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word-wytch · 8 months

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Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 15

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 15/? 10k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ The aftermath of a kiss makes thoughts come alive — both desires and fears.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

✏︎ Chapter CW: smut 18+ (imagined oral f!receiving, piv, creampie), cumming in pants, angst

Wednesday, December 11th 1985

The flag was whipping in the wind. Towering above the parking lot in a blur of red, white, and blue, it cracked against the pale grey sky.

Meeting your eyes in the rearview mirror, you checked for any obvious signs of guilt. The harsh morning light made it clear what you’d missed in your haste to leave. You thought you had gotten it all, but the mascara resting in the lines beneath your eyes said otherwise. Truthfully, washing your face had been the last thing on your mind when you stumbled home after midnight, and it was clear you needed more than the five minutes you allotted this morning in front of the sink. After sleeping through your alarm, it was a miracle you were here at all. Swiping your knuckles across the bags under your eyes, you figured that would have to do.

With a final, bracing sigh, you opened the door and slumped into the freezing cold. Slamming the door, you marched across the snow-dusted pavement and hiked the heavy leather strap onto your shoulder. Students scattered around you with bright colored backpacks, rushing from their cars toward the squat, concrete building that loomed on the horizon. Eyes steeled on the glass doors ahead, you swallowed a sickness rising up from the pit of your stomach. Pebbles crunched under your boots as you dodged glances, offering little more than a timid smile and a raise of your hand at the greetings hurled your way.

Pulling open the chilled metal handle, that school smell—indescribable yet unmistakable—gusted hotly over your numb cheeks. The office was abuzz with shrill ringing phones and gently chiding voices. Eyes glued to the long, grey weather mat below, you approached the clock-in station.

“Good morning!” the receptionist greeted cheerfully at the back of your head.

“Morning, Judy,” you offered weakly, selecting your punch card from its wooden slot on the wall. With a shaking hand, you slotted the index card into the machine, lining it up with this week’s row of black-inked numbers. It snapped to life, stamping today’s date in a crooked line beneath the rest.

Tucking your thumb under the strap, you trudged along your usual path, raising your eyes just enough to see where you were going. Fluorescents danced over the polished tile, over the shimmering salt-stained boot marks and stray pebbles you were suddenly so captivated by. Past the glass trophy cases, inside the cafeteria, you crossed the row of principal portraits from years prior outside the teachers lounge. It was difficult to look at them today, the judgement painted so clearly on their features from inside their thick, ornate frames. Their eyes seemed to follow you as you passed. Dodging their scorn, you ducked inside the door.

Your soles met the padding of the threadbare carpet, marching toward the one thing you truly depended on, stationed at its post on the end of the long, veneer table — the coffee machine. The room was spinning with activity, a bustle of chatter you hoped you could hide in. Most were on their way out, making small talk and gathering belongings from their seats at the round tables. Your skirt swished forward as you halted before the machine, tapping the cuff of your tall boots. Grabbing a mug from the stack, you filled it with haste.

You wondered if anyone could smell it on you — the cigarette smoke that clung to your coat. Shrinking down into your turtleneck, you sidestepped to return the pot to the warmer.

“Good morning,” stated a voice behind you with cold professionalism.

The plastic slipped in your hand, coffee hissing against the metal plate as you fumbled it into place. “Principal Higgins! H-hi—good morning!”

She always terrified you, even as a student here. Even before last night. Standing all of about four foot ten, her stern, nun-like demeanor and white cloud of hair remained consistent with your memory, as if she had reached a point in her aging where she just plateaued.

“How are you?” she asked. Not as though she really cared, just as something polite to say.

Whipping around as the blood drained from your face, you addressed her. “Good! I’m good. Just getting things wrapped up for the semester. You know how it is.”

She nodded curtly. “Glad to hear,” she answered, though nothing about her expression seemed glad. It never did. You thought you saw her smile once in September, but it could have been a trick of the light. Smiling weakly at the floor, you dipped around her and shuffled toward the open milk carton. The air was thick and stuffy, filling your lungs in shallow draws. Peeling back the soggy cardboard, you swallowed your hammering pulse.

“Hey stranger,” Diane greeted warmly, grabbing a mug from beside you. “You ready for winter break yet?”

Fixed on the coffee as the milk swirled like smoke, you couldn’t find the courage to meet her eyes. “I’ve been ready since October,” you admitted through a strained chuckle.

Diane tipped her head back, laughing into the fluorescents. “Oh man I feel ya, I’ve been counting down the days myself.” Steam rose from her mug as she filled it.

There must have been a sign on your back. Something like kick me. A bump from behind had you lurching into the table, sloshing coffee over the rim. Snapping your head over your shoulder, you glared at the culprit.

“Jeez it’s crowded in here,” muttered Ms. O’Donnell as she lumbered over to the coffee machine. “Everyone mingling like a flock of hens, you’d think we’d all have places to be by now.”

With a sharp sigh, you grabbed a handful of flimsy napkins from beside the sugar. Diane glanced in brief annoyance before reaching through your line of sight for the milk carton. “So, did you catch Cheers last night?”

You froze, heat creeping up the collar of your coat as the coffee bled through the paper. Images of sweating glasses on cocktail napkins and plush lips clouded your vision as you blotted up the mess with a trembling hand. “No I uh, turned in early I’m afraid.” Your stomach curdled with the lie.

“Aww, well you’ll have to catch it on re-run because it was a good one. I won’t spoil anything,” Diane said, bringing the mug to her lips as she leaned against the table.

Grabbing the handful of warm, soggy napkins, you pivoted to toss them in the trash. Finally, she caught you with her eyes. Rich umber, deep with caring and kindness, captive for anyone who needed a good listener, for you on so many occasions. Diane was good like a cashmere cardigan, like a box of tissues passed across a desk. Your eyes met the floor again quickly, heat rising in your face. You shuddered to imagine what she’d think if she knew.

The room became a blur of scooting chairs, of vending machines whirring, of crackers and candy dropping into the bins below. Metal flaps whined and slammed as hands reached in to grab them. It was closing in on you — the copy machine ink wafting warmly across the room as it spat out stacks of tests, the hole punchers clicking and binders snapping open to devour papers with their jagged maws. You stood there in the middle of it all, spinning like you’d stepped out of a carnival ride.

Diane leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “You ok?”

Blinking rapidly, you snapped back to attention. “Yeah—yeah I’m fine.”

Folding her arms across her sweater, she knit her brows in disbelief. As the school counselor, it was her job to see through bullshit, and she was good at her job. Before she could comment, the bell had your stomach lurching. “I have to go,” you said with as much of a casual farce as you could muster. “I’ll see you later.” You grabbed your mug, shielding your face with it as you sipped off the top before vanishing into the hallway.

The AV cart was heavy despite its wheels. Avoiding your tired reflection in the glass of the large television, you braced the metal frame and peered around it, marching carefully down the crowded hallway. At least you had something to hide behind now.

There were footsteps all around you, weaving to accommodate the metal mass as you trudged slowly forward. What became unignorable was the set behind you, shuffling down the hall at an increasing speed, growing louder as they neared. Eddie halted just behind your shoulder, bumping it slightly in his haste. “Hey,” he breathed in your ear, curls tickling your cheek.

Sucking in a breath, you whipped your head around to meet his crinkling eyes. If he had a tail, he would be wagging it. “Eddie,” you hissed. “Get—” you elbowed him away, heart pounding into your temples as a hundred eyes passed by around you.

He didn’t seem phased. Hovering at an uncomfortable proximity, his focus stayed glued to you as if the rest of the world had fallen away. “Here,” he offered, reaching over to take the reins. The meat of his palms grazed your knuckles; warm and pliant like you remembered them.

“I’ve got it,” you insisted, gaze dutifully forward, gripping the metal frame firmly.

“Come on, let me help,” he muttered, leather forearms insisting against yours as he tugged the cart in his direction.

Face fully on fire now, you released your grip, repelling with a twinge of remorse from the solid contact of his shoulder. Head darting left and right, you scouted for faculty, keeping a steady pace beside him. Not so close as to draw suspicion, but close enough to feel his magnetism prickle your awareness. His fingers pinked under his rings, knuckles white in his grip as the strong angles of his hands kept the cart from veering. “It’s um—” Eddie started, dipping his head toward your ear again, “good to see you again,” he uttered with a fervency that could have evaporated you.

“Happy Wednesday!” chimed Ms. Click as she waved you down from outside her door.

The blood drained from your face. Raising a trembling hand, you returned a weak smile before locking your vision on the end of the hall. It was closing in again; the lockers, the voices, the squeaking of wet boots against the tile. There was the potent scent of cigarettes, fresh on his hair like the snowflakes that clung to his curls. They were melting, dripping down his wild ringlets onto his shoulders with every step. It was beautiful, the way they bounced and swayed in the wind as he walked. The way the droplets settled in the wrinkles of his leather coat. The way it tapered toward his narrow waist. As he braced the cart, you selfishly admired the angles of his shoulders — broad and capable. Selfishly, you wondered what else they could accomplish, how they would feel, bare under your palms. Crossing your arms coyly over your turtleneck, you snatched your mind from the gutter.

Eddie lolled his head toward you, peering under heavy lids. His smile was lazy and generous, brimming with boyish glee. “God you look pretty today,” he sighed. Your uterus beat your stomach to a backflip.

Halting outside the door to your classroom, you turned to face him. “Eddie, we can’t—” your desert mouth hung open as those soft umber eyes ushered your words into the din.

“I’m allowed to talk to you,” he asserted, shifting to the fullness of his height as he dropped his hands from the cart.

“Not like that. Not here,” you corrected, just above a whisper.

Brow lowering, he swiped his coat aside to access his hip, resting his hand above the chain that dripped toward his thigh. It was suffocating — the heat from his gaze, from your turtleneck, from the thoughts hammering like pinballs against the inside of your skull.

“Listen, I just…” you swallowed, “it’s just—” you glanced around, meeting the waves and bright hellos that passed through your door with a vacant smile before lowering your voice, “—hard to be back here today.”

Eddie tipped his head forward, shifting on the balls of his feet with a subtle nod. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

You huffed through your nose, eyes pleading with him as you shrank toward your door.

“I’ll see you later,” he promised, drifting in by an invisible tether with every inch you moved away.

“Yeah.” Your exhale was heavy, lingering in his gaze for an aching second before ducking through the threshold.

______

The static from the television prickled your forehead as you rewound the tape, fussing with the buttons on the VHS player seated on the shelf below it. The screen fizzled grey as as your fourth period class filed in, shuffling feet and relieved exclamations echoing behind you as they passed.

You could have left it alone and walked away, but you would take any excuse not to face them today. Leaning against the cart as you stared into the crackling static, that telltale scent wafted in on the air, tugging at memories of smoke rings and stage lights, filling you with equal parts dread and aching familiarity. You could see his silhouette out of the corner of your eye; tall and dark with a halo of frizz, boots heavy against the tile as he approached you. Swallowing your rising pulse, you couldn’t help but indulge for a second, shifting just enough to catch the soft pink of his smirk before his shoulder nudged yours in passing. Desks squeaked against the floor behind you, yielding to the weight of twenty students as they filled the five tidy rows. When the bell finally rang, you shut the door and mustered the courage to address them.

None of your classes were studying To Kill A Mockingbird. Irrelevant as it was to your lessons, you would excuse it to all of them by citing it as a great example of storytelling. Weak, but it was the best you could come up with on such short notice. You doubted anyone cared, they all seemed just as relieved as you were for a break from the fluorescents.

You flicked off the lights and pressed play on the VCR. The room was bathed in white and blue as the opening credits rolled, and you took your place behind the big desk. Propping your head wearily against your hand, you stared down at the sea of white below you. Eyes unfocused, black ink and graphite chicken scratch blurred together as a different film played out behind them.

The set was dramatically lit; a spotlight of interrogation that beamed down on your small chair facing Martha Higgins’ desk. The props were hyper-realistic; files she flipped through with her spindly, arthritic fingers containing your teaching license and contract for the year. The prominent lines on her forehead were growing increasingly severe as she considered the delivery of your inevitable punishment.

A jungle of items framed the papers that sprawled across your real desk — the spider plant Susan had given you when the leaves were beginning to blush with oranges and reds, the stapler you’d had since college, the mug with a quill printed on it which now held your pens. You wondered what it would feel like to pack them all into a banker box in the middle of a winter afternoon. To lug it down the hallway, dodging the scorn of your former colleagues. With a heavy sigh, you buried your spinning head in your hand.

Eddie was seated as he always was, cheek pressed to his knuckles as he watched you from his corner of the room. A straight shot toward your desk in front of him, he gazed with reverence as the white light from the television bathed your one exposed cheekbone in a holy glow. Picking at the chipped veneer on the desk with his restless thumb, he recounted the feeling of it in his hands. The angle of your jaw, the notch where it met below your ear, the soft skin of your throat that hummed beneath the pads of his frozen digits, warming them to life with every swell and swallow as his mouth enveloped yours. He’d played it over and over the whole drive home, every moment since he’d opened his eyes this morning, convincing himself with every replay that it wasn’t a dream.

He’d gotten a taste. Not enough to satisfy him — the opposite really. Like first bites often did, it only brought awareness to his hunger. The light played softly on your stiffened jaw. How he ached soothe it with his lips again, to feel the hard bone under supple skin, to hear and taste your sighs again; more moving than any music he’d ever heard.

The darkness gave quiet permission for his mind to play a film of its own. In this one, the room would be the same. Just as dark but empty, save for you and him. He would scale the isle in five swift steps. Lifting your worried chin with his knuckle, he would draw you to the fullness of your height, capture your body in his arms and pull you into a searing kiss. He knew what it felt like now, and that only fueled his wild imagination. He knew you’d melt like putty, let him be the only thing holding you together, keeping you from falling to the floor with the strength of his arms around your soft cotton waist.

He had memorized the shape of your lips, how slick with hunger they were as they slipped against his. Your hums would be quiet here, timid and shy as you glanced over his shoulder toward the door with worried eyes. On this set there were no real hallways, no extras making noise or slamming lockers. Nothing in the script suggesting an interruption, only the pretend risk that made a thrill rise in him like the tent in his jeans. The way you would shyly toy with the pins on his vest, insisting that “we shouldn’t,” and “it’s just not right.”

You wouldn’t protest for long, not in this script. Not when his teeth found your neck again, dipping down below the collar of your turtleneck. It was a nuisance really, nothing but a sponge for his spit as his tongue soothed over where his teeth left off. You would be needing it later because he would leave a mark this time. Several, tasting every moan you offered as he sucked bruises onto your delicate skin. He hadn’t tasted nearly enough of you, hadn’t felt nearly as much as he’d wanted.

Closing his eyes, he surfaced a touch-memory; the shape of you beneath your coat. He imagined the slope of your waist in his hands as it looked like today; where the cotton met the wool of your skirt, heaving against his palms as he left his sloppy trail. Impatiently, he would free you from the confines of it, tug at the cotton and greet your warm, soft flesh with his aching fingers. You, of course, would give him full permission to remove it once you felt the insistence of his touch, felt his thumb drag over the small of your back, across that dip he caught a glance of last night.

Tugging the cloying barrier up and over your head, he would shield you from the door with his body, letting the mass of the AV cart block any eyes wandering the hall from what he was about to do next. In the soft, flickering light from the television, your chest would rise and fall, spilling over from your white lace bra as it heaved in anticipation.

The real you sank deeper into your chair. Shoulders slumped, shielding your eyes with your knuckles as you stared blankly down into the sea of papers. There was a heat emanating from the back corner of the room, one you could feel with the crown of your head. You knew exactly where it was coming from, and from whom. Hesitant as you were to address him, it was burning too hot to ignore, boring into you with a palpable insistence. With a swift, upward glance, you faced off.

Eddie’s lids were heavy, cheeks pinking at the sudden confrontation. He licked his lips, eyes darkening as he swallowed. You could almost feel them again, cradling yours in a phantom kiss just like they did fourteen hours ago. His mouth had been so needy. So hot and plush, tongue slipping against yours like he’d been starving.

Eddie closed his eyes in a slow blink. When he opened them again, they were so heavy with want that it rippled from across the room, shooting straight between your legs. You’d never been kissed like that before. Kissed so hard it robbed you of your senses, of your oxygen, of your goodness. It was easy to imagine; doing it again. Especially when he was looking at you like that.

You indulged for just a moment, joined him in the scene. Alone together in the dark, empty room. It was easy to imagine what those lips would feel like going further; sucking your collar bone, grazing it with his teeth, trailing his sopping mouth to the place where your neck meets your shoulder before his calloused thumb slipped the strap of your bra to the side.

Wringing a hand behind your neck, you glanced toward the television with a sudden feigned interest. The feeling wouldn’t leave you though; clouding your mind with wet smacking lips and the chill of the air at your nipples.

He knew they would be perfect. He could just tell. They would heave beneath his watering mouth, puckered and primed for him to latch. Capturing one of them in his wet heat, you would melt into his waiting arms. Back arched, mewling so needy and loud it would cause the door to open if the scene was real. He was certain he’d be able to taste your hums through your skin here too. Even better perhaps.

Eddie shifted in his seat with a mild grimace, hand darting beneath his desk in time with a swift raise of his hips as chair legs scraped the tile. He glanced at his lap, then back up at you.

Your face became a roaring furnace, paling only to the heat pooling under you. The pale television light flickered across his flushed cheeks, his lowered brow, his smoldering eyes that held you captive. He wanted you to know. Indulging, you imagined what was going on under that desk. What it would look like if he were to stand, to scale the room in a few eager strides and show you up close.

“Need you now, Eddie,” you’d croon with a swipe of your hand up the generous bulge he was sporting, punctuating it with a pinch of his weeping head through the denim.

Eddie took his cue. In one dramatic swoop, the papers fluttered to the floor, the plant made a mess of the tile, the stapler clattered beside your shattered mug as pens rolled down the isles. Backing you into the edge of the big desk, he kissed you again. Hot and slick, body flush with yours, pressing his need against your pelvis as he probed your aching mouth. Parting only to shed himself of his outer layer, to lay it down behind you like a blanket, shielding your bare back from the cold wood.

From the confines of his small desk across the room, real Eddie took a deep breath, lids closing heavy on the inhale, fluttering open to a pained pout on the exhale.

Seating yourself on the edge of your desk on set, you would free him from the confines of his jeans. Pawing at his belt, you would tuck your fingers beneath it and tug urgently, rattling metal and leather before working his button free. Slowly, your nimble fingers would locate and lower his zipper, and a sigh would be the second thing that escaped.

You were an A-list actress, looking down at his proud length like you’d never seen a dick before in your whole life. The coyness with which you peered from under your lashes was thoroughly convincing. Oscar-worthy. With a timid, chalk-dusted finger, you would draw a line from base to tip, admiring the way it bobbed, the way your touch encouraged it to glisten. Real Eddie swallowed, drawing a deep, impatient breath. Convincing as you were of your innocence, he was certain those fingers would know what they were doing as they traced his ridges with a teasing curiosity.

Unable to take any more of it, his hands would find your knees; bare where the stockings left off. They would roam under your thick wool skirt, up those impossibly soft thighs and draw back the curtain as you braced yourself against the desk behind you. In this scene, of course, your costume called for nothing underneath. You would be ready for him. Back flush with his coat, legs spread, glistening with need in the pale light from the television behind him.

Impatient as he was, he would be remiss not take this opportunity to satisfy a curiosity of his own. Crouching down to level with your sex, he would take in your scent first. Breathe in your delicious, heady pheromones, let it cloud his vision further, as if there was room for anything else other than the persistent thought of you. Eddie wondered what you tasted like. Your mouth was exquisite, so what must you taste like here? With a generous swipe of his tongue, he would find the answer.

The real you crossed your legs tightly, as if that would stave off the throbbing between them. Real Eddie caught it, the shift in your seat, the subtle raise of your knee under your plaid skirt, the way you worried your lip with your teeth as you glanced shyly toward the papers still, unfortunately, on your desk.

What might his tongue feel like there? The question grappled for your attention despite futile attempts to shove it away. His tongue had a certain talent, you’d noticed, as it probed against yours in the dark last night. A sense of rhythm was a hard thing to teach. His tongue would be warm, you were certain of that, saliva slick as he pressed it flatly to your heat. He would take his time, savoring every groove and fold across this new terrain as if he were committing it to memory. Propping up on your elbows against the satin liner of his coat, you would catch those deep brown eyes, peering into yours with a smoldering hunger, lower lids pinching in pleasure as he drew slowly upward.

You would paw at the crown of his head, rake your fingers through his curls and tug, feeling his approving hum against your core. Halo of frizz tickling your thighs, his tongue would lathe slow and steady, closing those plush lips over your aching bud before sucking a kiss where you needed it most.

Exhaling deeply, you toyed with a pen on your desk; pressed your thumb into the cold metal nub, studied the tension a moment before releasing. Eyes unfocused, you were helpless as the film played out behind them. Click. Click. Click. Light flickered from the TV, twenty eyes distracted and oblivious. Throbbing, you shifted in your seat and caught the scent of your own arousal. Embarrassment flooded your cheeks. Never in your life had you been so grateful to be in the dark.

Try as you might to gleam a single chaste thought from the words printed below you, there was no space in your head for it. Just Eddie, crouched over you like a preying animal, looking at you with those lust-blown eyes like he’d make you his meal. Wrapping those ringed fingers around your hips, shifting his to meet them as he stood. You could almost feel it; his cockhead pressing with insistence at your entrance. Almost feel the safety of his shadow, how his curls would kiss his cheekbones as he hovered above you, how his lids would flutter as he pushed in. That deep, relieved sigh you would both breathe together as the long ache was soothed upon joining.

It was a moving picture.

From the back of the room, Eddie watched your face burrow into your hand; fingers splayed across your forehead and eyes, shoulders slumping on your ragged exhale. How desperately he itched to ease them with his hands, his teeth, his tongue. It was painful; his cock straining against the confines of his jeans. Silently, he thanked himself for grabbing the black pair from the pile on the chair in his bedroom this morning, certain he was leaking through by now.

Slowly, he shifted his hips upward, relishing in the drag of the fabric against his sensitive head as it moved toward his waistband. He paused before tucking it, arching forward again with sinful fulfillment. It felt good. Too good. Good enough to do it again. The way the cotton raked against the heart-ridge of his cock, the way the stiff bend in his zipper hit that sweet spot when his hips canted forward.

Eddie glanced around the room, flushing furiously. All eyes were forward. No one seemed to notice. Gripping the edge of the desk, he continued to rock his hips; slow and quiet micro-movements, careful not to creak the plastic chair. The shrinking, logical part of his brain couldn’t believe he was doing this. It was a new low. Perverted, even for him. But the tension was mounting, becoming unbearable, and the relief it offered was enough to drown out the shame.

He bet you would be so tight. He could almost feel those gorgeous legs wrap around his waist, your boots crossing at the ankles behind him, drawing him closer as you whined from the stretch. He could almost see you bite your lip and knit your brows, feel your fingers dig into his strong shoulders as you adjusted to his size. He would go slow, knowing it’s been a while for you. You would clench and arch but take him so well as he inched his way to the hilt. Then, bracing against the wood, he would happily give you what you needed — jack hammer hard, rutting like an animal in heat. You would be sinfully wet. He bet you were right now, sitting up there with your legs crossed and head down. Pity it would go to waste. If he had it his way it would be dripping onto the desk, slicking his balls as those pretty, perfect tits of yours bounced with every snap of his hips.

The fabric was hitting him just right, scratching that itch with each flex of his cock against the dampened cotton. It was a slow mount, subtle and teasing, but it was enough. Anything would have been enough. A breeze. Eyes closed, forehead hung on the heel of his hand in feigned boredom, he imagined it what you would feel like under his thumb; rubbing that little button of yours that made you squirm and moan so deeply he could feel it from the inside.

The hardest part was steadying his breath. He supposed he couldn’t fault his body, it was just doing what was natural in a place he shouldn’t be doing it. He couldn’t fault his heart for hammering, or his hips from wanting to buck, or his hands for itching to expedite the relief. What he would give to crank the volume on the television, to draw a curtain and just get it over with. God forbid you wisened up to his antics, although the thought did send a jolt to his dick. He knew he should stop before he did something utterly shameful, but the spot he was hitting was just too sweet, a feeling he was helpless but to chase.

He would give you everything you ever wanted. With gritted teeth he would ream you until you came undone, make that pretty face of yours contort over and over as you writhed against the desk, howling his name into the drop ceiling. The slap of skin on skin would echo off the tile until he’d rendered you utterly stupid, which was difficult to do.

“You want it, huh?” he’d huff into your ear, peppered with nip of your lobe. “Want me? Want my cum?”

Tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, you’d mewl your answer. “Yes. Please.”

Slumping forward in his desk, Eddie buried his head in the crook of his arm. Fuck. His boots dug into the tile, thighs straining, lip pinched in his teeth, desperate to restrain the bucking of his hips. There was an animal inside him, tugging like a rubber band waiting to snap. His aching balls begged as they drew upward, cockhead so sensitive it could feel every stitch. Eddie burrowed his nose into the desk, both chasing the feeling and running from it.

He would show you how much of a man he was, paint you with proof on the inside. Remind you as it slicked your thighs with every click of your boots down the hall.

Huffing into the dark cocoon, his free hand gripped the metal legs below him, holding on for dear life as the wave approached its crest. Hips stuttering, breath fogging the desk, he hit the wall. The one that made his mind go blank, his eyes roll back, his whole body tense and tingle like a yawn.

It came out like a whimper. Warmer and wetter with each pathetic spurt. A small, strangled sound threatened the back of his throat. It tried to escape his gaping, downturned mouth, but he choked it back. It was a relief to get it out, like a dirty confession. Wave after hot, thick wave of frustration pooled in his boxers, clung to his balls as he emptied them completely. When the last of it crested with nothing more to give, his hips rocked to stillness, and the rest of his body went limp.

He looked like a puddle of leather and hair. Squinting as you peered around the student in front of him, you wondered why his back was heaving like he had been running.

Eddie peeled his face up from the desk; cheeks flushed, mouth slack, looking at you in a way you could only describe as absolutely fucked-out. A stray ringlet swayed in his ragged breath. There was that feeling again, that pulse between your legs that made you clench them. Quickly as he’d met your eyes, he blinked away as if it burned.

Eddie was a mess. Shifting in his seat with a grimace, he could feel the cotton cling to his skin as he sobered to the chalkboard, and the desks, and the twenty other people he prayed were oblivious to what he’d just done. It was like he was waking up from a wet dream, only he had never gone to sleep. He blinked down at his desk, mortified as his cock softened happily, lolling in its sticky puddle. It was seeping through the denim, cooling in his lap as the seconds ticked by. Glancing at the clock, he calculated another twenty minutes before he could clean it up. Twenty whole minutes to sit with the consequences, to stew in a puddle of his own shame. He supposed he could excuse himself to the bathroom but that would, of course, mean addressing you. It would mean getting up and walking in front of your desk, and the entire class, while you handed him a hall pass like a fucking child. He would rather sit.

Blinking back your thoughts from the gutter, you righted yourself in your chair, chastising yourself as you uncrossed your legs, your own mess trailing cooly against your inner thigh. It was uncomfortable, embarrassing, but there was nothing you could about it now. Flipping through your Rolodex of thoughts, you searched for anything. Anything at all that was chase, or sensible, or mildly interesting.

Looking down at your naked hands, another scene fell open. This time the set came from memory. A pawn shop in early summer. It was vivid — the rain beating against the large window framing the on-ramp of the highway, Frank Sinatra mocking from the dusty speaker in the corner. The diamond sparkled magnificently as you passed the ring over the glass countertop. Brilliant rainbow fractals brought out by certain lights. They would catch you by surprise sometimes, tickle you with delight in the supermarket or the mall. It winked at you under the fluorescents then, a fleeting goodbye. In the moment, you weren’t sure which was worse — catching your own pained reflection in the glass below you or the pity in the eyes of the man who took your once-prized possession.

You left with twelve hundred dollars in an envelope, a fraction of what it cost him. The banker box rattled in the passenger’s seat as you slammed the door. Stuffed too full for a lid, your quill mug clattered against the plates your grandma gave you. You’d run out of newspaper wrapping your knick-knacks, resorted to your clothes to pad the rest.

The mug cast a shadow across your desk now, flickering in the light of the television.

You clenched your fists, fighting the touch-memory of Eddie’s ribs under your palms. You’d felt safe for a moment; nestled in his coat, in his hair, melting into the heat of his mouth. What you would give to live it all again, right now. What you would give to have him all to yourself, every day. For the luxury to go on a date, to be seen in public together, to explore where this was going. Glancing across the sea of twenty desks, reality stared back. Where did you think this was going?

Eddie’s pencil clattered to the floor. His curse was audible, even from the front of the room. Was this where you would place your trust? Your career, your future? In the reckless hands of a twenty year old man? He could ruin you. With a bold move, or a misplaced word, or a drunken gloat one night with his friends. Or god forbid it all went south and in a blind fury he lashed out and retaliated somehow. He wouldn’t do that, would he? You thought you knew him well enough to know that he would never, but did you really? You’d known Eddie Munson for all of four months, which felt strange to consider. It terrified you, the depth of your feelings in so short a time. Terrified you almost as much as the consequences for them.

Your hand twitched beside the green grading pen resting on the pile of tests you’d barely touched in the last thirty minutes. There were more in your bag to be graded — the stack you’d abandoned on your coffee table last night. It would all catch up to you eventually. The homework, the papers, the secrets. After all you’d been through, had you learned nothing? No one really knows what they want at twenty years old. You certainly didn’t. A head full of fantasies is what you had. Snatching your pen with a firm click, you slashed an X through one of the questions on the test below you and buried yourself in your work.

When the bell finally rang, Eddie hung back in his seat like he always did, waiting for his moment with you. But by the time he had stripped himself of his jacket and secured his flannel around his waist, you had already made for the door.

______

The metal serving spoon smacked the plastic tray, leaving behind a glob of tomato sauce over the tangle of limp noodles. With a tight-lipped nod of thanks, Eddie took it from the lunch lady and made his way into the settled cafeteria, finding his place at the end of the Hellfire table. Steamed carrots bounced from the tray onto the sticky veneer as it fell from his hands with a clatter. Slugging off his backpack to the floor, he slumped into the empty chair that had been waiting patiently for him for the past twenty minutes.

“There he is,” Jeff nodded to Dustin across the table.

“What’s the story this time? Got abducted by aliens?” chortled Dave.

He would think they would stop asking questions by now, but apparently he needed to teach them a lesson. “Nah, just… jerking off,” Eddie said with a deadpan shake of his head before spearing a meatball with his fork.

The half-truth earned him a rowdy chuckle from the peanut gallery, a gag from Mike. He would spare them the uglier details, like the balled up boxers shoved in the bottom of his backpack or how awkward it was to strip them off in the stall of a bustling bathroom. Glancing down at his lap, he checked that the flannel was still cloaking the drying white stain.

Jeff’s leather jacket squeaked from the bend in his arm as he leaned against the table. “I was just filling the boys in on the show last night,” he said with a glint in his eyes.

Eddie looked up with a full mouth, eyes like saucers.

“Yeah, told them about our special guest,” Dave added with a raise of his eyebrows.

He could only respond with a nervous huff, turning back to his tray as his stomach did kick flips.

“Is it true?” Mike asked Eddie. “She seriously got up and danced?”

Eddie swallowed the whole mouthful at once. He couldn’t lie his way out of this one. “I mean, nothing too crazy. Just for a song.”

“Yeah a song Eddie made us play for her,” Jeff said with a wink. Dustin and Mike’s mouthes fell open simultaneously.

“Think I saw her tits at one point,” Dave reminisced.

Eddie scoffed. “You did not see her tits, dude. You’re so full of shit.”

“I dunno man, her shirt was pretty short,” Gareth added with a playful nudge.

“They’re both full of shit,” Eddie shakily assured to the two youngest members.

They barely paid him a glance, chuckling amongst the rest while Dave rubbed lewd circles over his chest.

“HEY,” Eddie barked. “Look at me, all of you. This doesn’t leave this table, do you understand me? If I catch wind that any of you went and told anyone about last night I’ll skin you alive, I swear to god.”

Gareth shot him a tired look. “Jesus, dude. Nothing even happened.”

The knot in Eddie’s stomach released slightly. “That’s right. Nothing happened.”

Dave snorted, stabbing his bendy straw into a leftover carrot. “Yeah man, chill out. Nobody’s gonna get your girlfriend in trouble.”

The blood drained from Eddie’s face as the whole gang erupted in laughter. The uproarious, table slapping kind. It was a joke. A good one, it seemed. The word echoed like the pulse pounding in his ears. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. A warm, gooey word. One that made his stomach churn with longing. Biting back venom, he wondered how their faces would change if he slapped them with the truth. Would they still be laughing? Would they even believe him? They could laugh all they want—for your sake at least—but it stung nonetheless.

Dave caught the bitter shift in his expression. “What? You clearly have the hots for her.”

“Who doesn’t?” Jeff laughed.

“ANYWAY!” Eddie punctuated with a smack of his hands against the table. “Gareth, you’ve been awfully quiet about your date this past Sunday. Please, regale us,” he gestured grandly.

Gareth chuckled nervously, pushing a noodle around with his fork. “Oh uh, nothing really happened there either.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “Seriously dude? You’ve been on like three dates and you haven’t even made it to first base?”

“I told you, Cindy’s not like that!” Gareth defended before glancing around sheepishly. “But we did…kinda… hold hands on Sunday.”

A long oooh emanated from the table. “Hands cupped or laced?” Dustin asked with a raise of his eyebrows, demonstrating with his own hands.

“Ok so,” Gareth began with an emerging smirk, “you know the Large Marge part of Pee-wee’s Big Adventure where her face goes all,” he demonstrated with a bug-eyed look, hands splayed on either side of his face.

The table responded with chuckles and nods. “Gets me every time,” muttered Dustin.

“Well, Cindy’d never seen it before, so she jumped and like, grabbed my arm,” he paused for effect, “so I just went for it.”

Approval bubbled up from his captive audience.

“Cupped at first,” he clarified, cutting through the noise, “but after like ten minutes she didn’t pull away, so,” he laced his fingers triumphantly. There was a barking applause, fists rattling the table. Jeff clapped him on the back with a blinding grin.

Eddie was an island. Oceans away, he managed a soft smile. His night had been far from innocent — a frantic tangle of hands, and tongues, and teeth in the frigid darkness. Phantom feelings that tugged at his lips and fingers, at the forefront of his every thought. Thumbing at the rubber rim of the lunch table, he dreamt of a universe where the walls and roles fell away, one where he could speak of his firsts too.

______

Eddie had been watching the clock all day. In eighth period trigonometry he watched second hand crawl around the clock face fifty times as his thumbnail worked the paint off a pencil, chipping at the indents his teeth left behind. The final bell was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Slugging his backpack over his shoulder, he didn’t even bother to stop at his locker before ducking down the hall where your room resided. He almost collided with a straggling sophomore exiting your door on his way in.

Perhaps he had arrived too early. It wasn’t the scene he was accustomed to — you, standing at your desk, shoving folders into your satchel like you were trying to make a run for it. His small wooden chair still leaned against the wall. The AV cart still towered where it was when the lights were off. Glancing down, he quickly checked to make sure the flannel was draping correctly.

“Going somewhere?” he teased, unable to hide the concern creeping in.

Your smile was a coy, fragile thing. Chest rising with the kicking of your heart, you opened your mouth but had no words to show for it. Fumbling with an overstuffed folder, you hovered it over the opening of your bag before sliding it in with a sigh.

Eddie shut the door.

Turning over his shoulder, he snatched your eyes with a startling hunger. Your hands went slack, leather slumping against the desk as his heavy boots met the tile. He was slow in his approach, stalking past the empty rows, parched eyes drinking in every detail of your features. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you met him at the edge of your desk.

His curls were wild, chocolate eyes fiending, a soft concern weighing his brow. Under the fluorescents you could see very clearly what you’d felt last night. The shadow of stubble, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the soft ball of his nose that was cold against your cheek. Under his jacket, the taught landscape of his chest rose and fell. You swallowed, toying with the wool of your skirt.

“Hey,” he half-whispered, lids drooping ever so slightly.

“Hey,” you replied, like your tongue was feeling the word for the first time. It tugged a gooey softness from the corners of his mouth, and you cursed yourself for the pang to taste it again. So plush and pink, drawing your gaze long enough for him to notice.

Eddie dropped his backpack to the floor, tossing it hard enough to collide with the wall below the chalkboard. Shoulders unburdened, he rolled them back to assume the fullness of his height. With pupils blown, he darted out his tongue to wet his lips, looming like a wolf that sees a rabbit.

He closed in with a step, to which you retreated. The edge of the desk bumped the back of your thighs. Heart hammering, you peered into his hungry eyes. You’d been here before. Not long ago, in your imagination. Different, darker, quieter.

Eddie drank in the sight of you — your tight cotton shirt and your soft heaving chest. How the band of your skirt hugged the curve of your waist. You, woman.

Like a false sense of safety, his scent enveloped you. It was dizzying, how badly your hands burned to trace the swell of his pecks, to tangle in his hair, to capture his hot, slick mouth again. Terrifying, the part of you that begged for him to press forward, to tumble you backward, to take his place on top of you. Timidly, your fingers curled over the corner of the desk.

As he leaned closer, you could feel the tingle of heat from his chest, the ghost of his breath on your face. His arm became a cage as he steadied his palm against the wood behind you. “Been thinking about you all day,” he murmured in your ear.

You shivered, lids fluttering closed for a selfish, greedy moment. Glancing over his shoulder at the narrow sliver of a window in the door, you peered at the lockers on the other side of the hall. There were some still slamming, slowly petering out as voices drifted further with each passing second. “Eddie,” you warned, placing a hand over his sternum. Eyes dipping slightly at your touch, the solid swell of his chest expanded under the cotton. He stepped back with a gentle push, your palm lingering before falling away.

A deep breath fumed through his nostrils, heavy and tired. With a tight lipped nod, he backed away, pivoting toward his folded chair beside the door. It screeched as he dragged it across the tile, past the rows of desks, in front of yours, all the way to his usual place beside you. He snapped it open and paused, gripping the wood in his palms, staring down at the place where he’d sat countless times. How small it was compared to yours; padded with armrests and wheels.

“So we just…” he flexed his fingers and shook his head, unable to suppress the sting in his voice, “go back to normal then?”

Eyes cast down at the empty seats, you sighed. “I don’t… think we can.”

“Good,” he stated, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

It was enticing, that chair with its worn leather padding. What was more enticing was the space beneath the desk; a safe haven for hands and arms, for cupped palms and laced fingers. On top of the desk lay your bag, and your keys, and the plant still alive in its unbroken pot. Your head was pounding; a dull ache that had been radiating from your temples since lunch. Lockers slammed outside the room, fluorescents hot on your skin. With a deep, lamenting sigh, you gave him all you could manage — your honesty. “It’s been… a hell of a day for me—”

“You could say that again.”

“I—” you sighed sharply, “I really think I just need to go home a-and… think things through.”

“What’s there to think about?” The words tumbled out like an avalanche he couldn’t chase. Your balking expression made him wish he could suck them all back.

“Oh gee, I don’t know,” you gestured wildly to the classroom, “we could start with my job.”

“I’m sorry that was—y-you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” The steam from the pressure could have burned him.

“We—we both clearly have feelings for each other,” he explained, lowering his voice. “I just… thought we would figure it out.”

There was a gap between you, cluttered with papers and pens. Your bag slumped in the middle of the mess, gaping and stuffed to the brim. Pulse hammering behind your eyes, you blinked them slowly with a pained sigh. “I know,” you admitted, toying with the strap. “Eddie, please, I need some time to think about all this.”

It hurt to imagine. You, going home, sitting there in your slippers at your coffee table and deciding that he wasn’t worth the risk. Closing the flap on your satchel, you tugged the leather heap across the desk, but Eddie’s hand was quick to pounce. “No, we need to talk.”

Frustration pinched your brow. “I know but—”

“Then let’s talk, yeah?” he gestured to the chairs.

A cluster of shadows passed by the window over your shoulder. “Not here, not right now.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Then let’s get out of here.”

“And go where? A table at Benny’s?” you snapped.

“You’ve got a place, right?”

Folding your arms, you shot him an incredulous look, though the thought was both thrilling and terrifying. You lowered your voice. “What happened last night was… impulsive.”

“I’d say it was a long time coming.”

You sighed. “Regardless, I think that’s enough for this week.”

Eddie would disagree, but his tongue had a wrangle on the words this time. In the pause, it was easy for both of you to picture; his clothes on your bedroom floor. Easy to picture the ways he could ruin you in private — fold you like the chair under his wringing palms. Still, the ways he could ruin you in public were equally vivid.

You turned to grab your coat, brushing past him. The arm of his jacket was smooth against yours. Electrified by the contact, you lingered for a moment, unable to abstain from drinking in his form, his scent, from basking in the prickle of his aura.

He could see it clearly in the harsh light — the shadow that clung beneath your lower lashes, the sagging exhaustion in your eyes. Gravity tugged at the corners of your natural lips, so different from how they appeared last night — dark and dusty red, framing a smile that outshined the moon. His fingers twisted against the wood. “Please stay,” he begged softly.

Your eyes drifted shut, a split-second relish in the sweet pang of his voice, though the words rung a different bell; a different man saying them. In a flash, another scene appeared — you, at the door of your old home in Indianapolis, cradling the last of your belongings as your free hand gripped the knob.

Opening your eyes to the radiator, and the windows, and the pale grey sky before you now, you relinquished a shaky sigh and tucked your fingers under the thick collar of your coat. It still held a subtle fragrance, clinging to the memory of last night, desperately as you were. Eddie watched with rapt attention as your brow pinched in pain, fingers twitching under the wool he’d memorized the shape of you through. When your lip began to tremble, his hand lost control.

“Hey,” he whispered, meeting the soft cotton slope of your shoulder with his palm.

Your head snapped toward his umber eyes; warmer than the hand that thawed your shoulder, callus catching on the cotton as his thumb soothed over it. You followed it down to his wrist, to the tendons flexing beneath the chain, dipping under the sleeve of his worn, leather coat. How desperately you longed to wrap yourself inside it again, to nestle into his beating chest and hide there forever.

A voice crackled over the loudspeaker, and reflex had you flinching. “I’m sorry,” you mouthed, tears burning behind your eyes as you snatched your coat off the hook.

Bitterly, he dropped his hand. The contact hurt to break, almost as much as it hurt to watch you don your coat, to snatch your bag, to sling the heavy strap over your shoulder. Helplessly, he stood there, feeling like a fool until the welling of your eyes made it unbearable not to advance. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” he pleaded. “Like—like a big deal. Not if we don’t make it one.”

You froze, eyes narrowing as a pained fume left your nose. “That’s easy for you to say.” With a bitter huff, you turned on your heel and left him in the classroom with only the echo of your footsteps.

______

A/N: Yes, in my story Principal Higgins is a woman. I know in canon Eddie says “flip him the bird,” but for some reason my brain didn’t register that until literally two months ago. I always pictured Higgins as a stern, ancient, nun-like woman and I can’t seem to shake that characterization from my brain. Perhaps I’m just scarred from Catholic grade school. I think it works well for this story, so Martha Higgins it is.

Also sorry I never stated this in the tags but the upside down does not exist in this universe.

The smut is coming very soon. Pinky swear. Our Lady of Internal Conflict is just having a moment.

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @mantorokk-writes @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

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MASTERLIST ⎮ AO3 ⎮ KO-FI

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x teacher!reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson angst #don't stand so close to me #dssctm

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greenhappyseed · 10 months

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Anyone interested in some fic recs? Here’s a few ones I recently read and am enjoying — I prefer long, slow burn stories heavy on characterization/character study with adult protagonists, so that’s what’s on the list! As always, check the ratings and mind the tags; almost all are M for themes/language and a few have E chapters. This list is not exhaustive, and doesn’t include many older works, so if you have q’s or want more recs, ask away!

EraserMight

Blood Orange by @flyingjemsaucer is my happy place right now (the author has other lovely EraserMight fics too). It’s a wonderful AU with orange farmer/vendor Toshinori and teacher Aizawa. This one is interesting and different because Toshinori is un-injured and Aizawa has his post-PLF disabilities. As a bonus, this fic also has great DadMight and Dadzawa, with David Shield and married Mic/Midnight as the best friends of the lead pair.

Closed Fist and Bleeding Heart by MoonlightAndDust (who I believe also wrote this AU twitfic). Just all around good, canon universe, angsty EraserMight.

EraserMic

Nine Lives by machiroads (also check out the author’s Naruhata Noir, which ties in to Vigilantes lore). This one is set during Aizawa’s canon post-war hospital stay and features a super fun Mirko, snarky little shithead [affectionate] Shinso, and good OCs. Honestly, the EraserMic romance is just one part of the story, and that’s fine because it’s full of other things.

And When It All Goes to Hell by @purekesseltrash (also check out the author’s Rooftop Necromancy series for a band AU). Both of these fics are examples of an author’s other hobbies/interests making the fic truly special. This one is a hockey AU and it’s great! Filled with lots of cool details, it cuts between the teenage rooftop trio and the adult Hizashi and Shouta reuniting after 10+ years to figure their shit out. Knowing some hockey stuff helps, but isn’t required at all — the drama is still there! And if you want to read about 1A students in this hockey AU, then you’re in luck because the author has that too (though I have yet to read it myself only because I prefer adult protagonists).

ToshInko

Naive Melody by @aconstantstateofbladerunner. I also like many of the author’s other works including For Kurou and Dekugate, but I think this one deserves more attention for its terrifying premise and action sequences. It keeps the core “hero society” concept from MHA and then goes and does its own thing. Also, I love the Talking Heads references — you KNOW how I get with my 80s new wave music!

Bones of You by @thoughtfulraven. A really sweet story set in the canon universe, with BFFs Inko and Mitsuki and a closer look at Toshinori’s mental state.

Nighteye/All Might

Happiness by @puddinginthemix made me like Nighteye, and that’s a feat. Set in the canon universe with canon events…I’ll just say this one made me tear up a bit.

DadMight and gen All Might

Living Well by @krisingtons is super sweet. If you want some DadMight fluff, this is where you go. (I also happen to really like the Quirk Development Theories series, especially the OC that pairs off with Inko in one of the later stories because they all work together so well to support Izuku).

Learning to Trust by @siriusfan13, a longtime favorite. Not only is this a fantastic look at All Might in the year before he agreed to work at UA, but the author links some amazing DadMight/genMight fic recs at the end of (most) chapters.

Kacchako & also Hawks (WhaaAAaa????)

Toy Soldiers by AJLenoire is a bit of a wild card on this list, but it’s really well-written. The multiple subplots within the Kacchako plot and the Hawks/OC plot are all fun, and the Hawks/OC relationship is a blast.

#fic recs #mha fic rec #bnha fic recs #EraserMight #eraserMic #toshinko #dadmight #kacchako

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lizzybeth1986 · 6 months

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A Brief History of Alternative Romances in Choices

Series - TRR's Alternative LIs: The "Romances" that Didn't Happen

TW: Mentions of OH2's handling of Rafael (though not in detail), racism.

To be clear, this introductory essay isn't directly related to the rest of this series. TRR operated very differently to the other Choices series' when it came to alternative LIs, so a lot of what I'll discuss here won't actually apply to its specific romance mechanics.

Still, it is important to explore what it means to give an LI an alternative romance in PB, and for that we need to look at what the approach to such romances were. Both in the past, and after TRR became popular. Looking into this gives us a general idea of which specific LIs got an alternative romance, why just them and not others, and what such developments said about the way the writing team viewed a particular character.

The Choices App was introduced in 2016, with three stories that were likely meant to cater to different audiences. Out of the three, the crime drama Most Wanted was the only series that focused on a single romantic pairing.

The other two - The Freshman and The Crown and the Flame - presented players with multiple romance options for their main character(s). TCaTF split its narrative between two main characters - Kenna Rys and Dominic Hunter - exploring both Kenna's fight to gain back and then expand her kingdom, and Dom's discovery of his heritage as a member of the Fire Tribes. Even though Kenna and Dom could be paired romantically, they had other potential LIs. Notably, Kenna had 6 (Dom, Tevan, Raydan, Annelyse, Val and Diavolos) and Dom only 2 serious contenders (Kenna, Rose, Sei, Will Jackson all had romances with him. Of these four, Rose was eliminated early on in the series, and Will was a last-minute addition at the end of TCaTF3). TCaTF didn't seem to focus much on the love lives of these LIs outside of Kenna and Dom, until Book 3 in 2017 - and of the cast only Raydan and Tevan seemed to get hints at other potential romances (with Aurynn and Zenobia, respectively).

Unlike MW and TCaTF, The Freshman's focus zeroed in on just one character. It was the first series to feature a customizable MC, whose experiences and choices alone would move the story forward. The original three-book series featured romances with three LIs - Chris Powell, James Ashton and Kaitlyn Liao. By the third book, two more were added to the roster - Zig Ortega and Becca Davenport.

You could choose a boy/girlfriend by the end of Book 1, and change partners in Book 3 if you weren't happy with your first LI and/or wanted one of the newer ones. The first three books didn't really have any alternative romances for the LIs themselves, but all that was about to change (for two LIs) in The Sophomore (released in 2017).

(Screenshots from the UnruleLee Gaming Youtube Channel)

In TS, the MC had the opportunity to pair James and Kaitlyn up with other side characters if she wasn't dating them. Kaitlyn begins to show an interest in Annisa, the new keyboardist in her punk band. Similarly for James and Reyna, a member of the editorial staff of Hartfeld's student-run newspaper. Both pairings only resulted in long-term relationships if the MC encouraged them enough, and she had both free and paywalled opportunities to do so.

What is noticeable at this point is that there are three LIs that are not given romantic alternatives - Chris, Zig and Becca. Though members of the fandom did headcanon certain pairings that had some potential in canon (such as Zig with his roommate Aaron and Becca with Madison), the narrative itself never indicated any romances for these characters, preferring perhaps to focus on their romance with the MC.

A possible reason for this could have been popularity. At the time, some in the fandom theorized that Chris was the most popular of the OG LIs, and that Zig and Becca garnered popularity quite quickly when they emerged as options in TF3. So there would be a lot more investment from the teams in charge of the book to focus their writing on their MC-centric routes.

James and Kaitlyn received criticism and sometimes outright hate from fans - some of whom complained ad nauseum whenever options to help them with their professional lives or personal development came up, while being largely accepting of the more popular LIs' conflicts. So it is possible that the writing focused on giving these two LIs other romantic options, in a way they didn't need to for the other three.

However, giving James and Kaitlyn other love interests didn't affect their overall writing. The Freshman series handled the balance between all five LIs with a deft hand, ensuring that every LI had adequate growth, development and attention within the narrative. Whether they were single or paired with the MC, all of them had unique stories that allowed the characters to make mistakes and learn from them, to confront their fears and conquer them, to deal with their problems in a realistic way.

James' story wasn't simply stuck on Reyna - he spent most of TS honing his writing skills and developing a novel, and later co-writing a play with the MC. Kaitlyn's story wasn't simply about romancing Annisa - it was about dealing with her insecurities, building her band from scratch, getting over her fears of Natasha sabotaging her again, being comfortable in her own identity. Their romances with Reyna and Annisa felt like bonus side stories that we could get if we were interested enough...not the be-all and end-all of their stories.

Alternative romances for LIs didn't happen in all books. Many didn't bother with one, especially those that wound up being one-book stories. Some books that ended with an elaborate wedding for an MC and their LI also seemed to do away with this too, mostly by eliminating other love interests or making their presence scarce (for instance, in RoE, the other two LIs for "Katie" virtually disappear when she make her choice, only featuring in brief cameos and mentions). Alternative LIs often featured in series' that were successful enough to get three books, so more often than not, two-book series' like #LoveHacks would barely even have the time to develop new characters to date any LI.

The books that did end up following this route often lasted long enough for at least three books (with PM and ATV standing as exceptions), and likely had more than 3 LIs. In certain books the pairing was paywalled, and in others you could choose a number of free options to encourage the romance.

After a while a pattern seemed to emerge in who got such romances. Sometimes the alternative LI was given only to the "forgotten fourth/fifth" of a series (the extra LI who would get the least attention) - sometimes the "lucky" LI would be a character that was NOT a late addition to the roster of LIs, but an OG LI that just got so little attention and buildup it became obvious that they were given an alternative because the writers couldn't be bothered to imagine what their romance with the MC would look like. One can confidently say this because very often the "alternative romance" was written with more thought than the romance with the LI or any of that character's individual problems, and it started becoming very obvious that the writers felt more comfortable imagining the playthroughs where such LIs could only be friends with the MC.

Once the Choices app found its "core demographic" and started churning out more books, there were more and more cases of the writers indicating who their favourites were, early on (through providing a higher frequency and quality of diamond scenes for certain LIs, and through their interviews before the book releases). Which resulted in those characters getting more popular and others less so. And it was this "popularity" that often impacted writing choices and treatment.

Such a system of storytelling results in a vicious cycle, where a team will either assume already that one particular character will rake in more money, and give them a head start over others...or where a writer - through intentional or unintentional bias - could push forward a "favourite" front-and-center to the detriment of other LIs.

Here's a list of books that wrote alternative romances for certain LIs (except for OH, but I will get to that one in a minute). See if you can figure a pattern in at least most of these books:

High School Story 3 (2018) - Caleb Mitchell (Jade Ali), Emma Hawkins (Luis Marino), Aiden Zhou (Cameron Levy)

High School Story: Class Act 3 (2019-20) - Skye Crandall (Lilith Vidal)

Desire and Decorum 3 (2018-19) - Luke Harper (Cordelia Parsons)

Perfect Match 2 (2018) - Sloane Washington (Khaan Mousavi)

Across the Void (2018-19) - Zekei Sentry becomes a love interest both to the MC as well as their sibling Eos Elara.

Endless Summer 3 (2017-18) - Quinn Kelly (Kele), Sean Gayle (Michelle Nguyen). (Technically, almost every LI does get some potential in terms of alternative romance...but Estela and Jake's pairings feature mostly in the AUs shown by The Endless (Sean x Michelle, Estela x Zahra, Jake × Yvonne are all shown - among other AU romances). Quinn and Sean's romances, however, are solidified in the MC's handfasting ceremony with their LI, where the couples could share a romantic look and Michelle even leans on Sean's shoulder.)

In theory, the alternative romance could sound tempting. It allows the MC to demonstrate care and concern for an LI regardless of their romantic interest, or lack thereof. It may potentially give the reader the surface comfort of seeing an LI they rejected lead a happy life with someone they can love. It seems like a win-win situation for everyone.

But it becomes apparent when you comb through both the romantic and friendly versions of these characters' stories, that something is not quite right. I will take two LIs here as an example.

(Screenshots from Abhirio's YouTube Channel (D&D3) and Danni Stone's YouTube Channel (PM1))

Sloane Washington's major character points in Book 1 involve her love for coding and astronomy, as well as her strong bond with her mother. Book 2 (2018) does very minimal work on either of these; once Khaan enters the picture, almost every diamond scene she gets focuses solely on the possibility of a romance with him. The narrative doesn't even focus the reunion with her mother Kim on her!

Likewise, many, many complaints emerged during D&D3 (2019) about the way Luke's wedding was handled. His mother - who is supposedly very close to him - only features in letters and one memory about his brother Ezra's gambling addiction, doesn't have a name, is given a used sprite that isn't even dressed in period-appropriate clothing, and never even attends his wedding. On the other hand, his alternative romance with Cordelia was explored in excruciating detail, to the point where the two are given a wedding and the promise of a future child. It is almost as if the writers couldn't bear to envision him marrying their precious MC.

There are two major things that become apparent the more you observe the above list of LIs who got alternative romances.

One, the LIs that don't get "alternative LIs" are often white and male (Chris in TF, Micheal in HSS, Ernest in D&D, Meridien in AtV) with a couple exceptions. The writing takes care to weave their issues and conflicts into the MC's larger narrative and try their best to ensure that we become invested in whatever they have going on in their stories. A good example of this are Ernest's larger storylines about his stepson Percival and his destroyed house in Book 3. On certain rare occasions (especially when there is no default white man in the LI cast), an ambiguously brown man who can be easily exoticized fits into this role of "Creator's Pet" just as well. The writers spend enough time on perfecting their romances with the MC that there is literally no time for anything (or anyone) else.

Two, in all but two of these books, the LI that gets their 'alternative romance' most often...is a black love interest. On the rare occasion a white character is included in such a list, it is often a canonically queer white woman (only if she is an LI tho, because white female side characters have attention and love practically showered upon them) who ends up in such a position (Emma and Skye from the HSS series'). But besides that, it is usually the black LI - who btw is often one of the first people we interact with and written as the most approachable - that bears the brunt of a narrative that makes it clear that it isn't interested in exploring their story on their terms.

That is why Luke's mother never gets a name or his younger brother is hardly seen. That is why Sloane is sidelined in her own reunion scene with her mother. That is why most of the romantic playthroughs featuring these characters feel so scarce on the details or the nuances, while their white male (or ambiguous brown male) counterparts chew scenery in their own and everyone else's playthroughs.

In narratives like these, the "alternative LI" is no longer the sweet, sensitive, "they deserve happiness" route that it pretends to be...but more a sign that the writers are uncomfortable with writing said LI in a romance with the main character, and the audience they most want to cater to is uncomfortable reading it.

When the intent behind such a supposedly-nice gesture becomes so rife with bad faith, what is the end result? What happens when an 'alternative LI' - a route that seemed to promise happier futures for certain LIs - becomes more of a tool to punish them for lack of popularity? What happens when the company that created this system stops pretending to value the diversity they claimed to pride themselves in??

What happens - is that you get a story like Open Heart 2.

A lot of the stories I mentioned above were written within the space of 2017-2019. In fact, most of the books in the list came out in 2018. During these years Choices was gaining popularity in the choice-based storytelling business, and romance stories were on the rise. Many Choices Books at this point had at least 3 LIs - 2 male and 1 female - and some had more. And most of the writing teams managed to get away with treating their LIs of colour (specifically their black male and female LIs) badly without significant backlash.

At the time of OH2's release (2020), the book had four LIs in its lineup. Ethan Ramsey - like most white male LIs - was meant from the start to chew scenery. Comparatively the other LIs: Jackie Varma, Bryce Lahela and Rafael Aveiro were at a disadvantage and often it felt like the team seemed to work more on writing them out rather than incorporating their stories organically into the narrative. Rafael particularly seemed to suffer from this in the first book, and by this time making one LI the "forgotten fourth" became accepted as the norm. So when OH2's cover showed every single LI except for Rafael, there was a sense of mild alarm.

It soon became clearer, however, that something more insidious was afoot. The book itself began with a funeral, and Rafael was missing in the first chapter. When Rafael stans finally did get to see him, in Ch 2, they would be hit with a nasty surprise - the LI who was utterly devoted to their MC and introduced them to his beloved Vovó, would be shown dating a childhood sweetheart without any explanation or warning.

(Screenshots from Gabbieschoices YouTube Channel)

When asked about the sudden shift, PB's response was cryptic...but also ominous to a fandom who had already seen all kinds of unfair, horrible treatment meted out to a wide range of black characters by then:

For all intents and purposes, the relationship between the MC and Rafael appeared to be over, with very little by way of closure. Even the few diamond scenes they would get later would show friends-only options. As the book went on, it became frighteningly clear that the narrative was planning to do away with Rafael. At one point, Rafael even spoke of leaving the city altogether, and there were hints towards a far, far worse manner of departure in later chapters.

(Most people who were playing at the time remember PB's plans for OH2 Ch11-12, and the backlash, response and hiatus that followed. If you weren't there at the time, PB's Statement following the backlash - "Representation at Pixelberry" - briefly alludes to the issues that people in the fandom had with the writing decisions OH2 took at the time)

As most of us know by now, this ended with significant changes in the existing story - ensuring that Rafael lived, reinstating him as an LI and having Sora break up with him so they could disappear from the book altogether. Post 2020, no further attempts have been made the "alternative LI" route for LIs.

Part of this could be attributed to the change in format. With the introduction of VIP-access and single-LI books, the need to prepare an alternative romance for an LI has reduced greatly. Other factors too could have contributed: the extra romances becoming too much work, possible fatigue among fandom towards such pairings leading to less revenue from diamond options featuring them, certain books having only one or at most two LIs.

No one in PB has spoken of Rafael's treatment or the inclusion of Sora in OH directly...but since OH2 featured the last ever alternative romance till date, it would be safe to say that perhaps even PB recognised that the Sora story crossed a significant line. In any case, this practice hasn't been adopted in recent books in a while.

At the outset, one could argue that the Rafael and Sora situation is extremely different from the "alternative romances" I have listed so far. Unlike all the others, the intent behind introducing Sora was to deny the player a Rafael romance altogether, rather than present Rafael himself with an option. Whatever the problems with the other LIs, at least they got a romance with the MC!

However, I do think the Sora story was rooted in what the alternative LI route had become over time. It may have started with good intentions - with the idea that perhaps if the numbers showed certain LIs being ignored, it may be kinder to give them happy futures with other people who would love them. As long as the alternative romance was just a part of the character's larger story (as is the case with James and Kaitlyn), it felt less harmful and more sweet.

But when the ability to rake in finances becomes a marker of a character's worth, when the writing itself rigs the game from the start of a series, when both PB and fandom find themselves incapable of examining their own biases with regards to said characters...the purpose of such romances becomes warped.

At such points, it becomes more about establishing that this character's romance with the MC is not worth exploring. About delivering the message that it's okay to drop this LI - that as a player, you had more chance of getting your money's worth if you did drop them.

To be more clear, the Sora story is a culmination of what happens when a certain type of LI is set up to fail from the start. There are less opportunities for them to win the reader over, less time, less options to bring in money. In such an environment, the "alternative romance" becomes about considering certain types of LIs "less worthy", and spending far less time developing their MC-route - because as far as the "data", "money" and "finances" are concerned, they hardly have one!

The culmination of such a system, is that the worth of an LI can be brought down so much that the writers become comfortable with killing a non-main and non-white LI. Sora, as an alternative LI, was a way to write Rafael himself out as a romantic option, not a route meant to move his own story ahead. Sora is what happens when PB pushes forward favouritism and racism to the point where the writing is emboldened to take such steps for LIs of colour (particularly black LIs) they deem unpopular.

Which is why - in the present climate - the elimination of such a system is a marginally better prospect. If we cannot trust such a seemingly "nice" process, what's the use of having it around?

This essay series isn't about all of PB's stories, however. It is about TRR. Still - it is essential to explore and understand the original intent behind using these romance routes, and the history of how such storylines developed over time. Considering that TRR released from 2017-2018, analysing the significant patterns of that time places the writing of TRR's alternate romances into context.

TRR's approach to the alternative LI route has been different from other books, in very specific ways. One of the most prominent ways was that the narrative featured romantic options for the three OG LIs, and briefly attempted one for a fourth (the closest parallel to this in another book would be Endless Summer). Even popular love interests were presented with romantic routes, in case the MC wasn't going to marry them.

Does this mean that TRR managed to avoid falling into the same rabbit hole of bias and favouritism, that the other books did? Not by a long shot. The same problems just manifested in very different ways - and in this essay series, I will discuss those problems, romance route by romance route.

Next - Liam and Olivia: When You Prefer the Side Character to the Main

#essay series: trr's alternative lis #intro essay #playchoices

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douqi7s · 5 months

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Baihe novels I read in 2023, in order of when I read them:

Miss Forensics by Jiu Nuan Chun Shen. Contemporary thriller featuring a push-pull romance between a forensic pathologist and a police detective. Big action scenes, big emotional set-pieces, big emotions.

Distance by Mi Nao Nao. Contemporary romance billed as 'woman who has broken a thousand hearts vs woman who has never lost her heart'. I found it underwritten and lacking in structure, but lots of people seem to like it.

The Collapsing Palace by Ming Ye. Historical palace harem novel. A wilful noblewoman marries her cousin, the crown prince, so she can get close to his mother/her aunt the empress, whom she's been crushing on since forever. And she's not even the most toxic / messed up main character in this novel.

Life is Like a Dream by Qing Xiang. A short novel set in the Yue opera scene during the Republican Era. Small-scale, elegantly understated, makes highly effective of use of the author's detailed knowledge of opera and the opera scene.

Suffocation by Hua Qiong Ran. One of those 'toxic lesbians' contemporary thrillers, featuring the protagonist being repeatedly stalked and imprisoned by her own wife. Amped up the depravity too quickly to be wholly effective.

Zebra Crossing by Yi Bai Shou. Early baihe novel featuring a romance between a CEO and police detective, a mixture of thriller and romance. Strong beginning with appealing characters, somewhat let down by meandering middle and end and odd approach to extras.

She Belongs to Me by Da Ying. An uncomplicated contemporary romance between two femme professional women who are excellent communicators. Does make effective use of several k-drama style romantic set-pieces.

Bo Zhou by Ruo Hua Ci Shu. Time loop contemporary romance in which the protagonist tries to safe her girlfriend's life again and again. Overall competently plotted, well-paced and genuinely suspenseful.

The Tribulation of the Peach Runaway Blossom by Ning Yuan. A solid xianxia/xuanhuan novel with a big cast of complex female characters, competent world-building and assured prose. Somewhat falls down on the main romance (though the secondary romances make up for that a little), which was at once the lynchpin of the plot and not particularly present on the page.

The Abandoned by Mu Feng Qing Nian. Three words: sapphic xianxia shizunfuckery. Horny unhinged lesbians, plot twists on top of plot twists, and much violence.

Her Mountain, Her Sea by Fu Hua. A contemporary high school romance. Very solid, competent slice-of-life for the most part. The leads are well-characterised and their growing relationship is deftly handled, especially in the early stages.

The Creator's Grace by Ning Yuan. A near future sci-fi thriller. 12/10, no notes (though the sci-fi element is subordinate to the romance and thriller elements).

Minister Xie by Ruo Hua Ci Shu. This historical novel is The Goblin Emperor meets Sha Po Lang. Teenage emperor Liu Zao does her best to turn her prime minister Xie Yi (who is 14 years older) into her wife.

Snow on Her Pillow by Liu Yuan Chang Ning. Historical fiction featuring a romance between Princess Jieyou and her devoted attendant Feng Liao (described as the first official female diplomat in Chinese history). Competently and compellingly written; manages the Feat of treating Central Asian characters (of which there are many) as regular, undemonised people.

Spring on the River by Da Ying. This xuanhuan novel features supernatural women behaving very very badly, weird structure and pacing, and a rather hapless main character who frequently reminded me of a protagonist in a shoujo reverse harem novel.

Listen, God by Xian Yu Bu Chi Cai. A contemporary time loop thriller featuring a romance between a scriptwriter and an up-and-coming actress. Mostly carefully and cleverly plotted (though starts to unravel in the last 20%), though the relationship development between the leads left me cold.

A Taste of You by Si Bai Ba Shi Si. A contemporary romance between a talented chef and a CEO. A grounded, realist novel told through a charmingly wry first-person POV (bar a sharp swerve into melodrama in the last 10%), deeply embedded in the local lesbian scene.

Snow in the Spring Courtyard by Liu Yuan Chang Ning. This wuxia novel had good relationship development, a compelling love interest, and excellent pacing, and is likely to appeal to readers for those reasons. For me personally, it was let down by an extraordinarily bleak view of the jianghu which I don't think the author was fully aware of.

I Think About You Day and Night by Yu Shuang. In this contemporary romance, a CEO rescues a penniless girl from an abusive household, and k-drama-style shenanigans ensue. There's terminal illness, birth secrets, an incest scare (dw they're not actually related), and corporate machinations. The author's commitment to these tropes and their emotional stakes makes this an enjoyably dramatic read.

Cover Her Face by Qing Tang Shuan Xiang Cai. A mostly breezy, mostly fluffy, and unexpectedly sexy historical romance plus a dash of wuxia, with likable main characters.

Waiting for You by Min Ran. A contemporary showbiz romance, basically an exes-to-reunited-lovers story courtesy of a handy rebirth and time rewind. Another one for the 'attractive femme couple resolves their relationship problems through Better Communication' folder.

Climbing High by Po Po Po. In this historical court intrigue novel, aspiring scholar Fang Jian sells herself into indentured servitude to court official Gao Yunqu in exchange for the latter's promise to help her free her parents from unjust imprisonment. Published on PO18, so allowed to be sexually explicit in ways JJWXC and Changpei novels can't be, and the author makes full use of this (though I found the sex scenes between the tertiary couples stronger than those between the main couple, for the most part). Very strong political writing, a great cast of complex female characters.

#baihe #chinese gl #wlw

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queers-gambit · 2 years

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requesting rules and masterlist 🍒

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your requests are all welcomed and encouraged!

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i am not perfect and while i do try to take pride in my writing abilities, there might come a request i cannot connect to - and therefore, cannot do the writing justice. in laymen's terms: i will sit on your request until i can make up my mind on whether i CAN or CANNOT write it.

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• never thought i'd have to put this - incest! INCLUDES step-family dynamics ❗️ this does, however, exclude Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon characters - within reason. i am still not a big fan of writing incest - to any degree.

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important note: cisgender female [both biological and identifying female] for all "female!reader" or "wife!reader" writings.

Stranger Things masterlist

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watch on Netflix

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Now and at the Hour of His Death

any who say, "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," were never loved by him.

pairing: Osferth x female!pregnant!wife!reader

word count: 6.1k+

🍒 author's favorite 💔 A N G S T 🥺 hurt 🚫 NO comfort 🎭 drama 🥰 romance 🤰 pregnant reader 👰‍♀️ wife reader 💍 established relationship ✝️ Lord's name in vain ⚠️ spoilers 🐝 stand-alone / oneshot 🙊 general language and content warning ☠️ character DEATH - tread carefully 🥊 depiction of physical violence and / or aggression 🩸 depiction of injury and blood 💛 requires maturity and caution

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collections: a set of fics exploring varying plots of similar tropes using different muses. they are NOT related to one another.

Clingy Baby collection - in progress

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Designated Destination collection - being drafted / not promised / not published

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this collection uses ONE muse in varying destination wedding events

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oraclekleo · 11 months

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Joshua (Seventeen) - Ideal Partner Tarot Reading

Disclaimer:

All celebrity readings have purely entertainment nature

I don’t know any of the celebrities personally

Don’t base life decisions purely on tarot readings

I can never guarantee any of what’s said in the reading

Feedback: Feedback is very important for content creators and for me it’s even more important. Please, let me know whether the tarot readings resonate. If there’s anything you dislike or find off about my readings (like wording, topics, focus), just tell me. I don’t want you to write 1000-word feedback, very simple comments will do for me to stay motivated. I don’t know why I have to keep repeating this but this is something I do for you, guys, and when I don’t feel motivated to do tarot readings, I have many other things to do. The more motivation I get, the more readings you will get to read. The logic is very simple but it’s two sided.

Reading Info:

Rating: 18+

Reading Type: Single - Couple

Requested: Yes - No

Requester: /

Deck(s): Tarot in Wonderland

Spread: Ideal Partner

Questions:

Body

Heart

Spirit

Soul

Time

Place

Possible Physical Features

Celebrity Info:

Full Name: Hong Joshua

Stage Name: Joshua

Group: Seventeen

DOB: 30.12.1995

Blood Type: A

MBTI: ENFJ

Sun Sign: Capricorn

Chinese Sign: Wood Pig

Life Path Number: 3

Masterpost: Seventeen

Joshua (Seventeen)

Full Name: Hong Joshua Stage Name: Joshua Group: Seventeen DOB: 30.12.1995 Blood Type: A MBTI: ENFJ Sun Sign: Capricorn Chinese Sign: Wood Pig Life Path Number: 3

Spread / Question: Ideal Partner Deck(s): Tarot in Wonderland

Body - Ace of Cups

Joshua’s special person is likely someone who doesn’t seem to stand out in a crowd, they just blend in with the surroundings and follow the dress code that’s common in their field of work. They look completely ordinary like a tea cup, just one out of many in the cupboard of life. This plain and mundane look on the outside is likely to be a coverup for their real special and quirky self. In private, this grey mouse is likely to change utterly and feel most natural wearing something completely different from their usual apparel. Maybe they love to cosplay or maybe they love to wear like a vintage or steampunk fashion or maybe they just walk around their apartment in a unicorn onesie.

Heart - Page of Cups

Joshua’s ideal partner is a dreamer at heart. They might often space out or seem lost in their thoughts as they might have a tendency to daydream. Their inner life is very rich, they have many brilliant and unique ideas but they might lack the expertise or confidence to turn them into reality and so they just stock them up in their drawer, waiting for the time when they receive some well meant push to materialise them.

Spirit - Queen of Cups

Joshua’s perfect match is a very sensitive person, they can navigate through the emotional waters very well and they are likely to be highly emotionally mature. They don’t throw tantrums and they don’t give silent treatments to people, they are more than capable of communicating everything and anything through the way the other party won’t get upset regardless of the issue. This person is a down-to-earth romantic and while they do like to fantasise about a perfect romance, they have realistic expectations when it comes to their real life relationships. Joshua’s special partner is a person of well-developed intuition and they are likely to be able to help with processing complex emotions and feelings to other people while they don’t get personally overly engaged in the drama.

Soul - 5 of Cups

Joshua’s destined partner wasn’t born emotionally mature, they have been through things that left scars on their souls and hurt them. While they might have been through emotionally challenging times, those only helped them to grow and become a better person. They could have stayed bitter about the failures or disappointments but they decided to see the positive side of it all. Instead of holding grudges, Joshua’s special person let go of hate and resentment and embraced the little gifts in life. They managed to recognize the blessings rather than focusing on what went wrong. And this helped them to reach the emotional calm and peace of mind they have now.

Time - 7 of Swords

First thing that comes to my mind here is a thief of hearts. Joshua’s ideal partner might sort of sneak into his life and slowly but steadily build a close connection with him. See how the person on the card is leaving but leaving traces? Joshua’s significant other might try to escape as they recognize things are getting too serious but they - intentionally or unintentionally - leave so many traces behind them that it’s not a problem for Joshua to track them down and continue with the romance.

Place - VIII Strength

Joshua’s ideal partner is likely to create a very safe home for them both to live in. They might be very protective of him but at the same time respecting his nature and his ambitions. Joshua’s perfect match is likely to adjust their home in order to make it most comfortable for them both. If Joshua needs to travel, his partner is going to travel with him and turn any hotel room into an improvised home nest.

Possible Physical Features

(Joshua’s Ideal Partner might only have one or two of these features or they can have them all.)

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santiagonex · 2 years

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I can’t sleep. Let’s talk about the four sacred top fives of 2022 as in top 5 gay movies, top 5 gay tv ships (or shows as whole), top 5 short gay movies and for the next one, let’s change it up a little bit and I’ll provide you with top 5 upcoming gay movies (2023) I’m looking forward to and are currently in the process of pre-production, production or post-production.

Top 5 Gay Movies of 2022

5. La Santa Piccola - very different from your usual gay movies, but the scenery is gorgerous and the story made me feel things 4. Badhaai Do - amazing queer representation in Indian Cinema, "gay guy and a lesbian woman enter into holy matrimony to appease their families”... just pure comedy and romance and the friendship is beautiful 3. Fire Island - a classic rom-com, must-see 2. In from the Side - rugby gays, affair, romance... all of that 1. Sublime - since it’s finally available on VoD, I had a chance to watch it this weekend and the soundtrack and story got me... Mi mejor amigo vibes but actually gay

Top 5 Gay Ships/TV Shows of 2022

5. Heartstopper - a classic, it was honestly hard to rate the shows because they’re all equally brilliant in my eyes 4. Heartbreak High - australian Sex Education, obsessed 3. The Bastard Son & The Devil Himself - magic, witches, gays... c’mon 2. Prisma - very important show 1. Patrick/Iván in Élite - they’re literally everything to me, if you get it you get it, if you don’t you don’t, if you know you know and if you don’t know I honestly feel bad for you like I literally cannot explain it, I don’t have the vocabulary to sit here and explain like either you get the vibe or you don’t

Top 5 Gay Shorts of 2022

5. Catalina - a queer man and his two childhood best friends reunite for a weekend camping trip on Catalina Island... could there be sumn more? 4. Too Rough - Nick wakes up next to his boyfriend Charlie and must conceal him from his own homophobic and dysfunctional family... very sad 3. Jean est tombé amoureux - two football players of opposite teams falling in love... mm very good! 2. Swim - two swimmers develop a strong friendship during their weekly sessions, but their relationship is tested outside the pool, when true identities are revealed... this one fawked me up good 1. Hard - Mikey experiences awkwardness and struggles to navigate the uncertainties of his sexuality after his first time with a girl doesn't go as expected, forcing him to confront his feelings of desire for his best friend... this was so much fun to watch

Top 5 Upcoming Gay Movies in 2023

5. The History of Sound - Paul Mescal and Josh O’Connor in a gay romance period drama? We’re looking forward to that actually! Anyways, they were supposed to film it this year, but they had busy schedules. Current plan is next year. Also Paul was hanging out with the director last month, so maybe something’s cooking. 4. Glitter & Doom - described as a summer romance musical feature told with the iconic tunes of folk duo Indigo Girls. Film follows a musician who wears charisma as camouflage and a carefree guy about to run away with the circus as they fall in love at first sight. Sounds fun. 3. Nuovo Olimpo - any Ferzan Özpetek fans? Any Manuel from Un professore fans? Well, looks like we won. Period drama set in Italy, following two men who have a chance encounter and then fall deeply in love, and then are torn apart. The film then follows them both over the next decades as they attempt to find each other again. 2. Strangers - yes, another one with Paul Mescal... yes, I’m crazy. And hi Andrew Scott. Directed by Andrew Haigh (Weekend, HBO’s Looking). Word on the street is that their characters will be romantically involved since Mescal's character corresponds to a woman who has a romance with the protagonist (Scott) in the original novel. We will be tuning in. 1. Bonus Track - film set in 2006, follows a small-town boy with dreams of being a gifted musician. When the son of an iconic musical duo enrols at his school, a powerful bond between the boys begins to grow. Based on an original story by Josh O'Connor (yes, him) and Michael Gilbert.

Anyways, that is it. There are a lot of movies that weren’t released THIS year yet, and I’m looking forward to them (Punch, Aristotle and Dante, Spoiler Alert,...). But I would be just repeating myself, so I’m not gonna talk about that.

#lgbtedit #lgbtcinema

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denimbex1986 · 4 months

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'Since its debut screening at Telluride, All Of US Strangers has been greeted with critical raves, multiple awards nominations and filmgoers moved to tears by its quietly devastating story. Set in modern London, though featuring periodic detours to one of its southern suburban towns, it tells of a screenwriter, Adam (Andrew Scott), who tentatively begins a relationship with a charismatic neighbour, Harry (Paul Mescal).

As the romance develops and deepens, Adam is drawn back to the place where he grew up and the suburban childhood home he left when he was 11 after his parents died in a car crash. There, both his mum (Claire Foy) and dad (Jamie Bell) appear to still be alive, just as he remembers them from decades earlier.

Writer/director Andrew Haigh (Weekend, 45 Years) used the home he himself was raised in as the location for the scenes featuring Adam and his parents. It lends a deeply personal resonance to a film that received seven prizes at December’s British Independent Film Awards and is now in contention for six Baftas, including for outstanding British film.

Screen International spoke to the director about four key scenes from the film - spoilers follow.

Adam and Harry meet for the first time

The scene: When a fire alarm drives him from his tower block apartment, Adam sees Harry looking down from a window. Soon after, a drunken Harry turns up at Adam’s door. The pair have a flirtatious conversation, but Adam turns Harry away.

Andrew Haigh: “We found it complicated to find a building to double for Adam’s tower block, because they are usually owned by multinationals who don’t want you to film in them. But we found a building in Stratford, on the edge of London, which suited a person like Adam who has locked himself away from the world and has a routine that keeps him in that aloneness.

“We did the interior of Adam’s apartment on a soundstage, and had big LED panels with the outside of London projected on them. I wanted the film to have a sort of strangeness from the very beginning that felt slightly shifted from reality, and those LED panels gave it that. Director of photography Jamie Ramsey was able to do something slightly different with the focus - the deep background outside is more in focus than it ever would be if you were shooting in a real apartment. That was enormously useful in bringing a slight oddness to being in this room.

“When Adam opens the door on Harry, we first see Harry’s face in a mirror on the wall. There are a lot of mirrors and reflections in the film, and I like it here because it’s as if Adam is being faced with a reflection of himself — someone else who is intensely alone and is reaching out and looking for help. It was a hard scene for Paul — he’s got to play drunk, be flirtatious and sexual, but also some desperation has to be leaking out underneath the surface. It can’t just be a ‘meet cute’, there has to be a reason why Adam shuts the door on him.

“I can’t tell you how many different sounds we listened to with Joakim Sundström and the sound team. There are so many levels of sound going on within this scene — different air vents, different tones, the deep rumble of a lift coming up and disappearing. I love also the moment of silence between them when it gets really quiet. If people are eating popcorn in the cinema, they are going to have to stop eating at that moment.

“There was a bit of dialogue at the end of the scene where Harry got quite angry with Adam. But it just didn’t feel right in the end, it felt like it was pushing it too far in one direction.”

Adam comes out to his mother in the kitchen

The scene: Returning to his childhood home in Sanderstead, Croydon, for the second time, Adam finds his mum alone. Over tea and flapjacks in the kitchen, he tells her that he is gay. Her discomfort and judgmental attitude make for an uncomfortable encounter.

Haigh: “What is important about this scene is that it is doing two things. It is about a son telling his mother that he is gay, but it is also about an adult living now being reminded of what it felt like to be gay in the 1980s. I remember growing up at that time [Haigh was born in 1973] and how Adam’s mum feels is how everybody thought about gay people. It was a rough time to be gay, and suddenly Adam is back there again - all this icky pain starts to bubble up as his mum is talking.

“I didn’t want to demonise the mother. It is clear to me, and Claire plays it exactly like this, that she absolutely adores her son. But she lives in a time when her opinions have been formed and forged by the culture she lives in. Claire knew she had to be that person from the ’80s, and she absolutely threw herself into how her character would have felt. It’s a hard thing to do, and she did it beautifully.

“The role of tea is paramount and we talked a lot about it. When does the mother pour? When do they just hold their cups? When does Adam play with the flapjacks? They’re all fundamental to understanding the subtext. The mother has made flapjacks, something he always loved as a kid, and at the end she decides not to eat them. That’s quite brutal, as if this beautiful, nostalgic thing has been fundamentally altered.

“Costume designer Sarah Blenkinsop wanted all the costumes to have texture. You know what the teal velour tracksuit Claire wears in this scene feels like to touch, and that is another way to drag you back into the past. The whole film is trying to find ways to transport us back to a past, and if your mother had worn something like that, it would be something that you would always remember. The costumes and the way the house is decorated are to remind the audience we are in the middle of the 1980s.

“The house we shot in was not a big house. It’s a small, semi-detached house with a whole crew in there trying to film the scene. But I love the limitations because it means no-one can be in the room apart from you, the actors, the camera [operator] and the boom op. Everyone else is away, and it makes it feel so intimate.”

Adam and Harry go to the Royal Vauxhall Tavern

The scene: After having sex in Adam’s apartment, Adam and Harry go to a nightclub. There they drink, dance and snort ketamine. The evening becomes dreamlike and euphoric as the drug kicks in. They kiss passionately on the dancefloor.

Haigh: “Before this, there is a beautiful moment with Adam and his dad where you feel a deep connection and that something has been solved between them. There is a lightness to Adam at this point; a burden has been lifted and he wants to go out and show the world he’s in the early stages of a romantic relationship.

“I used to go to the Vauxhall Tavern all the time in the 1990s. There was a night called Duckie on Saturday night, which I was always going to. I lived in nearby Kennington at the time and it was a special place. It was an alternative venue that played such a wide range of music, so for me it felt the only choice to shoot in.

“Club scenes are difficult to get right, and the only way to get them right is to feel like you are in a club — that it’s late at night, you’re sweating and you’ve been dancing too long. So we played music for ages, and everyone was dancing before the camera was even rolling. We shot during the day in the height of summer with 150 people, so it was really hot and sweaty. But it needed to be loud and feel like you were being pushed from one side to another.

“The lighting in the club was limited, so we put in lots of vibrant pinks and deep purples. There is something sexy and dark and erotic about that colour scheme that speaks to gay clubs of the past. The scene feels so different from the rest of the film, but it also recalls colours that we use elsewhere. I love how the lighting scheme develops and how we start to make it stranger and a little bit uncomfortable.

“I don’t think we planned the shot where Adam and Harry kiss, with the light streaming behind them. But I wanted them to kiss each other and the light was behind them and it felt like such a magical moment. It’s like the whole world disappears around them and you’re just focusing on this beautiful, sensual, wondrous moment. They’re gay people in the safe space of a queer club and they can be exactly who they are, in public.

“There’s no point pretending the club scene is not associated with drug-taking — it has been since the dawn of time. You may as well be matter-of-fact about that, rather than try to make a moral argument.”

Adam and his parents go to the High Hat diner

The scene: Sensing their time together is drawing to a close, Adam goes with his parents to an American-themed diner he enjoyed visiting as a child. There they ask about how they died, before departing.

Haigh: “I knew there would have to be a goodbye scene. This film would make no sense if the parents were constantly going to be there. They’ve come back to help Adam, and he has got to the stage where he doesn’t need them anymore.

“Beginning the scene with ‘If I Could See (Through The Eyes Of A Child)’ by Patsy Cline was a bit of a random choice. I wanted a song that spoke to the Americana of the location — a theme restaurant in a brutalist shopping centre that was actually a TGI Fridays. When I was a kid, the height of glamour was going to a Happy Eater or Little Chef by the side of a motorway, which were the British version of American diners. The most exciting moments from when you were young can be so strange when you look back at them.

“I love the triangular composition, where you see all three heads. You’ve got the parents on both sides of Adam, helping him move forward like angels on his shoulder. They’re like an extension of Adam’s mind, and of course you could see the film that way if you wanted to - that all of this is only existing within his head.

“We had a lot of questions about how the parents would vanish. I wanted it to be simple because that is what happens when you lose someone. We used an optical effect to have the light in their eyes gently fade. And then they are gone, and it’s just Adam alone with three milkshakes on the table and nobody else around him.

“Crying on camera is a strange thing — it has to feel real and honest or it looks like it’s been forced. With Andrew, there was no holding him back; there was nothing he could do but cry in that moment. It was an emotional scene to shoot and it took some stamina. We spent a whole day on it, and half of the crew were crying.

“Emilie Levienaise-Farrouch did a wonderful job with the music. She was smart in saying we didn’t want much in this scene, and that overplaying it would make it far too sentimental. It is on the edge of sentimentality anyway, but you’ve got to stay on that edge; you can’t fall over the top of it. It was a real balancing act, and I think the way her score builds and shifts and rises is really powerful.”'

#Emilie Levienaise-Farrouch #Andrew Haigh #All of Us Strangers #Andrew Scott #Paul Mescal #Jamie Bell #Claire Foy #Royal Vauxhall Tavern #Sarah Blenkinsop #Jamie Ramsay #Joakim Sundström #Patsy Cline #If I Could See (Through The Eyes Of A Child)

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capriprov · 4 months

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Watch the FULL version of our trailer here!

CAPRICIOUS PROVENANCE is an award winning D&D 5e AP Audio Drama fusion set in an arcanepunk, partially homebrewed world of Eberron! After The Last War devastated Khorvaire - and their lives - fate follows four unlikely friends attempting to grapple with their own destinies as the fate of the world falls into a chaotic uncertainty.Join our…heroes(?) as they navigate their ever-changing lives in the wake of destruction, wading in the depths of their trauma as they connect with the troubled people living in a fragmented world. We’re an all queer & trans, majority BIPOC cast of tabletop creatives that bend the rules, change the lore, and break the game to tell a story of fighting tooth and nail against the way things are, and daring to hope for change.

Capricious Provenance is free to listen to, and advertisement-free. Our team is small, and we have started this project with no funding. This podcast is a labor of love and collaboration between a group of friends that are very passionate about the art they create. We are hoping to acquire funding and grow the team in the future! For now, you can support the show via Ko-fi.

Will I like Capricious Provenance?

While Capricious Provenance’s main game system is D&D 5e, we use a mixture of different games in the podcast - such as Pathfinder and 1400 Sneak - to help tell our story. Additionally, while the world is set in 5e’s Eberron, it has been altered significantly and partially homebrewed to suit our main characters, featuring elements from various supplements such as Heliana's Guide to Monster Hunting. Capricious Provenance is full of magic, whimsy, gods, monstrosities, political intrigue, and queer romance. There is a heavy focus on storytelling through character roleplay that makes room for heart wrenching character arcs and gives space for relationships between the characters to organically develop. The show explores themes of found family, generational trauma, religious trauma, healing, self discovery, the cost of war, freedom and revolution against an oppressive regime. It is ultimately a story of hope in dire times, embracing the monsters within ourselves formed by the world we live in, and finding the beauty in brutality. If you are a fan of media such as Dragon Age, Castlevania, Monster Hunter, The Owl House or Baldur’s Gate 3, you may enjoy Capricious Provenance!

Capricious Provenance Features:

A mixture of actual play and audio drama that places you in the shoes of our characters as we roll the dice.

Award-winning immersive narrative combat scenes that put you right in the center of the action. (Rainbow Roll Fest 2023)

Tarot readings and content warnings at the beginning of every episode so the listener knows precisely what they’re getting into.

Supplementary content, such as a short “radio broadcast” series providing updates directly from the world of our campaign and animatics illustrated by our artists.

Episode re-caps and lorekeeping, and more!

Where to Listen & Where to find us:

Listen on the Official Podcast Profile Listen elsewhere: Spotify || Pocket Casts || Google Play || Apple Podcasts || iHeartRadio Listen & watch more content on: Youtube You can find us on: Twitter || Instagram || Tiktok || Bluesky

Check out our website for cast information, character profiles and more details about the world: capriciousprovenance.carrd.co

#dnd #dnd art #dnd oc #podcast #dnd podcast #ttrpg #ttrpg podcast #ttrpg art #capriprov

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word-wytch · 1 year

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Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 6

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 6/? 4.6k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Your 30th birthday is nothing like you imagined, but Eddie has a surprise for you.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, smut (18+ mdni), true love, internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: drinking, angst

It was quiet in the early morning of your 30th birthday. Still dark outside, as it always was when you rose from bed at 5:10 AM.

You looked in the mirror, at your face still puffy from sleep. The harsh light above your bathroom sink was bringing out the darkness from under your eyes. Leaning closer, you ran your fingers over your pores to feel for imperfections, noting how large some of them seemed to be, especially at this time of day. There were a few raised bumps too. You couldn’t believe you were still getting pimples at this age.

You brushed your teeth and washed your face. The cool water felt refreshing on your skin still warm from sleep. You rubbed on your favorite skin cream and blotted some concealer over the spots that needed it, blending it out with your finger. You then brushed on your eyeshadow, curled your eyelashes, and flicked your mascara wand over them, bringing your face to life more and more with each step.

Taking in your features, you looked at yourself for a long moment. Your eyes traced over the lines of your jaw, of your nose, and the shape of your eyes, all coming together to form you. A soft smile made the lines of your lips even plusher.

Timeless.

Assessing your hair, you styled it a bit differently today.

It was casual Friday, a concept which you always thought was kind of hokey but you would take any excuse to wear jeans for a change, something that felt a bit more like you and less like a costume. You had a pair specifically in mind for today — your favorite. The lightwash Levi’s that hugged you in all the right places.

You wondered for a moment if he’d notice. Shaking your head, you chastised yourself. Here you were, officially 30 years old, and you had spent the last four days thinking about a thumb. It was bold what he did in the parking lot on Monday, even for him. He’d been sending all sorts of signals for the past three weeks since you started tutoring him, but there was no mistaking this one.

Eddie Munson had a crush on you. If you had any doubts before, his thumb had squashed them.

It was a common thing for students to have crushes on their teachers. Common enough for Van Halen and The Police to write hit songs about it.

But Eddie Munson was 20 years old, and you had a crush on him too. A bigger one than you cared to admit to yourself. In any other context, this wouldn’t be a problem. In the context of your job, it was an enormous one. At the same time, it was hard to remember the last time you looked in the mirror and felt this way.

You wondered if he woke up in the morning and decided what to wear with you in mind. You wondered what he thought about as he watched you from the back of the classroom every day. Wondered what sort of scenarios the mind of a horny young man could conjure up on a daily basis, what he imagined doing with you, to you.

You shook your head again, feeling a twinge of guilt. What on Earth were you doing?

Then again, you couldn’t get in trouble for your thoughts. So long as you didn’t act on them.

You sighed and gave yourself one final look up and down in the mirror, turning to glance at every angle.

Timeless.

______

“Come on, come on.” You wanted to kick the Xerox machine. It hummed and sputtered, spitting out the top half of a paper, the bottom half crinkled in a jam, as if it had been hungry and thought the tests for your second period sophomore class were a tasty snack. It didn’t help that there was a line forming behind you.

You had been at work for all of ten minutes and it was already going south. Grabbing the paper, you yanked slowly, trying not to rip it as you un-jammed the machine.

“Hey happy birthday!” said Diane, waving a card in front of you with your name on it. “Off to a great start I see.”

You chuckled and took the card. “Yeah, I think it knows.”

“I hate this thing,” said Diane. “I don’t need to use it nearly as often as you do, I feel lucky for that.”

Tugging on the paper again, you slowly and steadily worked it out of the clutches of the machine. “There we go.”

“See, it wasn’t that hard,” she said to the machine. “Give the girl a break, it’s her birthday for crying out loud.”

You chuckled and started the copy job again. “Ok, you better behave now. This is the last warning.” The machine whirred and beeped, thinking a moment before it began to spit out fresh, clean, uneaten copies of your test. “There you go, jeez.” You grabbed your card stepped off to the side running your finger under the top edge to rip the envelope. “Thanks, Diane.”

She smiled, “This one’s from the faculty, you’ll get mine later tonight,” she said with a little wink.

Opening the card, you took in the generic birthday wishes of your coworkers in different handwritings and inks. With a soft smile you tucked it into your leather grading binder.

You wished you could have said the day turned around after that, but the copy machine jam was only the beginning. A student got sick in your first period class and the room smelled for the three periods to follow, even after the janitor came.

There was a food fight during lunch period and you stepped in mashed potatoes as you exited the teacher’s lounge, tracking it all the way back to your classroom before you noticed. It was caked into the bottom of your boot and the tissues you had on your desk did a mediocre job at removing it from the crevices.

Your seventh period class might as well have been sleeping. The walls could have given better answers.

By the time the last bell of the day rang you felt like a frazzled mess. You should have just taken the day off.

You sighed and tidied up your desk, filing away papers and loading up your leather work satchel with folders to take home with you. That was when you heard a knock at the door.

Eddie Munson leaned against the doorframe, rapping his knuckles against it rhythmically.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Hey Eddie,” you said, looking up from the mess on your desk.

Eddie walked over to you slowly, his dingy white Reeboks padding softly against the tile floor. “Happy birthday,” he said.

“Oh thank you,” you said with a breathless chuckle. “It’s been a pretty shitty one so far if I’m being honest.”

His strong brows furrowed. “Well, I hope I can make it better,” he said as he extended his hand to reveal two small boxes.

“Oh my god, you didn’t have to get me anything!” you said, coming around the front of your desk to meet him.

“I know, but I wanted to,” he said.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you took them from him. You turned them over in your hands. They were wrapped in newspaper — the funny section. Your heart swelled as you admired his handiwork before tucking a finger under the tape to break the wrapping.

“Sorry I’m shit at wrapping gifts.”

“Oh hush, you did great,” you reassured, tearing the wrapping off the first box. It was a Black Sabbath tape — Paranoid.

“I would have gotten you some artists I know you actually like but with these I knew that you didn’t have them already, so…”

“Oh my god, thank you! This is so sweet,” you tore the paper on the other one to reveal Metallica’s Ride the Lightning.

“I thought that these would be a good introduction to metal, since you said you really hadn’t heard much of it. The Black Sabbath one is their second album, you might recognize a couple songs actually. Dio sings for them now but I figured we’d get you started with the classics and work our way up,” he said with a wink, “And then the Metallica one also has some really good songs on it too.”

You smiled, big and broad. “Thank you so much, this is so thoughtful.” Your arms extended outward before you could even give it a second thought, still holding the tapes in your hand.

In your defense, you would have hugged anyone who surprised you with a gift on your birthday.

His eyes widened as he stepped toward you, bringing his arms around you without hesitation. Not diagonally as you might hug a friend or an acquaintance, but around your waist, guiding your arms over his shoulders. He held you tightly to him.

He wasn’t wearing a jacket or a vest, only his raglan Hellfire shirt since it was a Friday. You could feel him. Feel the shape of his body pressed to yours, of his back as you ran your free hand up and down it reflexively. Feel how solid his shoulders were with the other draped over them. You were worried he could feel your heart pounding through the thin cotton barrier.

The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, longer than you should have.

You relaxed into the hug and rested your head against his shoulder, letting out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in. His hair pressed against your cheek, softer than you had imagined. There was that scent again — you were enveloped in it. That warm, intoxicating combination of skin, smoke, and laundry detergent. You wished you could bottle it, spray it on everything.

You didn’t want to pull away. You knew you should but you just couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not for another few seconds that stretched on like a small eternity as you committed the touch to memory.

It was really the kind of hug that you get from a lover. The kind of hug that greets you as you step off of a plane. The sort of hug that molds to you, like two interlocking pieces. You felt him sigh.

His arms where strong and safe, one hand running up and down your back soothingly, the other wrapped tightly around the small of your waist. He pressed his cheek against your head.

Finally you gathered the strength to break away. His hands lingered at your waist as you did.

Eddie’s eyes caught yours as you separated, they were soft and heavy lidded. His irises were deep and warm like Dutch-processed chocolate. You could have devoured him whole.

You cleared your throat and tucked your hair behind your ear, “Thank you. For the gift.”

He swallowed and nodded, “Sure. Give them a listen and let me know what you think.” He swung his hands back and forth, bringing them together in front of his body. “You uh, doing anything fun later?”

“Oh, not anything big or fancy, just gonna go to Pal Joey’s with a few friends.”

He smiled softly, “Sounds like a good time.”

“Yeah, it’ll be good,” you said, turning back toward your desk to finish packing up your things.

Eddie watched you for a moment longer, as if he wanted to say something more but refrained. “Well, I should probably get going. The guys are all waiting on me, so…”

“Have fun, give ‘em hell,” you said with a little wink as you gathered your papers.

“Oh I will,” he said with a smirk, turning to leave. He paused for a moment. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” you said softly. “For everything.”

______

The grey sky hung heavy above the parking lot outside Pal Joey’s as the sun began to set. From your dashboard you could see the warm glow inside the restaurant through the large front window. You watched as the bartender served the two patrons at the bar while Black Sabbath’s “Electric Funeral” rang out full force in the speakers of your small sedan.

You thought about Eddie Munson again. Thought about him listening to this same song, only twice as loud and cruising down a dark road at 80 miles an hour. Thought about him at a concert, in a mosh pit, swaying and bobbing with the crowd. There was a quality about metal that swept you up in it. It was fast and driving, loud and heavy. It was alive and full of energy — much like he was.

You thought about Eddie Munson on a stage. Thought about his quick fingers on the fretboard, how his long mop of hair would shake as he bobbed his head with every strum. You wondered if he sang at all, what his bright voice sounded like in song. You thought about him singing to you — to only you. Thought about him sitting on the couch in your livingroom, an acoustic guitar across his lap, singing your favorite song.

You thought about how good it felt to be in his arms. How safe you felt in them. There was a part of you that felt guilty about it, greedy about it, but you really would have hugged anyone who surprised you with a gift, student or not. It’s not that it wasn’t allowed either. There were plenty of students of yours in the past who had given you a hug. Some as a farewell on the last day of school. Others who really needed it. It was different with him though, and you knew it. But you had an excuse and the too human part of you that growled in the pit of your stomach wanted to know what it felt like.

There was a shadow in your window that startled you. You turned to lock eyes with the blonde as she waved excitedly.

“Janet! Hey!” you said, flicking the key to your car to turn it off. You dropped it into your purse and hastily opened the door.

“Happy birthday!” she said as you got out of the car. You could smell her hairspray when she hugged you. “Oh my god, look at you,” she said, taking a step back to admire, “You look amazing.”

“Well thank you, so do you.”

Janet sighed. “Thanks for being so nice. I’m just going to pretend like this wasn’t the second outfit I picked out after the baby got sick on my first one.”

“No, I mean it. You do look nice!” and she did. The perm was new, not new since you saw her over the summer, but new since you knew her in high school. It had been longer back then, long enough to braid at sleepovers.

Janet gave a weary smile, “Well thanks, I’ll take it.” She folded her arms, a curious look playing on her face, “So, you listen to Black Sabbath now?”

“What? No — I mean yes. Um, I guess now I do,” you said with a flustered laugh, “One of my students got me a few tapes for my birthday, he’s into metal so he wanted to give me an intro to the genre.”

Janet chuckled, “How thoughtful.”

It was hard to tell whether she was being sarcastic or not. “Yeah, it is. I really like it so far actually.”

“I feel like all I listen to anymore is the Muppet Babies theme song. I’d take just about anything over that at this point.”

You heard quick footsteps against the pavement and turned to see Diane hustling up to you with a cake in a tupperware container. “Sorry I’m late, I had to take the dog out before I left,” she turned to you, “Happy birthday, again,” she said with a little chuckle, then turned to Janet, extending her free hand. “Hi, I’m Diane!”

She shook her hand, “Janet,” she said. “I think I remember you actually, from debate team? You were a few years ahead of me.”

Diane blinked, jogging her memory, “Oh! Yes, wait a minute, Janet… Johnson right?”

“It’s Peters now, but yes.”

“God, it’s been ages! How are you?”

“Happy to be out of the house,” she said with a chuckle. “Let’s grab a seat, we can catch up inside.”

Pal Joey’s was one of those places that never seemed to change. It was like stepping back in time to your summers home from college. They still had the same colored glass light fixtures above the bar. Same old metal beer signs plastered haphazardly along the walls. Same red, threadbare carpet by the pool table in the other room. It still smelled like cigarettes, even in the non-smoking section by the front bar where you were directed by the hostess to sit.

You scooted yourself along the vinyl booth bench after Janet, brushing away the hardened French fry crumbs and gritty salt granules as you followed her. Diane sat on the other side.

You stared down at the smeared laminated menu. The food hadn’t changed either. It was your typical bar food selection of hot wings and burgers, one in particular called The Beast which there was a contest surrounding.

You weren’t exactly sure what had imagined your 30th birthday being like, but it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t here.

“Can I get you ladies started with something to drink?” the hostess asked.

“I’ll have a margarita,” said Diane, “Oh, and hers is on me tonight,” she said gesturing to you.

“Oh thank you, you’re the sweetest. I’ll have the same.”

“Make that three,” said Janet. “Oh, and water!”

“Alright we’ll have those right out for you,” said hostess as she scribbled on her notepad and walked away.

You thought about your friends back in Indianapolis. You wondered what they were doing tonight and if they remembered. You wondered if he remembered.

“I’ve got some pictures to show you, before I forget,” said Janet, reaching into her purse. She pulled out a handful of photographs and laid them out on the table.

You and Diane leaned in to look at them.

“Ok so this is Michael on his third birthday this summer.”

The little boy was towhead blonde, his hair almost white. Pizza sauce had stained his face orange around his toothy little smile. He was sitting in a high chair with Janet behind him, both their faces glowing in the soft light of the birthday candles. You could see the joy reflected in her eyes.

You glanced up at Diane, you could see the ache reflected in hers. You wondered if you were to hold up a mirror to yourself if your face would look the same way. A strange, soft sadness playing on your lips. A gentle longing in your eyes for something that may never come to be.

“He’s adorable,” Diane said softly.

Janet slid another photo to the center of the table. “This is one of Sarah from a few months ago, she’s eighteen months now, which I can hardly believe,” Janet said with a chuckle, “It feels like she was just born yesterday.”

“She already looks just like you,” you said thoughtfully, “I mean I know she’s just a baby but I can already see it.”

You thought about the wedding you were supposed to have next spring. Thought about the photos that she would surely have by then.

The waitress approached the table with a tray of drinks and that you had never been so happy to see in your entire life. She took your order, just a classic burger and fries. Diane got the mushroom and swiss burger, and Janet got an order of chicken wings and a side salad.

Janet raised her margarita, “To you, my dear. May your thirties be your best decade yet.”

The three of you clinked your salt rimmed glasses together and a smile found its way back onto your face. You hoped she was right.

You took a generous sip of your drink. It went down easy. The lime was refreshing and the salt woke up your taste buds.

“So,” Janet started, turning to you, “Are you still writing? You were always so creative in school.”

“Oh, not much anymore. I guess I just haven’t been feeling that creative lately. Not really in the past few years actually,” you said. “I’m still a big reader though. You should have seen my dad trying to help with all the boxes this summer. He swore they were full of bricks and not books,” you said with a little chuckle.

“Well, maybe you’ll pick it up again someday,” said Diane. “You’ve been through a lot, give yourself some grace.”

“You’re right, thank you,” you said, giving Diane a gracious look.

“How are your parents, by the way?” asked Janet.

“Oh they’re fine, my dad keeps talking about wanting to retire but I don’t think he’s quite there yet, and my mom, well, she’s my mom. You know how she is.”

Janet laughed, “Yes, I do.”

“That was one thing about living in Indianapolis, at least I got some space, you know?”

There was a loud clanking that rang out from the pool table in the other room, causing you to glance over for a moment.

That’s when you saw it, the mop of wavy brown hair swooshing as the one who made the noise stood upright after taking their shot. You couldn’t even see their body over the booths in front of you, only the back of their head, but your heart rate kicked in full force at the site of them. At the possibility.

Is that?

Only when they turned around did you realize it was a woman.

You took a deep exhale, trying to steady your racing pulse.

You felt like a fool. What were you doing?

Here you were, officially 30 years old, pining for a guy who wasn’t even old enough to have a drink at the bar you were at. A guy who also happened to be your student.

You took another generous sip of your margarita and looked down at the table, thumbing at the dull rubber rim. A numbing buzz washed over you.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but May wasn’t that far away, when you really thought about it. What if you waited and he asked you out after he graduated? He seemed really interested. It wasn’t an impossible scenario.

Janet and Diane carried on the conversation, talking about their parents.

You tried your best to tune in, but all you could think about was Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson who looks at you like he’s going to kiss you, who leans in too closely, who touches your hand because he can’t help it and flashes you signals with his in the parking lot. Eddie Munson who was gentle and kind and would hurt somebody — for you.

Eddie Munson who said you were timeless.

You wondered if he would still mean it by May.

You downed the rest of your drink and set the glass on the table. Only the ice remained.

“Woo, that’s the spirit!” cheered Janet. “Next one’s on me,” she said, giving Diane a wink.

You offered a weak smile. “Thanks, you guys are so sweet.”

You were thankful when the food arrived. It gave you something to do with your mouth other than talk. Something to focus on other than your blaring thoughts.

All three of you were quiet while you ate. You could tell that your friends were equally as hungry, probably wrestling with thoughts of their own.

You sat back and sighed after you ate as much as you could manage of your burger and fries.

“Save some room for cake,” said Diane with a wink.

You gave her a wide-eyed look and the three of you laughed.

“Oh yeah, I totally forgot to ask,” started Diane, “How did that dinner go with your mom and that guy?”

“So awkward that my mom didn’t arrange another one,” you said, laughing probably way too loud.

“Yikes.”

“I don’t miss that part about being single,” said Janet.

Diane swished the liquid around in her glass. “I’ll tell you what, I’d be pretty lonely if it weren’t for Remi. He keeps me busy and gets me some fresh air during our walks twice a day.”

“Maybe I ought to start thinking about getting a pet,” you said, running your finger along the wet condensation on your glass.

“There are some perks to singlehood that I miss. You don’t have to answer to anybody, well, except Remi I guess,” said Janet with a little chuckle.

“Trust me, whoever I end up with won’t be expecting me to answer to them,” said Diane, taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh you know what I mean, like have to come home and do things for people who can’t do anything for themselves, husband included sometimes,” she said with a snort, “I love my family to death but it can be so exhausting.”

Diane nodded, “Your feelings are valid,” said the therapist in her. Though you could tell there were other feelings under the veil of her mature response.

The three of you sat and enjoyed your drinks and each others company for a while longer while you processed dinner.

Then came the inevitable song. You knew it was coming when three other servers and the bartender showed up at your table. You braced yourself, smiling awkwardly while your friends howled the familiar tune, the margaritas amplifying their voices.

The cake was beautiful, Diane had really outdone herself. It was a red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting and sprinkles on top.

You stared into the glowing candles as they wavered in the air and took a deep breath. Though it seemed childish and unrealistic, like asking for a pony, you knew what you wanted to wish for. You blew out the candles and let the quiet whispers of your heart sing for just one moment, the smoke writing cursive in the air, like a silent prayer wafting toward heaven as it rose.

There was clapping and cheering from the waitstaff and your friends around you.

It wasn’t until after you had taken your first bite of that delicious cake that your server approached you with another drink.

“From the man over there,” she said, gesturing to a young man in a suit with closely cropped hair seated at the bar. “For your birthday.”

He glanced back at you for a moment and you locked eyes with him, feeling your stomach start to turn. You gave him a weak little smile and glanced away quickly, your face turning as red as your cake.

Diane and Janet looked at each other, their mouths gaping in excitement. You wanted to evaporate.

“Go talk to him,” Janet whispered excitedly.

“If you don’t, I will,” snickered Diane.

It might have been partially the alcohol but you were starting to feel dizzy. “Oh, I don’t know. Go for it, Diane.”

She gave you a deadpan look. “Come on, I mean he bought you the drink after all.”

“I just… I don’t really know if he’s my type, you know?”

“What is your type?” asked Diane curiously.

“Yeah, I always thought it was brooding intellectuals,” Janet said with a laugh.

Apparently it was metalheads with long hair and loud vans, but you weren’t going to admit that out loud. Especially not in front of your coworker.

“I guess it just depends on the person. It’s never been guys in suits though.”

You stared down at your fresh drink sitting on its pristine napkin and wondered how wise it was to place your heart in such reckless hands.

After all, time moves quickly for young men.

You of all people would know it.

______

A/N: Woof, am I right? We are beginning to ascend the angst portion of this roller coaster and it’s going up and up for the next handful of chapters so strap in. Next chapter is from Eddie’s perspective *rubs hands together*

Once again thanking all of you for your continued support and enthusiasm. It keeps me going every week to see your excitement and reactions so keep them coming, please! I love interacting with you guys, it makes me feel like we’re all on this journey together.

Your reblogs help this story reach a larger audience and mean so much to me! Thank you 🧡

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