteen minutes and the current emptiness of it didn’t surprise you that much. From the handful of times that you’d gone to the place with Steve, Eddie, and Robin, it became a known fact that things didn’t become “lively” until after ten, and it was currently only a little after nine.

You spotted Steve sitting on a stool at the counter, head down in his folded arms. You sat in the empty seat next to him and tapped the side of his shoulder until he sat up and looked at you.

“Glad to know you’re alive, Harrington.”

He smiled at you and you gave him a small smile back, he must have forgotten that he’d told you not to come to the bar.

“I feel barely alive, actually.”

“Still counts.”

Steve only looked at you for a moment, taking notice of what you were wearing beneath your unzipped coat.

“You look nice,” He said and then seemed to realize something and his smile dropped. “Wait, shit, your date. You shouldn’t be here right now.”

“It’s fine. We’re just gonna reschedule it.”

“I’m sorry.”

You shook your head at him. “No, don’t be. It’s just a first date, anyway. Your drunk ass needing a ride home is obviously more important than that.”

Steve laughed a bit. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment?”

“Yes, you should,” You told him and then watched with furrowed brows as he went to grab the short glass that was in front of him, half full of some dark liquor. He was about to finish what was left in the glass, but you grabbed it from him before he could. “Steve.”

“I still had this from before I called you. I can’t finish it?”

“No, because if you end up throwing up in my car on the drive home, I will have to murder you.”

You looked away from him before he could say anything in response to that and waved at Barry, the usual bartender that you became on a first name basis with after your third time going to Webster’s. Since it was the farthest thing from busy right then, he immediately walked over to you two.

“Hey, Barry, can he have some water?”

He nodded and filled up a glass, sliding it over to Steve and then looking at you. “Glad to see you here. He’s looked like a sad little lost puppy for the past hour.”

Steve stopped mid-sip to scoff. “That’s very not true.”

“Sorry, but I think I have to believe the only other sober person here,” You said and only smiled at the second annoyed scoff he let out, which was hard to take seriously because of his current drunkenness.

Barry got called over by a group of people that just walked in and you silently watched Steve take a few sips from his glass. When he set it down, you lightly nudged his knee with yours. “Do you wanna talk about what happened with your dad?”

Steve simply sighed at first. “He came to Family Video today and went on this huge rant about me and what I’m doing with my life. He thinks my job is shit, and even me going to school part-time isn’t enough. He thinks I’m such a loser in comparison to his friend’s kids who are actually “doing things with their lives.””

You frowned and shook your head. “Fuck him.”

“Cheers to that,” Steve said with a small laugh and held up his glass of water for a second. “He also said that he wants to set me up with this job at his friend’s insurance company, and I immediately said no to that. I’m still not entirely sure what I wanna do yet, but I know it’s not that— some stupid fucking desk job. Especially not one that’s just given to me by my dad.”

“He’s an idiot,” You told Steve. “And also his bullshit is not at all worth the hangover you’ll have in the morning.”

“You might be right about that,” He responded, eyes fixed on his now half-empty glass of water and a small amused smile on his face. “But, it felt good for a second.”

You poked his arm so that he would look at you. “You could’ve talked to me about all of that instead of coming here.”

“I didn’t wanna mess up your date by coming home and talking to you about all of this sad shit. I knew that you’d just worry about me and probably not go,” He mumbled. “And I feel like a dumbass for still messing it up.”

“It’s okay. Seriously. Honestly,” You told him and then playfully smiled as you said your next words. “And you know that I would tell you if it wasn’t okay. I’d definitely hold this over you for at least a week, and force you to clean out Harold’s cage and do my laundry that’s been building up for the past week and a half. But you’re drunk and sad, and I’m way too nice to make you do any of those things.”

He laughed at that, which made you smile wider. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” You said before you stood up from the stool you’d been sitting in. “Now, come on, let’s get out of here before it starts getting crowded. Can you walk okay?”

Steve only nodded in response, which was a nonverbal answer that you weren’t sure if you completely trusted, so you stood close to him as he also got up and pulled some cash out of his back pocket and placed it on the counter.

He then waved at Barry, and you were certain that he probably didn’t mean for it to be so animated and comical, but it very much looked that way. “Goodnight, Barry.”

The bartender laughed a bit when he looked over at you and Steve. “‘Night, guys.”

Steve started heading toward the door first and you followed just a few steps behind him. When he stumbled a bit before even making it out of the door, you grabbed his hand and moved closer to him so that he could drape his arm around your shoulders, and then one of yours circled around his waist.

Leading him to your car was a feat in itself, but once he was settled in the passenger seat and you started driving, he rolled his window down completely and had it like that during the entire ride even though it was freezing cold outside, and that was worse than dealing with his stumbling.

When you made it to the apartment building, his balance was actually a bit more coherent so you didn’t need to do more than just hold his hand during the entire walk to the elevators and then down the hallway to the apartment.

You dragged him to your room and he sighed in contentment when he sat down on the side of your bed; he always liked your mattress better than his own for some reason.

“Wait, don’t fall asleep yet,” You told him before heading over to his room and grabbing a random t-shirt and basketball shorts from one of his drawers. “Here, put this on. I know you’d be mad at me if I let you fall asleep in those jeans.”

“Thanks,” He mumbled with a yawn as you handed the clothes over to him, and then you went to the kitchen as he started changing.

You filled a mug with water and then pulled open the drawer that had the bottle of aspirin in it. Neither you nor Steve were really sure why it lived there instead of in one of your bathrooms, where it probably should’ve been, but you two also didn’t make any effort to move it.

Steve was already asleep and under the covers when you walked back into your room, and you placed the mug and aspirin on the nightstand on his side. You changed into your own pajamas for the night, which simply consisted of an old baggy t-shirt and shorts, before settling in on your side of the bed.

It was still pretty early for a Friday night, barely even ten o’clock, but you didn’t mind going to bed because you were actually a little tired. Steve was turned and facing away from you, but you still watched him and his even breathing for a bit, making sure he was okay before you quickly drifted off to sleep yourself.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Steve didn’t know what time it was when he woke up, but he could tell that it was pretty early because he could see the just sun starting to rise.

The other things he quickly noticed were that he was in your bed and he had a pounding headache, which was a little confusing at first, but then all of what happened last night started coming back to him.

The shit with his dad, the bar, the accidental phone call to you, and then you coming to the bar and bringing him home— he remembered it all.

With a soft groan, Steve slowly sat up in bed, doing his best not to wake you, and then reached over to grab the water and aspirin you left out for him.

He took the medicine and drank most of the water and then laid back down, turning on his side to face you. Your head was against the pillow and even breaths fell from your slightly parted lips. You looked so peaceful like this, he decided, so pretty.

Steve thought about you and Jamie, and how happy you had been when you talked about him. Steve also knew how excited you’d been about the date, and even though you had told him that it was okay that you had to cancel it last night, he still felt a little bad about it all.

He knew that you would probably do anything for him, and that was completely mutual. If the roles had been reversed last night, Steve wouldn’t have thought twice about canceling a date to go pick you up from some dumb bar. And making those sorts of sacrifices for one another never felt like a question, it just always felt like the obvious thing to do.

It didn’t completely make sense at first, but somehow it was that simple and crystal clear thought that managed to shift something deep down inside of him— it harshly drew the line between best friends and something more. And Steve quickly realized exactly which side he lay on.

Which was confusing because the lines of where your friendship began and ended had always felt so unquestionable— you and him were best friends; nothing more, nothing less.

But it was different now, it changed, and it was this moment that told him that it actually had been that way for a while; probably since you two moved into the apartment.

Starting from that day in August your lives became even more intertwined with one another— which didn’t feel entirely possible because of how close you’d been for so long— but it was true. He hadn’t realized how blurry the lines had been getting since then.

Since you two started beginning your days and ending them in the same home. Since so many nights became spent in each other’s beds; nothing more happening than sleeping and late night talking, but still. Since you two got Harold only a few weeks into living in the apartment, and you both immediately fell into your unserious parental roles in the hamster’s life. Since an unspoken early morning weekend routine fell into place where Steve would make coffee and toast and you’d do the eggs and bacon. Since you two became something equivalent to a married couple that had been together for at least twenty years.

And then Steve realized that actually maybe this something more had always been there— maybe it had always been so fucking obvious.

He thought back to the end of Senior year when you two went to each other’s proms and slow danced at the end of the night because you both thought it would be funny, but those moments actually turned into something really sweet and wholesome; and you’d both think back on it during the most randomest of times.

And then he also thought about smaller things, the parts of your personality that made him feel so goddamn lucky to know you. How you always fiddled with the radio and never settled on a station for longer than a few minutes during perhaps any car ride where Steve was the one driving; something that you’d been doing since the day he got his driver's license and you two went on your first solo car ride together. How pretty much anything you did would only make him smile and playfully roll his eyes or make fun of you.

Steve wasn’t entirely sure why he was having this sort of “epiphany moment” right here, right now, in your bed as he looked at you peacefully sleeping next to him.

It, of course, stemmed from you canceling something that he had known you’d been looking forward to for the last couple of days to instead take care of him, he could recognize that. But, what made that so different from everything else you’d done for each other over the years?

He immediately thought that maybe there was no one straight answer to that question because it wasn’t about what was different. Instead, it was about all of those other moments too. They had slowly built upon each other until it came to this one on this February morning— nine years into your friendship and six and a half months into you two living together— and Steve could finally recognize what it all had meant, and he was ready to accept the truth for what it was too.

He liked you. More than liked, actually. He loved you, he was in love with you.

But, you were also his best friend, the most important person in his life, and he didn’t want to be the reason that that ever got messed up. And that thought was what made him finally look away from you and mutter out a soft, “Fuck.”

Steve quickly got out of the bed, and he was surprised, but also completely grateful, that his quick and hasty movements didn’t manage to stir you awake.

He left your room and went to the kitchen. It was early and he probably should’ve been trying to get a few more hours of sleep, but he wasn’t tired anymore.

The realization was the only thing on his mind— in a matter of seconds, it managed to completely consume it.

Everything else that had been happening the past few months finally made complete sense; Steve saw it all in a different way. He now understood why he couldn’t picture any sort of future with Vanessa when he went out with her a few times back in December even though he really did like her, and why he couldn’t see anything with anyone he went out with. Because deep down, he knew that he could only see that with you. It made sense why his dating life had been in such a rut lately and why he didn’t particularly mind it all that much.

When you two would jokingly say that you both were completely okay with ending up “alone together forever,” he realized now that from his side of things, deep down, it had never been a joke. And he wondered if it was the same way for you.

In an ideal world, the answer would be yes. But, things only felt confusing, and if he was being a thousand percent honest with himself, he didn’t know if that answer was yes in this world.

Steve knew that you really liked Jamie, even in such a short amount of time, so that couldn’t mean that you had any sort of feelings for him. Right? Or maybe you just hadn’t had your own “epiphany moment” yet? Should he tell you about his? Should he tell you about any of what just hit him in the past ten minutes?

His brain felt as if it was going to fucking explode with all of the questions circling his mind right then, and the coffee he was making failed to distract his thoughts from everything.

He came to the quick decision that he wouldn’t tell you what he was feeling; it would just be easier that way. There wouldn’t be any way for him to potentially fuck things up between you two if he simply ignored what he was feeling. It was easy to imagine how drastically your friendship would change if he told you everything and you didn’t feel the same. Therefore, he could push it all away to make sure that nothing changed for the worse.

When the coffee was done, he poured some into a fresh mug and took a long sip. Any other time, he couldn’t really stand straight black coffee, but the bitterness tasted good for once; he decided to focus on that instead of anything else.

Steve wasn’t sure how long he had been leaning back against the counter and sipping from his mug before you came out of your room. It could’ve been one minute or ten; right then, time felt as if it was moving both slow and fast.

“Hey,” You said, giving him a small smile and rubbing the tiredness out of your eyes. “I’m surprised you’re up already. I definitely expected you to be passed out until at least ten.”

It felt equivalent to a light switch flipping how quickly Steve felt affected by your smile and simply you in that moment. He’d probably seen you like this a million times before— just waking up and still in your now wrinkled pajamas from the night— but it felt entirely different now. And that was when he knew how fucked he was.

“Yeah, I, uh, I woke up and couldn’t, um, go back to sleep… So, yeah, just came out here. Made some, um, coffee,” He ultimately responded and then inwardly sighed at how flustered he was right then. He let out a quick laugh. “Sorry, blame the hangover for my inability to say sentences right now.”

If that was how he was going to act around you from now on, he knew that trying to keep this a secret was probably the most unrealistic idea ever.

You laughed a bit and nodded, seemingly unfazed by his awkwardness right then, and opened up the fridge. “You think you can stomach eggs and bacon?”

“Yes to the bacon, but I think I should play it safe and say no to the eggs.”

“Makes sense,” You said, closing the fridge after grabbing the bacon. You placed the pack on the counter near the stove and then looked at Steve. “You feeling better about all of that dad shit?”

It was almost comical how even though it had been the reason for everything that happened last night, the conversation he had with his dad was the farthest thing from his mind now.

“I’m good, actually.”

“Good,” You said, smiling at him and then reaching out to grab his hand and give it a light reassuring squeeze; which, unknown to you, made his heart feel as if it was going to somersault out of his chest. “Remember, the next time this happens, come to me and we both can get drunk here for free. Or we can just run away and join the circus, or whatever it was we agreed on when we were twelve.”

Steve only nodded and gave you a small smile in response because it felt as if that was all he could do at that moment. If he attempted to say anything, he felt like his words would’ve started or ended with, “I’m in love with you.”

He changed his decision then. He knew that he had to tell you everything because it wouldn’t be easy to simply bury it down and ignore it. There was no way that he’d be able to keep this from you, at least not for a long time, it was already swallowing him whole. And although he had no idea when or how he would tell you the truth, he made a quick promise to himself that he would do it.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things fluff #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x reader smut #stranger things imagine #stranger things series #stranger things smut

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yandere-daydreams · 8 months

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Oh god that gojo age regression post is like one of the most unhinged scenarios i've read so far... like the fact that what if he did meet you in his late twenties and you're not even a sorcerer yourself and just some random person who he he came across after a mission, who he instantly attached himself into because you're the first person in years to ask if he is okay? And his deluded mind just instantly came up with all sorts of scenarios where you are his hs girlfriend/fiancee/etc? Omg 🤯 delusional gojo is 🥹👌

tw - kidnapping, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, implied non/con, age regression (?).

i can see him using any relationship with a non-sorcerer to do a little 'civilian cosplay', if that makes sense, so him not only pretending to be normal and untraumatized, but pretending to be a normal, untraumatized, and at an age where he can remember being happy in a totally uncomplicated way with some helpless little thing he kidnapped is an extension of that. you'd be his security blanket in any scenario, but like this, he's free to convince himself that you went to the same high school, that you two stayed up late watching shitty movies and cramming for finals rather than hunting curses and training to kill, that you've been dating for just long enough to still blush and feign protest when his hand slides under the skirt of the uniform he found in a thrift store earlier that day. it's a fantasy he can slip into when one of his students gets hurt, when he sees a head of black hair out of the corner of his eye or Nanami reminds him they aren't teenagers, anymore. he'll get his hands on an old copy of your yearbook, use every scrap of information as fuel for the little den of delusion he's made with you, and if you don't want to deal with the condensed layers of trauma and disillusionment that make up gojo as he is now, you'll help him pretend that all the things that led him to needing an emotional-support captive never happened. even if that means smoking like a ninth-grader who just got your older cousin to buy you a pack for the first time, again.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere gojo

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trashmouth-richie · 3 months

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I am dying to know how the sexy older! Landlord Eddie has been doing? I need that man right now🥵

ohhhh boy. 😵‍💫

our sexy older! landlord is now our sexy older! boyfriend.

he rented out your trailer after you moved in with him.

he comes home to you every hot summer evening laying out in the little kiddie pool you suggested getting for sunbathing, sunglasses perched on your nose you about kill him dead with your curves in a cheap string bikini you found at the thrift store

your painted toes walk up his grease stained tank top, and he kisses each toe before rubbing your feet. calling you his little princess

he’s still an asshole, still hates everyone in the trailer park, his softness is kept for you except when you beg him to be rough in bed, which he happily obliges.

he looks good, better than he has in years, he finds himself even smiling sometimes.

his favorite part of the night is fucking you into tears in the jetted tub he installed

you keep him young and he cherishes you.

he laughs at the differences between your age and his, reliving glory days of when you weren’t even alive yet.

his place is spotless, smelling like a candle he won’t admit that he likes even though he adores the way you’ve added your womanly taste to his shitty trailer.

some days you go with him to work, and you finally convinced him to spruce up the trailers a bit, tear up old dog piss stained carpet and lay down the least ugliest patterned linoleum you could find.

he scowls at the flowers you have potted on the porch. “what the hell are these things?” he gripes “mums, aren’t they pretty?” he ashes his cigarette in them when you aren’t looking then later feels bad and buys you another one, a deep ruby colored one that cost way too much at that dump kmart.

you treat him like a king. hearty meals and sun sweet tea you let seep on the porch. he’s never liked his birthday but when make a big deal of and celebrate it, he almost cries.

#landlord!eddie #eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut

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deadpool15 · 6 months

Text

Sugarbaby vibes ✨️

I walked out of the fitting room wearing the shit Chanel set. Let's be honest I looked to fucking die for, but once I saw the price it looked mid. Of course I wanted it and speaking of price it's Chanel what did I expect. If anything I suggested, let's go thrifting, as you can tell I didn't grow up with money. I'm still trying to get used to living this life now, it's crazy hoe just last week I was struggling to afford a pack of fucking Ramen at the convenience store and now I live in a penthouse. Your girl did, in fact, come up in life. You all better be proud. All thanks to the one and only Bada Lee.

Bada is about 28, and I'm 22, so there is a slight age gap if you care about any of that. Shit I didn't. I just needed someone to pay my bills. How we met it quite an interesting story if you think about it, I mean, I didn't sign up for a sugar mama like on the weird ass movies or stories you see on Wattpad. I was, in fact, working as a waiter in this high-end restaurant with might I add a shitty pay. Why are we serving all this expensive ass shit and in only getting made a few bucks in an hour? It's giving slavery, and not mentions my boss who, like most men, convince himself within the 3 minutes of hiring me that I was destined to be his furtre wife and the mother of his children as he call it. If you wanted to know what crazy looks like, we'll Mr. Kim is a prime example.

But we are getting of topic. See, I don't wanna tell you about my overly obsessive ass boss. I wanna tell you about the women who turned my life around. Serving tables is absolute shit, especially when no matter how rich one is, they never tip. "Hey Blue, bossman says he needs you at table six." I turned around to my partner in crime, Leslie. I'm happy to see her until I realized what she said, "I'm on break, though, like all these people around here . Can't he bother someone else." She gave me a sad smile and shrugged, "no, you know he likes to watch you suffer, because he expects after a while you will give in and let him take you out on a date." I stare at her with disgust.

"Yea, never mind your you're right. I'll take my chances with the wolves again. I'm just get going. If he asks again, make sure to tell him I chose getting screamed and yelled at my rich elderly woman over acknowledging his existence. " I hurried and jog off before she could say anything, grabbing my notepad and pen out of my pocket I had towards table six. With the biggest fake smile on. The love I have for these customers is crazy.

I stand there saying my usual line in the most chipper voice one can muster, whiteout even looking at the person sitting down in front of me. "Hello, ladies and gentlemen. I'm blue and very happy to serve you tonight. So what can I get, you folks?" I hear someone speak before muttering something about how I'm pretty, then I finally gather the courage to look up and see a group of women. All dressed to perfection, clothes tailored just to fit their figure. Those majority of them look around my age or slightly older. After a moment of being caught in a daze while overanlyzing them, I turn to her the tallest one of the bun speak up. "I would like to have a water to drink and just some shrimp pasta."

I make eye contact with her and my God. This is the most beautiful creature I've ever seen in my life. It almost feels like i should have to pay a fee to look upon her face. My stare moves down to her lips and not e how nice and pump they are. I would kill to suck on those lips, to feel what they tasted like even. I realize I've just been staring at her while the rest of the women have spoken uo about their order already. "Oo, I'm s-so sorry." I state being an absolute nervous wreck while looking down at my notepad. I hope she didn't notice that. "It's fine, sweetheart," I heard the girl that was referred to ad Lusher somewhere in the conversation state to me. I hurry up and excuse myself to go get their orders. She keeps staring at me, bitting the inner part of her check. Eventually, they leave after a while, leaving a $200 tip for me. I almost couldn't believe it. This I'd the first time someone has ever given me that much money as a tip.

After a while, the girl continues to come to our little restaurant. Same table, same confidence aura and everything. She makes it seem as if she is trying to just get something to eat. We continue to see each other even after work. She would pop in on my breaks, and around the time, I would clock out. She was intimidating. I'll get her that. I spoke with class, and her vibe just let you know she had money. And it seemed she had her eyes on a certain girl. Me. Though, after beating around the bush, Bada told me exactly what she wanted. "I want to take care of you. You'll never have to worry about a single thing when you're with me. Or lift a finger. Give you the life you deserve, baby. I mean, you are a cute little waitress, but you can be so much more. Why waste your time when you have me. Just say the words, and I'll take care of you."

Some might've immediately said yes, and to be honest, I would've to. Until Bada told me there were rules. Which did kinda throw me off a bit. I mean, I thought I had the whole idea down until well, I realized I didn't. It wasn't just about the money it was the pleasure. How much would she give me, and fuck did she give me a lot. Well lived by only a few rules, but Bada took them very seriously.

Rule 1: Don't question anything

Rule 2: Don't talk back

Rule 3: Don't touch yourself

You should've seen the look on my face when I heard the third rule, I mean, at the bright age of 22, who the hell doesn't masturbate. Literally made no sense to me until she tried to explain it further. "I give you pleasure. I'm the only one who should be touching you. I'm general baby. You belong entirely to me. That's how this works. Therefore, you shouldn't be doing anything without my permission cupcake." After finally going over the terms, I agreed in the end. At the end of the day, I was a broke college student who desperately needed the money, and Bada just so happens to be the sexy older one willing to give it to me. In a sense, I was happy with my current predicament. My life was going well. Now, back to what I was saying earlier.

I stared at myself in the mirror. Sometimes, I forget that I can look this good. "Yea, ayye, get it, girl." In the process of hyping myself up, I finally hear a voice speak up from behind me, scaring the absolute shit out of me. "I'm glad you like it, baby. It does look good on you, I told you I have an eye for beautiful things. I mean, just look at my baby girl." She says while holding on to my waist, kissing my neck slowly. I smile for a while until I realize what she is doing. "Baby, we are in public, a fitting room at that. We aren't doing that here," I say, trying to be firm while avoiding her glaze in the mirror.

"What did I tell you about saying no to me, huh? Do you make the rules?" She forcefully grabbed my chin when she caught on to the act. She grabs my breast while still making eye contact with me in the mirror. "That's right, just stand right here, ok? Gonna be my good girl, right?" I stare at the door, thinking about the people outside that will hear us. While I'm thinking about them, Bada moved the hand that was holding me under my top, slowly circling my right nipple. "Gonna be good, right?" She asks again,she never has enough patience to ask again. It seems she is being nice today. I nod my head at her question this time.

"Word babygirl, I need to hear you. Let them hear you. Just stop all that thinking for me." I whimper at her words. Finally, forgetting about the staff in the store. She moves her hand down my body, teasing me with her pace. "P-please, I'll be g-good. Gonna be so good for you." She smirks, looking down at my face before moving her hand towards my soaked pussy. "Always so f-fucking good for me, aren't you? My precious little baby. Just needs to be filled, like always." I look into her eyes in the mirror about to answer her before she insert a finger into me, all while still playing with my breasts. She knows my body like the back of her hand. Doesn't even have to try to find the spot.

"Yea, right there, come on. I can't hear you, baby girl." I know exactly the game she is playing at, but I can only stand there moaning like a bitch in heat being held on my weak jelly-like legs as she adds two more fingers. While she grinds her hips into me, fuck those bloody dancers and there hips. "Y-yes y-yes... shit o fuck right there". She just smiles at my reactions. Assuming to her if anything. "Were gonna buy this little outfit, then I'm gonna by 28 fucking more just to fuck the shit out of you in them. And you gonna let me, aren't you?. Gonna take it like a good girl who just needs her holes filled, right?" I shake my head, screaming yes over and over again while nodding profusely. Seems that's the only word my brain can come up with as she starts to suck down on my neck leaving marks while circling my clit with her thumbs. And she still continues to thrust those same three fingers in and out of me ob command.

"Fucked you dumb, aww that's adorable baby. But we just started, " She says while smirking, and I stare at her in a mix of fear and pleasure. "Now open those legs wider for me, baby girl."

#swf2 #street woman fighter 2 #street woman fighter x reader #bada lee #bada lee x reader

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blackberryblossom · 1 year

Text

dating jesse pinkman hcs 🍃

warnings nsfw (reader is gender neutral)

sfw

i don’t even really know where to start

jesse is the sweetest, softest guy ever and nothing anyone says will convince me otherwise

he’s just so obsessed with you-

cannot go a day- no, an hour without telling you he loves you

you'll be eating breakfast (eggs, that he made) and he'll reach across the countertop, grabbing your hand, looking up at you with those beautiful blue eyes, kissing a soft "i love you" into each fingertip 😭😭

you'll blush and look away, and he'll smirk, squeezing your hand and taking a sip of his orange juice

he wakes up really early sometimes, for no particular reason

on those mornings, he’ll simply lay back and listen to your soft breathing and the sound of birds chirping prettily outside, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, waiting for you to wake- and when you finally do, he’ll roll over on top of you, tickling your sides, peppering your beautiful, beautiful face in a thousand kisses, whispering sweet nothings and quiet “i love you’s” in your ear

big on quality time and physical touch

he doesn’t have much in his shitty little house, but he has a tv, and he has you and sometimes when he wakes in the middle of the night, he’ll turn the tv on and pull you closer to him, your soft, slow breathing and the drone of the tv lulling him back into a deep, peaceful sleep

he loves holding your hand- in the car, when you’re watching tv, cuddling, eating, walking somewhere, at the store.. etc

loves it when you lay your head in his lap, closing your pretty eyes and letting him run his hands through your hair and stroke your face and trace his finger along your jaw

loves kissing you- your jaw, hand, knuckles and fingers, shoulders, collarbone, mouth.. you name it

i feel like he draws

he’ll make little doodles and he’ll draw the things around him- the orange on the countertop, a leaf he found on the ground, a lighter he found in his pocket

you’re his favorite subject though 🥰🥰 he’s got so many drawings of you- probably enough to fill several sketchbooks

there’s ones of you cooking, lying in bed, smoking on the porch, fresh out of the shower in just your towel..

his line of work is dangerous, and jesse does his best to protect you from it all

he gives you little gifts all the time- bracelets or necklaces he made himself, gum he bought while out grocery shopping, a pair of shoes or something he saw at a thrift shop, some sort of trinket he’d nicked from walter’s car/coat pocket..

big on flowers too- he’ll pull over anywhere to pick flowers for you if he saw some he liked

basically he’s just the sweetest<3

nsfw

switch with a sub preference

the kinda guy to get pleasure just from going down on his partner

will always finish last if he can help it

leaves hickies all over your body, carefully avoiding obvious or visible places- ie. your neck, shoulders..

doesn’t strike me as the kinda guy with a huge dick tbh but he definitely knows how to use it ;)

there’s always foreplay, even if it’s a quick fingering or make out sesh

he’ll insist on undressing you each and every time, but it’s never awkward; he’s kneeling in front of you, holding your hips while looking up at you, kissing down your body and mumbling loving compliments

aftercare >>

he’ll clean you up, get you some water, help you up if need be- grabbing at your waist, laughing breathlessly as you lean against him..

#jesse pinkman x reader #breaking bad

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undead-supernova · 2 months

Text

HIGH TOLERANCE

Masterlist

important note: this is a one-off of my High Tolerance series! I suggest reading everything else to understand what the hell is happening and why this is important to the story hehehe!

warnings: fluff to the nines with a hint of desire, smoking weed (obviously), body image mention, death mention

pairings: modern!bestfriend!Eddie x bisexual!fem!reader

plot: this is the one where you and Eddie smoke weed together for the first time--well, amongst other silly little firsts (about five months after they first met)

this was already something I'd been thinking of but I heard the song Close One by FIZZ and it is so Eddie and Weirdo coded it's crazy

wc: 4.8k

Eddie watched as you took a few steps past the door, walking slowly as if you were in some art gallery. Tentative steps that echoed off his empty walls and unsettled wooden floors. Noticing the hum of the air conditioning and birds chirping near the windowsill.

This was the first time you’d been in his new apartment.

There were boxes everywhere, some half-opened, others not at all. You’d insisted that you could help him with the move, but he’d shaken his head. Told you that Steve, Jeff, Gareth, and Grant could do it. Told you that you’d be his first house guest once he got everything figured out.

But, uh. Well.

There were boxes in every corner. No table. Only a plank of wood on top of two extra-large boxes in front of a TV being held up by yet another box. But he loved it. This was the first place he could call his home, no matter how shitty or overpriced the place was. He had a view of the street and a place to put his amp. A fridge with next to no food. A mattress with no frame.

It wasn’t exactly a palace and Eddie knew that. But it was his.

“This is a fucking palace if I’ve ever seen one,” you said, turning to see Eddie leaning up against the door. His eyebrows raised. “I’m surprised you don’t have any guards standing outside. What if a dragon gets in?”

The smile you gave him was playful, without a hint of judgment.

“Guess I’ll have to slay it with my bare hands,” Eddie replied, finally pushing himself off the door to flex his nonexistent muscles.

“Wow,” you said, placing your hands over your heart. “I’m shaking in my little boots.”

“What can I say?”

Eddie gave you a grand tour of his studio apartment, which consisted of walking about twenty steps to the bedroom before turning to the bathroom and coming right back to the surprisingly spacious kitchen but tiny living room.

The two of you mainly stood at the small island separating the kitchen and living room, leaning over with your chins propped up by your hands. Discussing where to put his Dio and Iron Maiden posters. Contemplated going to the thrift store for a couch. Wondered if you could change the upholstery yourselves if you didn’t like the fabric but loved the feel. Decided you were too stupid to even try to figure that out.

By the time you checked your phone, it was nearing evening.

“Should we cook dinner?” you asked. “I’m hungry as fuck.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Cook?”

Eddie didn’t know much about cooking. Robin and Steve had been the ones to stock the fridge and take turns at the stove. Eddie was merely there to watch or be called to meals, savoring every last bite like he could wake up the next morning without the access again.

A part of him was still reeling from Spaghettios and whatever low-priced high fructose corn syrup meal Wayne left in the pantry. There was nothing like spending nights by the shitty TV eating saltine crackers and peanut butter. Sometimes blocks of cheese when Wayne wanted to try making sandwiches before work—but those attempts never lasted very long.

“Yeah, like we could make chicken Alfredo and some garlic bread.”

He shrugged. “I was thinking like, you know, takeout or something. There’s a Thai place across the street.”

You gave him a weird look. “Do you not cook?”

“Uh, no. I don’t really know how.”

“Chicken?” He shook his head. “Pasta?” Another shake.

You nodded, walking over to pick up your purse. “If you’re going to be living alone, I think I should at least teach you how to cook pasta, chicken, and bread.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“We,” you started, fiddling with your keys. “are going to the grocery store.”

Eddie groaned, dramatically falling to the floor. “I fucking haaaaate going to the grocery store. It takes fucking forever out here.”

You smiled with an eye roll. “Get up, you dramatic queen.”

He sighed, letting you help him to his feet before grabbing his wallet and keys.

“The one and only.”

“Mm. Yeah, well you haven’t gone to the grocery store with me. I’ll show you the way.”

You truly were a wizard when it came to navigating the grocery store in fifteen minutes or less. Kroger was your bitch and he respected the hell out of that. On top of it all, you explained how to shop cheap as you whisked him around. You never grabbed his hand, settling for his wrist.

Was it weird that he felt a sting of disappointment?

Despite this, he loved watching you move, watching you move him.

Bakery.

You hummed, fingers ghosting over the different breads. “See, you get the bread that’s a dollar or two, the ones that are on sale because they’re a few days out from going bad,” you explained, plucking a French baguette out of one of the top shelves. “That way,” you turned to him. “you’re saving money and have enough for a few days.”

Aisle 14.

“So, you get that cheap fettuccine,” you said, crouching down to grab the generic brand before immediately popping back up. “It really doesn’t matter anyways. Well, as long as you cook it all the way through.”

Produce.

“You have garlic?” you asked.

Eddie only shook his head, almost embarrassed at the idea that he was supposed to have it.

But you just smiled.

“No problemo. I didn’t either before someone showed me.” Grabbing a giant jar of minced garlic, you chucked it in the basket. “This will last you a long, long time. I haven’t gotten another bottle in months and I use it in just about everything.”

Meat.

“Always grab the ones that are on sale since they’re going bad sooner. It’s still good and you can just cook it up to use for a few more meals if you’d like. Should we get you tortillas? I feel like you could get good at making a mean quesadilla.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, watching the ingredient list stack up, wondering how much everything was about to cost.

“Next time.”

“Next time,” you promised.

And after grabbing heavy whipping cream, mozzarella, parmesan, and basic spices for the alfredo sauce, claiming that you were able to make more than what a jar could provide him, you headed to the self-checkout. You insisted on buying everything despite his protests. Even cooking pans and spatulas.

“You really don’t have to.”

“I have a Kroger card. You’re saving me, like, fifty cents on gas.” As you scanned, you added, “Consider it a housewarming gift.”

Eddie didn’t know what to think about your kindness, the way you were able to just give to him without a second thought. It was a friendship that seemed beyond the realm of tough boundaries. You were able to help and provide your support without asking anything in return. Without thought, without any demand of him. Offering aid, leading with an open mind and heart.

It occurred to Eddie that he still didn’t know what to think of you.

“Always use butter,” you stated, giving him a serious stare. “You will fuck up your nice new pans and your chicken if you use oil.”

As he watched you cook, with a little furrow between your eyebrows as you focused, Eddie couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have this be a regular occurrence. If he could always have you here, cooking and laughing with him. Dancing around the small space to Nova Twins and Black Sabbath all the time, using his spatula as a multi-purpose tool—a cooking utensil, a microphone and a guitar.

“Are you even paying attention?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry.”

“Yes, what?”

Eddie snorted. “Yes, chef.”

But there was a little something he couldn’t shake, noticing for the first time how your black babydoll dress fit you, with lace dripping down below the hemline. His eyes traced down your body as you preoccupied yourself, a new sort of heat reaching his cheeks. It was starting to move further through him, finding its way down, down, down…

Without thinking, Eddie shook his head and opened the cabinet next to you, placing a wooden box on the counter. It was littered with stickers, chipped and nicked from being used and moved so often. As he lifted the top, the aroma of cannabis hit the two of you like a particularly brutal wave.

“Woah, there!” you said, looking down with wide eyes. “What do you have there, Mr. Munson?”

Your reaction was nearly unreadable. He couldn’t blame you. There was a stockpile, with cones and papers and a few edibles and rolled joints. Little jars full of bud. An extra pack of cigarettes.

He hadn’t really thought about what you’d think about it or if you smoked at all. As he combed through his memory, he found no recollection of you mentioning it at all since you’d met.

“Oh, uh,” he mumbled, continuing to pull out a particularly pretty joint. “You smoke?”

Something in his stomach twisted when he saw a wide grin reach your lips. Because, Jesus, you were cute. Had he really not noticed just how cute you were until then? He did everything he could to prevent the heat from returning, but the steam omitting from the stove was making it worse.

“Do I smoke?” you teased. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

Relief ran through him at your banter, knowing he picked you well when he asked to be your best friend. “I didn’t know!”

“I clearly didn’t show you my bong collection. That’s my bad.”

That pulled a laugh out of Eddie.

Being around you was just as easy as being around Wayne. It was something resembling familial, but for some reason today was beginning to show him that it extended far beyond that. It was like with each passing moment spent in each other’s company, the definitions and adjectives were shifting and stretching into something he couldn’t quite articulate. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“What the fuck are they even saying?” As Eddie looked at the name of the album on your phone, Этажи, he added, “How do you even pronounce that?”

You shrugged. “I don’t fucking know. But it’s cool, right? Like, this is goth music from Belarus. Belarus. Isn’t that cool? The guitars, the fuzzy feeling. The baur-dunnunununun,” you sang along, imitating playing the drums. You were actually quite rhythmic, able to follow along to the beat perfectly. “I listen to this on repeat all the time. It’s so addictive.”

Since the two of you finished dinner and split a joint, you had gone on a full on mission to induct Eddie into the world of goth rock. The Eighties classics, the recents. Bauhaus, Joy Division, Siouxsie and the Banshees, London After Midnight, She Wants Revenge, Alien Sex Fiend, etc etc.

At first, Eddie was opposed to the whole thing, extremely disinterested. But you were adamant to keep going, to delve into the subculture and expose him to the magic. The dancing began to make sense to him, watching as you gave a demonstration. Your face angled towards the floor, your arms high. Wrists twisting and turning as you swayed back and forth. The lace moved and twirled wherever you went, your outfit fitting the music perfectly.

He was starting to understand, with each string of poetic lyricism and atmospheric stroke of the guitar—the same thing he’d always seen in Black Sabbath. The outfits, the makeup. The defiance against modern society and culture. The romanticism, the guttural heartbreak. The yearning. Pining. The desperation for something pure and lovely to hold onto. It was something else, something special all on its own and his judgment had been extremely unwarranted.

“I didn’t get what you meant before about it having its own sound, but that’s on me,” he admitted. “I’m sorry for being a little bitch.”

Your smile grew as you continued dancing around him, eyes never leaving his. Eddie turned to hold your eye contact as you swayed, nearly mesmerized by your movement. He wanted to blame it on the haze of the weed, but something scratching at his brain told him it was just you.

“That’s the last time you doubt me, alright?” you said, seemingly closer than before. This time, you were dancing even slower as you circled him. It was starting to make his mouth dryer than it was already.

“The last time, indeed,” he responded.

Your playlist started over, the haunting beginning to “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” filling Eddie with an odd sense of ease. It was kind of like metal, but stripped down. The beat never stopped moving, always pushing forward in a soothing way. What the hell did they pump into these songs?

“Look at us, unplugged from the outside world,” he said with a little laugh as the two of you sat down on the floor. Your backs against the wall, cross-legged. “We’re so cool and different.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a smile never leaving your lips. “I’m usually unplugged when I’m not at work.”

This was news to him. You were always quick to answer his texts whenever you were off, always at a rapid fire pace. In fact, it was unusual if you weren’t texting him back.

But Eddie decided to keep that to himself, letting you continue.

“Everyone is so loud these days.” You began to gesture with your hands, nearly hitting his arm. “‘This is the right opinion. No, this is. Who said what. This stranger is too judgmental, this one isn’t critical enough. Oh, look, this celebrity is wearing something. Wanna hear about a YouTuber you don’t give a shit about having beef with another YouTuber you don’t give a shit about?

“‘Want to make money dancing to sped up classics? Well, how about we do it so much that artists are rearranging their already awesome music to appease an audience. Let’s bully kids. Let’s doxx people. Did you see this? What about that? Well, why aren’t you online? Do you not care? Here’s the news. Oh, wait, that’s the wrong news. Someone famous is having a baby. A Kardashian just broke up with someone, can you believe it? Let’s make body sizes a trend and follow every celebrity who has changed their appearance to fit a fad. Skinny’s in, skinny is still in but you’re allowed to have a few curves. Fuck it, it’s cool to look sick. Here’s an Eighties trend, here’s Y2k.’”

You paused, taking a deep breath. “And then suddenly you’ve spent your whole day spiraling from an existential crisis about the lack of control you have. Feeling fucked up because we were not designed to go this fast. And then suddenly you’re wondering if you’ll ever be able to just frolic in a field like we were built to. If we have a future at all.”

With a final sigh, you shook your head. “Sorry, I get a little intense sometimes when I smoke. But, yeah, I think I’m gonna try to block out the noise before the whole internet explodes and there’s nothing left but scraps and archives.”

Eddie nodded, understanding your thoughts completely. He’d never been one to care about social media or the internet in general. Hell, he hadn’t gotten a smartphone until he got his first real paycheck here. The most he did was read the newspaper, no shit, and get help from his friends whenever he was in rotation to do promo for the band on their socials. His brain was usually filled to the brim with racing thoughts anyways, never needing the outside world coming in.

Well, until he walked into a bar and met you.

“What do you do then?” he asked.

Shrugging, you said, “I like to get high and cook while listening to music. Read books and listen to music. Journal. Go to some local shows to find new bands. Drink coffee at local places and listen to music. A lot of it has to do with listening to music.” Eddie couldn’t help but smile. “It’s the only thing that really seems to make sense anymore. Spotify tells me I listen to music more than, like, ninety percent of people, but I think they’re lying to make me feel cool.”

Eddie laughed. “Don’t go all conspiratorial on me this early in the smoke session.”

As you wiggled your fingers in his face, your voice went low. “Listen to my words, Eddie Boy! These are no longer theories, but facts! Tinfoil hats are sexy! Oooooh, spooky! Creeeeepy!”

Eddie rolled his eyes, shooing your hands away. “Okay, okay. Enough with whatever any of that was.”

Laughter died out before you asked the one question he’d hoped you’d never ask.

“I was really surprised when you said you didn’t know how to cook. Has your mom really never taught you how?”

Despite wanting to look away from your curious eyes, Eddie held your stare. “Uh, no. My mom died when I was a kid.”

Eyes widening, you sat up. “Oh, Eddie. Shit. I’m sorry for assuming—”

“No, no,” he interrupted. “It’s all good. You didn’t know.”

“Okay.”

The two of you were quiet again before Eddie asked, “Do you wanna know about it?”

You nodded silently.

Eddie embarked on what he called his backstory, like he was a fictional character in a novel. Maybe it was the only way he would make it through his shitty past, a tale of a boy with a dream for a good future but always coming up short.

You didn’t say anything the entire time, only watching him, eyes trained on his hands whenever he gestured. But as he spoke, he realized that his descriptions of everyone just weren’t right.

He led you to a box that he swore he’d keep closed forever, already hidden on the top shelf of his closet. The two of you sat on the carpet by his mattress, music faint in the background.

He began showing you a picture or two of his mom before he couldn’t help but keep going through the photographs. There was Wayne. The Hellfire Club. Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Max, and Erica. Ronnie, before she left for college. Bev, scowling at the camera from The Hideout. The band after their last show there. The solitary picture he had of his father from when he was barely a year old.

All of these pieces of himself that he kept close to his heart, kept close to his soul if those existed. The life he swore to keep hidden now that he was gone, with only Steve and Robin connecting him to his past. Gareth, Grant, and Jeff once they were able to graduate and move. Even then, it felt like they were a part of something new, not old.

Hawkins made him feel isolated, hollow. It was a constant reminder of everything he lost, from his mother to his father to watching Wayne slowly killing himself from working so hard all the fucking time. With his last name preceding him in reputation, there was no way to get through a singular day without a hiss or an insult. Even when people cared about him.

When he got out, he didn’t realize that there was a possibility he could meet people who were willing to give him a chance.

And he was noticing how engaged you were, studying all the photos intently, taking your time to scan them for seemingly every detail. You were focused on one in particular, of his mom in a blue sundress and Eddie resting on her hip. She was smiling, the kind of smile that comes once in a lifetime. The kind of smile that gave him an ache in his bones from missing so fucking much.

“My mom’s from Memphis, actually,” he whispered.

Your eyes lit up as you met his gaze. “We could’ve grown up so close to one another. Could you imagine?”

Eddie could. Transporting Ronnie and Granny Ecker to Tennessee. The three of you running around causing trouble. His mom calling them in for dinner, watching you fall asleep before your parents picked you up. Blasting metal around the suburbs, carpooling to school. Climbing trees and making it a shared hiding spot when things got tough.

Making sure he never lost contact with Ronnie.

“Yeah,” he said with a small smile. “I really can.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” you asked, looking at him.

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t want you to judge me or something.”

“We all come from somewhere. Just because I grew up in a suburb doesn’t mean I’d judge you for living in a trailer. It’s not like you chose that or like that’s a bad thing. You didn’t choose to have your mom pass away and you didn’t choose to have your dad fuck up and get arrested. Those are the cards you were dealt, sure, but you came here. You got out with people who love and care about you. That’s no small feat.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said, feeling heat flood his cheeks at your nice words. “I just haven’t ever seen it that way, I guess. Just a metalhead finding his way through the throws of life.”

“You’re more than just a metalhead, you know,” you said. His eyebrows furrowed. “That’s not the most interesting thing about you.”

“What is?”

“Well, I, uh…” You hesitated and Eddie began to wonder why you were tongue-tied all of a sudden. “I mean, you’re talented and you clearly enjoy quality time with people. You care and that’s a big deal. Not a lot of people care the way you do, even if you’re a little shy about it.” You opened and closed your mouth a few times like you were fighting something before adding, “There’s more but I’m pretty high. Ask me again tomorrow.”

Eddie smiled, trying not to let your words affect him the way they were starting to. “Will do, captain.”

It was infectious, being around you. You never failed to surprise him, to twist him into something more than he already was. No matter what, you were always changing the way he saw the world. His world. And Eddie knew that if he wasn’t careful, there would be a day when he would fall desperately in love with you.

Before either of you knew it, you were another joint deep, going in and out of full on talking and watching TV. He tried to show you Alien but then you kept pausing the movie to engage in a discussion that led into conversations that led into sheer nonsense. Laughter and banter and eventually a little bit of beer.

When Eddie finally checked his phone, the realization that it was midnight washed over him. “Oh, uh, hey, when do you need to leave?” he asked, looking up. “I don’t wanna keep you here if you need to go. It’s late.”

Your expression turned sheepish as you played with the fabric of his blanket. You didn’t even bother to check your phone. “To be honest, I don’t know if I’m sober enough to drive. I didn’t really think about it.”

“You could just sleep here if you’d like?” Eddie offered without thought before realizing exactly what he was suggesting. You, here. In his apartment. Alone. For the whole night.

“On the floor?” you asked with a laugh.

“I could take the floor,” he suggested. “You can have my bed.” “Why don’t we both take the bed?” you asked, finally making eye contact with him. He noticed your eyes widen, something washing over you.

But there was no time to wonder as Eddie froze at the realization at what exactly you were suggesting. You, here. In his apartment. In his bed. Together. For the night.

“You’re, uh, cool with that?” he asked, starting to fiddle with the damp label on his second beer. It was starting to shed from his picking, the adhesive sticking to his fingernails.

“Um, yeah. I am.” Your nonchalance seemed to fall as you shrugged. “But if you don’t feel comfortable with that, like, I totally understand—”

“Let’s do it,” Eddie said.

After your final attempt to finish the movie, you two were beat. Three in the morning, the world outside clouded in slumber while Eddie fumbled through the dark. Did he forget to mention that he didn’t even have a lamp yet?

When you were finally settled in bed, with you wearing a spare set of his pajamas, there was a silence between you. Eddie was unable to discern whether it was awkward or natural, his thoughts kicking into overdrive. This was a close one, maybe a little too close. Here you were, in his bed. In his apartment. In a sick turn of events, he didn’t have to stop being around you and he didn’t want to. You didn’t drain his energy. Not even once. It was goddamn twisted.

Eddie felt a shift in weight in the bed and before he knew it, your foot had come to rest on top of his calf. His heart hammered in his chest, wondering what this was. And he was…nervous? Why was he nervous? You were just friends. This was fine, right? Just some normal human contact between friends.

But you started…running your foot up and down his leg?

And then you wiggled your toes.

“Helllooooo, Edward,” you said with a high-pitched voice, verging on absolute creep territory.

He immediately flinched from your touch, scooting away from you to the edge of the bed. You howled with laughter, getting closer.

“Fuck off with that!” he nearly shouted. “That’s so fucking weird.”

“I’m cooooming for you, Edward,” you said in the voice again. “My preeeecious!”

You tried to start tickling him but Eddie fought back, pushing you away from him. Howls of laughter poured out of you, clutching your chest with pure glee. You were an absolute menace of a person.

“You’re such a weirdo!” he exclaimed, laughing his ass off.

“At least I own up to it.”

He finally turned over, watching you with your head tilted on the pillow, your hands wrapped up underneath. Mirroring your position, he let out one last chuckle before his smile softened.

“That’s your name now,” he concluded. “Weirdo.”

You nodded. “It has a nice ring to it.”

Eddie couldn’t believe that people like you existed, silly and real and beautiful and fun. Sometimes it seemed like he was the only goofy person in the room, always starting bits or talking in weird voices. Usually it was just him being up for a laugh with only some reciprocation. You, on the other hand, were just like him. It was unique in its own way, but you still fed off of his energy as much as he fed off of yours.

You two just looked in each other’s eyes illuminated by the light cascading down from the blinds. His eyes couldn’t help but flicker back and forth, trying to read you. Because you had this doe-eyed expression, with an extra sparkle of light starting to shine in your eyes. And your smile was tied up with a slight bite to your lip, like you were holding something back, like there was a sentence forming on your tongue.

It was new, this side of you.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” he asked, nearly desperate to know what you were thinking.

Some of your smile dropped…but not all the way.

There was a glaze over your eyes, the playfulness gone. It was something more serious than what was normal for you. He couldn't discern what this was and he knew it was going to kill him. “What? Nothing. I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” he teased.

And then there were moments like these, where the silence felt comfortable and the stillness in the air didn’t feel suffocating, he was beginning to realize that he still wanted you there. Actually, if anything, it made spending time with you even better. He didn’t have to always be on all the time. He could just be himself, be human. With someone else.

He hadn’t even felt the need to smoke a cigarette tonight.

You two stayed like that until you lost whatever game you were playing and you closed your eyes for the night. Lightly snored, with your face squished against the pillow. It made him smile to see you at such a raw level and still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen and—

Eddie’s eyes widened as realization overcame him.

He grabbed his phone and pulled up his texts with Robin.

ik it’s 4am but she stayed over

rob i think

well i think i know

Robin’s three dots popped up.

Spit it out, Eddie!

Eddie sighed quietly, glancing over at you one more time.

i’m falling in love with her

extra special thanks to @jo-harrington for always being so so supportive and encouraging of this series :')

#Eddie munson #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #best friend!eddie #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie x reader #best friend!Eddie x reader #I hope this makes up for not having IPTPYW uploaded this week!

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thefreakandthehair · 6 months

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@eddiemonth prompt, oct 25th: Songwriting | Snuff - Slipknot | Melancholy a/n: established steddie, angst resolved quickly with fluff. excerpt and new outtake from over the hills and far away! I think it makes sense without reading the whole thing, but it is my favorite thing I've ever written so feel free to read the whole thing if you feel so inclined ✨ read on ao3 + masterpost | tumblr masterlist

October 1987

Eddie’s pen runs out of ink and he chucks it across the room, clattering off the walls with a loud clang before falling to the ground. Everything he writes is wrong because everything he writes is Steve, or Hawkins, or Chrissy, or some other version of his past that cuts him too close to the bone.

Chicago has been good to him over the past year— his apprenticeship turns into a job, his apartment isn’t a total shithole, he’s met decent people, he’s even forced himself on a couple of (albeit dead-end) dates— so there’s no reason that he should be sitting on the floor of his living room with pages and pages torn out of this notebook because they aren't right. But there he is.

Crumpled up pieces of paper surround his outstretched legs, and his joint is almost kicked, and his beer has been warm for almost an hour. Slayer plays at a low volume in the background and while he knows that’s now how it’s meant to be played, he really doesn’t want to deal with another noise complaint. Eddie lets his head lean backwards over the couch cushions and shifts to sit up straighter, his back now pressed against the front of the thrifted piece.

Hands in his hair, like always. It’s a tell he’s noticed about himself and he wonders briefly if he’s done this his entire life, if he’s been so obvious with his discomfort in the company of others?

Maybe that’s why—

He cuts the thought off at the pass and brings his fists down to the floor before grabbing his shitty warm beer from the coffee table and pressing it to his lips. Warm beer is better than no beer, he thinks, at least when being tormented by my own stupid brain. It hits the back of his throat and he cringes.

Moments pass and he looks back down at the notebook, a fresh page full of potential, possibility, future. His hands search the drawer of a side table within reach and come up with a new pen. The plastic nearly cuts his lip as he pulls the cap off between his teeth and spits it somewhere to his left, bringing one shaky hand to the page.

The next song will be happy. I promise.

April 1990

Eddie sits alone in his apartment– their apartment, now– with his legs outstretched in front of him and his back against the cushions of the couch. It’s as though he’s gone back in time as he sits in a familiar position, the same notebook gifted to him by Steve all of those years ago open in his lap with the pen sitting in the middle of the pages. The last entry stares up at him, his own handwriting pressed deep into the pages.

The next song will be happy. I promise.

He hasn’t put pen to page in this notebook in years but life is strange and time is a flat circle. Somehow, he’s ended up right back in Steve’s arms except that this time, they aren’t broken. This time, they aren’t terrified. This time, it works.

So for months now, Eddie’s poured over the pages of this notebook and agonized over verses and choruses, bridges and metaphors. All of his thoughts are wrapped in writing this song, the one he’d promised Steve without him even knowing.

A song he hopes can convey what he’s feeling without making a true and complete ass of himself.

A song he’s probably never going to finish because his brain feels like cotton and his thoughts are too jumbled to become words, a ball of yarn wound too tight.

A song he wants to finally play for Steve.

It’s hard to fit four years of love, and longing, and brokenness, and rebuilding into just a series of four verses– one for each year– but he’s trying. He’s trying because Steve deserves it, and because Eddie needs it. So much time has already passed, and if he has to go one more day without telling Steve exactly how he feels, how he’s always felt, he’s going to implode in upon himself.

Three deep breaths, and he picks up his pen.

September 1990

Eddie plays Steve his song.

Later that night, cleaned up and comfortable, Eddie whips out his guitar. Steve hadn’t thought to question why he brought it– it just felt like an Eddie thing to do. But then he takes out the little notebook Steve gifted him so long ago, right here in the same living room, and Steve hazily puts two and two together.

The next song will be happy, I promise. And it is.

“You wrote me a song?” Steve says, incredulous and warm from the inside out.

“I did. Tried to, at least. Hold your excitement until it’s done and then we can decide if you want to claim it for yours.” Eddie teases and winks, pulling the guitar up into his lap.

He strums methodically as Steve watches his ringed fingers glide along the strings. Eddie’s voice sings words from his heart, torn free of their cages after so many years.

War made us corpses, Let’s rise from the shallow graves, let’s watch the way time warps. Hold these broken bones until they’re healed, Hold them when they shake. Sometimes it’s hard To let you see me cracked and scarred. Moonlight through the curtains and music on the stereo, Just tell me all you say is true. Love is a three letter word, sweetheart, and it’s you.

There are no words Steve can muster to respond, but he cries, and that says more than words ever could anyways.

[read the full fic here on ao3!]

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie month #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myblurbs #eddie month prompts #over the hills and far away #song lyrics may or may not have been inspired by a song an ex wrote for me

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fishwithtitz · 3 months

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The Five Times I Hooked Up with Mary Goore (and the One Time I Couldn’t) - Chapter 4

stunning artwork of a scene from chapter 1 by @dominaarts that I've been dying to share!

Summary: A miscommunication between Thomas and Des results in a night of Dahlia and Mary dog sitting together. When a record breaking storm rolls in, Dahlia's faced with the decision on exactly how much vulnerability she wants to reveal. Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI Mary Goore x OFC / 15.4k words Warnings: language, thigh-riding, p in v sex, mentions of recreational drug use, alcohol, storms, thunder, slight angst

A/N: Thank you for your patience and support as I've taken the time to write this. This was a difficult chapter to write as it starts building the foundation for the turning point of the story and I wanted to get it just right. Leave a comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist 🥰 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

ao3 link

Hook-up #4: Thomas’ Room

Codependency was something I tried really, really hard to avoid. I’d long prided myself on my

feral independent streak and would be damned if anyone, man or woman, made me reliant.

But I had to admit, I really missed Des.

This was the shitty part of relationships. It seemed that when the people you love found someone that they wanted to devote themselves to, their time seemed to be sucked along with it. I understood where she was coming from. The novelty of a budding relationship is a unique and addictive feeling. I don’t blame her for chasing the high.

While she tended the fire that she and Thomas were building, she was opting for spurts of lighter fluid rather than bits of soul-sourced kindling. And now her fire was growing and spreading, sometimes out of control, and it seemed like all of her time and resources were devoted to managing it. Which meant that some of her other relationships had to be put on the backburner until the flames could be brought to a dull roar.

As if a sign from the universe, the stars finally aligned (or perhaps just our schedules), and Des and I were able to spend the afternoon together. It was exactly what I needed: some time with my best friend.

After grabbing a couple of iced coffees from the boutique coffee shop downtown (at her insistence, of course, because the higher price was reflected in the quality of the roast, or something like that), we walked to one of our favorite thrift stores to pillage through the inventory. I felt a certain warmth creep through my chest as we entered the store. The smell was a bit musty, perfume-like, a permeating oxymoron of both dirt and cleanliness. It reminded me of our friendship: unlikely, brutally opposite at times, but unique and complimentary.

The shop worker greeted us with a nod and a smile from the front counter and went back to browsing through her magazine as she sat on her high-rise stool, painted fingertips skimming over something about interior design. Des and I beelined to the back racks in the furthest room from the front of the shop. We knew that this was usually where they kept the good stuff.

Thrifting was an exercise of equal parts skill and patience. It was best to go in with zero expectations of both finding anything or looking for a specific piece. My most successful trips had been ones where I’d happened upon things I didn’t even know I’d wanted (or like, for that matter). In fact, I’d long ago learned not to become discouraged when a trip turned out to be a bust. Busts were to be expected. The goldmines, however, outweighed the insolvencies.

“It feels like forever since we’ve gotten to do this,” Des said as she stopped in front of a circular rack of short-sleeve knit shirts. She began sliding the hangers across the scraped metal, pausing to glance over each shirt as she did so.

“It has been,” I replied. It wasn’t said with malice; more so, my tone conveyed a neutral honesty that I knew we’d come to appreciate about each other. Despite this, I could tell I’d struck a cord at the slight fall of her facial features.

Des took a half-step back and turned to me with a sad smile. “I know I haven’t been around as much. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” And I did. She knew I did. But the morose feeling was still etched into her features in soft hatched lines and so I quickly added, “Not everyone can be a hot musician with Heraculan biceps. I’ll take my spot in line.” I gave her a wink, which seemed to soften her expression.

I turned back to the rack and started thumbing through the medium-sized graphic tees. Quite a few were worn crewnecks of casinos or bars from around the state, though a couple school spirit shirts were peppered in. I nearly shuddered at the smiling beaver mascot that reminded me of puberty.

Des broke my focus. “What about this one?” She held up a small white t-shirt with an image of Strawberry Shortcake on it. “Your muse!”

“One time I tell you about my obsession with Strawberry Shortcake and the Big Apple City as a child…” I mumbled, rolling my eyes as I continued culling through the rack. Des laughed and set the shirt back.

“I don’t think your tits would fit in a small, anyway. Plus, it had a stain.” She pushed a couple more shirts to the side before turning her torso to me. “Speaking of cake, I heard you and Mary had a get together last week.”

A week had passed since I’d last seen Mary. I’d received another text a few days after our night of baking telling me that the cake was killer and his mom was impressed, but it’d been radio silence since. In any other situation with any other person, I’d probably feel irritation or some sort of anger; an inward creeping as to why this guy wasn’t at all interested in seeing me after a weirdly uncharacteristic close-knit evening. But this was Mary. He wasn’t known for punctuality or routine. On the contrary, Mary was a bit of an enigma, coming and going as he pleased, with zero rhyme or reason to his decision making. He seemed to do what felt right to him in the moment — whatever that may be. Or at least that’s how things appeared.

The hanger I was sliding across the rack stilted, the fabric of the shirt still pinched between my fingers. My eyes widened slightly, and I failed to control the blush that crept into my cheeks. I refused to meet her stare, but knowing Des, she was giving me an all-knowing look.

“You know, when I suggested that you make a cake for his mom’s birthday, I didn’t think that meant that you’d be doing it together,” she teased.

“Neither did I!” I said. Although I’d meant for it to come out nonchalantly, I’d sounded more defensive than intended. I tried to brush it off by swirling the iced coffee in my hand, ice cubes clinking and clashing as I brought the straw to my lips to take a sip.

“I didn’t know you and Mary were that close,” she speculated.

I choked on the watery coffee that had been midway down my throat and brought a hand up to wipe at my mouth, coughing a little into my palm.

Before I had a chance to respond, she cut me off, wide-eyed, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Wait, no. Doll, you didn’t!”

I looked over at her with a surprised defensiveness that completely gave away the truth. Shit. Time for damage control. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Des’ smile only widened. “Dahlia, did you sleep with him?”

I didn’t know how to answer. It wasn’t as if I was ashamed to admit it. Mary was attractive. Sure, his reputation was a bit strange and extreme, but to those in the metal scene, it wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary. But there was something that I liked about keeping Mary and I’s friendship hidden. Or were we friends with benefits? Was it even a friendship?

“You totally did!” Des said in response to my silent rabbit hole. I sighed and started to aimlessly shuffle through some sweaters on the next rack. Des began to laugh and looked at me coyly.

She walked over to the same rack that I was currently stationed at and rested her hand against the metal bar, leaning into it. “I swore I saw you two making out on the couch a while back at Thomas’, but he told me I was seeing shit,” she added, shaking her head in disbelief.

I hummed a noise in response, barely audible. My fingertips traced along a loose thread of a knit sweater and I rolled it between them, trying to focus on the scratchy acrylic yarn instead of the beet red burning in my face.

“That WAS you two! How long has this been going on?” I didn’t think it was possible for her eyes to get any bigger. They reminded me of saucers. Or satellite dishes. Maybe of the middle-aged woman at my work that thrived on office gossip and smelled like cat piss.

I rolled my eyes and pulled a sweater off the rack to pretend to check the tag. “Nothing is going on,” I said. 80% Polyester, 20% Cotton. “We’ve just hooked up a few times. That’s it.”

Des cocked a curious brow. “A few? Wow, add that to my list of shit I didn’t expect.” She brought her half-drank iced coffee to her pink lips and took a slurp of the drink. I couldn’t tell if I was more annoyed at the sound or at her.

“So, what’s he like?” She grabbed a cardigan from the small section and pulled it up to inspect it, holding it to her thin frame to gauge the fit. “I bet he’s into some spooky, dark shit, like bloodletting or autoerotic asphyxiation or something. Oh! Or a piss kink!”

The garment I was holding was slammed back into the rack with more force than I’d meant. “Des! What the fuck?” I whispered loudly, trying to make a point that this was not something I wanted to talk about in public. Sure, no one else was in the back of the store, but that was besides the point.

She held up a hand in defense. “Sorry! He looks like the kind of guy that’d be into that stuff.”

I brought the hand to my face that wasn’t holding the slippery, condensation-covered cup of coffee. With a sigh, I rubbed my left eye. “I am not having this conversation.”

Des brought her hands down and tilted her head with a look of disagreement. “Oh, come on! Why are you always so uptight about talking about this stuff?”

I took a step towards her and lowered my voice just slightly. “Unlike you, I don’t feel the need to advertise my sex life, thank you.”

“I don’t advertise it, I just…reflect on it. It’s what normal girlfriends do — talk about the guys they’re with.” She turned to the next rack that was uncomfortably close to the one we had been rifling through and pulled a pair of corduroys out to give them a look over. “Who else would I talk to about it?”

She had a point. I breathed out a sigh and set my cup on the display atop the circular rack. “I guess you’re right.”

I looked up at her to see her sporting her signature smirk. “I’m always right. Now tell me, what’s he got hiding in those tight jeans?” She waggled her eyebrows for emphasis and I let out a chuckle, shaking my head.

“You are the last person I need to explain the intricacies of the male anatomy to.”

“Come on, Doll. I need details!” She whined, tossing the corduroys back onto the rack.

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“Good thing cats have nine lives.” She stuck out her tongue at me and I reached over to make a swipe at grabbing it, earning me a chuckle and a shove.

I laughed too, and if I was honest, I felt a semblance of relief that the weight of my secret had been lifted from my shoulders, even if just minutely.

She took another annoyingly loud slurp of her iced coffee, the drink now edging the bottom line of the cup. Peering at me from above the lid, she broke contact with the straw.

“Now, spill.”

🜏🜏🜏

It was early evening on a Friday. I’d managed to get off of work a little earlier than expected — a relief given that I’d worked overtime these past few weeks to try to save up enough money for an unexpected car repair. The extra time turned out to be just what I needed to pack some last minute items in my backpack for the weekend.

Des had asked — practically begged — for me to “do her a solid” and pet sit for her for a couple days over the weekend. My confusion rang heavy in the air when I realized that one, she didn’t have any pets, and two, neither did Thomas.

“It’s his parents’ dog. He’s supposed to watch it this weekend, but he was able to book a couple last minute shows out of town that would be really good for the band,” she’d explained. Then, in almost overly characteristic Des-fashion, she gave me the eyes. The fucking Puss in Boots look.

And those damn Dreamworks eyes had me hesitantly agreeing to watch the pawned pooch at Thomas’ place.

It didn’t sit well with me. He was supposed to be watching his parents’ dog. But instead, he was having a friend of his girlfriend stay at his place to watch a dog she’d never met. I’d just hoped the dog was nice.

After walking my bike to the back porch to lean it against the siding hidden from view from the street, I rounded back to the front door and gave it a few cursory knocks. As if on cue, loud barks began to sound — distant at first, but louder as the seconds went on — and I could just make out the scuffle of feet and claws against the hard floor.

The door swung open and Des was restraining a black blur of tail and tongue and teeth. He wasn’t overly big, per se, but from what I could tell from his overexcited movements, he had to be at least forty or fifty pounds.

“Hey! Come in—” she strained, holding the excited dog back as it wagged and wiggled in her arms.

I slipped past the dog and kicked off my shoes on the hinged side of the door as she slammed it shut. “Brutus!” Des grunted as she tried to crouch over him and use her body weight as leverage.

I straightened up and watched with choked giggles as she tried, and nearly failed, to keep him from charging me. “He’s — umph — he loves people —” said grumbled as the dog, presumably named Brutus, broke from her grasp and hounded over to me with a tail so violently wagging that I was afraid his hips would fly right off. He knocked into me with surprising force for his size and I toppled over to the ground. A slimy, velvety tongue began to attack my face and neck and I shrieked out in laughter as we rolled around on the floor.

“Brutie! Brutus, off!” Des yelled. I could barely hear her over my screeches and giggles.

A couple of moments passed and the dog calmed, crawling comically into my lap before curling up and looking at me with a panting smile. I ran my hand along the top of its head, scratching behind his pointed black ears.

“Sorry, he really, really likes people. Not much of a watchdog,” Des said.

“It’s fine. He’s cute,” I replied, moving to scratch under his chin. “What breed is he?”

Des snorted. “Fuck if I know. Thomas says he’s a mutt. I think he’s a rescue.”

“Those are always the best ones,” I countered, earning a nuzzle into my hand from the furry canine nearly falling out of my lap.

After a while of chit chat and petting the mammoth-sized wannabe cat splayed in my lap, I peeled my backpack off and set it against the wall and stood up to follow Des into the kitchen. She explained Brutus’ feeding schedule (“He will try to convince you that he’s starving to death. Do not fall for it.”) and his typical routine, then showed me where Thomas’ parents had left the vet info in case of emergencies. It seemed pretty straightforward (easier than I’d expected, honestly), and I felt grateful that Thomas’ backyard was fenced off. A lost dog was the last thing I needed in life right now.

Just as Des was setting the written feeding instructions back down on the counter, the door leading to the garage opened from down the hallway, and a pair of heavy footsteps came thunking toward us.

Thomas came into view. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the locks a little as he glanced around the kitchen and dining area, turning a bit in his spot as if running through an imaginary list in his brain. By now, I’d seen Thomas in a variety of moods: ecstatic, embarrassed, exhausted, angry, piss drunk, and of course, the moments where he was absolutely enamored with Des, but I’d never seen him look so stressed before. His eyes looked tired yet his pupils were wide, countering the lines that were settling in around the corners of his eyelids. I’m not sure that he even noticed his shirt was inside out.

“We found the pedalboard at the guys’ apartment. Some asshole put it on top of the fridge,” he sighed and put his hands on his hips as he looked up at the ceiling as if he were trying to visualize what he needed to do next. After a beat, he looked back down and his eyes met Des’ quizzical look.

“Don’t ask. I don’t even fucking know.” He seemed to finally register that it wasn’t just his girlfriend in front of him and his demeanor changed a little. He straightened, almost toughened, and gave me a confused quirk of the eyebrows. “…Dahlia, what are you doing here?”

I mirrored his look. “Uh, Des said you needed me to house sit?”

Thomas looked between myself and Des, his face moving from a look of confusion to a look of what could be argued as annoyance. “Really?” he asked, taking another step closer to Des. “I thought I mentioned I’d figured all that out, babe.”

Desiree looked up at him with an innocent smile and rolled her lips between her teeth. “Whoops. Must have slipped my mind.”

He sized her reaction, clearly unconvinced. “Okay. Sure.” I was certain he was going to add something, but his potential dialogue with Des was cut off when the garage door opened again and the telltale sound of clunking boots against hard flooring cut through the air. I felt my heart simultaneously drop and expand in my chest. I had come to know that sound.

“Everything is tied and tarped. I feel like fucking Patrick Bateman sans nailgun and Huey Lewis and the News.”

I had really come to know that voice.

Mary rounded Thomas and Des and joined the impromptu party in the dining area. I shoved my hands into my pockets and rocked back and forth on my feet as I felt his stare bore into me from feet away. It was clear there had been a mix up, and although I couldn’t be certain that Des had something to do with it, I had a pretty good idea of what had happened.

“What’s going on?” Mary asked as he looked around the uneven circle of his friends. Brutus trotted over and began to sniff at his pant legs and Mary reached down to scratch the hound’s forehead. Mary’s long hair hung around him in strands, the ends clumped together in damp sections as it fell from around his shoulders and back.

“Why is your hair wet?” Des asked him. I was sure it was her way of breaking the awkwardness.

Mary looked at her with an air of obviousness. “Shower,” he replied.

“Oh…weird,” she said, and I had to stifle a giggle by turning it into a cough.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “He’s full of shit. It’s raining outside and he’s been helping me load and tarp equipment in the truck.” Thomas reached out and clasped a hand to Mary’s shoulder, which to be fair, was dotted with what appeared to be wet raindrop marks. “We all know you hate bathing,” he added.

Mary scoffed and shoved Thomas. “Fuck you guys.”

The air turned uncomfortable again, bordering sour, and it was Thomas who broke the silence.

“Well, it looks like there’s been a miscommunication on who’s looking after this asshole,” Thomas started, looking directly at Des as he spoke although it was clear he was referring to the dog. She continued flashing her innocent smile, eyes still large as if concurrently seeking forgiveness and feigning ignorance.

I felt compelled to speak up. I hated awkward silences, and I especially hated being the butt of one. “It’s not a big deal. I can head out if Mary’s got this,” I said with a shrug.

“—It’s pouring out there!” Des quickly countered, looking between Thomas and I.

Her defensive quip caused me to crinkle my eyebrows in response. “Bullshit, I was just outside and it was fine.”

I looked over at the sliding glass door to my left and sure as shit, the glass was coated in fine droplets sliding down to puddle at the deck below. The sky hadn’t been much more than overcast on my ride over, but it now swirled with tones of ash and charcoal. A storm was approaching.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “Shit, well…I rode my bike over here.”

I could tell that the cogs were turning in Des’ mind as she tried to decide if she’d respond with comfort and support of her best friend or her boyfriend: the ever present dilemma. I felt a pang of guilt plague my stomach.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out. You guys go,” I offered with a small smile. Forced, of course, because now I was stranded at someone else’s house with someone else’s dog and of course a particular…someone else.

“You sure?” she asked. I could see Thomas eyeing me from behind her, his own expression mirroring her words. It was clear this was just as much of a surprise to him as it was to Mary and I.

My gut told me to stay focused on the couple ahead of me, but my impulsiveness won over, and I glanced at Mary. He was watching with a look of amusement, arms crossed over his chest as his head batted to and fro between speakers. I swallowed lightly.

“Yeah, go. Go! It’s fine.” The voice was mine, but the words were clearly not my own.

A few uncomfortable and quick words were shared, and both Des and Thomas grabbed their overnight bags and popped them into the cab of the truck before driving off down the quiet residential street towards the gig a few towns over. And I was stuck in the ranch-style home with Mary Goore, an overexcited rescue dog, and an approaching storm.

🜏🜏🜏

After piling into the car and sloshing down the road en route to the gig a few cities over, Des and Thomas were mid conversation about the situation that had happened just moments before.

“Don’t tell me you’re doing what I think you’re doing.” Thomas started, fingertips tapping against the wheel as they sped down the interstate.

Des rolled her eyes. “They’ve been fucking!” Her voice was defensive. She quickly added, “Did you know that?”

Thomas kept his eyes on the road and drummed his fingers along to the song playing in the background. “No, and I don’t—” he sighed, removing one hand from the wheel to grasp at the back of his neck, “Jesus Christ, Desiree, you can’t play matchmaker on this one.”

Des crossed her arms over her chest. “Why not? Have you seen the way they look at each other?”

Thomas briefly turned his head and gave her a serious look, sternness that nearly reminded her of her father. “Don’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong,” he said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Des shot him a look that dripped in sass. Any other time it would have spurred a different set of emotions in him, but not this time. He held his ground.

“Just — fuck, baby, I’ve known Mary for a long time and he’s not really one to settle.”

Des scoffed. “You think getting with Dahlia would be settling?”

“No, not like that.” Thomas sighed again in frustration. “He’s not big into commitment. Doesn’t like to be tied down. Mary’s…not a relationship kind of guy.”

It was quiet for a few seconds as Des pondered his response. “Well, I’m not saying they need to get married or anything,” she reasoned, “I’m just giving them a little push, is all. A weekend together, alone, no one to barge in and no expectations. It’s the perfect recipe for them to realize what they have going on.”

Another silence filled the cab of the truck. The sound of steady rain pelted against the windshield, only for the squeaky wipers to flick it off rhythmically, creating its own song and dance that counteracted the punk tune on the stereo system.

After a moment, Thomas relented. “Don’t come crawling to me with those big, sad eyes when this ploy of yours blows up in your face.”

“What big eyes?!” Des craned her neck over and stared him down, though it was clear she couldn’t hide the smile bursting through her tough facade.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, babe.”

Des winked in his direction and the tension seemed to melt away. She reached over to grasp at his hand — the one that had fallen to his lap after drumming on the steering wheel — and laced their fingers together.

He let out a long breath and relaxed into the touch before grumbling, “They better not fuck on my bed.”

🜏🜏🜏

When Des and Thomas left, it was like they sucked what little comfort there had been straight out of the room. Sure, the house was occupied by two people and a dog (which some would even consider to be too crowded; three’s company and four’s a party and all that), but there was a timidness that I felt that seemed to have grown since my other outings with Mary. Maybe it was the unexpectedness of it all. Or perhaps it was my own lack of control in the situation. Regardless, I’d planned on staying a couple of days anyway — what was so bad about waiting out the storm to ride home?

I stood there, hands in my pockets as I continued to rock on my heels, before deciding to break the tension. “I should probably pick up my stuff,” I motioned to the general area my backpack was in and then quickly turned to retrieve my things.

Backpack in hand, I headed to the bathroom to unpack. I’d packed light (because in all honesty, who did I have to impress), but I was searching for any and all excuses to put some distance between myself and the awkward situation I’d been thrust into. I pulled a toothbrush and toothpaste out of a plastic bag I’d jammed into the front pocket of my rucksack, mirroring the action with my face wash, moisturizer, and small bag of makeup essentials. I futzed for too long with the placement of the items, moving them from sinkside to against the wall and back again, before I gave up and sat back against the wall opposite the vanity.

A few minutes went by and I felt a low growl erupt in my stomach. It was nearly six o’clock and I’d had yet to eat anything. I pulled out my phone, deciding to order takeout, and scrolled through the suggested nearby restaurants before settling on a well-rated Chinese place down the street.

I was ready to press send on my order, but I remembered the elephant in the room and groaned, heaving myself up and making my way out to the main area of the home. Mary was nowhere to be seen. I turned around and upon noticing the garage door was ajar, I walked the short distance down the hallway and slipped into the adjoining garage.

Mary was sitting in a camper chair in the empty space, lit cigarette between his fingers, with Brutus at his side. He was tossing a rope toy to the dog somewhat lazily, taking drags of the lit stick every so often. The garage was partially opened, just enough to let in the cool, damp air of the storm, and raindrops pittered in at the edge of the threshold.

As soon as I shut the door to the house, his eyes shot up to meet my own and he nodded in greeting before tossing the toy to the opposite end of the garage for Brutus.

“I’m ordering Chinese — you want anything?” I eventually spoke, body still against the steps connecting the sunken garage to the house.

Mary let out an exhale of smoke and tapped the cigarette into a coffee can on the ground. “Whatever’s fine. I’m easy to please.” His telltale smirk painted his lips and I could see the mischief swirling behind his eyes. “But you already know that,” he added.

I felt my eyes nearly roll out of my head and hopped down off the step, rounding him to sit in another nearby chair. As uncomfortable as his digs were supposed to be, they had the opposite effect. I didn’t do “awkward” with Mary that well. Sexual tension was another story.

I added a few more items to the order and typed in my card information from memory before submitting the order, quickly clicking my phone off and stashing it in my pocket. My focus was broken when Mary interrupted the silence.

“How’d you get roped into this?” he asked, head turning to glance at me.

I sighed and rubbed the side of my face, showing my slight annoyance. “Desiree.”

Mary laughed, a warm chuckle that I’d grown to appreciate, and he ashed the cigarette into the can below him. “You’d think they’d learn to communicate with how they fucking act around each other.”

I stretched out my legs, sinking back into the camper chair. “Oh, I’m sure it was communicated…” I remarked.

Mary looked at me quizzically, head turned towards me again to flash those phthalocyanine eyes that somehow looked brighter in the odd lighting of the garage. I brushed off his look, not wanting to get into the specifics of the conversation I had with Desiree or the fact that she knew about our history. “The dog seems to like you.”

“Brutus and I go way back,” he said.

“Really?” I said with raised brows.

Mary laughed out again in response, that ever-present balmy giggle that pulled at the corners of his lips sending a wave of warmth through my body. “No, I’m just fucking with you. I’m good with animals,” he paused and his lips curled into a grin, ”when I’m not microwaving them, of course.”

My mind raced back to our first encounter together. The streetlights on the walk towards the abandoned warehouse. Paper bags with shaved ice and forties. Shitty gas station snacks. And our conversation about reputation. Namely, his reputation. “Oh, of course.” My tone was one of mock seriousness, and I couldn’t help but giggle at the memory.

I watched as he took another drag from the dwindling cigarette and then turned to look out at the half-closed garage door. The raindrops pelting against the shingled roof and cracked concrete driveway were the only audio that suffused the space, with the occasional exhale of pillowy smoke from the musician next to me.

It was Mary that broke the silence again. He always seemed to be the one to do that. “Thanks again,” he started, hand waving around aimlessly as he spoke, “y’know, for the cake and shit.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m glad your mom liked it.” I spoke earnestly and my expression was one of sincerity. It felt foreign.

“She fucking loved it. She was surprised I had anything to do with making it,” he laughed and tapped his cigarette into the can.

“Oh come on, you can’t be that bad of a cook,” I replied.

He raised an eyebrow at me as he turned to face me. “I’ve burned water.”

My jaw dropped just enough that I was sure it looked like I’d catch flies. “I…didn’t think that was possible.”

He shrugged and turned back to face forward, the cigarette now a stubby, crinkled nub between his middle and pointer fingers. “You should know by now that I’m full of impossible surprises.”

I leaned forward, turning my torso to point towards him while I pulled my legs criss-cross into the camper chair. “How on earth do you woo a woman if you can’t even cook fucking Kraft Mac n’ Cheese?”

“Women aren’t typically after my cooking skills. Or lack thereof,” he flicked the remaining ash of the cigarette down and it missed the can. He didn’t notice. “I’ve got other talents,” he paused, “Wooing isn’t really my style.”

I let his admission ring in the dampened air. It wasn’t surprising. From what I’d heard, he’d never had trouble landing women — particularly after gigs. “The life of a musician…” I trailed off.

Another silence built as the rain colored the absence of our conversation. I could hear Brutus’ slight snores as he lay curled at Mary’s feet, seemingly tired from their earlier game of fetch. A breeze broke through the cracked garage door and swirled around us, bringing a chill into the otherwise comfortable space. I pulled my hoodie a little closer, feeling the cool air dance across my cheeks and the skin peeking through the jacket.

“I think I’m gonna head in. I’ll let you know when the food is here.”

Mary didn’t say anything in response — merely nodding and taking out another cigarette from the worn Marlboro carton — and I made my way back inside with a heavier mind than I’d come out with.

🜏🜏🜏

I’d puttered around the house for what had seemed like ages, but in reality was likely only a handful of minutes. As familiar as I was with some of the rooms at Thomas’, I had to admit that there were areas I’d never been to, namely his room or the basement. As rude as it might have been, I’d given myself a self-directed tour of the place, noting the half-completed projects he seemed to be working on to fix up the house. I wasn’t sure if that was a sign of Des domesticating him or if the house really was a secret pride-and-joy.

Eventually, I found myself in the den, sinking into the worn plaid couch that already held too many memories. I pushed them down and reached for the remote to the TV, opting just to hold it as my thoughts zoomed. I could probably put on a movie to kill some time until dinner arrived. It wouldn’t be long and it would serve as a nice distraction.

I got up and thumbed through the impressive number of DVDs stacked next to the TV. Most of them were action or horror (no surprise there), and I settled on a film I’d never seen before: The Amityville Horror. I told myself that the fact that a young Ryan Reynolds was on the cover had absolutely nothing to do with the choice.

After some cajoling, I figured out how Thomas’ TV and DVD player were set up and popped in the disc, pressing play on the machine before sinking back into the couch. The blue screen transformed to darkness as the credits played and I waited to be taken to the home screen.

Mere seconds into the film, I heard a knock at the door and I paused the movie to jog up and out of the sunken den to the front door. I was met with an absolutely drenched delivery driver holding out a large brown bag in one hand and a soaked receipt and pen in the other. I shot him a look of apology and took the receipt, signing and adding on a much more generous tip than I’d originally intended, before trading him for the food. His eyes lit up when he saw the receipt and he dashed back to his clunker parked out front.

I ended up parking the heavy bag of Chinese on the kitchen table. My thoughts were broken when I heard Mary coming in from the garage, heavy footsteps once again thunking down the hallway. A pitter of claws trotted behind him.

“Food’s here,” I said, already opening the bag to take out the various containers.

We grabbed our respective containers and utensils and made our way to the den, me sitting on the couch while Mary sat on the floor, his back against the edge of the couch with his legs spread out wide. I opened up my container of sweet and sour pork and doused it in sweet and sour sauce, mixing it up with the cheap excuse for chopsticks that they provided before settling into the back corner of the couch and pressing play.

“You’re watching this trash?” Mary said, words muffled by a mouthful of Beijing beef.

I rolled my eyes, though he couldn’t see it from his position on the floor. “I’ve never seen it.”

“It’s a shit remake.”

I grabbed a piece of pork between my chopsticks and lathered it in sauce before popping it into my mouth. “Well,” I said while chewing, “no one’s making you watch it.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said with a hint of facetiousness.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he all but grumbled, reaching in the container to grab a piece of beef with his fingers.“You knew what I meant.”

I shuddered as I watched him pop the piece of meat into his mouth with his fingers. “Are you…eating that with your bare hands?” I asked with a surprised chuckle.

He shrugged his shoulders again. “Chopsticks are frustrating. Why use those when I have built in chopsticks right here?” He pinched his fingers in the air, just high enough that I could see them from my spot on the sofa.

I paused, reaching into the takeout container to fish around for some sort of accompanying vegetable. “I…don’t know how I feel about that, to be honest.”

“You didn’t seem to mind my fingers the last time you were on that couch,” he retorted, tone dripping with cheekiness that I knew was accompanied by a smirk I couldn’t see from my vantage point.

I sighed, trying to pay no mind to his constant coquettishness. “Well, they weren’t covered in Chinese food when that happened.”

“They could have been.”

I reached over and grabbed one of Thomas’ throw pillows from across the sofa and tossed it down directly at his head. Mary yowled and grabbed at the back of his head.

“Hey, ow- fuck, you almost made me spill!”

I waved my chopstick dismissively. “Shh, I’m missing what’s happening.”

“Not missing much…” he grumbled, grabbing another piece of beef with his fingers. I looked down and dug into my food again, picking at some snow peas, and took a bite to keep me from my desire to respond with something sarcastic.

I watched the screen as the beginning of the movie continued to unfold with the dreary undertone of music and darkened filter plastered over shots of the house and rainfall outside.

I knew that in fiction, rain was often used to signal something darker, uncontrollable, and innately scary. While a gentle storm could symbolize rebirth or the washing away of something unclean to show a new beginning, a thunderstorm was different. Thunderstorms were brash, explosive, and undeniably cacophonous — a symbol of power, wrath, danger, and darkness. As the scene cut to a shot of the rainy setting, I couldn’t help but liken it to the rain pelting the windowpanes of the window behind the couch. They were both intense storms and I wondered what symbolism life could be trying to show me, if any at all.

We watched mostly in silence, with the occasional jolt from me during a poorly timed jumpscare or a shake of the head and grumble from Mary (which after the third shove of my foot into his shoulder, he got the message that he was being obnoxious).

Unbeknownst to me, the movie had a quick sex scene, which with anyone else would have been a non-issue watching. But with Mary, I felt oddly different. I found myself wondering what he was thinking as we watched the main characters move intimately against one another. Because, if my memory served me right, the last movie we watched together had something similar, and he had reacted in very specific—

My thoughts were interrupted by yet another jumpscare and I squeaked in surprise, nearly dropping my empty takeout container. Mary chuckled and turned around with a smug smile.

“Everything okay back there?” he asked.

“Just fine. ‘Surprised me…” I grumbled, pretending to dig around in the empty container for more food. I was sure he could see right through me. I was easy to spook.

Eventually, I set my empty container on the side table and reclined back into the couch again. It felt weirdly quiet, and I noticed that Mary had gotten up at some point and left.

“Seems he found something better to do with his time,” I thought. Not that it mattered, anyway. I hated the kind of people that talked constantly during movies, and I could tell Mary was doing his best not to criticize nearly every piece of dialogue and every scene.

“Here.” The voice snapped me from my thoughts and my eyes refocused to the space in front of me, noticing an uncapped beer just in my line of sight. I took it with a thank you, noticing Mary had one of his own as he decided to sit opposite to me on the edge of the couch instead of on the floor. I tried not to think anything of the change and cast my eyes towards the movie.

“Did….did she just put a whole ass bong into her purse?” I asked after watching the babysitter in the film try to hide her bong after smoking in the bathroom. I took a swig of the beer Mary gifted me and looked over at him.

He laughed. “I’m telling you — this movie is idiotic at best.”

“I hate that I’m invested enough that I want to see how it ends,” I replied after a minute, adjusting my position on the couch to spread out a leg, my foot barely missing the side of Mary’s thigh.

“I’m happy to tell you how it ends,” Mary countered, taking a pull from his own bottle.

I shook my head in reply. “Might as well finish it. In your words, we’ve ‘got nothing better to do,’” I grinned at him with a chuckle and set my eyes back on the screen.

After the movie finished, we both stretched out our limbs, and I stood to collect the empty containers.

“That’s 90 minutes of my life I’ll never get back,” Mary grunted with a sigh.

I rolled my eyes. With how things were going, I’d be surprised if they didn’t roll straight out of my head and onto the shitty shag carpet on the floor. “Oh come on,” I began, “It wasn’t THAT bad…”

“Well, it sure as shit wasn’t good,” he chuckled sarcastically.

I let out a defeated breath. “Okay, I’ll admit that it wasn’t the best movie I’ve seen.”

“Clear from it,” he postured, lounging back a little as he took a swig from his beer “The original does a much better job of staying true to the book and creating that building suspense th—”

His words were cut off by another loud crack of lightning. This one sounded close, and by the looks of the fulmination that painted the windows, it was.

I let out a shriek when the lightning and its ancillary crash cracked through the den and beyond. My hand flew to my mouth in surprise and I soon rubbed it over my eyes bashfully.

“Shit, I didn’t know you could make that noise,” Mary chuckled, eyebrows raised in an expression of slight surprise. I looked over and flashed him the middle finger, a scowl on my face, which only increased his laughter.

“How about we put on another movie,” he suggested, then added quickly “—but I pick.” I thought about it, pondering the many choices of movies that Mary could choose on a night like tonight, and shook my head.

“Maybe music is a better idea?” I replied. I walked to the edge of the den and started up the few stairs that connected it to the hallway. “I’ll toss these while you get it set up,” I called over my shoulder.

When I returned, Mary was finished messing with the stereo system and Sonic Youth’s Daydream Nation was playing softly through the speakers. I took a seat on the floor, copying Mary’s earlier posture with my back against the front of the plush furniture, and spread my legs out and crossed them at the ankles.

“Didn’t take you as a Sonic Youth fan,” I said as I settled into the space.

Mary smiled and turned his head towards me. “I told you I’m full of interesting surprises.”

I suppressed a giggle. “I was thinking of other types of surprises when you said that.”

“What kinds of things were you thinking of?” he asked, brow quirked.

I felt my cheeks flush at the coy look on his face and looked away, trying to figure out a way to change the conversation. Mary just laughed.

“Wow, doll face, I didn’t expect to take up that much real estate in your mind. I’m flattered.” He put a hand to his chest and stared over me with a broad smile.

“Stop it.”

He cast me a look of confusion. “Stop what?”

“That thing you do!” I began. My voice raised a little in volume and pitch. “The thing where you act all smug and ooze sex appeal!”

This seemed to intrigue him and he turned to face me from his spot in front of the entertainment system. I knew that if his shirt was off, I’d be able to see the flexion of the muscles in his abdomen. I mentally kicked myself for even thinking that.

“Sex appeal? I didn’t know you were so pious.”

I felt myself bristle and sat up a little straighter. “What? No, it’s not about piety.” I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. “You just don’t have to make everything an innuendo!”

At this, the crusty metalhead in front of me had the audacity to laugh. “Wow,” he chuckled, “way to act like a total prude.”

“I am not!” My eyes shot daggers at him and I’d hope they’d materialize and hit him straight in his smirking face.

“I’m surprised you made it through that sex scene…” he looked up at me from under a raised brow.

I huffed. “You of all people should know that sex doesn’t bother m—” I cut myself off as I felt fire heat my cheeks.

“You were saying?” he snickered.

“Oh, fuck off Goore.”

“Sure thing. Wanna watch?”

“I’ll leave that to Brutus.”

As soon as his name was said, Brutus’ ears perked up and he let out a whine. I realized it had probably been hours since he’d been outside.

“We should probably let the dog out,” I said. As soon as he heard the word ‘out,’ Brutus sprung up and began trotting to the sliding glass door in the kitchen. I got up with a slight groan, muscles stiff from sitting on the floor, and Mary followed.

“I can take the dog out by myself, y’know,”

“Yeah, but the view is so much better if I come with.”

I felt frustration pool in my chest at this and he seemed to sense it as well, adding, “Chill out, I was just grabbing a couple more beers.”

After coaxing Brutus outside with some choice words said in the nicest voice I could muster (and maybe a push on the bum), I waited at the sliding glass door for him to return from doing his business. A towel was thrown by slider and I grabbed it to wipe down the dog on his re-entry.

I watched through the window as the storm really began to rage. Fat water droplets ricocheted off the glass pane like rubber bullets and thunder rumbled a low death rattle. Mary came up behind me and put the two bottles on the kitchen table. He fished around in his pockets for his bottle opener on his key chain.

A loud, booming sound followed by a high pitched crack and a monstrous thud rattled the foundation of the house. I let out an embarrassingly loud scream and jumped back from the sliding door. My body collided with Mary’s more solid one behind me, and immediately his hands found my upper arms to steady the both of us. I leaned back into him, not caring enough about self-restraint as my head tipped back against his shoulder.

My chest heaved as my adrenaline dissipated, and I could feel Mary’s hands rubbing up and down the lengths of my arms. I swallowed thickly, then clenched my eyes tight. I felt his breath arm against my ear as he leaned in.

“You good, Doll?”

His voice was smooth, oddly soothing, and the reverberations that pulsed through my ear and into my chest were much different than the shaking of the foundation from the subsonic boom moments prior.

I nodded and looked out the window. A mature tree limb, one measuring at least 15 feet long, had fallen to the ground in the backyard from the force of the thunderstorm. My immediate thought went to Brutus and I feared for the worst, but as if on cue, his body came running towards the door like a bullet. His little black body began pawing at the door and yet, I felt frozen in my spot to Mary. His body stayed pressed against the back of mine, hands still rubbing little circles against my triceps. Neither of us moved to open the door.

Brutus’ bark seemed to jolt us both from the haze. I slid the door open and immediately wrapped the medium-sized dog in the towel to dry him off. The little black mutt followed me as I walked back into the wood-paneled den and I sunk down on the couch next to Mary with a sigh.

Mary handed me another beer and I graciously accepted. “You know,” he started after taking a sip of his own, “I’m not used to women screaming around me unless my name is involved somehow.”

“Is it usually preceded by ‘fuck off’ or ‘get the fuck away from me’?”

“I was thinking it comes after ‘harder’ or ‘fuck me,’ actually,” he said, pausing a beat before casting a look of cautious puzzlement. “Who pissed in your Cheerios?”

I chewed on my cheek as I picked at the label of the beer bottle. “I hate storms,” I admitted with a sigh.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

The squall of the storm caused the windows behind the weathered old sofa to vellicate. Stills from the movie of torrential downpour around the boathouse flashed into thought. I recalled the swirling blackened sky from the sliding glass door from moments before and found myself comparing the dread from the film to my stomach sinking the moment the tree limb fell heavy against the hard ground. What if it had fallen on the house, or the dog? What if it had been a consequence of a lightning strike and started a fire?

I shook myself from spiraling. “I’m not afraid of a lot of things,” I pointed out, “but storms...they freak me out. They have ever since I was little. Loud noises and all.”

Mary chuckled at this. “You listen to thrash metal,” he countered.

“That’s different!” I ran my hand through my hair, gripping at the back of my scalp in frustration. “Storms are destructive. One minute it’s a normal day and the next - bam - people lose their homes, their jobs, their communities…decades and centuries of history even. It’s chaotic and terrible and…unpredictable. It’s fucking armageddon.”

Mary had turned to face me from his spot on the couch, one leg semi-crossed over the other. “Big bad metal chick like you afraid of some thunder and lightning? Color me surprised, dollface.”

The asshole had the audacity to smirk at me. So, I reached out and smacked him in the shoulder.

“Ow! I was being serious!” His tone was playful as rubbed at the spot on his shoulder. “You’re not the kind of person to let a lot of emotion show.”

I felt myself bristle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “I dunno…you just don’t seem afraid of anything. Kinda just ‘go with the flow’. It’s weird to see ya all panicked and shit.”

I scoffed and clicked my tongue. “You obviously don’t know me very well.”

“Oh, I know you inside and out, dollface,” he grinned.

My cheeks blushed garnet. “Only some of me,” I grumbled.

“Really? What else you got hiding?” he chided, sitting up a little straighter, a little closer. “Got any secret pockets in those pants?”

Now, it felt like my whole face was on fire. I remembered the cargo pants he made fun of me for on our first excursion, and the tongue-in-cheek wording was absolutely purposeful. I rolled my eyes.

Any other time I would have had a quick quip or nonverbal response lined up to banter with him, but another crackle of thunder roared through the sky, and instead, my body physically flung itself up an inch off the cushions in a reactive jolt. My hands gripped onto whatever was near me — which in this case, was the right arm of the couch and coincidentally, the right arm of Mary.

The sound of the thunder was replaced with the onslaught of water against the windows behind the sofa and I let out a breath I didn’t remember inhaling. I looked down at my hand gripping onto Mary’s forearm, fingers digging into the demon ink staring up at me across otherwise pale flesh, and I quickly retreated.

I cleared my throat. “S-sorry,” I choked, “Reflex.”

Mary didn’t seem phased at all. He turned towards me, his upper torso craning to meet mine perpendicularly, and a hand came to my knee. “What helps?” he asked plainly.

“I…what?”

“What helps?” he repeated, his tone still matter-of-fact.

“Oh. Um…” I swallowed and looked down at his hand resting on my left knee, right over the fabric of my pants. I wracked my brain in a feeble attempt to think of something that had aided my fear in the past.

But I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even breathe properly as the heat from his hand sunk through to my covered skin. I imagined that hand six inches higher, resting on my thigh as he spread them apart on the rooftop all those weeks ago—

“Distraction!” I blurted out. I hardly even recognize my voice as I did so. I finally looked over to meet the stare I’d felt carving into my irrationally fearful form and saw those fucking eyes, green and honey and framed with brows that were pursed in a way that conveyed allure. I finished letting out my caged breath. “Something to keep my mind off things and give me another sense to focus on. My parents used to, uh, read to me. Make up stories. When I was old enough, I’d hum songs or picture scenes from movies…”

Embarrassment flooded my bones. I felt childish, weakened, exposed like a raw nerve or a root scabbing from crisp air. We didn’t talk much about our pasts and he wasn’t somewhat I typically indulged with this kind of vulnerability. But as I searched his eyes for a crinkle of amusement or a flash of judgment, I found none. Instead, I found focused pupils and a heady stare.

He broke the pregnant pause. “Maybe I could distract you with something different.”

I rolled my lips in and stilted the air in my lungs. His hand weighed heavily on my leg.

“We’ve tried music. And movies,” he began, briefly casting his glance towards the middle of the living room where the TV sat against the wall and we’d sat and listened to Sonic Youth. “We drank shitty beer and ate shitty Chinese—”

“—I liked the Chinese—” I interrupted in a murmur, still watching as he soaked in the visual of my legs pressed together, his hand firm and steady.

“—so in my eyes, we’ve used sight, hearing, taste, and by association, scent. Which means, we’re missing one…”

Touch, I thought to myself. A shiver whispered down my spine. While his words trailed off, he mimicked the action with his hand. The firm hand that once sat solid on my knee began to travel up the expanse of my left leg. His fingertips ghosted my inner thigh with just enough pressure to make a point.

I gathered up the courage to look up at him again and this time, the verdant hue of his eyes was overtaken by wide pupils that bore into me like he was clawing his way to comfort.

I’m not exactly sure what happened next. The haze in my brain matched the low visibility from the storm outside. But before I knew it, I could feel the warmth of his proximity, the grip of his hand tightening on my leg as his other one gripped the nape of my neck, tugging and pulling me into him like a life preserver.

His kiss was exactly as I had remembered. Soft yet slightly chapped, starting as a fervent pressing of lips on lips that moved into tilted heads and the drag of a tongue against my own parted mouth. I reveled in the feeling and gripped onto his shirt with both hands, fisting it like he’d float away if I let go.

Had I been more cognizant, I’d have laughed at the fact that his action was much more than touch. It was scent (cheap cologne and leather and musk) and it was taste (cheap beer and filmy cigarette residue that I was surprised I could crave) and sight (technicolor behind my eyelids that erupted against dark) and it was sound (of the smacking of lips on lips and the occasional clang of teeth, the rustle of fabric and the springs of the couch as we shifted to accommodate one another).

And down we fell, my twisted torso mirroring his own as I lay plush against the flat seat of the couch. Mary moved to encapsulate my form with his own, knees brushing the worn plaid upholstery as I parted my legs to gift him space. My hands found the tops of his shoulders and as I gripped, his own hand moved from its entrapment on the nape of my neck to cup my jaw, thumb bruising against bone. I fought the urge to wrap my legs around his body and hold him in like he was to me. Touch. I didn’t care.

But before I could, he slotted one of his legs between my own, the other digging between my left thigh and the seam of the couch. I let out a groan as he pressed the meat of his thigh against my center and he smiled against my lips, nipping at the bottom one.

Touch. I craved that movement as heat built deep within my abdomen and pooled down past my navel. Shamelessly, I rocked my hips against his leg to chase the feeling of pressure, of grazed fabric on fabric. Testing the proverbial waters.

Again, a smirk against my lips. His free hand gripped squarely onto my hip. But instead of a teasing nip or squeeze, he pulled away just barely, breath ghosting against my face.

“That feel good, Doll?”

I couldn’t begin to think of how to respond. Instead, I canted my hips up again, slower this time, enjoying the friction of denim against my own clothed core. I suppose that was enough of an answer, because he held his leg firm and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth.

He hummed. “You gonna use me to get yourself off, dollface?” he breathed in question. His voice was lust-dipped and low, barely above a whisper yet it rang so heavy in my chest that I could swear it was deeper than the thunder.

I let out a noise in response (something like a mix between a whimper and a hum) and again rocked up into the muscle of his leg as I pressed my forehead to his, eyes squeezing shut to focus on the sensation blooming between my thighs.

“Use your words,” Mary all but tutted, voice still low in timbre.

“Yes,” I sputtered. Fuck dignity.

He hummed in response and captured my lips with his again, pressing hard as he kissed me with purpose. His hand on my jaw moved to grab my other hip and he let his body fall into mine as he pulled my body up into his leg in time with my own movements. “Keep going,” he murmured against my mouth. Touch. Sound.

Unabashedly, I moved my hips into his thigh with the help of his strong grasp. The friction changed as I felt my own arousal begin to dampen the fabric of my panties and I groaned into the kiss at the feel of the cotton gliding over my clit with each quickening movement.

Mary’s mouth moved across my jaw and down to the crook of my neck and shoulder, and he began to work at the skin there, biting and sucking along the sensitive areas he’d been cataloging since our last time on this couch. My eyes fluttered open half-lidded in the darkness and I raked my hand through his long hair, gripping it against the scalp as I moved senselessly against him, chasing a release I knew he could provide me.

“Fuck, you’re so eager,” he growled out against my skin. I swear I could feel the pounding of his pulse through our mashed chests and his words only increased a need that I’d been suppressing since he’d fucked me breathless against my kitchen countertop.

Mary’s distinct scent clouded me, wet-straw colored hair hung in my peripherals, cigarettes and cheap beer and the taste of his kiss covered my lips and tongue, fabric rubbed against fabric and wet mouths primed heated skin, and every explosion of his body rocked and pulled and ground against mine into a sensory explosion. Smell. Sight. Taste. Sound. Touch.

No more storm. No more thunder. No more rain. We made our own natural disaster.

And I was distracted. Fully distracted in that I didn’t recognize it was my voice that let out a breathy ‘so good’. So successfully distracted that the beeping of the notification on my phone was easily discounted. In fact, the subsequent beeping that followed seconds later was also minimized. And the one after that. I could feel the fuzzy feeling building deep below my navel and I chased it with every movement of my body against Mary’s, and the feeling of his own hardness growing against my thigh made me that much more desperate. He was clearly getting something out of this, too.

“Take what you need,” Mary’s muffled voice sounded against my clavicle. “Take whatever —fuck— take whatever you want, babydoll.”

So, I did. I ground furiously against him and reached for the peak of my climb, oblivious to the buzzing and chiming of my phone on the coffee table beside us. Except, we’d forgotten we weren’t alone, and not everyone was able to ignore the phone’s noises.

Brutus’ deep, loud barking rang through the sunken den unexpectedly, causing both Mary and I to jump in surprise, Mary’s head knocking against the side of my jaw. He rose up on his forearms instantaneously and gripped his forehead with a loud ‘fuck’ and I matched his reaction as I cupped my jaw and let out a slew of expletives.

The light from my screen illuminated the once sleeping dog’s face and I groaned out as I haphazardly reached an arm towards the table to feel for my phone. I unlocked the device and was met with a litany of notifications from Des. I groaned and slammed my head back against the couch cushion. For working so hard to get Mary and I alone together, Desiree sure knew how to cock block.

I brought the phone up and with squinted eyes, I read over the text messages that had gathered over the last hour.

Des: how’s it going over there?

Des: i heard the storm is supposed to get even worse

Des: is brutie doing okay? He gets whiny with loud noises sometimes

Des: shit someone on instagram posted that the power is out for like 5,000 people. you still okay?

Des: wow. okay. don’t answer me. you guys must be really busy 😏

Des: there are condoms in the bedside drawer 😘 cum stains wash out best with cold water ❤

Des: you still never told me about his dick btw

By now, Mary had sat back on his haunches and the pressure of his thigh was completely gone from where I most wanted it to be. “Who is it?” he asked, rubbing at his forehead.

“Desiree,” I replied in a neutral tone.

Mary let out a sarcastic laugh. “What does she want?” He leaned down to try to get a peek at the phone screen and I snapped it to my chest tightly.

“Just checking in to see how we’re faring the storm!” I said a little too quickly. I cleared my throat to try to force down the nervous lump that was forming. “And wanted to see how Brutus is doing with the thunder.”

I expected Mary to eye me suspiciously, but if he had caught on to anything, he surely didn’t show it. I typed out a quick response to Des, explaining that yes, we were okay, and no, Brutus wasn’t being a handful, before adding a quick ‘fuck you’ and an eyeroll emoji to her later comments.

I set the phone down on the table and looked up at the man currently straddling my body. My heart began to speed up again as I took in my surroundings. It was dark in the room, but the light from the storm outside and the glow of the kitchen nearby illuminated him with chiaroscuro that any Renaissance painter would envy. Judging by the bulge in his jeans, the interruption wasn’t enough to sully his erection, and he looked down at me as if he was waiting for me to say the words to continue.

I felt my chest tighten and another crackle of lightning peppered the room in flushed white. What was I doing? This was Mary: resident bad boy, metal enthusiast, best friend of my best friend’s boyfriend, and come to think of it, a guy who never seemed to show up with the same girl at his side. I didn’t sleep around purely from the fact that it was impossible for me to avoid catching feelings. Blame it on the oxytocin release.

But nothing we had done was wrong and nothing had been the result of deeper feelings, right? We were two consenting adults, two friends that enjoyed each other’s company. Couldn’t that be enough? Sex didn’t have to equal commitment or a deeper connection. It could be loose, free, fun. It was what Des always encouraged me to explore, anyway. Right?

Despite my reasoning, I felt a weight pressing on my sternum and threatening to rise up my throat. His stare was piercing, and all I could smell was leather and cologne and cigarettes, and the taste of him on my bottom lip, and his weight on my legs, and my breath felt like it was going to rip my lungs open and—

“We should turn in for the night,” I blurted out.

I searched his face for any sort of reaction and was met with a split second of confusion before his demeanor went calm.

“Sure, if that’s what you want.”

Take what you want rang heavy in my ears from just moments before.

“Y-yeah, it’s getting late and I worked today, so…”

He stood up from his position over me and I sat up against the arm of the sofa. I chewed my lip, battling the decision I’d just made for the both of us.

“I’ll take the couch, you can have Tommy’s bed,” Mary said nonchalantly as he took a swig from the forgotten beer bottle on the coffee table. Oddly chivalrous.

I shook my head almost immediately. “No, I’ll take the couch.” Mary opened his mouth to protest, but I held firm. “I am not sleeping in Thomas’ bed. That sounds like the 7th circle of hell. My best friend is frequently naked in that bed and who knows when those sheets were last washed.”

Mary laughed at this. A deep chuckle and a shake of his head as he motioned towards me with the beer bottle between pointer finger and thumb.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never seen her naked.”

Embarrassed, flustered, and wholly unsatisfied from practically humping the metalhead in front of me, I scoffed. “Not like that and not by choice.”

Mary grinned in enjoyment of my response. “Stay up late and play with each others’ tits after a pillow fight?”

A frustrated groan breached my lips. “You’ve been watching way too much porn, Goore,” I said. I reached for one of the long discarded throw pillows and lobbed it at him, feeling a hint of disappointment when he dodged it easily.

He held up both hands, one still holding the bottle. “Suit yourself,” he began, backing up while still facing me, then adding with a smirk, “don’t get too scared with the storm.”

I watched as he turned and made his way down the hallway, beer in hand as he ventured to Thomas’ room. Leaning back into the cushions of the couch, I sighed.

🜏🜏🜏

My fingers curled around the stiff microfiber blanket that I’d lazily thrown over myself as I’d sunk into Thomas’ well-worn plaid couch.

I tried to coat myself in the scratchy throw to avoid the feeling of the couch cushions on the exposed skin of my legs and arms. It was a touch-memory that brought me back to flying high in the same den, legs straddling the man that now slept peacefully down the hallway in the master bedroom.

As much as I didn’t want to reconcile with the feelings of fear, I was on edge. The movie set my panic into motion, but the worsening storm was what lit the engine. It had progressed from the percussive pelting drops against the windows and siding to roars of wind and sprays of harsh rain that sounded like fire hoses. Thunder boomed every so often and I heard its fallout whip through the trees with horrid whistles — true cries of the damned.

I let out a shaky breath and reached my hand down to pet the dog curled on the bed on the floor. Focus on the fur. Soft. Spindle it between your fingertips. Smooth. Warm. My heartbeat started to calm and my lizard brain crept back into its recesses.

My eyes relaxed in their shut state and I nuzzled a bit harder into the pillow. I felt my exhaustion begin to take hold. And just as I began to float into the downward spiral of sleep, a boisterous crack sliced through the sky. It reminded me of the jet planes that flew at the air shows when I was little - the ones that broke the sound barrier - and my shriek that followed rivaled in volume.

Bright white lightning strobed through the windows of the house. A quick succession of flashes flickered like a searchlight on the fritz. The house went dark again.

The dog's ears perked as he sat up and I followed suit, blanket bunched around my knees and clutched with firm fists to my chest. Just like after a blinding camera flash, my eyes were shot. I could just barely make out the shapes of the furniture and walls.

“You okay?” a voice asked mere feet away from me.

Startled, I let out another quick scream before slamming my palm tight against my mouth. My eyes continued to adjust and I noticed the figure turned from swirling black mass to humanoid to Mary within a split second.

“I’m fine,” I breathed out. I brought my hands down to grip onto the couch cushions. Mary stood before me in his boxers. Messy hair tousled around his shoulders and chest in waves a la 1980s glam rock (though I was certain that bedhead was a more likely culprit) and willed myself not to search through the inky black of the den to determine if he was wearing a shirt or not.

“Do you usually scream like a banshee when you’re fine?” he quipped as he crossed his arms over his chest.

No shirt I noted.

I rubbed my hands against my face, pressing my fingertips into the sockets of my eyes. “Just not a fan of storms.”

“Yeah, so you said.” A moment passed. The only sound in the air was the howling wind from outside until he broke the quiet. “You sure you’re good out here?”

“I’ve got Brutie.”

“Alright,” he sighed. After a moment, I could feel he’d left again, and I willed myself back into the couch cocoon I’d built myself.

I must have fallen asleep. Be it the adrenaline crash or the exhaustion, I wasn’t sure how I’d finally managed. It was in vain, however, when another loud burst of lightning and thunder rumbled through the house. The same strobe of light pulsated briefly, and in the distance, a booming crash. Before I knew it, I was on my feet.

Fuck this fuck this fuck this I whispered to myself as I sped through the house. My hands reached out in front of me as bumpers to the still unfamiliar landscape, and after padding down the hallway in bare feet, I reached around for the doorknob to Thomas’ room.

His room was better lit than the living room. The orange-y glow of the one working street lamp in the distance painted the walls with a near apocalyptic hue and illuminated Mary’s sleeping form on the bed. He was facing away from me, but I could tell he was out (shocking considering the resonance of the lightning and thunder).

I bit my lip and crossed my arms over my shoulders as I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I didn’t even know what I was doing here. I sure as hell didn’t want to sleep in Thomas’ bed, and the thought of sleeping next to Mary made me more anxious than anything. Well, except the storm. What was I thinking? I felt like a child standing at the foot of their parents’ bed after having a nightmare, waiting with fearful eyes and too-small pajamas for them to invite me in for the night.

Duller thunder hummed outside and I was reminded of the fear that had clenched my chest just minutes prior. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt having another person with me, could it? Clearly, the dog wasn’t enough.

I slowly sank onto the opposite edge of the bed, making myself featherlight, and lifted one leg up along the mattress as my other foot held firm against the floor. Mary didn’t move. I swung the other leg up onto the bed and pulled the covers down before sliding under, the shifting sheets whisper silent, and leaned back against the pillow.

I lay board stiff, hand on my chest, and watched as the tree branches dappled the streetlight in whooshing patterns across the ceiling. Like dark sparkles, it lulled me into a sense of calm, and I let my eyes fall shut again. The bed shifted and I felt Mary turn over, arm flopping out towards the middle of the bed to land hand first into my arm. His eyebrows crinkled in his sleep and his eyelids fluttered wearily at the feeling of his skin against my own.

“Doll?” he asked, eyes stained with sleep.

I turned my head to face him, hands still clasped against my chest. “Sorry, I—” I began, taking a moment to let out a shaky breath, “ — I freaked out.”

I braced for a chuckle, eyeroll, anything that was typical of Mary, but it never came. Instead, he lifted up the blankets as if to silently beckon me over. “C’mere,” he croaked, voice clearly still lethargic.

In any other situation, I’d take pause, but this wasn’t any situation. I scrambled over like a child. He tucked his arm around me and brought me to his bare chest. I could smell the fragrance

of the shampoo he used as I rested my head in the crook of his neck (I guess he’d been telling the truth about that shower), and my own arms came up to curl against his skin. An arm flopped around my middle, pulling me impossibly close, and our knees brushed under the blanket.

Surprisingly, I felt calmness wash over me. I likened it to the bear-like embrace, skin-on-skin, some sort of instinctual response to the comfort of another human. But his heartbeat pumped strongly beneath my fingertips and I could feel his steady breath floating across the top of my hair and down my neck, and in that moment, I wondered if it was a little more than just human instinct.

A beat percussed in time. I traced my fingertips along the skin of his arm, ghost-light, dipping down the valleys and peaks of muscle that I knew flexed taut when he strummed his Epiphone SG. Goosebumps appeared under my digits and he shifted under the sheet.

“Tickles,” he murmured atop my head.

“Sorry,” I whispered, bringing my hands back to rest against his torso. Sandwiching them between the cotton of my oversized tee and the smooth skin of his pecs would have to do.

It was quiet — so quiet that I assumed he had fallen asleep again. But his soft breaths were broken by his even softer voice. “You’re cute when you’re scared,” he said.

I let out a chuckle. “Gee, thanks.”

He hummed and although I couldn’t see it, I could hear his tongue wet his lips, jaw pressing against the top of my head from the movement. “It’s different from the typical Dahlia.”

My mind raced back to our earlier conversation, the one where he’d accused me of hiding my emotions. Is this what he meant? Was fear what he considered transparency? I looked up at him quizzically, breaking the connection of his chin using my crown as an actual headrest.

His eyes were open, and despite the foreglow of the streetlights and darkness, I could better feel his stare than see it. His hair was still a step down from a rat’s nest, tangled from sleep, and strands hung down around his angular face. His cheeks were beginning to stubble with five o’clock shadow. Breaths pushed past his lips steadily, even, but beneath the pads of my fingers, I could sense his heart pumping solidly in his chest. Only a hairline fracture separated our faces.

Outside, a whistle of strong wind thwipped against the siding of the house like a widow’s cry and my body instinctively tensed. His arm that had lethargically slung across my waist impulsively tightened and he pulled me even closer.

“Hey…” he soothed. His brows were drawn in concern, and his hand traveled from the c-bout of my waist and up, up, up my tricep. It was less of a greeting and more of a reminder to land back in the present, to focus on my senses (touch, taste, smell, sight, sound), to remember I was right here, right in this moment, and I wasn’t alone.

The mortar holding the bricks built around my heart began to disintegrate. Every block melded in a bond pattern to cage in my overcommitting self, to protect from obsession, from the inevitable swoon that I had felt with Brody and had ripped out from under me — they began to fall, piece by piece.

It was the both of us that drew our mouths to meet. The kiss was lazy, sleepy, languid at first, morphing into prolonged pecks that added a harmony to the pattering rain, gusts of wind, and bouts of thunder rumbling the outside earth. His hand continued to rub against my upper arm and beat by beat, the kiss heightened, and slowly, surely, lips met tongue, and then teeth, and I was angling my neck to the right to keep him from digging into the pillow.

Mary shifted. His fingers gripped my arm as he moved to lay halfway on top of me. Our legs tangled together, and as he slid his own against my calf, barely stilling, I was certain he’d just discovered that my nightwear consisted of only an oversized t-shirt and panties.

I could sense his erection pressing through the thin cotton of his boxers against my thigh. My brain zapped back to hours prior when he had boxed me in on the couch and let me take pleasure from his strong quads. A fire raged within me that rivaled my hair spilling across Thomas’ pillows like a red sea.

Mary’s hand moved to skim under the hem of my shirt, tracing against my hip bone before it, too, went up, up, up, hovering just over the curve of my breast before cupping it. His finger traced the outline of my nipple. Once again, surroundings faded. Nothing else existed at this moment, here, right now.

I exhaled shakily against him. Our lips were still passionately pendulating in a rhythm that the both of us had mastered by now. I took a leap of faith and pressed my thigh to his crotch, earning me a squeeze to my chest and his own shaky exhale.

Releasing my breast, Mary swept his hand to the waistband of my panties. His fingers, rough and calloused from frets and strings, dipped underneath. He sat up slightly and broke the kiss. The smooth cotton was seesawed down my legs in a series of yanks from the free hand, and he quickly repeated the action on his own boxers, tossing them aside before returning his hand back to my chest.

“Mary,” I breathed out.

“What?” he echoed. His eyes searched for something as he drank in my expression.

I swallowed lightly. “I-” I began, not knowing exactly what I was saying.

But he did. “I’ve got you,” he said. His other hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my eyes.

He kissed me again and fully framed my body with his own. I relaxed back into the pillow and he sat back to dip his hands underneath my shirt, pushing it up and off with a temporary break in our lips’ union. As he slotted himself between my legs, I looked up at him, body completely bare. I felt the anxiety creep into my chest and I was certain I looked visibly unsure — not at the prospect of what was to happen, no, but what would follow. How this would, or could, change things.

“So goddamn pretty when you’re spread out like this,” he murmured as his hands roamed up and down my torso. I took the moment to soak up the image in front of me. His lean torso was flexed as he ran his hands along my breasts and stomach, and his cock stood heavy against his pelvis, bobbing with every movement of his touch.

He gripped himself with a soft moan, stroking slowly, methodically, and his eyes raked over my form. This wasn’t our first encounter, no, but I felt truly naked for the first time.

With oddly found confidence, I reached forward to grasp at the junction of his shoulder and neck. I pulled him towards me and his other hand shot out to brace himself against the squeaking mattress. His stroking continued and I jolted when his knuckles came in contact with the ache between my legs. Without any spoken words, he lined himself up and then embraced me, hand on my shoulder as we met chest to chest, covering me like a blanket.

His pause was obvious — an unspoken ask of consent to proceed which I answered with a soft kiss. I trusted him, and I assumed he trusted me. We both craved the connection, to complete the incomplete.

As Mary pushed in, I melted beneath him. His tip pushed past and he groaned and buried his face in the curve of my neck. My hands darted out to grip onto his back and pull him close. I wanted to feel him take up space in my ribs.

Inch by inch he sank before canting steadily. I could feel every bit of him as he rocked in and out, pulling and pushing as my heat gripped him, and for some reason it felt different. Not just raw, but whole. I took in every bit of him physically, but as we moved together in the nightglow, I also consumed the parts he’d been dressing up in leather and denim and metal and dissolved it into my flesh. I took him.

And through my euphoria of connection, I barely registered my small eruptions of noises that highlighted each stroke of his cock to my core. I focused on the sensation of sprinkled electricity spreading from my cunt outwards, and his hot breath on my neck that I drank in like I was oxygen-starved.

Mary’s hips began to stutter as he thrusted a little harder into my own and my legs moved to wrap instinctively around him. I keened out louder, and he lifted his head to look at me again.

The eye contact was searing. Hot. It charred my retinas, but this time, I didn’t care. He must have sensed the vulnerability because his hand cupped my jaw and he ran his thumb across my cheekbone before our foreheads met together.

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, “Fuck, I’ve got you.”

Like his own hail Mary. I believed him. He had me now — I was in his clutches, both literally and figuratively.

His pace increased to match my ever-racing pulse. It was still steadied, sleepily focused, and I dug my fingers into the flesh of his back as I clenched down against the movement of his length, nearly trembling at the pull at my navel as each drag of him spurred fire. It was building, and I let it. My breath began to stutter and I felt tears at my waterline. The sensory overload was rhapsody and the simple, obvious connection was juxtaposed by the chaotic climax lapping at my center. I was so close it almost hurt.

I moaned his name in a half-whimper and he must have felt my urgency and desperation and the increased slick coating our joined union because he crushed his lips to mine. His thumb dug into the side of my chin as he drove firmly into my aching need. But the jerking of his hips was almost too much and I could tell he wasn’t far behind me.

As my thighs began to tremble at his sides, he broke the kiss. I looked at him with desperate longing.

“Let it go, Doll,” he murmured to me.

And unlike every other situation in life where I found myself stubbornly resisting direction, I obeyed. I followed his demand and allowed the fuzzy heat of my release to unfurl around him. I cried out in rapture and he swallowed the sound with an opened mouth kiss at the moment of impact. I tensed around him and my pussy spasmed with every lunge of his hard cock.

“Good girl,” Mary praised as gripped hard onto my shoulder and pressed his head to mine, lips separated, and I was enveloped in a curtain of golden-brown tangled strands. He began to move faster against me and I knew my orgasm had spurred something deep within him as he moaned out, “So good for me, taking me so damn well.”

His thumb brushed the breadth of my lip and dipped into my mouth, pulling down just barely against my tongue and teeth. I looked up at him with full eyes, grey hues drowned by pupils swimming from release, and I inwardly begged him to complete me as aftershocks of a violent orgasm short circuited.

“So tight,” he grunted in response. “Fuck— feel so good around me, babydoll.” His hands moved to grip my hips and with a few more jolts of his hips, his cock twitched and he groaned, features melting as he spilled inside of me. His body jerked with each spurt and his fingers dug into the flesh covering my pelvic bone as he rode out his high.

Mary collapsed into me and I allowed my eyes to close as we savored the aftermath. I’m not sure how long it was, minutes, maybe more, but eventually he pulled his softened dick from me and I let out a long breath of satisfaction. My hand moved to rest against my chest as I digested the gnawing deep within me that questioned what this was.

Mary fell to his side and pressed a quick peck to my lips before rolling onto his back and mimicking my sigh. A brief silence filled the sweat-scented air, and I moved my hand to grasp at his, squeezing it, only to receive a slight squeeze back.

Our ragged breaths eventually calmed and I opened my eyes to the textured plaster of the ceiling.

“You good?” Mary asked after a minute. I rolled my lips inward as I thought about the weight of those two words.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m good— I’m great,” I replied. It was the truth.

He hummed in response and pulled the flat sheet over himself.

“Glad I could distract you,” He said as he nestled into the right side of the bed. Before turning, he added, “get some sleep.”

My eyes searched for patterns in the swirls of the painted gypsum of the ceiling as stillness settled in. Mary’s quiet breathing turned to soft snores. Despite the calm, serene relief from a shared orgasm, my chest was tight from the inward battle of how unbelievably intimate that experience was and how deeply I was freefalling into a mess of adoration for the man next to me.

I wondered how he could so easily turn to the side and fall asleep.

🜏🜏🜏

Despite the after effects of the record-breaking storm, Des and Thomas were able to make it home a couple of days after they’d left, right on schedule.

They greeted Mary with their normal affections (a pat on the back from Thomas and a warm wave from Des), and the conversation immediately turned from a Brutus report to a play-by-play of Thomas’ shows out of town.

Des noted there was no sign of her best friend, which wasn’t a surprise. She’d received my text the day before that I was heading home and that Mary was fine staying the additional time. And despite her prodding, I’d remained tightlipped.

Both she and Thomas were unaware of the telltale morning after where I’d woken up to sunbeams instead of lightning, choosing to pack up my belongings and head out early to check on my own pet at home.

They were also unaware of the brief goodbye between Mary and I as I readied to leave — him, acting cool, aloof, and casual, as if nothing had changed, while I tried my best to mirror his demeanor with little success. Because as much as I tried to build the bricks back up, I’d let him in the night before, and he’d taken root inside the boundaries of my chest.

I suppose that just like a day spent thrifting, I’d gone into every interaction with Mary with no expectations, and each time I’d come out with something I didn’t anticipate. The goldmines outweighed the insolvencies. I didn’t know if I wanted him to be aware of this.

Above all, I was happy for my momentary blissful unawareness (at least until later during a phone call with Des) of Thomas’ outburst upon entering his bedroom after Mary had left. His exclamation of “god damn it!” rang as loud as the thunder two nights previous, causing Des to dart in with a “what?” on her lips and the expectation of disaster.

Thomas sighed, stained top sheet in hand. “They fucked on my bed.”

taglist: @soup-14 @copiasghoulfriend @thew0man @na1ven3vy @portaltothevoid @copias-juicebox @the-lisechen @anamelessfool @discountdemonwarehouse @oaksdottir

#mary goore #mary goore x oc #mary goore x ofc #repugnant #repugnant fanfiction #repugnant band #repugnant fanfic #mary goore smut #mary goore fanfic #mary goore fanfiction #the band ghost fanfic #ghost band fanfic #ghost bc fanfic #ghost fandom #my writing #5 times with mary goore #5+1 things #5 + 1 fic

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shiftythrifting · 1 month

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A Dream smp blanket..??!!??!??!???!!!??????!!!!!

#thrifting #submission #dream smp #blankets #shiftythrifting #cursed #finally some shitty thrifting

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alchemistc · 1 year

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shoulda been a rockstar

Corroded Coffin makes it. Despite all odds, despite all the shitty crap that went down in '85, Corroded Coffin goes on to have an illustrious career - they win awards and hit the top of the charts and people genuinely fucking love them. They change the fucking genre and then just keep growing from there.

They break up for a time in the aughts, and then when they're all in their middler ages they have a drunken night together and decide to get the band back together - they've got kids now, wives and families and a million other things and one day Gareth's kid pulls out a tape from one of the boxes Gareth hasn't opened in thirty years - spends a week searching thrift shops and ebay for a cassette player even though his dad definitely could find one way quicker and when he finally listens to it he's a little transported, because this stuff is - this stuff is raw, and it's just a bit mean, and - and the vocals are all wrong, the voice is -

Gareth's son brings it to the studio and they all sit around the booth and listen with wistful sad smiles and -

"That's Eddie, bud," Gareth tells him, and he struggles with the memory, trying to think of where he knows that name from but -

"I think we recorded this when you were still a freshman," Jeff says, but that doesn't explain who -

"You mean that guy who murdered those people in your home town when you were in high school?"

And they all sort of blink and pause and hem around the point for a bit but -

"Eddie wasn't - listen, bud, I know what the official version of events is but Eddie - he didn't -."

"He died, right?"

And they all nod solemnly and share quiet looks between them and he thinks probably that's the end of that, and he feels sort of bad about reminding them of their dead maybe murderous friend, but he's a teenager, so he sort of forgets about it after that.

---

The dudes he runs into on his way to the booth give Paul sort of a shifty look, and Paul takes them in - they're both about the same height and they both look very vaguely familiar but they're in the studio and Paul never pays much attention to his dad's colleagues - ones got thick rimmed glasses and a crooked nose and a weird scar on his neck, and the other has a nest of short dark curls piled artfully atop his head and a nervously giddy grin plastered across his face and they're holding hands and Paul doesn't know them, so when he asks his dad about it he just shrugs and tells him they're trying some shit out for the reunion album.

Paul promptly forgets about them, too.

---

Corroded Coffin releases three singles before the start of the reunion tour that fans go absolutely batshit insane for. Jeff doesn't sing in them, which Paul thinks is weird as fuck, because Jeff's vocals are like a cornerstone of Corroded Coffin but the singer in all three songs reminds him of -

"You told me he was dead," Paul says, arms crossed and the tape he'd tossed at his dad still laying in his dad's lap, and his dad sort of maybe panics a little.

"Paul, you can't - he is dead. Eddie Munson died in the earthquake and that's what the whole world knows."

"Who the fuck is Steve E, then?" Because that's what the vocal credits on the song say, and there's definitely royalties going to this Steve E guy, and -

"Paul, you can't tell a soul. According to all government documentation Steve E is Teddy Eller's husband, and he's the vocals on those songs."

"And the truth?"

"That's - complicated."

Paul's not going to tell anyone, but it still sort of pisses him off that his dad won't at least tell him because he can keep a goddamn secret, okay?

---

"You can't play them live," Paul predicts, the day before their first show, and he thinks they all kind of look like dweebs, dressed like they haven't all spent the last eleven years filling out and aging, but they're excited, and they're letting him go on the first leg of the tour, so. Whatever. They can do what they want, a bunch of aging rockers trying to relive their glory days.

But they can't play the new singles live. Not when those songs have a voice that distinctive and that voice is apparently attached to a face that's supposed to be dead.

"That - those songs, we didn't really record them for - it wasn't for us," Gareth tells him, and he maybe, sort of, kind of gets it

It's a shame though, because of everything he's ever heard from CC's discography, these are some of the best.

"You could make it a gimmick, you know. Like - Corpse, or Daft Punk, or - that weird band you like, the ones with the cartoon avatars "

"The Gorillaz aren't weird, Paul, they're art."

He doesn't even bother to respond to the suggestion, and - that's that, Paul guesses.

---

"Shit shit shit -," the guy standing in the wings says, and Gareth sighs, rolls his eyes, grabs Paul by one elbow and the curly haired guy by the bicep and he drags them both further into the bowels of backstage.

"Where's Steve?" he asks, and the other middle aged guy from the studio with a different set of glasses on this time guiltily pops his head out from behind a massive amp.

"Hey Gare," he says with a dorky little finger wave, and Paul stares at them for a beat.

"Holy shit you're Steve Harrington." In his dad's freshman and sophomore yearbook, his dad has drawn devil horns on the preppy kids face. He only remembers because when he pointed it out, his dad had laughed hysterically for like ten minutes and muttered "I didn't draw that shit, his fucking soulmate did that when he was pretending he still hated his goddamn guts."

"Not technically?" Glasses says. "I changed my name when I got married."

"YOUR FAKE-DEAD HIGH SCHOOL FRIEND HAD AN ENEMIES TO LOVERS ROMANCE WITH THE PREPPY JOCK?"

Glasses blinks. Curly haired vocalist grins. "When you put it that way it is kind of cliche. Steve, I want a divorce."

"Oh gross," Paul says, because they're looking at each other all fond and lovey like his parents do right before they start playing shitty 90s love ballads really loudly from their bedroom.

"Super gross," his dad repeats, but he's darting his gaze between the two like he's watching one of those romcoms he pretends to hate whenever mom picks the movie.

"Eat my shorts," Curly Hair says, and it's the single most embarrassing thing Paul's ever heard so he sort of just sneaks away before his dad has a chance to figure out why the fuck they're hanging backstage like they're going to crash the bands show.

---

Paul still calls him Teddy even though the rest of the band drops the "T" any time they're not surrounded by managers and publicists and adoring fans. He's - the single most annoying person on the planet but also the only person Paul knows who can actually hold his weight when Paul starts debating about some obscure piece of music trivia. Teddy runs a D&D game in breaks between cities and fights Paul on game mechanics constantly because Paul hates min-maxing and Eddie doesn't give a shit about it as long as the RP is good, and Steve still puts on one of those stupid fucking masks once in a while and pretends to sing Teddy's vocals while Teddy wistfully watches his husband showboat in the wings of the stage.

His last night with the band before CC heads overseas and Paul has to go back and figure out how to do a summers worth of reading in two weeks, he corners Teddy halfway through a super-embarrasing gyration Steve's doing onstage to a lyric Paul hadn't realized was so suggestive until that very moment.

"Don't you hate it?"

Teddy looks at him sharply, and Paul knows - knows he fucking hates that this is the closest he'll ever get to that rockstar dream he probably spent his formative years imagining. He's got a limp that never goes away, and one time they'd all snuck into the hotel pool after hours and Paul had seen the map of scars across Teddy's torso, and sometimes Teddy reaches for the air close to his neck and makes a surprised face like he was expecting to have something their to dig his fingers into. And sometimes Teddy and Steve get maudlin and quiet and haunted and the band sort of pretends it's not happening until they snap out of it

"You ever heard of Damien Echolls?" Teddy asks instead of responding to the question, and it takes him a second but his mom is obsessed with true crime podcasts and it clicks, eventually. Paul nods solemnly, and Eddie gestures to the stage, where Steve - who is way too old to be as fit as he is, Jesus - is hopping around and hamming it up and actually doing a pretty good job of playing at a rockstar. "I'm alive and I didn't spend a couple decades locked in solitary and that stupid idiot loves me so much that sometimes I can't even imagine not loving everything about me, too."

Paul makes a gagging noise, and Teddy gives him a noogie.

"Yeah kid. I fucking hate it. But there are worse things."

---

It takes him twelve years and a whole ass law degree, but when Eddie Munson is posthumously exonerated, the band releases an EP with a dedication to the founding member of Corroded Coffin and Steve E on vocals. They're new songs, and they get away with it by pretending they'd found an old notebook buried in a storage unit and decided to honor their friend, but Teddy sort of cries a bit when he sees the songwriter credits.

He cries a lot, actually, but then, so does Paul.

#corroded coffin #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #outsider pov #steddie #i kinda hurt my own feelings with this one #eddie munson you shoulda been a rockstar

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rebelspykatie · 7 months

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Kinktober Day One: Mutual Masturbation

When they moved into this place, just the two of them, Steve never expected for this to happen. He needed somewhere to go after his parents sold the house and Eddie wanted to give Wayne some space of his own. Neither of them had the means to live on their own, even with the government hush money, but they did have enough to get a place together.

So in September of that fateful year they defeated Vecna, they moved into a shitty two bedroom apartment with the thinnest walls and the smallest kitchen. It wasn’t much, but it was home. They painted the walls and hung up curtains at Robin’s insistence, making it homey and less like a meth lab might have possibly once existed in their living room.

Eddie finds a job with a mechanic and gets his GED, while Steve tries out some community college courses with Robin, picking up minimum wage jobs here and there to keep them afloat. It’s not perfect, but it works.

What Steve doesn’t think about until it’s too late, is exactly how thin the walls are. The layout of their place is a big rectangle, with a living room on one end, kitchen in the middle, and the bedrooms at the end of a hall. The two bedrooms are stationed directly next to each other, just a wall separating them, with a bathroom in the hallway that they share.

It doesn’t take more than a few days for Steve to realize the mistake he’s made. It’s late one night, both of them having gone to their rooms when Steve hears it. The unmistakable sound of someone getting off. And it’s not just anyone, it’s without a doubt Eddie that he’s hearing. They’ve been there enough nights at this point for Steve to know it’s louder than when the couple next door is going at it. Their sounds are muffled, a little more distant, easy to ignore. This is like surround sound in their quiet apartment.

Breathy moans filter through the wall, little huffs and groans that reverberate in Steve’s ears. If he closes his eyes, it’s like Eddie is lying right beside him. Eddie’s bed frame is old, something they thrifted when they moved in, and it squeaks when you move too vigorously. Steve can almost time the motion of Eddie’s hips with the creaking sound that he’s hearing, can learn the rhythm of how Eddie’s stroking his cock from the pattern the bedpost is drumming on the wall.

He clenches his eyes shut and puts a pillow over his head, trying to drown out the sounds, but they just get progressively louder and Steve resigns himself to having to sit through this. He learns a lot about Eddie that night, like how long he can go before he comes, the way he likes to change the rhythm, speeding up and slowing down to edge himself, the high pitched keen that leaves his throat when he does finally come. It’s overwhelming information to have about one of your best friends.

He doesn’t know what to do with the tent in his own boxers that he tries to push down with the heel of his hand. Something electric sings through his veins when he touches his own cock while he knows Eddie is touching his on the other side of the wall. He pulls the pillow over his head again and tries to imagine anything else to get his erection to go down, eventually falling asleep once Eddie’s finished.

He doesn’t know how to bring it up the next morning. How do you tell your best friend you know what they sound like when they come now? How does he tell Eddie that he wishes he could edge himself that long before shooting off? He doesn’t. He keeps it to himself and ends up suffering through several more nights of this. He’s taken so many cold showers and gotten himself off hurriedly so as not to run up their water bill. Too scared to get off in his own bed with Eddie on the other side, knowing exactly what it sounds like through the walls.

Then, one Friday night, he finally gets a chance. Eddie is at band practice, gone for the evening. He won’t be back until at least ten, so Steve has the apartment to himself. He takes it nice and slow, working himself up, running his hands along his thighs, palming his nipples, pinching and twisting them. It feels like forever before he wraps a hand around his cock. It’s like sinking into a warm bath after a long day. Too long since he could take his time and really touch himself.

Grabbing the lube from his nightstand, he pours some into his hand and fists his cock again, sighing at the glide, the slick, cool sensation that lights up every nerve in his body. He pumps his fist slow and steady, swirling his palm over the head and then back down. He doesn’t even know when he closes his eyes and starts to fantasize, his thoughts drifting to a lot of different things, but one thing stands out. The image he’s conjured of Eddie doing this exact same thing in his own room. He’s unconsciously setting the same rhythm he remembers Eddie set that first night, speeding up and slowing down at the same rate.

Maybe Eddie was onto something because he’s never been so turned on in his whole life. He feels a pang of guilt that he’s getting off to things his friend gets off to, but there’s no way he can turn that part of his brain off right now. The lack of privacy has really started to get to him, so he lets it all out, moans coming out louder than normal, getting it out of his system before he has to go back to blue balls every night until he can shower the next day.

And maybe he should’ve taken more precautions, been a bit more conscious of his surroundings and that plans can change because he doesn’t hear the front door. He doesn’t hear anything except his own moans until Eddie is already in his room and he hears the bed squeak, halting his movement on this side of the wall.

He holds his breath, so close to the edge that he doesn’t want to stop, tightening his fist around the base of his cock to stop himself from shooting off right then. He almost cries out in frustration at being interrupted, but he waits to see what Eddie is going to do. There’s no way he missed the sounds Steve was making, he has to know what Steve is up to, and he didn’t knock on his door to say hi like he normally does when he gets home, so he definitely knows Steve is busy. You could probably hear a pin drop in their apartment at the sudden silence, but it doesn’t last long. Eddie’s bed creaks, the rustling of sheets, and then Steve can hear the familiar sound of Eddie stroking his own cock.

And if he thought palming his cock down in his shorts felt electric before, it’s nothing like the weight of his dick in his hand as he knows Eddie is doing the same on the other side of the wall. He was too close to finishing before to stop now, he can’t just roll over and pretend like this isn’t happening. As quiet as he can manage, he starts to stroke his cock again. Biting down on the knuckles of his other hand to stifle a moan.

It’s wrong to do this, but Eddie has to know what he was up to, and he has to know now that Steve can hear him when he’s going at it. Something about that knowledge and them still touching their cocks together, lights him up from the inside. His cock has never felt more alive, more ready to hurdle over that edge, but then he hears it. It’s so soft and muffled that he thinks he imagined it, but it rings in his ears anyways.

Through the wall, he hears Eddie moan his name. It’s strangled, like he’s face down on a pillow or covering his face with an arm, but it’s distinguishable and Steve’s never been more aroused in his life. It only takes a few more pumps before he’s coming all over his chest, grunting and panting as if he just ran a marathon, unable to hold it in any longer.

And then like a flip has switched, Eddie’s moans get louder, amplified like Steve’s orgasm has given him confidence that he’s allowed to do this. Steve’s heard a lot of them at this point, but this one feels different, like Eddie is putting on a show just for him. He just sits in his drying come, afraid to break the spell, listening to Eddie finish himself off. A resounding smack of a hand hitting the wall between them makes him jump, but he’s even more surprised to hear his name, no longer an embarrassed whimper into the night, but a loud unmistakable shout.

Steve’s not really sure where to go from here but he guesses they’re about to figure it out when a quiet knock on his door startles him upright a few minutes later.

AO3

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #katie writes #and they were roommates

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hellfirenacht · 7 months

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Upside Down to Inside Out Part 1

Summary: It has been four months since anyone has heard from Eddie 'The Freak' Munson. After the Events of the Upside Down, he skips town, leaving you to reflect on the fallout and how your relationship changed during the battle for Hawkins.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, angst, drug use, sfw, friends to lovers

No one had seen Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson for months.

After the events in the Upside Down, where he, Dustin, and yourself had created a distraction for the Demobats to allow the rest of the team to do what was needed to kill Vecna/Henry/One, everything had happened in a blur. No one talked about that night, how everyone almost died, how the world almost ended, how Eddie had cleared his name but still was seen as a murderer.

The official story was that Eddie had been kidnapped by whoever had actually killed Chrissy and the others. The official story made Chrissy out to be some sort of druggie, which pissed everyone off, not least of all Eddie. The official story had Eddie locked up and tortured by some boogie man who had sacrificed others.

If the whole thing hadn’t been so traumatizing, it would almost be funny how close the papers got it right.

It was September now, and you hadn’t heard a word from Eddie in months. You’d called him so many times, even showing up at his home to try and find him. Eventually, Wayne Munson had to tell you that he wasn’t there, and that he’d packed up his guitar, his cassettes, and his clothes and left town just days after being discharged from the hospital.

Eddie ‘the Banished’ had retreated for the last time.

You were glad that none of the kids were there to see you completely break down over this. No, instead it was Johnathan Byers and Argyle of all people who had been witness to your downfall. You barely knew them, had never talked to Johnathan much in school and Argyle... never went back to California. You never did ask about what his parents must have thought.

They had been the one to drive you to Forest Hills Trailer Park when your car broke down. They had been the ones to hear Wayne explain that Eddie had skipped town. It was Johnathan’s idea to take you out to an old dump with a shitty golf club from the local thrift store to help you take your anger and frustration out on a broken washing machine.

You swung the golf club with all your might at the poor appliance. Screaming profanities, yelling at Eddie, and cursing this town that never gave him a chance.

“FUCK!” you screamed as the golf club swung down with a clang. “Stupid- He fucking LEFT!” Another swing. “He said... he wouldn’t run away again!” Another swing as hot tears stung your eyes. “Stupid shithead- stupid FUCK.”

You had long since stopped making sense of your yelling as Johnathan and Argyle just watched you. Everything was just wrong. How the hell did you save the world and still feel like you lost everything?! It wasn’t fair, you were supposed to have cleared his name, the town was supposed to love him now the same way that you-

Another feral scream ripped through your throat as you slammed the golf club down for a final time, snapping the cheap metal and denting the appliance. You fell to your knees in a heap, sobbing uncontrollably into the dirt.

Argyle was the one to step in, sitting you up and sticking something in your mouth and telling you to breathe in. The joint burned your throat and only reminded you more of Eddie as you coughed out smoke. Someone was rubbing your back as you cried, you couldn’t tell who at this point. You should have been embarrassed to be having this complete breakdown in front of two people you barely knew, but you couldn’t help it.

You weren’t sure how long you were sitting on the ground with the two men. You had mostly gotten your breathing under control, and you weren’t sure if the joint that was being passed between the three of you was doing you any good.

“So... you were close with Eddie?” Jonathan asked, once he decided that you had calmed down enough to talk.

“I... I thought we were.” you said. “I really thought so.”

“Come on, if anyone can get Eddie to move Hellfire it’s you!” Mike pleaded. “It’s the final session and then it’s over!”

You looked at the two freshmen before you and sighed. You agreed with them, you fully agreed with everything they were saying. You wanted Lucas there, you wanted everyone there for this. It wouldn’t feel right that the campaign would end without the whole of Hellfire Club there.

And you had some sway over Eddie, not much but some. He was your friend, the one who had singled you out and dragged you into the club. He was the one who gave you a place to belong in Hawkins, and the only person you had opened up to about things in your past. This was the same man who when you said you had a passing interest in Metal music, he’d come to school the next day with a mix tape of his favorite songs, with a track list of why they were significant to the genre.

Eddie was your friend, and none of the others could ever truly bring themselves to stand up to him the way you did. You weren’t afraid to poke at him when he was being stubborn, you weren’t afraid to fight with him, or call him out. That’s why he liked you, if he was honest. You were never afraid or nervous around Eddie Munson.

Well, not to his face.

“I won’t make any promises, but I’ll try. Maybe three people voting to postpone will make him at least think about it.” you finally agree.

Dustin and Mike were satisfied with that as you all looked over at the normal Hellfire Club table.

“Shit, he seems really revved up today.” Dustin said, watching as Eddie laughed about something in the magazine he was holding.

“He’s always revved up.” said Mike, who looked just as nervous.

“Welp, time to go ruin his day.” You said with a deep breath and a laugh. “Business as usual.”

That at least made the freshmen laugh a little bit as you led the way towards the club, dropping your lunchbox on the table next to Eddie. You were creating a barrier between him and Dustin and Mike, just in case. Not that Eddie would ever actually hurt anyone. Okay, yeah he wasn’t afraid to get handsy and grab onto club members and push them around a little but there was never any true malicious intent.

But if you were going to be the one with any actual sway over his decision, then you had to be the one sitting closest to him.

“‘Sup, Freaks.” you said dropping down in the chair, forcing Zack to scoot over. Gareth rolled his eyes at you, as usual. He never did seem to care for you, but it didn’t matter to you that much.

Eddie barely acknowledged you until you opened your lunch box and tossed him an extra sandwich. It stressed you out how little he always brought, and you made sure to never make a big deal about it, and he didn’t question. Eddie grabbed the bag and took a bite out of the sandwich, and you could almost laugh at his expression. He was frowning so hard, and he was clearly in some sort of mood.

“Exactly.” Eddie said, looking at you as he swallowed. “We’re the freaks here right? Just because we like to play a fantasy game.”

Oh no, he was in one of those moods. You immediately grabbed your lunch and scooted it back; you’d already lost more than one sandwich to Eddie’s speeches in the few months that you’d been here. Oh, this was going to be much harder than you thought it’d be.

“BUT” Eddie slammed the table with his hand and started to stand up. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing as he climbed up on the table- how many times had he managed to stand on these tables without getting in trouble? How many teachers had just given up at this point and let him go for it knowing it would only take a moment of everyone’s time?

Still, you never got tired of it. You never got tired of his energy and passion, how he meant every single word he said, even if it pissed everyone else off or annoyed them. The whole school thought that he would snap one day, and you assumed that’s why most people stayed away from Hellfire. This club came with a certain level of protection against bullies, no doubt thanks to Eddie’s antics.

“As long as you're into band!” Eddie yelled out, walking along the table. You had heard him say this exact thing hundreds of times before in private that you could almost say it word for word; wait, had that been him rehearsing for this? “Or science, or paaarrrtieeess-”

He was gaining attention now, a few people looking up and flipping him off or muttering about the freak standing and yelling on the lunchroom table again.

“Or a GAME where you toss BALLS into LAUNDRY BASKETS!” He yelled even louder.

Shit. You looked over at Dustin and Mike with a sigh. Oh, he was NOT going to be happy about your proposal. You were now also glad that you had bought your supply off of him a few days ago so that he couldn’t hold that over your head. He has absolutely refused to sell you weed before, or at least delayed it by a few days because you two had gotten into some spat but he always ended up selling to you when you made up.

A few people were yelling at Eddie now, and he threw up his hands and hissed at someone. You shook your head, God he was dramatic. But you loved that about him, if you were honest. Eddie was refreshing in a sea of normalcy. It was part of the reason you felt-

“It’s forced conforming.” Eddie declared as he walked back down the table and jumped off, getting into some poor girl's face who stumbled back into a pillar. “That’s what's killing the kids!” He took a seat again. “That’s the real monster.”

You readjusted your lunch and gave him a polite round of applause, with Mike and Dustin also following when they saw your face. Flattery worked on Eddie, of course it did. Eddie was a DM, so that meant he had some form of God-Complex and any form of stroking his dumb ego could only help.

“So, uh, speaking of monsters...” Dustin started. Eddie was eating his sandwich again and his eyes had narrowed. Eddie always had a sixth sense when some form of bullshit was about to happen, and he could already tell that he wasn’t going to like whatever it was that this kid was going to say.

“Lucas has to do his, uh, balls-in-laundry-baskets game.” Dustin laughed nervously, trying so hard to remain calm and casual. “So... He’s not gonna make it to Hellfire tonight. And I know there’s no way we can beat your sadistic campaign without him. So, me and Mike, we were talking, shooting the shit. And we were thinking that maybe we might...”

“Postpone!” Mike said, not letting Dustin get to the point. That’s probably not how you would have handled this situation, but it was out there.

The table immediately delved into chaos as your friends immediately started fighting with the freshmen.

“Postpone?!”

“You can’t just drop this on us!”

“Over my dead body!”

“SHUT UP!” Everything came to a halt with the club and you all looked at Eddie. He leaned over and looked at Dustin. “Are you saying that Sinclair’s been taken in by the dark side?”

In the off season, it had been easy for Lucas to ‘play the field’ between Basketball and Hellfire. With Hellfire on Fridays and practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the kid had been able to mostly get by playing both games. He never talked about one extra-curricular with the other, knowing that neither group of friends would care about the other.

Then Spring semester started, and Basketball season started ramping up as the Hawkins Tigers started winning games. Lucas was still benched, but he couldn’t skip games, not without losing the chance to actually play. This had been causing friction for a few months now, with Lucas skipping Hellfire and everyone needing to find a sub for the game instead of, maybe, Eddie adjusting the dungeons and encounters accordingly. But Eddie would always be Eddie, and he was a stubborn, sadistic DM.

“Uh, something like that?” Mike mumbled.

“Something like that?” Eddie threw a piece of crushed pretzel that he had been eating at the freshman, which you barely dodged by leaning back.

“Jesus, Eds.” you mumbled.

He waved you off. “And rather than find a sub for him, you want... you want to postpone ‘The Cult of Vecna’?” You could practically hear Eddie grinding his teeth, and his shoulders were shaking.

“I... I don’t want to postpone it.-” Mike started and you had to step in. This was not getting anywhere.

“Yes, Eddie, we want to postpone the game” you said firmly, sitting up straighter. He looked at you, jaw agape and eyes wide as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Are you serious?” he asked. “This is the final session of the campaign-”

“And this is the Championship game!” you shot back.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Jeff said.

“So we’re supposed to just postpone because Lucas has to go play with his balls?” Gareth added.

“ENOUGH” Eddie said, his eyes were now trained on you. You did your best to stand your ground. “So it’s the championship game?”

“Most of the subs will be there-” Mike started, but a sharp look from Eddie had him shrink back before wide brown eyes turned back to you. Freshmen he could handle, but you could be just as stubborn as him when it mattered. You and Eddie always challenged each other, and most times it was fun to get under each other's skin, but this wasn’t playful banter about a dice roll this time.

“Can I level with you three?” Eddie asked, his eyes sweeping over you, Dustin, and Mike. He stood up and you wondered if he was capable of sitting down when he had something to say. Even during Hellfire he’d be more than happy to hop up and lean over the table, walk around and get in everyone’s faces.

You’d called him a theater kid once and that had almost caused a fist fight between you two. It was totally worth it.

He pointed at the members across from you. "Jeff graduates this year. Gareth’s got, what? A year and a half? Me, I am army-crawling my way toward a D in Ms. O’Donnell’s.” There was a fire in his eyes now, and he was practically vibrating as he walked around the table. “If I don’t blow her final, I’m gonna walk that stage next month, I’m gonna look Principal Higgins dead in the eye, I’m gonna flip him the bird, I’m gonna snatch that diploma, and I’m gonna run like hell outta here!”

If you heard this speech once, you heard it a million times, and it still got to you each time. This wasn’t exactly your first senior year either. You and Eddie had tried several times to study together, to try and get your shit together enough to graduate, but it didn’t work. You both were far too easily distracted when around each other and it ended up doing more harm than good. Both of you were right at the finish line now, him needing three more credits and you needing two now.

“Didn’t you say that last year?” asked Gareth.

“And the year before that?” Jeff added.

“Yeah, yeah and I was full of shit. This year’s different. This year is my year. I can feel it. ‘86, baby!” His smile could light up this whole town, and you felt yourself falter for just a moment as he made his way behind you three. “And with us finally getting out of this hellhole,” his hand fell heavy on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze before he looked at Mike and Dustin. “It means you boys are the future of Hellfire. I knew it the moment I saw you. You sat on that table right over there, looking like... looking like two little lost sheep. You were wearing a Weird Al t-shirt, which I thought was brave.”

You had thought it was cool.

“Thank you.” Dustin said, unsure how to take that.

“Mike, you were wearing whatever shit your mommy bought you from the goddamn Gap.” Eddie continued. Okay so this was Eddie’s plan, ignore your protests to focus on the freshmen. Everyone at the table was laughing now, and you were losing this argument.

That’s when you stood up, now standing above him as he was squatting by Mike and Dustin. For just a second you had the high ground.

“Actually Munson, can I level with you?” you asked, looking down at him. He raised and eyebrow and slowly stood up as you crossed your arms. He had a few inches on you and he stepped just a bit closer.

“Mom and dad are fighting again.” you heard Zach mutter under his breath.

“Speak.” Eddie’s voice was low and dangerous and you had to smother the small insistent voice in your head that it was, perhaps, a little bit attractive when he was like this.

This was not the fucking time.

“We’ve all been working our ass off with this campaign.” you said. “You’ve put us through hell and back and we’ve all fought to get to this point. You want to split the party Eddie? You want to do this during the final battle? Shit, Eds, it’s the last session! What happens after this? A few one shots until the semester is over-”

“There’s no guarantee that you’ll all fight and win. You might have to retreat.” Eddie interrupted.

“If that’s the case then we retreat as a team!” you shot back. “Lucas is our friend, and yeah he hasn’t been around much this semester. But are you really about to throw that away just because you’re so stubborn that you won’t postpone this one time?!”

Eddie stared down at you as the rest of Hellfire held their breath.

“I have poured my blood, swear, and tears into this campaign.” he said.

“I know, and it shows! This is probably the best table I’ve ever played at but if we can’t end this together then what’s the point?” You straightened up. “We should go to the game.”

“Are you joking?!” Jeff asked.

“Why would we do that?!”

“Because Lucas is our friend, Dipshits!” you turned to the club. “After he basically carried your sorry ass last semester, I would have thought better of all of you.”

“Okay mom.” Zack grumbled.

“You’re grounded.” you snapped and turned to Eddie. “Eddie. You’re not unreasonable. Postpone the game, even by a single day. We have all of spring break to get together and finish this. You worked so hard on this campaign and we all worked hard to play it with the respect it deserves-”

“Didn’t you interrupt a villain monologue three weeks ago to talk shit about the wine at the cult gathering?” Gareth asked.

“Okay, so that’s- shut up, Gareth.” And you’d do it again just to make Eddie roll for stupid details like that. “The point is, we should want everyone there. This is your year, yeah? You’re gonna throw away a player because you can’t wait to have everyone together?”

Eddie’s shoulders slumped and he rubbed down his face. There was a look of defeat that you held your breath for. He turned to the rest of club.

“And what say the rest of you?” he asked, looking around the table.

“At this point I don’t care when we play as long as we play.” Jeff said. “Sinclair’s tried to be around as much as he can for us and yeah, last year he was a big help.”

“I’ll concede if it means they stop fighting.” Zack said. “Just get a divorce already.”

“We can’t, we’re staying together for the kids.” you nudged Eddie, who looked like he couldn’t tell if he wanted to be annoyed or amused. He just shook his head.

“Gareth?” he asked.

Everyone stared at the drummer and his face was contorted into a pissed look. “I guess I can’t say no without being the bad guy. Fine, but you really owe us.”

This was good enough for you as Dustin and Mike visibly relaxed. Mike was looking as if he couldn’t believe that this actually worked.

“I’ll cook for all of you, I promise.” you said instantly. “Next session I’ll bring food and everything!”

This seemed to satisfy even Eddie, who could never turn down free food. He still looked annoyed, and disappointed, but he had accepted the fate of tonight’s game.

“If you don’t make those cookies, I’m sacrificing you to Vecna myself.” he said.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Eds.” you smirked.

Someone at the table muttered ‘Jesus Christ’ but you took your seat again. Mike and Dustin were staring at you as if you’d achieved the impossible. To be fair, you probably did.

“I guess we’re going to watch Sinclair play with his balls.” Gareth said, which broke the tension and everyone laughed.

“Man, that guy sounds like a tough cookie.” Argyle nodded as you handed the joint back to him. It had been weeks since your episode, the three of you were now laying on top of the large Surfer Boy van that you were starting to suspect wasn’t legally his.

The three of you did this a lot. When things got to be too much, when the nightmares were too stressful to deal with, the three of you would meet up and just... talk. It was cheaper and easier than therapy and you doubted any therapist was equipped to deal with teens who fought monsters and saved the world.

“I can’t believe that Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson wouldn’t move it.” Jonathan said. It had only been within the last week that you had started telling them about your relationship with him. They knew that you two had helped cause the distraction to blow up the Demobats, but you hadn’t talked more than that.

“He gets wrapped up in himself.” you said quietly. “Told me once that he’d move Hellfire all the time but he had to put his foot down because nothing would get done.”

“When Will was younger he was always at the Wheeler place playing.” Jonathan said. “They’d be playing all day until we had to put on a stricter curfew.”

“It’s easier when you’re kids. Less shit to do.”

“Did you ever finish that campaign?” asked Argyle. “With the food and everything?”

You took the joint back and took a deep breath, holding it until your lungs and eyes burned before exhaling slowly and handing the joint to Jonathan. A tear slid down your cheek and you wiped it with the back of your hand.

“No.” you said, your voice sounding raw. “They... after everything that happened, they don’t talk to me anymore.”

The only Hellfire members who acknowledged your presence now were those who fought Vecna. Zack, Jeff, Gareth- they had made it very clear that you weren’t welcome anymore around them. They blamed you for Eddie’s disappearance, they blamed you for pushing to move Hellfire, they blamed you for Gareth’s broken fingers where Jason Carver had stomped him for information.

They blamed you for the breaking of Corroded Coffin.

You never had the strength to try and explain what happened. And what did it matter anyway? Without Eddie around, Hellfire was broken. A cult without a leader. The whole town would probably lynch you all if you ever donned your Hellfire shirts again. You all already had a lifetime ban from The Hideout and none of you were even 21 yet.

“Bummer.” Argyle said sympathetically, and you just shrugged.

“I can live without them I guess.” you sighed. “Living without Eddie sucks but...”

You couldn’t keep going. You already talked about him too much today and that wound in your heart that refused to scab over just continued to slowly bleed. You wondered how much longer before there was nothing left of you. Your strange new friendship between Johnathan and Argyle had kept you afloat for now, but how long could it last? Jonathan would have to go to college and you think Argyle would have to return to California at some point. Maybe.

“Were you two..?” Jonathan started but even Argyle shook his head.

“I just wish I knew where he was, you know? To know that he’s not mauled in a ditch somewhere.” you said.

“Yeah man, like if there was just something we had that could just tell us where he is.” Argyle nodded. “That’d be crazy! Just push a button and we know where he is.”

“I should have had him microchipped” you laughed as another tear slid down your cheek.

Jonathan sat up suddenly. “What if we didn’t need something?” he asked, brows furrowed as if he was trying to clear a path through the fog of his mind to a dimly lit idea that was just out of reach. “What if we needed someone?”

“What like some psychic girl who can transport through people's minds to fight off monsters and locate people just by thinking about them?” Argyle laughed, and there was a moment of silence before you and Argyle shot up to look at Johnathan.

“EL!”

----

a/n: comments and tags make my ADHD write more, just sayin'

#eddie munson x reader #nacht fic #upside down to inside out #honestly this might be one of my favorite things I've written for Eddie tbh

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