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pedrointofolklore · 9 months

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Long story short

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: weeks had passed since your steamy kiss with joel, and you wanted more. sequel to this is me trying.

warnings: smut 18+ mdni, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, joel miller has a big dick, emotional sex, brief mention of sex as currency (as part of reader’s backstory), allusions to depression and suicidal ideation, lots of fluff with a bit of angst, enemies to lovers (they’re in their lover era), extremely soft joel, joel is so disastrously in love, self-loathing due to a guilty conscience, lots of swearing, age gap (unspecified), no use of y/n, ellie era (ellie is only mentioned)

word count: 3.4k

a/n: hey y’all. so part one did way better than i ever expected. thank you to everyone who has supported it. if you haven’t read it i highly recommend you do before reading this. if you have read it: enjoy part two! the title is once again a taylor swift song.

It had been weeks since you kissed Joel.

Neither of you acknowledged it. After the shitstorm that was Kansas City, your focus was making it to Wyoming on foot. Addressing one kiss wasn’t high on the list of priorities.

But you still thought about it. A lot. And it seemed like Joel did too.

Joel Miller wasn’t nice as a rule, but he was good to you. He confided in you, asked for your input, and did what he could to make you feel like your presence was important. Whether or not it was actually important, you just appreciated that he was trying.

And you were trying too. You were doing your best to be present, focus on the positives, and take a breath before sprinting headfirst into danger. Just as Tess would have done.

You couldn’t have predicted that Ellie would end up inspiring you. There was something about her that reminded you of yourself (which was ultimately cause for concern), but she was different in the ways that mattered most. She was funny and resilient and excited about things, even in this vile world she was living in.

You wanted to be more like her.

There was an abandoned, isolated cabin somewhere between Kansas City and Kearney—you weren’t sure exactly where at this point. It was a corroded, rotting structure, with shattered windows and wooden panels threatening to collapse, but it was better than sleeping outside in the middle of nowhere.

There were two beds and a couch inside. Ellie passed out almost immediately after calling dibs on the bed upstairs. The poor girl was exhausted. Meanwhile, Joel laid down on the couch and shut his eyes, pretending to go to sleep. This was clearly an act; he wasn't going to sleep, he was going to keep watch.

You hadn’t slept in a bed since the QZ, and though this bed was old and musty and probably infested with microscopic bed bugs, it somehow felt like the most comfortable thing in the world. This was the first time in so long it didn’t feel like you were in a rush. You could just exist and let your mind wander.

Letting your mind wander was something you typically avoided, but instead of your thoughts leading you down a trail of despondency, they led you to Joel. You pictured him sitting upright on the couch, scanning the area through fractured windows, clutching a shotgun and trying to stay awake. You wondered what he was thinking about.

If you still want it later, you can have it.

That was what he’d said to you. It was such a new feeling; wanting Joel, wanting anything. You thought about the kiss again, and a warm, tingly sensation spread throughout your entire body like ink seeping into wet paper.

It was later, and you still wanted it.

Joel was awake.

This wasn’t new. Joel hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in 20 years, but it had gotten worse lately.

He’d failed everyone in Kansas City, but most of all Ellie. It left him in a constant state of unease, just waiting for something else to go wrong. Even sleeping stressed him out now.

Then, there was you.

As everything around him gradually fell into shambles, it felt like he needed you more everyday. You were good and clever and really the only person in the world who made Joel feel like he could do this, and that terrified him. You were trying so hard, but he still had this paralysing fear of losing you.

Joel hadn’t forgotten what happened, and he hadn’t forgotten what he said.

If you still want it later, you can have it.

He wasn’t even sure what ‘it’ was referring to. Was it that he’d fuck you if you asked? He would, but he didn't think that was really what he meant.

He also wasn’t sure if you wanted it. Maybe the kiss had been just a random moment of weakness for you. Maybe you woke up the next morning and realised that Joel was the last person in the world you could ever want. The thought gnawed at him; infected him like some faceless monstrosity with razor-sharp teeth.

But if by some chance you wanted it—wanted him—he would give you everything he had. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness, and certainly not your admiration, but you deserved to get whatever you wanted out of him. He would let you come to him, and he would do anything you asked if it meant keeping you here.

The sound of your door clicking open jerked Joel from his anxious ruminating. His eyes followed you as you sauntered over to the couch and plonked yourself down next to him, crossing your legs with an air of forced nonchalance.

“What are you doing up?” Joel asked.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said. “You’re also up.”

“Just keepin’ watch.”

“We’re indoors in the middle of nowhere, Joel,” you replied. “I think you can sleep for a bit.”

Joel didn’t say anything. He couldn’t get into this with you. He didn’t want to ruin the newfound trust you had in him by letting you know what a mess he was.

“Unless there’s something else keeping you up,” you spoke in a nervous whisper, like you were testing the waters to see if Joel would actually entertain this conversation.

Of course he would. There were things Joel didn’t want to talk about—anything that had ever happened to him, for example—but the only thing stronger than his propensity to never let anyone in was the urge he had to never deny you.

“Just been worried about you, I guess.”

Your mouth formed a constrained smile. It didn’t quite reach your eyes. “We talked about this. I’m fine now, Joel.”

“One talk can’t solve everything.” Or one kiss, for that matter.

“I’m not asking you to solve anything,” you replied, your tone becoming heightened. “Worry about the important things, like Ellie and finding your brother and—"

“You are important.”

He felt a rush of anger, but not at you. Never at you. He was angry at himself. Of course you felt unimportant when he’d spent so long making you feel that way. It wasn’t fair that he got to wake up one day and decide to stop being an asshole while you still had to live with the consequences of his assholery.

You sat there not saying anything, and Joel was certain that you were about to walk away from this conversation. The irony wasn’t lost on him; for two people who hated heartfelt discussions, you couldn’t seem to stop finding yourselves in the middle of them.

“Joel…” Your voice came out breathy and desperate. It was completely unexpected. He couldn’t describe the feeling of hearing you say his name like that. All he knew was that he wanted to fall to his knees at your feet.

“What do you need?” Joel asked. He hoped that he already knew the answer.

“I need you.”

He let out a shaky exhale—relieved and nervous all at once. “You have me, sweetheart. You know that."

Being naked on a grotty mattress with a fully-clothed man above you should have been horrifically vulnerable, but you couldn’t muster up any uncertainty with Joel. All you felt was an excited kind of anticipation.

You never expected Joel to be so affectionate, but he held you like you were something worth caring for. He took his time, kissing you slow and undressing you bit by bit until you were bare for him. You felt the same heated intensity you had that night in the woods, but without the crushing sense of urgency.

Your breath hitched when Joel trailed kisses from your chest down past your navel. He stopped at the lowest part of your belly, looking up at you with lustful, imploring eyes. “Can I taste you, sweetheart?”

“Please…” You already sounded embarrassingly wrecked.

Your body jolted when Joel dragged a finger through your soaked slit, gathering up the obscene amount of wetness that was dripping out of you and spreading it over your aching clit.

Then, without a word, he pushed himself up and off the bed. You looked at him in dismay, about to berate him for teasing, but your voice caught in your throat when he crouched down at the end of the bed and grabbed you by the hips, pulling you forward until your ass was lined up with the edge of the mattress, and your legs were thrown over his shoulders.

The sound that escaped you when Joel sucked your clit into his mouth was borderline feral. You didn’t know you were capable of making a noise like that—something between a pathetic gasp and a wanton moan.

“Oh f—Joel! Feels so good. What the fuck.” You were breathless and shaking and grabbing a fistful of his hair.

“Ssh, sweetheart,” Joel hushed. You clenched around nothing when his warm breath hit your drenched core. “Need you to be quiet. Can you do that for me, baby?”

He didn’t even wait for you to try and compose yourself before devouring you again. He had a lot of audacity to think he could tell you to be quiet as he tongue-fucked you senseless. And then, like he was trying to get you to scream, he prodded a finger at your entrance and slipped it inside.

“That feel good?” Joel asked, curling his finger as he pumped it into you.

You whined and pulled his hair harder. He let out a low groan and continued flicking his tongue over your clit, and it dawned on you that he wasn’t just doing this to make you feel good—he was doing it because he liked it.

He added another finger, and this time you did scream, but not before clasping a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. It was too much now. His mouth and fingers were unrelenting, as if worshipping your cunt was his only purpose on this earth.

“Joel—F-fuck—I think I’m gonna come.”

“You can come, baby. I got you.”

Those three words were all you needed. You came hard, sobbing and writhing and crushing Joel’s head between your thighs as you tried to clamp them shut. He could not have given less of a fuck—he continued his onslaught between your legs until you were twitching with overstimulation and pulling him off by his hair.

You threw an arm over your eyes, trying to catch your breath and recover from that earth-shattering orgasm. You heard the faint clink of a belt, followed by the soft sounds of fabric hitting the floor. You opened your eyes when the mattress dipped, revealing a very naked Joel Miller.

This took you by surprise more than anything else. You never thought that Joel would take his clothes off for you, and you wouldn’t have asked him to—he’d done it of his own volition. He wanted to bare himself to you like you had to him.

Plus, he was hot. You would have been attracted to him no matter what, but he was so undeniably sexy. His arms looked like they were carved from marble. He was broad and strong, but still had a wonderfully human softness about him. And his cock. Your mouth salivated at the sight. It was thick and long and beautiful. You wanted to drag your tongue along the vein that ran down his shaft and taste the leaking precum at the tip.

“You done starin’?” Joel asked, blushing at the way you were blatantly ogling him.

You giggled and climbed into his lap, your knees settling on either side of his hips. “Stop being so pretty if you don’t want me to stare.”

Joel let out a genuine, light-hearted laugh—something you’d only witnessed him do a handful of times. You wanted to bottle the sound and keep it forever. “I’m pretty, am I?”

“So pretty.” You leaned forward and kissed him, painfully aware of his hard cock pressed against your inner thigh.

You reached down and wrapped a hand around his length, teasing the slit with your thumb and spreading the dribbling fluid. You pumped him a few times, noticing the way his belly tightened as he sucked in a sharp breath.

“You’re so good, sweetheart," he spoke with a low, sultry tone, "but I really need to fuck you now.”

Joel had you pinned under him in a second, hiking your legs up around his hips while his cock bumped your entrance.

“Ready?” Joel asked.

You nodded eagerly and repeated what you told him earlier, “I need you.”

Joel lined the head of his cock up with your wet heat, stroking it through your folds and teasing your sensitive clit. He leaned down and placed a sweet kiss on your lips as he finally pushed into you.

The stretch stung even with how wet you were. You dug your nails into his back and tried not to wince, all while Joel planted comforting kisses around your face.

“It’ll feel good in a second, baby,” he whispered against your cheek. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

“It’s okay, Joel,” you assured him. “Don’t stop.”

He paused when he was buried to the hilt, giving you a moment to adjust. You weren’t completely inexperienced, but the sheer size of Joel was a lot to take.

But it wasn't long before the sting started to morph into pleasure. You felt keyed up and desperate and so incredibly full. “You can move now.”

His hands settled on your thighs as he pulled his cock out and slowly pushed it back in. Your walls fluttered around him, spurring him on. He did it again, this time plunging it harder and faster.

You gasped at the feeling, gushing around his cock and wrapping your legs around his waist to bring him closer. He set a steady, delicious pace, pounding into you the way you hadn't even known you'd been craving.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, sweetheart. Shit. So good. So fuckin' perfect.”

You moaned at his slurry of praise, angling your hips up so he reached even deeper. You ran a hand over his back and down to his plush ass, giving it a firm squeeze. Joel chuckled fondly and traced affectionate nibbles along your jaw.

It hit you all at once that you had never been this happy before. Having Joel in your arms, buried inside you, giving you everything he could was beyond euphoric. You didn't know if you would ever feel this good again.

And suddenly, he stopped. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Fuck. You were crying. “Nothing. Just don’t stop.”

“I need you to talk to me, sweetheart.” He made a move to pull out, but you panicked and tightened your legs around his waist to hold him there.

“It’s nothing bad. I just can’t believe this is happening,” you told him. Warm, pearly tears leaked from the corners of your eyes, but you smiled in spite of yourself. “It feels so good, and I’m just…really happy it's you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel cooed, kissing your tear-stained temples. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? So fuckin’ sweet. Gonna keep you forever, baby. Don’t worry.”

His mouth caught yours in a kiss that was both fervent and impossibly romantic. He tongue slipped past your lips, licking into your mouth with a tender intensity that had you mewling.

Joel resumed thrusting into you. His pace was slower, but his cock was hitting deeper. The warmth in your belly was quickly turning into a burning fire—a fire you wanted to keep on raging.

You were so close, and you knew Joel would never come before you did, but you were determined to hold out; to hold onto this rapturous intimacy as long as you could.

“It’s okay,” Joel said, as if he was reading your mind. “You’re okay.”

You couldn't stop it. Your walls tightened like a vice. You arched and trembled and clawed at Joel, muttering broken curses as he fucked you through your orgasm.

His hips faltered, his thrusts lost their rhythm, and you knew he was about to come. He probably needed to pull out. You probably needed to tell him to. But he just kept plunging his cock into you, and you kept letting him. His eyes were dark and pleading—he was begging you to let this happen.

You wanted him to do it. “Please, Joel.”

He growled a deep, rumbling ‘fuuuuck,' cock twitching and painting your walls with thick ropes of come.

He let out a contented sigh once he recovered and collapsed on top of you, burying his head in the crook of your neck while your fingers sifted through his damp hair.

This would be over soon. Before Joel could give in to his exhaustion and fall asleep on top of you, he would remember where he was: in a decaying cabin at the end of the world with two people who needed him. Soon enough, he would stand up, dress himself, and go back to keeping watch.

You wished you could have this with him all the time. You wished you could fall asleep with him, wake up with him, and spend your days together with some semblance of peace. You didn’t want much, but you wanted that.

“Was that your first time?”

The thought only occurred to Joel when everything was said and done and he was cleaning you up. It made sense—you were young when the outbreak happened, you’d been relatively alone until you met him and Tess, and he could tell by the way your body reacted to him that it wasn’t used to such an intrusion.

“No, but it felt like it,” you replied. “It’s the first time I’ve ever wanted to.”

Joel’s heart plummeted into his stomach. His mouth went dry, his jaw clicked the way it did when he was enraged, and he felt just about ready to kill someone.

“Not like that, Joel,” you said quickly. “I agreed to it. It was...I didn’t have anything else to trade.”

Joel was destroyed, but it wasn’t even a shocking revelation. He didn’t judge you for it—he’d turned to a lot worse in the name of survival—it just made him feel sick that you were ever in that position. You deserved to be cherished and taken care of, not used and discarded.

“Do you still do that?” He almost wanted to ask if you’d ever done it for his or Tess’s benefit, but he feared the answer would crush him.

“No. Not for years,” you replied. “It wasn’t that bad, honestly. It was only a couple of times.”

That’s still bad.

Joel held you close, stroking your hair and kissing your lovely face. Maybe it was because you had told him all of that while you were both still naked, but he felt like he needed to remind you that he adored your body, as well as the soul it carried.

He also felt like he needed to apologise. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“What for?”

“Just…everything. I hate the way I treated you.”

“I already forgave you, Joel.”

Your words should have been a relief, but they felt like a hot knife piercing right into his chest. “Why?”

“You apologised, and you changed.”

“And that’s enough?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because I hurt you. I made you feel like you shouldn’t be here.” His throat ached as he swallowed down the emotion rising in him. He didn't want to sound as devastated as he felt, because he knew you would comfort him if he did, and this wasn’t about him.

“You didn’t make me feel like that, Joel,” you spoke with gentle reassurance. “I felt that way for a long time. Before I met you.”

“Okay, but I didn’t help.”

“No, you didn’t, but that’s over now. I don’t want to keep harping on it.”

“What do you want?” Joel asked. It was a heavy question, and one you hadn’t considered in so long—he knew that because he hadn’t either.

You snuggled into him, so cute and cosy it made him ache. “Just this. Can we have this?”

Truthfully, Joel was terrified, and he knew it wasn’t going to stop. He used to think that having you close like this would make it harder, but there was a strange sense of relief in having this with you. He didn’t have to worry from afar anymore. He could hold onto you, and look after you. He had you right there with him.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

Joel laid with you until you fell asleep. He wanted to stay like that all night, sleeping with you curled up in his arms. He hoped that one day he would get to.

Right now, he needed to keep watch.

a/n: im so awkward about writing smut so if that came across while reading pls forgive me. im overall pretty happy with how this turned out. i might write some drabbles about this relationship down the road, but im leaving these two here for now. thanks for reading! p.s. in order to stay true to part one, im sick again posting this. (why do i keep getting sick??)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller imagine #the last of us #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction

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junesprince · 5 months

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im sorry if someone has pointed these out already but i replayed p5t again and i am in absolute SHAMBLES with these new observations. i never actually post my thoughts here but i kinda need people to talk to about p5t IM AUTISTIC AND HYPERFIXATED. anyway onto the real post, sorry if this is unorganized and messy. im just really excited

i really wanna talk about the whole event that happens in the 3rd kingdom, on the rooftop.

soo.. when the school crashes and transforms.. it resembles a clock. a train station??? and. said clock is unmoving. what struck me is the time it was stuck on. 6:00pm, or 18:00, the exact time The Train Incident (tm) takes place, and the exact time eri was pushed onto the train tracks at the station.

i guess you could say, toshiro is stuck in the past, unable to move on and process his trauma. it's the extreme guilt of him losing his closest friend and how standing up and rebelling... just ended up in so many people hurt. he can't possibly live bearing the sin of that.

but here's when it gets more interesting... when shadow toshiro was threatening to kill erina, and when erina/eri inspired toshiro to take a stand, he throws joker's knife through the shadows hand, but more specifically, through the gloved hand, the one damaged from the train.

then with a really good sequence, toshiro runs as fast as he possibly can (i wonder how he did that actually) and with flashing memories of him failing to save eri in between, he manages to catch erina before she falls. and... he catches her with his damaged hand. the same hand that failed to save eri, saved erina.

remember the clock from the beginning? it STARTS MOVING AGAIN right after this.

this whole scene is genuinely such a beautiful and symbolistic way to show that toshiro finally found his resolve, and that despite all that trauma in the past, he's ready to change for the better and move again.

oh, and one more thing. toshiros mask only has one eye shown. the left one... the one that eri lost. they have ONE EYE EACH AAAAGHHH!! their souls really are connected.

what gets me more is that one of toshiros catchphrases in combat iirc is "witness OUR power as ONE" and it makes me go insane because he basically sees eri as his hero (here ill quote a futaba dialogue that hit me hard: "natsuhara's like the undefeated heroine in toshiro's life story, huh?") and she made him feel like he's more than just a puppet of his father. she inspired him to take a stand, and while this resulted badly, it led to his LITERAL SOUL subconsciously manifesting into a being heavily based on her (erina)

he just believes that eri/erina is a huge part of who he is. so "witness our power as one"

the fact he doesn't have a real PT outfit disappoints me a bit, but id like to think it's because eri taught him that he doesn't need to become all cool and change himself to rebel. he just needs to be himself. that's really it.

some extra things i have noticed:

-shadow toshiros 'weapon' is basically just bandages. i first thought this was a twisted more distorted version of the bandages eri gave toshiro when they first met (since shadow toshiro claims to despise eri)?? but someone in yt comments pointed out its probably made from eri's bandages after the incident. and i think that makes much more sense

-toshiro is the only persona user that has a persona opposite of his gender... that's kinda... 🏳️‍⚧️ if you ask me...heh (im trans)

-i know many know already but erinas character design is GENIUS . like ... the covered eye and the prosthetic leg?? referencing eri?? SO FUCKING WELL DONE. genuinely one of my fav character designs in persona

-not really an observation but remember the 'thank you instead of sorry' hideout talk where toshiro tells the gang about eri more?? when it was finished and toshiro said "natsuhara-senpai...um, thank you." IT TORE MY HEART STRINGS STOOOPPP

-idk im kinda unnormal about eritoshi. that's all

#persona 5 tactica #persona 5 tactica spoilers #p5t #p5t spoilers #toshiro kasukabe #p5t erina #eri natsuhara #thanks for reading all of this if u did :)#i love this game so much. seriously amazing #i migjt post more of things like this. maybe #eritoshi

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mamaspeckles · 5 months

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hii ! i was wondering if you could write something with velvet with a fem reader where it's after one of her concerts and she's really stressed and it's kinda angsty and ends smutty if you can? if not that's ok !

Oh my goodness this..,i been WAITING!!! For someone to request this to me! Of course I can write this babes!!! I hope you do like it

Velvet x Fem Reader NSFW

ANGST AND SMUT WARNING

CHARACTERS ARE 17+

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Velvet emerged from the stage, the echoes of the concert still resonating in her mind. As the cheers faded, a heavy silence settled within her. The weight of expectations and the relentless pace of fame had left her drained.

You, her lover and devoted fan, had been lingering near the backstage entrance. Sensing Velvet's distress, you had approached the popstar cautiously. "Velvet, are you okay?" you asked, concern etched on your face.

She glared at you, velvet’s eyes reflecting the stress and anger issues hidden behind her stage persona. "Does it look like I’m ok?," velvet stated in a snappy tone, her voice loud enough to make the stage fall into shambles.- One moment your girlfriend was standing there yelling at you, the next she had dragged you by your hair into her stage room and thrown onto her vanity.

As the tension began to grow, Velvet's lips had forcefully found yours in a desperate and rough kiss. The kiss held the weight of unspoken emotions, a release from the pressures of stardom. In that very moment, the boundaries she had respected blurred between the two of you.- velvet gripped onto the hem of your shirt as she tore it off. You let out a shocked gasp as a you watched velvet go from ripping off your gold plated shirt to sucking and biting at your chest. “ fuck.. you look so good~..”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

PT.2 COMING SOON

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Yo this story is shi- ngl I actually am so disappointed in this story someone shun me for this monstrosity

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loremaster · 5 months

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oh yeah. so i’ve been rewatching a playthrough of rain code with my partner, and this line from vivia’s second gumshoe gab really got me:

now, it’s implied that all the gumshoe gabs take place before chapter 1… so i wonder… given what happens in the story and to whom… has vivia changed his tune about this at all?

of course there’s a lot to read into with this scene, vivia’s being coy about the idea that he is immortal (which, I wondered the same thing as yuma for the same reason in the beginning), being his usual secretive self. it’s also clear he’s thought about this hypothetical a lot, what you would do if you lived forever, and how it’d all eventually lead back to craving death in the end

we now know that vivia is not immortal, he’s just extremely fixated on death for other (understandable) reasons. he is absolutely able to die and kinda… lives his life on that edge, however long it may end up being. but even though ghosts, spirits, and the afterlife have been part of his reality for his whole life… immortality has not

it sounds like it’s straight out of a story. a fantastical idea that could only be real in someone’s made-up world. romantic, not in a relationship sense but in a thoughtful, poetic sense. for vivia, someone who craves (eventual) death, the idea of craving a death you can never have, that yearning… of course it’s very romantic. it makes one’s heart flutter, the thought of feeling anything that strongly… forever.

to him at this point, it’s a fantasy. it’s a story. it’s fictional. an idea to mull around in his overactive head, yet another escape from reality.

but as we find out later… here? it’s absolutely real. it’s real and it’s everywhere and it’s everyone.

when does that fantastical yearning for death cease to become romantic and instead become horrifying?

it’s only been three years since the people of kanai ward were replaced with immortal doppelgängers, so we don’t really know for sure… will they still die of old age? of sickness? or, if left unchecked, will an imperfect homunculus go on to live forever?

they can die, sure. but not in the way that vivia is so intimately familiar with. the homunculi leave no ghosts behind, instead their bodies keep walking - forever, while their minds remain shut down. it’s unclear really but it seems as if their spirits are trapped within their bodies but unable to control them. to die without being able to move on to any sort of afterlife is the exact opposite of what vivia yearns for. his whole life, he’s been connected to this other world, to people who have moved on from his life to that world, and one day wishes to join them there. but being held in this interminable jail between either world must be hell to him. too terrifying to be called romantic… and yet

we still have to talk about yakou.

yeah that’s right, you all thought it, this is why you came here to read this post

of course with vivia being as secretive as he is, it’s hard to say definitively whether his feelings for yakou are romantic in the relationship sense… (i personally do believe so, i’m going to cling to whatever scraps of queerness i can get) but they absolutely for sure are in the poetic sense. yakou was able to help vivia back up from his lowest point and give him something - and someone - to live for. gave him a place to call home. sounds like it’s straight out of a story.

and yet after inspiring vivia to stop chasing death, he immediately resigns himself to his own as soon as he gets that letter, in order to reunite with his wife.

yakou, as an imperfect homunculus who has died (through his own machinations), is now trapped in that zombie hellscape. no ghost, no spirit, no rest for the dead. he is, at least according to vivia’s definition of it, Unable To Die. …sounds like it’s straight out of a story…

yakou’s body is just a shambling husk now. and even with a potential cure for zombified brain cells thanks to his wife… what next? that still doesn’t solve the immortality problem. he’s still gatekept from the everlasting peace and quiet of the afterlife. he’s still separated from his beloved. he’s still Unable To Die. and in his current state he’s even unable to form enough semblance of thought to yearn for his own death.

so vivia has to do the yearning for him.

how romantic.

#rain code #rain code spoilers #viviakou

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starres-stuff · 24 days

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Yesterday I watched something that had been part of my XIV life for three years fall apart. There was a mixed well of emotions that bubbled and boiled inside of me the good, the bad and the downright ugly. It was hard to watch this as the people inside of this place were there when Covid hit, many prayed for me when I was hospitalized last year and almost lost my life. It wasn't always the best, it wasn't always the nicest but it was a huge part of my life something I didn't actually consider until I watched it all fall apart.

Change comes and change goes. Memories are ghosts that haunt the mind. In the end it was people who brought it there not because they were tired, not because they were burnt out but because they were malicious and cruel.

One thing that stuns me is how easy it is to forget there are people on the other side of the screen. No you can't see them, you can't drive on by for a visit most of the time but these are real people. They are people who touch your life with their stories ic and ooc. They are people who are there when your life goes to hell and who are there to celebrate with you when things go great. They are as real as that person you can reach out and touch. To those of us who are empaths and energy workers we even learn that the spirit can transcend the physical form and far away is only as far as you make it.

We laugh with these internet friends, we cry with them. We stay up all night even though we have a busy morning to make sure they are okay. We think about them when a song comes on the radio or when we think of two of ocs and their ship. We love these people in many different ways and many different seasons.

But yet.. so many treat these internet friends like they aren't important, like they are disposal, like it is okay to toss them aside or okay to hurt them because "they aren't real" the thing is they have a heart beat just like you and somewhere they are sitting in the dark wondering what they did wrong.

The XIV community can be hell to navigate and I don't just mean the RPers, the Modders or even the Raiders. I mean the whole thing. Every day I see someone calling out someone else or someone pulling screenshots out of their ass to use in some narrative they concocted.

Stop..

For five minutes just stop look at the people who have touched your life in game. Those people who send you messages every day to see how you are feeling or compliment you on your latest gpose. Those people who eagerly wait to rp with you again or want to hear about your stories for your ocs. See those people? Their avatars on your screens or in your pictures. Those are real people sitting in a chair somewhere in the world wanting to make friends and be accepted so life feels just a little bit better.

It's okay to love them you know, or admit that you need them in your life. What's not okay is treating them like garbage to the point that they have been treated so poorly they quit the game all together and never plan to return.

Betrayal is not okay. Weaponizing something someone tells you in confidence is not okay. I don't care if it is offline or online. It is not okay to use people's life stories to hurt others especially when you called them friend for so long.

Today I am sad. I don't like change. I don't like when the friend that has been there for years suddenly leaves my life to start another path and I certainly hate lack of closure for it leaves a hole to fester inside the mind and the heart that is never filled no matter how hard you try. Today that place I knew for so long is in shambles. People have left, I have left.

Please just be a little kinder to those internet people around you. It doesn't matter how far apart we are when we look out the window we see the same sun, the same moon and the same stars. We are all people in the same place. Distance means nothing but hope does. These are real lives and real people. Be a little softer, a little kinder and a little gentler.

#vent post #and it harm none do what you will #ooc ffxiv stuff #one persons opinion #not a hot take #people on the internet are real people.

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4getfulimaginator2022 · 3 months

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A big thank you

Prelude: I never wanted to watch Game of Thrones. I never planned to invest in any of the characters from the show, and I had zero interest in the story. Some years ago, I was a devoted Once Upon a Time (ABC) fan. I enthusiastically watched every episode, and I belonged to a fandom for the first time in my life. It was an eye-opening experience, and then my newfound shipper heart grew tenfold with Captain Swan, the pairing between Emma (main character) and Killian (Captain Hook). We only hoped at first they would become a couple, and then our greatest dream eventually came true: they were a canon ship. I was so proud and thrilled. I never dreamed I could write anything longer than a short story, but here I was, penning over 500,000 words of fanfic for them. They were a shining light guiding me through storytelling, and I will never forget that they inspired me to write novel-length fics.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end. The fire died out. I had 3 unfinished fics left. And my original writing - the novels I wanted to create myself, apart from fanfic - was in shambles. My writing spark was disappearing. At some point these past several years, I wondered if I was actually meant to be a writer at all, or if I was just fooling myself. Was it all just a happy coincidence? My writer's block grew. I haven't written anything for the past 2 years.

Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, Jorah and Daenerys from Game of Thrones appeared in my YouTube recommendations just a few weeks ago. Only them, mind you. Maybe the algorithm had somehow figured out my previous obsession with Anastasia and Iskender from Magnificent Century: Kosem, a Turkish TV show with a doomed, unrequited love between a knight and the girl who would someday become his queen (beautiful score, by the way). Or maybe it wasn't that at all. My interest was piqued. Who was Jorah, and why was he so loyal to Daenerys? Loyalty intrigues me. It's one of the traits I treasure most in characters, so of course I went "down the rabbit hole" and found out everything there was to know about Jorah's relationship with Daenerys. Of course it had to be unrequited. Of course it never became canon. But I love it. It's a wonderful story of devotion, growth, caring. I get that people saw the age difference as an obstacle, but I think that Jorah's love was so rare in this world of selfish desires. It was refreshing - and very romantic. Cynic though I am in reality, I am at heart a romantic, and I always will be.

Continuing from YouTube and whatever I could glean, I found myself looking here on Tumblr for gifsets, fanfiction...and I visited AO3 after a prolonged absence to find every Jorleesi fanfic in existence. I laughed and smiled like I hadn't in such a long time.

Anyway, I'm so sorry to put this in the tags when I have nothing to offer but my sincere thanks. Thank you to all of you who love this ship. You helped a weary would-be writer get back on her feet and start typing again. Bless you! 💖 I'm so happy to be part of this lovely fandom.

#daenerys x jorah #jorleesi

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cirilla-fiona-riannon · 1 year

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Ikemen Sengoku (JP)

Kicho's Main Story Chapter 3 Part 2

JP Spoilers under the cut

It has been about three weeks since I became Kicho's secretary.

I've been accompanying him on his work, but I haven't been able to get the information I'm looking for.

Moreover, Motonari hasn't been in contact with him since his true identity was revealed, so I don't know what he's doing.

I hardly played my part as a spy because of this, and right now, he called me into his room.

Mai: "You're leaving for a few days?"

Kicho: "Yeah, I have a business appointment outside of Sakai."

Mai: "I see. Well, please be careful."

(I could go to town while he's gone.)

Kicho: "What are you talking about? Do you really think I'll leave you here alone?"

Mai: "Wait, you're taking me with you?"

Kicho: "Of course."

Kicho: "We'll leave the day after tomorrow. You should be ready by then."

(What the heck, this is just too sudden!)

Kicho: "That's all. Any other questions?"

Mai: "No, no questions."

(If I give up my job as a secretary, I won't be able to stay here.)

(And even if he leaves me behind, I'm sure he'll find a way to monitor me.)

(I might hear something from him on the trip, so I should stay positive.)

Two days later.

I finished getting ready and left Sakai with Kicho.

Kicho: "It looks like whoever took you in was quite nice to you."

Kicho: "I didn't expect you to be able to ride a horse."

Mai: "Well, I learned a lot from a certain spartan."

Mai: "Besides, she's calm and quiet, so she's easy to ride."

Kicho: "The way you put it, does that mean the horse you rode before wasn't?"

Mai: "Yes, she was alert and fearless."

(That horse doesn't easily trust anyone and will mercilessly shake anything on top of her.)

Kicho: "I see. Horses, like people, have their own personalities."

Kicho: "Besides, the horse you're riding now sometimes carries guests, so it's probably used to people."

Mai: "I see. Is your horse used to people too? He seems very calm."

Kicho: “No, he’s very cautious. He’s used to me, but if anyone else tries to ride him, he gets violent.”

Mai: "Is that so?"

(I can't imagine that from the looks of this one.)

The dignified horse he was riding had a beautiful white coat that looked like something out of a fairy tale and seemed unfazed by the slightest thing.

(In fairytales, a white horse is something a prince would ride, but when he rides it, it's picture-perfect.)

(Somehow, the atmosphere here fits him perfectly.)

As I stared at him, Kicho kept his grip on the reins and turned his head to the side.

Kicho: "I can see it now. There's a small village down the mountain."

Kicho: "Let's take a break there. I've already talked with the village chief."

Mai: "Okay."

Kicho: ".............."

Mai: "What's this place?"

When we arrived at the village, we found that the fields had been burned, and several houses were in shambles.

(There are some burn marks, but it looks like it was destroyed rather than burned.)

(Is this really because of a fire?)

Kicho looked around and spoke, looking calm.

Kicho: “It happens all the time.”

Mai: “You mean this?”

Kicho: “Yeah, especially in this turbulent world. It’s probably the work of bandits.”

Mai: “How can they just leave them like this?”

Kicho: “Some people will stop at nothing to survive.”

Mai: “Oh no...”

(That doesn’t mean you can just shrug it off as something common.)

(I wonder if I can handle living in an era like this.)

Kicho: “Let’s go to the village chief’s house. It’s on this road, at the end of the village.”

Village chief: “Lord Kicho, it’s been a while.”

(So this is the village chief.)

As soon as we arrived at the house, which was a little grander than the others in the village, an elderly man with a gentle demeanor came out from inside.

He bowed deeply to Kicho, then looked at me and bowed the same way.

I hurriedly returned the greeting, and the village chief smiled warmly at me.

Village chief: “Welcome to our village.”

Village chief: “You must be surprised. We were attacked by bandits just the other day.”

Kicho: "Were the villagers safe?"

Village chief: "Yes. There were a few injured, but we somehow managed."

Village chief: "The village men were able to drive them away, but they were all scared after that."

Village chief: "I'm afraid they'll come again."

Kicho: "I see."

Village chief: "It's all that guy's fault."

Village chief: "The crops aren't growing well, and the village has been set on fire by bandits. I wonder what kind of disaster he will bring next."

(That guy?)

Mai: "Um, who are you referring to?"

Village chief: "I'm sorry, but I don't think I should discuss these things with a guest."

Village chief: "I think it’s better if you don't know."

Mai: "I see."

(There's no way I can ask when you say it like that.)

Village chief: "Anyway, you never know what might happen in this village, so it would be better for you guys to stay in the next town, even though it's a little far away."

Kicho: "Yeah, I understand. Mai."

Kicho called me by my name and looked toward the horse tied to the front of the house.

(I guess that means we're just gonna leave.)

(It's frustrating to see someone suffering, but that doesn't mean I can't do anything about it.)

Kicho: "Then, if you need anything, please send a message to the trading post."

Village chief: "Understood. Please be careful."

We said our goodbyes and were about to leave when一

Villager: "Chief! They're here again!"

A man came running in, looking frantic.

(Don't tell me...?)

Village chief: "Bandits?"

Villager: "Yes, the patrol guy spotted them! They'll be here shortly!"

Village chief: "Gather the old men, women, and children and get them all inside the house."

Village chief: "Take your weapons and prepare to fight back. Tell everyone immediately."

Villager: "Yes, sir!"

Village chief: "Both of you. You heard him, so please leave now."

Mai: "But this village一"

Village chief: "We can't involve you."

Mai: ".............."

The village chief said it so clearly that I couldn't say anything, but Kicho, standing next to me, quietly shook his head.

Kicho: "No, we'll stay here and give you a hand."

Village chief: "What?"

Kicho: "Even if we left, there's a chance we would meet them. If that happens, we would be at a disadvantage, and it would jeopardize my plans."

Village chief: "Lord Kicho."

Kicho: "Mai. Stay here and hide with the other villagers."

Mai: "Okay."

Village chief: "Then, let's go. Let's get rid of these savages together."

Kicho: "Yeah."

Mai: "Wait!"

As Kicho started to walk away, I grabbed his haori tightly and held him back.

Kicho: "What's wrong?"

Mai: "U-Um."

Surprised at my own actions, I looked back into his eyes, looking down at me.

Mai: "Please be safe. Make sure you come back."

Kicho: "..............."

Kicho: "I have no intention of dying here."

Mai: "Good."

When I removed my hand from his clothes, it fluttered like a butterfly and returned to its original shape.

Then, all of a sudden, he reached out and discreetly gripped my hand.

Mai: "Huh?"

Kicho: "Stay safe, Mai."

With that, he pulled his hand away from mine and quickly walked away.

(That surprised me.)

(Wait, I don't have time to stand around. I need to do something!)

I spotted a figure fleeing toward here for shelter and waved my still-warm hand vigorously.

Mai: "Hurry up, everyone! This way!"

Everyone gathered in one room, and when all the doors were closed, the room became as dark as night.

(Based on the noise outside, I think they're already here.)

A nasty feeling welled inside my body at the thought of a battle happening outside.

(Please, just get it over with. Don't let anyone die.)

I clenched my hands tightly, and then一

Boy: "Help!"

Mai: "-----!"

A boy wearing a tattered kimono came tumbling in, looking desperate.

(Maybe someone failed to escape!?)

Boy: "She’s going to die! Help me!"

Old woman: "Stop. That thing doesn't need to be here."

(Excuse me?)

I looked at the people around me, dumbfounded by their harsh, cold voices, as they all looked coldly at the crying kid.

(What's with this crazy atmosphere?)

(What do they mean by "he doesn't need to be here?")

Boy: "Big sister!"

Mai: "Ah..."

The boy grabbed my sleeve as I stood there confused一his big black eyes, wet with tears, stared straight at me.

Boy: "Help me. Please, help me."

Mai: "............."

The next thing I knew, I ran out of the room, holding the boy's hand.

Mai: "Hey, where are you from?"

Boy: "From the house on the other side of the road."

(It's on the other side of the village. Kicho ran towards it earlier, so the bandits are probably out there.)

I can see the smoke rising in the air.

It's probably impossible to run through there with a child in tow.

(If that's the case...)

Mai: "Hey, don't let go of my hand, okay?"

Bandit 1: "Whoa! What the hell?"

Bandit 2: "It's a wild horse! Get away from it!"

Boy: "Sister!"

Mai: "S-Sorry! Please! Calm down!"

I charge into the middle of the battle while riding Kicho's white horse with the kid.

(I never thought the horse we're riding would be so scared to move!)

I was about to get thrown off, but I squeezed my hands to keep both the reins and the kid from letting go.

(If we keep going down this road, we can get to the house.)

(There's a fire out there, so we have to hurry!)

We continued on our way while knocking off the bandits blocking us and managed to reach our destination.

Mai: "Where is she? We need to get her and hide somewhere safe."

Boy: "Here! She's in here!"

Mai: "What?"

The boy pointed to the house that was on fire.

(Is there really someone in there?)

(No matter how much I want to, I can't do it in this fire. We have to turn back and ask for help.)

(Wait, no. Even if I did, no one's gonna help us.)

Mai: "Now that this happens!"

I grabbed a nearby pail, poured the water over my head, and jumped into the burning house.

Mai: "Ugh."

I winced at the heat, burning my skin, and covered my mouth with my sleeve to avoid inhaling the hot air.

I frantically searched for the girl, but the smoke made it difficult to see the inside.

(There she is! The girl!)

I immediately rushed over to her as I found her cowering in the corner of the room.

Mai: "Are you okay? Let's get out of here一kyaah!?"

We stepped back, but a large pillar fell in front of us, blocking our exit.

(This is bad. We can't run away like this.)

Girl: "Sis, I can't do it anymore."

Mai: "Don't say that. Let's survive together!"

(If only I can get this thing out of the way, we can get out!)

Mai: "Guh!"

I put all my strength into my hands in an attempt to lift the heavy pillar but to no avail.

(I can't breathe, but if I don't do this, we'll die.)

Contrary to my feelings, I felt the strength draining out of my body.

(I don't want to die. I don't want to give up.)

(Please, someone!)

Kicho: "Mai!"

Mai: “Kicho!?”

Kicho: "Don't give up. Keep going and put your strength into it."

Mai: "O-Okay!"

I tried lifting the pillar once again, eventually creating a small escape route.

Kicho: "I'll hold it up like this. You take the kids and go outside."

Mai: "Okay!"

I took the kids by the hand, and went outside to escape the fire.

(I need to get them both to a safe place for now. Huh?)

(Is the fight over?)

Kicho: "If you're wondering about the bandits, we've already got rid of them."

Kicho came over, still petting the agitated horse and pulling on the reins with his other hand.

Like me, water droplets were dripping from his hair, and his face was slightly pale.

Mai: "Already?"

Kicho: "Yeah, we were struggling, but thanks to you charging in with this horse, we've turned the tables."

(I see. It was a riot.)

(Even though we drove them away, everything is already in shambles.)

The houses and fields set on fire by the bandits are still smoking.

(It’s gonna be hard to extinguish the fire if it’s burning all over the place like this.)

(At least these kids are safe.)

Mai: “Are you two okay?”

Girl: “Yes.”

Boy: “Thank you, sister. And you, too, big brother.”

Seeing the two of them holding each other’s hands and alive almost brought tears to my eyes.

(I’m really, really glad.)

Mai: “Thank you for saving us.”

Mai: “If I tried handling it myself, we would’ve died together.”

Kicho: “Yeah, you would’ve died.”

Kicho: “Why did you do that? If you die helping others, won't you regret it?”

Mai: “No, it’s not like that!”

He looked at me sternly as I replied to him loudly.

(I don’t want to die for any reason.)

(At that time, I really wanted to hide and ignore everything, but一)

------------Flashback------------

Boy: “She’s going to die! Help me!”

Old woman: “Stop. That thing doesn’t need to be here.”

---------Flashback Ends---------

I remember the chilling words toward the boy’s grief-stricken cries.

(I see. I acted just like him at that time.)

(Even if this is a turbulent time, even if it’s someone that doesn’t need to be here一)

Mai: “Not a single life deserves to die.”

Kicho: “-----!”

Mai: “I understand what often happens in a world like this.”

Mai: “Injustice can happen at any time, and there may be times when even your desire to live may not be fulfilled.”

Mai: “But I don’t think you should give up because of that.”

Mai: “No matter what the truth is, you shouldn’t give up.”

I said these words to soothe the insecurity in me, and Kicho’s eyes wavered in response to these.

It was painful to watch, so I gently looked away.

Just then一

???: “Damn it, he’s alive!”

About The New Book

The thing I ordered earlier arrived. Come straight to my office tomorrow after work to pick it up. It's more difficult than the first book I gave you, but it's worth a try.

When I traveled in the future, I had many difficulties. Among them was being unable to read and write.

It was important to learn what was being used there一both to communicate and to gain any necessary knowledge.

If you're going to live in this period, your efforts today will surely help you.

By the way, how was the tea the other day? If you like it, I'll make you another pot. That's the least I can do to help you, so feel free to let me know.

-Kicho

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#ikemen sengoku #ikesen kicho #ikesen jp #ikesen spoilers #ikesen kichou #kicho #ikesen #cybird #ikesen translations

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chosetherose · 6 months

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FULL ARTICLE:

WHEN TRAVIS KELCE was a young man, his college football coach pulled him aside one day and told him the secret of life: Everybody you meet in this world is either a fountain or a drain.

“I need fountains,” the coach growled at Kelce. “I don’t need f—ing drains. Travis, you’re f—ing draaaining me!”

The advice left a deep impression. (“Changed his life,” says one of Kelce’s closest friends.) Yes, Kelce thought—you’re either a giver of the basic wellsprings of life or a thirsty taker. He vowed to be the former. In a world of gutters, be a geyser.

You think about that story as Kelce drives you around his beloved Kansas City, home of his world-champion Chiefs, for whom he’s the star tight end and arguably the second-most popular player, after his best friend, quarterback Patrick Mahomes. You think about that story on a gorgeous autumn afternoon as Kelce gives you a personal tour of his decadelong history in this city, his singular journey from clueless rook to legend. (“I used to take this scenic route [to the stadium]—there’s just something about seeing the city you’re about to go represent….”)

You can’t help thinking about that fountain story, not only because Kelce’s custom-made Rolls-Royce looks like a font of glowing light, not only because its silver goddess hood ornament is a burbling spigot of mercury. You think about that story because, as Kelce stops at a red light, as shirtless guys begin shambling toward the Rolls, apparently intent on opening the doors, getting an autograph, maybe even catching a ride, Kelce doesn’t seem the least bit alarmed. He’s smiling, waving, honking, even chuckling at a fan who leaps off the curb and “hits the stanky leg,” a dance Kelce has been known to bust out after a touchdown. At one point Kelce rolls down the window and exchanges hellos with some guy heedlessly reversing his rig into oncoming traffic, just so he can pull alongside Kelce and give a thumbs-up.

A different sort of celebrity might be more guarded, might even chirp those big Rolls tires and speed away before someone throws their body across the luminous silver bonnet, but Kelce’s default emotion is this—exuberant extroversion. He likes people. Loves people. Never mind deciding not to be a drain. If people gush at him, he can’t help it, he gushes back.

Noting all this, you think how fame itself might be a kind of fountain. Some people moan about getting wet, others frolic like kids around a hydrant. You even wonder if this fountain-drain paradigm might be the skeleton key to Kelce, the Rosetta Stone for which half of America seems to be hunting right now.

Kelce was famous for several years, thanks to his Hall of Fame résumé, his symbiotic relationship with Mahomes, but that was just football famous. This year, after winning the Super Bowl, after hosting Saturday Night Live, after starring in all the commercials, Kelce became inescapable. And that was before—you know.

People have begun to ask in all earnestness why they can’t turn on their TV anymore without seeing Kelce’s sculpted mug. They wonder, not with snark, but in all sincerity: Who the frick is this guy? And where did he come from?

You have a TV. You wonder too. So you decide to join the search for answers. One weekend, in the thick of football season, you get on a plane to Kansas City.

BUT FIRST. Back up. Like that knucklehead who threw it into reverse, go back. Before you can take the Travis Michael Kelce Guided Tour, you need to watch him cry.

Kelce is a hard man to tackle, but he’s shockingly easy to trigger. You just have to mention his best friends, the tight-knit crew who hang at his house and tag along on his golf outings, who manage his money and curate his diet and fill his private suite at Arrowhead Stadium. Suddenly, his cornflower-blue eyes, which normally twinkle, start to glisten. Now come the tears. Big sloppy ones. Talk about your fountains.

Kelce tries to play it off. He launches a sentence, stops. He launches another, again aborts. He paws his eyes with his giant hands and looks to be on the verge of losing it, because if Kelce loves people, what he really loves is his people.

This whole display takes place on a Monday afternoon at a Kansas City steakhouse, where you and Kelce are having an early dinner. Like, retirement-community early. He’s in recovery mode, healing from dozens of violent collisions sustained during the previous day’s win over division rival Los Angeles, and food is medicine. He can intuit when he’s hit the caloric sweet spot necessary to mend or maintain his 6-foot-5, 260-pound frame (roughly 4,000), and he’s not there yet. So he orders the dry-aged filet rubbed with coffee, Caesar salad (hold the anchovies), a side of “triple-cooked” fries and a glass of water.

After a long pause, and several Lamaze breaths, Kelce collects himself, apologizes. Can’t help it, he says; those folks who always have his back, who call him by the ancient secret nicknames (Big Yeti, El Travedor, Killatrav, Michael, etc.)—they’re everything. He doesn’t think of them as his entourage; he thinks of them as family, an extension of “Mama Kelce” and “Poppa Kelce” and older brother Jason, the starting center for the Philadelphia Eagles.

Patrick Bacon, a friend since first grade, says Kelce’s go-to method of winding down after a hard game or long day is to sit with this “core group” around his kitchen island and chop it up. Talk, that’s what nourishes Kelce, not videogames, not bottle service at some club.

“He loves to talk about the old days,” Bacon says. But it has to be with people from the old days. People who know that Kelce will sometimes dismiss a bad or subpar thing as “buns.” People who know that one of Kelce’s favorite desserts is French toast dripping with whipped cream and syrup. People who know that, growing up, he played every sport in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, and also know the difference between Cleveland Heights and Cleveland proper. You want to break into the Kelce core group? You better have a phone number that starts with 216.

And yet, you wonder how well his friends really know him, how well he lets anyone know him, because to a person they all say Trav lives in the moment, Trav never thinks about tomorrow, Trav never worries about retirement, despite recently turning 34, making him a Gollum in the NFL, whereas Kelce confesses that he thinks about it nonstop, “more than anyone could ever imagine.” In the same spirit, perhaps, he keeps his own counsel about his round-the-clock physical anguish. “That’s the only thing I’ve never really been open about,” he says, “the discomfort. The pain. The lingering injuries—the 10 surgeries I’ve had that I still feel every single surgery to this day.”

Kansas City’s longtime tight ends coach, Tom Melvin, says Kelce undersells the pain because the alternative is not playing, and the man will not miss games. “He has phenomenal pain tolerance. He’s played through things that other athletes I’ve coached through the years have not been able to push through. Mentally tough—way off the charts.”

Kelce’s trainer and physical therapist, Alex Skacel, says there’s not a single day, in season, when Kelce stretches out on the training table and doesn’t have some gruesome bruise. What few realize, however, is the insane number of scratches. Guys claw each other out there, Skacel says; it can leave Kelce’s epidermis striated with crimson. To bounce back after such abuse requires more than basic therapy. Kelce and Skacel use a battery of esoteric treatments, from cupping to dry needling to occlusion therapy: essentially tying off a limb with a tourniquet while Kelce works out. Kelce also adheres to a pregame regimen of anti-inflammatories, which he doesn’t like to discuss because they “have a history of affecting people’s insides.”

Despite it all, Kelce sounds like a man who’s never loved football more. Skacel recalls being with Kelce in Paris for Fashion Week. Around midnight, after 12 hours of bouncing from one designer show to another, Kelce was feeling guilty that he hadn’t done enough that day for his body. He suggested a run. Soon, a quick jog along the Seine turned into a mini-marathon, then wind sprints across empty bridges. While Paris slept, Kelce and Skacel grinded. It was cinematic, both men say, a double pump of adrenaline, like something out of Rocky. More, it was a reaffirmation of what matters most.

IF KELCE BROODS on life without football, one reason is that he had an excruciating sneak preview. A redshirt sophomore at Cincinnati, he got booted off the team for smoking pot. In a blink, he lost everything—his purpose, his meaning. “It was like my life was over.”

He also lost his scholarship. He had to get a job. The best one he could find was at a telemarketing firm, doing healthcare surveys. “Eye-opening,” he says, bowing his head.

Cold-calling people in southern Ohio, northern Kentucky, eastern Indiana, asking what they thought of Obamacare, taught him a lot. (“Uh, sir, I ran out of the comment box, I can’t write anymore, we gotta kind of keep this moving.”) Above all it taught him that he didn’t want to ever do that again.

He probably won’t have to. He’s got options. Sometimes he sees himself in a broadcasting booth. Sometimes his manager talks about action flicks. (Maybe a Marvel movie? Kelce’s already built like Wolverine.) You also get the sense that Kelce toys with notions of doing some form of comedy. He haunts clubs, lives for open-mic nights, and he’s gotten to be friendly with several rising stand-ups.

At the moment, of course, the only thing millions of people want to know about Kelce’s future is whether or not it will include Taylor Swift. And the second thing they’re dying to know is how he and she got together in the first place.

More study has been dedicated to the opening salvos of their relationship than to the first seconds of the Big Bang, and thus far both origins remain a mystery. People have even speculated that Kelce somehow spoke his desire into the universe and just—manifested Swift?

Did he sit in a dark room and say Jumanji three times? He laughs. “I don’t know if I want to get into all of it,” he says, and then he gets into it, because fountain.

It all started when he tried to meet Swift at her Arrowhead concert in July and got blocked, presumably by security. He then recounted the experience in a charming way on the podcast he does with Jason. Soon after, he says, he received an unbidden assist from inside Team Swift.

“There were definitely people she knew that knew who I was, in her corner [who said]: Yo! Did you know he was coming? I had somebody playing Cupid.” He wasn’t aware at the time, however; the revelation only came later, after he looked down at his phone and got the shock of a lifetime. “She told me exactly what was going on and how I got lucky enough to get her to reach out.”

He lets slip that some of his early helpers were part of the Swift family tree. “She’ll probably hate me for saying this, but…when she came to Arrowhead, they gave her the big locker room as a dressing room, and her little cousins were taking pictures…in front of my locker.”

Understandably, he’s not handing out details about the first date, though he will say that he managed to not be nervous. “When I met her in New York, we had already kind of been talking, so I knew we could have a nice dinner and, like, a conversation, and what goes from there will go from there.”

If anyone was nervous, he adds, it was his core group. “Everybody around me telling me: Don’t f— this up! And me sitting here saying: Yeah—got it.”

As those first heady days unfolded, as news bulletins and cutaways showed Swift cheering Kelce on from his suite, Kelce was uncharacteristically guarded with the media. “That was the biggest thing to me: make sure I don’t say anything that would push Taylor away.”

Likewise, his mother. Donna Kelce still berates herself for how she handled a question about Taylor on the Today show. Trying not to sound too enthusiastic, she came off underwhelmed. Kelce, not wanting his mom to feel bad, immediately phoned her and assured her that she did a super job—adding that her green eyeglasses looked great.

These days, however, with the relationship progressing, Donna feels more at liberty. “I can tell you this,” she says, beaming. “He’s happier than I’ve seen him in a long time…. God bless him, he shot for the stars!”

Kelce seems freer, too. He doesn’t need to be asked about Taylor; he mentions her unreservedly, lavishes praise on her, calls her “hilarious,” “a genius,” notes that they share compatible worldviews, especially when it comes to family and work. “Everybody knows I’m a family guy,” he says. “Her team is her family. Her family does a lot of stuff in terms of the tour, the marketing, being around, so I think she has a lot of those values as well, which is right up my alley.”

One of Kelce’s friends describes a sweet, magical moment, a late-night gathering around Kelce’s firepit. Kelce and Swift looked like two “peas in a pod,” the friend says, and at one point they even burst into a memorable duet of—“Teenage Dirtbag”?

This must be fake

My lips start to shake

How does she know who I am?

LONG BEFORE MEETING SWIFT, Kelce was just another Swiftie. In some ways he still is. He explains the concept of her concert—“She does it in eras”—as if you live in a yurt in Outer Mongolia. Then he eagerly informs you that the night he attended, he was counting the minutes until she got to 1989. (Both he and Swift were born in 1989.) “ ‘Blank Space’ was one I wanted to hear live for sure. I could make a bad guy good for the weekend. That’s a helluva line!”

More often than not, he says, it was a Swiftian beat, a melody that captivated him. (“She writes catchy jingles.”) But lately he’s all about those lyrics; he’s scrutinized the breakup stuff. What a miracle, he says, the way Swift can turn life into poetry. “I’ve never been a man of words. Being around her, seeing how smart Taylor is, has been f—ing mind-blowing. I’m learning every day.”

Something he might need to learn from Swift: how to handle the attention. Kelce lives in a quiet neighborhood north of downtown—leafy trees, trim lawns, no gates. There’s now a clutch of desperate-looking dudes with cameras stationed on his sidewalk 24/7. He’s followed everywhere, drones buzzing overhead—it’s stressful, more than he lets on, according to one confidante.

“Obviously I’ve never dated anyone with that kind of aura about them…. I’ve never dealt with it,” Kelce says. “But at the same time, I’m not running away from any of it…. The scrutiny she gets, how much she has a magnifying glass on her, every single day, paparazzi outside her house, outside every restaurant she goes to, after every flight she gets off, and she’s just living, enjoying life. When she acts like that I better not be the one acting all strange.”

Asked if he has anything to teach Swift, he looks shy. He can’t think of anything offhand.

Football?

Sure, he says, sounding unsure.

Of course, the thing she probably wants to learn about most is him. While talking to Kelce you realize all at once that the most avid participant in the national scavenger hunt for clues about his character is likely Swift herself. To that end, Donna says that anyone wishing to understand her younger son would do well to start with her older. Travis “could never quite catch up” to Jason, she says. “He was always just second, just searching to be the best, and never quite getting there.” (The only way in which the two brothers were full equals was appetite. As boys, Donna says, “they would sit down and eat whole chickens.”)

Others say the key to Travis is simpler than that. He’s basically still the kid who filled his Dad’s shampoo bottle with hand cream. “He just lives his life with so much joy,” Jason says. “He’s always kind of surrounding himself with people who are funny, who have a zest for life; it’s one of the things that defines him.”

Jason recalls many nights in the Kelce family room, the two brothers and mom eating in front of some comedy. “We had one of those coffee tables that the top would lift up and meet you at your face if you were eating,” he says, guffawing.

Maybe that’s why Kelce still watches and rewatches those same movies and shows? All his sacred entities got fused into one dollop of sensory memory—food, family, laughter.

Indeed, Kelce has warned Swift that she’s going to have to reckon with this part of his personality. Adam Sandler, Chris Farley, Will Ferrell—they will all be a part of the relationship. “I told Taylor that I have that world, I’ve got to introduce it to her. I let her know: This is my jam right here.” (Kelce does an uncanny imitation of Farley’s dorky baritone, and the ringtone on his phone is Farley primal screaming: For the love of GOD!)

If the past is any prelude, this will register like an 8.0 earthquake among Swifties. Their queen—screening Tommy Boy? Every new factoid, every new piece of the puzzle, gets eagerly cataloged, investigated, celebrated, especially on “SwiftTok,” a fervent virtual community, according to Brian Donovan, a professor at the University of Kansas who teaches a seminar called The Sociology of Taylor Swift.

Donovan says several of his class discussions this semester have been given over to No. 87. Swifties make no apology for delving into her relationships, just as Shakespeare scholars like to contemplate the subject of the sonnets. But the deep “vetting” of Kelce, Donovan adds, goes well beyond fans. “I think there’s a public fascination, because it seems like a pure unalloyed moment of joy in the wider context of global wars, deepening political polarization, dysfunction in Congress, an ongoing health crisis. There’s a lot of bad news out there, and this is a common story that everybody knows about and can talk about. I don’t think we’ve had that in American culture for a long time.”

NOW GET IN THE CAR. Now you’re ready for the Rolls. Or are you? Gawking at the ceiling, you ask, Are those stars?

Yes, Kelce says.

You stare in disbelief. Embedded in a leather firmament are scores, no, hundreds—many hundreds—of twinkling lights, a fiber-optic galaxy meant to resemble the larger galaxy in which we’re all floating. For the sake of verisimilitude, the Rolls even produces a shooting star now and then. There was one, just a second ago, Kelce says. “Make a wish. Dreams come true.”

He guns the engine and steers toward downtown. The Rolls doesn’t drive so much as waft you around Kansas City. The ride is so cush, it almost makes sense, for a moment or two, that the car is worth more than many of the buildings you pass. (A Rolls Ghost, before customizing, goes for nearly half a million dollars.) All of which makes it that much more startling, as you come to the heart of downtown, when Kelce points out his first-ever apartment and shows you the alley door where he’d sneak in and out when he was late on the rent.

What?

It was his rookie season, he says, and the paychecks rolled in every week. But he didn’t understand that paychecks stop when the season does. So he didn’t budget. “I don’t want to say I was broke….” But he was. “There might have been one or two days I avoided the landlord.”

He’s not ducking landlords these days. Still, he’s grossly underpaid. His $14 million salary, though near the top among tight ends, is half what the league’s star receivers make, and Kelce often functions as a receiver.

Nothing to be done, he says flatly. The Chiefs know, he says, that he would play for free. They know he loves his city, his quarterback. “Unfortunately, in this business, things gotta get ugly, they gotta get unpleasant [if you want more money], and I’m a pleasant son of a buck.”

Thank goodness for endorsements. At this point, says his co-manager Aaron Eanes, “the NFL is just his side hustle.”

Eanes and his brother, Andre, handle much of Kelce’s business life, from investments to marketing, and it was they who widened his investment portfolio, putting him into a tequila company, an energy drink and a chain of car washes. They also steered him into lucrative endorsements, like Bud Light and the Covid vaccine, for which he caught much grief from Aaron Rodgers. The Jets quarterback, out since game one of the season with a torn Achilles, belittled Kelce as a Pfizer shill during one of his Tuesday appearances on The Pat McAfee Show.

Kelce took the high road then. He’s staying on it now. “Aaron’s always been cool to me,” he says. “I knew he was trying to have some fun. He’s in a situation where Tuesdays are his game days…. So I get it, man, I’ve been injured too…. Who knows what the guy is going through?”

Kelce double-parks the Rolls outside a building that’s brightly lit, unusual in this neighborhood. That’s Operation Breakthrough, he says, voice swelling with emotion. Founded in 1971, the charitable organization provides safe spaces and cutting-edge educational resources for the city’s poorest children. Kelce enjoys coming here to visit, and sometimes invites the children to his suite on Sundays. And three years ago, when Operation Breakthrough wanted to expand, he bought them the muffler shop next door.

Mary Esselman, Operation Breakthrough’s CEO, says that whenever Kelce visits, he doesn’t bring media and he doesn’t leave until the last kid has felt seen and appreciated. Not long ago, she adds, Kelce sponsored a football camp. Afterward, Esselman asked the children to name the highlight of the experience.

One told her: “He remembered my name.”

Kelce drives you past a jazz club he likes, a coffee place he used to frequent. Just recently, he concedes, he could go to a Starbucks in Manhattan without anyone looking twice. Those days seem over. Minutes later, he’s steering past a small airport, where Swift’s plane is often prominently parked these days.

Is it there now, gleaming in the moonlight? The Kelce eras tour is coming to a close. Left unsaid, but palpable: She’s at the house, waiting.

The Rolls pulls off the highway, up the hill to your hotel. You thank him for taking so much time, for answering all your questions. As you step out of the Rolls, you turn, ask him one more.

You ask him if you’re going crazy, or did he really say that thing when you first got in the car? Did he really point to a shooting star in the ceiling of his Rolls-Royce and say, “Make a wish. Dreams come true”?

He cracks up.

He did. He said it.

He’s not running from it.

What’s more, it might just be true.

“How do you think I manifest it all?”

#this took me forever #you’re welcome

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uuchanjustice · 1 year

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Ekubo Week Day 3 - Possession

(Dimple and Tome, word count: 1.2k)

“Hey Mr. Dimple, can I ask you something?” Tome asked.

She was lounging in the cushy seat meant for clients, her feet up on the tea table. Reigen wasn’t around to lecture her about getting the table dirty, having left with Serizawa for a job earlier. He had tasked Tome and Dimple with “watching the office”, which was an obvious ploy to make Tome feel important. They weren’t likely to have any walk-in clients on a Wednesday afternoon. Reigen could have easily closed up and told Tome to go home early. But she would have complained about losing potential customers, insisting that she was enough of a professional to handle intakes.

As if she really cared about being professional, with the chip crumbs she was leaving everywhere, or the tinny music she was playing through her phone speakers.

“Calling me Mr. Dimple? Must be serious…” Dimple lifted off Reigen’s desk, where he had been dozing (it’s not slacking off if he doesn’t get paid to be here). “Let me have a chip first.”

Tome held out the bag to Dimple. He took three chips and ate them all at once. He didn’t love the shrimp flavor, but they made a satisfying crunch in his mouth. The faint touch of Tome’s emotional intent behind the offering felt curious and hungry, which was typical of Tome.

She waited for him to finish chewing, then burst out, “Can you tell me about possession?”

Dimple belched loudly to cover up the way he jolted at the question. “Hey, what kinda question is that?” he said. “There’s nothing to say about it. Spirits can possess people, end of story.”

“But how does that work?” Tome leaned towards him, her eyes glinting the way they did when she was asking Serizawa about what the internet was like in the nineties. “When you possessed me, you grabbed my teacher’s arm and broke his grip. There’s no way I could do that! Were you using your spirit powers to make me stronger?”

Dimple wanted to end this conversation. “No,” he said flatly. “I can bring out people’s potential. You could have gotten out of that guy’s hold, if you lost your physical limits. Maybe try lifting weights sometime.”

“Ugh, I’m not gonna start lifting weights all the time. I’m not Mob,” said Tome, rolling her eyes. “So you could make me do anything I’m physically capable of? Could you make me win at arm wrestling, or jump two meters into the air?”

“Or,” said Dimple in the best Evil Spirit Voice he could muster, “I could make you bite your fingers off. Did you know that your jaw is strong enough to do that?”

Tome looked unimpressed. Ugh, he must be seriously out of practice. “How about telepathy? Could you help me awaken the ability to communicate with aliens? I wanna know if there’s other species out there, besides the ones we already know-“

“Do you know what happens to humans who get possessed?” Dimple made his form larger, his voice deeper. “You’ve seen it yourself a few times now. Their bodies are weakened at best, and their minds are in shambles. The spirit eats away at your very soul. Is that what you want for yourself?”

Tome didn’t even flinch. Curse Reigen and his bizarre ability to attract the densest teenagers in the world. “Then how come you didn’t eat my soul that one time? Or Mob’s soul? He told me that you possess him sometimes.”

Did Shigeo really have to gossip to this girl about him? “Just drop it, Tome. I’m not gonna possess you for your amusement.” He flounced back onto Reigen’s desk, sending papers flying.

Tome had the grace to look slightly ashamed. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just wondering.” She sat up in the chair and pulled out her phone.

Dimple sighed mentally. He didn’t mean to upset Tome either, but she had such a casual attitude towards evil spirits, it freaked him out a little bit. Her random questions were harmless enough, but asking a spirit to possess her? Was she a complete idiot?

She must be getting the wrong impression by hanging around Shigeo and Reigen. They could all treat him like a harmless pest because he couldn’t really hurt them; Shigeo was too powerful, and targeting his friends would lead to him getting exorcised instantly. Tome seemed to think that because she was under the protection of various powerful espers, she was automatically safe from evil spirits.

If she had met the kinds of evil spirits Dimple had encountered, she’d be singing a different tune. But Dimple didn’t want to scare her. She didn’t deserve that kind of fear, and besides, scaring her would just make her more desperate for answers.

Reigen was like that, too. Despite having no powers of his own, he never seemed to know when to run away from a dangerous situation. Which was usually fine, because people like Shigeo or Serizawa were usually around to save his ass, but the man seemed to think he was some kind of actual spirit medium. One time, he’d tried to stop a murderous evil spirit by convincing it that haunting was against the law.

He’d even asked Dimple out for drinks before! What a stupid conman.

It was true that he possessed Shigeo sometimes. And not always in life-or-death situations. Once, Shigeo hadn’t slept well and wouldn’t wake up for school on time, so Dimple took his body to school and took notes for his first few classes. It still shocked him every time he effortlessly took control of Shigeo’s body. The kid had a super-tough psychic barrier that should make it impossible for him to be possessed, but Shigeo always dropped that barrier for him. He didn’t even need to be asked; that trust was always there, even when Shigeo wasn’t awake to give it.

When were these humans going to wise up?

Tome spoke up again. “I know what evil spirits can do,” she said. “Plenty have tried to kill me before. But I’m sick of seeing spirits attacking people. That’s why I asked you, Dimple. I guess…” she fidgeted with her phone, “I wanted to know… the good side of spirits?”

Dimple scoffed. “There aren’t good spirits. Even I’ve done bad stuff before.” “Yeah, well, you aren’t right now, though.” Tome looked right at Dimple, who was starting to feel small. “I mean, Mr. Reigen trusted you to look after me. So you can’t be that bad.” She offered him the chip bag.

God, was Shigeo’s sappiness rubbing off on everyone?

Dimple grabbed the entire bag and emptied the contents into his mouth. “Don’t be so sure,” he said with a mouth full of chip crumbs. Tome swatted at him. “You better clean up all those crumbs before Mr. Reigen and Mr. Serizawa get back, Mr. Evil Spirit,” she said.

“Hey, some of those are yours, you brat!”

#dimple #tome #mob psycho 100 #mp100 #ekuboweek #ekubo week #this one is kind of somber ... but tome is nice :)

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earthtoplum · 2 years

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hellraiser. // eddie munson. (6)

pairing: eddie munson x female!reader - stranger things cast x female!reader

summary: Between school, band practices, D&D nights and shitty parents, you and Eddie have created the perfect little secret life together. The town of Hawkins despises him, but not you. You’re head over heels for the son of a bitch. About to graduate, the two of you are ready to run out of Indiana the moment those caps go in the air, but the inevitable Hawkins Curse creeps its way back into town, and takes hold of what you once thought was untouchable.

word count: 12k (YIKES, I'm sorry, I got carried AWAY.)

warnings: language (always), mentions of death, suggestive conversation, SEXUAL CONTENT, MDNI, 18+ , mentions of s/a storyline (not descriptive), smoking and drinking, SEASON 4 SPOILERS. I was sectioning off the SC, but I've just left it alone in this part.

a/n: hi, thanks for being here! :) Follows the storyline of Season 4! Beware of spoilers in case you haven’t watched the masterpiece. So, disclaimer, I've realized I've messed up the years, I think, and made Nancy and Jonathan a year older than they should be. Oopsie, we're just gonna go with it. I want the whole gang back together soon, I love them all together, this is right before shit starts to hit the fan... Not ready.

*gif not mine, creds to whoever owns*

{ plums masterlist }

part six. what else would you do with spare time?

Water sloshed beneath the boards of the shed, a simple sound that had lulled you to sleep in Eddie’s arms. An hour and a half had passed since you ran from Robin and Nancy at Hawkins High, and straight to Rick’s in shambles. It was an hour and a half of deep breaths, of Eddie calming you down and trying to make you smile, and ultimately trying to not lose his own shit over what you had seen.

For a millisecond he didn’t believe you, and it genuinely made him worry about you being drug too far into this mess, the thought of you possibly going crazy twisting his stomach into a knot, but after seeing Chrissy levitate to his ceiling… He’s sure that whatever you saw was very real. Vines, and slime, and a mother who looked like a monster didn’t seem impossible for Hawkins at this point.

Quieting down after Eddie affirms your stories, he simply says, “I believe you,” And it’s enough for you, even if you weren’t sure he was telling the full truth.

“Don’t bullshit me, Eddie, I know how this sounds-” You had mumbled back to him. Eddie lifted a hand to brush your hair from your face, and kissed you softly on the forehead, cutting off the end of your sentence swiftly.

“No, no… No, I’m not, truly, I- I do,” He had whispered, centimeters from your face, “I believe you.”

Nothing else was said for a few minutes after that, so you subconsciously let your eyes shut, letting the sound of the lake and the cool breeze that grazed the skin of your cheeks pull you into a sleep that was much needed.

The moment each of your breaths got heavier, signifying you were actually asleep, Eddie closes his own eyes, taking a long, deep breath into his stomach. He glances down to you quickly, feeling your body move against his, thinking the way his chest rose was what disturbed you. He smiles longingly, watching you shift where your head was cradled in his elbow, turning your body into his and wrapping an arm around his waist.

He wanted to live in this moment forever. With everything that was going on outside of the shed door, the cops, the people searching for him, and- the Upside Down world, apparently- for the first time in a long time… Eddie’s mind was quiet. Sitting here on the floor with you wrapped around his body sound asleep, the view of the moon hanging over Lovers Lake admiring its own reflection, and the serenity the fresh air was giving him was infatuating.

His brain was hardwired with permanent struggle. Living was harder for Eddie than it was for other people, and he’s spent so many of his days wondering why everyone else was given a handbook on life and he was somehow snubbed. It was as if other kids his age had the blueprint. School was a battle, and conversing with others was a hassle because they thought he was just… strange. He didn’t know why he couldn’t control the odd impulses that weasled their way into his brain somehow, and when he did get control, he snapped in some other way. Once Eddie had told his Uncle Wayne that it felt like life was a tree and everybody was a bird, or something who knew how to climb said tree, and the two of them shared a laugh till Eddie said that in that scenario he was a fish. A fish trying to climb a tree that every other wilderness Alvin, Simon and Theodore could make it to the top of with ease.

The past couple of days there had not been a single soul up his ass bothering him. He hasn't been hassled by teachers, or glared at on the streets. There were no cops making their presence known whenever Eddie stepped even an inch into their eyesight, and even though it was eating him alive from the inside out, he was glad neither of you have had to deal with your parents. Eventually he’s sure you were going to have to go home. Eddie was a nuisance, and wanted to protect you, but he wasn’t a homewrecker. A homewrecker in the sense that he would pull you away from your family, that was the last thing he would ever want for you.

From somewhere behind him, there’s a muffled buzz and the sound of a voice. A voice that belonged to a curly haired, tiny genius. Perking up a bit, Eddie looks over his shoulder and very delicately takes the hand from around your legs to push aside the tarp from the boat that was crumpled in the corner, revealing the walkie that Dustin had left for him. Scooting closer to the corner to reach it, Eddie glances down to you to make sure he isn’t waking you up.

“Dustin? Dustin?” Eddie says quietly. Releasing the button, he waits seven seconds, he counted, until he gets a response.

“Hoooly shit, Eddie,” Dustin's voice is hushed, a tinge of worry laced within it. Eddie cracks a smile anyway, thrilled to hear from him regardless of what it was about.

“Hey man,” Eddie says, “What are you guys up to, what’s going on?”

“No time for small talk,” Dustin scolds, and Eddie’s eyebrows knit together, “Where the hell are you?”

“Uh,” Eddie chuckles, “Ricks?”

“Are you asking me, or telling me, Eddie, Jesus Chri- Y’know what, whatever, we’ve got a situation on our hands here, a big one,” Dustin is speaking a mile a minute.

“Dustin, calm down,” Eddie tries to intervene, but Dustin starts chattering on and on about Max and how she’s seen Vecna, and how all of her symptoms match up with Chrissy and Fred, another boy who was killed the exact way the cheerleader had been. He was the reason that the sirens went by that morning, they were going to the scene of the crime.

Shutting his eyes tight, Eddie scrunches his face, trying to keep the image of what he’s witnessed out of his mind. He listens to his friend describe everything Max has seen, the kid clearly repeating things to Eddie that were said from other people behind him, probably Max. Eddie can only imagine the way she was rolling her eyes at him, he didn’t know Max that well, but he knew she was a pistol. Looking down at you after another mention of Vecna’s name, Eddie’s heart rate escalates.

“Uh, Dustin,” Eddie says calmly once the freshman had quieted, “You mentioned something… about a clock?”

“Yep,” Is all that is said back to him. Laughing to himself at how simple the response was, Eddie shakes his head.

“What would happen if someone thinks that they… saw Vecna, but didn’t see a clock?” Eddie asks, letting his eyes fall on the peacefulness that is your sleeping being.

“Eddie, what have you seen?” Dustin asks with warning. You stir again in Eddie’s lap, nuzzling your face into his chest again as if you weren’t close enough. He contemplates answering, wondering if he shouldn’t share what you think you’ve seen in case there was the slightest chance it was actually a nightmare. You had told him you don’t remember falling asleep, or know if you were actually asleep. Admiring how your lashes laid on your cheeks, Eddie presses the button.

“Uh, not me, not what I’ve seen,” He says, and hears the button click on the other side, then a whole bunch of utter chaos like the walkie was being tossed around or fought over. Eddie lowers his brows, looking at it.

“What? What? Is she with you? When? How? What’d she say?” It was Robin, “She was frazzled when she got out of the car, Eddie, what did she say? She didn’t tell me anything, she just ran away, is she okay?” Swearing to all that is holy, the girl speaks faster than Dustin.

“I got her,” Eddie smiles, happy that you’ve seemed to make a friend amongst the looming apocalypse, “She’s safe. She’s… she’s sleeping,” He looks back down to you, “But she was scared. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look that terrified in my life, and being completely honest, it’s terrifying me.”

“She had that look in her eye… the one you had when we found you,” Robin says, “What did she tell you, Eddie.”

Waiting a couple of seconds, he sighs and gives in, telling whoever was listening everything you had told him. He affirmed your story, doing it justice by giving them every detail, and telling them that he believed you, though he didn’t want to include the part about him being dead. That part was haunting him, like an eerie shadow on his back he couldn’t shake.

“But, no clock?” Robin questions. With every visual you had given him about this ominous world you were submerged in for a couple of minutes, Eddie doesn’t remember hearing about a clock, you never mentioned one.

“No clock,” Eddie confirms, chewing on his bottom lip while he waits for a response. Two minutes goes by in radio silence. “Hello?” He says into the walkie.

“One sec, Eddie,” Dustin’s voice comes through. Still fast asleep, Eddie’s eyes are on you, watching your face as your eyebrows scrunch above your closed eyes. They relax, then furrow again, making Eddie wonder what you could be dreaming about. He prays it’s something happy, an escape from the crazy and not anything menacing like a goopy monster impersonating your mother, screaming at you that your boyfriend is dead.

“Dustin,” Eddie says, getting impatient.

“Hang on! We’re trying to figure this out-”

“Dustin!” Eddie nearly shouts into the speaker, “You’ve got to give me something, is she going to be okay?” Two of Vecna’s victims had visions of him before their untimely death. Max had her first one tonight, and yes, that scared Eddie, he doesn’t want what happened to Chrissy and Fred to happen to Max. More importantly, he doesn’t want to watch you end up like them.

“Eddie, calm down, we’re talking it out over here,” Dustin tries his best to keep his cool, but it’s not enough for Eddie.

“Listen, Bard,” Eddie says from behind his teeth, “You better figure this shit out, fast. I will not sit here and wait for a mysterious countdown to come to an end. I swear to God, I will do what it takes to make sure nothing happens to her, nothing better even touch her. Dustin, you better have an answer for me fast, or I will shun you out of Hellfire before you even get the chance to touch those dice again.” Silence on the group's side. Eddie’s heart is beating even faster than before.

“You’re all idiots if you think I won’t throw her over my shoulder right now, and cross multiple state lines, changing our names, shedding our Indiana identities. I don’t even give two shits if I have to outrun a couple of small town cops, I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again-”

“Eddie,” Dustin says gently, cutting his ramble off, “We’ll figure this out. Okay?” Sucking in a slow, deep breath through his nose, Eddie closes his eyes.

“Tomorrow night,” He says, “I need an answer.”

“Tomorrow night, got it,” Dustin says, and Eddie swears he can see him saluting.

“Be safe, buddy,” Eddie says quietly after a moment of quiet, pushing the antena of the walkie down, sliding it back into the corner of the shed. Groaning, he rolls his head back and slouches.

“What’s a Bard?” You ask just above a whisper, startling Eddie, making him jump so hard his body almost shut down and restarted itself.

“Jeeesus Chriiist, woman,” He sneers, looking down at the smile on your face.

“Sorry,” You mumble, slow-blinking with exhaustion.

“S’okay, holy fuck,” Eddie says, laughing, “What’s a… What did you ask me?” He asks, not even processing what you had said to him before his nervous system was shocked.

“A Bard,” You say, and he gives you a look.

“You know what that is,” He grills playfully. Rolling your eyes, you smile again.

“I know,” You say before whispering, “Just tell me again. Want to hear you talk about it, makes me… happy.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, cradling your cheek in his hand, “Then we gotta go from the start.” He says in a funny voice, raising his eyebrows, both of you laughing together.

Nancy Wheeler lived in the exact neighborhood that Robin had pictured in her brain when it was said they’d all be going to the Wheeler’s. It was a grand, two story house at the end of a cul-de-sac near the Sinclairs with a long driveway and another station wagon parked there. It was a cute street to anyone who didn’t have to live there, unless you were the parents. The parents who lived in each house on this block made it their mission to outdo the others with how extraordinary their lawns appeared.

After overstaying their welcome at the high school, and Steve almost nearly beating the shit out of Lucas with a lamp, the group ushered Max out of the school and into Steve’s backseat between Dustin and Lucas. With his eyes glued to the rearview mirror, Steve followed Nancy to Maple and groaned to himself the moment her house came into view. The kids were quiet for most of the ride, though Lucas wanted nothing more than to simply talk to Max. Even Dustin was at a loss for words, especially after the conversation he’d had over the walkie with Eddie about you.

If three people had been seeing clocks, the fact that you didn’t see one wasn’t adding up and it was frustrating the freshman. To have Vecna show himself to you, show you the Upside Down and suck you into one of his visions to only chant again and again that ‘Eddie is dead’ made absolutely no sense. There was one connection shared with Eddie and Vecna, and it was that Eddie was unfortunately with Chrissy the moment he had gotten her. Other than that, Dustin couldn’t seem to put together a correlation.

“Hey, Henderson,” Steve broke the silence as he put the car in park, parking in front of the Wheeler’s in the street. All three heads in the backseat snapped to look at where he was turned around in the front, leading him to gesture his hand to Lucas and Max for them to follow the girls inside where Nancy had parked in her driveway.

“Get inside safe,” Dustin said quietly to the two of them, and accepted the glare he got from Max with grace. It was expected. She was a tough girl, and though it’s been an hour since her vision of the clock in the wall at Hawkins High, she knew sympathy and sappiness from her crew was incoming like a fire engine, and Max, this entire past year, has not been in the touchy-feely mood.

Once the door of the BMW was shut, Dustin looks back to Steve who’s wearing a puzzled expression, one that wasn’t laced with worry, which means Steve had an irrelevant question brewing.

“What?” Dustin’s voice is flat as he looks at the thoughtless brown eyes that were watching him. Steve blinks a couple times, then adjusts himself in his seat, leaning forward as if he had a secret.

“You… You’re close with Eddie, right?” He asks, and Dustin nods curiously, slowly.

“Yes, Steve, I am,” He says, “We’ve talked about this before.” Harrington throws up a hand as if to say shut up toward his mocking tone, and shoots him an annoyed look.

“Would you- It’s not about that, it’s about his girlfriend,” Steve is borderline whispering. Dustin frowns, eyeing Steve more inquisitively than before.

“Steve… what?” He says, breaking into a laugh, “You can’t be serious right now, they’ve been dating for, like, well, forever. If you think-”

“You don’t know what I think,” Steve cuts him off, “And if you did, you’d think I was crazy,” He mumbles to himself, thinking about Eddie’s long hair for a second, and Dustin waves his hands around to get his attention back unable to hear the babbling twenty year old now, “Look,” He speaks up, shutting his eyes for only a second as he sighs to collect his thoughts, “I just want to know, since you’ve been hanging around this guy for this long now, has anything been mentioned? Y’know… About me?” Steve meets eyes with Dustin, afraid of what was going to come out of his tiny friend's mouth.

Steve can barely piece together his junior year at this point, and while dealing with Hawkins curses, remembering anything before the first time he saw a Demogorgon was hopeless. However, he remembers that night. It was humid, and August, and Nancy was wearing a white sundress and a pair of the nicest sandals she owned. Her hair was at her shoulders, and she spoke of growing it out a little more after Steve had mentioned he loved it long.

His other friends were at the party, ones who weren’t into him and Nancy Wheeler dating, but he tried not to give two shits about what Tommy H and Carol had to say. He was insufferably in love with Nancy Wheeler. Nancy Wheeler who insisted she invited an old friend of hers to this party, one who was about to start high school and she wanted to reconnect with because she missed them.

Steve wasn’t expecting you to show up at his front door, an incoming freshman dressed in acid washed jeans and a tucked in white tank top, like the ones his dad wore under his button ups. He certainly didn’t think you looked like you were, probably, fourteen, if anything, Steve assumed you were about to be a sophomore like Nancy and she was punking him. Your hair was pulled up in a ponytail with a rubber band, not with a scrunchy that Nancy liked to use, and you let little wispy pieces fall into your face without a care.

He couldn’t imagine what someone like you would be doing hanging out with his Nancy Wheeler. His put together, academically inclined, baby faced Nancy Wheeler with the sweetest smile.

When he let you into his house there were thirty or so people already there. He didn’t direct you to where he knew Nancy was, he told you where the drinks were and left you to the wolves until about an hour after your arrival.

It was ten thirty seven. Steve was rubbing elbows with Tommy H in his kitchen, talking over the music that was blaring out of the stereo in his living room. Tommy H was bitching about Carol, he had been all night, the two of them arguing again over some ‘stupid bullshit’ as Steve had called it.

As the two of them got themselves another drink, they spotted you in the living room leaning against Steve’s fireplace with your arms folded across your chest and a lost look playing at your features, Steve assuming you’d spent your entire night looking for Nancy who was outside on the patio by the pool. In that moment he felt a bit guilty, Nancy had seemed so excited that you agreed to come by and he snubbed you both by not letting either of you know where the other was. He erased the guilt by telling himself his house wasn’t that big, and that you were bound to run into one another at some point.

That was when Tommy H made a rude comment about you, one that gutted Steve and sparked his, very slow, realization that his friends weren’t good people. He mumbled something back to the boy with the buzzcut, something to shut him up, but Tommy H kept going, assuring Steve he wasn’t going to try anything. There was a blurry mention somewhere that you were only going to be a freshman, something about that spurring Tommy H on even more.

Steve finally broke free, telling his friend he was going to offer you a drink and tell you where Nancy was so that the two of you could have the happy ending his perfect girl was dreaming of, no matter how he felt about you, totally judging a book by its cover. Tommy H insisted he pour it and tag along, just to see how the situation played out, making a small joke about Steve’s ‘princess’ of a girlfriend.

He approached you with hesitance, sensing your discomfort. Handing over the cup Tommy H gave him, Steve made small talk, laying on a little bit of charm as you took a tiny sip of the shitty beer without making a face. He was surprised, no girl could ever handle the taste of what came out of that keg, every single one of them would twist their face up in utter disgust. After a couple of more sips, he told you where Nancy was and left you on your merry way.

He drifted around his party a while longer, talking to everyone else who had shown up, and then he made his way back out to Nancy who was still in a patio chair chatting with a couple of junior girls. You were nowhere to be found.

He asked Nancy about you, to her surprise, and explained what had happened a mere half hour to forty five minutes ago, Carol rolling her eyes at the mention of Tommy. Nancy had perked up, her skinny eyebrows furrowing over her big, owl eyes, and then as if on cue, a guy who was a junior with Steve came running out of the house laughing, and panting, looking for him. Commotion was coming from the open sliding glass door behind him, commotion enough to draw almost everyone inside. Commotion he doesn’t think he can forgive himself for.

Sitting here in the dark, in his car, sharing these few minutes with Dustin, asking if he had heard anything about that night and the months that followed was extremely important to him. Steve wasn’t that guy anymore, and he was sure that night he wasn’t even that guy, he was just playing the part of that guy, and it got carried away.

“Steve,” Dustin sighs, rubbing one of his eyes, his walkie in his other hand in case he gets a call about you seeing random grandfather clocks, “Why would anything be said about you?”

“I dunno,” Steve mutters, shaking his head, “I- I’m a douche, apparently, just wanted to see if they told you their reasons why.” Dustin tries to think, but cannot remember a time where you or Eddie had even mentioned Steve.

“I didn’t even know you guys knew each other, I mean, you all went to the same high school so I knew that you knew each- Ugh, whatever, look, yes, you can be a… douche sometimes-”

“Hey!”

“Oh, come on,” Dustin glares, pausing, waiting for Steve to eventually nod along in agreement, “They don’t talk about people, Steve. If anything, those two are so wrapped up in each other they sometimes forget other people are even around,” Steve nods in agreement again, rolling his eyes this time, “They’re nice people. I know it looks like they aren’t, but, trust me, they are.”

“No, I trust you, I do,” Steve says quietly, glancing down to his hands, “They’re… nice people.” Dustin presses his lips together to smile.

“Let’s go, we gotta figure this out,” He nods to the house, and Steve sighs looking at it. The last time he pulled up to this house was during his senior year, shortly after the Halloween party Nancy had broken up with him at. He was bringing her flowers, and it evidently was when he got stuck with his tiny, curly headed, genius friend.

“Alright,” Steve says, and the two exit the car into the chill of the night air.

Trudging up the grass, they walk in silence, the energy between them a bit stiff like it had been since Dustin had joined Hellfire Club. Steve wasn’t jealous of Eddie or the club, he was happy that Dustin had found a place he belonged in high school, because high school was a place that chewed you up the second you started to slip and fall. Steve was feeling a bit distant from him, like their friendship they’ve created was beginning to peak, and he was unsure of how to fix it. Steve guesses that going full douche-mode was his only defense mechanism when anything threatened what he loved.

At the top of the driveway Robin was waiting for Steve with a god-awful pit in her stomach that needed to be taken care of. Dustin paused with him when he stopped in front of her, looking back and forth between the two of them.

“Scurry along, Henderson,” Robin waved Dustin away into the house, waiting for the door to shut behind him before slapping Steve clear across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the air around them.

“Jesus, Robin!” Steve nearly shouts, holding his own palm to his cheek where her hand had made contact, rings and all, “What the fuck was that for?” Steve glances at her hand that was still out, open and ready to go for more.

Robin’s heart was thumping in her chest, this was something she never thought she’d have to do, but the rules of her unspoken girl code called for it. Opening her mouth to speak, she spoke your name and Steve’s eyes grew wider than they already were.

“You’re lucky,” She chuckles, “I told her I’d kick you in the balls.” Steve jumps back, both hands covering what was sacred to him as Robin laughs again.

“What are you talking about?” Steve pleads, watching every move she makes carefully. Robin rubs both her hands together and takes small steps toward her best friend, a grimace now making itself comfortable on her freckled face.

“She told me about it,” Robin says quietly, stopping directly in front of his nose, “The party she went to,” She whispers, and Steve stands up straight, swallowing hard, “The party at your place, with Nancy, and… Tommy H.”

“Shit,” Steve whispers, dragging his hands over his face and through his hair, “I deserved that.”

“You did,” Robin says strongly, “I could totally do it again, too.” Groaning, Steve takes a deep breath and drops his hands by his side.

“I knew this was going to happen,” He mumbles, “I knew that this was going to come up somehow, when they walked into work with her… God, it all came back.” Robin crosses her arms and watches as Steve backs up to sit on the hood of Nancys car. He buries his face in his hands and shakes his head. Stepping toward him, Robin leans on the car beside him and rests her head on his shoulder.

“That was fucked, Steve, and I mean it, that was fucked up,” She parents, “You should’ve seen the way her eyes were watering, like, this has clearly messed with her big time and continues to mess with her,” Steve doesn’t bother to answer, he just lets her speak words that help thicken his guilt, “It’s no wonder Eddie’s so protective over her.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, lowering his hands, looking up at the stars in the sky. The relationship you had with Eddie was something that Steve thought should be studied, but it really came to nobody’s surprise why you both were the way that you were, and it was something that Steve was starting to become envious of.

You and Eddie know each other on a different level of knowing a person, you have a connection that goes deeper than the love and the physical affection. Steve can’t think of the last person who knew him like that, aside from talking to Robin, but he’s not even sure if Nancy ever tried to know him like that. A love like that was something he craved.

“Do you think I should say something?” Steve asks her, glancing down where she laid on his shoulder. Robin ponders for a moment before answering.

“I think something needs to be said,” She says before adding, “Especially with her and Nancy, though. Those two have deeper shit with each other than any of us. That… is a damaged relationship.” Steve squints, and bobs his head.

“I’ll talk to Nancy first,” He begins, and Robin agrees.

“Work it out, Stevie,” She sits up to give him a smile, “You can fix it, and I’ll be here if you need help.”

“Get! Back here!” Eddie’s erratic voice rips through the air. Leaping out of the tub you were both standing in, you leave wet footprints on the tiled bathroom floor as you bolt out of the door and into one the bedrooms on the second floor of Ricks. Grabbing the knob, you attempt to throw it shut, but Eddie’s hand pushes on it to keep it open. Giggling like crazy, you cower behind it even though you know he was going to get you.

“I’m not changing my answer!” You say as he peers around the door, his hair wet and stuck to his forehead. Lowering his chin, he mouths the words as he counts to three, and when he reaches two, you slip under his arm and down the hall effortlessly.

“Goddammit!” He shouts behind you, laughing. You’re about to reach the stairs, ready to pummel down them, until Eddie’s hand grips your waist and pulls you back. Letting out a yelp, laughing so hard your stomach is hurting, you let your body fall limp in his arms as he carries you back into the bathroom.

“I will not… say it,” You take a deep breath, trying to relax the grin you were wearing. Eddie places your feet in the tub back under the running water of the shower and steps in front of you, pulling the curtain closed to keep the heat in.

“Say it,” He cocks his head to the side, cornering you underneath the warm water.

“No!” You say, bouncing your knees a couple of times, “Ozzy is not coming back to Black Sabbath, I’m sorry! I don’t see it happening.” Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and rolls his head back, planting both of his hands on the shower wall over your shoulders. Making his sigh long and entirely too dramatic, he looks down at you with his dark eyes with water droplets on his lashes.

“I cannot believe you,” He says quietly, eyes dancing between yours, “I’m sick, I really am.” It’s quiet for a second before the two of you start to laugh again.

“Now, I really hope Ozzy doesn’t outlive us, because if he comes back I need to see the day,” You say, lifting a hand to push his hair out of his eyes, “When was the last time you slept?” Your voice gets quiet, just audible enough over the water hitting the ceramic of the tub. Eddie glances at the floor before giving you a smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” He matches your tone, knowing he looked like a wreck. The two of you share a couple of quiet minutes, letting the warm water run over your tired bodies in an attempt to wash away the pressure that was hanging over your heads. Down in the shed you both admitted you needed a shower anyway, laughing with one another about how long you’ve been away from home without one. Rick has been in jail, so he didn’t have much, but you did what you needed to do.

“You’re sexy when you’re wet,” Eddie murmurs, then pulls a face that makes you both giggle at his accidental innuendo, “My god,” He chuckles.

Bringing both your hands between you, you hold the sides of his face, brushing your thumbs over the droplets of water that have made their home there, and then lean forward to kiss him. A kiss he doesn’t hesitate to deepen, pressing his body firmly against yours holding you flush against the tiled wall.

His hair tickles the skin on your shoulders, the curls an inch longer now that they were wet. Pulling away from your lips, Eddie boxes you in further, the air around you getting hotter even though neither of you have touched the faucet. He wedges a knee between yours, nudging your legs open a bit as he watches you look up at him with the innocent eyes you loved to tease him with.

“What are you doing?” You whisper to his lips, taking your bottom one between your teeth.

“Whatever you’d like,” He sighs, kissing you once, taking a hand off the wall to push your hair out of your eyes, “Just tell me when I can go.” He smirks, dragging two fingers down your cheek before grasping beneath your chin to give you a rougher kiss. A gentle sound escapes you as he parts from your lips, and he smirks again.

“Go, please, go,” You say quietly with your eyes on him, watching how with just three simple words you’ve evoked the devil. Something always came over him in these moments, a desire so incredible it could split him in two if he wasn’t satisfied.

Skin on skin, you take a deep breath and feel the heat stirring deep within you. You want to close your legs, squeeze your thighs together to try to satisfy the ache that was growing, but Eddie’s knee kept them apart, and he started to smile once he felt your knees buckle.

“How am I playing this?” He asks patiently under his breath, dragging a finger up and down the side of your bare body, pausing at your hip everytime to draw a couple circles on your pelvis. Swallowing hard, you shake your head a bit.

“Don’t care,” You nearly whimper, jutting your hips forward into where he met yours, searching for something, anything to create friction. His fingers were stopped at your hip, inches away from where you needed him to be, he knew it, but he was having entirely too much fun watching you fall apart in front of him. He pinches the soft skin on your hip gently, and your knees buckle once more making him laugh under his breath.

“You needy bitch,” His voice is deep, a tone that doesn’t match the smile of glee he wore, “I just fucked you good yesterday, you already need me again?” The hand at your hip slips up between your bodies where he grips one of your breasts, dragging his thumb across your nipple, another tiny touch that has your hips grinding forward. Leaning your head back on the tile, you look up into Eddie’s eyes and take a deep breath.

“I need it,” You whisper, sliding your hands into his hair, “Please, baby,” You peck his lips and pout, “Need you, now.” Your hips grind against nothing, intoxicating Eddie further.

“Fuck, I love it when your a little slut,” He mumbles, and you bite your lip and smile.

“Eddie,” You say, and he nods, entranced by your eyes, “I need… something, anything, please.” You sigh heavily, and without wasting a second his hands slips between your thighs, his thorough guitar fingers knowing exactly what to do. Circling your sweet spot a couple of times, he then strums a delicate chord before slipping two fingers inside of you that rips a moan from your throat, his favorite song.

“I know, babe,” His voice is deep as he speaks to you over your whimpers, “Oh, I know.” Clinging to his body desperately, your hips grind on his ringless fingers that have the freedom to slide completely in and out, something he partook in, slipping them out in a scissor like motion. It drove him wild how tight your grip was around him, even the way your muscles tensed in your legs, it showed him how much control he really had of you when you were like this.

Slipping his other hand in the mix, he drew circles over your swollen clit before dancing his fingers in the pattern you were a sucker for.

“Eddie!” You gasp, looking up at him, and the sight you're met with sparks the incoming of your release. He’s completely zoned in to you, focused on you, but he’s wearing a smile so wicked you can tell he’s having just as much fun as you are. In fact, he was completely getting off on this.

“You gonna cum?” He raises an eyebrow. You moan in response and he chuckles, “C’mon, I love feeling you cum on my fingers,” He groans leaning into your neck to suck on the skin beneath your ear. Moving both of his hands faster, your sounds heighten to his pleasure.

“Gonna… Gonna…” You pant, digging your nails into his shoulders, feeling the wave build stronger, and stronger with each stroke of his fingers. Eddie sighs, kissing at the spot on your neck that usually gets you, fast. He needed to be inside of you five minutes ago.

“Look at you,” He says, deciding words were what was going to help him win, “So desperate to get off, you really are a slut aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” You hum, bucking your hips faster, squeezing your eyes shut and letting your head lull back on the tile again. The coil was ready to snap.

“Can’t even say a word to me can you?” Eddie laughs, brushing his nose on yours, “You really this fucked out over my fingers? I’m not even wearing the rings, baby, you know what that really makes you? My, little, fucking, slut.”

You're tipped over the edge, Eddie’s words sending your mind into a tizzy, and your body into an incredible high. His parted lips meet yours, muffling the sounds coming out of you. Feeling you tighten around his fingers, he pumps into you two more times to ride out your high with you, then slips them out to your disappointment.

“Holy, shit, fuck,” You sigh, catching your breath, sliding your hands back into his curls. Eddie smiles down at you, then brings his hands up between you and dips the fingers he just had inside of you, into his mouth. Feeling the arousal stir within you again, Eddie pulls them out slowly with a pop, and glances to your lips.

“Open,” He coerces with his other hand, holding underneath your jaw. Following his order, you comply and open your mouth, moaning as he slips those two fingers on your tongue. “Suck,” He whispers, eyes on your lips. A groan leaves him as you do as you're told, and his fingers slide out of your pursed lips.

“Turn around,” He mutters, quickly grabbing your waist to spin you to face the wall, “I’m not done with you yet.”

Placing your hands on the tile, you glance over your shoulder at Eddie whose focus is between your legs. Nudging yours open further, he wraps a hand around your waist and holds your hips on his. He leans into you, kissing your cheek gently.

“Y’okay?” He whispers.

“Never better,” You smile, and he’s quick to kiss your lips while he uses his hand to arch your back so he could slip inside of you. You both part from the kiss with a heavy exhale, groaning in absolute euphoria.

“So perfect,” Eddie says under his breath, sliding the hand that’s around your waist up your front, using the other to grip your hip, keeping you comfortably locked in front of him.

For a couple of minutes things are sweet, and ethereal. Your bodies move in sync, knowing each other so well this way that it’s all entirely too effortless. There’s little to no words spoken between your shared heavy breaths and soft sounds egging each other on. Eddie’s lips brush along the stretch of your neck where he’s pulled your hair back. He listens to you, and though he’s moments from bursting, he follows your lead.

“More,” You say after reveling in the gentleness, and he sighs, gripping you tighter.

“‘Course, babe,” He mumbles into your hair, looking down to where your bodies meet and groans as his thrusts get faster, and harder, making your head fall back onto his chest. With closed eyes you sing out his name for him, and reach a hand back to grab onto anything that was his. Finding his hair, you tangle your fingers around the curls and pull, hard, sighing as you listen to him shamelessly babble endless profanities into the air.

Letting your body fall limp on his, you rock against him with each insatiable snap of his hips that were getting faster by the minute. Snaking the hand that was squeezing the skin on your hip he loved so dearly up your front, he watches your upside down expression, drunk on him, and drags his thumb across your parted bottom lip. Opening your eyes, you look into his and feel the tumultuous high spark below.

Eddie, with a relentless pace, pops his thumb between your teeth and presses on your tongue, his own jaw hanging open. A glimmer of mischief hints in your eyes to his intrigue. With the roughest tug of his hair, you bite down on his thumb without remorse and moan happily along with the disgustingly erotic noise that left his lips.

Collapsing on top of you, Eddie doesn’t hold back, your ministrations have flipped a switch. He’s gone absolutely feral in the best way, and the more you intentionally hurt him, the longer he stays like this.

Amidst the chaos you were ensuing, your high hits you unexpectedly, Eddie eating it up, feeling you squeeze him tight.

“Good girl, holy fuck,” He nearly growls, his head bobbing on yours as your fingers tear at his hair. With you now overcome by overstimulation, the pain you're inflicting on him is unapologetically stronger, and you're absolutely losing him. It takes three more ungodly snaps of his hips before he’s spilling into you, his body tensing for a couple of seconds.

The comedown lasts about a minute, both of you sucking down deep breaths like it’s your religion. You relax, letting his hair go, and his thumb from between your teeth. He holds it up for you to see, and you both laugh at how deep the marks were. Eddie presses a kiss to your temple, your head still laid on his chest, and runs both his hands down your sides to hold your hips.

“Ah, fuck,” He mutters, glancing down between your bodies where he leaves you and sighs. Turning around to face him underneath the water that was now getting cold, you knit your brows together and look up at his slight concern.

“What?” You ask, softly sliding your hands over his shoulders. Eddie presses his lips together and nods sheepishly.

“I… forgot…” He stutters, “Fuck,” He whispers, shaking his head seemingly embarrassed, “I didn’t pull out,” He narrows his eyes at you, “I’m sorry. I’m not used to not wearing a-”

“S’okay,” You assure him, nodding your head, pressing your forehead to his, “Promise. It’s okay.” Your words relax him, but only a little. Kissing him softly, you hope he doesn’t let this fester for too long, but you know how much he despised doing something without your consent first.

“It’ll be fine,” You say once more before reaching over for the faucet, turning the shower off, “Now can we please get out of here, I am freezing.” Eddie agrees, and once the water is off he pulls the curtain open and steps out, grabbing towels for both of you. Wrapping his around his waist, letting it hang low, he eyes your body as you dry off and he smiles.

“I wonder if Max is okay…” You start to say, but let your voice trail off as you meet Eddie’s eyes. His gaze is unforgiving. Hungry eyes that never missed a chance to catch a glimpse of your bare skin. Holding the towel in front of you, you blush and tilt your head to the side. Eddie’s face twists, and he takes a big step to stand in front of you, making you drop the towel.

“No, no,” He chuckles, “Don’t cover this up,” One of his hands points at you, head to toe, “We’re sleeping like this.” Your eyes go wide.

“Eddie, it’s March, it’s freezing!” You laugh, and he smirks.

“I’ll keep you warm,” His voice drops a couple octaves, “C’mon, how many chances do we get to do this?” Rolling your eyes, you take a deep breath. He was right.

“Okay,” You start to smile. He pumps both his fists at his side, and scoops you up into his arms, carrying you right into the bedroom you scrambled into right before getting tangled up in Eddie.

Waking up in the serenity of absolute peace and quiet, you shift to peek behind you at Eddie who has a hand thrown over your waist beneath the sheets, his other tucked under his head on the pillow where he laid on his elbow. He seemed so content. When he was asleep it was the calmest you’ve ever seen him. No fidgets, no outbursts… just pouty lips and squished cheeks on whatever he was nuzzled against. His entire expression was relaxed, a hint that he was finally getting some well needed sleep.

The sun was shining into the bedroom through the shades that mimicked a sideways white picket fence. Sitting up, the sheet slips off of you and a chill from the cool air runs over you, goosebumps erupting over your bare skin. Not wanting to wake Eddie, you try to gently slide his arm off of you, and roll out of bed carefully. With successful execution, you pull the sheet over him, after admiring his tattoos for a second, and turn to search for your clothes that littered the floor.

Tip toeing around the hardwood, hoping it wouldn’t creak, you step over a condom wrapper, some old cigarette filters from who knows when, and the other half a joint Eddie had rolled last night before you got lost between the sheets. Bending down to pick it up along with your shirt you found, you put it on the cluttered nightstand beside Eddie, knowing he’d want it after he woke up.

Once you were fully clothed, you started to look for your socks that ended up somewhere, hopefully not in the void, and as you leaned over to look under the bed, Eddie moved above you on the mattress.

“Hey,” He called out, his morning voice deep, and raspy, “Don’t tell me you left,” He sounded disappointed, his hand reaching out beside him to drag along the sheets.

“Didn’t leave,” You say sweetly, popping up off of the floor with socks in hand. Eddie sits up on his elbows, checking out your appearance with furrowed brows.

“But you’re about to?” He half-questions. Smiling at the pout he wore, you lean against the foot of the bed.

“Want a smoke?” You ask, and chuckle as he starts to smile.

“Yeah,” He says quietly.

“Yeah?” You egg on, nodding.

“Come kiss me first,” He says, keeping his eyes on you as you round the side of the bed, collapsing on it by his side. Holding his cheek, you press your lips to his three times, the third time leaving him hanging for more. “No, don’t go,” He whines as you stand up, falling back on the pillows, his curls fluffy and messy.

“Nicotine,” You declare, “Cigarette and me, or just me?” He stretches his arms above his head, groaning as he rolled to the side and sat up on his knees.

“Cigarette and you,” He mumbles, looking at you with his big, brown eyes. You lean in to kiss him one more time, short and sweet, and smile.

“That’s what I thought,” You say, and turn toward the door.

“Hey, be careful,” He says, his tone shifting to something that was wrapped around worry, “Please? Be quick. Go right there and come back.” Pausing in the doorway, you look back at him and smile again.

“Promise,” You say, and he holds up a pinky, “Go back to sleep,” You giggle, and watch him fall back onto the mattress dramatically for the third time.

Surely Hawkins during the day wouldn’t be as frightening as the nighttime, which you were learning was something to be afraid of. It was the time of day you used to love in this shallow town before it turned unpredictable. You would get lost in the nighttime, but now, you could literally get lost… in the nighttime.

Making it your mission to stay as hidden as possible as you venture into town, you think about what would happen if you swung by your home. You’ve been away for three days now, the longest you’ve gone without your parents knowing where you were. Just yesterday while out with Nancy and Robin you were exposed to Hawkins, but without a Tina and Neil sighting. If they were to find you, it would be more unpredictable than Hawkins as to what they’d do.

You imagine Tina would latch onto you theatrically, sobbing as she shoved you into the backseat of the station wagon, or cause a scene on the street as she begged you to come back home- but that seemed a bit far out. Maybe there was a chance they were happy you were gone, maybe they weren’t looking for you at all. They were left with Jeffrey and Marshall, their golden children, to live happily ever after in their nuclear home. It could be their second chance to not screw up the rest of their children before they got into high school where that apparently became more important than anything else.

Jeffrey and Marshall would grow up without your bad influence you’ve recently heard about. The twins would go off to be successful, and well valued in a small town designed to keep them trapped with their parents who they will inevitably turn into.

The last memory you have with both of them that was somewhat joyful was this past Christmas, in ‘85. Marshall, the softer of the two, woke you up early in the morning before your parents. Jeffrey was behind him in your doorway, both of them dressed in matching red flannel pajamas. Marshall asked you to come with them downstairs, and you obliged after tears threatened his eyes that matched your mothers.

You led them down the steps quietly, the sun was just about to rise, which meant you had a good hour before your parents woke up. When the three of you step into the living room and spot the Christmas tree with presents underneath it, the boys each grab one of your hands and yank you toward it, jumping up and down. They started to whisper in excitement to you, telling you that their Optimus Prime action figure had to be here amongst the flood of tacky wrapping paper.

It didn’t take much convincing, their smiles, Jeffrey with braces, were enough to send the three of you diving into the piles, shaking every box to find their Optimus Prime’s. Whenever one of you found one that sounded like it could be a chunk of plastic, you encouraged them to tear it open, and you’d all laugh if it wasn’t the toy. It took ten presents before you found them both, the boys ripping the cardboard of the boxes to get the blue and red robot looking thing out to play with.

When the twins ran away to search for batteries, your parents came down the stairs, Tina was wrapping her robe around her body, wearing curlers in her hair. The first thing they saw was you sitting in front of the tree surrounded by wrapping paper and open presents. They couldn’t get a word out, they were shocked. Then, Jeffrey and Marshall came tumbling back into the living room, with Optimus Prime in their hands, and smiles on their faces that were quickly wiped away at the sight of Tina and Neil. You jumped in and took the blame, realizing that the boys were about to be the ones to get the boot there. It ended the same as every other predicament. The boys were off scott-free, and you were grounded for a couple of days with another tally on your parents shitlist.

You believe there’s a part of the twins that misses you, and the urge to go back home is fueled by them, and them only. They were watching the TV that morning, they saw what happened to Chrissy, they knew it was at Eddie’s. You didn’t want them thinking that you were dead, but you also couldn’t risk being seen. Hiding away with Eddie for this long now put him at risk if you were pulled into any sort of questioning.

Shoving your hands in the pockets of your jacket, you pull it around you tighter as buildings come into view. Your feet hit pavement instead of dirt, and the first glimpse of human activity is spotted. Deciding to stick to the outskirts of Hawkins instead of going in too far toward the heart, you step inside a corner drug store that you’ve been in with Eddie before- a necessary stop before you would hit up Rick’s.

There’s a tall, older, bald man behind the counter with scruffy facial hair and skin nearly blacked out in tattoos. He’s reading a newspaper, and looks up as the door jingles shut behind you. The store is small, a couple of shelves lined the wall, but most of the merchandise is behind the counter. With a glimpse at you, the scruffy man smiles, slapping his paper down on the linoleum.

“Hey, John,” You return the smile, stepping up to the counter confidently.

“How the hell are ya?” He huffs a laugh behind his equally scruffy tone of voice. Shrugging your shoulders, you shake your head.

“Trying to get through it,” You say, and he bumps his fist a couple of times on top of the newspaper.

“Kid, this town has gone to shit,” John says matter-of-factly, “I told you and Eddie it was coming, didn’t I?” You nod along with him, listening to him go off about how terribly the police were handling the issues at hand, siding with you, mentioning how he’s got a good feeling that Eddie isn’t the suspect they should be searching for. Your eyes travel from John’s face to the wall of cartons of cigarettes behind him. John stops his rant once he realizes he’s lost you, then peers over his shoulder and chuckles.

“Shit, kid, I got you,” He says, and pulls out two packs he knows you and Eddie always buy from him. Setting them down in front of you, he smiles at you and gestures for you to take them. Clearing your throat, you take a deep breath and look up at him.

“John, I… I’m sorry, I don’t have any money right now, I just came from… Came from, y’know…” You start to point behind you, rambling away, unable to say the words. John waves his hand, placing his other to his chest.

“Whoa, whoa,” He begins, leaning on the counter to level with you, “I don’t care where you came from, who you were with…” He eyes you cheekily, “Or what you were out doing, it’s just nice to know that you’re safe, standing here in front of me, and you don’t seem too upset, so I’m assuming someone else is safe right now, too,” You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off again, “Nope, I don’t need an answer, in fact, you probably shouldn’t say anything else. Take these, and this,” He reaches for a lighter, tossing it next to the cigarettes, “And go back where you came from.”

A moment is shared between you and John, a sweet one. This man, who you’ve only seen behind the counter in his store, had a way of making you feel safe. He easily validated you whenever you came around, and he was excellent at giving advice, telling you and Eddie that he’s been through more than either of you could imagine. At this point, that probably isn’t true anymore, you both may have him beat.

“Thank you,” You mouth inaudibly, making him laugh.

“Anytime, kid, keep doing what you’re doing, this’ll blow over,” He waves to you after you grab your things, and turn for the door.

As you’re about to push it open, the view outside stops you in your tracks. Across the street Tina is walking with the twins, all three of them carrying a stack of papers. Your mothers hair is pulled up into a ponytail, and she isn’t wearing any make up. She’s dressed in clothes she’d wear to work out in, something she wouldn’t be caught dead in in public, and the boys were wearing their usual matching t-shirts. Marshall was clinging to one of her hands, and it looked as though Jeffrey was leading them around, holding a box of something under the papers. They paused at a post on the corner, Tina encouraging Marshall to hold up a sheet of paper on the wood while Jeffrey got a thumbtack out of the box to pin it in place. Then, they took a step back, Jeffrey nodding proudly at their work.

Your heart stings watching them look so distraught, though it seemed like Jeffrey was taking one for the team and playing the role of the big guy. You wonder if Neil was at work, and if he even cared that you’ve been gone. He was good friends with Chief Powell, so he was probably holed up at the police station feeding their belief that Eddie is a murderous terror.

“You alright?” John asks tentatively. Jeffrey begins to lead your mother and brother across the street, right towards the store you were standing in.

“John, oh-my-god,” You back away from the door, and hurry behind the counter with him, crouching underneath it, tucking your legs as close to your chest as you could, “I’m not here, I’m not here, please, John, I’m not here.”

“Okay, okay,” He whispers, lifting his newspaper to flick through it again nonchalantly. You can hear your heart beating in your ears, and your hands start to feel tingly. Closing your eyes, you take slow deep breaths, ones that you can hear Eddie coaching you through.

The door jingles, and John looks up at your mother and brothers with a small smile, one not as inviting as he gave you.

“Hello,” He says jauntily, “How can I help you?”

“Hi,” You hear Jeffrey say, “Me and my family are hanging up these posters in the town,” A shuffle can be heard on the counter, you assume he put down the stack of papers he was holding.

“Oh,” John intrigues, playing his part.

“We were hoping we could hang one up in here, just in case anybody comes in and sees it,” Jeffrey says. You see John look past Jeffrey, possibly to your mother.

“You’ve got a confident young man here,” He says.

“Thank you,” Your mothers voice is broken, stabbing you directly in the gut, “My daughter’s been missing for three days, she, she ran off, and with all that’s been happening we hope… We hope she’s okay. Her brothers here, they miss her terribly. I can’t even begin to tell you what we’ve been going through everyday.” John nods his head, glancing at you momentarily, seeing that you’ve covered your face with your hands. A lump sat in your throat, one that was telling you that you were about to cry. Trying to swallow it down, you let a tear escape.

“If we hang up a sign in here, there’s a greater chance of us finding her,” Marshall's soft voice speaks up, making more tears fall. The timider of the twins would let Jeffrey do all of the talking to strangers in situations unknown.

“Sure, you can hang one up, there’s already a couple over there,” John points to the wall to the left of the door. Scuffling of feet can be heard after a few mumbled ‘thank yous’. John looks down at you, and taps your foot with his. Glancing up to the tall man, he smiles and holds up a finger to let you know that they were still in the building.

“Mom, look, Eddie’s up here,” Jeffrey says, and your stomach churns.

“Yes he is,” Tina sighs, “Can only imagine where he ended up.”

“Do you think she’s with him?” Marshall asks.

“Here, take the tack,” Tina says, giving the boys direction, “I don’t know, Marsh. That’s where she was headed that morning, I know it, but there’s nothing in that trailer park except his uncle, and we’ve already tried talking to him.”

“Right,” Marshall agrees.

“He told us, boys,” She says, and you start to bite at the skin around your fingernails, “He hasn’t seen either of them, not even when she ran that way, and I know, I know, she was going there.”

“Is he a bad guy, Mom?” Marshall asks, and your mother doesn’t answer right away, instead she waits a couple of seconds.

“I hope not,” She finally says, “I really, really, hope not.”

“But Dad has said that he is,” Jeffrey tried to defend, and you can feel an anger stir within you, “He always told us to stay away from him.”

“You can’t always listen to your father, Jeffrey,” Your mother says surprisingly, “He’s not as smart as you think.”

“Dad is smart,” Marshall says quickly, and Tina laughs.

“We’ll talk about this later, let’s focus on finding your sister,” She says, and you can hear them walk toward the door.

“If she is with Eddie, I bet he is protecting her,” Marshall says, “He always seems scary, so that must mean he protects her from the bad things, right?” Again, your mother is hesitant, you hope she’s taking the thirteen year olds words into consideration.

“Sure, Marsh,” She says quietly, “Let’s hope you’re right. Thank you, sir.” Tina says to John who gives them a wave.

“Thank you!” The twins say in unison, and the door jingles shut.

Propping his elbow on the counter, John looks down at you, scooting to the side a little so you could stand up out of your hiding spot. He gives you a hand to help you up and the same smile that hasn’t changed since meeting your family.

“They seem nice,” He says.

“Yeah,” You nod, “Unfortunately, I think they are.” You glance to the wall where they hung your photo up, walking out from behind the counter to get a closer look. They used a photo of you from last summer, your hair a little bit longer than it was now. You were wearing a purple tank top and black denim shorts, not that anyone could tell because the picture was in black and white, and on your shoulder was a small heart that Eddie had drawn on you in permanent marker. The first tattoo you wanted, one you were waiting to move out to get.

Eddie’s photo was beside yours, the boys hanging them up next to each other, which seemed oddly sweet. His picture was cute, it made you smile. He had such a serious look on his face, the picture seemed nothing like how you knew him. This had to have been taken by Uncle Wayne recently, for something, because there’s no way Eddie would look that ticked off for just anyone. He was wearing his Dio shirt, the one he favored over others, the one he rarely even let you wear.

“Wish I could, like, take a picture of this,” You point with both hands at both your missing persons papers, glancing over your shoulder at John who was looking at his paper again. He laughs, shaking his head. “Was I wrong for hiding?” You ask, letting your eyes flicker back and forth between your photos. You hear John put down the paper.

“Maybe,” He says, and you turn around with wide eyes, shocked that he wasn’t taking your side, “Listen, you’ve got a family that’s worried about you. I know it’s hot right now, and that kid is a wanted man, but you should’ve seen the look on your mama’s face,” His expression softens to one you’ve never seen him wear before, “You should tell her you’re okay.”

“She’ll trap me, John,” You say, stepping in front of the counter with a fire in your veins, “She’s not gonna let me stay with Eddie, she’ll lock me in my room! And my dad? Oh, man, my dad will NOT hesitate to throw him behind bars, he was ready to when he first met him. They don’t even know that we’re together, John, that’s how much of a secret I try to keep him, ‘cause I know that if they get their… perfectly, manicured, hands on him, they’ll throw him away.” John diverts his eyes momentarily, studying his paper before he nods.

“This town wants to throw him away, that I know,” He says carefully, “I know you’re revved up right now, but watch what you say,” His tone is gentle, you nod, “You’re in love, I get it. I see the way you two stroll on up in here, you’re handsy and teasing each other, and, yeah, I see the way he looks at you, but… If your mama is making posters for you, and walking around town, all the way out here, to hang ‘em up? I know she’s a lady who doesn’t like to be seen like that, believe me. She cares.”

“Believe me, she cares,” You mutter in a mocking voice, taking your time to get back to Eddie at Ricks. You’re nearly there with the conversation with John on replay in your head. “John, you’re right about one thing, she is a woman who does not want to be seen looking like that!” You let out a single laugh, stepping over a branch that had fallen on the side of the dirt road.

Turning onto the driveway of Ricks, you hurry around the house and up the backstairs, shutting the door with might.

“I’m back, Princess,” You tease, calling out to Eddie. A few seconds go by before he pops his head over the railing on the stairs with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey,” He spats, “Watch yo’ mouth.” He’s fully dressed when he trots down the stairs, jumping off the third one from the bottom to land on the floor on his feet. Smiling at you, he tilts his head to give you a kiss and takes one of the packs of cigarettes you were holding out in your hand.

“This is cute,” He says, sitting down in one of the chairs around the kitchen table. Placing a cigarette between your lips you light it, then slide the lighter across the wood to Eddie.

“What is?” You say sitting down as you blow the smoke out in a thin line, feeling a wave of utter relaxation wash over you. You watch as Eddie lights his own, kicking his feet up on the table. He takes a long drag and groans, letting it all out at once, dropping his head backward.

“Ahh, maaay, zing,” He dramaticized, looking back up at you, “Us living here together,” He continues his previous statement, “It’s cute.” He spins the filter between his fingers, watching the cherry closely before he looks back over to you.

“We’re not living here, Eddie, we’re hiding here,” You smize, raising an eyebrow. You both take an equally long drag from your cigarettes, seeing who would tap out first, and of course, Eddie won. You blow out the smoke with a cough and a laugh. “You getting ideas?” You ask quietly, looking down at your feet. Eddie hasn’t looked away from you.

“I think I am,” He says, smiling softly to you when you turn your chin up to meet his eyes. You try to return it, and your pathetic attempt has him slapping his feet to the floor, and sitting forward in his chair to study you. “What happened?” He questions, and you roll your eyes, “Don’t give me that, what the hell happened?”

“I saw…” You start, but feel your chest tighten. Eddie lifts both his hands by his side, his eyes going wide as he waits for you to finish that sentence. He’s moments away from lunging for his walkie to get in touch with Dustin.

“Clocks?” He asks rather loudly. You shake your head. “Vecna? Big clocks? Babe, come on.”

“My mom,” You sigh heavily, “My actual mom, with Jeffrey and Marshall. They came into John's store, and I hid. Eddie, there’s posters being hung up,” He relaxes, resting his arms on the table. Taking a drag of your cigarette, you shake your head, “Posters of you, posters of me… And John said I should talk to her, tell her I’m okay, because he says she cares.” Eddie’s eyes fall to the table in front of him, his stare going blank. This was a thought he had the very first day you came to find him. Your parents were always in the back of his mind, and as much as he hated it, he actually agreed with John.

“You should,” He mutters. You freeze, looking at him in disbelief.

“What?” Your face has gone stone cold.

“You should tell them you’re okay,” He’s almost whispering, and still staring at the kitchen table, “Please? As much as I love giving them hell, this would be taking it too far, you and I both know that,” His eyes flicker up at you, big, brown and full of remorse, “Don’t make me the reason you only see your mom every other Christmas.”

“Eddie,” You whisper, remembering what you’ve told him about your grandmother. The two of you sat in uncomfortable silence for a minute, neither of you moving, letting the cigarettes burn to the filter.

“Been in touch with Dustin?” You offer, hoping to shift the room's energy back to where it had been early morning. Eddie jabs the filter into an ashtray on the table without his eyes leaving yours.

“No, and please, don’t change the subject,” He says, still speaking quietly, “You always avoid this, can we figure something out?” You break the gaze, looking at the ashtray and copying what he had done. You paint your lips into a frown, the guilt you felt for running away from your parents was manifesting as bitterness toward them.

“I don’t want to figure something out,” You blurt out, snapping your neck to look back at him, “I want to stay right here, with you.”

“We can’t do this forever, you said it yourself, we’re hiding here,” Eddie finally raises his tone, “I’m wanted for a murder, one that is going to take way too long to prove that I didn’t do,” His bitterness was rising just as yours was, “You’re always running away from them whether you think you are or not, do you realize that? We can’t run away from them forever.”

“Is this happening right now,” You say, starting to smile. You sit up completely straight and glance around the room before looking at Eddie whose saddened expression hasn’t faltered. “What’s my name?” You ask him, and he says it to you.

“What are you doing?” He asks, seeming exhausted. Standing up, you move around the table to touch his shoulder.

“Making sure I’m not having one of those things again, ‘cause this was what it was like, somebody telling me how I’m living my own life,” Your words make him cringe. He exhales before he reaches for your arms, tugging you closer to him. Guiding you to sit down on his lap, he wraps his arms around your body, engulfing you in a hug before he relaxes backward, letting you lay on his chest. Kissing your forehead, he sighs.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, “I don’t want to tell you how you’re living your own life, I just want to help.” His chest vibrates on your ear as he speaks.

“I know,” You say, “I’m just too afraid of it all right now,” He nods, lifting a hand to hold the back of your head, “I’m scared. I’m scared of what’s going to happen to you.”

“Yeah,” He scoffs, “Me too.”

tags :) thanks for reading! <3 you guys are amazing.

~ @callie-bear15 @smol-book-nerd @bestieimmentallyill ~

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modern-day-bard · 4 months

Text

Worth The Feeling

Content Warning: 18+

This story includes explicit smut, intimidation, and an age gap relationship (MC is 26, Pedro is in his 40s). Minors, do not interact.

Chapter 7

Wait.

That is all I did this weekend. Wait and try and catch my breath. When I woke up on Saturday morning, I had all but convinced myself that Friday night had been a dream. But I could still feel his lips on my neck, and my wrists still tingled from his hands binding them together. Come Monday morning, I had now taken a total of three cold showers.

Lana had called Friday night, Saturday morning, and Saturday afternoon. It wasn't until she threatened to get the authorities involved that I called her back. I love Lana, and I tell her everything, but a part of me liked that this was just between Javi and me. Truthfully, I hadn't even had the opportunity to have any secrets from Lana. And I liked having a secret life for once. Even if I only kept the secret for about twenty-four hours.

I didn't give her all the details. The suspicious side of me wondered if he could sue me if he found out I had spilled all of our dirty laundry. Not that we had a lot of it. And I know Lana wouldn't tell, but we all work together. Surely it could get back to him somehow. In the end, I decided to tell her the facts, and leave out the dialogue during our kiss. The only person I wanted to confess my lust to was him.

That part had really been nagging at me. I confessed that I wanted him, and he said he felt the same way, and then he left. Kissed my forehead, and left. After I had my breathing back under control, I wondered if I had done something wrong. But I'd pushed that thought away as much as possible. I didn't want to be that person. As much as I was attracted to him, I wasn't going to let him make me question my confidence.

That is, until I stepped on to set.

It's not that I'm not acting confident, it's just that I can sense that I'm acting differently. Evidenced by the fact that I wore a dress today. Never in my life as a PA have I worn a dress to work. The amount of bending over and hustling we do just doesn't allow for it. But when I woke up today, and I remembered how good it felt to feel Javi's slacks against my bare legs, I pulled out this green wrap dress first thing.

I've now made it almost half the day without seeing him. Apparently over the weekend, Lloyd had some sort of epiphany and decided to shoot things in a different order than we'd scheduled. I don't think Lloyd understands that epiphanies are supposed to be rare. Now, the entire crew is in shambles. I've been assisting almost every department today, and by the time we get through with lunch, I'm starting to regret my choice of attire.

"Dwayne to Ava." My walkie croaks.

"Go for Ava," I say, out of breath from carrying several pounds of wiring almost a mile across set.

"Hi Ava, Gutierrez is asking for you in his trailer."

"Really?" I squeak, "I mean, did he say what I should bring him?" I tried to recover from my excitable first response.

"No, he didn't say. Just go check it out, would you? And then we're going to need you on soundstage one."

"Copy!" I hope he takes my excited tone as a frantic one. Today of all days, that wouldn't be surprising.

I take my time walking to his trailer. I wish I had seen him in the beginning of the day before everything got so hectic. I'm sure the chaos was written all over my face, and my dress was all wrinkled now. Even so, nothing would prevent me from knocking on his door.

"Come in!" I hear him call and my stomach lurches.

When I enter the trailer, I'm surprised to see another man standing next to Javi in front of the kitchenette. In my startled state, I blurt out, "Mr. Gutierrez!" as if it's him I'm surprised to see, in his own trailer, where I was called to meet him.

He looks amused. "Mr. Gutierrez? So formal, Ms. Cohen. I thought we were better acquainted than that," he takes a slow sip out of the mug in his right hand. "Ava, this is Jonah Elrod, my lawyer."

"Oh," I blink before holding out my hand, "Nice to meet you."

Jonah takes my hand, smiling, "Likewise." He must be early thirties or so, but his smile is a bit crooked, giving him more of a boyish charm. He is tall, with light brown hair slicked neatly back to match his suit. "Javi, I'll be in touch," Jonah turns to the table, picking up a messenger bag before moving toward the door. "Ava, it was good to meet you," he smiles another crooked smile.

"You too," I say, and then he is gone. The sound of the door clicking seems to echo in the room for a long time. It takes me a moment before I can look at Javi. After everything on Friday, the tension seems to pull these walls tighter around us.

"Hi," Javi laughs lightly, his voice filled with the suggestion that he is feeling the tension too.

"Hi," I smile at him, feeling shy. "Why were you meeting with your lawyer? Or, wait I'm sorry I probably shouldn't ask that."

"You can ask me anything," he leans against the wall, "But I'm a little worried about scaring you off."

I think on that for a moment. He doesn't elaborate, he just keeps watching my face change from confused, to more confused.

"Oh my god," realization hits, "You need me to sign an NDA. Was I supposed to do that before our date? I mean, before...Friday happened?"

Javi's eyes widen. "What?" He puts his coffee down on the table, moving closer to where I am by the door. "No. You don't need to sign an NDA. And that wouldn't be your responsibility, it would be mine."

I just nod, and Javi takes a breath before continuing.

"Look, I'm not trying to insinuate anything. I don't want you to think that I'm asking for your hand in marriage after one date. But with your career, I wanted to make sure all of our bases are covered." He waits, looking to my face for reassurance. Honestly, I feel a lot better just knowing that he didn't summon me here to legally commit to not talking to someone about our date after I definitely already talked to someone about our date.

"Basically, I wanted to ask Jonah about paparazzi rights. See if there would be any legal ramifications for someone if they were to post a photo of us together without your permission. I'm free game, I signed up for this. But you didn't," he takes another step closer to me, his eyes sincere, "I want to apologize, Ava. I shouldn't have done what I did out in the open where anyone could have been lurking with a camera."

After a brief pause, I ask, "So that's why you asked me here?"

Javi nods.

"And here I thought you were going to apologize for not coming in for a night cap."

Javi chuckles, visibly relieved. "If I recall correctly, you didn't invite me in for a night cap."

"Well, my apologies. I was...preoccupied." If the air was thick before, that comment just added about twenty metric tons of tension on top of it.

"Jonah seems like a nice guy," I feel dumb saying it, but I can't let my last comment hang out in the air any longer.

"He's pretty great. I'm thinking of getting rid of him, though." Javi takes another step toward me. Thanks to the general small scale of trailers, he's now close enough that I have to lift my head to look him in the eye.

"Why's that?"

"He totally checked you out when he was leaving."

I half-laugh, half-snort. "He most certainly did not."

Javi ignores my comment, reaching his hand out and taking the tie at the waist of my dress in his hand, twisting it around his fingers.

"Can't blame him. It's this dress..." his gaze flickers up to mine. Hopeful. Hopeful and heated. "It's a very good color on you."

"I might have..." my cheeks blaze with my omission, "I might have picked it with you in mind." Javi's expression grows possessive. "Is that so?"

"Mmhm."

Javi leans forward, bringing his lips to my ear. "Did you think about me while I was away?"

My breathing hitches. I nod slowly. His free hand moves to the other side of my waist.

"Tell me." His voice is low and commanding.

"I thought about you all weekend," My voice trembles with excitement.

"Mmm," he hums, placing a featherlight kiss to my neck. A shiver runs down my spine underneath his hand. "What exactly did you think about?"

Tentatively, I look up and meet his gaze. The look in his eyes shoots straight to my core. His lids are hooded, his deep brown eyes wanting. I place both of my hands on either side of his face and pull him down to me. I kiss him gently, trying to remind myself to breathe. He is gentle too, though now both of his hands are on my back, inching their way down toward the hem of my dress. Before I know it, we're moving backward. I don't open my eyes, but Javi's embrace spins me. We continue to step backward until I make contact with the table in the kitchenette. His hands travel to my thighs as he bends down slightly, lifting me just enough so that I'm sitting on the table. The movement breaks us apart, and he takes the opportunity to grab my chin. He leans in so close that his lips brush mine as he speaks.

"Use your words," I feel his other hand on my knee, his fingers lightly skirting up under my dress, "Tell me what you wanted then."

With his hand firmly on my chin, there is nowhere else to look as I say, "I wanted you to come upstairs."

"What else?" His hand continues up my thigh.

"I wanted you to help me out of my dress." I have no hope of hiding how quickly my chest is rising and falling.

"Mmhm. That one was a bit shorter. I think it stopped...Here," he cuts a line across my upper thigh with his finger, "Is that right?"

"No," my eyes flutter shut, "It was higher."

He chuckles, low and gravelly. He moves his grip from my chin to the back of my neck.

"Look at me, Ava."

And I do. I look at him even though my face is on fire and my hands are shaking. I feel so exposed and still so secure. There is not a trace of apprehension in my nervous system. Looking at Javi right now, I feel so bare, yet so protected.

"Tell me where to stop." He commands. I nod in response, open-mouthed and unable to speak.

Eyes boring into mine, his other hand still on my neck, securing me in my place, he continues to work his hand up my thigh. He stops in a few places, pinching gently, drawing slow circles in others. Then he reaches my hip bone, where the side of my thong rests. I mentally thank my past self for having the decency to pick something other than Hanes this morning.

He toys with the fabric, sliding his fingers through it and out of it. His gaze keeps questioning, waiting to see when I tell him to stop. But I don't plan on ever making that request. As he realizes this still isn't too far, he hooks his finger underneath the lace, and slides his finger along until it rests in between my legs. I gasp now that he's not simply touching my leg. And even that was far from simple.

His movements still at my gasp, anticipating resistance.

"I didn't t-tell you to stop." My attempt at a seductive tone is hindered by my excited stutter.

He gives me a small smile, his eyes moving to my lips.

It distracts me for a moment, so I don't realize right away that he has now slipped his hand completely between my thong and my sex. His middle finger swipes upward, quick and unexpected.

"Oh!" I gasp once more, placing my hands on the table beneath me to steady myself. I toss my head back as far as it will go with Javi's hand still securing me in place. He does the motion again, and I stifle a moan. He continues this, and I can hear the wetness pooling between my legs with each stroke. Wanting the strokes to grow harder, I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer. But that makes him stop. I snap my head up, eyes wide with panic.

He chuckles again at my bewildered expression, before moving his thumb to my clit.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm not done with you yet." His calloused thumb starts to move in slow, delicious circles.

"My...god." I whisper, my legs starting to shake around his waist.

He leans forward, kissing my neck and collarbone as he continues. In between kisses, he says, "You said you'd never been kissed like that until the other night. What about this?" he gently bites underneath my ear, "Has anyone ever made you feel like this before?"

I bite my lip, shaking my head as I stifle another moan. My eyes are closed once again.

"I believe I asked you to use your words." He practically growls.

But I can't. I can't, I can't. It's too much. It feels too good. My hand flies up to his shoulder, grasping for support. I don't need to be steaded, rather I'm grasping at this feeling. I need more. His slow movements are driving me crazy.

"I want you to make me..." I don't even recognize my own voice.

"Keep talking."

"I want to–"

"Dwayne for Ava, Dwayne for Ava." My walkie stutters to life from its position around my waist. I had completely forgotten that it was there.

"Shit." I cry, "No."

But Javi's fingers had already left my thong, and he's now leaning his forehead against mine. "You need to answer it," he pants.

"I..." Don't want to? Can't believe how shitty this timing is? Can't believe how good I just felt?

"Ava, are you there?" I hear Dwayne's voice again, slightly more irritated. The heavenly feeling I was just experiencing had dulled the fact that today has been one of the more chaotic days on set. I take a deep breath, grabbing my walkie from my work belt that was now much higher on my waist than it had been when I entered the room.

"Go for Ava."

"Are you done with Gutierrez?"

Well Dwayne, I was close. Javi smirks at Dwayne's question, pulling away from me and leaning casually against the doorframe by the table. The table where I was still sprawled out on, flushed.

"Yes. What do you need?"

"You're needed on soundstage one, like I said before. We need as many hands as possible to get organized in here."

I push my hand toward the receiver to reply, but I gasp when I see Javi slide his fingers into his mouth and suck. The same fingers that had just been giving me so much pleasure. He hasn't taken his eyes off of me, and now I'm starting to think he relishes in this specific form of torture.

"Ava?" Dwayne is definitely irritated now.

"Copy. On my way." I secure the walkie back on my belt and scoot off the table, rearranging my dress so that there are hopefully no signs of anything nefarious happening in here.

"You're evil for that," I jab my hand in Javi's direction.

His eyes turn exceedingly innocent. "I mean I had to have one taste before you go."

My mouth falls open and I just shake my head. "I just...evil."

He just looks at me and shrugs, still leaning against the doorframe.

"See you soon, Ms. Cohen." He winks.

I let my wobbly legs guide me out of the trailer, back into the brilliant sun. It is very, very difficult to wipe this dumb smile off my face. A PA running around on a day like today with a ceaseless smile plastered was sure to raise some eyebrows. As I head toward the soundstage, I try to come up with a reason to drop it.

Unfortunately, I wouldn't have to wait long to find one.

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#pedro #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x original characters #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #the mandalorian #tlou #narcos #javier peña #joel miller #javi gutierrez fanfiction #javi gutierrez smut #javi gutierrez x you #javi gutierrez x reader

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