#back to the way things were chapter 14 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

munson-blurbs · 10 months

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Summary: Will's birthday party brings back some familiar faces and gives Eddie the perfect opportunity to make amends with Corroded Coffin, but an unexpected interruption might have him hurtling towards his old ways.

Warnings: some dirty talk (18+ only just in case), drinking/drunkenness (everyone is over 21), pregnancy and labor complications, mentions of past bullying

WC: 8.2k

Chapter 14/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special shoutout to @storiesbyrhi and @corroded-hellfire for helping with the fluffy sections and making this piece strong.

Afternoons at Hawkins Preschool are predictable: storytime on the carpet is followed by the kids’ pack-up routine, and once all belongings are shoved into their proper backpacks, they file out the door to go home.

Predictable is good. It’s safe. And it certainly doesn’t include a fire drill half an hour before dismissal.

Herding nine children through the bustling hallways and trying to ensure no one is left behind is overwhelming enough. Factor in the ear-splitting alarm and the surge of adrenaline pulsing through your students once they re-enter your classroom, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for chaos.

Instead of fighting a losing battle to keep the kids calm and quiet, you’d opted to plunk them down with myriad art supplies and called it a day.

Now, after the last student had been picked up, you and Will are left cleaning the mess they’d made. Broken crayons are scattered across the tabletops, there’s Play-Doh of various colors stuck to the floor, and gold glitter—when did you even acquire glitter?—dusts every surface.

“Seriously…who thought that that timing was a good idea?” Will grumbles, tossing a Crayola stub into the crayon basket. He adopts a nasal, mocking tone. “‘What would help out our teachers? Oh, I know—let’s interrupt their dismissal routines!’”

You laugh despite your own exhaustion. Somehow, you’ll have to muster up the energy to tutor Harris tonight.

Will reaches into the cupboard to grab his car keys, turning back around with a smile that he only offers you when he needs something. “Could I ask you for a little favor?”

There it is. “How little?” You cock one brow as you clip a stack of papers together.

“Eensy weensy. Miniscule. Microscopic–”

“The more you say it, the less I believe you.”

“Okay, okay,” Will acquiesces, twirling his keyring around his forefinger. “So, for my birthday thing on Saturday…a bunch of my childhood friends are gonna be there. Mike, Dustin, Suzie, Lucas, Max, Jane…” he lists them, ticking off each name on his fingers. “Anyway, I was hoping that maybe you could talk to Eddie about a Corroded Coffin reunion? I know they’re on a hiatus or whatever, but if anyone can convince him to play, it’s you.”

He’s not wrong; you’re the most likely person to get Eddie to do, well, anything. But asking him to make amends with Danny and Gareth and getting their band to play a gig three days from now seems like a mountainous task.

Will is staring at you, hands clasped together pleadingly. He’s too optimistic for his own good, and you can’t help but give in.

“Fine, I’ll try. But–hey, don’t get excited yet,” you warn when he pumps his fist in celebration. “‘Try’ is the key word here. I’m not making any promises.”

Your admonition goes unheeded as Will already considers it a victory. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You give him a small, tight-lipped wave as he dashes out the door. You and Eddie were already planning to attend the party; you’d spent part of last night scouring an art store for the perfect gift. And he and Jeff were back to being thick as thieves…maybe this could work.

“All right, Mr. Harris,” you say with a laugh, hurriedly placing tiles of various shapes in front of him. You need to make the most of the few minutes you have left until Eddie arrives. There’s a soft, familiar flutter in your stomach as you think about seeing your boyfriend, but you know you can’t compete with him for Harris’s attention. “Can you find the…trapezoid?” The inflection in your voice makes it sound like a much more exciting task than it really is, and you hope it’s enough to wrangle his focus.

Harris pokes out his tiny pink tongue as he assesses the tiles. He initially reaches for the blue rhombus, but as soon as his little finger touches it, he pulls away as though it’s on fire. “No…that’s not it.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to suppress your amusement as he thoughtfully taps his forefinger on his lips. A solid ten seconds pass before he triumphantly snatches up the correct tile. “Got it!” he beams, showing off the red trapezoid in his hand.

“You did! You got the trapezoid!” You hold up your hand for a high-five, frowning when he shakes his head. His overgrown curls brush along his eyebrows, and you wonder if it’s your place to suggest that Eddie take him for a haircut. “No high-five?”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, now swiveling his whole body in defiance. “I want…tickles!” He holds his arms out, leaving his torso wide open.

Lips pursed in faux consideration, you lower your voice to a hushed whisper. “Hmm…I think that warrants a visit from the Tickle Monster!” You flex your fingers so they resemble claws; he instinctively scrunches up in anticipation, arms tucked into his stomach. You let out your silliest wicked cackle as your fingers dig mercilessly into his sides in pursuit of his most ticklish spots. Delighted peals of laughter emanate from his chest, and you don’t stop until the buzzer rings, signaling Eddie’s arrival.

Harris’s eyes get wide, mischief dancing behind his pupils. “Do you think the Tickle Monster should get Daddy?” he asks, keeping his voice low despite it only being the two of you.

“Oh, absolutely.” You buzz Eddie in while formulating the game plan aloud. “I’ll grab the pizza and you go on the attack. Once the food is secured, I’ll join you.” You stick out your pinky, and he wraps his own around it.

“Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His words turn your heart into a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven, ooey gooey and destined to crumble if handled too harshly. “I love you, too, Harris,” you manage, blinking back embarrassing tears. The flood of emotion is absurd; he probably tells his stuffed animals that he loves them with the same fervor, but you can’t deny the adoration with which he looks at you.

He flings his arms around you in a hug, squeezing tight. Face pressed to your ribs, his words are muffled but still audible when he says, “I don’t know why Daddy says it’s hard to say ‘I love you.’”

He doesn’t have time to further elaborate before Eddie’s knocking on the door. “Special delivery for my two favorite people!” Your heart beats faster with the knowledge that he’s on the other side, that you’ll be able to sneak in a kiss or two.

You and Harris share devious grins, the little boy emulating your monster-esque stance from earlier. He creeps behind you on his tiptoes, and bites back a giggle when you slowly open the door, counting down from three under your breath.

“Hi–whoa!” Eddie stumbles back as Harris barrels into him, little fingers dancing across his lower stomach. You quickly snatch the pizza box from Eddie’s grasp and place it on the table before darting back to where his son has ambushed him. You start on his bicep and let your nails travel upwards until they reach the crook of his neck.

“I’m under attack!” Eddie yelps, twitching this way and that way in a meager attempt to protect himself. “I bring you pizza and this is how I’m repaid?” He easily scoops Harris into his arms, flinging him over his shoulder. Harris lets out an exhilarated squeal, carelessly kicking his sock-clad feet into his dad’s chest. “Jesus, little dude. You’re getting too strong.” Wincing slightly from the pinch in his back as he places the boy on the floor, he gives his tush a little pat and tells him to wash up for dinner, reminding him to use soap and water.

As soon as Harris scampers off into the bathroom, Eddie’s grabbing you by the belt loops of the wide-leg jeans you’d changed into when you got home. One hand slides around your waist and the other finds purchase on your cheek as he kisses you deeply, keeping a listening ear out for the telltale pitter-patter of Harris returning.

“Missed you,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you shiver at the intimacy this closeness brings.

You laugh quietly, biting your lower lip. “We just saw each other this morning,” you remind him, sneaking in another quick peck.

Eddie shakes his head. “Y’know what I mean. Can’t do this while you’re on the clock,” he counters, shifting his grip so both hands rest on either side of your face. You think he’s going to kiss you again, but he just gazes into your eyes. “Shit, you’re so fuckin’ pretty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you today.” He rests the slope of his nose on yours, only snapping out of his trance at the sound of Harris rapidly switching the faucet on and off. “Let me go check on him before this place is underwater,” he whispers, giving your own ass a smack as he shuffles towards his mischievous son, a cheeky grin deepening his dimples.

You do your best to compose yourself, heat creeping up your neck and into your face. Busying yourself by placing pizza slices onto paper plates does little to distract you; it’s as though every neuron is dedicated to flooding your brain with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

The way the pads of his fingertips brush against your cheeks when he holds your face. The plush moisture of his lips when he kisses your forehead. The tickle of his brown tresses when he nuzzles into you and takes a deep breath, finally able to relax after a long day.

“Are you expecting a guest?” Eddie pipes up from the kitchen entrance. A perplexed frown overtakes your lips until he gestures to what you’ve laid out in front of you: four slices of pizza, two plain and two with olives, on four plates.

Your vision gets a bit fuzzy with tears when you realize what you’ve done. “No, it’s, um…” Nostrils flare as you huff out a short puff of air, hot under your nose. “Force of habit, sorry.” You’ve been so diligent about only serving three slices, but your preoccupation with his touch had your mind drifting from the task at hand.

It takes him a moment to process what you mean, but when he does, his face falls. It was for Grandma. “It’s okay,” he says, cringing as the words leave his mouth. Because it’s not okay that you’re sad; it’s normal, but frustration still tugs at his heart that he can’t take it away.

It feels wrong to return the slice to the box, so you leave it where it is. Eddie balances the three plates, sliding a plain one in front of Harris. The boy digs in hungrily, sauce caught on the edges of his smile.

“How was work?” you ask Eddie, grabbing a napkin from the pile in the center of the table. It’s a simple question, one that people ask each other all the time, but it stirs up a warmth inside of him. It’s you asking him, fostering a domestic routine that he could follow for the rest of his life. He’d walk through the door of your house, wiping his shoes on the welcome mat you two had picked out together. The kids–Harris, plus another Little Munson or two–would practically knock him down trying to greet him, and he’d engulf them in bear hugs before reaching out to you, kissing your forehead with a murmured, “there’s my girl.”

“Eds?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it was good.” He stumbles over the words, trying to clear his head of the fantasy he’d conjured up. “Lotsa paperwork, y’know.” He takes a bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “What about you?”

You shrug, watching amusedly as Harris sinks his teeth into his slice and manages to pull all of the cheese off of the crust in one fell swoop. “The usual. The kids are learning about springtime, so Will decided to do a craft making flowers using finger paint and their handprints.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you agree with a weary grin, “but it was super cute, and Will is great with all that art stuff.” You excuse yourself from the table to get the water pitcher and three glasses, stopping when you remember your TA’s request. “He also asked me if a certain local metal band could play his birthday party on Saturday…?”

Eddie pauses mid-chew, nearly choking on his food. The cheese seems to congeal in his mouth when he tries to speak. “Um, I don’t know about that,” he finally manages, nervously massaging the back of his neck. “I haven’t talked to Danny or Gareth since…”

“I know, but you said you wanted to make things right with them,” you point out. “Maybe Jeff can test the waters? See if they’re ready to talk to you?”

“Maybe.” He averts his gaze, staring at the pizza slice without taking another bite.

You don’t want to further push the subject in Harris’s presence; instead, you turn your attention to the little boy. “Anything fun happen at school today, Har?”

“Nah,” he responds automatically just a half-second before his eyes light up. “Actually, yeah! My friend Charlie ate a bug at recess today!”

“Ew!” you exclaim, wrinkling your nose in pure disgust, as Eddie simultaneously poses the question, “what kind of bug?”

“An ant,” Harris answers his dad nonchalantly, as though ant-eating is an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it is, which is even more unsettling.

“Did you eat any bugs?” You’re afraid of his response; you’re unsure why you even asked in the first place.

To your relief, he shakes his head, a forlorn look on his cherubic face. “No, I couldn’t catch any in time.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” you mutter, turning back to your original task of getting something to drink. Though if the topic of bug consumption continues, you’ll need something much stronger than water.

Could Corroded Coffin play again?

It’s a thought that consumes Eddie for the entirety of his drive home, barely able to listen to Harris yammering about how there’s a coin in his jacket pocket that he doesn’t remember putting there. He throws a few lackluster mhms his son’s way and hopes he’s too distracted by the mystery coin to catch on.

We’re getting the band back together. Well, if Jake and Elwood Blues could swing it, maybe he could, too.

He waits until Harris is asleep to call Jeff. Getting his son to do his bedtime routine is easiest on Wednesday nights; he’s usually exhausted after a full day of school and tutoring. The one time that Eddie could use an excuse to procrastinate, Harris is out like a light.

Go to voicemail go to voicemail go to—

“‘Lo?”

Shit. “H-Hey, man,” Eddie begins awkwardly. “How’s it going? Viv doing okay?”

“We’re good. She’s ready to have this baby already. I reminded her, ‘just two more weeks,’ but then she told me to ‘fuck off’ until I’m the pregnant one, so…” he chuckles, more nervous than amused. “Everything good with you? Harris?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just, um,” he struggles to find the words, blurting out the first ones that enter his brain. They come out in a rush before he can stop them. “Do Gareth and Danny still hate me?”

Jeff takes a sharp breath in; his reaction does nothing to temper Eddie’s nerves. “They never hated you. They were just…disappointed? Jesus, I sound like my mom.”

Eddie misses his friend’s anecdote, too wrapped up in his head to fully pay attention. Somehow, disappointed stings worse than the prospect of being hated, especially when the people he’s let down are ones who used to idolize him. “Do you think there’s a way they could be…undisappointed in me? Like, enough to forgive me and maybe play a gig this weekend?”

There’s an extended pause, and then a one-word response: “Christ.”

Eddie can picture Jeff rubbing his eyes in exasperation, and he scrambles to explain. “Will Byers–you remember him? He was in Hellfire; had that weird bowl cut thing going on?”

“Mhm.”

“He’s having a birthday thing at the Hideout on Saturday and asked if we could play. Just a coupla songs.”

Jeff thinks for a moment; Eddie can hear him drumming his fingers on a nearby surface.

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow night around…6?” he ventures. “I’ll invite the guys and we can…I dunno, figure something out.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you.” He’s about to hang up when he remembers to ask, “Can I bring Harris?”

“Of course.”

“Har, slow down!” Eddie’s barely unbuckled his son’s car seat before Harris has wriggled out of the sedan, bolting straight for Jeff’s door.

“But I haven’t seen Uncle Danny and Uncle Gareth in forever!” he laments, reaching the house far faster than Eddie. He stands on tiptoes and rings the doorbell like a madman, forefinger jamming into the button at warp speed. “Uncle Jeff! It’s me!”

Jeff opens the door with a huge smile. “Mini Munson!” He scoops the boy up into a hug. “What’s new with you, little dude?”

“I got a wiggly tooth!” Harris exclaims, jutting out his jaw and pressing his tongue against the front center of his mouth. Sure enough, the baby tooth moves slightly forward, and he giggles. “Daddy says the Tooth Fairy’s gonna come and leave me a dollar,” he matter-of-factly reports. He peeks his head over Jeff’s shoulder, squealing and squirming out of his grip when he spots the two men sitting on the couch. He flings himself onto the sofa and plunks himself down into Gareth’s lap. “Hi!”

“Hey, kiddo!” Gareth chirps. “You’re getting so big.”

“‘M five now. I had a birthday party because I turned five.” He splays out his palm to offer five fingers.

“Did your friends go?”

“Yup!” Harris beams at the memory. “An’ Daddy an’ Grampa Wayne an’ Ms. Sweetheart.”

Danny furrows his brows. “Who’s Ms. Sweetheart?”

“She’s my almost-mommy. Daddy has to fall in love with her first.”

“Is that so?” Gareth smirks at Eddie. His teasing look is the first crack in the wall that has separated the men for the last six months, and though Eddie is thoroughly embarrassed, it alleviates some of his anxiety.

“Uh, Har Bear, why don’t you go hang out with Auntie Viv while I talk with the guys?”

Viv holds out her left hand, looking utterly exhausted. Her right hand rests on her bump, eyes sending a telepathic message to Jeff that they have five minutes—ten minutes, if Harris behaves well—to come to a solution before she needs a break.

Silence filters into the room as Eddie fumbles to address the mess he’s made. If Danny and Gareth are here, they’re at least willing to listen to him, which is honestly farther than he’d assumed he’d get.

He remembers what Harris said about apologizing; technically, what you’d taught him about apologizing: the act of saying sorry, not merely implying it, makes a world of difference.

“I was an asshole,” he starts. It’s not his most eloquent statement, but it certainly gets the point across. “Not just that night at the Hideout, or at our last practice. I was an asshole for a long time before that. And…I’m sorry.” It feels good to say it; it feels even better that they’re nodding, seeming to believe him. “You guys didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Of the rest of the band, Gareth is the one to speak first. “I guess I’m just wondering, why? Why be an asshole to us? We’ve always been there for you.”

“I know.” Eddie fiddles with a thread hanging from his t-shirt, pulling on it until it snaps off. He shoves it in his jeans pocket, not wanting to mess up Jeff and Viv’s place. “Honestly…I’m not sure, but I think it’s because you guys are everything I’m not.”

“What are you talking about?” Danny asks, tone heavy with disbelief.

“In high school, I was the one you looked up to. The person you wanted to be like. And then I had a kid with some random chick I thought I knew but barely did, gave up my dreams of being a musician, and started selling weed again just to scrape by. And here you guys are. Jeff,” he motions to the friend leaning against the sofa’s arm, “you have a baby on the way with the love of your life. And all of you have goddamn college degrees and jobs that you don’t despise and don’t require you to hide from the law.” He shoves his ringed fingers into his jacket pockets, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “And I was nothing.”

Gareth scratches at the upholstery with one finger, absorbing everything he’s just heard. “You know we never stopped looking up to you, right?” He gives a short laugh when Eddie’s eyes widen. “Yeah, man. Leaving Chicago so you could take care of Harris? Putting your kid before yourself? That’s pretty badass.”

Danny nods. “Ed, if there’s someone here to look up to, it’s you.” Both he and Eddie visibly relax. Shoulders drop from their hunched positions, thin lips unfurling into smiles. “No matter what you went through, you never gave up. Even if it almost killed us,” he adds wryly, referring to all of the sleep-deprived Corroded Coffin practices fueled by black coffee and pure adrenaline.

“No fancy diploma can teach us how to stand up for ourselves, or how not to take shit from people, or how to be a dad,” Jeff pipes up from where he’s standing. “We learn from you, man.”

Eddie’s cheeks burn at the compliments, unsure how to accept them. He’d walked in expecting to have to beg for forgiveness, and they were the ones reassuring him. It’s now or never, and he forges ahead while he still has the courage. “Do you…can we get the band back together?” Can we be friends again is the underlying plea, but it’s too vulnerable a statement to make. “We’ll keep it low-key, I promise. Work, family, anything comes up…we can cancel or reschedule. And I won’t be a dick about it.”

The three other men look at one another, nod and turn back to Eddie with smart grins and mischievous glimmers in their eyes.

“On one condition.” Gareth crosses his arms over his chest, smirking as he sinks back against the couch. “You tell us all about this ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’”

The Hideout, normally dingy and coated in a film of sticky ale, has been decked out for Will’s birthday party. Helium-filled balloons in every color bob along the low ceiling, vibrating with the thumping bass of the old sound system. Crepe paper streamers–purple, Will’s favorite color–sway gently with the air that rushes in from opening the door. This has to be Marshall’s handiwork, and it brings a smile to your face. If anyone deserves a partner who fawns over him, it’s Will.

You spot him surrounded by a group of people as the bartender slides a row of tequila shots across the bar and into their eager hands. While they’re distracted by alcohol, you take the opportunity to dart towards the backstage area.

Eddie’s there, digging around for his lucky pick. You wrap your arms around his waist, fingers pressed into the soft dough of his tummy.

“Hey, Rockstar,” you murmur against his neck, kissing just below his earlobe.

He turns around, jaw dropping when he sees you in a maroon slip dress. The heels on your feet have you two inches taller than usual, and he has to shift where his gaze normally lands to meet your eyes.

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby,” Eddie practically growls, kissing you deeply. One hand presses against the small of your back while the other grabs the plush of your ass, kneading it in his palm. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy. How’m I gonna go out there and play with you looking like that?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” You giggle when he offers up a bemused smile. “If you do a good job tonight, I’ll give you a reward.” You let your fingertips graze over the metal teeth of his pants zipper, feeling him twitch at your light touch.

“You’re dangerous,” he winks, delivering another kiss; this time, he gives your lower lip a little bite when he pulls away. His kohl-rimmed eyes draw you in just as they did that first night you’d met, but now you dive into them without the fear of drowning.

A tactful “ahem” from the now-open doorway startles both you and Eddie, having been floating in an embrace that’s equal parts comfort and desire.

“Sorry to interrupt the lovefest, but we’re on in five,” a man’s voice calls from the doorway. You turn around to see the other three Corroded Coffin members standing there, amusement evident in their expressions.

“You must be Ms. Sweetheart,” one of the guys, soft curls resting atop his head, pipes up. His tone is teasing, but not mocking; the nickname is said with admiration and affection. “I’m Gareth, by the way.”

“Danny,” the one with tight, wiry curls offers, giving a small wave.

Jeff just shrugs. “You know me.”

Eddie grabs his guitar, slinging the strap across his body. His pants’ fly is tight, and he wills himself to calm down before it’s time to perform. He hasn’t worried about being hard on stage since he was nineteen, but thoughts of your bodies perfectly melding into each other has him subtly adjusting himself as he turns his back to his bandmates.

“See ya out there, baby,” he says before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. The brief contact between you has you biting your tongue in self-beration for suggesting that the band play tonight. All you want is to dance with him, allowing the steady flow of alcohol to dull your inhibitions as you pull him impossibly close. Not caring who sees or what they think.

But this night isn’t about you or Eddie. It’s about Will, your TA-turned-friend who has kept you sane amidst your adorably chaotic students and their decidedly less adorable and more chaotic parents. He wanted Corroded Coffin to play his party, and that’s the least you could do for him.

Will’s already teetering between tipsy and inebriated, breath tinged with the scent of tequila as he introduces you to his friends.

“This is my amazing boyfriend, Marshall.” He smacks a wet kiss to the man’s cheek. “And these are my friends from growing up: Dustin and Suzie, Lucas and Max, and Mike and Jane.” His face melts into a sappy grin as he leans on Marshall to hold him up. “You guys! We’re all in looooove!”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin mutters, rolling his eyes and shaking his head before turning his attention back to you. “Can we get you something to drink?”

Will raises his empty glass. “I’ll take another–”

“Not you.”

You manage to sneak in a quick conversation with Max, Suzie, and Jane before Corroded Coffin starts their set. Max is finishing up her Masters in English literature at New York University, set to graduate in two months. Suzie programs for NASA, and though Florida is a far cry from her home state of Utah, she loves her job. And Jane is a social worker at a local adoption agency, the cause close to her heart, as she was adopted by Chief Hopper years ago.

“Damn,” you laugh, taking a small sip of your vodka soda. You’re having so much fun that you don’t even care that it’s been watered down. “You’re all such badasses!”

Your admiration of their collective girl power is cut short by the sound of Corroded Coffin taking the stage. It’s as though they’d never taken an extended break; just picked up right where they left off. You cheer so loudly that there’s a pinch in your throat, but you push past it. It’s more than applause. There’s so much tucked away in your yell: I’m proud of you; you’re a rockstar; you’re my person forever, if you’ll have me.

“Hello, Hawkins!” Eddie bellows into the mic. There’s no missing the grin on his face. He’s happy. He’s in his element. He’s where he belongs.

“No way!” Lucas exclaims, awestruck as he turns to Will.

“Dude, you got Corroded Coffin?” Mike mirrors his friend’s excitement. He slings an arm around Will’s shoulder and pulls him in for a side hug. “This is fuckin’ awesome!”

“The first song of the night goes out to our guest of honor, Will Byers!” Everyone hoots and hollers as Eddie plays the opening chords to The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go. Eddie told you he remembered that the song was one of Will’s favorites growing up; his older brother had gotten him into the band. Sure enough, Will’s bopping to the rhythm, singing every word, albeit quite off-key.

Corroded Coffin plays a few more songs from their usual setlist, nerves dissipating with each note, before Eddie speaks into the mic again.

“This next one is for my beautiful girlfriend,” he announces, eyes gazing into yours. “Baby, if my teachers looked like you, I actually would’ve gone to class.”

He nods at Gareth, who starts playing an incredibly complicated beat. As soon as you hear it, you feel your cheeks heat up. The rest of the guys join in on their own instruments, and Eddie oozes bravado as he sings.

“T-Teacher stop that screamin’ Teacher don’t you see Don’t wanna be no uptown fool.”

Max leans in to you and whisper-shouts, “I’ve known Eddie for years, and I’ve never seen him so…happy.”

Lucas overhears his girlfriend and adds his two cents. “That’s because we’ve never seen him in love.”

Warmth spreads all over your body, but it’s not from embarrassment. Allowing yourself to believe that Eddie loves you—is in love with you—opens a door you’d deadbolted until the time was right. You hadn’t wanted to rush things, but the jolt of exhilaration following Lucas’s statement means you can’t deny it any longer: you love Eddie Munson. You’re in love with Eddie Munson.

“Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad I'm hot for teacher I've got it bad, so bad I'm hot for teacher.”

Will takes the opportunity to twirl you around, and you laugh as you spin amongst new friends, your drink threatening to spill over the sides as he turns you faster.

“Hey! Thank you, by the way!” he shouts, probably a bit louder than he needs to.

“For what?”

“For getting Corroded Coffin to play!” He jerks a thumb towards the stage, stumbling a bit as he does. He’d managed to sneak another tequila shot when his boyfriend left him unattended to use the restroom, and it definitely shows. “And for, like, being there for me.”

You give him a hug, immediately understanding the full implication of his statement. “I’ll always have your back,” you promise, filled with the mingled buzzes of alcohol and belonging.

“I think of all the education that I've missed But then my homework was never quite like this!”

Eddie jumps off of the tiny stage and into the crowd of nine twenty-somethings, each at various levels of tipsiness, and reaches for you to pull you close to him. He’s sweating from constantly moving around and the stage lights, his fingers slick with perspiration as he laces them with yours. Jeff picks up the rhythm for the lead guitar while Eddie kisses you, soft and slow and sensual. He loses himself for a moment before hopping back up to join the rest of the band.

As Corroded Coffin wraps up their Van Halen cover and stops for a quick sip of water, there’s a small commotion behind the bar.

“Is there a Jeff Reynolds here?” the bartender calls out, phone receiver in hand.

Jeff gives a little wave, eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s me.”

“Someone named Jess on the line? Says your girl is in labor and you need to get to the hospital.”

“Holy shit!” Danny claps a hand to Jeff’s back and grins. “C’mon, man! Let’s get you outta here!”

Jeff freezes up; hands clammy as he grips the guitar’s neck. “Can you drive?” he asks Eddie.

Eddie recognizes the fear in his friend’s voice. The selfish part of him wants to refuse to take Jeff to Hawkins General. He could easily plant his feet on the stage and keep playing, claiming that ‘the show must go on.’

No, he silently chastises himself, Jeff needs me. He needs me and I’ll be damned if I let him down again.

“Of course,” Eddie says, trying to force a relaxed disposition. It doesn’t matter; Jeff is too overwhelmed to notice the obvious effort.

“Take my car,” you offer, keys already dangling from your fingertips. “Eds, I can take yours and pick up Harris from Wayne’s tomorrow.” It’s easier to swap rides than to uninstall and reinstall the carseat, so you’re perplexed when Eddie shakes his head.

Two words slip through his lips, soft but pronounced: “Need you.”

Dustin catches wind of the situation and insists on watching Harris until you and Eddie can come back home, claiming he needs to squeeze in as much uncle-nephew bonding time as possible before returning to Florida.

“Henderson, it’s late; don’t let him stay up,” Eddie warns as he tosses over his car keys.

Dustin tries catching them in one hand, but they hit the center of his palm and fall to the ground. “But the best part of being an uncle is breaking the rules!” he laughs as he scoops the keys off of the floor. “By the way, I’m not drunk; just a shit baseball player.” Still, Eddie’s sigh of relief is audible when Suzie plucks the keyring from Dustin’s hand.

With Harris taken care of, you turn your attention to your boyfriend. Eddie’s face is flushed pale, and you’re worried about him behind the wheel. “Want me to drive?”

He nods and grabs onto your hand as you lead the two men to your car. Eddie’s doing his best to keep Jeff calm, reminding him that the doctors and nurses have everything under control until he gets there.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” Jeff murmurs, a disbelieving chuckle permeating the otherwise silent car. “Holy shit.”

Eddie can’t help but smile back. “It only gets crazier from here.”

The bright lights of the hospital’s waiting room are anything but soothing, especially compared to the dimly-lit bar you’d just left. You speak to the receptionist, an older woman with a tired smile and red-rouged cheeks, explaining the situation as she pages Jess while Jeff and Eddie take a seat.

Jeff’s voice is nearly impossible to hear despite the stillness of the room. “The baby was breech at Viv’s last appointment.” He clocks Eddie’s confusion and elaborates. “Feet first, instead of the head. If they didn’t get into the right position and the doctors can’t, I dunno, flip ‘em around? They’ll have to do a c-section.” Long overdue tears spill over his lash line, and he makes no attempt to swipe them away. “I just wanna fix it and I can’t.”

Helplessness. It’s a feeling Eddie knows all too well. He spins a ring around his finger, exhaling softly as he considers a response. He can’t say it’ll be alright, because he has no idea whether or not it will be. He and Jeff both know that.

“No matter what, I’m here for you.” Eddie’s gaze flits over to the receptionist’s desk, where Jess has now arrived and is waving her brother-in-law over. “You’re up.”

But Jeff remains in his chair, hands shoved under his thighs as though they’re glued to the seat. “I…I don’t know if I can do this. What if something happens to Viv or the baby? How can I…?” He doesn’t allow himself to complete the sentence, to finish the thought.

Instinctively, Eddie puts his hands on Jeff’s shoulders. He can feel them trembling slightly as his friend heaves another shaky breath. “Listen to me. You’re gonna do this. You’re gonna go in that room and watch your girl give birth to your baby. Because if you don’t, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your fuckin’ life.” He glances around and lowers his voice. “I know you’re scared, okay? I get it. And once your kid is safely here, we can talk about it. But right now, you need to pull it together and go be a goddamn dad.”

Jeff nods, finally acquiring the physical stability to stand. “Thank you,” he whispers, clearing his throat and wiping the wet stains from his cheeks. He starts towards Jess before turning back to Eddie. “Could you stay until the baby’s born? If you have to get home to Harris, I understand…”

There it is: his out. He can easily use his son as an excuse, despite the fact that Dustin and Suzie were perfectly capable of babysitting him. He can hightail it out of here and never look back. He can crawl into bed and feel sorry for himself for having to step foot in a godforsaken maternity ward again.

“Yeah. I can stay.”

Nearly an hour passes with Eddie’s head resting on your shoulder, relaying what Jeff told him. Identical knots form in your stomachs as the seriousness of the complications sets in. You don’t say a word as he speaks; you just try to shift without disturbing him. The cushion on the chair back, worn thin, digs into you uncomfortably, but you don’t dare move too much. His vulnerability is a deer that will scamper away at the slightest startle.

You think he’s fallen asleep until you feel his soft lips on your cheek, a muffled, “mine?” against your skin. You note his phrasing; it’s careful and unsure, a symptom of being in his own head for far too long.

“Of course I’m yours,” you whisper back, pressing a kiss to his scalp. “What’s got you asking such silly questions?”

“I don’t like this.” It’s an answer and non-answer all in one.

“Being in a hospital?”

He shakes his head, frizzed curls tickling the crook of your neck. His forehead is sticky with cooled perspiration. “Waiting to see if the baby is okay.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach, immediately hollowing you out. The last time he went through this, it was when Harris was being born. You can’t think of anything to say, so you just nuzzle in closer to him and exhale.

“Why do I feel like this?” Neither of you are sure if he’s asking you, himself, or the universe. “‘S not the same. Viv’s not using drugs; Jeff stuck around the whole time…”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s not how this stuff works, y’know?” You adjust your position so you can look into his eyes. The whites are stained red with worry and exhaustion. “Your gig got interrupted, just like when Harris was born. And there's uncertainty now, too. It’s normal for these kinds of memories to get dredged up.” Your palm rests on his cheek, thumb gently stroking the skin as you ask, “can you try to get some sleep?”

“But what if Jeff needs—”

“I’ll wake you up if he needs you,” you reassure him, settling back into the chair. You lean your head against the wall; the heaviness in your eyelids battles the anxious fluttering in your stomach, but it seems as though sleep is winning.

Eddie’s hand finds your forearm, rubbing up and down the gooseflesh that has appeared courtesy of the air conditioning blasting through the building. Shrugging off his jacket and resting the leather fabric over your shoulders, he can relax once he’s reassured that you’re comfortable. He assumes his previous position, using your shoulder as a pillow and falling asleep gradually, body jostling itself awake from the unfamiliar sleeping arrangement. Eventually, you can hear his soft snores; for the first time tonight, he’s peaceful.

You could tell him now, a whisper under your breath that he’s unlikely to hear. I love you, Eddie. I’m in love with you. Your lips part in anticipation, but you snap them shut. You’re delirious and overwhelmed; Lucas’s throwaway comment about Eddie being in love is rattling around your brain. If you say it and Eddie hears you…

You keep it to yourself for now, letting your body rest while still supporting Eddie’s head. Tomorrow is a new day, with a new life brought into the world. Love—if that’s even what this is—will have to wait until then.

The soft pink of breaking daylight streams through the windows when Jeff wakes Eddie up six hours later, shaking him by the shoulders.

“What the fuck?” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes. When he registers where he is and the potential urgency of the situation, he sits up straight, head filling with fuzziness from the sudden movement. He wouldn’t call the evening restful, but he’d managed to doze off for longer than he’d expected.

“It’s a girl!” Jeff announces, beaming from ear to ear. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, bursting with enthusiasm and emotion.

As soon as Eddie’s vision clears, he’s on his feet and pulling his best friend in for a giant hug. When he steps back, he realizes that he and Jeff sport matching misty eyes. “Dude, you’re officially a dad now. You have a daughter!”

“I have a daughter,” Jeff repeats incredulously. His eyes cloud with tears, and he blinks them away as he peers over at the empty seat next to Eddie. “Did your lady go home?”

Eddie swivels around, so caught up in the moment that he hadn’t realized he was alone. She left. She left without me; she didn’t want to stick around and deal with–

“Did Viv have the baby?” Your excited voice penetrates through his intrusive thoughts as you stroll in from the hallway. The makeup around your eyes is smudged; you’d tried to wipe some of it off in the bathroom, but water and thin hospital paper towels are no substitute for makeup wipes. “Sorry, I had to pee.”

Eddie smiles at the sight of you, still wearing his jacket. He hopes his sigh of relief is concealed by Jeff’s exuberance. “A girl. Six pounds, ten ounces.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Wanna meet her?”

“Of course!” You and Eddie begin following him down the corridor. “Wait, is Viv feeling up to having visitors?” You’re mildly ashamed to admit that, in your eagerness, you’d forgotten about the baby being breech and the possible c-section.

Jeff nods. “I think my daughter’s gonna be a gymnast, ‘cause she’d flipped herself back around between the appointment and last night.”

There’s no masking Jeff’s pride when he says my daughter, and it makes Eddie want to hug him again. “That’s amazing,” he murmurs. There’s a small pang in his heart, a bead of resentment that Harris’s birth didn’t go so smoothly, but it’s unimportant right now. His best friend just became a father, and he refuses to let his own hang-ups take away from this moment.

“Hi,” you whisper when Jeff opens the door to room 1007. Viv is propped up against pillows, exhausted but happier than she’s ever been before. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the hours-old bundle in her arms. “How are you?”

“Sore,” she replies truthfully, brushing her forefinger against her baby’s closed fist, “but the epidural was a lifesaver.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you tease, unaware that your words have Eddie’s heart skipping a beat at the idea of you bearing a little Munson. “Is it okay if I hold her?” You don’t want to intrude on the new mother’s bonding time, but your insides turn to mush when the baby opens her tiny lips and yawns.

Viv carefully places the newborn in your arms, and you gingerly adjust to support her head. Eddie swears that you holding a baby, in that dress, wearing his jacket, is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “Did Jeff tell you her name?” Viv asks, stifling a yawn. When you and Eddie both shake your heads, she smiles and glances at her partner.

He clears his throat, suddenly bashful. Eddie forces himself to tear his gaze from the way you smile and coo at the baby and look over at Jeff. “Her name is Nicolette,” he starts, “but that’s a big name for a little girl, so we figured we can call her Ettie, and she’ll kinda…share a nickname with you.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, convinced he heard incorrectly. “You…I’m her namesake?”

“Mhm,” Jeff confirms, the grin never leaving his face. What neither you nor Eddie know is that they had had a different name picked out, and had fully intended on using it until the first time Jeff held their daughter. It filled him with a feeling of wholeness, of being complete, and it strangely had him thinking of his best friend. Without Eddie taking him under his wing, he might not even be here to experience this.

It was only by chance that he had stumbled upon Hellfire Club during his freshman year. He was running from Billy Hargrove and his posse, who were determined to beat the hell out of him simply because they could, and had ducked into the drama room to protect himself. Eddie had taken one look at his face and immediately recognized the expression of fear and defeat from being incessantly bullied. “You know how to play Dungeons & Dragons?” he’d asked, and when Jeff had managed a nod, he’d pulled up a chair and motioned for him to sit down.

Being Eddie’s friend, being part of something, gave him a reason to keep going. To live. And in that instant, he vowed to teach his child to extend kindness toward any misfits who need a place to be themselves.

“What about Nicolette?” he’d asked Viv. “Ettie for short.”

You turn to Eddie now, continuing the steady rocking rhythm that keeps Baby Ettie calm. “What do you say, Mr. Namesake? Wanna hold her?”

There’s a brief flash of panic that floods through his veins; he hasn’t held a newborn since Harris. He’d always worried about dropping him or tripping and falling. Truth be told, he was terrified until his son could hold his own head up.

It’s similar, but not the same, he reminds himself, shuffling even closer to you so you can safely transition Ettie into his arms. She stirs slightly in her swaddle but doesn’t cry.

“Hey, little lady,” he says, a delicate smile dancing on his lips. “I’m your Uncle Eddie. The coolest uncle you’ll ever have, for the record.”

“Harris is gonna love her,” you add, heart swelling at the imagery of him cuddling up to his newest cousin.

“Babe?” Viv pipes up from the bed. “Can you grab me something to eat? ‘M starving.”

“Yeah, of course.” Jeff turns to Eddie. “Come with me? I think Viv needs to feed Ettie, anyway.”

Viv extends her arms and Eddie begrudgingly hands the baby to her. Ettie’s so adorable and small, and it makes him yearn for the days when Harris was that little. Maybe not the sleepless nights or the lack of head control, but the scent of baby powder, the toothless smiles, the way he would fall asleep in Eddie’s arms to whatever song happened to be on the radio. Harris Munson might have been the only infant to be soothed by Twisted Sister.

The two men make their way to the hospital cafeteria, sneakers squeaking along the freshly-waxed linoleum tiles.

“I, um, I’m really proud of the way you stepped up for Viv,” Eddie says, eyes trained on the floor. “You’re a great partner. I feel like I should be taking notes.”

Jeff laughs, shaking his head. “That's where my expertise ends. I have no idea how this whole fatherhood thing works.”

“Wanna hear a secret?” Eddie leans in, shifting his weight onto one foot. He doesn’t wait for his friend’s response to divulge, “none of us do. We’re just…” he waves his hand aimlessly, “…figuring it out as we go.” And making plenty of mistakes along the way, he silently adds.

“I don’t know how you did this alone,” Jeff puffs out an incredulous breath. “I mean, I know you had Wayne’s help…” he trails off, not needing to further elaborate on the missing parent.

“Yeah, me either, man. I’m just glad I’m not alone anymore.”

Jeff stops walking, turning to face him. There’s the unmistakable look of pride that manages to make itself prominent despite his evident exhaustion as he says, “You really want this with her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie chuckles. “It’s like, for the first time, I’m not just thinking about just me or just Harris. I’m thinking about us as a family.” The dinnertime conversations, the gentle ribbings, the tenderness that seamlessly weaves itself into vulnerable conversations.

“She’s good for you,” Jeff agrees. “And you love her.”

“I mean, I—”

“That was a statement, not a question. You love her.”

And in a single breath, Eddie lets go of the fear he’s been clutching to like a life preserver. The one thing he hasn’t allowed himself to say aloud because it makes it so real, so fucking real.

“I love her.”

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 4 months

Text

Bury Me in Your Kiss

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Warnings: implied smut/fade to black mdni (18+), angst, mentions of panic attack, some fluff, mentions of murder

Words: 6.5k

Synopsis: In the aftermath, you and Ghost figure out what happens next…

You are currently reading chapter 14 of The Roommate Series

The early morning light came through the window when you opened your eyes, casting the soft blue hue from the closed curtains drawn over it. You blinked into the darkness as the sudden ache in your body came back to you and you were all too aware of the hard mattress you laid on. There was a dull, throbbing pain from your head and pain from your splint wrist, so you took a deep breath as you prepared yourself to get up to get medicine.

“I’ll get it.” Ghost stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm, his groggy voice making you flinch.

“You don’t have to.” You told him but he was already sliding out of bed.

“It’s alright.”

You sighed and shut your eyes. You were exhausted from two nights of restless sleep, a combination of the shitty mattress and what happened to you. You desperately wanted to fall back asleep, your mood today already irritable despite it having barely even started.

You heard the bathroom sink running and when you opened your eyes again, Ghost sat on the edge of the bed beside you, a glass of water in one hand and medicine in the other.

Silently you sat up and took the medicine, your eyes not meeting Ghost’s while you drank most of the water.

“You can shower first.” Ghost offered but you shook your head, wincing from the pain.

“It’s too early for me.” You told him and he took the glass from you. “You have work.”

He nodded without another word and went to the bathroom. As soon as the shower turned on, your throat tightened and your vision blurred.

It had been this way for two days. After the relief of being saved by Ghost had worn off your emotions were quick to overwhelm you. You had barely eaten and your appetite had disappeared any time you thought about eating. The lack of sleep made everything worse; you had been irritable lately, to the point where you lashed out at Ghost before you could stop yourself, leaving you with immense guilt afterwards.

You tried to make yourself numb to them, to push them down and just forget about what happened in hopes that maybe you would soon be able to go back to being normal but it rarely worked. Your nerves were still frayed even though you were safe.

Your body still felt like it was trapped in that dark room, your mind just waiting for the moment when he would come in and end your life-

Ghost said your name and that was when you realized you were crying.

You looked up at him and he didn’t hesitate to bring you into an embrace. You held onto him tightly, trying your hardest to not sob loud as he rubbed comforting circles into your back. You buried your face in his shoulder while you clutched his damp skin.

“I’m sorry.” You cried as you did your best to control your breathing.

You weren’t sure what you were apologizing for; for crying for the hundredth time since you had come to the base, for snapping at him when he was trying to help, for being stupid enough to get kidnapped even though it wasn’t your fault…you didn’t know but it was the only thing you could say.

“It’s okay.” Ghost assured you softly.

You’re not sure how long you spent crying into his shoulder, but when you were done there was more light coming inside the room and you were even more exhausted. Even when the tears stopped you still felt like you were on edge, like one thing would make it start all over again which only made you feel worse.

Ghost managed to get you in the shower, helping even when you told him he needed to work and that he had already taken a shower. He just shushed you and continued to help you without any complaint.

He offered to dry you off and help you get dressed, but you refused, feeling even more pathetic than before.

“I’m not helpless.” Your voice was weak as he wrapped a towel around you, but didn’t dry you off.

“I know.” He sighed and he stared at you with sad eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Despite your feelings you shook your head, knowing deep down that he was only doing it because he cared about you, because he wanted to take care of you like he always did.

It was who he was…

You stared in shock as you watched him, Ghost, slam his fist repeatedly against your captor. The viciousness at which he maimed him, the way he pinned him down and beat him until he was nearly dead. You were terrified until he revealed it was him, until you realized that you were safe.

There was a knock on Ghost’s bedroom door and you jumped, pulling the towel over your body to conceal yourself before he left the bathroom.

You stayed there, drying yourself off as you heard him and someone else talk in hushed voices. You didn’t want to listen to what they were saying but you caught on to a few of his words.

“...bad day…needs sleep…don’t overwhelm her…”

You tried to make yourself look presentable the best you could without looking in the mirror, too afraid to see what you looked like, before Ghost came back in the bathroom. You tried to give him a quick smile but he had a more serious look on his face that made you chew on your bottom lip.

“Laswell’s taking you to the doctor.” He said and you fidgeted with the towel. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“You’re not coming…?”

You didn’t want to make it seem like you couldn’t go anywhere without him, but you weren’t sure if you could hold yourself together without him, especially when you were going to be with a stranger. You didn’t like it but it was unrealistic to think he’d always be with you, especially because of his job.

You could see that Ghost didn’t like it either, in fact you could see the poorly hidden annoyance on his face as he shook his head, giving you an apologetic look.

“There’s a few things I need to take care of.” He explained and you took a shaky breath. “I’ll be done before you get back.”

“I need to get dressed…”

You tried not to look unhappy when you met Laswell in the hall. You gave her a polite smile that she returned and she gave Ghost a nod.

“We won’t be long.” She assured you both and when you looked back at him, he had the skull mask on.

“I’ll be here when you get back.” He told you but didn’t move from his spot as he waited for you to be the one to leave.

You tensed up. Your mind began telling you that the moment you were out of his sight you were going to be taken again, that this time he wasn’t going to get to you in time and this was going to be the last time you ever saw him.

Laswell said your name and you looked at her, hoping that you didn’t look as scared as you felt. She had a calm look on her face as she rested a gentle hand on your upper back, an attempt giving you comfort as well as the strength to walk away.

And despite your fear you did without looking back, because if you saw Ghost you were sure you wouldn’t be able to leave.

Ghost could barely hold himself back as he watched you leave. The past forty-eight hours he had been fighting between being so beyond rage that he wanted to storm the building that your captor was being detained in and finish the job, and wanting nothing more than to stay glued to your side.

His anxiety about being more than a couple feet away from you had gotten significantly worse. Before he didn’t like watching you leave to go to classes because he just wanted to be with you, but now he didn’t want you out of his sight in fear of your being taken again.

He couldn’t live with himself if he let it happen again, if you got hurt because of him again…

All of this was his fault.

Information about how this happened hadn’t been revealed yet but Ghost didn’t care about the how, just that it happened. He was the one who had enemies, he was the one who dealt with deplorable people who would use civilians as bargaining chips, he was the one who had the bad life that you got caught up in because he stupidly believed he could fall in love with you without any consequences, not you.

This is why he had been alone for years before you came along, this is why he should’ve stayed alone.

He walked towards the mess hall, his demeanor much like how he used to be, angry and cold with a glare that he hadn't worn since he was a sergeant. He tried not to fall back into the darkness, into the old anger that had gripped him tightly when he got back from Mexico.

But every time he saw you cry, every time he saw you in pain, he remembered how he should’ve killed the man. At least that way he would never get the chance to break out, never think of you, never do anything to hurt you again.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on Ghost’s shoulders but he barely paid attention to it. He didn’t sleep, nearly forced himself not to because the nightmares got worse but also because you could barely sleep yourself.

You tossed and turned all night, shook and tried not to cry because you thought he was asleep but he couldn’t sleep knowing you might need him. You didn’t ask for his help once since you got here but that didn’t stop him from being ready to give you anything you needed.

All of the pain you suffered…you didn’t deserve it.

He’d take it away if he could, he’d let it become his if it meant you didn’t have to suffer anymore.

“Hey, Lt.” Soap greeted him as he sat down at their breakfast table. “Where’s yer girl?”

“Doctors with Laswell. Hopefully they can get her a therapist and medication.” He didn’t bother getting breakfast, he wasn’t hungry.

“Cap wants you to take it easy, he’s taking you off the rest of the mission.” Gaz spoke up and Ghost scoffed but didn’t argue.

There wasn’t much of a mission left. He doubted they would go back out in the field for anything other than more intel but they didn’t need anymore, now they needed to get through what they got.

But if he was officially off the mission that meant he could be with you, make sure that you were okay until you didn’t need him anymore.

“Found a new place yet?” Soap wondered but Ghost shook his head.

“Haven’t even thought about it.” He huffed.

It was just another stresser, another thing piled on top of everything else.

They got you at your home, your shared home. They ruined your safe place, they could’ve killed you right there and left you there for him to find when he got back. He ruined it for you.

He’d find a new one, a better one just for you. He’d make sure everything would be up to your standards in case he didn’t stay.

Could he really leave you? He wasn’t sure if he was strong enough for it but he wasn’t sure if he could stay, he wasn’t sure if he could risk your life again because he selfishly wanted to be with you. He didn’t want to cause you more pain leaving but he didn’t want to potentially end your life by staying.

And on top of it all he’d never stop loving you, he’d never stop being in love with you, so being away from you would be like hell. His own personal, self-imposed hell.

“She’s pretty badass.” Gaz said and Ghost couldn't help but smile.

“Yeah, you teach her any of that?” Soaped added on but he shook his head.

“That was all her.”

Underneath all the anger and guilt he did feel a sense of pride for you. You fought as best you could and it saved your life, made it easier for him to find you so he could save you too.

You were a fighter. You fought his demons when they got too much for him and fought your own when they got too much for you, now you were fighting everyday because of this.

He hoped things would eventually get better sooner rather than later but he knew all too well how hard it was to come back from something like this. He knew how dark and awful it got some days, how scary it was to deal with it alone, how some days felt like it would never get better.

“...haven’t found out much from him.” He heard the tailend of what Gaz said but he didn’t need the full context to know who he was talking about.

“I could get it out of him today.” He stated confidently but he shook his head.

“Higher ups said no.”

Ghost tried not to let it get to him but it made him furious. They were only keeping an asset alive, someone they needed to get information from because he had kidnapped a special forces loved one, but he didn’t care. Keeping him alive was a risk not only for everyone else but especially for you too.

If he got out and hurt you again there would be hell to pay. Just thinking about it made him shake and he wished Price would just let him do it.

He knew Price would. He never let loose ends go but this was a game of patience, one that Ghost was losing easily.

The only thing stopping him from going on a warpath was you. You needed him and that trumped all of his anger because you were so much more important than that prick of a black market intelligence dealer.

“Ye just gotta wait.” Soap gave him a knowing look.

“I know.” He sighed and got up.

Ghost made his way to his office. He didn’t mind the paperwork, especially if it meant he had the option to do it in his room with you. He wasn’t supposed to, considering everything he worked with was confidential even if it was you, but he didn’t care. The only person who would say anything about it to him would be Price, and he didn’t exactly have a track record for doing things by the book.

His phone buzzed and he looked down to see a text from Price, saying he was needed for training instead.

He wanted to decline because training would take too long and you’d be back before he’d be done. He wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable sitting and watching a bunch of recruits train while he barked orders at them.

But he still had a job to do, despite everything.

Ghost went to training but told himself that he’d leave as soon as you got back. Soap would take over for him and then he’d spend the rest of his day doing paperwork by your side.

He tried his hardest to keep his eyes on the recruits and not on his phone. He had to rely on Price of Laswell to tell him when you got back because you still hadn’t gotten a new phone.

Everything of yours had to be replaced and he was grateful all of your pictures were backed up.

A new phone, a new flat, possibly a new university all because of him. He was surprised you weren’t angrier at him, that you hadn’t outright shut him out and told him to piss off. He ruined your life and the most you’ve done is snap at him because you were exhausted.

He expected screaming, he expected you to tell him it was over, yet you clung to him more than ever.

Part of him was relieved. Part of him felt so much shame.

How could you still love him after this? He selfishly hoped that your feelings for him were still there even though realistically when you finally had the rest you needed and recovered enough, you would leave him.

It would be easier if you left him, if you proved to him that Simon was the only part of him that you loved so he could at least know he made a mistake.

One he wouldn’t make again because you were the only one he’d ever love.

An hour went by, then two. By the third hour he texted Laswell to update him on the situation and not even thirty minutes after that he tried to call her.

He tried not to let his anxiety get the best of him but he couldn’t stand the fact that he wasn’t with you right now. He should be with you, he had to be with you in order to keep you safe.

What was taking so long? Was something wrong? Were the both of you in trouble and had no way of communicating it?

Laswell didn’t answer and he was close to stealing someone’s car to find you when Price approached him.

“She’s back.” He told him and he felt immense relief. “I’ll take you to her.”

Ghost’s eyebrows knitted together but he followed Price without a single word. You were most likely back in his room so there was no need for him to be shown where you were unless there was something important that Price needed to tell him.

It wasn’t until the two of them made it into the empty hall that he spoke.

“Asset kept the information about her within his own group,” he began and Ghost clenched his jaw. “Laswell was up all night checking to see if he was telling the truth and he was. Rest of his men have been taken care of. She can stay at the university, but you both need a new place to live.”

“That’s all he said?” He scoffed and Price sighed.

“For now. It’s enough to give her a chance to put this behind her without further issues.”

Ghost’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe that. He knew all too well how badly things like this could come back to bite ten times harder than the first. He wasn’t about to let that happen again, especially when he had to be deployed and wouldn’t be readily available to you.

If he stayed he could protect you but he still put you at risk.

“Preventing further issues would be getting rid of him.” He stopped in the hall and gave his captain a sharp look. “It lowers the risk of him trying to get revenge himself or by telling someone else.”

Price stared at him for a moment, his eyes cold and knowing. There was a certain edge to them that would send others turning the opposite direction with a quick apology. However, the look wasn’t necessarily directed at Ghost but more so at the situation in front of them.

He had a plan but Ghost needed verbal confirmation.

“Give it a few days.” That was the only thing Price said before he began to walk down the hall again.

Ghost caught up to him and noticed that while he still had his regular seriousness about him, Price gave him a soft smile.

“She got lost coming back.” He teased lightly and Ghost frowned. “Refused help from Laswell but then couldn’t find her way around. Recruits avoided her like the plague because of her shadow.”

“Is she okay?” He worried but Price assured him quickly.

“She’s fine. I brought her back to your room and then got you.”

He sighed and they made it to his room. The door was shut and he didn’t hear you on the other side, which was a good sign that you weren’t crying but a bad sign if you were having a panic attack.

“We’ll talk more later.” Price gave him a pat on the shoulder before he left.

Ghost entered his room without a second thought.

He readied himself to help you, to dry your tears and hold you if you needed it, but instead you were lying motionless on the bed. He stood in the doorway for a moment, waiting to see if you were just resting your eyes or if you had truly fallen asleep.

When he noticed your steady breathing, he couldn’t help but feel deep relief knowing that you finally managed to get some rest.

He stepped inside as quietly as he could, careful to not make any noise as he walked over to the bed and grabbed the blanket. He was careful as he laid it over you, trying his best not to touch or disturb you as he tucked you in.

He stared at your temple where the man had hit you and studied the wound that was steri-stripped together. He had watched the medics clean and patch you up, put a splint on your wrist and tell the both of you that you had a pretty severe concussion. He remembered how held his hand with a death grip, how you couldn’t stop crying, begging for him to stay.

You didn’t sleep at all that night.

Ghost texted Gaz to bring him his laptop and he settled at his desk, his eyes never leaving you.

His chest was heavy with conflict but he was grateful you were still here.

You woke up slowly.

After you got back from the doctors and embarrassingly got lost, you decided to wait for him. You were beyond exhausted, having gone through an hour of therapy and two hours of speaking with doctors about medication and your recovery. You didn’t expect yourself to fall asleep but you were grateful for it because you weren’t sure if you’d get the chance to go to sleep later tonight.

You heard clicks from a keyboard and opened your eyes to see Ghost working at his desk right beside you. You watched him type away at a fast pace, his attention on the screen, which gave you the perfect opportunity to study the mask.

You saw it once before, when he came home bleeding it out, but you hadn’t got a good look at it.

A skull plate sewn into a cloth mask you’d seen him wear before, expertly crafted so you knew he had made it. The purpose for it didn’t make sense to you until you thought about how it didn't work for you because you already knew him. It was meant to conceal his identity, keep it separate from his life and work, to avoid what happened to you, and it worked up until now.

It separated you from him however. He treated you all the same he would without it, but here he wasn’t your Simon, he was Ghost.

He was a lot more serious, had a reputation with those he worked with, one that you assumed held a lot of respect considering none of the recruits stuck around you when you entered a room. They knew him as the man who nearly beat your captor to death, you knew him as the man who stubbornly washed the dishes for you.

He didn’t want you to see that side of him and yet knowing more about it, it didn’t seem to matter.

Perhaps it was because you were more relaxed and numb now. Your emotions slowly started to level to the point where you didn’t have to worry about imploding on yourself, especially now that a therapist told you ways to cope better, and having rested helped out more too.

To you Ghost and Simon were the same. It only made sense that he was quick to act and violent in certain situations, especially in the name to protect you.

He never hurt you and loved you all the same.

You shifted on the bed and he stopped what he was doing. He turned to you and you both stared at each other for a moment, drinking in each other after the chaos of the past two days before you outstretched your good hand to him.

Ghost took it immediately, holding it gently as he turned all of his attention towards you. He rubbed his thumb across your knuckles and threaded his fingers with yours as he looked at you with concern.

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly and you shrugged.

“Not much.” You mumbled and noticed the way his eyes fell, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I think it’s for the best right now.”

“Are you hungry? Dinner’s soon.”

You were hungry but anytime you thought about eating anything you felt sick. You knew you had to eat something and you didn’t want to make him feel worse, having noticed the guilt in his eyes ever since he rescued you.

You didn’t know the extent of how hard this was for him too, how much guilt he had for what happened but you knew it was there. You could see it in the way he

You didn’t want to cause him any more grief.

“I can try to eat something.” You said, trying to hide your disgust for but it was like he saw through you.

“I can get something easy for you, yeah?” He offered hopefully and you tried to give him a smile.

“Don’t trouble yourself over it.”

Ghost looked as if he wanted to say something but he didn’t. Instead he directed some of his attention to the laptop that sat on his desk, nodding towards it so you would look at it as well.

“Found a few new flats.” He began and you slowly sat up, keeping your hand in his. “You should look at them to see if you like ‘em.”

“Do you like any of them?” You wondered.

There was a slight hesitation from Ghost that made you pause. You looked at him carefully but because of the mask you had no clue what his face looked like, making it nearly impossible to read him.

You didn’t like that, didn’t like the fact that he was hidden from you now, that you could no longer study his face to see her true expression because now all you had to go off was a mask that was the literal symbol of death. You couldn’t even look into his eyes to get some sort of idea as he turned away from you.

“One or two.” He grabbed the laptop and set it next to you. “You can look at them while I get dinner.”

“We can find better ones.” You were a little more serious as you stared at him. “I want us both to be happy since we’re moving together.”

He hummed, not in agreement but with acknowledgement, as he stood up to leave. He didn’t look at you, maybe because he couldn’t stand to look at you or maybe he felt too guilty.

A quick surge of panic went through you and you fought against it, breathing deeply as your therapist told you, before you shot up from the bed. You rushed up to him and grabbed the fabric of his shirt with a firm tug to stop him.

Ghost tensed up but stopped. He looked back at you with unreadable eyes but that didn’t stop the desperation in your chest.

“We are moving together…right?” You hated how your voice shook but you didn’t want to believe he’d leave you.

Were you being too much? Were you too much of a burden, too broken and upset for him? You didn’t want to be the reason why he left, the reason why you would lose him forever.

“I-I’m trying to get better, I promise I will-”

“No.”

Ghost took your face into his hands, making you look into his eyes. He had the most serious look in them that you had ever seen directed at you and if it weren’t for the fact that he caressed his thumbs across your cheeks you would’ve thought he was angry at you.

Instead you saw a flash of fear, just like the day he had tried to teach you how to shoot a gun, before he took a deep breath.

“Don’t ever think that you’re too much for me.” He said without hesitation and you swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in your throat. “I’d do this everyday if you let me.”

“Then why do you want to leave?” You could barely ask it above as whisper as a few tears escaped your eyes.

He wiped them away, his hands shaking slightly before he pulled you into a hug you immediately melted into. Unlike the other times he held you, this was also for him and you were determined to give him as much comfort as you could manage while you tried your hardest to calm down.

You could hear his heart racing and you rubbed circles into his back. You leaned into him when he tightened his hold on you and for a moment neither of you said anything.

It was easier to calm down this time. Part of it was the help you received but most of it was from Ghost. All the other times he held you it was for your sake, making him close a part of himself away from you in order to put you first.

Now it was like he was truly coming to terms with what happened. What happened hurt him too even if he didn’t want to admit it to anyone, even you.

After the both of you composed yourselves he spoke.

“I don’t want to.” His voice was quiet. “But I’m…afraid.”

You pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. Dark brown met yours and in them you could see a mix of fear and sadness, something that made your heart hurt for him. You kept your hands on him, giving him some kind of touch to ground him.

“This never should’ve happened. You weren’t supposed to see or be a part of this.” He struggled to hold eye contact with you as he spoke. “I put you in danger…and I’m afraid it’ll happen again if I stay.”

He had a point and you understood that. You didn’t blame him for what happened but you weren’t dumb to say that he hadn’t been an indirect cause of it. If you had never met him, had never gotten involved with him then your captor never would’ve tried to use you to get what he wanted.

It was what Ghost had warned you about before and you hadn’t really understood until it happened to you.

Ghost worked with dangerous people, his life was dangerous even when he took off the mask and became Simon again. He was always going to be a target in one way or another, which meant you were going to be too.

But none of that mattered to you, not when it was him, not when it was your Simon, your Ghost.

“I can’t say it won’t because I don’t know.” You said, the uncertainty made you feel anxious but you pushed it down. “But I do know that I can’t see my future without you.”

“The risk is too high.” He shook his head but you stopped him.

“There's a risk whether you stay or go. I’m willing to take it if you’re with me.”

He looked conflicted

“You didn’t want me to know about Ghost but this is you. This life, your job is a part of you and I’m in love with all of you. I’ll take the chance of getting kidnapped or dying to stay with you because at least I got to live my life with you in it.”

“Love.”

He rested his forehead against yours again and shut his eyes.

The thought of you dying hurt him too much just as the thought of him dying hurt you, but that was the reality of your relationship. There was a possibility one of you might die and leave the other, so why would you spend it apart when you could live together instead?

“I want us to have a good life.” He said. “I can’t see myself without you which is why if I’m the reason you’re gone…I couldn’t live with myself.”

“It’ll be okay.” You caressed his face through the mask. “We’ve made it work before, we can do it again.”

For three years you were safe. The likelihood of this happening again would still be small especially after this, the two of you and the rest of his teammates would take as many precautions as you possibly could before letting it happen again.

“I hurt people.” He warned softly, that sense of doubt within him coming out as he looked deep into your eyes. He wasn’t trying to scare you or push you away, but he wanted to give you one last chance to leave him if you wanted. “I have enemies, I’ve done worse than what you saw.”

But you were so far deep in love with him that it didn’t matter.

“I want you, Ghost.” You said. “I love you.”

Ghost shut his eyes for a moment, seemingly resolving the last of the conflict inside him before he pulled away. He went to pull his mask off but you stopped him, causing him to give you a confused look.

You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on his lips through the mask. Then, as if you were unwrapping something delicate, you pulled up the mask just high enough to where you had access to his lips, the ones you had kissed so many times before, and kissed him again.

It was like Ghost was trying to devour you. He stole your breath as he placed his hands on your hips and pulled you into his chest. His hands gripped you as if you’d disappear, careful to not hurt you in any places that were bruised, and kissed you with every bit of emotion inside his chest. Desperation, relief, love.

You kissed him back just as fervently, holding onto him to keep his lips on you as if either of you would think to pull away. Your chest felt warm and like your heart was going to burst out of it, like you were reconnecting with him after a lifelong time apart.

It was only a day. The both of you had been away from each other for only a day and yet it felt like this was the first time you’d kissed him in months.

Ghost pulled away when the two of you needed air but instead of looking at you, he began to trail kisses from your mouth to your jaw. His lips were warm as he pressed a kiss underneath your jaw, then your ear before he stopped.

“I love you.”

Barely above a whisper but only for you.

You grinned. Giddiness filled up inside your chest and you couldn’t help but let out a giggle, and then a laugh. You pulled Ghost back so you could look at him and he smiled, wide and unabashed as you felt true happiness for the first time in days.

You both went to kiss each other again, bumping noses with how quick you were but only laughed about it before you locked him into another kiss. You were careful leading him back to the bed where he gently laid you down and hovered above you.

His hands slid up your shirt and palmed your breast as you leaned into him. He whispered sweet nothings into your ears, running his hands across your skin as you sighed deeply into his mouth.

You helped him throw your shirt on the floor, pulling at his own while his hand slipped under the waistband of your shorts.

Your eyes fluttered shut and all that was left was him.

You both missed dinner, however neither of you cared all that much especially when Ghost, Simon, offered to just get take out if you wanted. After eating a little of the food he had gotten, the two of you spent the rest of the evening in his room searching through new flats together or trying hard to keep yourselves quiet so as not to bring any attention to the two of you in your private moments.

When the two of you had settled in for bed, you found yourself staring at the door unable to fall asleep.

You were safe, you knew you were especially in the arms of Simon, but in the back of your mind you couldn’t get rid of the irrational fear that had taken hold. Someone, the man, could come back while you were asleep and kill you before you could fight back. He could have someone else do it, have connections or do something to get you.

You took a deep breath to calm your racing heart and Simon gave you a quick squeeze.

“Simon?” You asked softly and he hummed. “Can we put something in front of the door?”

“Is the chair okay?” He wondered and you nodded.

Simon got up without another word and put his desk chair underneath the doorknob. He made sure it was secure and let you watch him put it there before he crawled back in bed with you, pulling you into his chest.

You felt a little pathetic for having to put something in front of the door to make you feel safe in a top level security military base just to ease the anxiety inside you. You also felt bad that he had to do it.

“I’m sorry.” You breathed out but he grunted.

“I used to do the same thing when I got back from Mexico.” He assured you and while that eased some of the shame you frowned at his pain. “Before we shared a bed, sometimes I did it at the flat.”

You teared up. Simon was still healing and yet he had to do the same things you did to ease his mind. You weren’t alone in your pain, even if it was different, but when you looked at the road ahead of you, the way that it took so long for you to feel less pain and knowing that it would come back made you believe that this was it.

You were always going to be afraid, you were always going to be stuck.

“Will I get better?” You felt childish for asking but you needed that reassurance.

“Yes.” He said firmly, as if there was no doubt that you would. “But I’ll be here when you aren’t.”

A few tears rolled down your face but you quickly wiped them away. You let out a shaky breath and rolled over, hiding your face in his chest as he held you. You listened to his steady heart and smiled when he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, the place where the man had hit you.

It would be long and hard, but having him by your side made it no so scary.

link to part 15

A/n: this is like the one chapter that i had truly planned out from the beginning lol

Tags: @kat-nee @alexwashere82 @suicidal-marshmellow @shuttlelauncher81 @poohkie90 @reiya-djarin @k4marina @mionacaped @igotmajordaddyissues @xxghostyx @pasta-m1lk @imstargazingx @jacksonpleasestopkillingme @kgive @konig-is-bbygrl @lialacleaf @frazie99 @gremlin-ghuleh @spencerreidisbae123 @writingmysanity @lillianastuff @alastorhazbin @reid490 @lockleywife @sheepselecric @dead-noodles @marshmallowtraver @sinclairbrosbathmat @sofasoap @crazyfandomist @iwmtfm @oiiviagrande @genesis1363 @revyjerry @guttabutta00 @greenkiki @d4z01 @quietlyignoringyou @mysticalgalaxysalad @almightywdm @mavieemav @lycheedr3ams @multitargaryen @fruitymoonbeams-blog @lilpothoscuttings @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @adriennepoison

#the roommate series #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #mw2 ghost #call of duty #simon ghost riley

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dramioneasks · 5 months

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Top 10 Most “Kudos-ed” (Completed) Fics on AO3 of 2023:

Damaged Goods by slytherin_after_dark - E, 50 chapters, Words: 150,499 - Hermione, now in her mid-20s, is back at Hogwarts to pursue higher education. Trying to forget the trauma carved into her by the war, she spends one lust-filled night with a certain pureblood. But that night will have consequences. While her personal life unravels, a string of mysterious murders forces her to work together with Draco Malfoy, who himself seems to carry many secrets. "He scared her. Not because he wielded killing curses like they were nothing, but because he seemed to understand her in a way that even she didn’t. The more she let him in, the more power he had to destroy her." Come for the smut, stay for the plot. Read if you like: - Murder mystery - Dark Arts - Hurt/ Comfort - Hermione and Draco both deal with PTSD - Angst, so much angst

In These Silent Days by HeyJude19 - E, 14 chapters, Words: 67,209 -Hermione is familiar with fighting: for respect, for attention, for justice. She’s even made a career of it; working on behalf of creatures and beings. But her battle against the Ministry’s marriage law is one she loses. Badly. And now, she has to contend with not only public derision and patriarchal politics, but her growing feelings for her government-mandated spouse.

The Silver Envelope by sinflower81 - E, 70 chapters, Words: 192,647 - “Tell me again to release you, Granger. Tell me again that you just want to be friends.” It’s been five years since Draco last spoke to Granger. Things are different now, and though earning her trust will be a challenge, he can’t seem to keep himself away. Hermione has been busy advocating for elves around the world, but when her breakup with Ron turns her life upside-down, she knows there’s only one person who can help her. Alternating POVs between Hermione and Draco. Slow burn, eventual smut, light dom/sub. Diverges from canon after Voldemort's defeat.

In Silence & Submission by gillianeliza - E, 29 chapters, Words: 69,694 - 10 years after the war everything has changed. Enemies turned into friends and lovers. Fear turned into hope. Pain into joy. Everyone has moved on except for Hermione Granger. Nestled within her friend group, now made up of not just Harry and Ginny, but also Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini and of course Draco Malfoy, she was content to allow the trauma of her past to haunt her. More than just content - it was what she felt she deserved - until one evening Draco Malfoy decided enough was enough. This is a low stakes, split POV fic that deals heavily with life AFTER the Battle of Hogwarts. You will find the POV of either Hermione or Draco stated in bold italics, in the middle whenever it shifts. Please read all tags as this work deals with BDSM, kink, trauma recovery, & suicidal ideation.

A Game of High Stakes by In_Dreams - E, 51 chapters, Words: 263,110 - In theory, the task is simple: kill Draco Malfoy. In practice, putting a curse through the Dark Lord's favoured lieutenant will take everything Hermione has―especially since he's trying to kill her, too. Even more so when the lines between them start to blur. Sometimes, the only way out is through.

Hogwarts: A History (Hermione's Version) by Lizzie_carlile - M, 38 chapters, Words: 141,828 - Lord Voldemort has been defeated, and the children of the Wizarding War are thriving. When the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black is adopted and takes her place in the family with her loving fathers, a new trio is formed. With her best friend and her brother by her side, Hermione Black is thrust into a world that she never knew existed. Will whispers from the past threaten to destroy the world she knows? Or will love once again conquer all? Another take of the Nice Things AU. What would happen if Draco asked Hermione to the Yule Ball before Ron Weasley had a chance to?

Teach Me How to Forget by scullymurphy - E, 20 chapters, Words: 109,646 - Hermione Granger is 27 years old when her life falls apart. Cheated-on, flatless, fed up with her job, she decides to change one thing she can--take a class and try for some career advancement. But change is never easy, especially when an old enemy is the catalyst. And the class instructor. "Just as the minute hand clicked over to the hour, the doorknob twisted and a figure slipped into the room. He was tall, a bit windblown. Hermione had a general impression of crisp cuffs and polished leather, and then a more specific one of the most beautiful grey coat—highlighting his shoulders and eyes, skimming to just the right place on his knife creased trousers. His movements were precise and confident. He was wearing the softest-looking gloves. He was not Professor Belinda Rowle. He was Draco bloody Malfoy."

The Order of Serpents by bl_crtz - E, 44 chapters, Words: 193,506 - During the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter walked into the forbidden forest, died, and walked out with crimson eyes as the new vessel of the Dark Lord. Since then, Hermione Granger served as an elite member of the True Order, isolating herself from other Order members and going on missions alone, not only haunted by the loss of her best friend, Harry, but Ron who had run away after the battle. Three and a half years later, Draco Malfoy shows up with his two year old son on the Order’s doorstep seeking to switch sides. Together, Draco and Hermione are forced to deal with not only each other, but their own past and confront who they’ve become because of the war.

The Contender by rubykrishna - E, 9 chapters, Words: 58,875 - Hermione stopped walking. Her eyes scanned back up the roster until they found the name that she initially mistook for a typo. Draco Malfoy….Beater. She could comprehend the words, the name and the meaning. She understood that his name being on the roster meant he was the starting Beater for England’s national team, but for whatever reason, when her eyes ran over the black ink, her brain could not articulate any emotions or reaction.

Sincerely Yours by LovesBitca8 - E, 10 chapters, Words: 40,759 - A smile tickled the corners of Hermione’s mouth as she clicked Send. She listened to the whoosh of the message and then turned off her computer. When the ping! had come in, she’d had one foot half-out the door of her flat. She’d dropped her coat and darted for her computer desk, a wide grin blossoming at her inbox. You’ve Got Mail.

#dramione #year wrap up #ao3 #favourite fics #2023

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fangirl-dot-com · 5 months

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Chapter 14 - Speed, I am Speed

WE'VE MADE IT TO THE 2024 SEASON. IT IS LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!

When I started this fanfic, I never would have thought that people would be interested in it enough for it to get past the first few chapters. But everyone has proved me wrong! Here's to a great fictional season!

Like always comments, questions, concerns, reblogs, and likes are appreciated! Much love <3

TAG LIST IS OPEN - 6 SPOTS LEFT!

Screams echoed through the paddock as whispers of your arrival seeped through the cracks of the buildings. The drivers watched with smiles as crowds of girls, boys, and adults alike flooded the entrance area to maybe catch of glimpse of you. Only a select few would be lucky enough to get a signature or for you to even take what they offered. But that didn’t damped the electric atmosphere that was quickly building.

The moment you scanned your card and stepped through the turn-style, all hell broke loose.

Max stood next to Christian in the garage that was placed in the middle. The Ferrari garage was to the right, and McLaren sat to the left.

“Quite popular. Isn’t she?” a stray mechanic commented as he worked on one of the RB20s.

Christian only smirked. “She’s great for the media that’s for sure.”

Max stepped through the entrance to wait for you. He was already in his Red Bull kit with a signature can in his grasp. He watched as you quickly signed multiple things and stopped to take few pictures. He noticed that you really only stood still for the squirming kids who really looked nervous to be next to you.

You were hastily ushered farther into the paddock as you were a tad bit late. The outfit you had on was similar to Max. Jeans adorned your legs while a Red Bull polo was hidden behind your famous blue bomber jacket. Dark red sneakers completed the look. A winter flavored red bull sat comfortably in your hand. You had talked to Max about how the flavor was far superior than his preferred original. He would only eyeroll and then sip his own can.

A bright smile shone on your face as the cameras clicked around you. Video cameras followed your every move.

Lando and Charles had joined Max. They too were in their respective Ferrari and McLaren kits. The bright orange clashed with the bright red, while Max was the neutral navy between. Some cameras were pointed their way hoping to get a few shots of a not so common friendship and a decade old rivalry turned friendship. Yet, the trio’s attention was all on you.

You had finally gotten to the garage. However, you completely missed the three and walked right in, excited to greet your mechanics, Christian, pit crew, and Mitch. The one thing the crew all liked about you was that you made sure to try to say hello and check in with how they were doing.

You had surprised everyone with coffees or other drinks for preseason testing as a way to share your appreciation.

As you went around the garage, you gave a quick side hug to Christian and then walked over to Mitch. Your eyes lit up at the sight of another familiar figure next to your strategist. You stood and talked to the two.

While you stood there, completely oblivious to the three men standing outside, they of course didn’t miss anything.

Lando stood there with open eyes. “Did she just walk right past us?”

Max just continued to be unbothered and sipped his drink.

Charles had a familiar knowing look in his eyes. “Who is she talking to mate?”

The British driver scoffed and waved his hand. “Her strategist.”

The Dutchman sighed before maneuvering the papaya man to a better angle.

“Can you see now?” The driver in red questioned as he smirked at the now visible scene.

“Oh.”

The three stared as you talked to your best friend, who was now clad in a Sky Sports polo and khaki pants. You threw your head back as you laughed at something the younger Monegasque had said. Mitch also chuckled where she stood.

Finally, your head turned and eyes made contact with steel blue ones. Your smile somehow got even bigger at the sight of the Dutchman and you other friends. You said something short to the two around you. Arthur gave you a side hug before he ducked out the side entrance, probably going to get ready for the driver’s parade. You’d hope that he was the one to interview you.

You were now making your way to the other three drivers. Your maroon Red Bull was still in your hands.

“Top of the afternoon to you gentlemen,” you spoke in a posh accent. Lando rolled his eyes. “Oh shut up that was a good impression. You’re just a hater.”

“As if. You live there now, you could at least learn how to properly speak.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You barely live there anyway now. You should be talking like Charles if you expect me to be able to finesse a British accent.”

“Oh so now I have to speak in some hoity toity French accent?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused Charles.”

“Stay out of this Max.”

“Ladies, ladies, you’re all pretty, but let’s save the fighting for the track,” a new voice that was attached to one Oscar Piastri sounded as he walked up to the four of you.

“What’s up pastry?” you asked him. “And where is your better half?” Your eyes ran wild around the paddock.

“Uh who?”

“You know? The smell of gunpowder and the cry of eagles follow him where ever he walks?”

Oscar sent you a deadpan look and sighed like a middle-aged dad. He turned just a bit to show the bright blue suit that belonged to the American Williams driver. He was looking at an iPad before he suddenly sensed five pairs of eyes on him. He looked up, grinned stupidly, and waved. You were glad to wave back, while the four men waved small ones.

“He’s such an iPad kid.”

“So are you,” Max finally. You squawked like a bird as you stared at him.

“If I’m one, so is Lando. Mr. I play Fortnite all the time.”

Charles was done with your bickering. “Oscar did you need something?”

The Aussie looked so done with everything, but perked up at the question. “Yes. Zach sent me to fetch Lando. We need to get ready for the parade.”

A look of enlightenment crossed over both Lando and Charles’s faces as they said quick goodbyes before turning to go back to their own garages. That left you and Max to stand out in the open. He closed the gap between you and wrapped an arm around you. At that motion, multiple cameras clicked but the two of you didn’t care.

“Are you ready for today?” he asked as the two of you walked into the garage where you’d be escorted to the parade.

“Yep! I mean, you’re starting pole and I’m starting P6, so we’ll see what happens.” Your shoulders raised in a shrug.

“Kid that’s good for your first race.”

“I know. I think I thought that I’d be higher up.”

Max squeezed you a little tighter. “You just have to worry about overtaking George, Lewis, and Lando. Once you get them, you could be forecast for a podium.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’d be happy with just staying in the points.”

Christian clapped the your backs as you passed him to line up in the back for the parade. You found a small corner of the room to just sit in. Your headphones had been given to you in your garage, and classical piano music filled the speakers. You knew you probably looked so anti-social right now, but you didn’t care. You needed to find your calm before the storm hit.

Many drivers didn’t even send you a second glance, yet one found himself on the floor next to you. The Monegasque’s cologne filled your nostrils as you put your head on his shoulder. You flashed him a thankful grin as you showed your phone screen.

MON23 was the song that was currently flooding your headphones. Charles rolled his eyes, but the smile stayed on his face. Max was the one to come get the two of you once the signal was given that the parade was about to start. You and Max walked out together, and there was Arthur, ready with his microphone.

He turned to the camera that was in front of you. “I am joined by Max Verstappen and Y/n L/n. Thank you for joining me, even if you didn’t have a choice.”

Max and you let out a laugh at the comment.

He continued. “So we saw some domination from the RB20 in the free practices with you Max snatching P1, P2, and then P3 respectively and then taking Pole Position for the first race of 2024. How is the car handling this year and do you expect the same amount of untouchable-ness as last year?”

The Dutchman leaned into the microphone, while you stood next to him waving at the spectators.

“Yeah, well we saw that the Ferraris and McLarens were going to be close after the preseason testing. I was glad that I was able to take pole. I know this one,” he pointed at you which made your attention shift to the conversation, “was wanting a higher position. But the car is fantastic, yet I think that it’ll be a closer year.”

Arthur looked happy with the question as he turned to you.

“So Y/n, we know you’re starting P6. What are you plans for that?”

You huffed as you now talked into the microphone. “Well I plan to just fight as hard as I can. I know that Max and I have very different strategies today. But, overall we just want to bring as many points to get a jump start on the Constructors.”

You were given a nod from some personelle signaling that it was time to wrap thing up.

Arthur turned back to the camera. “Well thank you both for your time and best of luck!”

The two of you were led to a car with an open top. Thankfully for this time, you and Max would be together. Funny enough, they told you to drive. Your eyes widened so much when they handed the keys to you.

You kept turning around asking if this information was correct. Max was just sitting in the car laughing. You climbed in and turned the car on. Once the parade started, you pushed the gas pedal and the car started to move.

The lap around the track was a nice one. Max and you made small talk while waving to the crowds who seemed to yell louder when your attention was turned to them.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself in your race suit and helmet in your hand, going over your race strategy one more time with Mitch.

She explained it once more. “So by turn one, you need to be up at least two places. You need to get the jump on George, Lando, and Lewis. They tend to go inside, so going wide will be your best friend even if it seems tricky. You're faster than they are. Try to get up to Max who can give you a tow if needed. And kid?”

“Yeah?”

“Just have fun. Points are points. You don’t need a podium to show your worth.”

You nodded at her revelation and put your balaclava on. Arthur had somehow snuck in to do your handshake beforehand. He knew that it would calm you down just a bit. You slipped your helmet on and connected the different wires. With one foot over the car and the other following suit, you quickly adjusted your race suit before slipping down into the car. One of the mechanics put the screen on the nose for you to go over data and tyre degradation one more time. Your eyes flickered across the screen before it was taken away and your car was pushed out.

At that time, you put your visor down. Your fingers touched where your lips would have been without your helmet and rose to the air. A second ritual you would call it – a special motion for your godfather.

Starting Grid:

Max Verstappen

Charles Leclerc

Lewis Hamilton

Lando Norris

George Russel

Y/n L/n

Oscar Piastri

Fernando Alonso

Carlos Sainz

Alex Albon

Lance Stroll

Logan Sargeant

Pierre Gasly

Yuki Tsonda

Daniel Ricciardo

Esteban Ocon

Zhou Guanyu

Kevin Magnussen

Valtteri Bottas

Nico Hulkenberg

They put your car on the P6 grid mark and stayed near with the tyre covers. The five guys smiled as you began to move about, nerves making it hard to stay still. Your eyes closed and a smile made its way to your lips.

“Speed. I am speed. One winner, nineteen losers. I eat losers for breakfast.”

“Kid, you know the radio is on right?”

Your eyes shot open at the sound of Mitch’s voice.

“Uh now I do.”

Her chuckle came through the speakers in your headphones that where under all the face layers.

“At least we know the radio is working.”

One of the men must have gotten the signal because the tire covers came off and everyone who wasn’t a driver fled the scene. Up ahead, you noticed Max start to drive off. After him was Charles, then Lewis, then Lando, then George. And now it was your turn. Using the pedals, you gently eased your car into movement. You were starting on softs. The team had let you know that you were going for a three stop strategy. Softs, hards, then finish the race on softs. Max was going for the soft, soft, and then hards.

The team were hoping that by putting you on the softs, you’d be able to help Max with the last stint of the race. Softs were your specialty, especially used softs. So the last bit of the race should be your fastest.

Your formation lap consisted of weaving back and forth, warming the tyres up and getting them ready to grip the track. Once you were back in your spot, you were careful not to go over the line and stay in the half box. Your eyes shifted up to watch the lights.

Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.

Inhale. Exhale.

Blink.

Your feet hit the pedals before your mind even comprehended. Your head swerved back and forth to look at your mirrors. Behind you, there was the dark green Aston Martin of Fernando Alonso and the other papaya colored McLaren of Oscar. However, the beginning of this track was a giant straight.

With tyres still warm, you quickly got into George’s slip stream and made your move.

For the viewers everywhere, Croft’s voice rang out.

“And it’s lights out and away we go!

"Max Verstappen gets the upper hand on Charles Leclerc on that initial jump but Leclerc is not giving up just yet.

"There goes the Mercedes of Lewis Hamilton right behind Charles Leclerc as they go into the first corner of this race. Seems like Leclerc was able to keep his position.

"Oh! And around the outside is Y/n L/n getting the jump on both George Russell and Lando Norris! An overtake on the outside is really tricky but she has made it work for her favor. This rookie is making moves right out the bat.

"I see we have some congestion in the back. Looks like the Haas of Kevin Magnussen has found the side of Alfa Romeo of Valtteri Bottas.

"Let’s have a replay of that beginning shall we? We’ll start onboard with our rookie.”

The camera is on your car as the viewers can see the lights go out and your car lurches forward at the start. Your head swivels as it seems like you’re making sure not to hit the Aston or McLaren that were behind you.

But once you found George Russell’s slip stream, your head stayed straight as you exited to the left of George to go around the outside of both the Mercedes and Lando’s McLaren. As your RB20 continued forward George and Lando quickly left your camera’s view as you now had seven time world champion Lewis Hamilton in your sights.

“And what a great overtake that was on L/n’s part. Let’s head back to see that little kiss between the Alfa and Haas.”

You had now found yourself right behind the Mercedes. Yes, they possibly had the faster car, but you had the pace.

And you were gaining.

You pressed the radio button. “Gap to Hamilton?”

Mitch was quick to respond. “Two point three-seven behind. But you’re gaining two tenths a lap. Keep it up.”

“Thank you.”

In the next nine laps, you were right behind him.

“What is the gap to Leclerc after I get around Hamilton?

“Five seconds. But we will pit before you get there. You have about five laps left before tyre degradation gets too terrible. Use three to get around him and two to widen the gap.”

“Perfect.”

Yet, in about two laps you were right on his tail. Using DRS, you were able to get him on turns 14 and 15 as the DRS was coming to an end.

“And it looks like Y/n L/n is about to make her move on Lewis Hamilton! She goes wide once more on turn 14 and cuts him off by going deep into turn 15, does she have it?

"She does! What a move!”

You fly down the straight with Lewis trying to get back ahead of you. Yet, you were quick with the defensive moves.

“Hamilton is not giving up that spot. Will he be able to take it back at the corner of turn one? He does not gain the position back and has to be fine with fourth for now.”

“Good job. Keep it up.”

“I’m trying,” your voice rattled. In three laps you were called into the pits.

“Looks like Red Bull is calling L/n into the pits for her first stop. Now drivers are losing about 15 seconds so this will put her down back to P8 right after the Ferrari of Carlos Sainz who has gained to positions since the start 14 laps ago.

"And that is a 2.0 second pit stop. Phenomenal for Red Bull whose pit crew seemed to be bored this winter break.”

“Good stop. Can you let the boys know?”

“On it kid.”

“Looks like L/n wants a message relayed to the crew. What a sweetheart she is.”

You apparently were the first one to start the pit stop train, because either one, two, or three laps later the pits were full with cars coming in and out. Like strategy, you were now on hards. Yes, they weren’t your preference but, you needed to change the tyre type at least once during the race: it was mandatory.

You somehow were leading the Bahrain Grand Prix. For about the second half.

Surprisingly, Max had gotten overtaken by Charles right out of the pit exit. You knew you needed to extend the gap between you and the Monegasque Driver, so that you and Max could pit at the same time.

By the 37 lap, you were calling in your radio.

“I need to box. Left tyre is almost dead.”

“Got it. Max is in a good position as well so you will come in and Max will follow. Stay focused.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Looks like the Red Bulls are coming in to box. And who is that as well? Charles Leclerc follows Max Verstappen inside. But there is a significant gap as L/n is already leaving the Bull area with new tyres and Verstappen is getting fixed as well. Leclerc will have to have a perfect pit stop to at least catch up to the two.

"And that is a rather slow stop for Ferrari with a 3.2 second stop. Will this be the mistake that leads to yet another Red Bull 1-2?”

You and Max bolted out of the pit exit once it was safe to do so and you were over the line. You were told to keep giving him the tow for a couple of laps since you were now on the softs while Max was on the hards.

However, after a couple of laps, something seemed off.

You pressed you radio. “It feels like the tyres are wearing down a lot more. Do we have something for that? I could make it to the end, but I might get overtaken.”

“We’re checking. Just keep being nice on the corners. Max has been given the go ahead to overtake you. GP will tell him about your tyres and he should help you keep going.”

“Is this the moment that the Bulls will switch? We know that they’d like to keep their champion at the front as soon as possible. Ah, there it is. Nice pass on the straight going into the fourth corner.”

GP came on over Max’s radio.

“Max, Y/n’s tyres are degrading faster than expected. I’ll keep you updated but she will fall out of DRS or any tow help in about five laps.”

“Are we sure there isn’t anything else to do?”

“Positive. You just keep going. She said that she’s going to try to fend off Leclerc who is gaining 2 tenths per lap but is 3 seconds behind Y/n with 10 more laps to go.”

Max watched you fall out of help-range in the predicted 5 laps. He could catch glimpses of you when he slowed down on the corners but that was about it. All he focused on now was being the first one across the checkered flag.

You were coping brilliantly. By going slower around the corners you were slowing down the tyre deg but also slowing down Charles.

“Gap to Charles and then Max please?”

“Gap to Max is about nine seconds now. And Charles is still gaining and is now in DRS so watch out on the corners.”

“Got it. My tyres are done for and I have no grip. Might be safer to let him pass. I don’t want to pull a George Russell 2023 Singapore.”

“Focus.”

Well, you didn’t thundercunt yourself into a wall, but on the first corner of the last lap, you had a lock up.

“That is a bad lockup for the Red Bull rookie and there goes Leclerc, taking advantage of the small mistake. Props to Y/n though for handling the car well and getting it back on track.”

“Oh shit!” you exclaimed as your car went wide allowing Charles to slip by. “Sorry for the language.”

You turned your radio off, a bit embarrassed and annoyed at yourself, not wanting to hear Mitch’s reply.

You tried desperately to catch back up but it was no use. Your tyres were done as you crossed the finish line in third place. You quickly turned your radio back on.

“And good job Kid with points, third place, and a podium on your first race. Congrats.”

“Aaahhhhh thank you team! This was an experience for sure and I can’t wait for the next one! Sorry for that lock up, we’ll get them next time.” Your hand stuck out the top to wave as you drove significantly slower.

“Wasn’t your fault kid. We’ll go over in debrief. Enjoy the celebration, you earned it.”

Max had already parked in the first place spot as he got out of the RB20. He turned and expected to see you in the second place spot, but was a bit disappointed when he saw his childhood rival. His heart sank for a bit as he thought you might have been overtaken more than once. But his spirits rose when he saw your RB20 pull into the third place.

He watched as you stood on the nose and lifted your arms up in celebration, put one down, and keep the other raised with a fist clenched as you brought it down sharply. He knew the cameras were eating it up.

If his history knowledge was correct, and it usually was, you were the first woman since Lella Lombardi to score points, but were the first one to get on the podium.

You were making history.

And the people were eating it up. Your name was heard above everyone’s. He would meet you in the cool down room.

He was escorted over to the weighing station where he stood for a few moments before going over to the cool down room. He was soon joined by Charles. The two stood like middle-aged dads who were watching their neighbors mow their lawn and silently judging them as they watched the recaps. The main one was your first overtake around the outside.

“Dang she’s quick in that car.”

Max nodded. “Her simulator times were a bit faster than me during testing.”

“I don’t know how then I got around her. Seemed like she was just falling behind the last five laps.”

“My tyres were degrading too quickly and were basically done by the time I crossed the finish line.” You walked into the room, sweat glistening on your forehead where your hair also stuck. Although you hadn’t gotten your second place, third place was still impressive. A smile was probably permanently stuck on your face now.

Max held his arms open for a hug and you dove right in. His hands rubbed up and down your back. Your gaze was now turned to the TV where you watched Lando and Lewis dance for multiple turns before Lewis finally took P4 on the second to last lap.

Charles brought you into a quick hug and kissed your forehead. You wanted to talk some more, but you had been queued to go up to the podiums. You went out first, Charles followed, and then Max. You stood still as the Dutch anthem rung, followed by the Austrian.

And now it was your favorite part. Your grabbed your bottle and shook it, before hauling it up on your shoulder like you always did.

The "champagne cannon" as people liked to call it. You showered the older drivers with the sticky liquid, but was quickly turned against and sprayed as well. You then walked over to the banister and sprayed the team below.

When your bottle was finished you picked up your trophy and made your way down to celebrate with Red Bull.

You quickly found Mitch and gave her a giant hug like you had done once you got out of your car earlier. Christian also gave you a big hug and told you how proud he was of you.

The night for you didn’t last much longer as the adults had said that they were going out to a club to celebrate. You were a bit saddened to hear that you couldn’t come with, being on the podium and all. But, your time would come.

And instead of celebrating, you changed out of your suit and fire proofs and got into comfier clothing. However, you couldn’t stop yawning.

Thinking that Mitch, Christian, or Max would come get you to leave, you lied down on your small bed in your drivers room. An alarm was not set.

Your eyes closed and you fell asleep soon after. Dreams of first place danced behind your eyelids.

You’d get there if it was the last thing you’d do.

skysportsf1 has posted

skysportsf1 we are excited to introduce our main interviewer line up for the 2024 season. David Croft will still lead our main commentary, but we welcome Nico Rosberg, new-comer Arthur Leclerc, and Jensen Button to our team!

liked by formula1_fan, y/n.89, charles_leclerc, y/nxarthur, and 22,830 others

formula1_fan YEESSS so happy to see this trio! maybe we'll actually have good interviews now

y/nxarthur this is just fueling the delulu

leclercbros4life so happy to see Arthur still involved in Formula 1

change_ur_f-car I know right! I would have thought he'd given up charles-marry_ME now he can be near Charles and Y/n all the time y/n-is_my-romanempire I mean, I would have liked it to be Arthur Leclerc "Y/n L/n's Partner" but we'll get there

y/n.89 THAT'S MY BEST FRIEND RIGHT THERE! WHOO!!!!!!!!!!!

landonorris I think you missed an exclamation mark maxverstappen1 I thought I was your best friend arthur_leclerc sorry mate, but I was here first oscarpiatri he would like to be more tho *this comment was deleted* y/n.nation UH HELLO????

arthur_leclerc thank you for this amazing opportunity!

arthur-4lifers baby boy is BACK

sebastianvettel good to see you here kid! can't wait for the future

f1_fanatic this seems suspicious

RedBullRacing has posted

redbullracing a phenomenal start to the 2024 season with an RB 1-3! See you all in Jeddah!

liked by y/n-on-top, lestappenlove, logansargeant, and 93,822 others

y/n.nation YEAH PODIUM AND POINTS FOR OUR ROOKIE

box_box_offical I totally see her breaking Hamilton's rookie year in points - place your bets here ladies and gents

charles_leclerc glad to share a podium with Max and Y/n, but tell them to watch out next race

y/n.89 yeah, we'll be watching you...in our mirrors as you eat our dust maxverstappen1 what she said

emotional_support_rivals loved the lestappen moment, y/n is their kid at this point

y/n.89 whose last name would I take? maxverstappen1 mine charles_leclerc mine y/n.89 you're both wrong, I'm taking Geri's :) arthur_leclerc hyphenate?

maxiel-lover that start, middle, and finish were just the best

y/n's_version I will have a new Roman Empire every weekend at this point

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 race one of freshman year in the books! first woman since lella to gain some points and first woman to stand on any step on the podium. next stop - the number one spot

liked by martagarcialopez19, liakblock, kellypiquet, and 73,209 others

martagarcialopez19 my hero and role model everyone!

liakblock mine too! y/n.89 gonna cry :(

iamred_iamyellow literally number 1 driver, max get out of the way

redbullracing ROOKIE! ROOKIE! ROOKIE!

y/n.89 ADMIN! ADMIN! ADMIN!

arthur_leclerc favorite girl *liked by y/n.89*

landonorris I'll get you next time

y/n.89 surreeee

hE_tUrned_inTo_mE this was one of the best opening races ever, that double overtake around the outside was amazing

y/n_updates this race is going in the history books

Race Stats:

Max Verstappen

Charles Leclerc +3.583

Y/n L/n +1.264

Lewis Hamilton +2.840

Lando Norris + fastest lap +1.264

Carlos Sainz +1.830

George Russell +2.375

Oscar Piastri +4.284

Alex Albon +3.001

Fernando Alonso +2.904

Logan Sargeant +1.992

Lance Stroll +5.932

Pierre Gasly +6.200

Daniel Ricciardo +1.209

Yuki Tsunoda +2.092

Esteban Ocon +3.871

Zhou Guanyu +6.997

Nico Hulkenberg +8.287

Valtteri Bottas – DNF

Kevin Magnussen – DNF

Driver's Championship Standings:

Max Verstappen – 25 points

Charles Leclerc – 18 points

Y/n L/n – 15 points

Lewis Hamilton – 12 points

Lando Norris – 11 points

Carlos Sainz – 8 points

George Russell – 6 points

Oscar Piastri – 4 points

Alex Albon – 2 points

Fernando Alonso – 1 point

Logan Sargeant – 0 points

Lance Stroll – 0 points

Pierre Gasly – 0 points

Daniel Ricciardo – 0 points

Yuki Tsunoda – 0 points

Esteban Ocon – 0 points

Zhou Guanyu – 0 points

Nico Hulkenberg – 0 points

Valtteri Bottas – 0 points

Kevin Magnussen – 0 points

Constructor’s Championship Standings

Red Bull – 40 points

Ferrari – 26 points

Mercedes – 18 points

McLaren – 16 points

Williams – 2 points

Aston Martin – 1 point

Racing Bulls – 0 points

Alpha Romeo – 0 points

Haas – 0 points

Alpine – 0 points

If you want a continuation, read this chapter of Besties for the Resties!

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @agent-curt-mega @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @cashtons-wife @aeh2 @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @cassie0sstuff @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @mellowarcadefun

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thatfeelinwhenyou · 1 year

Text

HANDS ON YOU — lee heeseung

IN WHICH; I-LAND 2 happened and you debuted first place as the leader of LUMIÈRE. Having been told that your group is involved in a lore crossover with ENHYPEN, you navigate work, friendship, and love while trying to make it in an industry filled with animosity and condemnation. When life throws you lemons, you gotta make lemonades chuck it right back!

PAIRING: idol!heeseung x idol!fem!reader

GENRE: smau, strangers to lovers, celebrity x celebrity, forbidden love, fluff, don’t let the first part of the smau fool you i swear it’s full on angst towards the end, slowest of the slow burns…

WARNINGS: contains profanities, horrible humour, kys/kms jokes, sexual innuendos, spelling errors, incorrect timestamps, probably some cringe-worthy moments, cyberbullying, racist and misogynistic comments made about reader, death threats, mentions/depictions of overworking, insomnia, eating disorders, not proofread etc. (i am not in anyway romanticising, encouraging or condoning the usage of these topics. purely for the plot and development of the story.)

STATUS: completed! (04/06/2023 – 08/08/2023)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: please read! literally my first attempt at a smau so please don't flame me 💀 i must warn y’all that the timestamps are really all over the place, so DO NOT pay attention to them until stated. the content and depiction of the characters in this smau do not in anyway represent them in real life. chapters with ‘(hw)’ next to them indicates that they are half-written, in case y’all accidentally skip over it! last but not least, if you do end up enjoying it please like, comment (absolutely love reading comments!), and reblog! without further ado, enjoy!!

p.s this was written way before the actual airing of I-LAND 2 and not meant to be connected with the real show/contestants in anyway.

TAGS: #tfwy handsonyou

prologue - introducing LUMIÈRE part 1 | part 2

profile. one | two

chapter 1 - number 1 hater

chapter 2 - infant

chapter 3 - #prayersformarklee ✊🤞

chapter 4 - dog-eater…? (hw)

chapter 5 - breaking records(?)

chapter 6 - still employed!

chapter 7 - bad publicity is still publicity

chapter 8 - to hee or not to hee

chapter 9 - the heist

chapter 10 - trigger warning

chapter 11 - soompitydimpity

chapter 12 - chronic insomnia

chapter 13 - to hee after all

chapter 14 - wild pokémon heeseungie

chapter 15 - artists

chapter 16 - that should be me

chapter 17 - bills

chapter 18 - the elephant in the room (hw)

chapter 19 - if you let me

chapter 20 - trouble? travel! (hw)

chapter 21 - caught in a lie

chapter 22 - always on your side

chapter 23 - princess syndrome

chapter 24 - you (hw)

chapter 25 - golden thread

chapter 26 - way back home (hw)

chapter 27 - uh oh…

chapter 28 - fight or flight

chapter 29 - close friends

chapter 30 - paradoxx invasion

chapter 31 - ramen

chapter 32 - 080923 (hw)

chapter 33 - driver

chapter 34 - demure and honest

chapter 35 - p-platonic?!?

chapter 36 - friends don’t look at friends that way

chapter 37 - bungeoppang

chapter 38 - back to the way things were..?

chapter 39 - wheel of fortune

chapter 40 - i miss holding your hand (hw)

chapter 41 - sooha (real)

chapter 42 - rizzseung

chapter 43 - project luminescence

chapter 44 - i will go to you like the first snow (hw)

chapter 45 - it’s awfully quiet…

chapter 46 - jake pick me era?

chapter 47 - my life without you is a misery

chapter 48 - your honour, i’m innocent

chapter 49 - breaking my silence

chapter 50 - he’s being exploited!

chapter 51 (finale) - number 1 fan (hw)

epilogue - forever ruined by you

bonus chapter!

the exes talk

2K notes · View notes

celtic-crossbow · 4 months

Text

Blood Ties Chapter 14

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Poorly written smut

A/N: The gaps between chapters is killing me. I’m so sorry for taking so long. :(

You were relieved that Daryl wanted you at all. You had been all but unbearable; crying, always sick, cold. Just constantly needy. You could take care of yourself. You proved that when you went to find him back at the farm. Yet, you felt so helpless. And now, you just wanted him to fuck you so hard that you saw stars. But what would this mean for your friendship? Once that line was crossed, there would be no going back.

“You’re thinkin’ too loud.” His lips were on your neck, sucking and nipping and licking until you were moaning and grinding yourself against him. The hand on your belly slid up to work the other breast, both sets of fingers squeezing and massaging. He had barely touched you and there was already a fire low in your stomach, twisting and spreading straight down to your clit. If he touched you there, it was over and you knew it.

“Daryl.” You gasped and whimpered, pressing your chest into his palms, each nipple being pinched and rolled. The sensitivity dragged a hiss from between your teeth. It was a delightful combination of pain and pleasure, and you needed more. Your hands came to rest on top of his, not guiding but simply moving along with his motions.

He shook your hand off of his right one, dragging his fingers gently down your side then working them into your pajama pants, past the band of your panties. His ring and index fingers spread you open so his middle finger could rub your cunt, dragging your natural moisture up to your clit and then back again.

“So wet. Pract’ly drippin’.” Your clit throbbed, swollen beneath his calloused fingers. He could feel it beckoning to be touched. So naturally, he avoided it, sliding his middle finger inside you. He met no resistance, your slick providing more than enough lubricant for him to glide in all the way to the base of his finger. Your walls fluttered, welcoming the intrusion, attempting to pull him back when he temporarily withdrew. You moaned and dropped your head back onto his shoulder, his warm breath suddenly against your ear. “Gotta be quiet for me.”

You tried to nod, not sure if you achieved it. The feeling of his thick finger pumping in and out of your needy cunt was just too overwhelming. When you whimpered to bite back another moan, he shushed you, licking just below your ear. Didn’t he know that was counterproductive?

The pace increased in both speed and roughness, and you distantly wondered if it would hurt the baby. You didn’t know much about this kinda thing and found yourself grabbing his wrist to stop him. He growled lowly, his chest vibrating against your back.

“Daryl—the baby—I—”

“Ya think I’d be doin’ it if I thought it’d hurt ‘em?” He spoke gently, his hand pulling against your hold to continue moving slowly inside of you. “Didn’t get to read all the book but I read ‘nough.” You let go of him without hesitation, and there was no reprieve, the pace back to stoking the flames within you, burning and tingling to the point that you thought you might die if you didn’t cum soon.

“Daryl. Daryl.”

There was a chuckle against your neck, the rough pad of his thumb flicking over your clit. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, pouring a feeling of absolute euphoria over your body. You were barely aware of him finger-fucking you through the pulses and waves or his palm over your mouth to stifle your screams. It was a feeling like none other, a sensitive blend of overstimulation and pure bliss. Somewhere in the conscious part of your mind, muted as it was, you wondered how long it had lasted. It felt like an eternity, one you would gladly lose yourself within.

When reality began to filter in, you were rolling your hips lazily against his hand and panting behind his palm. His whispered praise of good girl nearly brought the pleasure surging back with renewed vigor but then he was pulling his finger out of you, smearing your slick up over your skin until he freed his hand from your pants.

Your legs felt weak and trembled under your weight but he wasn’t letting you fall. You knew he would never let you fall.

“C’mon, stand up for me.” He pushed his chest against your back to motivate you. It took a moment to gather your bearings but once you did, you were both disappointed and relieved to find the ache still very present at the apex of your thighs, needing to extinguish it while never letting it end.

Hands on your upper arms, he guided you to face him, wasting no time in pulling off your flannel and then tugging your shirt over your head. The cold air assaulted your skin, your nipples pebbling to near painful hardness. Daryl’s thumb rubbed over one, his blue eyes watching before they slid up to meet yours.

“Too cold?” There was concern with a hint of desire in his tender tone, his index finger now tracing your collar bone with the lightest of pressure. You shook your head immediately, too aroused to allow the bite of the night air to dampen the moment. The archer hummed and lowered into a crouch, fingers whispering over the skin just above the waistband of your pants. He moved them to your boots, unlacing and pulling them off, one after the other, and then returned to your waist. You shivered at the cold grass beneath your feet but something about being so vulnerable to something made every other sensation more intense.

“Daryl.” You whined, pressing your hands over his. You tried to push against them, desperate to feel him touching your bare skin. The memories of how he worshiped your body in the woods all those weeks ago did nothing but make you more eager.

He smirked up at you, giving in to your demands and sliding both your pants and panties down your legs so you could step out of them. Large hands traveled an agonizingly slow path up your calves and thighs before settling on your hips. You suddenly felt self-conscious, something you hadn’t felt all the times before that you’d been with him. When you tried to step back, to cover yourself, he shook his head. In the most surprising move yet, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the small curve of your belly, a misplaced tender moment that almost had you reaching to stroke his hair.

Just as quickly, he moved on, dragging his tongue upward while slowly rising back to his feet. The tingle he left on your skin almost burned, but his mouth on yours diverted your attention. You couldn’t describe the taste of him. You could always taste the smoke lingering from his cigarettes, but there was something else. Something that was just so naturally Daryl and it was addicting.

Your fingers searched out his belt buckle, working it loose to leave it open while you unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. His cock was straining against the denim but he didn’t seem to mind, too preoccupied with your breasts. He weighed them in his palms, turned his hands, and squeezed them, watching your movements falter under a rich haze of painful pleasure.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you placed your thumbs in his belt loops, your fingers sliding underneath the waistband of his jeans. You didn’t need to look at him for permission. He would have stopped you if he hadn’t wanted it. His pants were at his ankles, underwear along with them, when you unlaced his boots. He toed them off himself, grumbling something along the lines of ain’t Cinderella, I got it.

“That’s putting the shoe on, dumbass.” You retorted, gasping when his fingers twisted into your hair to pull back, with the gentlest of persuasion, and have you look up at him. If you lowered your head a fraction of an inch, you’d have been able to take him right into your mouth.

“Careful whatcha say when you’re sittin’ pretty like that.” The knuckles of his free hand grazed lightly over your jaw before he released you, your eyes landing straight on his cock. You were almost positive you were dripping onto the ground after that. He was kicking his jeans aside when you stood, reluctantly, your eyes flickering to his undershirt as he removed his vest and flannel. “No.” It was a quick answer and it was once again enough.

He didn’t allow the thoughts to linger, on you in a moment’s time and backing you against the nearby tree. His crossbow was knocked over but that only meant it was still near if needed. His fingers were gripping your hips, his tongue delving past your lips to explore the caverns of your mouth despite the terrain being one he knew so well. He licked across the back of your teeth before he withdrew. Hot, open-mouthed kisses were teasing the skin from your jaw all the way to your breasts, his teeth grazing your left nipple before he closed his lips to suckle the sensitive flesh.

Your pussy was convulsively clenching around nothing, begging to be filled while he adamantly ravished each breast. Back and forth, back and forth. Lips, teeth, and tongue. You were trembling with need, once again more than ready to beg. Maybe that’s why he was torturing you.

“Please, Daryl.” You gasped when he bit down on the side of your right breast, sucking the blood to the skin for a mark you could admire later.

“Mhm?” He did the same with the left, completely focused on his ministrations while you were beginning to squirm against the cold bark at your back.

“Please, just—” You tossed your head back against the tree with a mewl of his name, almost certain you would soon cum again just from his attentions on your chest alone. There was too much space between your lower bodies but your hips were rolling of their own volition regardless.

“Needy lil’ thing ain’tcha?” Daryl stilled your movements effortlessly, his hands retaining their grip just above your hip bones. A whine worked its way up your throat and past your lips while your fingers fisted into the back of his shirt.

“Daryl, please.” The last word lost its emphasis, breaking off into a whimper at the feel of his right hand leaving your hip to cup your mound. He wasted no time in dipping a finger between your folds to rub at your swollen bundle of nerves. You were coming apart within heartbeats, your moans swallowed by his eager mouth moving over yours.

You were trembling with the effort of holding yourself upright when he came back into focus, but the persistent ache was still there. You could feel tears springing to your eyes and tried to blink them away. His damn book probably said nothing about this. Before you could delve too deeply into the concern, he was moving you, lying back on the ground with you straddling his hips. His cock was pinned between your bodies, the length of it spreading you open.

The archer folded his hands behind his head, raising his eyebrows at you expectantly. “G’on. Take whatcha need.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your pussy dragged wetly up his length. Tilting your pelvis, you were able to catch the tip just right and shift it upward and nearer to your entrance on the slide back. As slick as you were, he slipped into you almost too easily and very unexpectedly. Daryl’s hands jolted to your hips and yours to his chest, punching a moan from each of you.

“Fuck.” He hissed, his fingers flexing into your flesh. He had told you to take what you needed, you could clearly see the restraint it was requiring to allow you that luxury. The first roll of your hips was a gradual process, allowing you to adjust to him while still alleviating at least a portion of your arousal. The slow endeavor was no less effective on Daryl.

He had his lip pulled between his teeth, biting hard enough that you could see the red when it began to bleed. You dropped forward, pressing your bodies together, and licked just below where his teeth indented the skin. When he parted them, you dabbed up the blood with the tip of your tongue. You didn’t kiss him, not then at least. Your eyes met his, blue irises a mere thin ring around blown pupils.

“Move.” He growled, the smugness of moments ago now long gone. Remaining as you were, you shifted your body forward until only the tip remained, and then back down. Two seconds in and he was already reaching to cover your mouth. “Quiet.” The attempted reminder was followed up with a groan. Had you not been completely enamored with the drag of his cock against your inner walls, you would have certainly been teasing him.

The gentle push and pull, up and down, in and out continued, your pleasure mounted, building into a cyclonic inferno deep within your belly. It twisted and weaved into each and every cell, vibrating just beneath your skin as if it were a living thing trying to break free. You ripped his palm away from your mouth and kissed him hard. He offered no resistance, the hand that you had freed finding purchase on your ass. His other hand joined that one soon after, squeezing, kneading, spreading, and eventually assisting your movements.

When you pulled away from his mouth, you pushed yourself up, bracing your hands on his chest. That leverage and his hands behind you helped you set a bouncing rhythm atop him that resulted in anything but either of you remaining quiet. Daryl, luckily for you, had the presence of mind to remember that noise usually equaled bad on one level or another.

He sat up quickly, pulling you close by wrapping an arm around your lower back. With the obscene sound of skin slapping now minimized, he grabbed the nape of your neck and pulled your face to his, effectively silencing your moans. Your hips never stilled, continuing to roll and grind.

When Daryl pulled back for air, you chased his lips, instead letting your head fall against his shoulder. You were so, so close. You didn’t need any other stimulation, his cock was hitting just right, rubbing that soft spot inside of you that was going to tip you over the edge. The buildup was so intense that you wondered if you might pass out.

“Daryl.”

“G’on. Don’t wait for me.” He panted, angling his head to press kisses across your shoulder. When he bit down just above your collarbone, stars exploded behind your eyes. You felt like a live wire. It was too much, it wasn’t enough. The only conscious thought was the fear of coming down; returning to a broken world that had taken so much. You blinked, slowly, almost too slowly to be real.

And Daryl was there.

He was above you now, unmoving aside from the hand that was pushing back your hair. He tilted his head with that slight narrow to his eyes.

“Hi.” You smiled. He didn’t return it but his expression was soft. Unlike other parts of him. A slight shift of your hips found him still very much buried inside of you. Your mouth formed a silent ‘o’ before you licked your lips.

“Thought ya might need a minute after that’un.”

You winced apologetically. “Loud?”

He pulled a face and leaned up a little, tilting his head. “Nah, my shoulder kept ya quiet ‘nough.” Your jawed dropped. There was a perfectly shaped bite an inch away from his neck, red and bleeding.

“Fuck, I’m sorry!” You pressed your hand over it and pulled it back with a squeak when he hissed. “How the hell are you still hard?” He smirked but said nothing else before rolling his hips into you. Your mouth fell open but then split into a grin. “You are something else.” He pressed his mouth against your yours and hummed, finding a slow, steady rhythm.

“Got one more for me?” His lips brushed yours with every syllable.

You nodded eagerly, eyes on his mouth while you pulled him back to you. The kiss was more relaxed, gentle. Your hands wandered over his back, the muscles tensing and rippling beneath your palms as they traveled down and squeezed his ass to encourage him to push deeper. When he responded and thrust as far as he could go, a keening noise left your throat and disappeared into his mouth.

A sensation of calm was washing over you, overpowering the heat that had laid claim on your body back at the camp. You wanted to stay that way forever, with Daryl surrounding you. You felt safe. The losses you had suffered loosened their tight grip on your heart, allowing him to fill that void. You wanted to keep him and never let go.

When realization came crashing down into the part of your brain that wasn’t fully occupied by Daryl—the way he tasted, the weight of him settled over you, his scent, the warmth he radiated—you gasped, blinking quickly in response to the sudden sting in your eyes.

You loved him.

Somewhere between that first encounter in the woods and now being caged safely and pleasurably inside his arms, he had unknowingly encased your heart, soothing the anguish that would have otherwise swallowed you up and left you hollow.

And he was utterly oblivious.

You bit back a sob and recalled your hands, pushing them underneath his shirt to warm, damp skin of his back. You fingertips brushed over a scar and he froze, holding himself up on his forearms to scowl at you. When he saw your expression, the tears in your eyes, the annoyance melted away into something gentle.

“Please.” You implored shakily. “Wanna feel all of you.”

He regarded you silently, a refusal on the edge of his lips. There were no words to describe the incompleteness you bore with that thin barrier of fabric separating you from the entirety of him. It wasn’t just about seeing, you were beyond that. It was about his willingness to share that piece of himself with you.

You said nothing else. The decision had to be his and his alone. The moment he took to stare at you, to study you, felt like forever. Then he was moving, rising up to balance his weight on one arm while the other hand reached over his head to snag the collar of his shirt. Your wide eyes never even blinked as the pulled the garment over his head and let it slide down the arm that bore his weight. He left it there and lowered back to his forearms.

He didn’t linger, carrying on with thrusting into you with slow, deep rolls of his hips. The feel of his skin touching yours ignited a fire within you, not just the chase of a climax but an overwhelming myriad of emotions that were too plentiful to name.

Your arms wrapped around him, caressing the soft skin of his back, ghosting over the raised marrs that stretched across the plane of flesh. You watched in awe as his eyes closed while you traced each imperfection with the most tender touches. You fed the desire to show softness to the areas where someone had been cruel and he was allowing it.

Once you had graced each one with gentle attention, you splayed your fingers open and pulled him close, your mouth eagerly finding his. He seemed to snap back to the present and concentrated on chasing the pleasure that awaited the both of you. He pushed himself up again and moved a hand down to your hip, raising you slightly for a different angle. You couldn’t help but press your head back against the ground and arch upward, giving him full access to bend slightly and take a nipple into his mouth.

You turned your head, your eyes tightly closed while you gave yourself over to the steadily building pleasure threatening to overtake you. Daryl pulled away from your chest and you let yourself drop to the ground. His hand left your hip to grasp your chin and turn your head.

“Look at me.” It was a demand, regardless of the tenderness in his tone. “Wantcha to just look at me.”

You nodded and drew your bottom lip between your teeth. His touch fell away from your chin to press against the grass beside your head. The intensity of his movement increased, powerful thrusts that jolted you against the ground.

“Fuck.” You whined, your hands on his ribs with nails digging. Your eyes were still on his.

A sheen of sweat made your bodies shine in the moonlight, beads dropping from Daryl’s face onto your skin. You didn’t mind. You didn’t even notice. You were lost, teetering on the edge while captured by those blue eyes. Your brain was in a fog of rapture. Nothing else existed beyond you and Daryl. There were no walkers. No blood. No twisted cruel people. No stravation or running. Just you and him.

And you loved him.

You were seconds away from the precipice, ready and willing to fall. You closed your eyes and threw back your head only to be pulled back by a gentle grip.

“No.” His voice was strained and you knew he would follow you over.

You nodded and brought your palm to the side of his neck, carefully avoiding the bite just below, to guide him down to you. The angle changed, your hips tilted upward and rocking in time with his thrusts. Your bodies moved together in perfect rhythm, panting breaths against one another’s lips.

“Daryl.” You whined, both hands finding the skin just above his hips. Your gazes were still connected. His eyes slid over briefly to glance at the tear you allowed to escape.

“G’on. Let go.”

You came with a broken shout of his name, unable to keep your eyes open as wave after wave of raw, unbridled euphoria washed over you. You were only vaguely aware of him fucking you throughout, his choked off groan, but the warmth that filled you brought you to new heights.

The world came back into focus all too soon, dousing you in moonlight and shadows. Daryl’s head was on your shoulder. He was still balanced on his forearms, trembling with the effort of holding his weight off of you. An uneasy feeling settled in your stomach where it had been alight with pleasure only moments before. You dreaded separating from him. While the lustful hunger had been sated, your heart still carried the burden of your love for the archer. Something you just couldn’t say to him.

He would run. He’d leave you and your baby to fight through that hell alone. The scariest part was that Daryl could walk away. He could survive in that world alone. He had the skills and didn’t need any of the group. He didn’t need you.

When you felt him begin to lift himself off of you, pull out of you, you couldn’t hold back the small noise of protest. He was already on his knees between your legs, stopping to look at you. There was that curious expression again. It was almost as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to form the words.

“Need to get back.” He said suddenly, pulling his shirt over his head.

For the first time since the two of you left the camp, you actually felt the cold. It was seeping into your bones but you weren’t sure if it was from the night air or something else.

Clothes on, you were combing the tangles from your hair with your fingers as you walked just behind him. He hadn’t looked at you or said a word.

“What took you two so long?” Glenn asked when you approached the wall. You ducked your head to hide the flush in your cheeks that he probably couldn’t see anyway.

“Missed a perimeter line. Had to make one.” Daryl answered with a shrug of one shoulder. Glenn nodded but Maggie looked skeptical, her eyes on you.

“See you guys in the morning.” Glenn gave a small wave before putting his arm around Maggie’s shoulders and guiding her to the camp.

The archer climbed to the top of the wall, but when you started to follow him, he looked back over his shoulder.

“No.”

“No?” You asked, blinking up at him.

“S’what I said.” He wasn’t being cold, which confused you all the more. “Go get some sleep.”

“But, Daryl—”

“Just go.” He sighed deeply before he turned to face you, crouching down. “S’a gun in the bag on my bike. Take it. Don’t wantcha unarmed anymore.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer before blinking and looking away. “Yeah, alright.” He nodded and stood, turning his back on you.

You passed the camp, Maggie and Glenn just lying down. They didn’t seem to notice you. The bike wasn’t far. The vehicles had been parked close in case a quick escape was needed. You found the gun with ease, checked the clip and then the safety, and tucked it in the back of your pajama pants.

The loneliness hit you on the way back. Something had changed, not just for you. Daryl was acting differently, but his way of handling anything emotional would give you whiplash if you tried to figure him out. So you focused on yourself.

You loved him. You’d never loved anyone aside from familial love and platonic affection. This was different. It both burned and chilled you to the bone. It was terrifying. All of it. The thought of being together, your little family. Then there was the thought of him leaving. Just the mere presence of the possibility left you feeling hollow.

You approached your spot by the fire. Maggie and Glenn were laying just a few feet away. You sat down with a sigh, trying to wrangle your anxiety and push it away but it refused to be bound. You needed to sleep. Daryl was right. But when you looked up to see him staring out toward the trees that had sheltered you only half an hour ago, you knew there would be no rest for you that night.

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serverusslaype · 7 months

Text

Shameless, pt. 14

Severus Snape x professor!reader fic

Masterpost & other things!

hello.... this is a shorter chapter than usual, but i thought i'd use it to sort of flesh out the idea of what is currently going through their minds! pls forgive me </3

the majority of this chapter is smutty. i will say that. so i do apologise to the readers who don't enjoy reading such things :(. i will mark it with the usual big red *.

i hope you guys are happy and healthy because that's what we love to see!! did you have a good halloween? i dressed up as sexy Snape lmfao.

warnings: smut, slight degradation?, tiny bit of bdsm idk? help, (like it's so so minor, trust me) MINORS DNI!!, angst at the end so pls prepare yourselves im sorry

"Again." Severus demanded, his voice strict and firm as he watched you from his desk, practicing the Patronus charm with a heaving chest. You were growing immensely tired at this point, however, Severus was not yielding. He was determined for you to learn this charm whether you could handle it or not. Your safety was his priority.

Beads of sweat trickled down your temple as a deep sigh left your parted lips. "I'm trying, Severus," You whined, wincing a tad as your muscles began to ache. You'd been at this for almost two hours straight now, and your body was beginning to pay for it. "I don't know why it's not working, this memory worked with Lupin!" A frustrated cry slipped from you as you huffed.

"Perhaps that memory is not your happiest anymore," Severus mused, folding his arms against his chest as he leant against the edge of his desk, observing your tired body. "Has anything happened recently that rivals your previous chosen memory?" He asked with a curious tone, quirking a brow. You glanced at him and swallowed as your cheeks flushed an embarrassingly deep shade of red. The only thing that could have possibly changed was your recent encounter with Severus in his office. In that moment, you'd never felt happier. You'd never felt such a strong, powerful feeling towards another person before - you'd almost confessed your true feelings to him. ...Twice.

"Erm," you coughed, looking away from him, "maybe, I don't know." You said quietly as you stood up straight, brushing your hair behind your ear. A deep chuckle reached your ears as you looked up at Severus with burning cheeks. A devious smirk was painted across his face, and instantly you knew that he knew exactly what had changed.

"Ah," he hummed, unable to contain his proud smile, "of course."

You rolled your eyes at him, groaning slightly. "Took you long enough." Another sigh left your lips again, though this time it was softer. With your eyes glued to him, you took a moment to appreciate how Severus looked currently - the way he leant against the edge of his desk accentuated his lean figure; the black coat that was tugged tightly against his torso complemented his thick, strong body perfectly. You even felt yourself becoming a little... distracted.

"May I ask what your... previous memory was?" Severus asked, standing up from his desk and stalking towards you in a slow manner, tucking his hands behind his back. Your breath hitched a tad as he got closer and closer, his signature scent filling your nostrils as he stopped just a foot in front of you. The pounding of your heart grew louder in your ears as he stared down at you with a curious sparkle in his black eyes.

"It was the, erm, you know when we danced... together?" Your voice was as soft as velvet as you spoke, entrancing Severus as his eyes remained glued to yours. He raised a hand to your cheek and gently brushed the back of his knuckles against it, sending a shiver down your spine. You smiled up at him and brought your hand up to hold it against his.

"That was the happiest moment you could think of?" Severus asked, his brows furrowing together as he frowned at you, evidently confused. Surely, for a sweet, kind person such as you, you'd have a plentiful amount of happy memories to choose from - he was in disbelief that such a small, almost insignificant moment between the two of you brought you so much happiness.

"Yeah," You laughed quietly, pursing your smiling lips as he slowly pulled his hand away from your cheek but kept a hold of your own hand. He absentmindedly played with your fingers, glancing between them and your eyes. "That was a special moment to me."

Severus didn't speak, he kept quiet for the time being, instead savouring the soft moment between the two of you. The corners of his lips gradually tugged upwards into a small smile as he stared at you, quite obviously in awe. You blinked up at him, smiling back, your heart almost bursting at the sweet sight.

As many times as he smiled at you, you didn't think you'd ever get used to it - it was so surreal to see Severus with a smile on his face, and every time you did, you'd melt.

"Alright," Severus sighed gently as he kept his voice quiet. "One more time." He said, bringing your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles tenderly. Your smile widened at his action. "Speak it clearly."

You nodded and watched as he released your hand, stepping backwards to give you some space. Taking a slow and deep breath, you focused yourself, pointing your wand in front of you as you envisioned the memory of you and Severus intertwined together on his desk. "Expecto Patronum!" You exclaimed, eyes widening in shock as a spark of blue-white light sprouted from the tip of your wand. It only lasted a few moments, but as you glanced at Severus, you couldn't help but grin at the proud expression painted across his features. "I've almost got it."

"Almost, yes." Severus agreed as his dark eyes flicked to yours, softening. "Well done." He said, a small smile gracing his lips. Your grin brightened, and you stepped towards him, sheathing your wand in your dress pocket.

"It's quite incredible what a good teacher can do." You muttered with a smirk as you folded your arms against your chest, tilting your head as you gazed up at Severus. He arched a brow at you, clocking your rather flirtatious tone.

"I believe your previous words were 'it helps a lot when you have a teacher you like'." Severus said flatly. You were a little astounded at how he remembered something you said to him so long ago.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, "Yes, well, you were rather unlikeable back in the day." You had to fight back a giggle as Severus rolled his eyes at your reply.

"You know, you and your classmates were just as unlikeable." Severus said and took a step towards you, narrowing his eyes. Your breath hitched once more as he was inches away from you. "Burning my cauldrons, destroying my equipment," He drawled with a sharp tongue, cocking his head as he stared down at you; an intimidating flicker in his black eyes. You almost shivered under his heavy glower, your chest tightening and your legs tingling. "Disrupting my lessons." Severus added, tutting. Suddenly, you felt like you were back at school as you stood in front of him, speechless and nervous. He could turn you into a sputtering mess so easily - even with just one look you were like putty in his hands.

"I... you..." You stuttered over your words with fluttering eyes as Severus leaned down into your face, his hot breath tickling your flushing cheeks. Your chest rose and fell in short bursts as your breaths became ragged and wanting, your body instinctively succumbing to him. As you held his gaze, you felt like you couldn't breathe - it was almost like your whole body was being squeezed in a deathgrip, and your mind was slowly becoming clouded with rather distasteful thoughts involving you and him.

"Hmm," Severus hummed deeply, raising a hand to tilt your chin up with his index finger, "speechless, for once." The corners of his lips curled up to form a devious smirk, evidently pleased with how easily he had turned you into a stammering mess. "Suddenly, I remember what peace and quiet means." He added sarcastically, and you turned your attention to the right, attempting to regain your composure.

"Shut up." You scoffed, turning your head back to stare at him, offering a look of disbelief.

"Feeling brave, are we, Miss L/N?" Severus took another step towards you with a wicked smirk, his chest brushing against yours, sending your body into a shivering mess. "That attitude of yours needs to go, don't you think?" His voice was quiet now, yet it still harnessed an authoritative twinge to it, and that only spurred you on more.

"Definitely not." You shot back, testing him. He was clearly playing a game with you, and you wanted to see just how far he would go.

Severus quirked a brow shortly before using his cold hand to grab your jaw gently, but with just enough force to ensure you knew he was the one in charge. You gasped as his cold skin met with your hot skin, shooting a delicious shiver down his spine. An excited tingle rushed through your burning hot body as he squeezed your jaw a tad; brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. Severus's other hand flew to grab at your hip, pulling you taut against him. A short yet sweet moan slipped from your lips at the body-to-body contact, and suddenly, you felt every last bit of self-respect vanish from you as you melted into his addicting touch.

"So disrespectful," Severus murmured, pushing his face towards yours, "perhaps a reminder is in order." He shifted his hand from your waist to your wrists and grabbed them, his lips teasingly brushing against yours. You leant forwards, about to kiss him, and he pulled away, drawing a wanting whine from your parted lips. Even through the dark dimness of his office, he selfishly drank in the beautiful sight of you, gazing at your pretty lips and your flushed, rosy cheeks.

"Sev-," You whined, voice breathless and desperate.

"Quiet." Severus ordered with a stern tone. Instantly, with wide, dark eyes, you shut your mouth. Usually you wouldn't fall so easily to his commands, however, he currently had you following them like a lovesick puppy.

Severus released your jaw from the grip of his hand and cooly retrieved his wand from his sleeve. Your curious eyes fell to his slender and pale fingers as they curled around the obsidian wand, watching on as he teasingly traced the tip of it up the side of your waist and over your ribs, pulling a breathy gasp from your mouth. His eyes flicked up to yours at the sound, his mouth quirking upwards. Your body jerked at the ticklish sensation; goosebumps littering your skin.

Reaching your neck, he pressed it a little harder, trailing it up towards your jaw and leaving a long, pink line behind upon your skin. His other hand, that held your wrists captive, lifted them above your head, and he aimed the tip of his wand at them.

"Fulgari." Severus whispered, and suddenly you felt a rope tighten around your wrists, binding them. You inhaled sharply at the sensation and you glanced up to see that he'd bound your wrists together. As you looked back down, his eyes glittered wickedly, and you couldn't help but feel a bolt of excitement shoot through you. He placed his wand back up his black sleeve.

Before you could say another word, a cold hand had snaked underneath the skirt of your dress and his fingertips inched slowly up your legs, finding your luscious thighs. You let out a quiet cry of pleasure as Severus kneaded your flesh; his thumb dancing dangerously close to your panties. Despite his hand holding your bound wrists, your arms began to ache from holding them above your head - he may have been holding your wrists, but he wasn't holding them up. Severus was merely clutching them in a show of dominance. He shifted the hand underneath your skirt up towards your panties, his index finger curling around the soaked gusset.

"So wet for me already," he groaned, brushing his thumb against the wet material, "little slut." A flash of hunger flickered across his hardened eyes. Severus tugged the material to the side, his knuckles brushing against your wetness, drawing another sweet cry of pleasure from your quivering lips. Severus nearly lost control of himself right then and there, and so he paused for a moment to gather himself.

"Not so brave now, are you, Y/N?" Severus muttered, a devilish smirk crossing his features as he pressed his lips against your ear; teeth nipping at the lobe of it. The way his breathless voice uttered your name almost sent you into orbit, and you had to squeeze your eyes shut to bring yourself back down to Earth.

Severus pressed a cold digit against your clit, a sharp cry falling from your lips as he began to circle it at a teasingly slow pace; your eyebrows shooting together in a show of utter pleasure. Your body trembled as he placed his whole hand underneath your wet panties, pressing his palm against your pussy, an uncontrollable shiver shuddering through your body as the contrast of his cold hand against your burning hot core shocked you like an electric volt.

A breathless moan flew out of you at the contact, your throat beginning to burn from how heavily you'd been breathing. "Fuck!" You hissed, your hips instinctively rocking against his hand; desperate to find some sort of friction. Severus let out an almost evil chuckle and your eyes shot open at the noise. Before you could cuss him out, he dipped two fingers inside of you, curling them swiftly, another tingle of pleasure making you quiver. You cried out at the sensation as he began to pump his fingers inside of you, an unruly amount of moans beginning to slip from your trembling lips. Severus threw his mouth against yours without a second thought, swallowing your moans greedily, diving his tongue into your mouth as if to silence you. You kissed him back harshly, pulling your bound wrists free from his grasp and looping them around his neck.

Desperately, you pulled Severus closer to you with your tied wrists, your knees beginning to buckle as you neared your high. "Hnngh, Sev-," You whined through sloppy kisses, saliva coating both of your lips as you pulled away with a wet smooch, unable to focus on him as he brought you closer and closer to your climax. You felt that familiar feeling build up inside of you like a branch about to snap from immense pressure.

Immediately, Severus's free hand flew to your waist to hold you up as he felt you slipping from his grip, his fingers inside of you picking up quite a quick pace. Your head fell backwards from the overwhelming sensation growing within your belly, and you used your bound wrists in a vain attempt to hold yourself up as they hung around his neck; your spasming fingers digging into his upper back. "Fuck-fuck-fuck!" You cried out as he latched his lips onto your neck, biting and sucking at it like a crazed animal. "Sev, I'm gonna- I'm..." Your thighs squeezed around his hand and your toes curled as you felt that branch cracking, splitting and finally snapping. Your orgasm blew through you like an explosive bomb; your pulsing walls clenching around his fingers as you came. Severus shifted his attention from your neck to your earlobe, using the tip of his tongue to lick at it; his heavy, panting breaths and the rush of your blood being the only two things you could hear.

"Always such a good girl for me," Severus murmured into your ear, and you rocked your hips against his hand again, whimpering at his praise. Gods, it drove you fucking crazy when he called you that. "Gorgeous." He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the spot of skin just below your ear.

As you let your head fall forwards, you nudged your nose against his cheek, prompting him to move his head back to gaze at you. His hungry, black eyes were blown and wide, like a predator hunting its prey. With heavy-lidded eyes, you smiled lazily and leaned in to press a messy kiss upon Severus's wet, swollen lips. As he pulled his fingers out from you, you whined a bit, mourning the loss of his touch. He indulged your kisses, and kissed you back forcefully, his tongue delving past your lips and into your mouth again.

With greedy hands, Severus quickly slipped them underneath your thighs and hitched you upwards, guiding them to wrap around his waist. Your bound wrists still hung around his neck as he leaned forwards slightly, aiming his torso at a forty-five degree angle. You tightened your legs around his waist as his hands left your sweating body to find his trousers; deft and long fingers swiftly unbuckling them and letting them fall lazily around his hips. He quickly tugged down his boxers and lined himself up against your dripping slit, pushing his cock inside of you without another word. You cried out at the fullness and clenched around him, drawing a deep, guttural groan from Severus as his hands found your bum, holding you up as he began to guide you up and down. Strings of needy whimpers and moans left your lips as you tugged him closer with your arms locked around his neck, directing his face to yours. You leaned forwards and crashed your lips against his again, kissing him with such passion and raw need that he almost lost his footing.

You gasped as Severus let you fall down completely onto him. "Jesus-!" You exclaimed and squeezed your eyes shut, your mouth flying open. A wild, strangled moan fell out of it afterwards as your hands tried to clutch onto the material of his jacket upon his back but to no avail.

You weren't exactly sure how you two always found yourselves tangled up with one another each time you were in this very room, however, in this current sticky, hot moment, you couldn't care less. Severus was fucking you like a deranged animal, panting heavily in your ears, your legs burning and aching as they were clamped around his waist. You felt that hotness begin to pool in your belly once more.

Severus pulled away from your lips with a throaty moan as you buried your nails into his scalp, fisting the long locks of his black hair. "D'you know- fuck," he growled as he throttled into you, his voice raspy, "how many times I've fantasised about this? How many times I've touched myself thinking about this moment?" He finished, glistening eyes burning into yours as he stared at you with parted lips. Your lungs felt empty as his words drilled into you, a helpless whimper being the only thing you could respond with. "You're mine." Severus hissed as your brain melted; his cock buried so deep within you that you thought you'd pass out from the immense amount of pleasure that was seeping into your bones; rendering your body senseless.

The way he deemed you his had truly ruined you. You were his. Nobody else's. You knew it from the first moment he had you trapped against that wall a year ago - the second his invigorating and intoxicating scent surrounded you, the way he'd glared down at you with those beautiful yet haunting black eyes, you knew you were fucked. You were never Ben's. He was merely a distraction, perhaps an interlude, if you will. You and Severus were always bound to be together.

And now, you just needed to rid yourself of the parasite named Ben.

"I'm yours," You whispered, lifting your head up to gaze at Severus with glossy, heavy-lidded eyes; a hazy look lingering within them. "Yours." You repeated breathlessly, inducing another deep growl from the man that held you captive with his powerful hands.

Severus's lips curled at the edges as he stared at you, "Smart girl." He muttered, kissing you with a smirk, nipping your lips with his teeth. You squealed as his pace became sloppy and careless, sheathing his whole length inside of you with every thrust. Gods, he was ruining you.

And you loved every second of it.

"Severus," You panted with a sweet moan, tears beginning to burn your eyes as the soul-shattering pleasure was slowly becoming too much to bear. His eyes fluttered as you moaned his name. "I can't-" You sobbed, your toes curling as they tingled, turning numb.

"Yes, you can, you can take it, my love," Severus whispered, kissing your cheek in a tender fashion, silently encouraging you. "You can take me." He added, pressing his cheek against your own flushed one. You felt sweat trickle down your temple as Severus fucked into you ruthlessly, the ever-tightening coil buried in your belly at it's breaking point.

With his gentle words of encouragement, you forced yourself to hold out a little longer for Severus, your throbbing legs tightening like an anaconda around his waist. You were certain that they'd cramp up at any second now. Severus stumbled forwards and one hand left your body to catch himself, his palm landing on his desk. Gently but quickly, he let your bum rest against the flat surface as he continued thrusting into you messily, evidently nearing his climax.

"You're doing so well," Severus muttered against your lips, a hand coming to squeeze your waist, pulling a delightful moan from your quivering mouth. "Doing so good, my sweet girl."

Merlin's beard, you almost lost it right there. Hearing him call you that almost had you tumbling over the edge without a second thought. You felt like you were dreaming at this point - your mind was so hazy and jaded with orgasmic pleasure that you couldn't tell the difference between reality and fantasy.

Was this real?

Gods, you hoped so.

The slaps of your flesh filled the room and you couldn't hold back any longer. You couldn't even form a sentence, let alone mumble a thing as your second orgasm rocked through you, your body jerking as Severus continued to slam into you carelessly, his thrusts quickly becoming abrupt and sloppy. You cried out a strangled string of moans as he filled you up with his thick cock. Severus's spent body leaned over you as he came; the tips of his raven-black locks tickling your flushed, red and sweaty cheeks.

The pair of you remained still, despite your heaving chests and trembling bodies. A toothy, opened mouth grin broke out on your face as you stared up at Severus who was still recovering from the Earth-shattering orgasm that had just rattled through his body. You laughed softly, going to move your hands to cup his cheeks, though you quickly realised that they were still bound together from Severus's spell earlier.

"My wrists," You mumbled, tugging at his neck with a small smile. "Would you mind?"

"Ah," Severus hummed, moving a hand to lift your tied wrists from his neck. He held them in front of him, hesitating for a moment. "I seem to prefer you like this." He joked, eyes flicking up playfully to look at you.

"Don't push it." You laughed, watching as he retrieved his black wand from his sleeve.

A sly smirk tickled his lips as he glanced down at your wrists, pointing his wand at the binds. "Emancipare." He muttered, a content hum slipping from your mouth as you rubbed the sore area of skin.

"Thank you." You smiled up at Severus, finally shifting your hands to cup his flushed cheeks. He looked away from you bashfully; long black eyelashes hiding his eyes like he was too shy to look at you.

Severus cleared his throat, "...You're welcome."

You pulled his face down towards you and kissed him softly, your legs still around his waist, though this time they were resting gently around it. Severus kissed you back, slowly moving a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb sweetly brushing it like it was the most delicate thing in the world. You'd almost forgotten that he was still inside of you, and so as he moved, you gasped; a cheeky smirk reaching his lips at your reaction.

Severus moved his hips again, the hot warmth and sense of comfort that your pussy brought him was addicting - as were the noises that he drew from you. Your brows shot upwards, accompanied with a soft moan as he pulled almost all of himself out of you, before slowly thrusting back into you.

You had to take a moment to breathe before you spoke. "Can't help yourself, can you?" You grinned, pressing another kiss to his lips as he kept a slow pace in you.

"No," Severus muttered against your soft lips, "not when it's you." He whispered, making your heart flutter.

"Not when it's me?" You pulled away from the comforting touch of his kisses, looking up at him with big eyes. He nudged the tip of your nose with his own.

Severus sighed, gazing at you with soft eyes, "You know what I mean."

Before you could say another word, he silenced you with another sweet kiss, and you melted into his touch, any other thought of what you were going to say to him vanishing. Severus resumed his slow, gentle thrusts, plucking another handful of quiet moans from your lips. With every deep thrust, your legs twitched; your body rather overly sensitive from before. Severus noticed your jerks, and he slowed his pace even further, not wanting to push you too far. He adored watching how your body reacted to him, but he knew when you couldn't take anymore.

As the two of you continued to gently kiss each other, your mind was clouding again as you felt his hands caress your figure, thumbs brushing over you. You found lost yourself in the transcendental feeling once more. You gasped as you felt his cool hands slip to the underneath of your thighs, tickling your hot skin; erupting goosebumps.

Severus pulled away for a moment, marvelling at you from above, a comfortable silence encapsulating the both of you as you made love. Your eyes followed him, glazed over his angular face, quietly admiring how gorgeous he truly was. The sheen of sweat that sat upon his skin made him look like a marble statue, and you couldn't help but wonder how you'd gotten so lucky.

I love you, you wanted to say.

I adore you, your mind was begging you to whisper to him.

You opened your mouth a tad, as if to say what you wanted, however, you decided against it. You weren't exactly sure if this was the right time to say something so big, and you certainly didn't want to disrupt this perfect moment. As much as you wanted to praise Severus, just to tell him how much you truly adored him, you couldn't bring yourself to do so. A small, yet sharp burst of pain struck your heart as you remembered how he shut himself off from you when you'd danced together right in this very room, and you feared what he might do if you revealed your true feelings for him. You were almost certain he'd run away. You couldn't exactly imagine him reacting well to it. He... didn't seem like the type.

Little did you know, Severus was also umming and erring on the same idea. It was torture for him. He wanted you to say it first. Could you imagine the chaos if he told you he'd fallen in love with you? Gods, it seemed like the two of you were nothing but fuck-buddies at this point - you were still with Ben, regretfully, and so what could Severus do but simmer in his raging jealousy and bitterness? Sure, he got the good parts of you, but Ben got to call you his. For now. And that's what Severus truly desired. He wanted the honour of calling you his. The two of you might've said it earlier, but you were so lost in the utter raw madness of that animalistic sex that the thought of it being a heat-of-the-moment thing began to plague his racing mind. Why wouldn't you say you were 'his' when his cock was buried so deep inside of you? It'd be fucking awkward if you didn't.

Did you feel the same way about him as he did you? Or was this some sort of lustful fantasy for you? He remembered that you were still with Ben - surely if you felt so strongly about him, you would have ended it with Bluewater as soon as possible. But you hadn't. Maybe this was some sort of fantasy for you. He winced at the thought. Why on Earth did he believe that you'd want to be with some old, grumpy and ugly man like him? He felt like a complete dunderhead.

Severus had fallen in love with you, and now realising it, he suddenly wished that he'd spoken to you about this shit before the two of you fell into such a deep, messy and fucked up rabbit-hole. His love for you was incredibly strong, and ultimately it scared him. In all honesty, he didn't believe he was deserving of having someone care for him, let alone love him. Severus was known to be cruel, unfeeling and rude - so why should he deserve someone as sweet as you? He'd been nothing but horrible all his life, he had even been a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake. And no Death Eater deserved a happy ending. They were known to be awful, heinous people.

As Severus's mind continued to race, he began to doubt if he'd survive another heartbreak. He'd just about managed it with Lily, much less walking in on her lifeless, dead body. That had truly broken him. He dreaded to think about what losing you would do to him.

And suddenly, he felt himself pulled towards the idea of pushing you away, just to save himself the pain.

And you.

Gods, you didn't deserve any of this. Severus was selfish to have even pursued you. But he couldn't help himself - something about you had just drawn him in like a moth to a flame.

"Hey," Your soft voice pulled Severus from his hellish thoughts, and his distracted eyes darted down to your worried ones. "What are you thinking about?" You asked, careful to keep your voice quiet and gentle.

"Nothing, Y/N," Severus muttered, forcing a smile onto his lips as he leant down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. "I think I'm just... tired." He added quietly, and slowly pulled himself out of you. A worried frown took hold of your features as you watched him reach for a cloth to clean himself.

"Oh," You swallowed, trying to fight back the lump that was beginning to form in your throat. Was he running again? You weren't sure, but you were going to find out. You couldn't deal with that heartbreak again, especially not when you were so deep in with him now. "Are you sure, Sev?" You asked hesitantly, suddenly feeling rather nervous. Was it something you did or said?

"Positive." Severus nodded, his cloth-less hand moving forwards to lift up your skirt so he could wipe away any mess that had accumulated between your thighs. You remained silent as he cleaned you, and you noticed that a solemn look had gathered on his face. This wasn't looking good, but what could you do? He wasn't willing to talk about it, clearly, and you didn't want to push him any further than he wanted.

"I enjoyed tonight." You said softly, though it was more as of a way to see what he thought. You kept your eyes on his hands.

"As did I." Severus replied, his eyes avoiding yours, though you caught the end of a small, sad smile upon his lips. Everything he was doing wasn't pointing to something good.

"I suppose I should head back," you forced a smile onto your face, "it's getting late." You hummed, glancing at the clock on his wall. Almost quarter to eleven o'clock at night. That smile soon fell as you watched Severus stand up straight, his face blank. You adjusted your dress and slipped off of his desk to stand in front of him.

"Yes." Was all he said, though his eyes said something entirely different. They looked... sad.

"...Okay." An awkward smile slipped onto your face as you nodded. Your head was currently spinning. What did you do for him to act like this? You sped through the memories of this evening, from the moment you walked through the door to the exact moment he'd suddenly flipped. Nothing was sticking out, and that worried you. Was it just you? Was it how you looked that randomly turned him off? You suddenly felt very self-conscious.

An uncomfortable silence engulfed the two of you.

A few quiet moments passed before Severus's deep, serious voice pierced through it. "I won't be able to see you tomorrow evening for Patronus lessons. I have a few students in detention."

"Right." You sighed softly, pursing your lips. Your hunch was right - he was distancing himself again. Maybe he just needed some time to himself, and he'd come right. He'd realise that he was being ridiculous, surely.

Severus hummed, silently analysing your stiff body. "I'll send you an owl to let you know when I next have a free evening." You frowned at him, confused and a little hurt.

"An owl? Can't you just come and see me?"

"I have a lot of work to catch up on." Severus said, and noticed how his usual soft tone had vanished, a stern one taking its place. He sighed through his nose as he stared at you, and it suddenly felt as if you were a nuisance to him.

"Have I done something wrong?" You asked softly, not willing to leave without an answer as to why he was acting so off towards you.

"No, you have not," Severus's eyes flicked to the right as he turned away from you, stepping to his desk chair. "Like I said, I'm just tired."

You sucked in your bottom lip, frustrated. "Why are you acting like this?" You questioned him and stepped forwards so you were stood in front of his desk as he sat in his chair. Severus closed his eyes and raised two fingers to massage his temples - a sign you'd come to realise that he was either getting a headache, or becoming overly irritated.

"Acting like what?" He groaned, and your brows knitted together at his behaviour, twisting your features into a sour expression. Severus opened his eyes again, though this time you did notice how red the whites of them were - perhaps he truly was tired. Regardless of whether he was tired or not, he didn't have a right to treat you like some cumbersome student, especially after what had just happened. It felt as if he was tossing you aside like some dirty laundry.

"Sev-," you scoffed and threw your hands against your face, sighing deeply, "how can you be so blind to this?" You asked as you brought your hands down and folded them against your chest. "You're acting like we didn't just fuck on your desk, I mean- you're acting like I just came in here to ask for some sort of tedious favour."

"Save your breath, Y/N," Severus shut his eyes again, obviously not willing to continue this conversation. As he spoke your name, a pang shot through his chest, and he almost winced at the pain. It only reminded him of what ran through his head only moments ago. "We can talk about this another time. For now, I have work to do." As he opened his eyes once more, he kept them glued to the surface of his desk; reaching a hand out to pull an unmarked assignment towards him. All he wanted to do was bury himself in his work.

He doesn't feel the same, your mind suddenly echoed, and your felt your throat tighten as you stared at him. You fell in love with him, but he didn't fall in love with you, and that was that. You'd just become his fucktoy, an outlet for his stress-relief after a hard day at work. A fool, that's what you were. All of those sweet, soft moments between the two of you were nothing but a fantasy, a fake sense of reality, and you'd fallen for it. The pet names, the tender touches... you'd read him so wrong - to you, right now, you believed that Severus only wanted you for your body, and not your heart. You meant nothing to him, but he meant everything to you.

But what about that time when you'd made love? Did he not feel anything towards you then? Was that just some sort of pathetic attempt of him feeling some sort of affection?

With disbelieving eyes, you watched as he proceeded to dip his quill in the ink-pot. "You're kidding, right?" You guffawed at him, blinking as if he'd just told a terrible joke. His jaw clenched.

"Please, just leave me be." Severus's voice was strict, and you could tell that he was very much serious about this. There was no way you could change his mind, and that only hurt you further. Your eyes burned, and your throat suddenly possessed a lump at the back of it.

"Fine." You whispered and inhaled sharply, attempting to swallow the sobs that were so desperately fighting to slip out of your mouth. But you refused to let Severus see your tears. Without another wasted second, you spun around and stormed towards his door, reaching out a shaking hand to grab the handle. You waited for a moment before opening it, as if half expecting Severus to take back his words, and admit how wrong he was.

But, nothing came. No words, no hand grabbing yours, nothing. The only thing you heard was the metal tip of his quill scratching against the parchment on his desk. A raging surge of anger throttled through you like a wild, frenzied animal, and you turned around, opening your mouth as if to berate him. But you couldn't. As much as you despised him in this current moment, you couldn't hurt him. Not with your words at least. Severus didn't even shift a limb to look up at you, he kept his head down, continuing to scrawl away, pretending like he didn't just tell you to get lost after fucking you.

And so you turned back around with a burning throat, wrenching his door open and slamming it behind you with tears in your eyes. It felt like you couldn't breathe as you stomped down the halls of the dungeons, making your way back to your quarters. What the fuck was your problem with going for such deranged, awful men? Did you hate yourself? Is that why you put yourself in these situations?

You couldn't deal with Severus's back-and-forth shit anymore, he'd hurt you more than enough times. Even if you were in love with him, and he wasn't with you, you were just going to have to deal with it. You got yourself into this fucked up mess, and you were going to get yourself out of it.

let me know what you thought, if you hate me im sorry. ITS FOR THE PLOT!!

apologies for the long, long delay of an update, i was just taking a loong break. <3 i hope you guys are doing okay!!

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smusherina · 18 days

Text

yard work - chapter 16 [final chapter] (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

warning(s): talk of past drug use and withdrawal symptoms.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 9 / chapter 10 / chapter 11 / chapter 12 / chapter 13 / chapter 14 / chapter 15

[love renée but fuck am i getting sick of this gif. been looking at it for sixteen goshdarned chapters. finally i am freed.]

You woke up first. Naturally. Every time, every single morning that you'd had sleepovers, you'd been the first to wake up. The sun was shining through the blinds in a pleasant, warm yellow tone. Still morning but not unreasonably early.

You shifted to a more upright position, looking down at the girl still snoozing, whose hand was holding onto your forearm. She was all sprawled out, starfished as much as one could be on a couch. Her body was taking up the shorter end of the L-shape, one knee curled up towards her body, just barely on the couch, while the other stretched well beyond the end of the divan. You were situated much the same, except the other way around. You laid on the longer end so that your heads had almost met in the corner.

Her arms reached out towards you, one around your pillow and the other holding onto you. You knew you'd fallen asleep with much more distance between you, but you couldn't say you minded her having drifted.

Did you, though? You sighed and grumbled as you got up. Might as well do something while you contemplated reality, or something. Mrs George had insisted on some classic American breakfast ingredients, such as bacon and pancake mix. You didn't feel like causing a fire hazard, so pancakes were a no-go, at least for now. Eggs and bacon you could do.

What did you even, like, want? Realistically, actually, no, unrealistically what did you want? There was no sense in trying to make your base wants and desires realistic because at that point was any of that yours anymore? Likely not.

You wanted nights spent with Regina, talking and eating take-out, laughing until your tummy hurt and looking at her glowing in the blue light of whatever Adult Swim show was on at the time. You wanted grocery trips with Mrs George and to go to Kylie's games. You wanted people at school to just, simply not be jerks. You wanted Janis to find peace. You wanted Cady to wake up.

You wanted yesterday to not have happened. You wanted Thanksgiving dinner at the Georges' to never have happened. You wanted for your dad to be different, for Mr George to be different. You wanted your mom to not have died.

Looking at the bacon sizzling in the pan, you chewed on your lips and thought about that. You wanted many things. So many things, mostly for things to not have happened or to have happened differently. It was all wildly unrealistic. You were not a wizard, a time-traveller, or some other mystic being. You were a teenager.

You cracked the eggs into the mix. God, it smelled divine. You pulled a salt and pepper shaker from the spice rack and sprinkled a reasonable amount on there. You groaned out loud and threw your head back when you remembered there was sriracha in the fridge. Mrs George had seen you eyeing the bottle and had not taken a no for an answer, despite your abundant protestations.

"Spare your kitchen utensils the horror and go masturbate in your room like a normal person!" Regina hollered from the living room.

"Oh! Spatula! Harder! Harder!" You cried, moaning like you were receiving the blowie of your life. "If you want breakfast you're gonna have to witness this sordid affair." You called back, giggling. You leaned back from the stove, bending back at the waist. Regina was leaning her chin on the armrest, still more or less sprawled on your couch. There was a pout on her lips and a light flush to her cheeks.

"I'll show you sordid, nerd." She grouched before getting up. You straightened your posture, turning back to the stove, and probed the eggs in the pan with the spatula with a satisfied grin on your face.

You wanted this and more, above all. Was that something you were allowed to want? More importantly, was that something you were allowed to ask for?

Regina came up behind you, hand coming to rest on the small of your back. You didn't jump, much, which you were proud of.

"Looks yummy." She pointed out.

You hummed in agreement. "Can you put toast in the toaster?"

"Sure."

Then, as if no time at all passed, you were sitting down. Then eating and chatting. There was toast, eggs and bacon, and you'd made yourself a bowl of oatmeal. Mrs George had splurged on some blueberries and local honey. Regina refused to make eye contact when you were chewing, citing that your O-face was hard to look at. You only moaned louder and made more faces at her.

Then, just as you were heading to the couch to digest the meal as god intended, lying down, Regina yanked you to the foyer. Still in your jammies and everything, she insisted you bundle up and go for that walk she was talking about yesterday.

You'd hoped she would've forgotten. Sure, the weather was nice for once but if you didn't have to go outside then why would you? It was below freezing!

Much like her mother, she would not budge. You were going on a walk.

"What am I? A dog?" You muttered as you wrapped your scarf around your neck.

"If you were a dog, you'd be a... A Doberman." She was already dressed. It was odd for your roles to have switched like this. Usually, you were the one waiting for her to get ready. She had on a thick, white parka and a cute beanie. She also had on black leggings sure to insulate absolutely nothing and bulky, also black, fur boots.

"What? 'Cause I'm big and scary?" You preened at that, smiling widely.

"Nope." She tilted her head, examining you. "Gloves."

"Geez, okay, mom." You grabbed some mittens from the hat rack. "Why Doberman?"

"They wouldn't look so scary if they didn't have their ears clipped, y'know?" She said. You just looked at her weirdly, not catching her meaning. Your ears were not clipped. "Anyway, let's go."

"Aye aye," With that, you were out of the door.

You walked the block and down to the street. The sidewalk stopped so you went by the side of the road. She was walking ahead of you. It was cold out but not too windy, so it didn't feel so bad.

The sidewalk started again eventually. There, you walked side by side. You were just looking at a bird perched on a wire when you felt her grab your hand. Thinking she had something to say, you turned to look at her. She was still facing forward, the other hand in her pocket, walking along. She was just holding your hand.

Oh. Oh. She was holding your hand. Out in public. Not a lot of people were out at this hour, not even cars since it was a weekend. There was a woman with a stroller. A psychopathic man out on a jog. A dog walker. Still, it was outside where anyone who walked by could see.

You arrived at the park, hands clasped together. You stopped by a bench.

"I don't think we should sit." You said, observing the coating of snow piled on top.

"Let's go over there." Regina pointed to a tree a little ways away.

You went obediently, following the tug of her hand in yours. She was holding your hand. You felt all warm in your chest, like you were full of warm water.

You stopped by the tree. She looked around, trying to spot if anybody was nearby. Then, like she had a secret to tell you, she motioned for you to bend down closer. You did. Her hand squeezed at your fingers as the other came up to your neck, pulling you down the rest of the way.

The warmth you'd felt became hot, like an oil fire erupting in the foil-covered saucepan that was your heart, kernels and half-popped popcorn sputtering out as she kissed you. Your eyes just barely got to shutter closed before she pulled away. Instinctively, your body so starved of affection and touch, you chased her and found her lips again.

She smiled against your mouth. It felt like a secret of the utmost importance being shared, like a pinkie finger wrapped around your own in the corner of the room during a sleepover, giggled promises and childish adoration. She tasted vaguely like breakfast, and maybe egg-breath should've been nasty, but it wasn't.

Cold seeping in, the anxious feeling like you were soon going to be caught taking hold, you pulled away. You didn't lean away entirely, crowding her against the tree. When you'd gotten so close, pinned her, you weren't sure.

"Do..." What were you supposed to say post-kiss? "Do you like it sloppy?"

"What?" Her brows furrowed and the smile on her face turned sharper. What to say post-kiss: Not That.

"Uh, I mean, I just- uh..." You swallowed. "I don't know how to, like, I don't have technique. I dunno. Was that good? I saw Aaron was doing it differently..."

Regina rolled her eyes, head thumping lightly against the tree as her neck lolled back. "You would bring up Aaron now." She sighed. "It's fine. It's- it's good."

"Okay." You swallowed again. A slow smile crept up to your face. "It was good?"

"Ugh, yes, shut up." She shoved you away, but you just allowed the momentum to swing you back to her. "I... I don't think I'm good at words."

You chuckled at that. "No, you're not." She glared. You shrugged. "But, hey, you know me. I'm Chatty Kathy."

"No," She huffed through her nose, seemingly in frustration. "I wish I could say to you what I mean. What I feel. But I just... It's... It's not supposed to be but it's embarrassing."

Looking at her, hunched in on herself like a girl her age was supposed to be at times, so different from how she was most of the time, made your chest feel tight. You figured a person having been raised like she was, having turned out the way she had, would find being vulnerable uncomfortable. Or, as she said it, embarrassing.

Then again, it wasn't your place nor your duty to psycho-analyze her.

"Reg, I..." You hesitated. "I'm tired of, like, sitting in the passenger seat while you bulldoze everyone. I'm tired of feeling like if I do something you don't like you'll push me under too." You pulled away from her, hands getting sore from leaning your weight against the rough bark. "And then there's this whole thing." You gestured around you at the empty park. "Even if we were the best couple ever in terms of, I dunno, vibes or something, we're still..."

"Lesbians." She finished for you. "I'm a lesbian, Jorts." A sentence you never thought you'd hear from Regina George. "I know. For me, it felt justified for a long time, keeping them in their place, but since we started talking again, doing all that stuff just started to seem... Unimportant. And stupid." She fiddled with her fingers, eyes glued to the space between you. "It hasn't gone away. I still want to, I guess, hurt people because it does make me feel better even if it's, like, fucked up. But I want something else more than I want that."

"What's that?" You couldn't help but ask, hope stuck in your throat. Choking hazard.

"You, obviously." She said it so flippantly as if those words didn't just send your heart into the Milky Way. "I want you. I'll stop doing that stuff for you. I know we can't be out yet, but I... I have good grades."

You looked at her, puzzled. She huffed and continued. "I'll go to college. Major in, uh, I dunno, some sorta politics and I'll change the law. Maybe a law degree would work better for that, actually." She seemed to think about it for a moment before returning to her point. "Whichever one would be best in getting gay marriage legalized."

"You..." You had to laugh at that, disbelieving as well as delighted. "You're gonna change the world for me?"

"If that's what it takes." She said, determination shining so bright it made your eyes water.

"Wow, okay." You licked your lips, trying to will the stupid grin off your face. You had some important questions still. "If I moved away, would you still stop?"

She paused at that. Took a moment to really look at you, like she hadn't considered that to be a real possibility.

"Yes." She sounded so sure you believed her. "I just don't have... What it takes anymore. I guess. I don't know if there's something wrong with me that I... I want to be mean, sometimes. It's funny. For me." She glanced down and then looked somewhere over your shoulder. "It took a lot of work to get to what Regina George is now. I don't want to put in all that next year."

"Y'know what they say. New year, new me." You quipped, looking down at her. You were quite sure your pupils had morphed into heart shapes, despite your valiant efforts to have this meaningful conversation without seeming like a love-drunk idiot.

(She kissed you. You kissed her. It was a beautiful morning, you were on a walk and you'd held hands and then you'd kissed under a barren willow tree. It was the first day of Christmas break and you were spending it with Regina George.)

"Does that mean I can be a raging bitch till January 1st?" She asked, eyebrow notching.

You laughed. "Only if you..." You bit your bottom lip, getting nervous. "Only if I get a kiss for every mean thing you say."

"Deal." She offered her hand to you, a cheesy smile on her face.

You pulled your glove off and spit on your hand, then made to take hers.

"Ew! That's disgusting!" She flinched away from you, violently shoving herself back against the tree. "Don't- no! Not near me! Don't touch me with that!"

She bolted and you ran after her, cackling maniacally. You waved your spat-on hand at her as you chased her around the park, her shrieking and you laughing.

"I'm serious, J!" She looked at you over her shoulder as she ran. "Stop chasing me!"

"Stop running away from me!"

"You're just gonna smear your spit on me, you- you fiend!"

"Pinky swear I won't!"

"I won't pinky-swear with your disgusting paws, you-"

With a yelp, Regina tripped over something, probably a root, and fell to the ground. You, having been closing in on her, put the brakes on, windmilled your arms, and tried to stop, but soon followed her into the snow.

"Ouf!" The breath wooshed out of her as you fell on her. She wheezed as you rolled off of her, half-heartedly punching in your direction. You giggled and dodged to the best of your ability, not even minding the snow seeping through your pyjama pants.

Giving some time for her to recover, you laid on your back and looked up at the sky. Clear blue with some thick, greyish clouds looming in the peripheral, morning was turning to day fast. Soon, the park would surely get some more traffic. Kids and their adults, mostly. There was a sizeable play area in the centre. You were pretty much on the outskirts of the park.

It was a familiar spot. You and the guys used to meet your other friends here all the time. Those times it'd been night, too dark to see the faces of the guys with big gym bags, filled to bursting with little plastic baggies and glass bottles.

You turned your head to look at her once her breathing had quieted down.

"You bitch," She hissed at you, the usual venom in her voice gone, replaced by exhaustion. You could only smile, somewhat sheepish but mostly just happy.

"It'd be a lot harder to resist if we were still in school, y'know." You said, turning back to watch the sky. "You can't change the law until we graduate. Until then, we're stuck here. And then, let's say you do change the law and it's passed, it's gonna take some time for people to accept that."

"Yeah," Regina agreed, folding her arms under her chin to lean on.

"And you can say that you'll change a hundred times easily, but actually doing it is different."

"When did you get so wise?"

"When I was all alone for years and did some stupid stuff."

"Like what?" You could tell she wouldn't be expecting what you said next. Even you weren't expecting it.

"You know how I sell drugs and alcohol, right? Where do you think I get the stuff from? I got to know some people while we weren't talking." You sighed. Remembering those times, the worst of them, still so fresh despite it having been years, wasn't nice. "Vandalism, underage drinking, shoplifting, driving without a licence... Did some harder drugs than weed... Stupid shit. I stopped most of it when I got caught the last time and almost went to juvie. Dad got me out, somehow. Probably threw money at people."

You turned your head to look at Regina. She was already paying keen attention to you. "I told my mandated therapist I was gonna change. I said I wasn't going to ever do anything like that ever again. I lied, of course."

"When did you actually stop, then?" She asked.

"Months after the mandated therapy was over." You put your hands in your pockets, getting cold. "I wanted to do it before then. I wanted to just, not be that. A druggie fifteen-year-old spraypainting some dilapidated trailer, hanging around guys that were way too old to be hanging around me. I didn't want to be that but at the same time being anything else was terrifying. I don't think highly of myself, but that was low even for me. Then, Mrs George found me one time."

"Mom?" The question was more out of shock than actual inquiry.

"Yeah." You blinked a couple of times. "I was in a bad state. Withdrawals. I made her promise she wouldn't tell my dad if I allowed her to take me home. She was talking the whole ride from downtown to mine, trying to keep me awake. I just lost it. I don't remember what I said or exactly what I did, but she had to pull over and restrain me." You gulped. "It was awful. Then she offered that I could mow your lawn for some money. I used it the first couple of times to get a new dose. She used to ask what I'd be spending it on and those times I had some bullshit excuse, but the first time I said I was probably gonna get some McDonalds', she cried. Cried real actual tears." You didn't feel like looking at Regina, but you could feel her eyes on the side of your head. "After that it just... It wasn't worth it."

"You never told me." Regina breathed out, still sounding shocked.

"I didn't want to." You turned onto your side, body facing her. "I was- am ashamed."

You didn't feel shame now, though. You undoubtedly would later, tomorrow perhaps, but not now. You were glad for it. You regretted it, wished you hadn't gone down that road, but lying there in the cold snow there was only indifference. That had happened. You had done that.

"Me too." She whispered. "Obviously, it's not the same, but-"

"I know what you mean. And it could be more similar than you think. Quitting an addiction is hard, but I wouldn't say quitting a behaviour is easy."

"It's stupid to compare drug addiction to being a bitch." Regina huffed, a frown on her face. "It's incomparable."

"Well, then let's not compare. Both can be hard in their own way without diminishing the other. What I'm trying to point out is that," You thought for a moment. "We're both trying to get over a bad, toxic habit that feels safe and good and like the only option, without seeing the merit or the other supposedly better option first. It's scary."

"Are you still trying to get over it?"

"I haven't been on drugs since, no. But it's not something that goes away. Not ever."

"And you're still kinda in it." She said, remembering your hustle around the school.

"Yeah. I can't expect you to be all buddy-buddy with everybody suddenly. That'd be hypocritical."

"So what do we do?"

What a question. One that you did not have the answer to. You didn't feel unsettled by the confusion. You hadn't told anyone of your dark past (gosh, could you be any more emo?) since those that knew had just kind of stumbled across it, so telling somebody felt... Good. You'd just sort of blurted it all out without thinking about it too much.

"Can we go back home? I wanna..." You stopped, realizing I wanna make out with you on the couch sounded awfully crude.

A lecherous grin spread Regina's cheeks. "Oh, I see. You just want me for my body."

"No!" You denied, indignant. "I would never."

"You would never want me for my body." She reiterated, purposefully misconstruing what you said. "Wow. Just wow."

"Regina, c'mon, I just mean..."

"Say what you were gonna say." She rolled away and up, towering above you with a twinkling smile pointed down at your prone body.

"Let's just go," You said and tried to get up. Like some bondage dominatrix, she pushed you back down with a shoe on your chest.

You hated how that sort of got to you. Your heart beat faster against her Ugg. Hopefully, she didn't feel it through the thick sole.

"Nuh-uh. Say it."

"I... I wanna make..." You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. "I wanna go home and make out with you on the couch."

"Oh, that wasn't so hard, now was it, baby? Let's go."

It was only once you'd made it back, chucked your wet clothes into the hamper, and spent a considerable amount of time in liplock, that either of you thought to circle back.

"Hey," Regina said, adjusting her weight to not be leaning on you so heavily. Your lips smacked apart and, gosh, now you were the gross ones. "I just now realized,"

"What are you realizing while you're supposed to be kissing me?" You pouted, falling onto your side and away from her. Your hand went over your eyes like you were a swooning maiden. Regina just patted your leg in mock consolation.

"You have your drug thing-" Only she would refer to your past addiction as your drug thing. "but I was, like, the only one doing anything actually wrong. Actively. You know what I mean." You craned your neck to look at her. Your double chin was probably epic.

"I lied to you by omission. I was really mean to you on Thanksgiving."

"Okay, lying by omission was bad and never do that again," She paused, waiting for you to affirm. You nodded solemnly. "But you were only mean after I was mean first. So, both forgiven. Anyway, I'm talking, like... I don't know how to say it."

You blinked. You didn't know what she meant so you couldn't really help. Regina huffed, nails scratching absent-mindedly on your calves.

"You made it sound like we were both wrong for how things exploded." She eventually said. "That was all me."

"I shouldn't have been such a doormat. I let you walk all over me and I never said anything about how I really felt."

"I don't think you can be in the wrong for that."

"I think I can be. At least the way that I was. I could've said something."

"And what would that've achieved? Me cutting you off and nothing changing?"

You clambered up to your elbows. "And now we're here." You smiled, one side a little crooked with how gleeful you were. "Look, we can hash everything out during the break, now just... Let's focus on other things."

Regina, still looking conflicted, caressed a hand up your leg. You shivered. You were in just a hoodie and loose briefs. Regina was more covered up than you, but still in just your old basketball shorts and a big band tee.

"Reggie, I'm getting used to asking for things I shouldn't want. Amuse me." You turned onto your back and hooked your legs around Regina. She fell forward, hands braced on either side of your torso. "Kiss me."

"I just don't want to mess up and have all this go away." She swallowed, a worried crease between her eyebrows.

"I think we're gonna mess up plenty of times. It's a possibility you'll find some justification to make somebody's life hell for a time. I could relapse." You pulled her closer with your legs, arms coming up to cross your fingers behind her neck. "A lot of the time we're not gonna want to admit it, we might not even know it. So, we can lay out a few... Promises, or something."

"Okay," Regina said, gazing down at you like you never imagined. Like you meant things to her. Important things.

"Promise me that you'll listen. Even if you disagree, please hear me out." She nodded seriously. "And, in turn, I promise to speak my mind. When I don't like something, or just like something, I'll say so." Again, she nodded. You loosened your hold on her neck and rubbed your thumbs on her cheeks. Getting to touch her like this, having her literally between your legs, was more than you ever thought you'd get.

Even if this ended in a similar fashion to the Thanksgiving kiss, or even much, much worse, you'd have regretted not taking the chance for the rest of your life.

"And... This is the most important one... Come closer."

Regina shifted closer, bending down, her elbows coming to rest next to your chest as she turned her ear towards you.

You whispered conspiratorially, like this was top-secret: "Still let me do your yard work."

Notes: Fucking christ. I wrote this all in one sitting. 4.3k words. That's like two chapters. I've written long chapters before, longer than this, but I got so used to the 2k on average pace that this felt huge.

Also! Don't be spooked by the [final chapter] marking! This is the last chapter in the story, yes, but we'll be hearing more from Reggie and Jorts still! I have a couple of epilogue sequences I want to write. Would y'all be interested in a poll as to what order those should be published? As in, chronological. Do we start from 10 Years Later... or something more like, idk, next summer? Lmk in the comments :)

This might be counterintuitive to add, and if my lovely amazing readers have exercised their reading comprehension during this series they might get why on a more nuanced level, revenge on Gretchen was left out purposefully. This will not be the last we hear of her, I have some plans for her in some of the epilogues, but yes. That plot point was left open on purpose.

The name. A lot of people like it! I was feeling insecure about my lack of foresight and impulsive naming, but hey, as it turns out it's not that deep! To add, it went really nicely with the end there I think :) No changes will be happening.

This note is getting so long. I just wanna thank everybody that's been along for the ride so far. I read every single comment and check my notifications way too often for new ones. I'm pretty used to writing for quite dead/inactive fandoms on AO3, and I love that site it's my origin, but it's very different to Tumblr. I just feel like people on here are much more open to sharing their thoughts. Everybody who's bore witness to my grief with the taglist, thank you for your patience. And thank you so much for wanting to be on it. I cannot believe people wanted that. For little ole me? Oh, you shouldn't have...

If there are spelling errors or grammatical weirdness, shhh. I'm not reading all that again at 1am. Toodles!

Taglist will be posted separately! Comment on that post if you want to be added to be notified when the epilogies are published!

#mean girls #mean girls 2004 #mean girls 2024 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina george x oc #regina george x ofc #mean girls x reader #lesbian regina george #wlw #fic: yard work

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feminismisstillahatemovement · 2 months

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In 2017 I interviewed Bernadette Wren, then head of psychology at the Tavistock Gids clinic, and asked what effect puberty blocking drugs have on the adolescent brain. Looking highly uncomfortable, she replied that the evidence so far was only anecdotal but that the clinic would study its patients “well into their adult lives so that we can see”.

Even back then, before whistleblowers had exposed the rush to medically transition children, it was alarming to hear that heavy-duty GnRH agonists such as triptorelin — used to treat advanced prostate cancer and “chemically castrate” sex offenders — were being prescribed to arrest puberty in hundreds of children as young as 11.

Moreover, they were being used “off-label” before any clinical trials. And the long-term study Wren promised never materialised: Gids (the Gender Identity Development Service) routinely lost touch with patients, and the 44 it did follow reported little long-term mental health improvement.

This shocking chapter in medical history, where the ideological objectives of trans rights campaigners trumped the welfare of disturbed children, is coming to an end worldwide. The decision by NHS England effectively to ban the prescription of puberty blockers comes after the Cass review noted these drugs could “permanently disrupt” brain development, reduce bone density and lock children into a regime of cross-sex hormones requiring life-long patienthood.

NHS England unites with other national health services including those in Finland, France, Sweden and, most notably, the Netherlands — where the “Dutch protocol”, a regime of early blockers then hormones, was devised in 1998 — in pulling back from prescribing them.

Even in the United States, where a toxic combination of extreme activism and medical capitalism has pushed child gender medicine to grotesque extremes, with double mastectomies performed on 14-year-old girls, there is some retrenchment.

Leaks from the World Professional Association for Transgender Health, the body which formulates guidance on “trans healthcare”, reveal doctors perplexed at how they should explain to an 11-year-old child that drugs will render them infertile. Crucially, liberal media such as The New York Times are now reporting grave medical misgivings about child transition, once dismissed as a culture-war issue for the Republican right.

Yet the question remains: how was this ever allowed to happen? For years, puberty blockers were cheerily billed as a mere “pause button”. In 2014, Dr Polly Carmichael, the last head of Gids before the Cass review ordered its closure, went on CBBC in a show called I Am Leo, saying of blockers: “The good thing is, if you stop the injections, it’s like pressing ‘start’ and the body carries on developing as it would if you hadn’t started.”

The BBC permitted her to make this unevidenced claim to an impressionable audience of six to 12-year-olds. Imagine hearing this as a developing girl, freaked out by your new breasts and periods. No wonder Gids referrals subsequently rocketed.

Carmichael failed to mention that she did not know if pressing “restart” on puberty is always medically possible — it is not — and in fact, almost every child Gids put on blockers went on to irreversible cross-sex hormones.

After years in a Peter Pan state while their peers developed, they understandably felt there was no way back and forged on with treatment. Yet if allowed to experience natural puberty, almost 85 per cent of gender dysphoria cases resolve themselves.

Nor did Carmichael tell CBBC kids that the blockers-hormones combination, if taken early enough, not only results in sterility but kills the libido so that a young person will never experience an orgasm.

At the 2020 judicial review brought by a former Tavistock clinician and Keira Bell, the brave young detransitioner rushed onto hormones by Gids, judges expressed astonishment at Gids’s lack of an evidence base.

Reporting on this issue for seven years, I too have been struck by a complete clinical incuriosity. Not only was data not collected, but those who queried treatments or pressed for evidence faced angry condemnation. Perhaps activists knew what research might find because one long-term Finnish study, recently reported in the BMJ, destroyed the myth used to justify blockers: that a child will commit suicide if denied them.

The Finns found that “gender-affirming care” does not make a dysphoric child less suicidal. Rather, such children had the same suicide risk as others with severe psychiatric issues. In other words, changing bodies does not fix troubled minds.

Yet even after NHS England’s announcement, activists refuse to heed the now-overwhelming evidence. In its response, Stonewall persists with the myth that puberty blockers “give a young person extra time to evaluate their next steps”.

Many questions remain unanswered: will private clinics still be permitted to prescribe puberty blockers; and is Scotland’s Sandyford child gender clinic still determined to close its ears to all evidence? Plus, we have few details on how the NHS’s new “holistic” treatment for gender-questioning children will operate when it opens next month.

This repellent experiment — in which girls who like trucks or little boys who dress as princesses, and who invariably grow up to be gay, are corralled inexorably down a road towards life-changing treatments — belongs in the book of medical disgraces. As do the cheerleaders who raised money for Mermaids and those who persecuted whistleblowers or damned journalists asking questions as transphobic.

In 50 years, chemically freezing the puberty of healthy children with troubled minds will be regarded with the same horrified fascination as lobotomies — which, never forget, won the Portuguese neurologist Antonio Egas Moniz the 1949 Nobel prize.

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{Article source (behind paywall)}

#i think it's going to be a lot sooner than 50 years tbh

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word-wytch · 9 months

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Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 14

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 14/? 18k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ An invitation to The Hideout answers some long burning questions.

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

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

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

Chapter CW: kissing, heavy petting, jealousy, protective!eddie, drinking, smoking, fluff

Tuesday, December 10th 1985

Winter crept in like a lamb. It nipped at your ankles when you got out of bed, beckoned you to hibernate in the warm cocoon of soft sheets and heavy blankets. The room was a lightless cave, the sky still as dense as midnight. Feet shuffling blindly at the floor to find your slippers, you clicked on the small lamp atop your nightstand to offer some light to your habitat.

Standard routine — making shadows on the wall as you brushed your teeth, emerging out the door to the dark hallway, squinting under the harsh light of your kitchen. Two eggs over easy. Two pieces of toast. One phone that hung to the right of your small kitchen table like an omen as you dipped the crust into the yolks. Looming. Waiting. You swallowed a feeling with your next sip of coffee; flutters that danced down your throat and settled in the pit of your stomach.

By the time you returned to your bedroom, the sky touched your sheer curtains with the palest blue. Your clothing was already laid out neatly on your dresser, poised like soldiers in a row — thick ribbed stockings; plaid wool skirt; stiff white blouse; cream knit sweater.

As you suited up, stripping yourself of warm pajamas to brace the chill of your formal attire, your eyes drifted to an object on your desk. Powder blue and collecting a fair amount of dust; an IBM Selectric II typewriter. It was more or less a decoration now, pushed against the wall to make room for piles of papers in need of grading. Still, you liked the way it looked; cheery against the drab apartment wall, like something a real writer would have.

It was a trusty old thing, still chugging along despite countless college essays hammered into the grey keys. It had been your only company in the wee hours of many mornings such as this one, only then there had not been sleep to separate you from the night before. Sturdy and dependable, it captured your imagination too, letter by black inked letter.

Fastening the buttons of your blouse in a methodical rhythm, you could almost trick yourself into believing it was any other morning, except today there was something else you needed to do before you left, and the clock on your nightstand let you know in glowing red that your window to do so was closing.

Cold linoleum creaked under your stocking feet as you padded into the kitchen, stomach twisting into knots as you approached the phone. If you were going to do this, it had to be now.

Running your finger down the laminated tabs of the well-loved address book on your counter, you flipped to the section labeled “J”. After scanning a dozen hand-written names, you found the one you were looking for. It was a mess of chalky white-out and hasty scribbles. Last name replaced, same with the phone number and address. You weren’t sure why you didn’t just write it all fresh under “P”, perhaps it was something about not wanting to erase the history entirely.

You took a deep breath and snatched the phone off the receiver. Pressing the cold plastic to your ear, you glanced down at the numbers in blue pen and whispered them quietly to yourself as you slowly, hesitantly, clicked them one by one into the cream button pad on the wall.

You stared across the kitchen in sober contemplation of your life choices as the phone rang. Again. And again. And again, until a familiar, groggy voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Janet!” you greeted brightly, sounding far too awake for 7:06 AM. In your nervous haste, you almost forgot to tell her who was calling.

“Oh… hey there,” came a hesitant voice on the other line, a sharp squeal cut through the static followed by a hush.

“Hey, um, I know it’s like, super early and totally last minute but I wanted to catch you before I left for work. Listen, I’ve had a hell of a week already and I was wondering—and I totally get it if you can’t, but—well I was wondering if you’d be up for going out tonight. Like say around eight-ish?” You bit your lip and grimaced, twisting the gummy cord around your finger.

The pause was filled with the rattling of tiny fists against plastic. “Oh! Well let’s see,” she said in a voice that was suddenly very awake. “The kids will be asleep by then, or at least they should be,” she chuckled, “and Bob doesn’t go to bed till after eleven anyway, so I’m sure he’ll be fine if I escape for a few hours. I mean I’ll check with him but I really don’t see why not.”

It was equally as promising as it was a relief; the excitement that crept through her voice.

“Great! Yeah, I figured you could probably use a night out.”

“Oh gosh, you don’t even know the half of it,” Janet laughed. “So where were you thinking? You wanna just go to Pal-Joeys again?”

Pacing toward the counter, you braced to offer your suggestion. “Actually, I was thinking we could go to The Hideout, I hear there’s a band playing tonight.”

“The Hideout?” she asked through an incredulous smile.

“I know,” you breathed nervously, “it’s not really our um, regular haunt, but that’s kinda why I want to go, you know? Shake things up a bit. Everything’s just been feeling so… routine lately, you know?”

Janet’s sigh was deep and heavy. “Oh trust me, I know.” A bright coo crackled through the telephone line.

“Like, I kind of want to just…” you coiled your finger deeper into the phone cord, glancing at the glaring red clock above the stove, “I dunno…pretend to be somebody else for a change.”

“You know,” she started, a quiet mischief creeping into her voice, “I could really stand to be somebody else for a night too.”

You paused in your pacing as a smile cracked across your face. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Gosh, do you know your birthday was the last time I went out? Seriously! And before that I don’t even remember. Sometimes I look around and it’s like, man I used to be fun. You remember when I was fun, right?”

You chuckled, drifting back to memories of truths and dares, of creeping down her dark basement steps with freshly painted toes. “You still are fun, Janet.”

“Well maybe you can help remind me because sometimes I look in the mirror and I swear I don’t even recognize myself. Really! I swear I see my mother more and more and that’s what’s really terrifying.”

“You mean you don’t see Bloody Mary anymore?”

Janet’s cackle would have woken the whole house had it not been wide awake and eating Cheerios already. “No that’s just at my parents’ house, remember?”

You snorted, leaning back against the counter. “I think we screamed so loud we woke the neighbors. I swear that bathroom is haunted.”

“That’s what I’ve always said! You feel like you’re being watched, right? My parents still don’t believe me. Oh well, not my problem anymore.”

You laughed, the knot in your belly releasing slightly before you glanced at the clock again, 7:13. “Crap, I’ve gotta get going. So I’ll see you at eight tonight? At The Hideout?”

“Yeah, should be fine. I’ll call you if anything changes. Ah!” she squealed, “I can’t wait.”

“Glad you’re excited,” you chuckled, gripping the smooth plastic. “Ok, see you later.”

“Bye now!”

You hung the phone back on the receiver and stood in the blaring silence of your kitchen, frozen by the impact of your choices. It was real now. In a matter of about thirteen hours you would be getting in your car, driving down a dark road, and parking it at a seedy bar where you would see Eddie for the first time in public. Your feet felt glued to the floor, but as the clock blinked to 7:15, you willed them to move.

Before taking the dark road that led to a seedy bar, you would first need to get in your car and take another road — to work.

You cursed the cold. Cursed it as you hurried across the parking lot to find your car covered in fractals of frost. Cursed it vehemently as you worked the glass with your feeble plastic scraper, shaving holes just big enough to see out of your dashboard and rear window as the clock on your wrist ticked on minute by precious minute. You cursed it audibly when you turned the key and the engine whirred, and whined, and refused to turn over. It must have heard you, because after the fifth time of stomping on the brake and snapping your wrist forward, the engine roared to life.

You rode in on a wave; a daze like the fog that escaped your lungs in shallow breaths. The sun rose above the frozen farmlands, casting its golden-pink light across the empty fields. Out here the roads stretched on for miles. Flat and straight, with little variance in elevation. There was nowhere to look but straight ahead. No curves to surprise you, just you and the rumble of the salt-dusted road, bumping along in silence as an anxious fog rolled across the landscape of your mind.

A sea of students swept you through the front doors of Hawkins High and into the bustling office. Amidst the flurry of ringing phones and voices settling into the cadence of their roles, you grabbed your punch card and stamped the date and time in line with the rest. Pushing the metal handle of the heavy glass door, you exited the humming reprieve of the office and into the din of the main hall. Your boots made hollow clicks against the glossy tile, wind at your face as you marched forward, dodging roughhousing students and hall monitors rushing toward them.

Goodness was a mantle. A strap that dug into your shoulder; heavy with books, and papers, and responsibility. You wedged your thumb beneath it, shrugging it up onto the padded wool collar of your coat as you strode on, vision locked ahead as chaos swirled around you.

Your mug left a ring on the big desk; a remnant from where you’d sloshed it coming down the hall. You’d tried to be careful; slow and deliberate in your pacing when you left the teachers lounge with it, but when a blur of wild curls drew your gaze, your footing faltered. At least you missed your shoes.

Coat hung on its solitary hook and grade book stationed at the center of the desk, you took your place in front of it. Clutching your clipboard, you glanced across the rows of desks, down at the rows of names, beside the rows of boxes that your green pen would fill with neat little P’s and A’s like it did every day. Bell after bell, swipe after swipe of your eraser at the board, the fresh sticks of chalk dwindled to nubs. Question after question, the patience in your voice grew thin.

Between the bells at the top of fourth period, you stood poised like a sentinel outside the door to your classroom. Arms folded across your knit sweater, you sighed, shifting your weight back and forth between your tired feet, offering gentle smiles as your students filed through the threshold of the door. You smelled him before you saw him; the waft of leather and cigarettes with notes of shampoo more prominent than usual.

Against the flow of traffic, Eddie Munson brought his salt-licked combat boots to a halt in front of you. Thumb hooked under the heavy strap of his backpack, he offered you a smile so broad it crinkled the corners of his eyes and made your knees want to give.

You tightened your arms around your sweater, over the hard plastic of your faculty lanyard, and breathed a shy, girlish greeting. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he mimicked, shifting his weight with a less than subtle restlessness as his dark eyes drank you in. They darted back and forth between yours, plush lips parted and primed with words. You felt them brimming impatiently behind his eyes, saw them in the pink flash of his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips.

Out here in the bustling hallway, with eyes that watched and voices that echoed off the polished tile, Eddie edged a bold foot closer, dove in, and ghosted the shell of your ear with his burning question.

“Will I see you tonight?”

The words were a low, hot rumble — rippling from your ear down your spine, pooling deep in your belly. His heat thawed your shoulder as he hovered there, lingering for each aching second it took you to eke out your response.

“Yeah,” you whispered into his curls.

Pulling back with a blinding grin, he tipped his head and ducked into the door of your classroom.

The slam of a locker made you jump. Arms crossed to shield your pounding heart, you stood there in the middle of it all, swimming in a sea of passing bodies, struggling to keep your head above the waves. It surged with images of a lighted stage, of bottles, and tables, and a dark corner for both of you to hide in. The bell echoed loudly down the hall, shrill enough to wake you from the dream you were surely having. Donning your mask, you took a deep breath and dove in, shutting the door behind you.

______

Eddie swung open the heavy back doors to his van, piercing the darkness with the dull yellow overhead light. Gravel crunched under his boots as he leaned in to grab the first amp from the stack, like a pile of black Christmas presents awaiting unwrapping. The night air bit at his fingers, stars twinkling in the patches where the clouds gave way above the tree line. Tightening his grip around the thick gummy handle, he hoisted it and followed the pale path the moon offered out of the side parking lot toward the patio behind The Hideout.

It wasn’t much; a stout fence in dire need of a paint job that caged in a few meager picnic tables. They still had umbrellas in the middle, wrapped tightly like mummies for the winter. He knew the back door would be open, it always was. Turning the weathered knob with his free hand, he welcomed the heat that wafted toward him. He could almost say he welcomed the piss smell coming from the bathrooms as his heavy boots thumped down the dark linoleum hallway, but that would be a stretch. Accustomed was a better word. Familiar was a better word.

Stale beer and cigarettes soon drowned it out as he entered the dimly lit bar, stopping to plunk the heavy amp down to his left on the stage, which was little more than a raised platform painted black. The thud drew the attention of the five usual suspects at the bar, and Eddie wondered which one of them was responsible for playing “Free Bird” on the jukebox.

Bill raised his hand, tipping his baseball cap back in a friendly nod as his fingers splayed. “‘Ey, Eddie!”

He returned the gesture of a single raised hand and flashed a smile before turning down the hall again. Eddie took a deep breath at the door to calm his pounding heart before pressing it open. He couldn’t believe he had been crazy enough to suggest something like this. That soon enough, you would be perched atop one of those rickety stools at a tall, sticky table, watching his every move, listening to his every note. The chill of the night air was a welcome thing, sobering and distracting from the heat that was creeping up the collar of his thick, leather coat. As the gravel crunched under his boots again, headlights blinded his vision.

He could hear the bass pounding from the outside of the small sedan as it rolled up beside his van, followed promptly by another. After a moment of squinting, the headlights shut off with the rumble of the engine, leaving him in the darkness once again. Seatbelts clicked and laughter emerged from the open doors as his friends tumbled out into the parking lot.

“What the fuck took you guys so long? We left at the same time,” Eddie groused.

Dave lumbered over and sighed, a smirk playing on his broad features in the moonlight. “Jeff had to take a shit and he parked me in.”

Jeff rolled his eyes, swinging the door shut with a huff as Gareth laughed into the night air.

Eddie sighed, glancing toward the tall stack of amps and drum heads sitting backlit in the rear of his van. “Ok, well we’ve got like forty minutes to get our shit together so start hauling.”

Dave groaned, cracking his back with a twist of his hefty torso. “Ugh, can you at least let me hit this doob before you put me to work?”

On any other night, Eddie would have welcomed the suggestion, but his nerves were traveling to his hands now and he itched to move them. “Dude, it takes us like an hour to set up, we don’t have time right now. We can smoke after we get this shit on stage.”

Jeff quirked his brows suspiciously, “Dude, since when do you care that we’re on time for anything?”

“Yeah seriously, we’re late like every week,” Gareth added.

Eddie balked, searching for the answer in the treeline, one that excluded you. “It just—if we’re ever gonna play anywhere else besides here we’re gonna have to start getting our shit together.”

There was a lukewarm pause as the band considered his answer. By the looks on their faces, Eddie wasn’t entirely sure if they bought it, but it was the best he could come up with and the statement was true. Dave broke the silence with an exasperated sigh. “Come on. I’ve been jonesing since we got to Gareth’s. His mom is so anal we can’t even smoke outside.”

“That’s ‘cause you reek when you come back in,” Gareth defended.

“At least I don’t reek of ass like you,” Dave chortled.

Jeff didn’t miss a beat. “That’s debatable.”

Gareth’s cackle wafted into the frigid air as he pointed a pale finger at Dave.

“You wanna find out the hard way?” Dave’s eyes glimmered wildly as he hooked an arm around Gareth’s shoulders, locking him into a power noogie position.

Gravel shuffled under their stumbling feet. “Let go of me you asshole,” Gareth gritted through a strangled laugh. Jeff only egged them on, howling uproariously like he had tickets to the show.

Eddie dragged his hands down his face with a deep, seething breath as Dave ground his thick knuckles into Gareth’s mop of hair, kicking up rocks and pivoting as Gareth attempted to pry away. This was his circus, his monkeys, and he would have to step up and be the ring leader if they were going to take the stage at all tonight. “CUT IT OUT!” he hollered.

Dave paused, arm still locked around Gareth’s neck. “Come on, we’re just having a little fun. You remember fun, right?”

Gareth groaned weakly, looking up at Eddie with pathetic eyes. “Who’s we?” he choked.

Eddie’s expression didn’t budge from its scowl. With a roll of his eyes and a resigned huff, Dave released his arm and Gareth stumbled backward, gasping. “Fine, captain killjoy.”

A heavy plume of fog left his nostrils as Eddie stormed toward the back of his van, weaving his arm through a thick ring of cables to rest on his shoulder before hoisting another amp from the stack. Gravel shuffled behind him as the others followed suit.

You were risking a lot to come here. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint you.

______

The silence gnawed at you, filled you with an itching discomfort as you thumbed your dresser knobs. Staring into your open shirt drawer, you faced off with your biggest decision yet — what to wear tonight.

The chasm of options laid before you in neat, folded rows. An excavation site of cardigans, and turtle necks, and things you hadn’t unearthed in years. You ran your fingers through the layers of folded cotton, peeling them back with deep consideration.

Nagging thoughts crept in like whispers over the softly ticking clock, pinball plunger pulled and ready to fire. With a determined huff, you stepped back from your dresser and padded down the hallway, out into the living room.

Your skirt pooled around your stocking feet as you crouched down in front of the long wooden cabinet that housed your records. Fingers dancing over the worn cardboard spines, you flipped them softly forward as you perused one by one, walking steadily until one of them fell open to a scene; a painting of a man hunched over with sticks tied to his back that hung on a wall of peeling paper. You paused, pulling it out to scan the track list. This would do.

Placing the the record softly on the felt pad, you lowered the needle to the ridges, and with the press of a button, a crackle roused the room.

Hey hey momma said the way you move

Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove

A smile, like a crocus peeking up from the snow, bloomed across your face. You cranked the volume, wrapping yourself in a sound that would carry to your bedroom.

Your fingers found the tiny metal tab behind your waist, and with a downward tug of the zipper, your wool skirt became a puddle on the floor. Peeling back the layers, your tight sweater joined it in a heap, your thick stockings lay deflated on the pile, the buttons of your stiff blouse worked free until it was a crumpled afterthought. The chill that kissed your skin was a welcome thing. Goosebumps raised like the current flowing through you as your near-naked silhouette danced across the wall to approach the open drawer once more.

Emboldened with a curious delight, you began to dig. Past the crust of crisp blouses, beneath the squishy mid-layer of cardigans, down into the sub-layer of camisoles and tees, deeper and deeper until finally your fingers made purchase with a soft treasure.

It fell open as you unearthed it, the solid black gone grey from washing, the white letters and arched angel cracked and faded: Led Zeppelin — United States of America 1977.

It happened on a Sunday in April, which began as most Sundays did, with you hunched over your powder blue typewriter in a race between the clock and the keys. You had it down to a science. At the speed you were typing, a rough draft could be finished by dinner, and the final could be churned out by cutting into a few hours of your sleep. A worthy sacrifice, as your final grade was on the finish line. This, like countless others, was how you planned to spend your day — until your roommate found you.

You remembered the way she leaned against the wooden frame of your bunk bed, amused, watching the paper you hammered with black-inked letters grow longer and longer. Finally she spilled it; as of an hour ago, she was down one boyfriend and up one ticket, and now it had your name on it. When she dangled it between you and the tidy rows of text, your hands froze over the keys.

You eyed the invitation — temptation printed on a neat, orange strip. Free admission, at a price.

The show was sold out. It had been for a long time.

Your class was at 9:00 AM tomorrow. A late paper took twenty percent off your grade.

You loved the band dearly, had a bigger crush on Robert Plant than you’d openly admit to anyone. Fights had broken out over tickets nation wide. You had no idea when they would play the states again.

The clock ticked on beside you, the long hand grazed past three. Maybe you could churn out the rest in the next few hours. Maybe the rough draft would be enough. But the realist in you knew neither would happen if you seized the ticket. Your grade would never recover, your streak of straight As you’d kept since grade school would come to an end. Your GPA would dip for the semester.

On April 17th, 1977, you left your paper sitting unfinished in the typewriter to see Led Zeppelin play Market Square Arena. You didn’t know it then, but it was the last time they ever would.

On April 18th at 9:00 AM, you showed up to class with empty hands and a brand new shirt.

You had altered your souvenir; taken scissors to the collar so that it draped off your shoulder. Time and your washing machine had made Swiss cheese of the bottom hem, so you cropped it. You admired the handiwork as it draped off you now, the way the black strap of your bra peeked out from the slope of your shoulder like a coy secret.

Pulling open the lower drawer—opened far less frequently than you would like—your knuckles grazed the bottom of the smooth wood interior as you peeled back the layers of folded denim. A crease of black jumped out from the sea of blue, and you examined it. It had a nice worn-in fade for only having lived in your dresser a few years, a flatteringly high waist, and most importantly, tapered legs that could easily be tucked into the tall, black boots sitting in the back of your closet. Your bare legs welcomed the barrier against the chill, and you caught a glance at your rear as you hiked them snugly upward. They hugged you in all the right places, as the music electrified the air, you transformed.

A vision of you — sprawled across a blanket on the quad with your face in a book. Making shadows on your dorm room wall while transmuting fantasies to black-inked pages. Strolling down a lamp-lit street, face to the stars, fueling your wild imagination. Here, in your reflection, the ghost of you looked back.

You painted her darker than normal, swapping the usual chapstick for a deep, dusty red exhumed from the bottom of your makeup bag. Eyes smoked and cheeks dusted, you drew out the beauty from angles of your face with every stroke.

Coat donned and purse in hand, you paused at the front door, glancing over your shoulder, down the hallway, toward your coffee table piled with papers. There was another ghost of you here — tucked into her slippers and cozy robe with the voices from the television as her only company, flicking her green grading pen down rows of questions.

On December 10th, 1985, you left the papers sitting on your coffee table to see Corroded Coffin play The Hideout. With a decided twist of the handle, you pushed out into the cold night air.

Light pooled in sparse puddles as your boots echoed off the rough pavement. Stillness whispered on the wind as crisp remnants of fall scuttled across the asphalt. The apartments behind you were a tapestry of glowing squares, pictures of the rest of Hawkins tucking into their slippers and washing their dishes, grabbing their blankets and turning on their televisions.

You grabbed your keys and unlocked your car, and when it roared to life with a swift flick of your wrist, a strange exhilaration coursed through you.

It rose like the moon over the barren fields, thrumming in your chest, spreading to your limbs, alight with something wild and teeming as you drove past rows of lighted windows—vignettes of tired routine—and stopped at the same red sign you did this morning. Your fingers twitched over the turn signal leaver — an impulse to flick up, to turn right, to settle into the familiar rhythm of your muscle memory. This time you pressed down, pressed your foot to the gas, and cranked the wheel left.

Cruising boldly down the straight and narrow road, fields and farmland faded in your rearview mirror and soon there were trees on the horizon; dense and dark. Gripping the wheel as the silhouette closed in, the corners of your mouth drew upward, pulled by a wild, awakened force. Headlights illuminated pale, naked limbs. Eyes beamed back at you from the shadows. You cranked the volume on your stereo, and as you braced for your first bend, something deep within you—dormant and restless—howled.

______

The water was so cold it burned. Eddie cursed the old plumbing, instantly regretting having the decency to wash his hands in the first place. Soap just barely rinsed, he twisted the lime-scaled handles and shut it off. With a trembling hand, he grabbed one of the last paper towels. Gareth’s kick drum echoed down the narrow hallway, thundering just like his chest. He glanced at his watch again. 7:56.

Eddie took a ragged breath, chucking the crumpled paper at the overflowing trash bin in the corner. It bounced dejectedly off the wall and onto the dirty tile. With a deadpan glare, he left it where it lay. Hands barely dry, he felt for the flask in his pocket. Screwing the tiny cap and flicking it open, he tipped it back. Eddie welcomed the burn. It chased down his throat and settled in his stomach with a warmth that radiated, instantly numbing his nerves.

Meeting his own eyes in the tiny, smudged mirror, he gave himself a final glance over. His curls were holding; fresh and clean from this morning, fluffed by the icy wind in the trips from van to stage.

Here, in the dingy confines of The Hideout, words like freak and loser lost their stick. Words he could shake like a dog at the door. He’d fashioned them like armor in the daytime; a shield in hallways and in lunch lines. What was stickier were feelings. The feelings that came with chewed pens and answers left blank. The feeling of lectures slipping like a sieve through his brain. The feeling of stares and stifled laughter, of staring numbly at the board, of filling the silence with bullshit instead of an answer.

Microphone feedback squeaked outside. The dull, heavy walk of a bassline. Laughter. Cymbals. That kick drum again. Eddie took another swig, searing the flutters in his stomach.

He wanted to be good for you. Seen under stage lights instead of fluorescents.

Good like an answer he knew.

You saw the sign first, peeking from behind the trees — simple, effective, and yellowed with time. The Hideout: a hole in the woods. Tucked around the bend you now braced against, it sat like a neon beacon. The chipped, grey exterior faded into the shadows, leaving only the holy glow of Budweiser and Miller Lite signs to guide you to the promised land.

Pulling into a spot along the narrow parking strip, you faced off with your destination. Looming and real. Frozen as reality stared back at you in the glare of your blinding headlights, you gripped the steering wheel and looked around. There were a few other cars beside you, but none of them Janet’s. Around the left of the building there appeared to be more parking, and the stout silhouette of a two-tone van you did know the owner of. Pinballs hammered in your chest.

When you arrange a time to meet someone, you are always punctual. Perhaps a life organized by bells on timers trained you to be this way, but the thought of entering alone filled you with dread, and part of you wondered whether you should wait out here for her. Your hands were starting to shake, and not from the cold.

The list of crazy things you had done in your life was a laughably short one, but this made the top by a long shot. As you turned the radio down and sat in the wake of your rumbling engine, the questions grew louder. Serious questions about where you thought this night would go, about where you wanted it to go and if you would truly go there.

Suddenly your headlights felt too bright, like a beacon drawing eyes from the woods, or even more terrifying, eyes from the building. You promptly flicked them off and waited, staring dead ahead at the chipped grey siding. It was fine. You were fine. At least you could no longer see your breath. You could hide here as long as you wanted.

“Alright man, it’s doob o’clock,” Dave said with a satisfied stretch as he took in the stage setup.

Eddie ripped another frantically scribbled setlist out of his spiral notebook and shoved it at him. “No it’s eight fifteen and we still need to do soundcheck,” Eddie scathed, glancing at the door. “You can start by plugging your mic in, Jesus Christ.”

Dave huffed annoyedly through his nose, squatting down to find the cord with exaggerated difficulty. “Yes sir,” he mocked. Eddie shot back a testing glare. “Dude, what’s up with you tonight? You’ve been on one since Gareth’s.”

“Yeah, you ok man?” asked Jeff.

The knots tightened in his stomach as the attention of all three of them closed in around him. “Just—let’s just get our shit together…please,” he deflected.

Glancing around frantically, you wondered, for the hundredth time, where the hell Janet was. You couldn’t be that surprised that a woman with two small children was late, but your exhaust was making a smokescreen of the parking strip, and you wondered if anyone inside had noticed, if anyone could hear the low rumble of your engine and questioned why this strange woman was idling. With an irritated sigh, you turned the key, leaving you in deafening silence and leeching cold. You could hear your breathing now, your pounding heart, the squeaking of leather as you shifted in your seat. What one of the kids got sick? What if she called after you left?

What if she isn’t coming?

Eddie’s eyes lingered at the door as he clicked the pedals with his feet, plucking a soft, testing melody into the mic. His watch glared under the stage lights, confidence fleeting with every minute that ticked by. Gareth snapped his foot petal with a deep thud. Dave walked out a bassline before squealing feedback made the whole bar flinch.

The strum of a chord made you jump. Booming and electric, you heard it through the walls. They were starting. They were starting and you weren’t there. Gripping the steering wheel, you tossed your head back in an anguished sigh. You sure as hell weren’t going to stand him up. As you glanced around the parking lot one last desperate time, the bitter conclusion rose like bile — you may have to do this alone. Seatbelt clicking under your gloved thumb, you steeled yourself for the cold, for the eyes of strangers in a strange new place. With a decided pull of the handle, the door opened to the frigid night air, and you emerged from the heat into the unknown.

You met your reflection in the glass of the entrance as your hand gripped the weathered knob. Pinballs fired off at lightning speed — a jackpot multi-ball bonanza. Checking your hair one last time with eyes locked on your own, you turned the handle with a determined sigh.

A bell dinged above your head, and winter’s chill gusted in on your heels.

The whole room turned at once — at you. You, from the front of the classroom. You, from behind the big desk. You, in the doorway of The Hideout. Across a dark sea of scattered tables, poised on an altar of sound and light, Eddie Munson smiled at you — brighter than all of it.

The door fell shut behind you. Hot under the gaze of what seemed like the entire bar, it suddenly felt like you were the one on stage. Standing there like a deer in headlights in your long wool coat and clean black boots, you surely must have looked as out of place as you felt. Shoulders rolling back to counter your thrumming nerves, your boots left the rug and found the tacky linoleum as you approached the bar that lined the left wall.

Eddie busied his shaking hands with tapping another test melody into his mic, pausing when he heard a voice over his right shoulder.

“Is that…?” Jeff pointed toward the back of your head.

Gareth’s eyes lit up in recognition. Dave peered over with a shit-eating grin. “Did you invite her?” he mouthed.

Eddie’s face betrayed him, burning like it did under the fluorescents. Burning to greet you at the bar, for the liberty to patronize it, to offer you something more than his aching gaze.

“No,” Eddie lied, “but I may have told her we play here on Tuesdays.” He struck the strings with the weight of his frustration, drowning out any further questions with the opening chords to the first song on the setlist. The others took their cue with chuckles and shaking heads. Heart pounding like the kick drum behind him, Eddie’s fingers found the frets, tugging a muscle memory from deep within as his eyes stayed fixed on you.

There was an older man in a sweatshirt behind the bar. The owner, you figured, by the way he was standing — arms crossed, stance wide, unafraid to take up space. By the way he was looking at you, like he wondered what would drive a new face to his establishment on a random Tuesday night in December. From the glances the others passed between them, the feeling seemed unanimous.

“How can I help you?” he half shouted against the chugging chords, leaning against the bar with a curious smile.

You braced with your brightest grin, placing your gloved hands down flat on the waxy bar. “Hi! Yes—um,” you scanned the selection under the neon lights, the liquor bottles of all shapes and sizes reflected in the dirty mirror behind them. The bar back was tightly cluttered with old stickers and hand-written notes taped behind the cash register, with half-empty bottles of bitters and bobble heads nodding to the palpable vibration. Having no interest in standing there awkwardly while he fixed you a cocktail, you selected a bottle of Coors.

He nodded and ducked to open the steel, magnet-plastered fridge beneath the cash register.

Your gaze, like a magnet, drew back to the stage. It was all you could do just to watch him — the way his curls fell gently at his cheek, the way they bounced with every strum. There was a tension lingering just under the curve of his lashes. The music was fast and loud, purely instrumental. You recognized nothing about it but the genre. Head dipped in concentration as his left hand tapped a frantic melody into the frets, he raised his eyes bravely to meet yours.

He wasn’t the only man staring. It was hard to ignore; the man in the baseball cap to your right as you stared right through his line of sight. You pinched off your gloves and shoved them in your pockets to occupy your hands.

A bottle cap plinked against the bar top. “Two bucks,” the owner stated, slinging a towel over his shoulder.

You fished through your purse, feeling those eyes on you as you opened your wallet, as you slid the bills right under his gaze across the waxy counter. You snatched the cold bottle and raised it to your lips. Turning over your shoulder, your eyes clung to Eddie on stage, to his tendons as they flexed to pick a rhythm at the strings. His was gaze a soft and yearning thing, a contrast to the sharp and punchy chords that left his fingers.

“You know these guys?” the man in the cap asked finally, pointing to the stage. Your eyes shot toward him in surprise, lips still pursed at the bottle. He had that working man sort of look. Average features, subtle crows feet, a whisper of sandy stubble across his strong jaw. His grey-blue eyes were gentle, but brimming with a heated curiosity.

You used the much needed swig to buy yourself a second. Did you? The cold, bready fizz sparkled down your throat. You supposed you didn’t have to specify how you were acquainted. “Yeah,” you answered simply, plugging your mouth with the bottle like a dam.

A bell rattled behind you. Grateful for any disruption, you whipped around quickly to break the connection. Janet lit up as soon as she saw you, a mixture of relief and apology playing out on her face as she strode across the room. Tight blonde curls emerged from her lowering leopard print hood. “Oh my god I’m so sorry,” she lamented, arms opening to embrace you.

Relief washed through you like a warm buzz. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it!” you said as your nose took a dive in her soft, perfumed curls.

“Sarah would not stop crying, it took forever for me to finally get her to sleep. I swear babies have a sixth sense, they always know when you have fun plans,” she said through a laugh. Her lashes were long and thick with mascara, eyeshadow a solid sky blue so vibrant that it popped even in the dim neon glow.

Janet ordered a margarita. There was nothing new to speak of, really, over the electric roar of the band, but you tried to listen. Intently, you tried to listen to the new words her son was saying, to offer some lukewarm update about how work was going, but your eyes had their own agenda.

The rolled cuffs of Eddie’s tight, acid-washed jeans bunched against the pull tabs of his boots as he tapped the rhythm with his heel. There was no jacket for him to strain against, no flannel to constrict him, no sleeves on his T-shirt in December. It was more than you’d seen of him yet. Ink flexed with each generous swell of his bicep, and with every attack, he would flash you his ribs through the hand-hacked holes.

“Mmm,” Janet mumbled, sipping off the top of the very full, salt-rimmed rocks glass. “Come on, let’s get cozy,” she said with a wink and gestured toward the tables. The air was thick with smoke wafting from the bikers at the bar. Eddie tapped out another lick and peered through a few stray curls as you followed her across the room to a high top, back and center.

You wanted to be closer. Close enough to see the umber of his eyes, the ridges of his knuckles as they plucked the strings. There were a few shorter tables down in front, back about five feet from the stage. But as the beams of light bounced off the glossy wood and over the seats in blinding white, you were grateful for the shadows ten feet would afford you.

Janet stripped off her coat to reveal a tight black dress with long sleeves and sequined, padded shoulders. It hugged just above the knees of her sheer hose, punctuated with sharp ankle boots.

“Look at you all dressed up! You look stunning.” You meant it, she really did.

Janet’s smile was a shy deflection, but hiding just beneath it, a glimmer of belief. “Thanks, this thing’s been sitting in my closet for like a year now. Can you believe it? I just felt like, you know, if I’m going out I’m gonna dress up goddamn it,” she laughed, punctuating with a slap against the table. “We coulda gone to Benny’s, I still woulda worn it.”

You laughed, for the first time since you’d talked to her that morning. Unbuttoning your coat, you let it drape over the metal back of the stool behind you.

“You’re not looking too shabby yourself,” Janet said with a wink before taking a sip.

“Honestly I’ll take any excuse I can get to dress down,” you said with a sheepish huff, propping your elbows on the sticky table before bringing the bottle to your lips.

A nervous crackle wound its way through Eddie’s stomach at the vision of you. You, perched on a stool in a dive bar. You, in jeans and a t-shirt. You, arching forward just enough to grace him with a sliver of your back. It was real — you, here. He soured a note, and those words he shook off came creeping back in as he fumbled through the next lick. But you didn’t seem to notice. You propped your cheek against your knuckles and let the warmth of your eyes usher his doubts away.

When the song came to a ringing conclusion, Janet’s cheer was uninhibited, clapping her hands above her head. It drew eyes from the couple seated at one of the lower tables, from the bikers at the bar, from the band. Your applause was more demure, but you couldn’t mask the brilliance of your smile.

“Thank you, thank you,” Eddie said into the microphone. “Looks like we really have a crowd tonight. Seven drunks.”

The room erupted with hollers and cheers.

The bassist muttered something to the other guitarist and the two shared a laugh, casting their eyes towards you. Suddenly your face grew very hot. Of course they recognized you, Jeff was in your second period class. You anticipated this, and yet it was the realness of it all that shook you — the hard stool beneath you, the stares you could feel as your finger idly traced the cold condensation on the glass. Pinballs fired off at rapid speed. You drowned them with a tip of the bottle.

Eddie shifted, clicking the pedals with his foot. “Ok, so this next one is uh, definitely not an original.” He breathed a laugh into the microphone, glancing up at you — at your shoulders, hunched in shy defense, at your worried brow and downcast gaze. He wished he could reach across the room, lift your chin with his words and draw you from your shell. “Anyway, you’ll uh, probably recognize this one,” he said, to you.

Eddie nodded to the band, counting off silently before they struck a chord together — a low, droning thing, gritty and slow as the bass walked steadily over the foundation. Eddie swayed back and forth, rocking in time with the beat like a march, resting his heavy-lidded gaze on you. Across the divide of scattered seats, you — at the small table, saw him — on the big stage. His nimble fingers struck the chords with an ardent conviction, and the ice in you began to thaw.

Suddenly the beat changed pace. Gareth smacked his drum sticks together to count off, and the first two chords sparked instant recognition. A smile rose up in you — a wild and thrumming thing, radiant and rising until it cracked through.

You knew what was coming. Two chords, quiet taps for a count of sixteen, and then those two chords again, like a one-two punch, booming and building with anticipation. Again, and again, as the energy rose in the room. You caught the wicked glint in his eyes as his hands—those hands that fidgeted and fumbled with dog-eared pages and chewed up pens—wielded power. A surge of electricity swirled through your stomach, crackled because you knew what was next.

Eddie took a deep breath, and opened his mouth.

Generals gathered in their masses

Colors. Warm and bright, tingling like a shockwave from your chest down to your seat.

Just like witches at black masses

In your secret daydreams, you often wondered what his voice sounded like in song.

Evil minds that plot destruction

Tried to guess from his deep hums and brilliant laughter.

Sorcerers of death’s construction

Now, it suspended in the air like a battle cry, reaching out across the chasm of tables and chairs.

In the fields the bodies burning

Surging like a wildfire.

As the war machine keeps turning

Swirling through the darkness like a strange magic.

Death and hatred to mankind

Reaching out like it wanted to touch you.

Poisoning their brainwashed minds

And so you let it.

Oh lord, yeah!

The music rocked and swelled. Like a balm reverberating through the air, it softened the hunch of your shoulders. Like an antidote, it dissolved the knot in your stomach. Like an arrow, it pierced the shell of you.

Janet took a generous sip of her margarita and bobbed her head to the rhythm. You caught her gaze from across the table and shared a laugh, a mutual knowing through squinted eyes and shaking heads that this was, in fact, a Tuesday night in December, and the two of you were here.

As the cold drink warmed your limbs, you became acquainted with the hard curve of the stool beneath you, with the of rings left behind on the glossy table, with the crowded ashtray. Acquainted with the smoke that wafted through the air and the darkness that enveloped you like a blanket. The music settled over the room, and as you settled into that heavy buzz, you started to get the feeling you might actually enjoy yourself tonight.

Janet needed no convincing. Her first margarita went down easy, leaving nothing but the ice and her hot pink lipstick on the rim before they finished their fourth song. When she returned from the bar with one in each hand, she placed the extra in front of you. Her treat, convinced they were better than Pal Joey’s, insisting that you try it even with a few sips still lingering in your bottle.

It surprised you — the balance of lime, and liquor, and something else you couldn’t quite place. It surprised you how it easy it melted the tension in your stomach, how it encouraged you to lean in a little more, to let your shoulders drop.

Eddie noticed it, peeking out from under the coyly dipping collar of your shirt; bare and soft as you leaned against the table — your shoulder. He missed a note. Cursing silently, he glanced down at his fingers and tapped into that deep, subconscious part of his brain again where they knew just where to go. But when he closed his eyes to find it, the image remained painted to his lids — a ripened fruit, tempting but too far to taste. Across it, a stripe of black hazard tape, a trail he itched to follow.

There was a hunger in you, stirring more with every song, with every decadent flash of his pale ribs. He was good. Stadium good. Those nimble fingers tapped the frets, making them sing in a way that made you wish you were wire and wood, looking at you in a way that made you think he wished the same. He stroked the neck of his instrument with a reverent touch, attacked the strings with a holy power, like a wingless angel with a spotlight halo. You whispered a silent prayer, venerating him from your faraway pew in the only way you could — with your eyes.

The animal stirred in its icy den, roused by the warmth of his voice as it stretched across the bar. It stirred in that place you rarely acknowledged, rarely indulged as you considered what other talents his hands might have. You considered the shades of those sighs and swallows he took before painting the air, considered what they might sound like if he showed you. It settled and throbbed in that low, blooming place, and you smothered the feeling with a cross of your legs.

Busying yourself with what remained of your beer, you shifted your shoulders to face him directly, leaning your free arm against the metal back of the stool with an ease that Eddie considered looked almost as good on you as the shirt did. Your lips lingered on the rim of the bottle before parting with a soft pop. He swallowed.

There was a gap between you; a sea of scattered tables and wide open ears and eyes amongst them. What could he possibly say from his position? From a microphone on stage? A thousand words ached on the tip of his tongue and he swallowed them with a sloppy chug of water as the applause bought him a moment to consider.

The white lettering across your chest jumped out at him from the shadows like a bright idea. Eddie swiped droplets from his mouth and turned to his bandmates, bringing them into a huddle as the noise drowned out what he was saying. Whatever it was, after some deliberation, they seemed in agreement about it.

You hadn’t seen Janet like this since the summer between your junior and senior year of college. She was always a happy drunk; talkative and bubbly, spilling over with laughter and the sort of wild enthusiasm that a child at a carnival might have.

“I wanna dance,” she said longingly, glancing toward the stage as she slumped in her seat.

“Maybe we can go to a club next time,” you joked as you downed the remainder of your sweating drink.

The band assumed their positions again. Eddie tapped the pedals with his feet and rolled his shoulders back with a deep, collecting breath. His eyes found yours across the room, brimming with such a longing you wondered anyone else could sense it too. After the longest second, he snapped his head over his shoulder with a steely conviction and nodded off a count before making his attack — the opening riff to Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love”.

Your hands shot to your face.

Suddenly Janet perked up, inspired by the catchy rhythm and her own suggestion. “We should dance! Will you dance with me?”

You balked, shrinking down. “There’s like… six people here! I don’t think it’s really that kind of—”

“Oh come on, please? What’s there to lose, huh?”

Oh, only my last remaining shred of dignity in front of my students. But you couldn’t say that. “Janet,” you hissed. “We are not—I can’t—”

Her three margaritas had a different opinion. They reached across the table and grabbed your hand. “Come on, live a little! That’s what we came here to do, right?”

You buried your face in your other. The truth was you wanted to. You wanted a closeup of that smart smirk, of the sweat beading down his temple as he strummed the punchy chords he hand-picked just for you. You wanted the fantasy, the memory, the experience. It was convincing — her pouting pink lips and pleading eyes, almost as convincing as the tequila coursing through your veins. The truth was you left your better judgement at home on the coffee table. To her giddy satisfaction, you surrendered. Dragging you from your seat, she led you to the front of the stage.

Eddie’s smile could have blinded you, even through the shy web of your fingers. Cheers erupted from the bar, from the whole band, as Janet shimmied her sequined shoulders to the beat.

Eddie opened his mouth again, this time with an ardor you could feel in your bones.

You need cooling, baby I’m not fooling

He crouched down to level with your eyes. I’m gonna send ya back to schooling

You lowered your hand to mask the girlish grin that cracked across your face.

Way down inside, honey you need it

They were breathtaking up close — his eyes. Sparkling with an energy you’d never seen before. Rich umber alight with something you couldn’t quite place, too mesmerized by the promise his tongue wove through the air.

I’m gonna give you my love

I’m gonna give you my love… oh!

He straightened with a backward toss of his head, and you found the word you were looking for in the droplets that flung from his curls. Power.

Wanna whole lotta love?

Janet—having an absolute field day over the spectacle—offered you her hand like she wanted to tango. Freeing your face with a brave sigh, you accepted with a slap of your palm in hers. She tugged with a childish delight, and you took your cue — spinning into her waiting arm and shooting back out with a flourish dredged up from some long forgotten place. The room became a blur of sound and light, of cheers from the bar and the stage. You stilled to find your footing, landing on his eyes.

You’ve been learning, and baby I’ve been yearning

He dipped down again. All them good times baby, baby, I’ve been lear-er-nin’, he punctuated with a shake of his head. He could see the whole vision of you, bright and clear under the stage lights. A wildness lingering just behind your eyes, a fragment unseen until now. It pounded at the cage of your chest, rose up in the shallow breaths you caught before Janet snatched you away again. He swore—silently on a deep inhale—that he would do everything in his power to coax it out of you.

Way, way down inside, oh honey you need it

I’m gonna give you my love

You couldn’t remember the last time you really danced. The last time you felt a rhythm with your body and followed its blind inspiration. No rhyme or reason, no plans or choreography. It felt awkward at first, like trying on skin fresh from the wash. Feeling your feet shuffle against the tacky linoleum, finding the rhythm of yourself with a room full of strangers as witness.

Somewhere between the beams of light and the wink of Eddie’s rings beneath them, you found it. Like a memory rising up, sweeping through you like a current. Visions of a stadium, roaring as a lion struts the stage with his golden mane, as he commands a sea of thousands with his voice. There was an animal in you too, wild and careless.

It grew wilder when the music dropped to nothing but percussion. When the room fell away to nothing but the heat from Eddie’s eyes, sparkling with play. It made your hips want to sway a little more, your legs want to dip a little deeper to match his wildness with your own. Imbued with a sudden, potent energy, he struck his wicked instrument as the rhythm and melody unraveled.

Janet took it in stride, leading you in a rocking shimmy as you swayed to the change in tempo. Light danced on her sequined shoulders as she tipped her head back in a blissful cackle. You followed her lead, eyes fixed on her with a surging power in the knowing of whose eyes were fixed on you.

The air was a cool kiss against the sliver of skin where your shirt left off, daring you to show a little more. With a twist of your arms toward the spotlights, you blessed him with the dip of your back — the alluring shadow of your spine that trailed into the high waist of your jeans. He panged with the urge to follow it, fell to his knees and wailed through his fingertips.

You broke from Janet’s pull to face him, eye-to-eye level, watching reverently as the sweat glistened in his clavicles, as his pelvis jutted into his weapon to eke out his solo. Howling for you with each stroke of its neck, each bend in its strings as you matched his rhythm with your hips. A secret world, just you and him, the rest fading out into nothing. He swore, like a spell in each note that he wove through the air, that somehow he would make it last.

From his knees, Eddie grabbed the mic off the stand, and with a wordless nod earned by years of friendship, Jeff took over the melody. To the delight of the crowd, he stripped himself of the weight of his instrument, setting it carefully off to the side.

You’ve been cooling, baby, I’ve been drooling, he crooned as he crawled forward.

All the good times, baby, I’ve been misusing

You played with him there. With your shoulders, with your eyes locked no more than a foot from his. Desperate to touch him, you worshiped every bead of sweat that fell from his temple, every wet curl that strayed from the nape of his neck and hugged the strong angle of his jaw. What left his lips next dripped with such fervent intention you that you couldn’t keep your hand from your face.

Way, way down inside

I’m gonna give you my love

I’m gonna give you every inch of my love

I’m gonna give you my love

He was pure energy; raw and manic. Free in the way that wild things are. He snatched your breath away, dragged it to his den and had his way with it as he queried the chorus to you. There was wildness all around; in glinting sequins and megawatt smiles. In the flashes of limbs under the lights. In the rhythm you carried with your whole body now, moving in a way that was both so foreign and natural all at once.

You wondered how it looked from the outside; you and him. From the bar it might have looked like drunk spontaneity. From the stage it might have looked like a stint of support for the arts. You wondered, with a twinge of fear, if the others could feel the longing too or if you had masked it well enough as a performance.

The music dropped out to make way for the final lyrics.

Way down inside, he belted into the silence, punctuating with a deep inhale. Woman, he shouted, locking eyes with you for a pregnant second as the world came to a halt, you need… he drew a deep breath in the space the two chords allowed him before wailing the final word at the ceiling — loooooooove!

You felt it with every cell of your body in one suspended moment. Felt—for the first time since you could vividly remember—truly and completely alive. With a crash of cymbals and an electric instrumental boom, the rhythm—and the world—reconstituted around you, swirling with a vibrant energy that swept you away.

His dark eyes opened with a wicked glint, and his next breath left his chest as a command.

Shake for me, girl. I wanna be your backdoor man!

You obeyed with a shimmy of your shoulders and the room went wild.

______

Janet left you with a tight, perfumed hug. A gentle reassurance that yes, she was fine to drive home. She left you in the vacuum of slamming guitar cases and distant voices as the jukebox picked up where the band left off. Left you to sober up to how idle and awkward you felt sitting at the table you once shared with her, picking at the peeling label on the wet, empty bottle.

When you heard footsteps approaching, a part of you was grateful for the prospect of someone—anyone—to talk to, though it wasn’t who you hoped. Instead, it was the man in the cap from the bar.

“Hey, love the shirt,” he remarked, glance lingering a little too long over the text across your chest.

“Thanks,” you said shyly, gaze drifting back to the bottle.

He stepped closer, setting his can on the table. “I take it you went to that concert?”

“I did, it was really last minute actually.” You told him the story. You told him with your words and gestures, twisting in the tall stool to face him, but it was Eddie that drew your eyes. Crouched down with one knee bent beneath him and the other straining against denim slits, he collected his pedals into a tiny, vintage suitcase. There were words coming out of your mouth, but faced with the rigid angles of his thighs, you were helpless but to stumble over some of them.

It was then that you noticed he had already been staring, though not at you, at Bill — with a simmer behind his eyes.

“Man, I woulda killed to go to that show. I was working a double when tickets went on sale and a buddy of mine said he was gonna camp overnight for us. Well, he ended up getting into a fight with his girlfriend and flaked out. ‘Course they were sold out and closed by the time I left work.”

You expressed your genuine sympathy.

“Boy I was pissed at him then, but even more pissed after Bonham died. Like damn, that was my last shot, man!”

“I’m sorry you had to miss it. It was quite the show.” You told him what you could remember. The setlist, the stage, what they wore.

Eddie watched closely, carefully darting between you amidst the gathering of cables and closing of metal latches. He watched your hands come to life like he loved so much, like you always did when you were explaining something with fond enthusiasm. Helplessly, he watched the way Bill leaned closer, the way his hand and forearm made themselves at home on your table. The simmer hissed and bubbled behind his eyes.

“Anyways, it’s good to see such a lovely new face around here. One with great taste, I might add. Made my night.”

The simmer kicked up to a full, licking flame.

“Oh, well thanks. I don’t get out much,” you said with an awkward chuckle.

Bill stepped closer, as if his next point was something he had to lean in for. “By the way, and I hope this isn’t too forward, but… you’re a great dancer.”

Eddie watched your hand dive behind your neck, your face contort into a feeble smile, your shoulders hunch, your eyes glance down. He could hear the distress in your beautiful laugh and he boiled so hot he could have seared a hole into the back of Bill’s head.

He extended his hand. “I’m Bill, by the way.”

Eddie wrapped the cable in hasty circles around his forearm. Heat rose behind behind his tight lips and exited in short fumes.

“Hey man, have you seen the drum key anywhere?” Gareth called from behind him.

It barely registered. The world was a fragment now. A red-hot, narrowing tunnel reduced to a singularity — Bill’s hand.

Bill’s hand; hovering like a salacious invitation, too close to the soft swell of your belly. That open, rugged palm — weathered, experienced, and free. Free to reach into his wallet, to reach across the bar, to hand you a drink, to wander all sorts of places where Eddie could not.

You, ever polite and always accommodating, reached back.

He touched you.

Eddie’s vision narrowed red. Helplessly, he watched Bill’s fingers snake around the back of your hand and squeeze, linger at your palm as they released. A coil wound through his body. It rose up like bile — up through his spine, into his shoulders that rolled forward and back with a deep, seething breath. Up, up, into that primitive space at the base of his skull where words and civil manners had no place.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Eddie dropped the cable.

The world blurred in the wake of his target and in five swift steps he was at your side. “Hey, Bill. Uh—” his senses ebbed back to him with a curious look from the man he’d shared countless drinks with. A man he would call his friend had he not breeched a sacred distance, a contract he knew nothing of. His vision was clouded, the coil tight and hot.

“She’s um,” he continued quietly, a murmur he had to lean in for. An urge seized his hand. The urge to claim, to slip across the divot of your back and pull you close where you belonged, to but the noise from the stage and the eyes that followed forced his hand deep into his pocket. He swallowed his frustration, hoping the simmer in his eyes would be enough to convey what he meant. “She’s with me, man.”

A throb from that low, blooming place, rose up in a full body yes. In the arch of your back, in the dip of your eyes as you caught the desperate heat from his.

Bill blinked in honest surprise. “Wait, you mean,” he pointed between the two of you, eyes darting back and forth with a confusion that only deepened the insecurity of everyone involved, “you’re—”

“Yes,” Eddie hotly interrupted. The coil in him released slightly, a low rumble replaced by a surge that settled in his cheeks at the trembling, nervous laughter in your voice.

Flutters roared through you all at once, spinning the room well beyond the scope of the liquor that lingered in your veins, heightening your senses to the warmth radiating from the aching nearness of his body to yours.

“Well, hey man, we were just talking—”

“Yeah—well,” he glanced at you, an apology playing out in the widening of his eyes as the coil cooled to sobering embarrassment. He wished he could bury himself, open a trapdoor and take you with him. A parade of stomping feet and slamming cases trudged on behind him from the stage. He prayed the din was enough to mask the conversation.

“It’s ok!” you nervously exclaimed to both of them. “Really. Besides, I—I need to sober up anyway before I go home, so… it’s really ok,” you soothed to Eddie specifically.

Eddie’s pulse thrummed in his hears, his body a livewire of stress and embarrassment. “Ok. Well, I just, um… thought I’d let you know,” he concluded to Bill, desperate to string together some semblance of dignity. He dipped his head toward you until his voice hummed lowly in your hear. “It’ll just be a few more minutes. I gotta get the rest of this shit cleaned up, and then we can, um—” his eyes darted back and forth between yours in wordless exasperation.

“Yeah,” your body whispered, overriding any protest of your noble mind. To what you were agreeing to was unimportant. Whatever he wanted.

Eddie nodded and pivoted toward the stage in a swift exit.

In the wake of his absence was an awkward pause, a space Bill was quick to fill with words. “Well, um, it was nice to meet you,” he said with an awkward dip of his head.

“Yeah, you as well,” you said, a feeble anchor to the spinning room. Bill’s gaze hesitated with a flash of disappointment before returning to the bar. It was all you could do to just stand there a moment, heart pounding in stunned realization as the space whirled with the clammer of footsteps, the thud of equipment, the clinking of glasses. Suddenly the weight of your aloneness in the middle of it all was crushing. You retreated to the down the short hallway and ducked into the bathroom.

She’s with me.

In the muffled quiet of the dimly lit reprieve, the words echoed louder than ever. You were almost afraid to check your reflection, to look yourself in the eyes and face the person who ached to hear them repeated, but you did, and she surprised you. Something about the way your lipstick feathered clean in the center from the kiss of the bottle, the way your mascara settled at your lower lashes in the delicate lines beneath. It was oddly flattering, like the shadow of a good time.

You liked who you saw, and perhaps that scared you most.

Jeff’s laughter echoed down the hallway and the pinball trigger snapped again. What the fuck am I doing?

You would ask yourself this question as you pressed the tip of your boot to the dirty toilet handle, as the cold water woke your skin, as it dripped onto the salt-stained tile, as you dropped the soggy remains of the last two paper towels into the overflowing trashcan.

When the clammer of footsteps and slamming of the back door faded to nothing more than distant murmurs from the bar, you slowly cracked the door and peered into the empty hallway. Your boots clicked tentatively against the tacky linoleum, emerging from the shadows as you drew a steady breath. The stage was dark, the men perched on stools had their backs to you, all roaming eyes cast down over drinks — all except one.

Eddie stood in the middle of it all; hands on hips, damp curls clinging to his neck, chest still heaving from movement and stress. He locked eyes with you, and you could feel relief in his sigh from the apron of the hallway.

Your smile was a shy, timid thing, blooming to a helpless grin as the softness of his features heightened into focus with each progressive step. As the distance between you closed to less than a foot.

“Hey,” he breathed like a soft apology.

“Hey,” you answered, like you always did. A nervous crackle of anticipation wound through your gut.

“I um,” Eddie wrung a hand behind his neck, flashing a dark tuft of hair that made the animal in you stir. “I need to cool down,” he admitted with a raw, candid urgency. He patted his pockets. “I’m gonna step out for a cigarette… if you… wanna…” he nodded toward the back hall.

Yes. Anything, the animal growled. You simply nodded and went to grab your coat.

Eddie snatched the heap of leather from the railing by the stage and draped it over his arm. He ushered you forward with a sweep of his palm through the air, catching your eyes with a softness that threatened the strength of your knees. A giggle escaped you — honest, uncontrollable, automatic. Clutching your arm with a coyness that surprised even yourself, you shuffled in front of him, the towering presence of his closeness like a tingle at your back, a safety in the thud of heavy boots behind you.

The night air was a cold refreshment, a sobering reprieve from the hot, smoke-dense air of The Hideout. Your lungs helped themselves, filling to the brim, releasing just a little of the tension that was mounting before you arrived. It left you in a thick fog, drifting out into the empty patio, catching the glow from the singular bulb posted by the door. Eddie pulled it shut with a soft thud and shrugged on his coat in a rattle of zippers and chains.

Silence. A howl of the wind through naked limbs. A sigh that left both of you at once.

Eddie dipped his head in subtle reverence as he crossed in front of you, placing his hands on the short, wooden fence to your right. He paused a second, drawing a deep breath before spinning around to face you, hands splayed in an open plead. “I am so fucking sorry.”

Your mouth hung open. “A-about what?”

He ran a hand through his hair with a ragged sigh. “About Bill, about how I acted, a-about…” he swallowed, “what I said…”

An O trembled on your lips but never made it out. “It’s fine, really—”

“It’s…it’s not. It’s just that,” he huffed, “Bill was hitting on you a-and you just looked so uncomfortable and…” it drove him fucking crazy. It lit his blood on fire. It made him want to grab a man who’d bought him countless drinks by the collar and ram him into the wall.

You stepped closer, close enough to see the whites of his eyes in the darkness, the shadow of his pinching brow. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t stir something in you. Hearing those words. Hearing the ones he said now in profuse apology. “Eddie,” you soothed.

He closed his eyes; a split-second relish of his name on your lips. “It—” he sighed. “It wasn’t cool, to say that…” he shook his head before meeting your eyes in soft earnestness, “in public.”

The breath froze in your lungs. Out here the world fell away to the rustle of trees, to a darkness that cloaked you like a blanket. You were alone. Truly alone. A question tugged at your heart, twinged on the tip of your tongue but felt still too bold to leave it. What would he say, then, in private?

It played out like a tape behind his eyes — the curl of Bill’s fingers around your hand. It was such a simple gesture, benign outside of context. Yet there was something deeper, something that wound like a serpent through his gut. It struck, and stung, that in one fell swoop, Bill had touched as much of you as he had. That Bill could do as much in public as he could only manage beneath a shadow.

“Anyway, now that… that’s out of the way,” Eddie shook his head as he fumbled with the zipper of his pocket, curls feathering his delicate cheekbone, gaze cast down in weakly hidden shame. He procured a box of cigarettes, thumb flipping it open with an ease earned by years of habit. Popping one into his mouth, he paused before snapping it shut. “Y-you want one?” he mumbled. It seemed rude not to ask, but the question felt dumber by the second as it hung in the air. You were good. Good like 6 AM coffee, like the early morning sun. Good like the buttons on a crisp, white blouse. Yet here he stood, hand extended, offering what little he could — an experience.

Goodness was a mantle. A weight that kept your shoulders back, your lips pressed tight, your head cast down, your feet in slippers, your curtains drawn. Eddie Munson stood beside you, rugged and regal like a dark knight, arm outstretched in humble offering. With hesitance, you eyed the invitation.

Out here you could be anything — a vagabond, a runaway, a princess escaped from her castle. A woman who spends Tuesday nights at dive bars and smokes cigarettes with men in leather jackets. Anything you wanted.

You wanted to taste it. You wanted the flame, and the smoke, and the raw, ragged air that wound through your lungs and left like a beacon that soared toward the sky.

You wanted to be bad for him, and so you accepted.

The cigarette almost dropped from Eddie’s mouth in shock. He fumbled another from the box before tucking it into his back pocket. With a flourish, bending in its presentation as if it were a single rose, he offered it to you.

Never in a million years could you have imagined it. You, in a position like this. Him, in a position like that. Least of all that it would be so wildly romantic.

You accepted with the tips of your fingers, your index and middle, brushing ridges of his knuckles with feather-light indulgence. They closed around the offering, pausing for an aching second before drawing away with it.

Eddie closed his eyes, so quickly he could have masked it as a blink, but you caught it. The sigh, the swallow, the batting open with a burning hunger as he relished in the barest fulfillment of what he’d been craving since he saw you this morning — to touch you.

The cold nipped at your knuckles as you took in the foreign sensation between them, admiring it like a sinful adornment under the moonlight.

With a flick of his thumb, the parentheses of his mouth lit up in a warm glow. He took a few quick puffs, smoke billowing from his nose and the corners of his lips before taking a long drag. Satisfaction exited his lungs in a deep sigh, a billow that rose toward the twinkling sky. He turned his attention back to you. “Here,” he offered gently, beckoning you closer with a gentle come hither motion, readying his lighter.

You held your hand out gingerly, willing the trembling of your fingers to cease with little success.

Eddie closed in, bringing a finger to his lips as a gentle suggestion. “Put it in your mouth,” he said, unable to suppress the boyish grin that surfaced from the words.

You did as he told you, held it in your smirk, searched for your next instruction in the depth of his eyes but found only delight. Delight in the whole sight of you; the way it dimpled the swell of your lips, in the attention of those dutiful shoulders, like you wanted to be good at misbehaving. Delight in the fact he was teaching you something.

Eddie leaned closer. “Like this,” he instructed softly, framing his own with his long, ruddy digits before taking a quick drag. Obediently, you mirrored him, like a natural smoker would, like they did in the movies and inside the bar.

The flame ignited between you, flickering in the wild wind. Eddie cupped it with his other hand, forming a shield with the curve of his knuckles — gentle and protective. The fire caught the tip of the slender roll, but his palm was far more captivating. Inches from your face, you could study it closer than ever, plush and glowing — the broad heart line, the soft meat of its heel.

A deep inhale had smoke ghosting over your tongue. Eddie pulled away to reveal the ember and you took your cue. The drag you took, long and determined, left you coughing.

Eddie couldn’t suppress his chuckle, couldn’t mask the crinkle of his eyes as you—from behind the big desk and before the big board—were swallowed in a clumsy cloud of smoke.

“Are you laughing at me?” you asked through a giggle of your own.

Like oxygen to a flame, his laughter only brightened. “I’m sorry, you’re just… so…”

“So…what?” You gave him a look, trying to suck your dignity back through the end of the cigarette.

A million words ached on the tip of his tongue. The wind ripped across the small, frozen field, shyly disappearing in the treeline. Out here there were no bells, no footsteps, no concrete walls to listen. Eddie watched those fingers of yours pull away from your lips, blow a billow toward the open sky, and one in a million came tumbling out.

“Beautiful.”

A puff retreated back through your lips, froze in your lungs. The truth hung like smoke in the cold night air, rolled around in your chest, warmed your body from head to toe. Eddie plugged his mouth with another draw to prevent more from slipping out.

There was space for the truth out here. Space like a vacuum, vast and quiet. A shyly muttered “Thank you,” was all you could manage to fill it with.

Eddie raked his fingers through the damp curls at the nape of his neck, cheeks pinking visibly, even in the dim glow of the single light on the other side of the patio. He leaned against the fence and met your eyes again, nervous breath rolling over his plush lips.

His movement, like a magnet, drew your feet across the pavement. Deeper into the shadows with the gentle pull of his eyes. The tobacco settled in your body with a comfortable heaviness as you drank him in, and you suddenly grasped the appeal.

Out here he seemed even taller, shoulders stacked over slender hips as he leaned into the fence, an ease that washed over him with each generous draw, like the stress was rolling off into the shadows. Out here he took on a different posture, different than the one under fluorescent lights. Different than the one in the small chair next to you, the one with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes.

You tapped the ash of the cigarette off with your finger, like a natural smoker would. He smirked at the gesture, and you caught the twinge of pride in it this time.

Out here he could be anything. He could be clever and daring; a roguish enchanter. A man who casts spells with his fingers and charms with his words. Anything he wanted.

He wanted to make your eyes light up.

Eddie took another drag, hollowing his cheeks before sending out smoke in deliberate puffs with his tongue. It left his mouth in rings, hovering in the gap between you before drifting across the patio.

He got what he wanted. A gasp left your lips, eyes twinkling brighter than the stars. “What?! I didn’t know people could actually do that!” You exclaimed, delighted like a child on Christmas.

Eddie blew the rest off to the side and returned a blinding smile. It was more satisfying than the cigarette — the fact that he could do it, make your face light up. The fact that he had the power.

“How do you do that?” you asked, ever inquisitive.

His instructions were simple; take a big drag, hollow your cheeks, make the shape with your mouth, and push the smoke out with your tongue. Simple enough, from the sound of it.

Your first attempt failed, miserably. Uproariously.

“The shape is critical,” he reminded through a chuckle, “it’s gotta be like, a perfect O, not an oval.” His eyes lingered over your lips as you tried his suggestion, struggling to will his mind away from the gutter.

Your smile made it hard to maintain. “Wait—wait, hold on I think I got it.” You tried again with great focus, sending out puffs with your tongue that looked nothing like rings. It was worth it though. Worth making a fool of yourself for the amusement that colored his face, for the bright laughter it earned you. “Ok, fine. Maybe not.”

It looked good on him, just like it did on stage. This knowing that drew his shoulders back, made him lean with a powerful ease. The knowing that he was really good at something, that he could show you.

“It’s a bit advanced,” he said with a wink before taking another deep drag. He puffed a ring and cast it forward with a push of his hand, like a spell through the air. It broke on your nose and you relished in the soft sensation of his life-force ghosting over your face.

It was all you could do just to look at him — rugged and regal in the way that only he could be. It was dangerous and thrilling; how alone you were right now. His aura pulled you closer, eyes tugging at those burning questions, serious questions at war with your lingering buzz. You broke the silence with the truth; soft and sincere. “You’re insanely talented, I hope you know that.”

The curve of his lashes dipped shyly with a little puff through his nose. They raised with a sparkle that cut through the darkness. “Thanks, it uh… comes a lot easier to me than chemistry.” He tapped off his ash on the pavement.

You tucked your free hand into your pocket with a bashful shuffle of your feet. “Well, good thing rockstars don’t need to know chemistry then.”

Eddie scoffed and gave his eyes a quick roll, unsuccessful at hiding the brilliance of his smile. Heat crept up his neck, and he soothed it with a wring of his hand.

There was a gap between you; a space you were too scared to breach. The two of you filled it with shy chatter as your cigarettes dwindled to nubs. It was easy, to talk to him. About music, about anything. Easy because you gave each other turns to take it; the space. It almost made it easy to forget who you were to each other before you came out here, who you would go back to being tomorrow.

The cold was wicked and relentless; biting at your knuckles as you tapped the last ash. Even the tobacco’s heavy warmth sinking to your feet couldn’t stave it off. It was a Tuesday night in December, and the wind made sure to remind you.

Eddie followed your eyes toward the door. “It’s ok,” he reassured. “Nobody comes out here. We’re safe.”

His words sparked a tingle in your chest, a pulse of heat; low and thrumming. Neither could halt the shiver that seized your limbs.

“You ok?” he asked gently, stepping close enough to almost feel the heat from him.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You blew on your hands, rubbing them together feebly to fight the cold. You were stubborn to surrender, determined not to end your stolen moment by succumbing.

It was all he could do just to look at you. You, shaking like a leaf in the wind. You, with longing eyes and trembling lips. You, with your soft skin and softer soul. His fingers burned, wrestled with the silence, and the distance, and the howl of the wind through the trees. They warred with the ticking clock, with the chill against his precious moment, with the threat of it winning. Suddenly his fingers—bolder than they’ve ever been in his life—twitched to animation. They toyed with the cold metal zipper at his neck, and in one decided tug, he opened up for you. “Here,” he offered.

You froze, more than the cold could ever manage, as you eyed the invitation — the warm leather cave, the exposure of his heaving chest. Your lips parted but words would not come. You wanted it — the heat, the tight embrace, to be wrapped in his aura, to feel his laughter with your palms.

Your noble mind as it cast its disapproval like a shadow toward your heart, but your hands and feet were deaf to it. Boots shuffling boldly against the rough pavement, they filled the gap between his. You accepted with the tips of your fingers, delicate and tentative, like his skin was a hot iron and yours at risk to burn. You watched them disappear into the darkness, felt the soft cotton warmth as it enveloped you. With trembling slowness, you traced the divots of his ribcage, settled into them like grooves, felt him gasp into your palms when the ice that you’d become found the velvet, heated skin under his arms.

“Sorry—”

“Hah—hmm—no-no it’s ok,” he grimaced, pinning your hands beneath his arms to stop your recoil, as if the pain of the freeze hurt less than the pain of its absence. “I—ah—I asked for this.” His chuckle was a warm vibration, a flutter as the cage which housed his heart contracted.

A shiver racked your body as you thawed. Whether it was nerves, or fear, or the chill that had settled deep in your bones long before you stepped foot outside, you were helpless to control it.

“Come ‘ere,” he breathed with equal care and need.

You submitted, tracing his contours as he pulled you closer — head against his solid shoulder, into the soft pillow of his hair, into the source of his scent: leather and tobacco and the sweet, salty musk of his skin. You closed your eyes and basked in it, nose buried in his curls, drawing in deeply to steady your rattling chest.

Broad palms splayed across the fabric of your coat, pulling you deep into the comfort of his heat, tracing your waist to settle in a place they burned to be — your lower back. “It’s ok, you’re ok,” he murmured into your hair, bracing you tightly as your whole body shook.

You could have died here, buried yourself in his arms and made him your tomb. They would find you in the morning; frozen like a sculpture. Left out for all of Hawkins to see, to point and say terrible things. It wouldn’t matter. You would have died happy.

His heart was pounding with disbelief. You, here, in his arms. You could feel it through your coat, hammering against your chest, into your palms at his back. Eddie felt your breathing slow, your body soften and relax. He crooked his forearm firmly to your back, to the place where it belonged, fingers curling like a cage around your waist. Out here he could be anything — strong and stable, a haven for your tired bones to rest. Anything, for you.

In the dark leather cave there was a landscape for your hands to study. The satin liner grazed your knuckles as your hands explored the angles of his shoulder blades with tentative slowness — down along the muscles of his back, the dip of his spine, the birdcage of his ribs; expanding and contracting, deep and steady.

He was real, here, in your arms. Two swelling lungs. One beating heart. Two hands that clutched the wool barrier between you. One solid shield of a chest. One humming column at your cheek. Eddie Munson; wildfire. Close enough to thaw you. Close enough to burn you to the ground.

Your hands settled at the slim taper of his waist. Pliant and yielding under soft cotton, swelling with each ocean breath. His cage around you tightened, and you breathed him in, felt him swallow, felt his hips slot against the groove of yours with sensed belonging.

The animal in you keened with curiosity, emboldened by the dark. Your hands wouldn’t dare beyond the roadblock of his belt, but they would move in slow strokes up and down his back. A gentle comfort, a mask for your indulgence.

A quiet moan rose up in him, one he couldn’t swallow. The best he could do was cloak it in a sigh. It hummed against your ear; your cheek so close to the crook of his neck you could almost taste it. You breathed him in again, lips pressed to his soft curls against tough leather as the smoke, and musk, and crisp night air filled your lungs.

His hands were less patient; dipping toward the slope of your hips, pawing at thick wool, thumbs drawing aching circles there. It earned an arch from your back, a grasp from your hands at the soft cotton barrier.

There was an animal in him too, preening at the cant of your hips, at the rub of your neck against his. With a dip of his chin he could sink his teeth in, but his noble mind willed it away, settled for the scent of you instead — soft like powder, warm and inviting. The heels of your palms drifted toward his belly, and the animal threatened to rear below his belt.

“Ah,” it leapt out his throat.

Hands freezing before reaching the healthy swell, you drew back from his shoulder, checking in. Your lids hung with visible weight, pupils blown by more than just the lack of light, dizzy from his touch. He could do that with his hands, he thought; a split-second revel before concern sobered your features.

His disappointment was palpable, like he’d burst some great bubble. “Mm—no, it’s fine, please—” please don’t stop. His arms around you tightened, eyes pleading with words he wasn’t bold enough to utter, even in the darkness.

A shadow of guilt fell across your face. Guilt for your greedy hands, for your lost control, for your bad behavior. It was a pitiful sight; worse than the one he saw yesterday. Worse because it was here. Worse because he was closer than he’d ever been before.

There was a gap between you; space for the cold to seep between your hearts. Space for the fear that he’d broken the spell. That you didn’t see him anymore, but your student instead.

You thumbed his soft cotton shirt, buried in the shelter of his coat. Eddie Munson — frenetic and compelling. Beautiful in the way that wild things are. Breathing life into your numb hands with each ragged swell. You studied him closely; his soft cupid’s bow, his pink, plush pout, the angles of his worried jaw, the pining in his eyes.

Want. A wild, elusive thing. A summer wind. An admission at a cost. Want didn’t budge. Want looked you dead in the eyes and tightened its grip.

Eddie knew what he wanted, burning like a question on his tongue. He knew he had to be the one to ask. He was terrified — of the question, of the asking, of the fact that he may never get another chance. Your hands grappled with it, clung like they feared he would vanish. He felt the ache in them, the want, the fear, the frustration. It opened up a narrow passage, and he entered with the boldest thing he had ever done.

He asked you with his forehead first. A gentle nod forward; the softest collision. A tickle of curls. A rock back and forth of his strong, sturdy brow. A smile even you couldn’t hide. Your hands released, settled at the dip of his back in quiet permission.

He asked you with the bridge of his nose. A delicate slope. A tender nuzzle. Rigid bone under soft flesh. Cold, round tip. Roaming the map of yours with heated intention as he swayed like a dance in the moonlight. You closed your eyes, surrendered to the fantasy. Felt the heat of his cheek, the pang of his palm at your back as he pulled you closer.

He asked you with a tilt of his chin, and brought time to a halt.

There was a gap between you. A fractional distance bridged by the ghost of his breath. Within it; every party that you never went to, every basement you were never led away from, every page you never shared, every experience you never had. Goodness was a mantle, heavy from a lifetime on your shoulders.

What did freedom taste like? The question brushed across your lips like a warm invitation. You were desperate for the answer. Wanted it more than anything, ever, in your whole entire life. Wanted it for you, for only you. For once.

Eddie asked the question. You closed the gap.

A sigh left both of you at once. One you could taste this time, humming against the plush cradle of his lips. Freedom could have melted you. It threatened the strength of your knees, but his arms were stronger. Locked against each other in the shadows you borrowed, your lips began to explore, to express every secret wish the two of you had dreamt apart.

Freedom tasted tentative at first. A slow drag of his lips, a languid slip that rippled to the dormant parts of you. Catching like tinder as they grazed over yours, hot with an ache you could taste. It was sinfully exquisite; tasting the curve of his smile, the hyper-real rasp of his stubble as those lips—the ones that shot you smirks from down the hall and spilled over with song—found a rhythm with yours. Broad palms clutched the wool at your waist like you’d slip through a crack if he didn’t hold on.

Freedom was slick. It tasted like cigarettes, like a thousand unsaid words ushered past the border of your mouth. You could taste every one on his tongue, soothed them with the slickness of yours. Every aching word, dripping in each soft caress. Diving like a dance, echoed in the soft, wet smacks when you parted. You devoured them like you were starving. Every sigh, every hum, every color that left his lungs slipped eagerly down your throat.

The wool at your back was a nuisance. Eddie pawed at it, desperate to feel the shape of you through the fabric, to store it in the vault of his mind, to play with it later in private. He halted his hands at your hips, willed them decent, rationed with the small working part of his brain that your lips would have to be enough. He relished in the way you accepted him. The way you spread for him, parting eagerly for his tongue. The way your lips closed around him, rocking as he prodded like you’d done it before. Like you wanted to elsewhere.

The spell was broken. The line, miles away. There was a hunger in you, sudden and surprising, roused by the very first taste. Eddie palmed your hips with an urgency that stirred you. Like a bear in the spring, thawed by the heat of his touch, you devoured him. Devoured him with the wholeness of your splayed hands, tracing up his pounding ribs, dragging across the expanse of his broad chest. It heaved under your touch; solid muscle under soft cotton. You devoured his moan; a hot, strangled thing that escaped his plush lips. Like a match to the strip your tongue, you ignited.

His hands lost their patience. Breaking from your waist, they dove behind your ears to cradle your face. Your face. Your jaw, your delicate cheeks he caressed with the rough pads of his thumbs, as if the swell of them—the rigid bones under soft skin, the absolute realness of you in his arms—could wake him from the dream he was surely having. He was tasting you, tasting the want on your tongue. More satisfying than a four course meal, more satisfying than anything he’d ever tasted in his life. You wanted him. More than that, you savored him; the taste of his hot, eager tongue as it slipped against yours.

Freedom was delicious. Bold and complex, acrid and rich. Full bodied. A smooth, sweet finish. You could have drowned in it. Drowned in the angles of his hands, in his tender strokes, in the sopping heat of his mouth. Drowned in his eager sighs, in his scent. Drowned completely if he hadn’t held your head above the surging waves.

Eddie was good like a midnight snack. Good like a wide open road. He was good at this. Good at knowing how to ask and answer. Good at at finding the rhythm of you.

You broke for air, stilling against the bridge of his nose, afraid to look him in the eyes just yet, to break away from the safety his shadow provided. Safe from the world, safe from consequences, safe from the thoughts that battered at the door of your mind. Safety was fragile and fleeting. You knew it, he knew it. Your breath mingled in hot bursts as you steadied your spinning world for a quiet moment together. You felt him smile—heard it—big and bright as it cracked across his face. The air stung your cheeks when he took his hands away. Leaning back against the fence, he tugged you closer, further into the safety of the shadows, enveloping you in the crook of his heat.

It was good like this — the angles of you and the angles of him, fitting like they always belonged. It felt safe to explore them, to paint his pounding chest, down the soft swell of his belly, stopping at his hips. With a thick bob of his Adam’s apple, he closed the gap again. It was chaste this time, peppering your lips with space to breathe between each kiss. They were slow and savory, steady and sure. They lingered long enough for you to get another taste, to capture that plush Cupid’s bow and let it melt across yours, to flick your tongue over his soft bottom lip and taste him there too.

You could taste his need when he greeted your tongue with his own. It was safe to show it here. Safe to let the animal inside him bare its teeth. Safe to let the animal in you do the same. It growled when he nipped at you, hooked its claws through his belt loops and tugged. It was a quick, testing thing, and your sound let him know that he passed. He lapped it up hungrily, soothed it before inflicting another.

It ached in a frightening way, in that deep, low place. Throbbed awake with each delicious bite. It scared you how quickly the path was veering south, but the pooling warmth encouraged his travels, let him go wherever he wanted. When his lips strayed far enough to track your jaw, a shrinking voice shrieked danger, but the rest of you simply submitted.

Claws braced denim and leather, offering yourself with a tip of your head. Reverently, he accepted, setting his pace with a dizzying slowness. He worshiped you with every latch, every press, every lingering smack, darting his tongue out to taste the forbidden angles of your jaw. It was greedy but good. To him, to you. Letting go this much. Letting him go this far. The trail cooled in the night air, and he settled at the precipice of your neck.

His breath alone was enough to melt you; heavy with the weight of his new position. Heavy with desire, with the weight of thousand fantasies he never thought would come to pass. He drank in the cocktail of your scent; concentrated, warm, deliciously real. In the throws of your own heaving chest, sobered just barely by the pregnant pause, you awoke to your position: open, vulnerable, completely at his mercy.

He tasted your swallow, felt your breath hitch when his warm, wet tongue found your pulse. Lathing there a moment, lingering and slow, he savored you. Savored the ridges of your neck, the way your head lolled to the side, like a feast laid out for him. He stored the image in his mind, packaged it carefully for when he would surely be starving again. His lips soothed where his tongue left off, over and over until your strangled sound stirred a fiending hunger. He bared his teeth, and you shattered.

Freedom was falling apart in his arms. Crumbling into pieces and letting him grapple you whole. Letting him capture you in his maw and lap up your ruin. Letting him, letting him. His teeth dragged dull and slow, tingling every waking cell, turning you to putty completely. He dragged a moan out of you. A full one, loud and clear. He tucked it away, buried it deep alongside your squirms and your touch.

The door opened.

Cold air shocked your lungs. Head snapping over your shoulder, you broke his latch and Eddie hissed a curse at the separation. With daggers, you both assessed the intruder.

The silhouette of his cap gave him away. He might have even kept on walking but the gasps and the shuffling feet made him turn. “Oh shit,” Bill flinched back in surprise. “Sorry man I thought you left.”

Eddie’s arm tightened instinctively, pulling you as close as he wanted to earlier. Reflexively, you pushed away. It was a strange tug of war — his pride and your fear. “Yeah—no we’re still here,” he snapped.

You swallowed your pounding heart, sobering completely under Bill’s gaze. Suddenly your claws retracted, your hands felt wrong where they rested, shame bit at your neck along the cooling trail he left behind.

Even in the backlit glow of the singular light, you saw it painted clearly on his features — the judgement, the disbelief, the questions rising up but not daring to come out. “Well um, sorry to interrupt. Have a good night,” Bill said with an awkward raise of his hand before making quickly for the parking lot.

Footsteps faded over gravel and left a silence in their wake, thicker than the stillness from before.

Eddie breathed a sharp sigh through his nostrils, brows lowered as he seethed toward the parking lot. The cold was setting in again. Your nose, and ears, and fingers stung with it. The rest of you stung worse; chest numbing, caving like a can under the weight of what you’d just done.

When the flick of distant headlights made you brave enough to face him, frustration painted his features. He pawed at your coat, desperate to salvage what he could of his precious moment. “Anyway, where were we?” he muttered, eyeing your neck with a tilt of his head like he was about to dive in again.

Your hand at his chest stopped him, and the look in his eyes was wounding. “Eddie,” you warned softly. A slow, heavy sigh left his nose, one you could feel with your palm. “I need to go.”

Crestfallen after a desperate, hesitant second, his arms went slack. Your hand dropped, leaving a fierce chill behind. One more, his lips begged, but struggled to release. Please.

It hurt, to crumble like this after all you had built. With the roar of Bill’s engine, the fantasy shattered around you. The carriage became a pumpkin, your gown turned into rags. Shrill bells rang out in the distance, coming surely as the sun would rise. Pinballs thundered as that sweet oval face—the one from the back of the room and the chair next to yours—pouted with lips still swollen from where you had broken your contract.

“I’m sorry,” you mouthed.

Gathering himself with a deep breath, he straightened to a dignified height, conviction filling the cracks in his composure. “I’m not.”

It was terrifying — the prospect, the consequences. What it meant for you, for him, for the world you’d have to face tomorrow.

Most terrifying of all was how good it felt to hear him say.

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A/N: Thank you all for your patience on this one. It took me nearly all summer to finish but I'm really proud of how it turned out. Please let me know what you think! I've missed hearing from and connecting with all of you. Next one won't take nearly as long, I promise. 💕

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