i was clcoked TF out of tumblr for a hot sec⌠i open my little app on my little phone and low and behold⌠EDLACY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! my favorite people ever (real). powder u have done it AGAIN, AGAIN!
HELLFIRE & ICE â eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers
CHAPTER TEN â THE NEW FACE OF FAILURE
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summary: a surprise visitor shows up at nancy wheeler's house during your sleepover. eddie has a run-in with steve harrington and gets some hard-to-choke down news from a teacher. things with your newly released convict father seem to be going... eerily well.
content warnings: does excessive yappin count. cussin! shitty dads! allusion to past physical abuse! drugs and smoking! heavy pettin! lovesick and scared about it edlacy!
word count: 11.6k
Dear reader,Â
For the first time in forever, I have nothing smart to say. I mean, really. For the first time in forever, when things have reached a previously unprecedented crescendo of shit-hitting-fannery, when my life has truly shown every possible sign of being headed toward complete ruin, when itâs not just opposite day but bizarro world incarnate, I feelâŚ
Good.Â
Because Iâm looking at him.Â
And heâs looking back at me.
And Nancy Wheeler is yelling for him to get in the goddamned window.Â
Eddie Munson has no business standing outside the Wheelerâs garage with a fistful of pebbles, cautiously flicking them at a second story window, yet he is. The soft pelting noise had made your neck jerk up from where it craned over Nancyâs nails, painting them a springy green and go, âDo you hear that or is it my paranoia talking?â
See, when you woke up that morning, you knew you had two phone calls to make. Instead of using the traceable line of your house phone, youâd snatched a handful of quarters and booked it to the payphone at the edge of the lot. Youâd almost stopped at the Munson trailer, tossing your own rocks at Eddieâs window, but thought better of itâ there was always a chance that the newly exonerated (sort of) Ray Doevski would be peering through the blinds, taking a Rear Window affect to his newly instated house arrest.Â
Yeah. House arrest, and you were sure that the same crack had run concurrently through the minds of you and both your parentsâ weâd hardly call this a house. But Ray was ordered to stay put, and even had this nutty gadget tagged to his ankle, this new fangled monitor that they were just rolling out.Â
âAlways on the cutting edge, arenât you, Daddy?âÂ
With shaking fingers, you thunked in Eddieâs number, which heâd scrawled inside the cover of a Flannery OâConnor short story collection youâd been carting around a couple of months ago. It was one of those days that came up every now and again, where you couldnât quite keep the lid on feeling blue. The weight of everything came down on you in an avalanche, leaving you unable to throw your pithy remarks into conversation with him or with Ronnie like you usually wouldâve. Pretty much silent, pretty much staring a hole through the middle distance. He grabbed the book from you in the library during free period, your free period which he wasnât even in, and whispered, âJust in case that curse gets lifted and you get your voice back. Iâm sure youâve got, like, a laundry list of barbs youâve been dying to unload on me all day.âÂ
You remembered the way his eyes softened as he slid the book back to you, pressing his ringed hand against the cover for a couple seconds longer than he needed to.Â
âOr just⌠for anything, yâknow. We can just talk. About nothing. If it helps.â
At the time, you fought the instinct to put your hand over his.
âWonât Wayne care that Iâm calling?â youâd crackled, voice weary from underuse.Â
Eddie shrugged. âNot if you pretend youâre Gareth.â
And that was exactly what you were hoping you wouldnât have to do, shivering in your thin sweater as the dial tone to the Munsonâs droned out. What if Wayne answered? What if you couldnât rightfully approximate the voice of a balls-half-dropped freshman? What if he knew it was you, what would he do?Â
Well, you neednât have worried, because you apparently had a future in impressions. You squeaked out something about being the aforementioned Emerson looking for Eddie (at this ungodly hour of the morning?), something about Hellfire.Â
âGareth the Great! Whatâs the problem, the Arcane Brotherhood finally scoop your ass? Need me to come bust you from their tower? I told you, goinâ all Fear and Loathing in Luskan is gonna cost yââ
âJesus Christ, Eddie, itâs me,â you chattered, but even through the worry, a tiny smile pulled at your lips.Â
 âUh. Disregard everything I just said.â His voice had an early-morning static to it that you wanted to stay tuned into. âHi!â
âHi.â
âHi⌠are you⌠shivering right now? Need me to come warm you up, because Iâd be more than happy to crââ
âEddie, Iâm at the payphoneââ
â--what the hell are you doinâ out there?â
â--will you shut up so I can tell you? I donât have a lot of time, so I need to cut right to the chase.â
âSorry,â and this breathy little laugh runs through his voice that nearly knocks you clean out. God. What you wouldnât give to hear that breathed into your ear instead of through some handset flaking rust. âPlease, cut away.â
But, uh, yeah. That other thing.Â
âMy father got out of prison some-fucking-howââ
âWait, what? Like he escâ,â you listen as Eddie drops his voice to a hiss, âLike he escaped?!â
âOh my god, let me finish! âbut, psh, no. Ray Doevski is a man of manicured hand, alright, heâs not tunneling out of anywhere. Itâs all apparently legally above board, but⌠heâsâ heâs at home. Heâs in the trailer⌠Heâs there right now.â
The fear in your chest was beginning to make your breathing feel white hot, hard to get out. Walls closing in. Your dad is at home. He is in your trailer. He is there right now. Five minutes alone in your room, a flick of his eyes over your belongings, heâll know everythingâ everything that youâve doneâ
You didnât even notice that your breaths were turning into low, panicked gasps until Eddieâs voice broke through the receiver again.Â
âLace, stay put. Iâm cominâ out there.â
âEddie, no!â you barked down the phone, and a couple of birds scattered from the powerline overhead. Despite the fact that you were pretty sure collapsing into Eddieâs arms would have put a temporary stopper on the panic, you werenât awarded such luxuries in this life. Figures. âIâve got to get back to have some phony-ass breakfast with them in, like, now and you cannot be seen near me. Not here, okay?â
What Eddie crackled back with was like a shot of adrenaline to the heart chamber. It wasnât a plea, or a demand. He simply said, brimming with a bright resolve, âSay the word and Iâm there. Right next to you. Hear me?â
You had never heard anyone sound so sure about you before.Â
Well, Eddieâs valiance was rivaled only by Nancy Wheeler, who you phoned up next. Karen Wheeler answered in a chirpy voice that even sounded blonde, her voice pitching higher when you announced who was calling.Â
âOh, Lacy! Of course. Iâll grab her for you, sweetie.â A little too goddamn knowing-sounding for your liking.Â
But Nancy was all firm edges, picking up on the tremble in your voice just like Eddie had. âWell, youâre coming over. Obviously. Pack a bagâ we need to put in serious work for that Streak article youâre finishing, right? Might even be an all-nighter. Iâll order pizza.â
With your dad shackled to the trailer and your mom reluctant to leave his side, there wasnât a whole lot they could do to prevent you from swanning off to the Wheeler residence. Had to stay true to your commitments, after all, something your dad constantly impressed upon you. But when you reminded him of this as you hitched your overnight bag over your shoulder, heading out to Nancyâs waiting car, he met you with a serene smile.Â
âOf course, honey. Do what you need to do.â No argument. No pushback. Not even a snide remark. That chilled you to the bone.Â
You attempted to distract yourself from⌠well, the whole meal of it, by allowing the Precious Moments-themed decor of the Wheeler household to wash over you. The house is warm and chintzy inside, with shoes piled up by the door and laundry overflowing in baskets. Nancyâs bedroom is just as achingly normal in tones of pink and cream, a sanctuary and a strangle between girlhood and growing up. Sheâd shyly batted a couple of stuffed animals away from the bed that had seen the throes of her and Steve Harrington. Her Tom Cruise poster hangs opposite a pinboard of college brochures. Barbara Hollandâs memorial card on her mirror.Â
Guilt and innocence and upward mobility.Â
As you looked around, you thought about the photo strips from the mall of you and Tina and Cass and Carol, how they were stuffed away in a box somewhere. You made a mental note to tug Nancy into the next photobooth you both came across. And Ronnie, for that matter.Â
Nancy was kind about everything, of course, like she always is; she didnât push for information about your dadâs surprise return, but you gave it pretty willingly as you cracked into her Cosmo and nail polish collection. Everything but the you and Eddie of it all⌠that juicy morsel you were saving until the witching hour struck, the customary time for girls to tell secrets at sleepovers.Â
But somebody always has to try and get the jump on you.Â
Which is how you and Nancy end up hanging out of her window, a beaming Eddie staring up at you from the pavement.Â
âWhat the hell is he doing down there?â Nancy hisses, her eyes panicked and flaring.Â
âIâm not entirely sure,â but even through the initial flash of panic, your voice has taken on this dreamy quality that makes Nancy roll her eyesâand rightfully so! âMunson, what say you? What the hell are you doing down there?â
âIââ
Nancy doesnât even let him finish, just lets out an exasperated sigh and tells him, âJustâ come up here, alright? I do not want to answer for whatâs gonna happen if my dad catches you in the driveway!âÂ
Without a second thought, Eddie makes to hoist himself into Nancyâs dinky bedroom window. He falls over the little seat in a jangle of silver and leather and hair and gleaming teethâ âOw! Jesus!â âEddie, shut. Up!â Nancy winces, you wince, but as Eddie rolls onto his back and clears the hair out of his eyes, you realize that fluttering in your stomach is not a fight or flight response.Â
He smiles up at you, all teeth and mischief. âHi. Whatcha doinâ?â
Oh, no.
You nudge him in the ribs with your foot, way too light for him to yelp like that. Nancy looks like sheâs going to kick the shit out of him for realâand you too, maybe.
âYouâre telling me you didnât know about this?â she demands, turning on you. You notice that sheâs still holding her fingers aloft, which you appreciate! No one seems to care about manicures as much as you do. Itâs nice to finally be seen, for Chrissake.Â
âLike Iâd bring the heat around your place, Nancy! Come on, currently in a precarious situation much?âÂ
Hilarious to describe Eddie Munson as heat when he is, at best, a bull in Wheelerâs overstuffed china shop. Adorably so, you have to concede, watching him pick up a little porcelain figurine from her dresser.Â
Nancyâs not buying it.
âI plead the eternal fifth!â you exclaim, eyes wide and willing the laugh to stay out of your voice as Eddie peers around Nancyâs stuff. âHe operates on his own logic.â
Nancy eyes you warily before her gaze darts to Eddie. âCan you not touch anything? â
âYou have a cat just like this!â Eddie barks.
âWhat the fuck are you doing here?!â the both of you chorus.
Delicately, Eddie replaces the little ceramic cat with a severely offended look. âSheesh, ladies, I thought we were friends.â He drops the pretense pretty fast, jerking his chin in your direction with a smile that has I ainât goinâ nowhere written all over it. âI need a word with the duchess here.â Â
âSo leave a message!âÂ
âHe canâtââ â--you think we got answering machines in Forest Hills?â â--my dadââ â--life might be different for all you up here on Mapleââ â--will have him taken out by sniper rifle.â â--you know this woman used a payphone for the first time in her life today?âÂ
A squinting Nancy lets this settle in the air for a second, like a stink bomb thatâs just been deployed. I mean, you donât know if she can see it exactly, but the charge between you and Eddie isnât exactly subtle. Changed, maybe, from will-they-wonât-they to they-did-and-itâs-hazardous. Realization soon dawns on her.Â
âOh, youâohhh,â Nancy nods, and chirps another, âOh!âÂ
Then, a thunderous hammering that just about brings down Nancyâs bedroom door. The three of you lurch and freeze. Your hand instinctively goes to grab Eddieâs arm, fingers finding the soft leather. Your lashes flutter.
âNan-cyyyyy!âÂ
That high-pitched, middle-schooled, reedy little tone? âOh, shit. Itâs just Mike.âÂ
âMom said you were getting pizza so you have to get a pie for me and the guys! Wait,â some juvenile sounding muttering, âTwo pies!âÂ
âOh, Jesus Christ,â Nancy snarls, in the way only an older sister can, âI⌠am going to go out there and run interference and youâ five minutes, okay?! Iâmââ She goes so far as to set a timer on her watch. âI mean it.â
Both you and Eddie make noises in the affirmative, him sidling closer and closer to you as Nancy moves out of the room. But she pivots, nailing you both with pointed index fingers. âAnd donâtâ donât you even think about it. You two are not subtle, I will know!âÂ
âWheeler, I resent that perverted implication!â Eddie hisses, but his fingers are already walking themselves over the curve of your ass. Youâd say something if you werenât desperately trying to keep yourself under control.Â
âMike, quit yelling the house down like an asshole!â âWho is that? Have you and Lacy got a guy in there? Gross, are you sharing a boyfriend or something?â âShut up, donât be disgusting, Iâll kill you, get downstairs!âÂ
Soon as Nancyâs door clicks behind her, you wrestle an easily malleable Eddie down to sit on the bed and climb right into his lap, thighs planting either side of him. Your body is completely abuzz now that youâre alone with him again, physical form melding instantly to the heat of his body. Eddieâs gaze darkens just a touch, like heâs dimmed the switch inside his head from mischievous to slightly dastardly. âOh, shut up!â you say, and catch your mouth on his.
âI didnât say shit!â Eddie breathes in return, falling right into your rhythm.Â
âYou heard the chief,â you struggle through desperate lip smacking; that lived in taste of him, cigarettes and sweet soda, makes your head feel all baubly on the stem of your neck, âFive minutes,â Eddieâs hands web into your hair, your knees sag into the comforter, âExplain yourself.â
âI was in the neighborhood,â Eddieâs mouth clicks sweetly against yours, words a bullshit mumble against your tongue. A heady mix of relief and desire flood you as you brace your hands around his shoulders.Â
âDonât lie,â you say, tinge of a whimper creeping in as Eddieâs grip starts to harden, indenting the flesh of your thigh. âIâll kill you.âÂ
Looking at his grin is one thing, but feeling it against your neck as his mouth embarks on its own journey is something completely different. âPromââ
âEddie, how did you even know I was here?â A light, mindless slap comes down on his shoulder. Your breathing is becoming troublingly labored, head becoming troublingly spinny as Eddieâs teeth graze your collarbone.
âRudimentary guesswork!â he gasps, coming up for air thatâs soon stolen by the ready plushness of your mouth. âOkay. Okay. Fine, I saw Wheeler pick you up in her goddamn station wagon andââ Eddieâs voice cracks a touch as your hips press harder into him, â--put two and two together?â
âAnd you came here becauseâŚ? Expound, already!â Your furious, air-starved hiss is a stark contrast to the way your lips keep chasing his.
âI wanted to câ I needed to comeââ he swallows your stupid blooming smirk with another kiss, âShut up. I wanted to make sure you were okay. And I couldnât sleep. Could you sleep? I couldnât sleep, just kept thinkinâ... Kept⌠hnm, thinkinâ about you⌠About you like this⌠ân last nightâŚâ
As he babbles, your heart jackrabbits. Christ, you want him so bad. Youâd listen to him like this for hoursâtalking like this alone, open and wanting, is enough to get you off. Eddieâs easing your skirt up your ass, rucking that fabric up slow like he did last nightâbut you want more than last night, if thatâs possible, you want all of him, and for longer and for goodâ
You want him so badly that you forget where you are. Eyes snap open to catch direct iris-on-iris contact with Nancyâs Tom Cruise poster, hung strategically in view from her bed.Â
Nancyâs bed. Nancyâs room. Nancyâs fucking Tom Cruise poster.
âShit,â you say in a strangle, right against his cheek. âShit, what are we doing?â You rear right back, getting a good look at Eddieâs ruffled demeanor, his blush-high complexion. That intoxicated look heâs wearing just from feeling you up.
Someone looking at you the way Eddie is right now feels completely, totally brand new. Ardent and urgent, untouched by influence.Â
Youâre almost positive that your gulp is audible.
With a couple of rapid blinks, Eddie seems to come back down to earth.Â
âNo. No, youâre right, umâ listen, at the risk of completely humiliating myselfââ
âMore than you did crawling in that window? This is crazed.â
Eddie pauses a beat, a genuine look of offense constricting his features. His hands have moved from your ass to your waist, and donât shift.Â
âHold onâDoevski, are you marking my dismount?â
You assholes just canât help yourselves, can you? Mouth twitching at the corners, you harden up your gaze.
âIâm just saying, if you werenât wearing ten tonnes of regalia, you might be able to make a more subtle entranceââ
â--who died and made you a hellenodikas?â
âOh! Pulling out the Ancient Greek mythology on me now, huh?â
âI would never⌠pull out on you,â Eddie says and manages to hold his stone faced expression for a grand total of half a second before both your faces split in two. See, you hate him for this; that he can keep perfectly in time with you, and has since the jump.Â
Youâre the first to move. You edge yourself off Eddieâs lap, his hands mournfully side along your legs as you move.
âCâmon. Montague momentâs over. Kick rocks.â
He gives you one good, solid nod and mockingly straightens himself out before attempting to worm his way back out the window. Crouching half in-half out, he pauses. Some remnant of a smile he smiled at you about a million years ago flickers across his face.
âYou know, Lace,â Eddie says, âyou keep throwinâ me out of windows like this, Iâm gonna start thinkinâ you donât like me.â
The door of the record store. The hot blast of stoned realization. Your fingers around his wrist.Â
Knees working faster than your brain, you bend to Eddie and meet his mouth again. The kiss is soft and gentle, devolving into several little pecks around his smiling cheeks, his eyes, his forehead. To tide you over. To be continued.
âEh, I donât like you,â you mumble, tips of your noses brushing. âThat much.â
âYeah? Well, you got a funny way of showing it.â
You watch Eddieâs dismount (an easy six) and nervous jog all the way âtil heâs disappeared through the shrubbery of the Wheelerâs. Soon as heâs out of sight, youâre almost positive that you catch a flash of burgundy paintwork zipping past the driveway, but itâs too fast to tell. Weird.Â
Nancy near slices your fingers clean off as she noiselessly returns to the room, slamming the window shut. For as enraged as sheâs trying to look, this girl with her half-painted nails also bears the familiar expression of someone baying for gossip.Â
âSpill everything. Right now.âÂ
â
Eddie is a living, breathing, stink bomb of a cliche. Heâs walking on air, heâs signed a lease on cloud nine, heâs all Gene Kellyâd out and still tap dancing down the locker lined steel trap of Hawkins High. Push back his curling bangs and heâs sure that PROPERTY OF LACY DOEVSKI is etched on his forehead, by the delicate hand that wields your fountain pen.Â
Dudeâs a goner. Lights out, KOâd, hit the bricks gone. And he only has himself to blame.Â
If it were anyone else, heâs pretty sure itâd be different. Easier to stamp out the flame of hotheaded lust beneath his sneakers like a bag of dogshit on fire if it was some other right-side-of-town type girl. If it was just about being his diametric opposite. But itâs not. Itâs you, sharp and silly and sexy, a total turn on even when youâre doing your best OâDonnell impression to sic him into studying. The you that heâs been slyly slipping into the NPCs of Hellfire, in ways that make Ronnieâs eyes roll (but she still tries to flirt with them, and that weirdly makes him a little⌠jealous? That dwarf is slick when she wants to be). The you that sometimes make a cameo appearance at his lunch table when youâre not holed up in the newspaper room, sat with poise and pith that the rest of the gaggle of nerds just donât know what to do with.Â
Eddie canât count the amount of times heâs wanted to crawl across that table and kiss you. And heâs been close to doing it. Couple times. Remnants of sloppy joes on his hands and knees.
But now he can kiss you, at least in private anyway, because thereâs still a roadblock or two you have to navigate. And so what! Whatâs a little challenge when youâre this blissfully, head fuckerly, heartburningly in lâ
âWatch where youâre going, asshole.âÂ
This particular dagger comes straight out of the maw of Hawkins Highâs crown jackass, Steve Harrington, whose shoulder Eddieâs just accidentally checked. Now, Eddieâs never cared much for Harrington, but never thought much about him eitherâthe feeling, outside of scoring a baggie or two, is apparently mutual. But the glower Steve is sporting says anything but nonchalance.Â
âJeez, Harrington,â the grin Eddieâs sporting makes a full meal out of a plate of shit, âIf you like me so much, you can just say so. No need for the whole pullinâ pigtails routine.â
Steve stares at him for a good, hard second or twoâ so rigidly, in fact, that it nearly makes Eddieâs face falter. Who pissed in this guyâs Cheerios? Because, even if he double counts on his fingers, Eddieâs sure it wasnât him.Â
âI,â Steve starts, pretty dumbly, âIâm havinâ a party on Friday. You should come.â
Eddie knows an order when he hears one, but itâs usually couched in something like, You got any good stuff, man? Yâknow, phrased in the strained way popular kids do when they pretend not to hate his guts for half a second.Â
He knocks a mocking two fingered salute off his forehead and Steveâs grimace deepens. âBe there with bells on, sire.â
Up the hallway, one of the classroom doors creaks open.Â
âI donât have all afternoon, Mr Munson.âÂ
Steve looks past him to the imposing, near-six foot figure of Ms OâDonnell, impatiently tapping her shoes against the linoleum. Eddieâs smirk flattens into a tight line.
âWell, Iâd love to stay and chat, but Iâm in high demand! As you can see.â
Steve doesnât dignify that with a response and takes off toward the exit.Â
âQuit gazing after the quarterback and get in here,â OâDonnell demands. And who is Eddie to deny her, Amazonian Baba Yaga that she is?Â
âMs OâDeeeee, you call yourself a Hawkins Tiger?â he says, turning on heel, âYou oughta know that Harrington is one of our finest ball players. Loves to play with balls, that one.â
âYou can attest to that first hand, can you?â OâDonnell snarks, settling down behind her desk and gesturing Eddie to get comfortable at the top of the class.Â
Oh, Iris. Sheâs right on his level, when sheâs not tearing him a new asshole, scholastically speaking.Â
Her name may not be Iris either, but tomato potato. Eddie slumps down into the desk like a graceless, clinking cat.
âI know you didnât bring me here to talk about my extracurriculars. That would be a breach of propriety on your part.â
âSure as hell I did not.â OâDonnell removes her eyeglasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, as she often does not even thirty seconds into an interaction with Eddie. âIâm missing my granddaughterâs recital for this, I want you to know that.âÂ
Heâs pulled out the thereâs no way youâre old enough to be a grandmother line half a dozen too many times for it to fly again. Not that it ever didâ look at this woman, with her tented fingers! She has a clear sight line right through his bullshit.Â
âI appreciate that you value my education more than some pipsqueak with a cello.âÂ
âThe problem is that you donât,â OâDonnell sighs. Thereâs a note of defeat in her voice. âEddie, we need to talk.âÂ
In all the years OâDonnell has been on his case (four consecutive), sheâs never addressed him by his first name. Eddie shifts in his seat a little, good mood not quite punctured yet. But askew, slightly.Â
âThey finally found out about our clandestine little tryst, huh? Well, you can tell Higgins and the school board that Iâmââ
âShut up.â
He does. Right up.
âYou understand why I push you so hard, donât you?â OâDonnell asks him, and instead of some smartass response, Eddie clams. Ask him honestly and heâd say sheâs a past-prime faculty lifer in desperate need of a power trip. Thatâs the narrative heâd always gone with anyway, the reason sheâd always single him out and make an example of him and insist on the repeat exams heâd rarely end up passing anyways. Like, just flunk him, okay? Get the humiliation over with.Â
âItâs because I know your situation,â she tells him, âAnd I know youâre better than it. By a goddamn country mile.âÂ
That knocks him. He blinks. Huh?
âYouâre bright, you know. If you only allowed yourself to be,â OâDonnell nods, leafing through a manila folder in front of her, âIf you could only find some way to focus, youâd be a halfway to decent student. Might even make it to college.â
âDonât be too generous,â Eddie scoffs, arms folding over his chest. He can feel the defense rising.Â
OâDonnell stares at him over the rim of her glasses. âOh, Iâm not. Because the reality is, youâre too far gone. Iâve done all I can to try and drag you out of the sandpit of shit youâve managed to fall into, but our time is coming to a swift and brutal end.âÂ
A beat.
âChrist, who died and made you my guidance counselorââ
âYouâre not graduating, Eddie.â
A cold sear runs down Eddieâs spine. âUm.â
Alright. Alright, look. Itâs not like he hadnât expected this, in some way or another, but again, if he is really honest⌠Eddie had expected some eleventh hour miracle that ended up with him with that diploma in his hand. Walking the stage in that godawful green gown, scooting down the line to take his place beside Ronnie and⌠and you.Â
First Munson to ever do it, at least in the proud township Hawkins. Something solid to his name, finally. A GED that wasnât necessarily a ticket to college, but proof that he could break the family curse of not following through. He didnât need to be valedictorian or anything, he just neededâŚÂ
âButâbut,â begins the scramble, âIâve been doing⌠better, right? Like, Iâve gotten my grades up⌠not massively but a little!â
And he had. Fact is, these last handful of months, he hadnt just been dicking around with you and Ronnie after schoolâ youâd actually gone out of your way to slice off some of those legendary brain smarts and slide them his way, bumping him up a letter grade in at least three subjects.Â
Youâd said something similar to OâDonnell.
Youâve got something, yâknow, beyond all the hair and regalia. This system is rigged to fail anyone who surrenders to being, like, a bad test takerâ so you just have to game the system and make it work for Eddie Munson. Right?
Then youâd poked him in the cheek with your number two pencil and heâd forgotten everything heâd ever learned, brain lingering on that little touch for days.Â
That was before. Before your bedroom. Before Wheelerâs bedroom. Shit, before Granny Eckerâs closet.Â
âNow, Eddie. Jesus. Youâd need a miracle to get you anywhere close where you need to be to get out of here. Look, I am telling you this because Iââ
âWhy? Why do you even care? Youâre the one thatâs been failing me half the time.â
âYes, because youâve been failing, smartass! Think Iâve got a choice in the matter?â OâDonnell and her high Midwestern fury shuts him up again. âIâm telling you this because⌠well, itâs time to weigh up your options.âÂ
âWhich are none.â
âWhich could be none. The question on almost the entire facultyâs mind is, why havenât you dropped out by now? And Iâve got a pretty good stab, I think.â
âEnlighten me, then.â
âBecause, contrary to popular belief, youâre not your father.âÂ
Eddie has to look away. âOh, yeah?â
âYeah. I knew Al Munson. My first year here, I taught him. And I was green then, sure, in the goddamn dark ages but even then I knew he was just looking for any easy way out.âÂ
âAnd Iâm not, huh?â
âNo. Because you wouldâve dropped out by now.â OâDonnell closes the folder like sheâs seen enough. âEddie, you have something to prove. And itâs worth proving.âÂ
Far be it from Eddie to believe that any teacher in this school actually gives a shit about him, but the glance he steals to OâDonnell makes a damn strong argument otherwise.Â
âSo w⌠what do I do?â
âGod knows half the staff doesnât want you around for another year. Sorry, but itâs true,â OâDonnell rolls her eyes and Eddie feels the sting of his last name, the skid mark of his fatherâs legacy following him wherever he goes, âIâll work on it. Starting with Higgins, which should earn me canonization of some kind.â
âCastle in the sky and all that shit.â
Eddie doesnât exactly nod; defiance is as strong as his white blood cells. He kind of wants OâDonnell to prove that sheâs serious about helping him. About caring at all.Â
She goes on, tone strict and pushing.Â
âBut youâ keep your nose to the grindstone. Just because youâre not gonna pull through this year completely doesnât mean that the improvement in the last couple of months meant nothing. I have noticed, by the way. And, uh, keep up the peer tutoring.âÂ
Eddie raises his eyebrows. âHuh?â
âPeer tutoring,â thereâs amusement dancing in OâDonnellâs words that makes them a little uneven, âLacy Doevskiâs been so kind as to take you under her wing, hasnât she?â
A shock of heat takes seat on his cheeks. Right. Heâd forgotten about that scam you ran like a ride on lawnmower through Kaminskyâs class.Â
âYâyeah, somethinâ like that.â
âWell, keep that something going. Itâs good. For the both of you,â OâDonnell clips with a knowing look. âI knew her father too.âÂ
She dismisses him with a wave and Eddie, feeling like sheâd just made him tie up a pair of leaden boots, follows the tug of his deflated heart like a compass. A tread through the eerily empty after-hours halls brings back a memory here and there. Getting caught smoking under the stairwell on the first day of freshman year; a girl named Phoebe lending him a pencil in Biology, which he ended up using to pretend-stab Tommy Hagan who made fun of her stammer (Tommy cried like a bitch, as if Eddie would ever actually do that); fighting against his better judgment and jimmying the lock of a classroom open so he could help Gareth make a new character sheet for Hellfire and getting detention when they were found out, while the freshman hid under the desk so he wouldnât be caught too. Plenty of little battles lost. But this is the big oneâthe one that tells him heâs doomed to repeat this adolescent torture for at least another year.Â
However, as soon as he shoulders the swinging door open and sees you, bathed in a pool of lamplight with reams of typewriter paper surrounding you, and you pull your fountain pen from your mouth with a tired smile, stitched together just for himâŚÂ
KO. The big gold belt. Eddie Munson, heavyweight champion of the world. Â
âHey, Hildy,â he says, sliding down the short handrail into the typing pool, just because he knows itâll make you roll your eyes and laugh. And it totally does, a croaky little giggle rasping out of your lips. âWhatâs the scoop?â
âDonât you dare come any closer.â Your voice, your outstretched hand, makes Eddie freeze in a rigged marionetteâs pose. Itâs like your words have actual alchemic pull, how powerless he is to obey you and shit. âLet me justâŚâ
âSeriously?â Eddie lets his arms drop, playing with a ball of elastic bands from the desk he sits on as you painstakingly reorganize your papers. âYâknow, I really should have an early preview of this, given Iâm the star of the goddamn article and all. What if I object? What if you paint me in, like, an unflattering light? I could sue. Character defamation.â
âYouâre taking care of that defamation all on your own, darling,â you yawn, the punch of your words not quite hitting like they usually would as you stagger across the newsroom to him. Youâre exhaustedâEddie can see it. The deep shadows under your pretty eyes, new ink stains appearing on your fingers every day. Youâre jerky and shaky, overcaffeinated to the point that the drug ainât even working anymore. Youâre working yourself to the bone. Itâs been like this for ages; every spare moment that Eddie doesnât see you, youâre playing catch up for college applications. âBut no. Not âtil itâs cooked and printed. My portfolio needs this article for a lead-in and it has to be bulletproof. Watertight. Unassailable. Other words forââ
â--perfect?â Eddie steps in, tossing the elastics over his shoulder and tugging you closer so that youâre just about sitting in his lap. âIn that case, you chose a real winner of a subject.â
âEddie.â
âNo, seriously! Trailer park nobody with a fantasy game club. Wah-wah. I donât envy the amount of fluffing you probably have to do to make it remotely appealing to⌠whoeverâs in charge of reading that shit.âÂ
âAdmissions board,â you supply. Youâre close enough that Eddie can taste your perfume and honestly, heâs doing a great job of not just licking it clean off your neck. âAnd I know this is one of your self-pity rally cries, and I wonât entertain it. Besides, itâs not just about you. Itâs about Hellfire. The whole⌠well, Iâm not saying any more. Youâre just gonna have to read it and find out.âÂ
âBut I want my ego massaged,â Eddie pitifully whines, right out his nose. He clutches onto you harder, the pressure of your body against his alleviating the pressure of his total failure. His breath snags as you, so tired that youâre nearly trembling, kiss him softly.Â
âMm, letâs compromise. I can massage something else,â you hum against his chasing lips, but something saintly touches him before you get the chance to move your inky hand. He uh-uhs you.Â
âMuch as I appreciate the offer and will immediately curse myself for turning you down the second I get back to the trailer⌠youâre worn out, Lace. Seriously.â Eddie flicks a lock of your hair out of your face. Were you always like this, even when you were queen bitch? Did anyone ever think to check in on you before? âYou been sleepinâ? At all?â
âI have a countdown to my future and a convict father taking up residence on my couch. Of course Iâm not sleeping. Iâm optimizing,â you snit in the sleepiest voice heâs ever heard, your head is lolling against his shoulder. The pout youâre wearing makes Eddie want to bundle you right back to Forest Hills, tuck you up in his grody sheets and not let the rest of the world in âtil youâve got your strength back. Just you, him, some records. Heâd read to you from The Silmarillion, because that was a surefire way to send you unconscious in seconds.Â
âI just need to get this article done and then Iâm⌠Iâm good. Itâs out of my hands,â you croak.
âThen itâs⌠NYUâs problem, right?â says Eddie.
âColumbia,â you murmur, âwith Emerson as a safety.âÂ
âLofty safety.â
âIâm a lofty girl. But you know what? Iâm gonna get in.â
A pang in the key of dread hits Eddie in the throat. âI believe that.â
âBut you know why?â
âEnlighten me.â
âBecause of a silly little story I wrote about you.â You curl Eddieâs hair around your finger and he wonders if you can feel the physical sensation of him melting. Dripping all over you like a pathetic soft serve. âItâs so beyond comprehension but⌠Youâre gonna make my dreams come true, Eddie Munson. I can feel it.â
About time I returned the favor, huh? is what he wants to say, but itâs not the time and itâs not the place and he thinks you might be drifting off in his arms. So he just breathes you in, and takes the win.
â
One thing Ray Doevski was always known to do was move. Not so much in a without exercise, the body devours itself kind of fashion, but in a without constantly one-upping oneself, the self devours itself kind of fashion. With Ray, moving was always some new business venture, some new property acquisition. Some other new reason for a cocktail party, so your mom would have an excuse to pretty herself up and youâd make your on-cue cameo, sweeping through the room and waving at all the important people your father had charmed and collected like stamps. And like stamps, the people he tended to collect all got more valuable with age. Ray liked old money, even if your family was on the newer end of the see-saw.
You saw all that for what it was now. Running the big scamola, charming these people out of pocket with that ugly Hawkins High class ring on his finger. Gold, garish, glaring, a glimmering green stone set right in the center. You hated that thing.Â
So, to see someone so diligently dedicated to movement and momentum sit docile on the sofa is pretty fucking disturbing. With that ankle monitor permanently welded to his leg, Ray canât do so much as stand outside for a smoke without the heat coming down on him. Such are the conditions of his parole. Itâs a humiliating fate, watching someone so previously well-kempt rot before you.Â
And more disturbing still, your father seems⌠not unhappy about his situation. As far as a man on house arrest goes, heâs not angry. Heâs not irritable, he doesnât even seem that frustrated. Itâs strange. Heâd even asked you to borrow a couple of your books to keep him occupied. That threw you. Heâd never taken an interest in your voracious love for literature before⌠but boredom does absolute downright Invasion of the Body Snatchers type shit to a man.
He smiles at you from the corner of the sofa as you come in from an evening shift at the bookstore, your worn copy of Answered Prayers by Truman Capote in hand. It sends a cold dart through your tummy.Â
âYou!â comes a snarl and your elbow is being snatched before you can even regain your bearings.Â
âWhat the fââ
Your mother slams her bedroom door so hard it seems to shake the trailer. It occurs to you that you havenât stood inside her bedroom in weeksâmonths, maybeâor even seen inside of it save for the odd glance. Even then, it was always the sad staging of dresses and hose strewn across the bed, glasses with scarlet staining sitting on the nightstand and the smell of cigarette smoke and perfume growing old and flat and stale. But sheâd straightened the place upâ now the bedsheets sat tight around the corners of the mattress, and Glorianaâs jewelry was tidied away somewhere. No used wine glasses to behold. Like housekeeping had breezed through.Â
She told you she worked as a maid once, âFor about a minute. Before your father rescued me.â
âWhatâs your problem?â you snipe, rubbing your pinched elbow through your sweater sleeve.Â
Your mother exhales a furious stream of smoke through her grit teeth, Dunhill poised, lit and ready. âYou have to do something with him!âÂ
âMe?!â you hiss back. Alarm sets off a roil in your stomach. Youâd made incredibly delicate work of avoiding your father since he landed on the other side of the trailerâs formica table, notching it all down to Iâm eighteen, Iâm about to graduate, Iâve got work to do! All of which is definitely true, but youâd padded it out a little.Â
Padded it out with the time you spent with your lips on Eddie Munsonâs lips, sure, butâŚ
âYes, you!â Gloriana spits, âDonât think Iâve noticed how youâve been skirting around him since he came back. Shouldnât you be over the moon with yourself?â
âI am. I am over the moon.â Greatest lie youâd ever told. âHeâs back! Hurray! Weâre all happy families again. Do we get the house back? Do I get my car?â
Your motherâs lip lifts into a little smirk. âOh, Lacy. Has someone gone and turned your head about Daddy? Knocked him off his pedestal?â
See, your motherâs always had this thingâ this seething jealousy about the way you looked up to your father. Not necessarily because you never looked up to her the same way (youâd written plenty in your journal about the vapidity of being a âsociety wifeâ, as she definitely wasâ a kind of cornfed Midwestern Slim Keith, an ex-pageant girl from the unremarkable middle point of Hawkins who benefitted entirely from her once-poor husbandâs grafting), but because you were there at all. Yearning for his approval and robbing his attention.Â
Not like you ever got much of either.Â
âYou want I should call the cops and tell them heâs been running phone scams from the trailer?âÂ
Your mom lets out a little huff that could be mistaken for a laugh. âHe just sits there, all day long. And when heâs not sitting, heâs curtain twitching.â
Just like youâd thought. Rear Window. Danger zone.Â
âThis place could use a neighborhood watch,â comes the pith through your nerves, âHas he seen anything good, at least?â
Gloriana rolls her eyes at you, hooded with the pretense of as if Iâd tell you. âThatâs the other thing. He doesnât talk. But he does ask questions.âÂ
âLike?â you ask, after a rough swallow that alerts you to how dry your throat has suddenly gotten.
Finely penciled eyebrows quirk. It reminds you of how much your mother can resemble Ava Gardner, when she puts some chutzpah into it. âBetter get out there if you want to keep him from his suspicions, is all Iâm saying.âÂ
As if she knows more than sheâs letting slip.Â
âShouldnât you be over the moon? Arenât you happy that heâs out?â You turn the mirror on her. Glorianaâs eyelids flicker, as if sheâs exhausted by the mere question.Â
âOf course I am. Donât be ridiculous,â she sighs. âBut some things⌠were easier. Before. You and I didnât need to pretendââ
That we liked each other.Â
âYeah.â You snip right into her sentence because although youâre well aware of the scope of your motherâs feelings toward you, it still stings to hear it said out. Sheâs still your mom, after all. Or, she should be.Â
Standing in this room is making you nauseous.Â
âIâll keep him occupied for a while.â
âGood. Thank you.â
âDonât strain yourself.â
Moments later, youâre tossing a pack of cards on the little formica breakfast table. It used to be a universal language in your household, when your father was still feigning interest in you. He taught you to play cards, and taught you how to cheat at them. You only retained one of those things. Little miracles.
âWant to deal?â
Ray slowly closes the cover on Answered Prayers and rises to the table.Â
âWhy donât you give it a try?â he says, a smile playing around his mouth. You resist the pull to roll your eyes, as if heâs bestowing such an honor on youâand wonder when exactly you did stop worshiping him.
Sometime between the last time youâd seen the back of his hand and the guilty verdict, youâre guessing.Â
You lay out his hand, and yours. He archly remarks, âGin?â
âIâve gotten better.â
âYouâve gotten a lot of things, havenât you?â Ray says, focusing on his cards. âLot of things have changed.â
âWhat does that mean?â
âLook, I admit, I came on a little⌠strong that first night I came home.â Strong was one word for it; youâd call it more of a three-hour cross examination delivered while you were trapped inside an iron maiden. Youâd shed as little light on the whole Munson situation as you could. He gave me a ride once or twice. We go to school together, what do you expect? âBut can you blame me? With you and your mother living in⌠this place? I had to know. To be sure that you were safe.â
You want to think, he doesnât give a shit about safety. He gives a shit about treason. About me fraternizing with his enemyâs offspring, or whatever. But the way he says it gives you pause.Â
âItâs not so bad,â you shrug, swapping out a card. âItâs cozy.â
Weâre not cozy people.
Ray takes a dig into the stock pile himself, regarding you with a curious look. âSee what I mean? You seem⌠more willing to accept your circumstances. Itâs interesting.â
The line between Ray Doevski praising and insulting you is like fishing line; depends on what heâs baiting you with. Accepting oneâs circumstances was usually Doevskian for accepting failure.
âWhat, did you expect me to be kicking up tantrums about not having a clawfoot bathtub anymore? Because Iâm not,â you smirk, âIâve even adjusted to the notion of not always having hot water.â
Your mind flashes back to the small, square shower in the Munson trailer and you make a mental note to ask Eddie how his water heated to boiling within seconds.Â
âThat, I could personally never get used to.â
âPlumbing wasnât so great in IDOC, I take it?â
âNo. But that didnât register so high on my scale of problems inside.â
âWas it scary?â
âYes.â
âAnd were you⌠in danger?â
A long beat settles between you. Ray shifts in the vinyl-backed seat, a tiny squeak the only sound between him and his apparent discomfort. Chills, again. You get a chill.Â
â... yes,â he says, and meets your eyes. Theyâve sunk a fraction more than the last time youâd looked into them. Some of the gray shocks in his hair have turned white. Scary, to witness real evidence of your parents growing old. And frightened. âLacy, Iâd done badly by a lot of people. Some of them were even inside with me, and they wanted retribution, and that was fair. I could live with that,â depending on what end of a shiv he was on, you guessed, âBut I also did badly by you. Very badly.â
Ah, acknowledgement that their father has lied about their criminal enterprises for the better part of her lifeâjust what every little girl wants. It wasnât as if you had still staunchly believed the not guilty campaign that your parents had spearheaded throughout Rayâs trial, even in the face of stony evidence. He was guilty; you had to figure out if you cared about the crimes, or the fact that heâd led you to believe he was so much better than he was.Â
But this is the first time heâs really copped to it.Â
Youâre not quite sure what his admission is supposed to do, so you stare at your spades. Â
âIt makes sense that you donât trust me anymore,â Ray goes on, âBut I love you, and I always will. All Iâve ever wanted is to provide the best for you, the very best I could. Better than that, evenâ because thatâs what you deserve. The whole world, Lacy.âÂ
Stomach churning, you wish heâd stop calling you that. Your nickname sounds wrong in his mouth. A world apart from the girl he thinks you are.Â
âI just feel like you couldâve done that without skimming money off childrenâs charities,â you hear yourself saying before you register that your mouth is drawling off the words, âAnd laundering money through those rentals. And⌠what was it, drug trafficking? I lost count.â
Knowingly, you brace for explosion. Ray flipping the table, scattering his hand and laying an open palm across your face, the dull thunk of his Hawkins High class ring making contact with your cheekbone. Thatâd be something. Something solid. Something you could point to, that said I know who he is, I tried to stand up to him, Iâm not him, please donât think that I am.
But he doesnât, so the line of your shoulders tense for no reason. He digs a cigarette out of the soft pack laying on the table and flicks it towards you with a fingertip. His right hand, ring finger bare. Heâs not wearing it.Â
He is wearing a sad grin of humility, shrugging like, well, kid, you got me there. Dead to rights.
He looks like somebody else.Â
âSo, howâs your life been, Lacy Doevski?â A charm dances around his tone, the way a flame dances around the edge of a photograph that doesnât want to burn.Â
And despite your best fucking instincts, despite the way that nickname falls out of his mouth like upchuck, despite the fact that you should hate him, thereâs a change in the lighting around him that you just cannot help but want to engage with.Â
âYou really wanna know?â
âI really wanna know. Tell me everything. The road to Columbia, howâs that going? The newspaper. This job at the bookstore in town. Your friend, uh, Nancy, right? She seems like a nice kid. I know Ted Wheeler, a little bit. Went to school with him and her mom, Karen. And everybody knew Karen, but, uh, donât mention that to Nancy!â He steals another card from the stock pile, but doesnât discard one from his hand. You decide not to mention it. âI want to know everything, Lacy. Iâve been way too distracted with things that donât matter as much as you. Call this⌠makinâ up for lost time.âÂ
Your shoulders shrug into themselves, like when you were a little kid and heâd let you sit on the big leather chair in his office after youâd sat outside the door for a solid hour, begging to come in. The corners of your lips pick up.
âJust about to finish my applications. Iâm submitting this writing portfolioââ
â--I thought we talked about business school?â
You seize. You had. An effort in setting you up for a future of undebatable prestige started to sound more like sending you off to the meet market, the more your father talked about it. Business school is where youâll meet young men of excellent character, Lorelei. Excellent family stock. It wonât hurt if they see that youâre smart, too.Â
⌠why the everloving fu-huuuck would you go to business school when you spend every spare second of the day giving yourself carpal tunnel and preaching about that Woolfe chick, Lace? Nope, you need someplace with climbing ivy and people whose dissenting opinions on cliterature you can cat fight with. Eddie Munson, leaning over the counter at the Bookstore and shedding light on your secret desire to bury yourself in novels and pretention with his ever-burning flare of perception.Â
Cliterature? youâd asked, brow an arch.Â
Classic literature. As written by the fairer sex. Bronte and broads.
Well, Jesus Christ. Who died and let you lead the third wave of feminism, Munson?
âUmâŚâ You hadnât prepared a good defense for this. You felt a stab of nausea.
âItâs okay!â your dad chuckles, tapping you on the wrist in reassurance, âYou changed your mind. Thatâs fine. But itâs still Columbia, right?â
âGod, of course. Couldnât imagine anywhere else.âÂ
âGood.â The smile reaches his eyes. âSorry, your portfolio.â
âRight, uhâ Iâm just about polishing it off and Iâve got a great lead in, my last article for the StreakâŚâ you trail off. A warning signal travels down your brain stem. Donât tell him. Donât tell him about Hellfire. Youâve got to keep him as far away asâ
âAbout what?â Ray asks brightly. Picks up a card. Discards another. You see a twitch in his mouth.Â
âAn after school club,â you blurt. âMy, um. My friend Ronnieâs in it. We were⌠lab partners. Junior year. Dissected frogs together.â
âYeah, that really bonds people for life, huh?â Ray says. Not a trace of irony. âWell, I look forward to reading it. If you want me to. I know writers can be very precious about their work.âÂ
And their subjects.
âUh, well. Weâll see. I might not want to jinx it after I send off my applications.âÂ
âSuperstitious,â he smiles, âJust like your old man.â
âAnd I have a boyfriend.â The blurting just doesnât let up from you, eh? Like you have to cover all your bases while Ray is swept up in this gregarious mood. âAnd he goes to⌠Ithaca. I think.â
Your father makes a face that stands up to some interpretation of, la-di-da, lookit you! and Christ, youâre nearly sure heâs bought it. College guy⌠heâd kind of fallen by the wayside since you took that trip to Saturday morning detention. Heâd better fucking pick up if you call now, if he hadnât gone back to Vermont or wherever.Â
âWell, look, Iâm glad youâve kept that momentum even given⌠everything. And Iâm glad you seem to be surrounding yourself with good, level-headed people.â People he would have called nobodies eight months ago. People you would have called nobodies eight months ago. âLike Nancy. And this Ronnie. And that youâve stayed out of trouble, as much as you can.â
You swear you see his eyes flick to the window beside you. In the direction of the trailer across the way, where a warm yellow light glows from the bedroom. Thereâs a shake in your breath, but Ray isnât quite done.Â
âIâm incredibly proud of the woman youâre becoming, Lacy. And look at thatââ His hand slaps down on the table, revealing his melds. â--gin! I thought you said you got better at this, kid!â
âYou took me by surprise, Daddy. What can I say.â
â
âQuit that. Thatâs explosive cargo youâre flickinâ.â
âYouâve got to be fucking kidding me.â Tap, tap, tap. One of the hinges of this rusty, crusty, dusty old domed metal lunchbox is loose, and you canât stop toying with it. âThis is what youâve been carrying your motherlode around in?âÂ
âWhat about your motherâs load?â Eddie says, scraping the lunchbox a couple of inches away from you on the bench. Still, you reach for it, and he smacks your hand away. âRespect the receptacle, please. Itâs a thing of legend.â
âSeems like a dangerously obvious hiding place for a bunch of illegal substances,â you say, brow creased. Had Eddie put any thought into his operation thus far? Because this seems extremely haphazard. Heâs always swinging that goddamn thing around school, and one look inside the false bottom could put him away for a long time, if the Reagan administration had anything to do with it.Â
âExactly! Making it the last place anyone would think to look!â Eddie beams, flicking the lid open. âClass A drugs? Why, no, officer, these are my party pretzels. From home.â A deeply tragic baggie of crushed pretzel pieces lands between the two of you. Your frown deepens a degree or two. Eddie shrugs, shaking his curls out a little and starts picking through the detritus in the lunch box. Other than a couple of dime bags, a box of Camels, a lighter and some loose Twizzlers, his loadâs light.
âHow exactly does one get into the business of selling hydroponics et cetera out of a lunchbox, Eddie?âÂ
âWhy, you lookinâ to diversify your criminal skillset?â That sly poke. You roll your eyes, jiggling your mary janeâd foot and pick up a bag of Mary Jane herself.
âIâm just curious about the trajectory! The more I learn about you, the more it occurs to me that youâre possibly the uncoolest drug dealer in history. You know, stereotypically speaking.âÂ
âThe answer I think youâre looking for is that Iâm a big, big boy,â Eddie rasps, taking an exaggerated chomp out of one of the liquorice ropes, âand I contain multitudes. Shit happens. Sometimes it leads to you selling pot. Et cetera.â
âWhat kind of shit?â
He considers you for a second, but youâre bright-eyed and curious about him. He jumps back from you when youâre like this sometimes, like he just touched a hot stove. Youâd give him shit for it, but you did the same thing. The Twizzler waves in your face. âIf I didnât have such a brain-damage inducing crush on you, Iâd think you were a narc.â
 âEddie.â Though your heart does jump like a needle on a scratched record when he says crush. Particularly when he says crush like that. But he could elaborate on that for you later.Â
âFine, fine, fineâ Iâm not gonna get into the finer points of it now, but⌠basically, some shit went down with my dad that meant I had to move in with Wayne and working at the plant isnât actually the cash cow that youâd think it is, and neither is me picking up barback shifts at the Hideout so⌠I hit up my dadâs friend Rick who said heâd help me out if I ever needed it and here we are. Lunchbox and all. Half ounces for halfwits at horrible parties.â Eddie toughens into this tense line as he speaks, like heâs halfway embarrassed about having to do this. âMeans to an end, yâknow?âÂ
You nod, though you want to prod further so bad. âDo what they expect of you until you donât have to anymore.â
Exactly, Eddie mouths with narrowed eyes, another bite into the Twizzler. âYou know what tune Iâm singinâ.â
Better than the both of you realize, it seems.
âThis whole,â you gesture around the circular clearing, the place everyone knows you come to meet Munson to score product, âplace does kind of look like the kind of hotspot where one might catch Goody Proctor dancing with the Devil.âÂ
Itâs your first time out hereâyouâd elegantly skirted the responsibility of ever having to pick up for your group of friends but itâs⌠delightfully creepy. Whispers cragging through the tree branches. Eddieâs presence knocking you off guard at every turnâwell, not you. Not anymore.Â
âRumors are kind of starting to add up. Satanic worship, human sacrifice⌠girls panties going missing. Thatâs all Iâm saying.âÂ
A maddened grin peeling over his features, Eddie scooches closer to where you sit, perched on top of the rotting picnic table. âWhy do you think I lured you out here, Lace?â His fingertips race up your calf and you spill a giggle, squirming away. âThe Dark Lord requires another infernal bride!â He leaps up, ticklish touch attacking your sides âtil youâre shrieking, not working quite as hard as you could to beat him away.Â
âEdâEddie, st-aaahap!â
âItâs all cool! Itâs no big deal! Just take your clothes off and sign my yearbook! Then, hey presto, the big guyâll give you whatever you want.â
Eddieâs hands slow to a still on your hips, your uncrossed legs caging his sides. His lids fall, mouth prepping a pout for yours, but you press your thumb into his lips.Â
âWhatever I want?â you whisper, eyes narrowing.Â
A smirk flickers across Eddieâs mouth, a puff of breath pressing his mouth into your thumb until the tip is wedged between the edge of his teeth. Your breathing stills for a second and you resist pushing it further into his mouth.Â
âShit,â he murmurs, moving your hand across his cheek so he can kiss you full on the mouth. His tongue is needy and searching, making you curve into him just a touch. You can feel the prickle of his stubble coming up. Eddie with a five oâclock shadow⌠âIâd give you whatever you want, Lace. John Hancock in the Book of the Beast or no.âÂ
The wettened peaks of his lips go straight for your jugular. You two have shared enough mouth-to-mouth episodes for him to know that feeling his tongue against your pulse is liable to make you do nutty things.Â
âTell me what you want, dahling one,â Eddieâs mouth crawls up your jaw in an approximation of Bela Lugosi, up to your ear, where he knows youâre ticklish too. You feel him smile at your breathy laugh. âAnything you desire, anything beneath the blazing sun and under the heaving mud, anything under the banner of⌠the Hawkins township, because I donât have a lot of gas money right nowâŚâ
âI want you,â you struggle through a sighâhis stupid mouthy beautiful mouth, âto get rid of that goddamn lunchbox. At least, for illegal purposes. Keep it for pretzels.â
Eddie honks out a nasally groan far too close to your ear and you jerk back. âNo! Youâre supposed to be all, âI absolutely indubitably want you, Eddie,â and then weâre supposed to, ee-ee,â he thrusts his clothed hips into yours animatedly, âon this very table top. Until you realize itâs covered in woodlice.â
âWell, I canât fuck you if youâre in prison. Iâm telling you, that old tin thing falls apart in the hallway and youâre being tried as a full adult!â Wait, did he say woodlice?Â
âYou worry too much. Sâgonna make you warty. Plus,â he says, unlatching himself from you and tossing his effects back in the tin box, âthis is a family heirloom. Al Munson made good on his last straight job at the plant for a grand total of six hours, and all he got was this lousy lunchbox.â
Speaking of AlâŚÂ
âYâknow, I was thinking⌠If it wasnât for your dadâŚâ Your hands knit in your lap as you pretend to look around for woodlice. Â
ââIf it wasnât for Alâ what?â Eddieâs tone is flat, âGrand theft auto would decrease tenfold from here to Bloomington? Less diner waitresses would have complexes about men who abuse the free refill system? Starcourt Mall wouldnât have burned down?â
Your eyebrows knit. Okay, pause. âWhat has he got to do with Starcourt Mall?â
âIâm not a hundred percent, but I have a theory,â Eddie says, arms bound across his chest. âIt involves horseshit bombs and the Russian mafia.â
âAnd you told me my Larry Kline theory was crazy!â
âWell, funny you mention because my idea actually runs kind of concurrent to thatââÂ
âNo, letâs put a pin in that for a second,â you cut him off, âItâs⌠my dad. I think he might actually be somewhat rehabilitated. Knocked down a peg, maybe? He actually displayed a hint of diffidence, Eddie. I think I ⌠kind of have Al to thank for that.â
Sure, there was an air of initial disconcert to you and your dadâs little game of gin rummy, but the more you ruminated on it, the more it felt⌠threatless. Your mom had even joined you for a grim dinner of mac and cheese, where the three of you had nearly fondly reminisced on the pasta alla vodka from a restaurant they always went to on New Years Eve in Indianapolis. Maybe thatâs what it took; a stint in prison to crack his ego like the Liberty Bell, and now Ray Doevski had to bear the humility like everyone else. Maybe heâd make good on his promise, making up for lost time.
But the disbelief, and, in fact, concern that Eddie is eyeballing your way says something different.Â
âDonât thank Al for anything.â
âIâm just saying. Dad and I actually talked last night, for the first time in⌠ever, really, and it didnât feel like he was sizing me up. It was.. He was⌠nice.â
âLacy.â Eddieâs shoulderâs sag. He hops up on the table next to you, bringing you knee to knee. The tear in his jeans rubs against the webbed nylon of your tights. When he looks at you, itâs with rounded eyes that could very well have been checking you for brain damage. âI donât mean to blow out your candle or anything, but coming from someone as well versed in the tales of a crooked father who never really changes as I⌠I donât buy this Ray of sunshine bit.â
Your hackles start to raise. Hey. Just because Al Munson was a famed and patterned piece of shit didnât necessarily meanâ
Eddie clocks you immediately, your crunched brow and pursed mouth. His hands go up, requesting pause. âLook. This is your first time at the convict parent rodeo, so I know how it is. Whirlwind. They always roar in in some Cadillac full of promises, right, swearing to make everything they fucked up right by you. But it never sticks, Lace. Theyâre hardwired to not follow through, okay? At least not on anything that doesnât serve their own vain little agenda. With Al, itâs always some big dick scheme, something thatâs gonna set us, and by us I mean him, up for life. No matter how good it feels to have them back, itâ it always feels better when theyâre gone.â
His searching eyes dart to his hands, as if heâd said a touch too much. On the one hand, a couple of painful pop rocks explode in your chest. You always feel this way whenever he mentions Alâ Eddieâs let you in on glimpses here and there, revealing that he hasnât quite shucked off the essence of being a hurt kid. It presents you with the super challenging desire to soothe the memory, but you dance around it at a distance. The dad stuff, itâs still sticky for the both of you. But now that Ray is back, and Al is back, you kind of have to talk about it. It figures pretty keenly into⌠whatever the fuck you two think youâre doing.
Then, on the other hand, a quick flash of resentment burns in you. Yeah, your dad is hardwiredâwhy canât mine be different?Â
âBetter?â you ask.Â
âMaybeânot better,â Eddie rectifies, his rings knocking against his palm. âBut easier. Itâs always easier when heâs gone, even if I want him to be there. At least I know what to expect when he doesnât call or write or whatever, which is nothing.â
âSo I should do the same? Expect nothing?â You canât hide the bite in your voice, and you canât meet his eyes when he looks at you.Â
âLacy,â he says, searching hard for you in there, âYou know what kind of guy your dad is. All the pomp and circumstance in the world wonât change what youâve already seen. What youâve already been through. This nice guy shit is a tacticâ youâŚâ
A heavy-ringed hand pulls your face to his, forcing you to look him in his earnest, gleaming eyes.Â
âYou deserve more than that.âÂ
Confusion with a sadness chaser churns in you. The metallic chill of Eddieâs rings against your cheek. A cooling comfort. Not a harsh sting. Not an open palm. A cradle.Â
âI know you donât believe me, for whatever reason, but you do deserve more than that.â
I still want you to be wrong, a voice hisses in the back of your head. Fucking Medusa rising.
âYeah,â you nod in his hands, surrendering because itâs the right thing to say. âYeah, of course I do. Iâll be careful. Itâs fine.â
âAnd speaking of careful,â Eddieâs timbre hits a more suggestive spot, his hand falling from your jaw to your shoulder, âHarringtonâs having a party on Friday, sâwhy I need fresh supplies.â
âOh, really?â you mumble, mood not immediately perking up.
âYes, really,â Eddie mocks, grip slipping to your waist. âI was thinking⌠yâknow. Harringtonâs house is big. Lotta rooms. Lotta bedsâŚâ
âLot of intimacy at big parties,â you paraphrase Gatsby. âBut the last time I was at Harringtonâs⌠Is that such a good idea? Risking a repeat of teenage gladiator?â
âYou were hardly gladiating, you were performing The Crab Monologues. Now, Carol, she waââ
A scowl starts growing on your face. âNot helping your case.â
âOkay. Okay, Iâm sorry,â Eddie grins that bitten, private grin he deploys when heâs just about to lay one on you. âWill you show if I promise to protect you from wild redheaded assailants?â
âIâll consider it. But that better include that little neighbor girl of yours, too,â you warn, suddenly reminded of the viscous stink-eye that Billy Hargroveâs stepsister had been throwing your way the last couple of times that you passed her in the trailer park. âOrphan Annie has it out for me for some reason.â
âYouâre so cute when youâre paranoid.âÂ
âYou have a woodlouse in your bangs.ââWuagh! Where! Kill it!â
author's notes: christ it is GOOD TO BE BACK!!! if this feels like a part one to something, that is because it very much is, my friends. this was on its way to becoming a 20k+ chapter, which would freak me out actually so i decided to have some boundaries for once and split it in two. get you warmed up for what's to come. it's drama. btw. anyway on with the show
- ohhh, you guys i have been listening to so much early-mid 00s emo in order to write this story. i realized that that's my secret weapon, because it's just as melodramatic as these two fucking dumbshits are. points to anyone who knows what the title of the chapter is a reference to (bonus points if they can find it a second time in a past chapter of this story)
- flannery o'connor is of course a standard doevski pick for an author, but also a nod to maya hawke playing her in the biopic, which looks exquisite btw
- back at it with the extremely rudimentary dnd references! i thought fear and loathing in luskan was fun
- eddie WOULD know a ton about ancient greek mythology, specifically the goings on at the olympics, but not because he has any real vested interest in it but moreso because when he researches for a campaign he goes absolutely hard, like me with my 26 tabs open googling 'nail polish shades popular 80s teen girl bonne bell'
- kick rocks! montague moment's over! but real quick-- what's munson? it is not hand, nor foot nor arm nor face, nor any other part... belonging to a man :)
- yet another hellfire & ice fancast moment, i must present my personal pick for o'donnell-- it's gotta be allison janney, baby. less in the 10 things i hate about you guidance counselor vein, rather in the stepmom from juno vein.
- 'hey hildy, what's the scoop?' had to get a his girl friday reference in somewhere, didn't i
- answered prayers by truman capote is not only the cuntiest book ever written (capote essentially sold the secrets of his wealthy socialite friends in order to write it) but is also the latest ryan murphy adaptation
- we stan jordan baker from the great gatsby in this house
alright! that's all for this one! hope you enjoyed it, i know it's heavy on set up but next chapter will see us right back at casa de harrington for another blowout party, so... brace yourselves. please comment and reblog to support the work, thank you hellcats i love you forever
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this is canon i know this bc i am actually You:
đđđĽđ¤ đ˘đŹ đđĄđđđŠ (đđ§đ đŹđ¨ đđŤđ đ°đ) â
pairing:Â dabi + f!reader
word count:Â 4381
cw:Â getting to know each other (against your better intuition), flirting, bad flirting,some explicit language but nothing too bad, no quirk AU, dabi commits a crime or two
summary:Â In which Dabi meant to text Toga instead of a random stranger. But these things happen, and you were never one to shy away from troublesome men. This whole thing is told entirely through text messages.
a/n: check out my AO3 for different formatting! :)
Mar 02Â
10:07 PM
Unknown: Grab bleach while youâre out
Unknown: And paper towels
You: who is this??
Unknown: So funny
You: u got the wrong number my guyÂ
Unknown: Shit
Unknown: You donât happen to have some bleach at your disposal rn?Â
You: try the convenience store
You: whereâs the body at, anyways
Unknown: Ohara street by the fitness park, you should come check it out
You: sounds enticing
You: iâve always wanted to be on a true crime podcast
You: sort of expected myself to be the alive one though
Unknown: I was taught that women tend to be smart about stranger danger and stuff
Unknown: You're out to prove me wrong
You: howâd you know iâm a woman? đ¤¨
Unknown: U sound cute
Unknown: And men donât listen to true crime
You: thatâs so sexist
You: and correct
You: you'd do numbers on reddit
Mar 03
00:16 AM
You: hey donât leave now
Mar 03
00:34 AM
Unknown: Had a body to take care of
You: you didnât wait for me? :(
Unknown: âŚ
Unknown: Are u fr
You: ofc not
You: i donât hang out with edgelords
Unknown: Whatever u r probably boring anyways
You: entertaining enough for u to keep texting me
Unknown: We all have our moments of weaknessÂ
Mar 03
01:09 AM
Unknown: So wyd
You: you donât have anybody else to bother?
Unknown: I do
Unknown: I want to bother you tho
You: damn, whatâd i do to deserve this
Unknown: Is that a complaint
You: i have uni tomorrow and ur buzzing keeps waking me up
Unknown: Mute your phone, stupidÂ
You: canât mute unknown numbers
Unknown: Save this one then
Unknown: Or block me idc
You: what name should i put it under
Unknown: DabiÂ
You: lmao i knew you were an edgelord
Dabi: Stfu
You: good night to you too
Mar 03Â
07:58 AM
You: fuck
Mar 03
3:56 PM
Dabi: Did you miss me that badÂ
Mar 03
4:32 PM
You: i overslept and am blaming you entirely
Mar 03
5:19 PMÂ
Dabi: Sucks to be a useful member to society
You: why what do you do
Dabi: I'm actually a bit of a part-time freelancer, you regular uni folk just wouldn't get it
You: freelancing around ohara at 1 in the morning sounds like the truly fulfilling purpose we all long for
You: did you just get up
Dabi: Hey nowÂ
Dabi: YesÂ
Dabi: Iâm still in bed technically, looking at the ceiling fan is so interesting when I don't want to move a muscle
You: you are everything I am jealous of
Dabi: I promise you itâs not that goodÂ
You: first time a guyâs been honest right away. i applaud u
Dabi: Omg no wayÂ
Mar 03
5:40 PM
You: no way what
Dabi: No way you said something wittyÂ
Dabi: Maybe youâre fun after all
You: iâll have u know that deep down, iâm just a fragile being trying to make it thru this bitch of a world, running on fumes and caffeine all while chasing a childhood dream that i'll never be able to reach anyways because of my parents' expectations of me crushing my soul
Dabi: Damn, being vulnerable alreadyÂ
You: your turn
Dabi: Iâm not sad. My life is great and my parents never expected anything of me
Dabi: That was a lieÂ
You: so youâre a liar
Dabi: I suppose I might be
You: that counts as being vulnerable. iâm so proud of us. <3
Mar 03
9:12 PM
You: you probably have daddy issues
Mar 03
11:34 PMÂ
Dabi: Mind your businessÂ
You: so iâm right
Dabi: Nosy sounds more like it
You: thatâs a yes then
Dabi: When I tell you he SUCKS so badÂ
You: LMAO
You: iâm guessing you donât particularly like your family then
Dabi: It's not the type of stuff I'd tell anybody, especially not to some nosy individual whose number is one or two digits off
You: alright iâll stop digging
You: wait how old are you
You: am i talking to some 50 y/o dude
You: please no
Mar 04
00:02 AM
Dabi: Chill Iâm 48
Mar 04
00:06 AMÂ
You: say sike right now
You: if u rly are then iâm half your age
Dabi: You thought
Dabi: Are you actually 24 tho
You: give or take a few days lol
Dabi: Whenâs your birthdayÂ
You: do you want my social and tax numbers while weâre at it
Dabi: Stfu I wanna see if Iâm olderÂ
You: đ¤¨
You: itâs at the end of this month
Dabi: BabyÂ
You: are u flirting with me or insulting me
Dabi: Canât I be doing bothÂ
Mar 04
06:30 AM
You: love me a guy who can multitask
You: did you ever get your bleach and paper towels
Mar 04
11:11 AM
You: itâs 11:11 make a wish
Mar 04
2:02 PM
You: my wish is that youâd commit to a humane sleeping schedule
Mar 04
2:59 PMÂ
Dabi: Anybody hear sumÂ
You: i heard youâre a lazy bitch
You: who doesnât even do his own grocery shopping
Dabi: Maybe I do. Maybe I got the bleach all on my own like a big boy
You: X
Dabi: What's that mean
You: X for doubt
You: itâs a meme
Dabi: Here I thought we were about to get spicy đ
You: ew
Dabi: I was jokingÂ
Dabi: âŚunlessÂ
You: has anybody ever told you that your flirting is immaculate
Mar 04
7:10 PM
Dabi: What do you studyÂ
You: are you trying to find out my location
Dabi: Let it be known Iâm terrible at geography and if I wanted to stalk you I'd already be on it
You: thatâs a consolation
You: forensic science
You: i actually canât wait for the semester to be over bc my professor is one of the most annoying individuals i have ever had the displeasure of meeting
Dabi: So you do have bleachÂ
You: never said i didnât
Dabi: What do I have to do to make the list of annoying individuals. What's my current score
You: we havenât met
You: and iâm not sure if iâd survive u
Dabi: You have a point, I'm super nice tho
You: bet
You: are you handsome
You: asking for a friend
You: the handsome ones are usually more annoying
Dabi: I'll say Iâm frighteningly unique-lookingÂ
You: ...well played
Mar 04
10:09 PMÂ
Dabi: My boss is making me do errand work in the morning like I'm some kind of functioning human being with principles
Dabi: The next piercing Iâm getting is a lobotomyÂ
You: thought you were âfreelancingâ
Dabi: Freelancing only gets you so far. You'll understand when you're my age
You: can't imagine what the back pain must be like
You: do you have a tongue piercing đ
Dabi: Perhaps I do
You: u r so mysterious
You: tell me an opinionÂ
Dabi: Mint ice cream makes my teeth feel weirdÂ
You: thatâs not an opinionÂ
Dabi: Alright, more foods should have mint in them. And coriander. I want to make things inedible for 80% of the human population
You: nvm keep your opinions to yourselfÂ
Mar 05
02:26 AM
Dabi: I've gotta burn this number. Txt u in a fewÂ
Mar 05
05:16 AM
You: what are you, some kind of druglord
This message could not be delivered.
You: I knew it
This message could not be delivered.
Mar 0512:03 PM
You: ayo are you still there
This message could not be delivered.
You: this is only funny if you come clean right now
This message could not be delivered.
Mar 05
4:16 PM
You: "text you in a few" minutes? hours? days?
This message could not be delivered.
You: just know that if it takes to long i'll forget about u
This message could not be delivered.
You: won't even miss u
This message could not be delivered.
Mar 06
09:00 AM
You: hello is this thing on
This message could not be delivered.
Mar 07
3:15 PM
You: my social security number is 6007 0023 6799 0324
This message could not be delivered.
Mar 07
8:46 PM
You: eggs, vinegar, panko, sprite, sliced ham, parmesan, deodorant
sencha if they have the good one
ground pepper, lemon juice
This message could not be delivered.
Mar 08
04:44 AM
Unknown: Am I still the man of ur dreams
You: I'm killing you
You: violently
Unknown: I was hoping softly
Unknown: With your song
You: are these messages being monitored
You: am i a suspect
Unknown: If they were, could I write that I'm a ruthless baby killer anti-government fuck the police pro abortion the prime minister is an idiot bomb. bomb at the airport, terrorism, detonate
Unknown: I guess now they are
Dabi was added as a contact.
You: just when i thought i'd have to find another witty asshole with a tongue piercing
Dabi: Aw you missed me
Dabi: Does my tongue piercing make me hot be honest
You: what are my chances of getting an explanation for the past few days
You: are u a murderer fr, that would be so cool
You: i totally didn't use our abandoned chat as a grocery list btw
Dabi: The only thing I slay is pussy đ
You: somehow i have doubts about that statement
You: animal abuse is no joke
Dabi: I'm thinking of a number between 1 and 100, if you guess it correctly I'll tell u everything
You: 69
Mar 08
08:21 AM
Dabi: It was 72
Dabi: Because you were so close I'll give u one free question. But I want another one in return
You: you're a dirty little gremlin who plays dirty little games
You:: do i get to ask a follow-up question
Dabi: No
You: in that case
You: which of the following activities did you partake in?
1.) vandalism
2.) drug dealing
3.) drug trafficking
4.) violent crimes
5.) violent crimes that resulted in the death of one or more individuals
6.) assisting someone in a violent crime
7.) assisting someone in a non-violent crime
8.) theft
9.) robbery
10.) hate crimes against a minority
11.) politically motivated acts of defiance
12.) consumption of illegal substances
13.) running and/or hiding from law enforcement
14.) domestic terrorism
15.) human trafficking
16.) money laundering
17.) having a good time
Dabi: What the fuck
Dabi: What is this, a multiple choice?
Dabi: 1, 4, 6, 7, 8, 13
Dabi: My turn
Dabi: What's your favourite food
You: fr, just like that
You: that's your one question out of everything you could ask? am i really that boring
Dabi: I ask what I ask
You: spicy miso ramen with minced pork
You: can we go back to the part where you ran from law enforcement
Dabi: Don't we all have demons that we run from
Dabi: Mine are just a bit more persistent
Mar 08
10:52 AM
You: i want another question
Dabi: If you come up with one that's not related to the past few days, go ahead
You: fine i'll take it
You: have you ever been caught and gotten in legal trouble for one of your⌠dubious activities
Dabi: Yeah
You: âŚand?
Dabi: That's another question. Gonna trade?
You: fine
Dabi: When I was 16, two Officers Of The Law đˇ caught me dumpster diving behind a 7/11
Dabi: The dumpster diving wasn't the crime but because it was on private property they charged me with trespassing
You: damn, that's a lot of truth from u in just two sentences
You: i wanna know ur tragic backstory so bad
Dabi: You could try to get me all sentimental for the 6 minutes after really good sex before the post nut clarity sets in
You: uh huh, taking notes
You: anyway. you get one question. think hard
Dabi: If you couldn't have minced pork on your ramen, what would your second topping choice be
You: you're impossible
Mar 08
1:27 PM
You: tori karaage or extra ni-tamago i guess
Mar 08
2:23 PM
Dabi: Doesn't the Karaage lose its crispiness if it's in the broth for too long
Dabi: I wouldn't know
You: please let me recommend you a good ramen place, you seem like you'd need it
Dabi: You have no idea. Take me out
You: like romantically? or are you asking me to murder you
Dabi: I love surprises
You: i just laughed out loud in the middle of my lecture
Mar 08
7:18 PM
Dabi: Need your forensic expertise for a sec
You: âŚoh no
Dabi: It's a purely hypothetical scenario
You: alright lay it on me big boy
Dabi: If a 176 cm tall and 67 kg heavy person were to climb over a 4,60 meter high fence that has electrical wiring on it
Dabi: What would the most likely way for them to die be?
You: this is not forensic at all
You: how strong is the electricity
You: is there a way to shut it off
You: where would you hold onto the fence
You: can it be damaged
Dabi: Not me, a 176 cm tall and 67 kg heavy person
You: where would THE 176 CM TALL AND 67 KG HEAVY PERSON HOLD ONTO THE FENCE
Dabi: The only points that provide decent grip surface are the hooks holding the wires in place
You: so the most likely way to die would be electrocution
You: will that be all
Dabi: How would one determine whether the electricity has been properly shut off
Dabi: In the theoretical scenario that you couldn't get close enough to hear
You: the 176 cm tall and 67 kg heavy person should tap the wiring from the bottom with the back of their hand
You: that way their fingers curl downwards and not around the wire
You: so the person won't DIE from ELECTROCUTION
Mar 09
00:08 AM
Dabi: Excellent
Dabi: Gonna do some field research
Dabi: Will report back in maybe a day
Mar 09
08:01 AM
You: i'm gonna be so mad if you die before you've had decent karaage
This message could not be delivered.
Mar 11
6:10 PM
Unknown:Â So it turns out that the person did not have to climb the fence after all. Pliers are such useful tools
Unknown:Â Thanks for the electricity tip tho
Mar 11
6:39 PM
Dabi was added as a contact.
You:Â you're so hot when you're aliveÂ
Mar 11
9:14 PM
Dabi:Â Do u think I'm a catch đ
You: judging by the way law enforcement is trying to get their hands on you, i'd say you're pretty slippery
Dabi:Â The slipperiest
Dabi:Â You couldn't handle me
You:Â i'd trap you using cheese and a paper boxÂ
You: put you in a jar and turn you into spicy miso brothÂ
Dabi:Â Would you hold the jar tight at night and tell me everything's going to be okayÂ
You:Â of courseÂ
Dabi:Â I'm liking this scenarioÂ
Mar 12
01:07 AMÂ
Dabi:Â Ever thought about what Mint Karaage would taste like
Mar 12
01:23 AM
You:Â i need uÂ
Dabi:Â Tell me more
You:Â to shut your mouth
Dabi:Â Are you trying to romance me
Mar 12
07:15 AM
You:Â i'm actually so upset right nowÂ
You:Â can i vent
Mar 12
07:27 AM
Dabi:Â Listening
Dabi:Â Am I gonna have to get the tissues out
You:Â you're not empathetic enough for thatÂ
Dabi:Â How would you knowÂ
You:Â call it a woman's intuitionÂ
You:Â i just need someone to bother about my hot girl troubles
Dabi:Â Let's hear it girlÂ
Dabi:Â Men ain't shit đ
You:Â damn right they aren't
You:Â but unrelated to that
You:Â i ran out of my medication a few days ago and thought if i stretched the remaining 3 pills to last me 6 days i'd be able to make it till the end of the weekÂ
You:Â now my doctor's office is closed and i can't seem to get an appointment anywhere
You:Â and i'm super jittery and on edge and almost had a panic attack just trying to make coffee
Dabi:Â What type of medicationÂ
You:Â Ativan
You:Â it's prescription only
Dabi:Â Nothing is ever "prescription only"Â
You:Â i'm not gonna try some experimential backalley drug
You:Â just feel like dying rn
Dabi:Â Who said anything about backalley? You actually came to the right guy for thisÂ
Dabi:Â What's the name of the nearest druggeryÂ
You: ...fukuju pharmacy
Dabi:Â So I've been talking to a Setagaya girlÂ
You:Â only moved here for uni, hate to disappoint if ur expecting a wealthy maidenÂ
Mar 12
10:02 AM
Dabi:Â Don't you feel like getting a snack from the vending machineÂ
Dabi:Â Specifically the one next to the pharmacyÂ
Dabi:Â A bag of skittles sounds nice, doesn't it?
You:Â ? ? ?
Mar 12
10:34 AMÂ
You:Â did you commit a crime for meÂ
You:Â how did you get your hands on actual fucking Ativan this fast
Dabi:Â I don't kiss and tell
You: did you follow me homeÂ
You:Â is this how i die
Dabi:Â You make it so hard to be nice to you
Dabi:Â What do you think I am, a creep
You:Â if you were here i'd suck you off so good rn
Dabi:Â Whore
Dabi:Â (Respectfully)
You: lmao ur right
You: thank you for real though
Dabi:Â Stfu
Mar 12
1:33 PM
Dabi: Do u like cats
You:Â yes
Dabi sent an image.
Dabi:Â Noodle thieving menaceÂ
You: đĽš
You:Â that has got to be the fattest street cat iâve ever seen
Dabi:Â Heâs hella fastÂ
You: how does it feel to be the one chasing the culprit for once
Dabi:Â Not nearly as thrilling as being the one committing the crimeÂ
Mar 13
00:00 AM
Unknown:Â Congratulations! You have been selected as an eligible member for a free trial of Osaka Daily Post.
Unknown:Â If you would like information about your benefits, reply 'BENEFIT'
Unknown:Â If you would like to stop receiving these messages, reply 'STOP'Â
You:Â i know it's you shithead
Unknown:Â Your message could not be processed.Â
You:Â this is the unfunniest you've ever been ngl
Unknown:Â Your message could not be processed.Â
You: you're truly one of the most annoying individuals in my life
Unknown:Â Your message could not be processed.Â
You:Â STOP
Unknown:Â LMAO you thought
Dabi was saved as a contact.Â
You: i'm reconsidering if the tongue piercing is really worth it đ¤
Mar 13
04:55 AM
Dabi: Any particular reason why you chose forensicsÂ
Mar 13
06:09 AM
You:Â i've always admired criminals but been to scared to become one
You: and if i know about psychotic assholes it might help me to steer clear of them, or so i thought
Dabi:Â Is it working
You:Â evidently not
Dabi:Â Use me in ur thesisÂ
Dabi:Â I'll be your lab rat
You:Â nah you're more beneficial to me when you're not stuck behind bars
You:Â what do you have me saved as in your phone
Dabi:Â I don't save contactsÂ
Dabi:Â Especially not yoursÂ
Dabi:Â You mean nothing to meÂ
You:Â aww do you know my number by heart, that's adorable
You:Â i'm kinda genuinely impressed at how persistent you are at bothering me, it's almost like you like me or smth
Dabi:Â No fr though lmao if anybody finds my phone you'd be on a list
You:Â do u delete these chats
Dabi:Â Always
You:Â that's so romantic
You:Â admit it you're actually a softie
Dabi:Â Would that make you more interested in meÂ
Dabi:Â Then I'm the softestÂ
You: what do i need to do to make you the hardest
Dabi:Â ...
Dabi:Â There's absolutely no correct way for me to respond to thatÂ
Dabi:Â You've left me speechlessÂ
You: đĽľđĽľ
Dabi:Â What's your worst qualityÂ
Dabi:Â Besides being an irresistible smartassÂ
Dabi:Â *irritatingÂ
You:Â was that a freudian slip
You:Â you're so obsessed with me it's adorable
Dabi:Â Proving my point so diligentlyÂ
You:Â you don't seem like the kind of person who would use words like 'diligently'
You:Â i'm rather talkative at times
You:Â to the point where it gets unbearable to listen to me
Dabi:Â I never would've guessed
You:Â what's yours?
You:Â besides the obvious
Dabi:Â Still putting up with youÂ
Mar 13
7:45 PM
Dabi:Â WydÂ
You: i burned my rice a little
You:Â but it's edible
Dabi:Â Don't you have a rice cooker? Who raised youÂ
You:Â my very strict but sweet and committed grandmother who made the best teriyaki salmon in the whole world
You:Â i'd kill another human being to eat her home cooked food one more time
Dabi:Â So your parents ain't shit eitherÂ
You:Â eh, they're alright
You:Â they're Business People overseas and aren't around a whole lot, means i get my own place though
You:Â so i can have visitors at any desired hour đ
Dabi:Â Omg sick
Dabi:Â Me next
You:Â it was implied
Mar 13
11:11 PM
Dabi:Â Ok but do u actually wanna meet up sometimeÂ
Dabi:Â No strings attached ofcÂ
You:Â i'm down
Dabi:Â What if I'm a creep after all
You: if anything, it means i won't have to attend my lecture about carbon dots tmrw
Dabi:Â I can't tomorrowÂ
Dabi:Â What about the day after
Dabi:Â I'll give u my credit card info if it makes you feel more safe, don't bother trying to buy anything with it tho, you'll be disappointed
You:Â you may not show it a whole lot, but are you actually a considerate person?
You:Â the day after sounds good
Dabi:Â Preem
You:Â oreryu shio ramen, right by harajuku station
You:Â about time you had some good karaage
You:Â my treat
You:Â unless that's too far away for u
Dabi:Â I would fly across the world for u
Dabi:Â Yes Harajuku works fine
Mar 14
08:49 AM
You:Â how will i recognise u
You:Â what do u look like
Dabi:Â As my dad once said. I'm impossible to missÂ
You:Â i laughed
Dabi:Â Guess it was all worth it thenÂ
Dabi:Â Do tattoos scare you
You:Â i was gonna ask cause there's no way you got only a tongue piercing and nothing else
You: stand there with your tongue out
Dabi:Â Shouldn't we at least get to know each other before đł
You:Â don't get any ideasÂ
You:Â i don't intend to fuck u
You:Â ...for now
Dabi:Â That's a relief, I thought I might have to file a restraining order afterwardsÂ
Mar 14
1:42 PMÂ
Dabi sent an image.Â
Dabi:Â If u see this guy u can still run the other wayÂ
You:Â hhh fuck
You:Â are u trying to intimidate me
You:Â how do you have so many tattoos but no bedframe
Dabi:Â Cut me some slack, I just moved into this placeÂ
You:Â fair warning i'm not as hot as u
Dabi:Â BetÂ
You sent an image.Â
Dabi:Â Why do women always lie. I thought you were better. I thought you were different
You:Â đł
You:Â i'm actually worse
Dabi:Â We're such a good match
You:Â don't get ahead of urself. u r still a guy with no bedframe
Dabi:Â Please shut up
Mar 14
4:16 PM
Dabi:Â To be clear I'm not bringing flowers or anythingÂ
Dabi:Â And I'm actually willing to let you pay this time lolÂ
You:Â you have such a unique way with wordsÂ
Dabi:Â A bit tight on money rn but I'll pay u back some other wayÂ
You:Â can we make that the first line in our sextapeÂ
You:Â dw i said it's my treat and i mean it
You:Â does that make you feel emasculated
Dabi:Â Who would I be to say no to free food tf
Dabi:Â If there's a next time I can take you out for drinksÂ
Dabi:Â Nothing fancy but an old friend of mine owns a bar downtown and his girlfriend mixes a killer muleÂ
You:Â if you're gonna poison me after gaining my trust over my favourite food i will be incredibly sadÂ
Dabi:Â Give me some credit here. I'm trusting u to not rat me out to law enforcementÂ
You:Â you're giving me ideas
You:Â is there a bounty on your head
Dabi:Â I'm not that importantÂ
Mar 14
9:44 PM
You:Â so you're just too good to get caught
Dabi:Â Both flattering and factually correct
Dabi:Â For the record I've never harmed anybody that didn't deserve itÂ
You:Â thanks for clarifyingÂ
You:Â i feel so safe nowÂ
Dabi:Â AnytimeÂ
Dabi:Â If you're having second thoughts lmk before 10 am so I won't spend time getting ready for nothingÂ
You: 10 am is crazyÂ
You:Â u r so vainÂ
Dabi:Â Alright then I won't đ
You:Â i take it back
You: be pretty for me
Mar 15
5:30 AM
You:Â can't sleepÂ
Mar 15
7:12 AM
Dabi:Â How the turntablesÂ
Dabi:Â Are you alright
You:Â yesÂ
You:Â it's the good kind of sleeplessÂ
Dabi:Â It's fine if you're having second thoughts, I won't hold it against you at allÂ
Dabi:Â Just texting like this is nice too
You:Â fuck no i wanna meet the man behind the screen
You:Â the myth, the legend, the crimelord himselfÂ
Dabi:Â I'm never showing consideration for ur wellbeing ever againÂ
You:Â should've ghosted me before i got attached
Mar 15
9:54 AM
Dabi: Last chance to bail gracefully Â
You:Â you make it so temptingÂ
Dabi:Â Getting out of bed thenÂ
You:Â it's not a bed if it doesn't have a bedframe
Dabi:Â Shut, and I mean this in the gentlest way possible, the hell your mouth
Mar 15
12:08 PM
Dabi sent a location pin.
Dabi:Â Is this the place
You:Â that's the oneÂ
You:Â be there in a few minutesÂ
Dabi:Â I'm waiting outsideÂ
Mar 15
12:13 PM
You:Â omg i think i see u
You:Â im shy
Dabi:Â U literally have so much blackmail material on meÂ
You:Â give me a second
You:Â alright I'm coming over
This message could not be delivered.
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crying throwing up thatâs my husbsnddd
PARENTHOOD: THE SERIES !
[TOJI]: âDONâT KNOW HOW TO TAKE CARE OF YA KIDS? LET ME GIVE YOU SOME ADVICE.â
a brand new series which explains how you should approach new challenges including everything about parenthood.
a step by step guide made of drabbles & one shots, showing you personal experiences by none other than the (self-proclaimed best dad) toji fushiguro, his son megumi and his wife (you).
newly added advice every week! suggestions, questions or requests regarding any situation a parent could find themselves in are allowed. send them to this address and toji will try and answer them.
P.S do not ever take tojiâs advice seriously and do not copy his behaviour. he doesnât know what heâs doing since itâs his first child. plus, his way of parenting is extremely questionable).
MASS LIKING WILL GET YOU PERMANENTLY BLOCKED. PARENTING 101 â PROLOGUE
1. how to take care of your pregnant wife?
PART 1
THE BASICS !
1. how (not) to hold a baby?
2. how (not) to joke with your child?
3. how (not) to bathe your child?
4. how (not) to introduce your child to new foods?
5. how (not) to soothe your child after a nightmare?
6. how (not) to take care of your child while your wife sleeps?
7. how (not) to keep an eye on your child?
8. how (not) to flirt with your wife in front of your child?
9. how (not) to encourage your child to say his first word?
10. how (not) to ask your child for some help?
11. how (not) to measure the height of your child?
12. how (not) to react to your childâs first steps?
more to be added. . .
đđđđđđđ Š 2023. banner made by me.
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SHOULD WE INVITE BELLA HADIDDDD?
HELLFIRE & ICE â eddie munson x f!oc! reader as enemies to star-crossed lovers
CHAPTER NINE â EDDIE the OBVIOUS and the LADY SPHINX
PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT
summary: a tense dinner at rick lipton's place reveals some part of al's munson's reason for returning to hawkins. your saturday morning detention is tense, and you and eddie both get more than you bargained for when you crash hellfire club to profile them for the school newspaper.
content warnings: MINORS DNI AS ALWAYS warnings for smut, cunnilingus, dick-fondling, p in v, reference to drug usage, slight perv!eddie, silly teenagers having silly teenage fights that actually aren't so silly (kinda antagonistic ronance version!), reference to childhood physical abuse, al munson jumpscare, lacy's dad jumpscare, both lacy's real first name and surname is used in this chapter. no description of body type. just descriptions of a good time eye emoji eye emoji
word count: 16.4k
Dear Lord,Â
Grant me the serenity to accept the shit I cannot change, the courage to change the shit I can, and the wisdom to seize a damn fine opportunity when I see one.Â
Amen.Â
When Al Munson cooks a spaghetti dinner, you know he means business.Â
Once a line cook with aspirations higher than diner fumes, always a line cook with aspirations higher than diner fumes.
He learned to cook on the grill, but perfected it in the joint. During one of his stints, a homecoming tour of the state of Kentucky, he fell in with this web of wiseguys who made him stagiaire in their makeshift kitchen, slicing ghostly slivers of garlic with a razorblade.Â
Alâs insisted on the method ever since. Even now, hunkered over in Rick Liptonâs kitchen, preparing a meal for which Eddieâs already lost his appetite.Â
Eddie had already given up on the whole there are a bunch of knives right there suggestion, knowing his father loves few things like he loves performing his whole Kiss the Cook bit. He plays it to the hilt, an exercise in tart, rich, floral smarm that beats out the complex flavoring of his tomato gravy by a country fucking mile. Down to that bullshit Serenity Prayer.Â
âCourage to change the shit you can? Man, you can barely change your underwear!â Rick heartily chuckles, heaping pasta onto his plate. The way the noodles slide against each other, thick and glistening like worms full of nefarious promise, makes Eddie want to ralph.Â
He hadnât had much of an appetite for anything since heâd visited the nurseâs office.Â
He felt weird. Strung out. Guilty. And angry. Guilty like, what got into me, whyâd I do that and angry like, whyâd I leave you just standing there like that, and whyâd you let me.
âCâmon, kid, you look famished,â Al pulls that anger-inducing Cheshire Cat face, placing a solely ornamental leaf of basil on top of the dish Rick passes. This fucking asshole. These fucking assholes. In cahoots together. âWayneâs Hungry Man dinners ainât hittinâ the way they used to, huh?â
Alâs smile doesnât slice through the tension of the room nearly as clean as he wants it to. Eddie feels Wayne stiffen at his right elbow, sees Rick divert his eyes from across the table.
âWell, Dad,â Eddie says, forcibly stabbing and winding his fork through the spaghetti, âYou know what coulda solved that?â
âWhatâs that, huh?â
âYou staying out of lockup for longer than the duration of an MC5 song.â
Al doesnât falter. Eddie bets he could open-palm slap him and that shiteater of a grin wouldnât slide from his face.Â
âIâm here now, ainât I?â his father clicks his tongue, digging right into his own dish, âYou really gotta learn to live in the moment, kid.âÂ
Eddieâs spaghetti-filled mouth starts to form around the indignant words, Iâm not a kid! but Al beats him to the punch. Quite literally.Â
âThough, judginâ by those scuffs on your knuckles, looks like you did somethinâ without thinkinâ it the whole way through first. Huh?â Al slurps his pasta noisily, and Eddie feels Wayne tense even more, if thatâs possible. âWhoâs the lucky guy?â
The sense memory of silver flashes colliding with Billy Hargroveâs face in the parking lot, the sense memory of you and your vicelike grip trying to pull him off before he killed him. The sense memory of bile blowing through his veins, stumbling upon those lowlifes talk to you like that. Rage blackout. Yadda yadda.
According to rumor, Hargrove was lucky that Eddie didnât cave his entire cheek in. He still couldnât totally see out of his right eye, the swelling was that gathered and insistent.Â
Eddie lets the question droop in the air, before eventually mumbling, âSânothing. Justâ shit at school.â
Wayne had been the first one to ask him, obviously, catching sight of his bandaged hand when he came upon Eddie staring a hole intoâyou guessed itâyet another Murder, She Wrote rerun, following your encounter on the examination table.Â
Eddie had given it the brush off so Wayne had given it the brush off. He was no stranger to his nephew bearing busted knuckles, even if it did make the old manâs blood chill every time he saw it. Those interactions always reeked of you poor kid, like Eddie was the perpetual victim. Got under Eddieâs skin a little.
But Al asks him like he knows something. And Rick wonât look at Eddie.Â
âThis wouldnât have anything to do with your lovely new neighbor, would it?â Other shoe, meet short, hard drop.Â
Eddieâs grip tightens around his fork, and in the back of his mind, he summons the spirit of the sharpest tongue he knows.
âWho?â Heâs this close to prank calling people using his Lacy impression, thatâs how good itâs gotten.Â
Al cradles his cheek against his palm. His eyes, the eyes that might as well have been scooped out and shoved into Eddieâs skull, theyâre such iris perfect replicas, search his son for cracks in his composure. Al stabs, stabs, stabs aimlessly into his dinner.Â
âYouâre a lot of things, Eddie Munson,â he says, âbut you ainât dumb.â
âTruly do not know what youâre yakkinâ about. Can I eat?âÂ
âCome on, Eddie boy! You out there getting into scuffles over that little gold-plated pieceâah something?â
âCan I eat?â
âA little forbidden flame, maybe, twoâah you?â
âCan I eat?â
âCanât say I blame ya. If I were⌠twenty years younger.... Or maybe she likes âem a little more mature. Think I got a shot?â Alâs teeth are starting to grit, spittle starting to fly. Frenzied in the way heâs trying to eek a reaction out of his kid. âHuh? Eddie?â
Alâs lecherous suggestion of you toed the line of too much for the Munson men, it seems. Eddie and Wayneâs voices overlap.Â
âMaybe we leave that girl out of this, Alââ ââcan I eat, or what?â
SLAM! Alâs fist comes into direct contact with the hardwood of Rickâs dining room table, plates and cutlery and glasses clattering nervously. Rick jumps a little, groaning under his breath. Wayne drags a hand over his eyes.Â
âYou can answer the goddamn question! Shit!âÂ
Eddie, for his part, should probably feel a little scared, his dad raring up on him like that. Instead, he just lets his wound-up fork sag in a pile of spaghetti and leans back in his seat. The thing with Al Munson is thisâ his bark has always been way bigger than his bite. Especially when heâs as coked up as he is right now.Â
Ever since heâd roared into Rickâs driveway in that eyesore of a muscle car (alright, it was a little coolâ but in, like, a lame Dukes of Hazzard kinda way), Al had been operating in sharp angles and backed-up nostrils.Â
Shit, Eddie would be shocked if there wasnât residue on that razor blade he used to slice the garlic. That stupid, reckless, peacocking-as-a-father motherfucker.Â
He folds his arms, waiting for Alâs tone to pitch on down, for the tremor in his hand to act up, for him to sayâ
âSorry. Sorry,â pressed through a line of grit teeth, âI just⌠Hmm.â Itâs like Al is actively trying to plaster the mask of his charming grin back on his face but it keeps slipping out of his fingers. âSheâs a real dime. Smart as hell too, huh? Shame aboutââ
âAl, whatâre you gettinâ at with all this?â Wayne asks, and thank god he does. Eddie doesnât know how much more dancing around the subject he can take, but he wonât be the one to bend first. âWhat did you bring us up here for? And donâtââ the eldest of all Munson holds a hand up, â--say you just wanted to get together. I donât buy it. Eddie sure doesnât buy it. And if Lipton here buys it, heâs a fool.â
Al shrinks, a snot-nosed kid under the magnifying glass his big brother holds to him. âWayneââ
âYou bring us up here to make us part of that goddamn stupid high school feud with that girlâs father? You really spin out that far?â
Itâs not often that Wayne speaks up, but when he does, boy. Can that man dress a situation down.Â
Al falters. Wayne has that ability to knock him out at the knees, and Eddie makes a mental note to ask him how he does that.Â
âListen. Alright. Itâs notâ alright,â Al clenches his hands in fists, a flex in and a flex out. A gesture Eddie notices, because he does it too. As if heâs trying to grasp the last threads of trust from them. âWith that girlâs old man permanently benched so to speak, thereâs an opportunity for another batter to step up. Okay? Jail sentences get doled out like Halloween candyâwho knows that better than me, right?--but life goes on. There is⌠an opportunity here. Work still needs to get done. Work that I couldâveâ that I can do.â
Eddie knows that his dad doesnât realize heâs saying a lot of nothing, because Alâs always saying a lot of nothing. Vague promises with no real end to them. What catches him this time around is the glint in his eye, hidden behind the drug-induced one, and the glint of a gaudy ring on his finger. A green gem stamped in the middle, like a catâs harvested eyeball. Huh.Â
â... let me make good on this, boys. For once. Let me take care of yâall.â Al huffs a faux-humble breath, glancing toward Rick for some kind of illustrative reassurance. âYâknow, seeing how it screwed up that little girl, seeing her big, upstanding daddy go to jail and all, I reallyâ,â a swallow, for dramatic measure. Gunning for Best Actor here. â--felt it. Made me think, Eddie, of all the times when you were just a squirt⌠Made me wanna do right by you, is all.âÂ
âHow much of that doinâ right have you got up your nose, Dad?â Eddie sneers, putting two and two together. Of course this is what heâs back for; not to sell, couldnât possibly be that simple in the convoluted world of Al Munson, but to supply. To get a suit fitted, pretend to be the big man. âTry before you buy isnât exactly the most cost-effective policy.âÂ
âJesus, why, why have you got to make this so hard on me, kid?â Al is just about wringing his hands right now, scaling the apex of his desperation. âYou have an in! You have the in!âÂ
The in, of course, being Eddieâs connection to you, and by proxy, your dad. Alâs like a bloodhound that way, sniffing out the few good things that Eddie has going for him from miles off and tearing them right from his hands and acting like heâs doing Eddie a favor by making him his man on the inside.
âThis whole town could be ours if you would justââ
That does it. Eddie leaps from the table, chair clattering to Rickâs warped wooden floor.
âI donât want this whole town, are you fucking crazy?!â he yells, spittle flying, âAndâand I certainly donât want it if itâs anything to do with you!â
What the hell would make Al think that Eddie would hitch his wagon (which, granted, ainât in too great a shapeâheâs barely passing any classes, thanks to a pickup in business he guesses he can thank his dad for) to the living sunk cost fallacy that his father is? What the hell does Al Munson want with that kind of fantasy, one where heâs king bastard of the Hawkins cockwalk when he canât even stick within county limits for more than a couple of weeks?
Well, Eddie actually has a pretty good idea, one that occurs to him like a lightning strike as Al struggles to keep his temper level. Let Eddie look like the tantrum-throwing brat.
Yeah. Exactly.Â
Heâd wind Eddie into whatever scheme he was cooking up and ditch it, half-baked, leaving Eddie in a kitchen with all the smoke alarms going off. Elbow deep in an unsalvageable mess, because Al could never follow through on anything.Â
Heâd have Eddie exploit your relationship for a couple of instances of, âThatâs my boy.â Because Al still thought that trick worked; making him believe heâs loved, valuable, wringing every last drop of loyalty out of him because a boy needs his father⌠and a father needs his boy, yâknow!
Fuck that.Â
âWe should split.â Itâs Wayne who says it, batting away the apologetic glance both the Munson men get from Rickâ like heâs Alâs keeper or something, managing his moods. Like he isnât raking in a cash cow from Alâs great Ray Doevski replacement theory.Â
âNo, câmonââ Al half-heartedly protests, like he could still save the evening but canât really be bothered.Â
Wayne follows Eddieâs furious stalk out the door, tearing a cigarette from a soft pack as he hauls into the passenger side of the van.Â
Eddie, a tightening ball of rage, whacks the steering wheel with one good thump. Heâd been stupid enough to entertain Al these past couple of daysâ out of confusion more than anything else. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it were.
âThe in,â Eddie mockingly mumbles as the van roars to life and he peels out against scattering gravel.Â
Wayne has his cigarette pinched between his thumb and index and lets that settle for a beat or two.Â
âYou wanna talk about it?â
Fists flexing around the wheel, Eddie knows very well heâs been caught red-handed. Thereâs no way Wayne had gone this long without suspecting anything, even after heâd specifically warned him. More of a suggestion, actually; Wayne knows that Eddie will do whatever he wants, regardless.Â
Unfortunately, heâs like his father that way.Â
âThereâs nothing to talk about,â Eddie says, a shoulder shrug, a mirthless lilt in his tone. âSheâŚâ
Again, Wayne stays silent. Waiting for Eddie to tell on himself, like he always does.Â
âShe doesnât deserve to be in the middle of this,â Eddie arrives at, voice a little choked. âWhatever Dadâs planning on doingââ
âNeither do you,â Wayne reminds him. This is where Wayne and his stoicism pulls Eddie up short. Neither do you, and the only way you avoid the blowback is if you two avoid each other. But at that same time, Wayne always knows where Eddieâs heart is at. Knows that his heart is too big not to follow.Â
Even if Wayne hasnât seen you two together, laughing âtil youâre stupid like the kids that you are, canât he seeâŚ
âWhy canât this be easy?â Eddie asks, his voice small. Echoes of a littler him, one that Wayne would pick up in the truck after school. Head hanging, backpack trailing, kicking pebbles and cursing the world.Â
Instead, through a sage swirl of smoke, Wayneâs hard stare seems to peel back some. Heâs always known where Eddieâs heart is at. Eddieâs starting to think he wishes he knew less.Â
â
Jesus Christ, are you ever sick of learning your lesson. Of reflecting on what youâve done.Â
Itâs exhausting, and more to the point, pointless, and even more than that, boring.Â
Truth is, youâre beginning to second-guess your adoration of brilliant thinkers. Those motherfuckers knew too much, and in the past week, youâve found yourself yearning for the days where you got by on knowing nothing but the good stuff! The juicy gossip, where the best parties were at, what lipstick could not stand up to what nail polish! When intellectualism was a bedtime story youâd read to yourself under the fucking covers and you didnât have to decode the labyrinth of your own stupid feelings!Â
Sure, you felt like a husk most of the time, but youâd take that over this graceless stumbling shit!
You should be allowed to smash the windows out of Billy Hargroveâs car and no one should be able to say boo about it! God!
Instead, however, youâve been caught up in an as-yet-unprecedented display of seething and sulking. People are still whispering about you, natch, glancing at your belly like you wouldâve if that heinous spawnous prank was played on anyone else. At the very least, they still have the good sense to flinch when you match their stare.
Billy Hargroveâs two week suspension means you donât have to worry about seeing his ugly face, but it also comes with the two week guarantee of not seeing Eddie.Â
And the probable delay of your Hellfire article. Which is paramount. Obviously.
Speaking of Eddie, thereâs too much speaking of Eddie to do.Â
You keep replaying the sneak attack from Al Munson in your head, him sliding his aviators down his nose to get a look at you.Â
âWhat are you doing here?âÂ
âPayinâ my respects. Your father, shit. Shame what happened to him. He wasâ well. I was gonna say he was a âgood manâ, but that sounds kinda funny, donât it?â
It wasnât about Eddie, except it was about Eddie, because every stupid thing is about Eddie.
Especially the fact that youâre sitting in your college-going beauâs chariot, about to slink into Saturday detention. If it werenât for himâŚ
âLacy?â a voice calls from the driverâs seat. âYou alright?â
You snap to, rearranging your face into something definitive and sharp and pleasing to the eye. Because youâre fine! Youâd said as much when he snuck you into the basement of his parentâs houseâwhy wasnât he back in school yetâand said as much when he squirmed against you, asking you if you were okay in that weighted way that really meant can I put it in yet.Â
Youâd gotten on all fours because it allowed you to roll your eyes when he was all, oh, woah! sliding it in from the back.Â
Youâd reached around and teased your clit to attempt a climax. Trying to imitate that clumsy rhythm from the nurseâs office. It didnât quite stickâpaled in comparison, like a Simon and Garfunkel tribute act made up of people that didnât secretly want to fuck each other.Â
And then he gave you a ride this morning. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to bore yourself out of misbehaviorâ but youâd told him that you had newspaper business to attend to.Â
âIâm fine,â you brightly declare for the fourth and final time, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. It was a weird gesture, but the shine had buffed off. Heâs cute and all, but you two had gone to see Paris, Texas at the Hawk and he didnât get it.
He didnât get how much you clowned on him for not getting it afterwards either. You hadnât been able to get it out of your head, the way he shrugged away from you at the diner as you ribbed him for his plodding misunderstanding of Harry Dean Stanton.
Coldly, you thought of the trade-off that you and Eddie had agreed on. Repo Man for Paris, Texas once it came out. You had to pretend you liked Repo Man a lot less than you actually did to swing that one, because Eddie wasnât keen to lock in to some movie about a dude crying in the desert or whatever unless you angled in the fact that you owe me for making me sit through all that machismo.Â
âYou love machismo. You wanted to nail that sweaty little punker, I saw you squeezinâ your knees together.â
âFor Emilio Estevez? Please. I had my eye on the old guy. âOrdinary fuckinâ people, I hate âemâ--that kind of shit really does it for me, Munson, you know that.â
âThat why youâve been entertaining the pleasure of my company for so long?â
âDown, dog.â
Anyway. Fuck.Â
âListen, Lacy, I gotta tell you sââ
âCanât right now! Iâm already late and Fred is gonna have my head,â you chime, all saccharine, climbing out of the car. âCall me!â You pray that he doesnât.Â
Slam. What an extraordinary waste of time.Â
As instructed, you make your way to the gym, which you think is a little weird. Detention usually denotes writing pointless, go-nowhere laments on how sorry you are for being such a bad kid, right? Think on your sins, yadda yadda yadda.Â
Typically enough, no oneâs here on time. Everyoneâs late. Youâre perched on the bleachers like an asshole, sitting alone like an asshole. Thatâs the goddamn ticket, isnât it? Youâre alone in all of this. You always have been.Â
Like, for example. The Al Munson walk-on role into the surrealist tragi-comedy that is your fucking life. You canât tell that to anybody. Not Eddie, naturally, not your mom, not Nancy because then youâd have to explain the Eddie of it all, not Ronnie because just because. And the ickiness of it hangs off your every move, and you canât shake it, and no one can share it.Â
Youâre beginning to wonder if thatâs true of all the parts of you. The ickiness. Itâs all a little heavy, isnât it?Â
As if on cue, hearing ickiness called by name on the wind, Mr Kaminsky pushes open the gymâs double doors.Â
âOh, what the fuck.â
âHad to see it for myself.â Your loathed History teacher says, full of glee.
âSir, if this is some kind of elaborate courting ritual, I have to say, youâre not my type.â
âCareful up there, Doevski. Thereâs more detentions where this came from.â
âFreak accident. I canât be caged.â
âWell, let me enjoy the exception to the rule!â Kaminsky claps, and you jerk at the echo.Â
You sigh so hard you almost unlatch something. âWhat elaborate torture have you got planned for me today? Want me to run laps or something? Because these shoes arenât built for that.â
âDonât get ahead of yourself, Lacy,â the teacher digs, âWeâre still waiting on your comrades.â
âIâm late, Iâm late, I know Iâm late!â a familiar voice comes skidding right up behind Kaminsky, baseball hat askew, mud stains on the knees of her overalls. âSome goddamn lunatic tried to run me and my bike off the roadââ
âRonnie?â
âHey, Lacy!â she calls brightly and breathlessly, slamming herself down on the bleachers beside you.
âRon, whatâre youââ
An unmistakable heel-click rounds its way into the gym, and in walks Nancy Wheeler with her face all pinched like a porcelain doll. She receives your big olâ center-piece-missing jigsaw puzzle of a look with a knowingly arched eyebrow.
âYouâre late, Wheeler,â Kaminsky tries, but Nancyâs already consulting her wristwatch.Â
âDetention starts at nine sharp, right?â she says, impenetrable as always. âItâs 8:58.â
âThen can I have my admission of lateness struck from the record, actually?â Ronnie asks and Kaminsky shoots her a withering one, consulting his clipboard.Â
âAlright, we got one more. Give it the goddamn two minutes, but then Iâm bumping her to suspension. You wanna count it, Wheeler?â he scoffs. Wow, so heâs like a round the clock douchebag. To everybody.Â
At what you only can assume is 8:59, the mismatched gangle of Robin Buckley comes slinking over the waxed floor, looking half-awake and pissed offâmore pissed off, you might argue, now that she registers her company. She perches on the furthest end of the bleachers, pointedly away from the loose gaggle of you, Ronnie and Nancy.Â
You shoot Ronnie a look like, whatâs the sitch there? Thought you two were getting all bosomy.Â
Ronnie just shrugs.Â
âAlright!â Kaminsky claps the clipboard again, âSo, this is a fun group. Bunch of smart girls who got caught doing idiot stuff. Weâre gonna make you pay for that today. Sound good?â
The whole bad bunch of you just stare at him, slit-eyed.Â
Your collective punishment, as it turns out, comes in the form of scraping old, disgusting, errant gum and other mystery sticky bullshit from the bottom of the bleachers.Â
âStupid is as stupid does,â Kaminsky sagely says, handing you each a tiny chisel from the art room, âAnd I understand that some of you are violent offenders,â thatâs a pointed look at you and Ronnie, by the way, âbut please. Donât use this opportunity to take another girlâs eye out. Your community college acceptance is riding on it.âÂ
Motherfucker. Everyone knows Ronnie Ecker is in the running for valedictorian.
He leaves the four of you to your own devices, promising to check up on you all in a solid forty-five.Â
âHow many times you think he can beat off in forty-five minutes?â Ronnie immediately asks as the teacher disappears through the door.Â
âDepends. Is he doing it in the shameful privacy of his three-door rust bucket or the clandestine confines of the AV room?â you question.Â
Nancy makes a gagging sound but adds, âAnd is he using his imagination or Ms Kelleyâs yearbook picture?âÂ
Nasty Wheeler! That girl has truly endeared herself to you.
Robin, however, doesnât weigh in at all. She just sort of glares and angles herself onto the nearest bleacher rung to start scraping the age-old mastication from the wood. Tension in the air.
âBuckleyâs got the right idea,â you say, twirling the chisel in your fingers, âSooner we get started, sooner we get the grossness over withâŚâ
Ronnie sticks close by you, which is nice. You always like having her in proximity. Nancy, whoâs nothing but work ethic in everything she does, starts furiously working on a corner a little ways away from you bothâ and Robin.Â
It doesnât take long, maybe fifteen minutes of silent, resigned scraping, for you to get bored. And disgusted.Â
âAt what point do we get to do the whole prison thing of what are you in for?â you say, sitting up and letting the blood rush back to your head.Â
âWell, yours goes without saying,â Ronnie chuckles, âgoing all batter on Hargroveâs car like that. Did you actually bust a window?â
âJust swung it around,â you say, driving your heel into the bench, âI may have inherited the felony misdemeanor gene, but I didnât inherit getting caught. What about you?â
Ronnie flicks another gum wad off with her chisel, âActually, you might wanna ask Wheeler about that.â
Your brow furrows. âNance?â your voice rings down to the lower rungs, âRonnie here says you were implicated in her detention-getting.â
âYeah, um. Well, I heard about everything when you wentââ
â--totally awesome psychoââ
â--in the parking lot and⌠I just. I wanted to clean up all that shit. From your locker. And then Nicole came by, smacking her stupid gum, and it kind of got ugly.â
Nicole. The irony of it, Nicole, gnashing out shittalk about you and Eddie in order to impress whatever unfortunate member of the wrestling squad sheâd dug her press-ons into this week. Nicole, whoâd already invaded Eddieâs territory, much to her apparent shame.Â
What a majorette of a bitch.
You wouldâve given anything to be ringside for this, her versus Nancy.
âYou toed up to Nicole Fisher?â a little pause, your voice goes smaller, âFor me?â
Nancy sits up, her perm clouding around her. She points her chisel Ecker-ward.
âRonnie was the one who smacked all her books out of her hand.â
Ronnie pffts. âLike she hasnât done that to me a million times. Eye for an eye.âÂ
âNicole wouldnât even go near her on account of that one time she bit that one kid for catcalling her.â
âOh, stop,â Ronnieâs gathering a blush, batting her hand all coquettish.Â
âWait, that was real?â you say, eyes darting between them, âI thought that was just some freak rumor we came up with.â
Rabid Ecker was one of the less clever nicknames your group of crown ghouls had come up with, so it obviously didnât stick too long.Â
âWe?â Nancy scoffs, not mean.
âThe royal âweâ,â Robin Buckley drawls from her prostrate position on the bleachers. That sounds mean, the bite in her voice.Â
Your hackles canât help but rise at that cold snap in her tone. Does she have a fucking problem, or something?Â
âAnd why are you here, Robin?â you call, hands knitting in your lap.
âI was with these bozos,â she says, a note-faithful mockery of your pointed voice, âFor some godforsaken reason⌠and now I really wish I wasnât.â
âWhyâs that?â you press.
Nancyâs whole upper half tenses. âRobinââ
Robinâs chisel clatters on the bench, a toss made out of frustration. She looks to the three of you with pursed lips before letting loose.Â
âSteve found out,â Robin says, âAbout the pregnancy test thing. In like, the worst way he could possibly find out, which is so goddamn unfair, unfair in the first place because of Nancy not telling himâlike, I get it, your choice or whatever but you guys have been together for, like, a really significant period of time and you know how he feels about youââ
You and Ronnie canât even get a breath in before Nancy rises from her seat, fingernails digging into tiny little fists at her side. Sheâs all spit and fury, sheâs on Robin.
âOh yeah, the worst way he could find out, Robin, the worst way which is that you blabbed to him!â Nancy yells, ricocheting around the gym, ââOh, I couldnât help it, he asked me what was wrong and it all just came outââ Give me a break! I mean, are you really that co-dependent that no one can tell you anything in confidence without you running to tell Steve?â
Robinâs face seizes in a snarl. âAre you really that stupid that you forgot to use protection with your long term boyfriend?â
âWhat is your problem?â Nancyâs voice whistles through her teeth, sheer exasperation, âHow is this any of your business?â
âShould we stop this?â Ronnie whispers, with no intention of moving.
You shake your head in tiny, tiny increments, gossip monger past getting the best of you. âI kinda wanna see where this goes.â
âHe is my friend, Nancy! And you broke his heart, dumping him right afterâ afterâ!â
Both your and Ronnieâs mouths drop into an âoâ. Youâre kind of disappointedâa big Wheeler-Harrington bust up and you werenât first on the call list?!Â
âJesus, Robin!â Nancy spits, perm flying, stomping towards Robin, âGet a personality! Sublimating yourself onto Steve Harrington isnât doing you any favors!â
âWhy, Nancy? I thought you loved him.â What confusing wording.
âIââ
Okay, these two girls are walking right into shit you canât take back territory. You and Ronnie rush the bleachers, breaking the negative space between them both.Â
âLadies! Break it up!âÂ
âYou heard Kaminsky! Weâre all holding chisels, this could get ugly fast!âÂ
You look to Nancy and her eyes are glistening. Reddening with the heat of anger and frustration. Robinâs jaw has hardened into a tough clinch, arms bound around her chest. Ronnie, she just lingers awkwardly, not quite knowing where to look. Your hand goes out to Nancyâs elbow, and she jerks away from you at first.Â
âLetâs go. Come on.â
âWeâre supposed to be chiseling,â Nancy seethes. Your eyes roll, no patience for this go-nowhere brat routine, and you lead her to the other end of the bleachers anyway. Saying something like, weâll take one end, Ronnie and Robin take the other, weâll get this shit cleared in no time.
Nancy starts working furiously, but thatâs kind of not what you had in mind here.
âYou broke up with Steve?â you ask, point blank. Like sheâd ask you.Â
She keeps chiseling for a few heavy, angry seconds. âI wasnât gonna tell him, you know. I wasnât gonna tell him, and we were gonna be fine. He could have lived without knowing. And thenâfucking Buckleyâ and he had all these questions.â
âLike what?â
âLike why didnât I tell him. And why was I so put out by the idea. Like, why didnât I want to have his hypothetical baby at age seventeen⌠stupid shit like that.â
âHeâs sensitive.â
âHeâs a moron.â
âDonât say things you donât mean,â as if you didnât have irrefutable proof in her favor. But that was the old Steve Harrington, wasnât it? Heâs meant to be some soft-hearted do-gooder dream boy now, right?Â
âNo, Lacy, heâs a moron,â Nancy hisses, spit flying again; youâve never seen her like this. Blue eyes bold and frightening with conviction. âWhy should I have to tell Steve about something like that if itâs just a big nothing? If I was never even actually pregnant or whatever? Why canât I just have that to forget about myself? Why do I owe him part of every single goddamn decision I make about my life?âÂ
This is a bigger conversation, isnât it? What youâd once regarded as poor Nancy and her perfect boyfriend, boo-fucking-hoo is now poor Nancy and her perfect boyfriend, stifled by his redemption.
âAt least if he was still an asshole, I wouldnât feel bad about breaking up with him. After all this.â
âNow itâs just like youâve kicked a puppy.â
âExactly.â
âWhat total bullshit.â
Nancy shoots the tiniest smile up at you, a stiff little nod bobbing her neck forward.
Thereâs a long beat as your focus reframes around Nancy. All the two of you wanted were lives of your own. Existences not indebted to anybody, good or bad. Shit.
âIâm the sublimator, by the way. I know that,â Nancy whispers, great big eyeballs glittering at you, âItâs easy to⌠fold into someone like Steve when, yâknow⌠youâre not exactly likeable on your own. I just. I wanted to hurt her. She doesnât deserve it. But I wanted to.âÂ
Her chisel gestures towards Robin, working alongside Ronnie in relative silence that Ronnie awkwardly tries to puncture.
You understand that. Wanting to hurt people after you feel like theyâve breached your trust. Even accidentally. And doing it. And the ugliness of the shame after, youâre familiar with that too.
You reach forward and brush a little lint off her collar. âThanks for getting in trouble for me, by the way. With that stupid prank and everything.â
âWhat are you talking about?â she scoffs softly, âYou covered for me. And you didnât have to.â
âHey,â you hold out your pinkie finger. Itâs the least you can do. âPromise is a promise, right?â
â
The members of Hellfire Club gather in an awkward row, standing under the odd, warm glow of the drama room lights like a police lineup of suspects least likely to score a date to homecoming. Sorry, Ronnie.Â
âWhat do you think,â you say, swiveling your focus to Jonathan, whoâs standing there twice as awkwardly with his camera slung around his neck, âShould we take âem outside, make âem do Abbey Road?â
In the middle of it all sits the man who canât help but be of the hour, what with the throne and the glowering and the gravitational pull. Eddie, slumped into that wild set piece left over from god knows what drama club production of, like, Henry VI or Pirates of Penzance or whatever, is so beyond unhappy with whatâs unfolding in front of him.Â
Good.Â
Ronnie clearly hadnât even fluffed him into the idea. Which she offered to do, when youâd hitched a ride home on the back of her bike after the tension of Saturday detention dissipated. Youâd firmly nixed the idea, the sneak attack being the whole point of this thing.Â
Youâd also learned that a two week suspension was no way no how going to keep Eddie from sneaking in and running this Hellfire session, which meant your article wouldnât be delayed after all.
So, nah. Good olâ Ronnie, she just let you stalk in there with your notebook and your pen and your glasses and your Pentax-wielding Jonathan Byers, ready to entirely fuck up Eddieâs day, which gave him no opportunity to protest or call for embargo. Because if he did, itâd raise eyebrows of suspicion and everyone would be like, I thought you two were weird trailer park friends? Is something going on? Something emotionally incoherent and ambiguously erotic? Should we tell everyone? Should we call the Mayor?
âCapital idea,â Eddie says, not exactly to you, but to those in general attendance like heâs playing to the cheap seats, âMaybe I can mow them down in my van and save them from this torture.â
Your smile tightens and Eddie matches your expression, both your mouths straining against your skulls. Wisecracks will not save him. He should know that by now.Â
âLetâs get a couple of the maestro while I excavate the disciplesâ brains,â come the instructions and a swift pat to Jonathanâs shoulder. He flashes you a bewildered kind of look.
âWhâ how do you⌠want him?âÂ
Incredible phrasing. You glance at Eddie, but not really at himânot enough that he can register and sucker your gaze in. Bathed under the dramatic glow like he was born to sprawl all cock-kneed on a throne like that.
âExsanguinated and hung on a meat hook, preferably,â you say to Jonathan, âBut, I trust you. Do whatever.â
As you gather the rest of the Hellfire denizens at the end of the table to interview them talking head style, Jonathan Byers slinks towards Eddie.Â
Eddie shifts uncomfortably, less equipped to keep up that fuck you stormcloud persona when heâs at the other end of a focusing lens. Plus, Byers always kind of gave him the creeps. Not to be a dick, but. Here we are.Â
Byers, to Eddieâs complete and utter horror, clears his throat and attempts to scrounge up some semblance of conversation. But, of course, itâs Jonathan Byers so itâs not fucking small talk. Any other day of the week, Eddie could get behind the notion of eschewing such how about this weather weâve been having type social norms but Byers decides to jump in withâ
âSo you guys areâŚâ he trails, leading the witness. Snap goes his little aperture. Thatâs unfair. Means he caught Eddieâs immediate facial reaction which, hands up, he has never been good at hiding.Â
âNeighbors,â Eddie supplies in a rush, twisting on his throne again. âShe can⌠hear me yelling about DnD from my trailer. Sâwhy sheâs here. To shut me up, I guess.â
Byers adjusts his stance, capturing Eddie from a lower angleâ a little more badass looking, he hopes. Frame the fucking curls, for godâs sake.
âGotcha journalism,â Byers quips. Byers quips.Â
Eddieâs mouth relaxes and he huffs out a little, âExactly.â
Byers shifts yet again, clearly covering all wondrous angles with his dinky little thirty-five millimetre whatever the fuck.Â
Itâs not that this whole sneak attack article for the Streak thing is getting under Eddieâs skinâ Eddie didnât even have a chance to acknowledge it getting under his skin. You just breezed in here and started sticking bamboo spikes under his fingernails, like the little warmongtrix you are.Â
And now youâre sitting at the end of the game table, ruby red end of your fountain pen pointing at Gareth, noting down everything he says without even the slightest hint of condescension. These dorks are looking at you in awe and fear, save for Ronnie who just looks smug, and youâre listening to them. Really listening to them. Your face fixed with that hard little glare that tells him youâre recording the minutiae of their answers.Â
Eddie digs the pad of his thumb into his lip. Why would you want to do this? Why arenât you avoiding him at all human cost? What is your angle here?
âSheâs cool, yâknow.â Click, goes Byerâs camera again. âLacy.â
Eddieâs voice comes out distant, his focus tugging away from you super, super slowly.Â
âI heard you blew it with her.âÂ
Byers, caught off guard, lowers his lens. âShe told you about that?â
Eddie shrugs, like itâs nothing. Itâd be easier to pretend like the idea of you and Byers hanging out was nothing if Byers and Eddie werenât both classified outsiders.Â
âWell, uh,â Byers fiddles with something on his camera, shrugging in turn, âIt was weird, talking to Lacy back then. You know. She was kind ofââ
âSheâs different now.â Eddie answers too fast, springing to a defense that didnât call for him. He sits up a little bit straighter, spine iron-rodding, and tries to recover. âI mean. Sheâs retired the whole icy Swatch rat bit. Sheâs not, likeâ pretending to be something.â
Jonathan gets this look on his face. One last click of the camera.Â
âI wouldnât know. I blew it, remember?â But you didnât, man.
Little does he know.Â
âAre we done?â Eddie says, launching himself from his chair and slapping palms on the table. His DM screen shakes. Byers steps back with a flared little danger zone! look tossed your way. âWeâve already lostââ
â--fifteen minutes of glorious game time?â you drawl, crossing a final âtâ in your notes. âOf course. My apologies. Tight schedule?âÂ
Your eyebrow arches as you flash your eyes up at him. His jaw flares. Youâ youâre good. Youâre vicious and youâre good.
âTheee tightest,â Eddie grits through the falsest of grins and jerks his head, waves flying and the rest of his little Hellfire sheepies following in motion to take their seats.Â
Ronnie takes her time, mumbling under her breath, âYou sure this is a good idea?â
And she was right, with what sheâd said before. You are using this as an excuse to get in his faceâbolstered only by the fact that he had now gotten in your pants, and you werenât letting him slink off that easy. Especially with the workplace cameo appearance from Al Munson that you had just been forced to live through.Â
Youâd been looking over your shoulder ever since, expecting to see him leering at you over those sickening aviator sunglasses.Â
âOh, Iâm positive,â you assure her, turning to Jonathan. âI need, like, one or two shots of them playing then you can take off.âÂ
âWaiwaiwaiwaiwaiwaiwait,â Eddie interrupts, an arm raising over his head to signal halt, âOkay, so first, you storm the castle with your little camera boy without my approval, now you think youâre going to stay for the game?â His ire is genuine. âItâs Hellfire Club, Lacy. Members only. We donât need bleacher bunnies.â
âOh, come on, Munson!â you lilt, situating yourself on an abandoned desk, away from the game table. âThe people want to know how the Satanic sausage is made.â
âThe people being?âÂ
âYour critics and fans. What is this all for, if not to piss off Hawkinsâ Presbyterian and garner a whole new legion of Hellfire acolytes, huh?â
âWe donât need any help from the press on that front.â
âReally?â You drag out your single-word answer, using the seconds to count the minimal amount of players in the room. Not even Ronnie could boast 100% attendance, with her marching band obligations clashing with Hellfire sessions. Eddie glares at you. Yeah, yeah.Â
âAâactually, Eddie⌠I think itâd be⌠pretty cool,â Gareth says, waver slowly fading out of his voice. âI mean, if weâre in the school paper, my Momâll be less suspicious that weâre likeââ
â--doing k-bombs in the drama roomâŚâ you mutter, loud enough that only Jonathan can hear.Â
â--and stuff.â
Eddie exhales so hard his nostrils flare, his shoulders tense, heâs about to shit.Â
âAnd who else would like to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Gareth the Treacherous here?â he snarls, looking pointedly around the table, âJeff? Dougie? Cyrus? Ecker?â
The dorks erupt in yapping agreement, totally swinging for Garethâs angle.Â
âShut up!â Eddie barks, throwing himself back onto his throne. Ringed fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. âFine. But this, in the business, is what they call a mutiny. Donât come cryinâ to me when youâre all gettinâ swirlies with half of the Weekly Streak stuffed in your goddamn mouths.â
Thatâs creative. He really could have had a fruitful career as a bully if he wasnât so gooey in the middle.Â
âMunson, I promise you can ride circles around me on a motorbike on live TV if this all goes to shit.âÂ
You make a fluttering hand motion that reads proceed, which he, naturally, hates. He stares at you, like white light white heat searing through stares at you. And then his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath.
What follows is⌠exactly what you should have expected, actually.
Eddie Munson transports the present-and-correct party of adventurers back into the eye of their campaign. Their mission? Infiltrate a cult of royal knights that have been bewitched by a high priest who is forcing them to sacrifice the kingdomâs innocents in order to fuel his dastardly arcane magic. The plot is⌠involved. Youâd done a light touch of research on how exactly the dragons and the dungeons all worked, so to speak, but it didnât really seep into the membrane. Itâs something you could only really engage with if you saw it in actionâ youâd have to rely on Eddie and company to fill in the blanks that the extensive lore left. Like, how exactly did these mythical dice come into play? How does a character sheet set you up for success, or failure? What the fuck is a skill check and why does it read so complicated?Â
And fill in they⌠kind of did.Â
Aside from the technical aspects, you find yourself suckered into the story. Quite literally, gripping your seat as Ronnieâs characterâa highly capable bard, from what you understandâattempts to escape the hateful royal sect and find her way back to her party. Theyâd taken her hostage, and sheâs managed to escape her chains but theyâre ruthless, on her like dogs. Eddie illustrates every sweaty, panicky movement as they close in on her, and your fine, painted fingernails are dug into every word.
Eddie weaves these stories like gossamerâ both in the sense of delicate intricacy and destructive nature of that big red monster thing from Looney Tunes. Each plot twist is created to elicit a sense of true foreboding, embellishing how effective his storytelling is. It forces each and every person at the table to face fear head on, dig deep and use what they were given in order to prevail, even if theyâre shaking in their boots while doing itâ shit, this is good, you should be writing this down.
Blindly, you sketch the word gossamer into your journal, not tearing your eyes away from the table. You barely notice the flash going off to your immediate rightâ Jonathan Byersâ lens pointed right at you.Â
âUhââ you start, Jonathan reaching to grab his jacket from behind you as the game goes on.Â
âIâm headinâ outâ gotta pick Will up fromâŚâ he trails off, but you fill in the blank. Nancy had mentioned that Mike was hosting his friends for a DnD session tonight too, and the party naturally included the most junior Byers. You nod, checking the timeâ Jesus, where had the last three hours gone?
âTell Nancy I said hey, if you see her,â you say, âand thank you.â
Jonathan shrinks into himself, bashful. âDonât worry about it.â A beat. âI still want that Echo & the Bunnymen, though.â
Your face peels into a grin that says donât worry, Iâm good for it! and you wave him off. The Hellfire party donât even notice his leaving, except for Eddie who, being judge, jury and executioner, notices everything.Â
â...and on that sweltering note, germies and Eckermen, we must bid each other good eventide. Until next time.âÂ
An operatic groan of disapproval goes up from the players, and you realize this must be a regular thing. Eddie always leaving them wanting more. Tease.Â
âI know, I know, if you had it your way, youâd be locked in here, pissing in buckets and the show would go on all night,â Eddie jeers, rising from his seat to start collecting his stuff, âbut I wouldnât inflict that on the janitorial staff. âkay? Scat. Outta my sight.â
With great indignation that swiftly turns into backslaps of appreciation, the Hellfire Club moves out of the drama room one by one. You stay put, and Eddie avoids your eyes completely.
Folding shit back into that madly overstuffed DM folder, he throws a strained-casual, âNeed a ride?â to Ronnie, the last straggler.Â
She shakes her head, smile barely contained. âUh-uh! Two wheeled my way here and Iâll two wheel my way backâ you, uh, have fun though.â
âBye, Ronnie,â you call after her, voice properly piercing through the air for the first time in hours. Eddie reacts like heâd completely forgotten you were there. Which, impossible. Itâs also impossible for him to keep up the whole punk-ass overlord act when itâs just the two of you. As it is now.
Alone, together. Again.Â
Thereâs a charge between you, as if that even needs pointing out. Like the electric fences surrounding McCorkleâs farm.Â
You and the wagonful of your one-time buddies, Carol and Tommy and Tina et al, used to drive out there more than a little under the influence. Your favorite trespassing activity was reaching out for the electric fence, hooking your fingers around it to feel the darting shock permeating your skin.Â
âWhat the fuck are you doing? Canât that, like, fry your brain?â Carolâd ask you, slugging back the last of her beer as Tommy and Steve Harrington attempted to tip a cow in the background somewhere.Â
âTry it, Care,â youâd giggled, half drunk and half coursing with adrenaline, half alive and half dead, âIt feels weird. It feels good!âÂ
Youâd woken up the next morning in your plush bedroom in Loch Nora, two little blisters on your fingers, smarting from all that pleasure seeking. Did you regret it? Or did it just make you want to do it again?
Eddie still doesnât look at you as he speaks from the opposite end of the table.Â
âGet everything you need?â Â
âNo,â you answer, short. âMissing my key interview.â
Now he looks. Now he has the nerve to. And irises lock on irises, Eddie frozen in place. He knows heâs not getting out of this.Â
Whatâs more, you donât think he really wants to.
âPretty controversial subject matter,â he says, tone a whole shade softer than the commanding voice of God heâd used through the duration of the session. A little higher. Nervous. âWhat with the panic, and all.â
âMe and controversy are bedfellows,â your shoulder darts up, âIâm the big spoon.â
âOh yeah?â
âYeah,â you nod; your tone is as marble-solid as ever, eyes trained and undarting, âLike when I implied the Tigers were straddling a generation-defining line of bold faced failure. I got in a lot of trouble for that.â
The corners of Eddieâs mouth twitch a little. âDefine âa lot of troubleâ by your standards.â
âThey made me print a retraction!â Youâre genuinely incensed by the memory, hitching forward in your seat, âI mean, how insane? âBad for school spirit,â they said. Like Iâm some kind of pep exorcist.â
Eddie tongue folds in between his teeth and he turns his head a split second too late. You can see him biting back a snicker, or something, and point to Lacy and yadda yadda yaddaâbut you smile, and the tension feels like itâs waning. Thank god, because it is suffocating you. You take your in and up you get, moving to the seat closest to his right-hand side.
âCan we get started?â The fountain pen is uncapped, the notebook cracked, your legs crossing. Eddie sinks back into the throne, his face warming up under the yellow stage lights.
âOkay. Hit me with your best shot.â Fire away.
Youâre quick with it. âWhy this?â
âReally? Thatâs your first question?â Eddie looks bemused.
âItâs the least rudimentary of all the Ws,â you explain nice and plainly, plucking up fingers to illustrate your points, âPeople know who you areâagainst their will, mostly. People can glean what the game isâor will, once I put a fine point on the⌠everything that just happened there. What people donât get is why. Why indulge yourself in this?â
His fingers knit together in his lap, nearly shy.
âBecause itâs fun.â
âNope, too vague.â
âVague?â
You physically knock the notion with a waving hand, leaning closer over the table, errant miniatures and spare pencils still scattered there.
âBasketball is fun. Chess club is fun. Throwing rocks into a rusted can of SpaghettiOs is fun if you can make a case for it. Too vague. Didnât come here for the everyman answer.â
âWhat did you come here for?â Thatâs loaded. The way heâs daring himself to look at you is loaded. How soft his voice turns is loaded.
âThe Munson answer.â It hangs in the air like someone dropped off the gallows. âDig for me.â
A long, metastasizing beat. Resistance is futile, as it is and ever will be with you. Eddie hitches his arms across his chest, hiding a smile in the heel of his palm. Flattery works with him. Even if you'd never call this flattery.Â
âEscape,â he eventually tells you.
âGo on,â you press.
âThere is this⌠insatiability when it comes to fantasy. To stories like this, the kind with big, thriving worldscapes. Reading âem, even writing âemâ itâs good, but it isnât enough sometimes. Sometimes you want to wrap yourself up in the reality of elsewhere. Travel to a world where things are different.â
âBut not idyllic.â
Eddieâs eyebrows pull together.Â
âNo. If these campaigns were just⌠the bad guys are defeated by a mighty sword that you and you alone always happen to have on you, thatâs not a campaign. Thatâs a circle jerk.â
âThe idea is to be challenged. To fight for something.â
âRight. To adventure. Beat the odds.â
âAnd you canât do that alone.â
âWell, you can. I think thatâs called, like, writing a book.âÂ
âOhh-kay, EddieâŚâ
âNo, no, no, I mean,â Eddie shakes his head, planting his elbows on the table top, âWhereâs the fun in that? Whereâs the thrill of the unknown? Of not knowing what the other characters are gonna do, or what sick twist the dastardly, brilliant DM is gonna pull out next?â
Heâs on one now, so you donât stop him. Eddieâs eye takes on that mercurial shine, the same one he had while he was cruise directing the campaign. You wonder when he got like thisâgot bit by the God complex bug. Here, he could dare people to defy him when heâd been the defiant one his whole life.Â
You think about a littler him, yearning for escape.Â
âIt also doesnât work if everyone wants to be a hero. Too many heroes spoil the stew, okay, so you need to find other, yâknow, likeminded weirdos who fall into different alignments. Those alignments only work when theyâre played off other characters. Your merry band of outlaws or pirates or underdogs or whoever. You work together, or you betray each other, or you come back together because of some mighty sworn oath and you see your mission through. Itâs not about winning or losing, yâknow? Whatever happens out there,â he gestures to beyond the barricade of the drama room doors, âdoesnât matter. Whether lifeâs beating the shit out of them or not, my little acolytes, as you call âem, sit at this table and theyâre part of something bigger. Something thrilling. Magical. Alchemic. Theyâre part ofââ
â--a team.â You think about a littler him, yearning for people to escape with.
Eddie flaps his ever-animated hands. âNot my phrasing. But.â
âThat thread runs through it all,â you say, drawing a line down the center of your notes with the inactive end of your pen, âTeamwork. Belonging. Victoryâ an escape from the mundane to victory, especially when you canât find it elsewhere.â
Eddieâs chin rests on the back of his hand as he squints at you. âSounding a little sportsmanlike there, Lacy.â
âAnd?â
âThought you werenât pulling for the everyman answer.â
âA hookâs a hookâs a hook,â you quirk your eyebrows, ââand, when you put it that wayââÂ
âWhen you put it that way.â
ââwhat really makes you any different from, say, the Tigers?â
âBesides the cult of personality surrounding all jocksââ
âAs if you donât court your own little cult of personalityââ
ââwe actually win our campaigns.â
You start to retort, then stop. Letting that sink in.
âOh. Oh, thatâs good,â you say, sketching it down.Â
âI foresee letters to the editor in your future,â Eddie says, and heâs smug about it. Anything to aggregate the status quo, no matter what the blowback might be.Â
No one in their right mind here behaves like him. He just⌠does whatever he wants.
You find yourself wanting to touch the fence.Â
And maybe itâs that you stare at him a beat or so too long, but Eddie shifts his gaze down to the wood grain, flexing his hand. Scabs still marring his knuckles and all.Â
âIt wasnât broken or anything, then?â you ask, gesturing to his hand.Â
Eddie looks back up with a drag. You can feel whatâs coming.
âOh no, it was shattered,â he tells you, eyes-wide earnest and lying through his teeth, âMy bones just heal super fast. My mom, she ate a shit ton of canned spinach when I was in ute.â
âRight, the calciumââ
âNah. Rare botulism side effect,â he shrugs like, whaddaya gonna do!
Dumbass.Â
âRare Botulism Side Effect is a good album title.â
âIâll tell the guys.â
Silence falls again, and if you reach around, thereâs something close to normalcy in there. Among the spikes and confusion.Â
âUm,â Eddieâs face contorts into a tiny cringe, âI found out what the⌠what the prank was, by the way. I obviously wasnât here to witness the whole masterpiece theater of it all butâ but Ronnie told me.â
A tight and ugly feeling constricts your chest. You look away, nodding through a grimace. Youâd opened your locker with the practiced caution of someone diffusing a bomb since that whole incident, which sucks as someone who derives real joy from slamming metal doors.Â
âPretty creative bit, huh?â is all you offer.Â
âAlmost too creative for Hargrove,â Eddie counters, uprighting a fallen miniature with one finger.Â
âAre you trying to say I was being hysteric, jumping on his car?â It sounds like youâre offended, but.Â
âNo,â Eddie meets you right where youâre at with this sparkle framing his stare, âIâm saying it was probably a collaborative effort. You could go seek even more batshit revenge, if you wanted to.â
âAnd would you be there to stop me before I cut Carol Perkinsâ breaks?âÂ
You can see Eddie biting his tongue between his teeth oh-so-lightly⌠Saliva catching in the low light. Itâs warm in here. Stuffy.Â
âProbââÂ
âI miss you.âÂ
You cut him off in such a harsh, unforgiving way that Eddie feels his words rammed back down his throat. He blinks a couple of times, tempted to shake his head to make sure he heard you right. But there you are, your sight line running clean through him. You couldnât be talking to anybody else.Â
âYou do?â His voice is so small that his lips barely move. His lips, teased by his tongue, wetting them.Â
âDonât act brand new. Everythingâs harder without you. You have to know that.âÂ
He gets snagged on the angles in your voice. By without you, he can only imagine you mean since he started giving you the cold shoulder and you started hitching rides in that college dorkâs Ford Cortina. And by everything, he can only imagineâŚ
âLaceâŚâ
This is hard. This is horrible. This is uncomfortable and risky and as exposed as you have ever been, but itâs necessary.
âI canât stand the tension of not being around you,â you say, breath feeling harsher as it speeds past your molars, âAnd I canât stand the tension when Iâm with you either, with you and wanting toâ... so what do I do, Eddie?â
You focus on him, adjusting as if you were looking through the viewfinder of Jonathanâs Pentax. Eddieâs face, bewildered and angelic, with his parted mouth and his honorific glow of the stage lights haloing the frizz in his hair. He looks like something you want to commit to memory, as if to say see?! How could you deny this?Â
You rise from your seat, ever the investigator, and bear over him with hands on the table. Cards on the table, too. A genuine question smarts in your mouth, too sour candy you have to spit out.Â
âWhat do I do, Eddie?â
Eddie inhales with a sharp touch as you stand up, inspecting, demanding. He goes to tell you I donât know⌠in the meekest of tones but the arch in your eyebrows says donât you goddamn dare. You terrify him, and you make him dig.Â
âForget it. Forget about all of it,â he breathes, almost tasting your perfume, âWe can reset. Blank slate. Pretend like we donât know each other. Pretend like none of this ever happened. Itâd be better. Safer. Easy. Right? We could totally do that. Weâve fooled everybody so far. Even ourselves, into thinking this was⌠we could...âÂ
âFuck you,â you say in a soft rush.Â
Eddie only realizes that youâre both smiling when you kiss him. Itâs clumsy at first, teeth knocking and everything, your hands winding around his collar and your frigid fingertips finding his neck. The shock of your skin on his, the matchstick crack of your mouth on his propels Eddie onto his motherfucking feet. He leans over you, knocking you into the table as your tongue works its way deep into his mouth.Â
You give him an, âMm,â and if feels like an ascent to heaven.
Sparkles in the static makes the stuffiness evaporate, makes the room come alive. Your legs part to invite him closer to you, your hands faster and more insistent than his are. You pull at the hem of his Hellfire shirt and yank your head back, a string of saliva married between your mouths.Â
Fingers are more bold than they were in the nurseâs office, weaving the leather out of Eddieâs belt buckle. A deep ridge etches between Eddieâs eyebrows and his hands are propped in a mid-air surrender. Your eyes, your everything fucking eyes, are weighted with want. And challenge. Because you always do have to get one up on him.Â
âReset this.â You tug at his zipper. âTell me to stop.âÂ
âLacyâŚâ Eddie whispers, watching you pull at the waistband of his boxers with his mouth agape. Heâd dreamt about this. Thought about this. His cock about jumps into your hand like youâre Snow White and itâs a goddamned hummingbird. Pen marks on your fingers. âJesus, yâ...â
Eddieâs arms angle up behind his head, like a strung-up marionette, fabric of his shirt ghosting against his nipples in the stretch. This only makes him angle his hips further into you, eyelids flickering and his blood breaking the speed limit on its descent. Fuck, and then you fucking touch himâ fingertips along the length of him, featherlight and goading.Â
Eddieâs groan is broken, half-caught in his nose. Youâre looking at him like heâs a bad puppy, like youâre teaching him a lesson in scolding masking adoration. Youâre beautiful and he wants to tell you so, but it all comes out in a whimper. Your hand closes around his cock, thumb brushing rii-iii-iight along the ridge of his head.
âTell me to stop,â you echo yourself, and youâre fascinated that it comes out sounding like you know what youâre doing. You donât. Youâve never been thrust into a net of feeling like this, never had anyone look at you the way Eddie is nowâ like heâd throw himself on a bed of open flames for you, so long as you kept touching him. Itâs drunkard-making. Itâs a full headrush. The gradual glisten of his reddening head looks delicious to you.Â
âTell me to sââ
Grip tightens around him and Eddie moans from right in his sternum, his arms dropping to cradle around your head. He canât believe heâs doing this, he canât believe heâs fucking doing this butâ
âStop,â he gasps, fingers winding in your hair. His entire spinal cord is begging him to buck into your hand, your mouth, your anything, but he steels himself. âStopstopstop, Lacy. Fuckâ fuck.âÂ
Your eyes widen, cheek in his palm. âReally?â Said in the most painful, the most misread did I do something? lilted tone. Your hand doesnât exactly go slack right away.Â
âYeah. Yes,â Eddie murmurs, eyes screwing closed and opening again, the most manual effort ever put behind a blink. âI câI didnât do this right, the first time. This is stupid. This is so stupid.â
And so your hands go, and you feel the anchor of your heart slowly dropping⌠But Eddie drops his face right down to yours.Â
âYou deserve⌠so much more than giving me a handy on school property,â he tells you, and feels almost coherent about it. âHot as it is. Right out of my⌠nastiest dreams as it is.âÂ
Oh. Oh. The corners of your mouth pick up as Eddie presses his forehead to yours, just about evening out his breathing.Â
âHad a premonition about this, didja?â The pressure of his face on yours, his breath on yours, his skin on yours. Itâs nice.
âCame to me in a vision,â he grins, crooked. Slides his thumbs along your cheeks and kisses you, slowly and noisily. âIâm a prognosticator.â Tongue half in, half out your mouth. Your heartbeat sinks between your legs. In a good way. âBeen known to prognosticate.âÂ
âFive dollar vocab word,â you mumble into his mouth, canât help but push your body against him like a cat begging for attention. Eddieâs lips latch to the space right below your ear, a place where his mouth makes you feel like cymbals are clashing in your stomach.
âCome home with me,â he says, the note of pleading in his voice making your legs go numb. His nose and his lips dragging against the side of your neck, begging you to focus on the details and not the bigger picture. âPlease.â A swallow. A beat. A ragged whisper. â... I missed you. Too. Yâknow?â
âI doâŚâ you sigh into his curls, readjusting his boxers, âactually need a ride⌠so.â
â
The van ride back to Forest Hills is tight with a tension that makes you both laugh, your mouth still buzzing from the kiss Eddieâd laid on you right before heâd helped you into the passenger seat. Even after heâd insisted you not touch him from the drama room to the parking lot, insisted because, âThis thing,â heâd gestured to his crotch, his hard-on painfully zipped into submission, âthis thing is gonna get me hauled over by the cops!â
âDonât laugh!â you scold, mouth straining around the gleaming smile youâre suppressing, body all giddy. Voice ringing clear and high even over the cranked radio. Sabbath, naturally, Vol. 4. Wheels of Confusion sounds like treacle to you, mixed in with his laugh.
âIâm no-oo-oht!â Eddie says, syllables punctuated with chuckles, âI justâ I am expressly escorting you back to my place! To, like, have sex with me!â His hands beat against the wheel, teeth sunk into that pretty bottom lip, giddy-upping so hard he actually does swerve the van a little.
âWoah!â you yelp, âEddie, the road! You shouldâve let me drive, youâre feral!âÂ
Eddie moon eyes at you, reaching over to pinch your chin. âLace, please donât get all sore about this, but I will never trust you behind the wheel of this van. Sheâs a delicate piece of machinery and you would drive her like itâs the demolition derby.â
Narrowed eyes and all, you kind of have to concede. Youâve never been the best behind the wheel, a road rageaholic, and if you were to add feeling as frisky as you do now on top of that sundae⌠you press Eddieâs DM binder into your lap a little harder. Down, girl. He doesnât help, thumb stroking your chin and everything.Â
âThis is suh-rreal.â
âStop zooming out so hard or Iâm not gonna have sex with you!â Youâre kidding. Youâre so completely kidding. If he doesnât touch you someplace lower than your neck soon, youâre going to disintegrate.Â
But Eddie pauses. âLike, you donât. Have to.â Panicky, freezy. Hastily pulling on his good guy hat. âYou donâtâ by the way. Itâs whatever you want. Call timeout at any time. I know Iâve been kindaââ
âEddie.âÂ
â...you still want to though, right?â
The giggling dies down as you edge closer and closer to your respective trailers, darkness washed over them like a swathe of dark blue paint. The lights in both trailers are out. Nobody home. Wayne, something about the weekend, something about overtime. Your mom⌠who knew. Sheâd been moving around in shadows more so than usual lately.
Everything out there is dimmed, except you two. Eddie doesnât waste a second once the motor shuts off and the radio is silenced; he slams the driver door shut but the teensiest knot of hesitation tightens in your stomach before he reaches the passenger door.Â
And then he reaches the passenger door, gathering you out of it and pushing you up against the side of the van. Snapping you out of it instantaneously using the bare force of his mouth against yours.Â
âEddieâŚâ mumbled, your lips barely unstuck.
âSorry. Shit, sorry. I just really like kissing you.âÂ
Something pops in your chest; heâs⌠Jesus, heâs so sweet. Coal-eyed and excitable and lovely, kissing you with nothing left to spare.
âHey. Redirect,â you shiver, his fingertips pressing into your waist. âCome to my place.â
Eddie casts a wide glance back toward your double-wide. The forbidden castle. âYour⌠yâare you sure?â
âSure that my bedsheets are cleaner than yours, yes.â Â
He murmurs, âBedsheets,â with a darkened gaze and a grunt. Bedsheets. You wanted him in your bedsheets. âGet your key. Get your key. Get your key before me and my dick have a shared brain hemorrhage.âÂ
That new lock doesnât stick at all, thank god.Â
Eddie, ordinarily, would nosily register all of his surroundingsâ he had an extremely barebones idea of your place, cast mostly in darkness like this, from that first night heâd driven you back from the fallout at Harringtonâs. But heâs too busy nosily exploring your throat with his tongue, recording and archiving every breathy sound you make as you tug him toward your bedroom.Â
Cardboard boxes still trip you up a couple times. Did you ever unpack, or what?
You break from his heady kiss, vision doubling, taking in a lungful of air as you push Eddie through the door. Spine flattens against it as it shuts, the noise drawing a little bit of sobriety into the room. You reach to hit the floor lamp on and your bedroom is illuminated in a soft, orange glow, a scarf thrown over the bulb to diffuse light. A half-effort to make you forget where you were sometimes. It works; the edges of everything softens, which is such a contrast to the definitive presence that he is.
Eddieâs chest is heaving. He attempts to get his bearings but he can barely get his eyes off of you, squirming ever-so-slightly, ever-so-sexily against the door. Like youâd captured him.
Lips swollen, watching you watch him from the door, he turns a little shy and turns to look at the ephemera around him instead.Â
Heâs standing in your bedroom.
Youâre far more cluttered than he expected you to be.Â
He expected pressed sheets and a pristine dressing table, like a prison cell designed by a set dresser from Dynasty.Â
Well, thatâs wrong, actually. He expected that of the Lacy people thought you were.
On the walls are a couple of tear-outs from the Rolling Stones heâd helped you liberate from your porch in Loch Nora, a mission youâd bought him breakfast for but didnât have to. But mostly, every surface in the room is covered in piles. Piles of books, records, tapes, pens, jewelry, nail polish. And the clothes. They hung from everywhere, bursting out of your tiny closet space like bodies trying to escape.Â
Itâs confused in here; feels like someone who has unearthed parts of herself that she hasnât been able to organize yet. Eddie wants to comb through it like a collector at a rarities market, he thinks, running a finger along the spine of a porcelain cat that sits on your dresser.Â
âPlace is filthy, cheerleader.â
âYouâd know about mess, freak.â
The only really neat, clear space is, fortunate for tonightâs entertainment purposes, the bed.Â
As heâs sliding his jacket (jackets, plural) off, Eddieâs eye travels to the window.Â
âDid you fix your blinds?â he asks, pivoting back and forth on his heel.Â
âMy blinds?â you parrot. The blinds that had been broken when you moved in. The ones that sure were shuttered now. Youâd made a point to fix them with whatever was left out of your first paycheck from the Bookstore. âHowâd you know about my blinds?â
He couldâve lied, if he caught himself quicker. If he didnât straighten up his back like someone had snapped him to attention. âUuh.âÂ
It dawns on you like a flashlight in the eyeballs. âWere you⌠watching me, Munson?â
Not spying, mind. Not peeping. Watching. Eddie sinks down to sit on the edge of your bed, because whether or not heâs ever going to get to be here again kind of hangs in the balance right now.Â
âThat. DepâŚends. What do you,â Please donât kick him out. Please donât kick him out. Look at the line of your fucking body as you round on him, staring him down like you want him for dinner. Christ, he hopes you want him for dinner.
Eddie swallows roughly, tone bumpy, face a dime store Halloween mask of nonchalance. Paper thin. âWhat do you think about that?â
Fact is, heâd subsisted on a couple of very guilty glimpses of you. Catching sight of the lines of your bare back and taught shoulders would keep him in jerk-off material for a week, just thinking about kneading out your knots and undoing your bra clasp with his teeth.Â
Eddie felt positively Victorian about it. Maybe youâd flash an ankle at him next and heâd be institutionalized for hysterics.Â
You look at him with the same pinpoint as you did earlier. Like youâre studying him. And then you edge closer, closer, nudging his knees apart. Echoes of the nurseâs office.Â
But this isnât the goddamn nurseâs office. Youâre not straining to adapt to the element of surprise. You know that the breath Eddie takes, shuddering and wondrous as you tilt his chin up to look at you, is a sound you want on repeat for as long as you can bear to hear sounds.Â
âTheyâve blinded men for that, yâknow? Before.â
Eddie canât answer. Just let out a huh! as your fingers trace his jaw, thumb brushes his lip. His hands squeeze the curve of your ass, fingers beg into your thighs as he watches you, dumbstruck. His tongue unconsciously presses to the tip of your thumb and he hears your breath hitch.
A sustained shock travels up your neck.
âI mean, was it worth it?â
âWas it w⌠Lacy.â Eddieâs hands have breached the hem of your skirt and with a groan, his face burrows into the silken fabric of your shirt, like heâs trying to nudge it off with his nose or his mouth. Fingers are working mindlessly to loosen some article of clothing from your body and it makes you feel buzzy and trancelike. âDonât ask stupid questions. I might have fuckinâ carpal tunnel because of you.â
Jesus. He makes you feel soâŚ
Desired. Needed. Youâve never felt that way before, and you donât quite know how to navigate it. So your buttons start coming undone with the work of one hand, the other shoving Eddie by the shoulder to lean back on your bed.Â
Eddie, here, among all your things. Disparate in your shabby little dollhouse, looking at you like you just swallowed the sun.Â
Your shirt comes off, and Eddie, in a game of match point, tugs his off too. Pause comes over the both of you. Youâd seen him shirtless before; shower-bare in his trailer when the first security breach happened, a crack in the containment whatever you were pretending your relationship to each other wasâaffable enemies, irritated acquaintances. Heâd looked at you like an animal cornered, tendons tense under his tattooed skin and youâd wanted to drag a finger or two down the center of his chest.Â
You didnât, though. Youâd sniped, asked where the cigarettes were.Â
This is all one big case of making up for lost time.
Youâve been looking at him so long, bra strap slipping off your shoulder, that Eddie leans forward. As if to come get you.Â
Remember me? Iâm real. You can touch me. Touch me, please.
His warm arms pull you to him, pull you onto the bed, pull you against his lips. Itâs gentler there; not as furtive. It says, hi, Iâm here. Your arms, tugging him closer as he eases you beneath him say, good, Iâve been waiting. Eddie brushes his nose against yours, you laid down with your hair fanned out on the plush comforter.Â
Both your pulses must have stuttered at the same time.
His smile is serene but you can feel his forearms trembling. âI feel like Iâm gonna have a heart attack.â
âDonât,â you tell him, very quietly while his hand nervously tries to find the zipper on your skirt, âI just got you back.â
Your hips lift to help him and youâre wiggling the thing off and youâre wiggling your tights off and heâs thrashing his jeans off only to land back between your parted legs with bouncing recoil from the mattress. Laughter biting in one anotherâs mouths. The nerves are teeming off him in waves and it makes you want to kiss him all over.Â
The feeling housed in your body is different; not jittery, but struck somehow. This doesnât feel like the way it usually feels, the way it does when you disappear into spare rooms at parties or the shadow of Skull Rock or hitch your leg up against the center console of someoneâs shitty car. It doesnât feel rote, like youâre doing it to stack up experience pointsâ that is a Dungeons and Dragons term you found particularly interesting. How many bad tongue kisses had you accepted just to feel like youâre progressing, instead of waiting for someone who wants to taste you like Eddie does?Â
Your bodies caged together, you feel the eager, hard, tragically clothed line of him rub against your center. Eddie manages to free your bra clasp on the first try, which you almost goadingly applaud him forâbut he cuts you short with a bewitched stare, his lovely, hot mouth laving over your nipple as he slips the fabric away. It tears the first real moan from you, your back arching into his kneading fingers as his tongue curves over your tightening bud.Â
Eddie canât believe what heâs hearing. He can barely see straight, but heâs trying to commit every second of this to a glorious Technicolor memory, sound and image capturing working overtime. The sound that comes from your beautiful, balmy mouth sounds fresh out the packetâlike youâd never made it for anyone before. The look of suppressed surprise on your face confirms as much and Eddie feels like he might explode.Â
He, too, has no idea what heâs doing but he canât help his hips from jerking into you as he plays on. Playing with your nipples, remembering that making them glisten with his spit will make you whimper, and so will kissing the center of your sternum. Heâs watching wide-eyed and fascinated as your brow furrows and your legs tighten around him. Heâs a wonderful student, when he wants to be.
Eddie is throbbing, and thereâs too much cotton and lace between you.Â
Thereâs also this other thing, and it comes out of him like word upchuck as you try to tease his boxers down around his hips using only your feet.Â
âI oughta tell you,â Eddie whispers, voice all raspy, all boyish with his hair tickling your collarbone, âIâm, uh. Iâm not good at this.â
âAt what?â Heâs got one hand roaming over your chest, the other making indents in the meat of your thigh. It feels like heâs holding your breath right in his hands.
A new shade of pink rises high in Eddieâs already straining cheeks. He really doesnât want to have to use his words to spell it out. âThiii-iiss.â
Oh. A rivulet of cold realization runs through you. Nicole. Cass. Girls daring themselves to get near to him. Experience points. The great freak experiment project.Â
âThis isnât that.â Your hands hold his chin, perhaps a little roughly, to make sure heâs listening. And Eddie is, breath baited. You press your forehead to his like he pressed his forehead to yours. âItâs not.â
Heâs really about to ask you, what is it, then? but that feels like something you can work out later. Eddie lets you tug at his lips and you let him tug at your panties, arching up so you can wiggle them down your legs. His eyes cast to the downy hair at your mound, and itâd usually occur to you to apologize for your unshaven legs, as if it mattered.Â
But the way he regards you doesnât call for that; it calls for you to open up for him. Spread.
A rough pad of a finger runs along your slit, feeling the generous drip thatâs gathered, and Eddie moans as your breath hitches into an animalistic, âhahh!â-- heâs edging down your body to bury his face there. He wants to feel you, smell you, taste you. You tense at the sudden contact of his palms pressing your thighs open, his nose against your clit and he feels it. A jolt of worry passes through him. Did you not want that? âSorryââ
âDonâtâ no, Eddie, donât stop,â you strain, laugh a little, âYou just⌠surprised me. Keepâ keep surprising me. Please.âÂ
Shockwaves break through you as he gingerly offers his tongue. And more, and more, until heâs lapping at you with a vigor and no real direction. You dig against him, made speechless by the building ache in your core.
In your fantasies, you hadnât anticipated him being so givingâso eager to please and explore. Like all things, this moment projected itself in your head with the hard edges of some imagined cockiness, Eddie telling you to spread your legs and you, nymphlike and fluid and still somehow holding all the indiscriminate âpowerâ, doing so.Â
But this? This is soft and messy and spitty and real. Eddie is drooling and babbling into your pussy with the uncalculated effect of someone who has improvised his whole life and itâs tearing you at the seams. A satisfying little rip, every keen movement he makes.
You know when youâre close to climax, that familiar feeling of your cunt suckling at nothing, but it doesnât feel as jagged as the first time he brought you there. Urgently, you tug at his hair, claw at his shoulders, begging for his attention.Â
âEddie,â you gasp and his hands flex around your thighs at the sound of his name in your mouth. Itâs yours, he wants to tell you, rutting heedlessly into the mattress from his position between your legs, keep it! Please! âEddie, Eddieâ come here, come to me.âÂ
Your velveteen voice summons him, his face glistening from the exploration of you. Embarrassment threatens to ping at you, but it flames into want, seeing how wet and obscene he looks. Thatâs all from you?Â
Eddie does as heâs told, heart poundingâ and the sensation of fabric dragging against the raw tip of his cock nearly makes him pass out.Â
âFuck! Fuck, youââ he stammers as your hand pulls his heavy length free, balls tightening under your firm touch, âN-not fuck you, obvi-ously, butâhunhâokay, kinda fuck youâŚâ
Eddieâs lips fold against yours as he attempts, with shuddering arms, to brace himself over you. He whines at your dexterity, swiping his head against your entrance. The wetness from him, the wetness from youâ the sheer impact of sensation slices clean through him. Itâs not a tactic, youâre not teasing; youâre angling to get him inside you. You need to get him inside you, your entire body is begging for it.Â
âBaby, please, please, Iâm not gonna lastââ
âWho said you had to?â you ask, voice a drop of dark syrup. Just for him. âWho said you had to?â
The earnestness in your eyes gives Eddie pauseâ for all of a pulsating second.Â
âI want you⌠inside. Donât you want to feel me?â you ask with real conviction, thumb swiping over his moistened head in a way that makes his vision go galactic.Â
Eddie yanks your hand away, kissing roughly it, nailing it beside your head as he tries to ease into you.Â
âWant? Itâs all I wantâfuck, itâs all I fucking think about, Lacyâhuhhââ
His first attempt results in a gasp of painâ the sting, the stretch, itâs a little much a little fast. The sharpness has you wincing and has Eddie searching your face with an arrested kind of guilt.
âYâshit, baby, are youââ
âIâm okay,â you recover, hand steadying on his flushed cheek. âJustâslower. Ease it in. Youâreâ youâre pretty remarkable, Eddie.âÂ
âRemarkable?â he mumbles against your cheek, focused and slowly lining his head against your entrance. âReally?â
âProdigiouâss, uhhâfuck!â Whispered swears come streaming from you as he sinks right into the velvety constraints of your cunt.Â
Your eyes roll right back, mouth tipping open and the grip of you arresting around him makes him cry out into your chest.Â
Eddieâs cock is long and heavy and thick, constricted to the point where you can nearly feel every ridge of him. It hurts, the stretch of him aches, but itâs deliciousâpinned and sweetly painful.
âProdigiousâis a five dollarâfuckinâ--vocab wordââ he strains, lifting his hips ever so slightlyâ youâre clutched onto him so tight that you move with him. Eddie open-mouth groans against your neck. âLacy, Jesus, youâre so tightâyou feel so goodâhow the fuck do you feel so good? Who invented you?!âÂ
Thereâs a tinge of a giggle in your moaning, which doesnât let up. Eddieâs voice rings out like a church bell, making one slow stroke inside you, then another. Then another, then another, picking up speed, groans chorusing into the hollow of your neck around the lewd sound of his flesh slapping against yours. The sound alone brings you close to cumming. âOh, pleasepleaseplease, fuck, Lace, Iâm gâ fuck, Iâmââ
The way Eddieâs hands are carving permanent marks into your hips, the way his movements are halting, you get the idea that⌠âYou holding out on me?â you ask him, short of breath around your panting but demanding still, âDonât you dareâdonât you dare.âÂ
âLacy, uhhâ please, âmgonnafuckingââ
âCum for me? Are you?â
Your fingers tug at his curls so you can look at him as his face tenses. Eddieâs hair is flattened across his head, face glimmering with exertion. You drag your lips against his forehead, the salty flavor of sweat breaking across your tastebuds.
âFor you, for you, shit, only for youâonly for you, only fucking everâfuckââ
His dark eyes have been blown out since he pulled you to the mattress, eyelids flickering over his irises as he pistons into you with speed that hurts but you love it.Â
You barely hear yourself beginning a prayer of dirty little succors, but there it is, easing him through his orgasm as he shudders a load between your legs. âYou feel like nothing on this fucking earth, you know that, youâre so good for me...â The tension breaks with one final rasping cry, his expression dissolving into a softness as he exhales a lungful, neck stretching to lean into your touch.Â
A couple of half-cracked dry sobs escape him.Â
Looking up at you, cradled against your shoulder, Eddieâs cursing himself for every second heâs wasted not doing this with you.Â
And you, looking down, are stroking his damp curls from his forehead and cursing yourself. Youâre going to burn the world down for this boy.
âLacy. Youââ
And then, yâknow, the fucking front door of the trailer clicks.Â
Little too much deja vu for your liking these days!Â
Immediately, you seize upwards, jolting a confused Eddie with youâ which breaks your heart, in a way, seeing him darty-eyed and shocked out of his bliss so fast.Â
âFuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.â These are not like your prior âfucksâ, he can register through the haze of his post-nut state. These are bad fucks. So he responds in turn, âFuck?â
âMy mom!â You hiss, naked and scrambling. Panic crests on you like a wave, a wave that should have been an orgasm mind fucking you, and your fingernails tear at the comforter beneath you.Â
âUnder, under, gogogo!â
Because if thereâs one thing your mother, in all her former-center-of-attention glory, loves to do? Itâs enter a room uninvited.Â
Case in fucking pointâ
âLacy?â A perfunctory knuckle rap from the other side of the door, just as you manage to hide Eddie by shoving him behind you and tenting the comforter around you both. Youâre praying to anything with a little more gusto than God that it works. And then, enter your mother and her cloud of Shalimar.Â
Soon as she opens the door, you can tell something is terribly off.Â
Sheâs smiling, face as serene as the Virgin Mary. Usually sheâs got a sharpened dagger of a glare, just for you. Two of you havenât been spending much quality time lately, see.Â
âLacy! Whatââ your momâs brow knits, but itâs a look of amusement. Which freaks you out. Sheâs looking at your just-fucked-by-Eddie-Munson hair, isnât she? The mascara thatâs surely streaking down your face? Does she know? Can she sense heâs in this very room? â--what are you doing?â
âNapping. Crying. What does it look like?â you snap, hiking the comforter up a little further and begging that she doesnât notice Eddieâs incriminating clothes strewn across the floor.Â
Eddie, for his part, is not breathing. Heâs crouched behind your bare ass, a position heâs in no rush to get out of, arms caged around your thighs like a petrified child. This is almost funnyâor would be, if he wasnât scared shitless of everything your mom would definitely do to him if she discovered him buck ass naked in your bed.
Dreamily, Eddie reminds himself that heâs buck ass naked, in your bed. He smiles into one of your cheeks and considers how biteable it is. Â
âWell. Wrap it up,â your mom says, tone still light, and you twinge at the irony. At least youâre on the pill. âI have a surprise.â
Slam. Door shuts. Your lamp wobbles with the force of it and Eddie emerges from behind you, like a freshly-fucked groundhog.Â
âShe sounds happy,â he mumbles, arms sliding up around your waist.Â
You want to kiss the mirth out his mouth but you have to shove him back behind you firstâ cue your mom, doubling back through the door. Jesus!
âWhat was that?â Â
âNothing!â you say, shortly and breathily because Eddie nips at your fucking ass cheek back there. âJustâyou sound happy, mom!â
She shakes her head at you, a smile curving her tulip colored lips, like a mom from a detergent commercial. Yâknow, were it not for the whole Italian widow getup sheâs alway sporting.Â
âGet on with it already.â
You count to a full five before you even let out a breath, snapping your attention back to reality and the fact that Eddie Munson is very naked in your very bed.Â
âYou gotta get out of here,â you tell him, and you want to kill yourself about it.Â
The both of you balance on your knees. Eddie tugs you into him with shining, begging eyes. Standing almost at full attention again, already.
âJesus, that thingâs impressive.â
Eddieâs fingers wind around the hair at the nape of your neck. Despite the brief jolt of fear from your little interruption just now, heâs all romanceâtotally suckered, rose-colored glasses, the whole bit. Thoughts not exactly creating a straight line just yet, but he doesnât care. Heâs had his hands all over you for the better part of an evening now, and he doesnât want to let up just yet. It might kill him. It might kill him.Â
Thereâs no unringing this bell between the two of you, and he knows that.Â
And you knew it first, because you know everything first.Â
âYou sure?â he hums into your sweet lips, âYou absolutely positive? Because I could be real, real quietâŚâ
Eddieâs also thrilled by the fact that he seems to know instinctively what to do to turn you on.Â
âWhat if I donât want you to be real, real quiet?â
You kiss him back, sighing and sliding a single finger down the length of his cock.Â
âLaceâŚâ he whimpers to you, his commandant fantasy of being dominant in the bedroom officially, officially escorted out back and shot. He wants to please you too badly. Be the jester in your court that makes you cackle and makes you cum.
âLacy!â a shrill yell comes from the hall. Your eyes snap open, Eddieâs dancing with amusement and yours heaving with alarm.Â
âFuck, okay, go! Window!â
Another scramble, you tossing jeans and socks and the rest of Eddieâs uniform at him while you clean yourself off, try to pull a robe around yourself. A stray thought occurs to you as you watch him trip over himself, ripping the hole in his jeans a little furtherâyou hate what he wears, but you love it on him. And off him. AndâŚ
You yank up those blinds and unlatch the window with a faint smile. Nothing about you two makes any conceivable senseâ
Eddie starts out the window, shirt barely pulled down his torso and his shoes in his hands, then turns to hook you to him by the elbow. Smiling with the full blush of his mouth, he kisses you. Firm and knowing and whole.Â
âexcept that. That makes sense.
The pad of his finger clears a lock of rumpled hair from your forehead.Â
âTo be continued?â Eddie searches your face, with those crazy dark brimming universes of eyes.Â
Your heart is leaping in your ribcage. You nod sharply, gleaming back at him.Â
âIâm cominâ back for you, Lacy Doevksi,â he tells you with all the brazen confidence he can muster. âAnd I am gonna go down on you until I drown. On pain of death, I swear it.â
âGo!â you command, and regret it as soon as he drops out of your bedroom window. Eddie starts a cant toward his trailer across the way.Â
âFaster!â you hiss, just as an excuse to watch him.Â
He pivots mid-jog, hair swinging wildly, his hand grabbing at his crotch.Â
âYou try runninâ with a hard on! Witch!âÂ
Itâs far, far, far too quiet once heâs escaped through the front door of his trailer.
It's not fair, you think. You should be basking in some kind of afterglow, sharing a stupid clichĂŠ cigarette, you feel like you should be... celebrating this.
You shouldn't have to keep running away from each other.
The warmth the two of you had created, through mere physical friction or just how much you⌠you like each other, rapidly dissipated into a chill as you advance through your bedroom door, to deal with the other thing.
Surprise, you thought, What kind of goddamn surprise could mother o'mine have for me? Did she boost a bank? Did she win the Indiana Sweepstakes? I donât want to know about any gâ
âLorelei.â
The universe has a way of shoving you back in place when you get ahead of yourself.
You donât just stop in your tracks, youâre repelled a half-step backwards. The centrifugal force urging you away, telling you thereâs an immediate threat in the heart of your home.Â
No one uses that name anymore. Not even him. Not since you were fourteen.
âDaddy.â
Your father sits at the shabby dinette that you and your mother donât even share meals at, sits there in the suit he was sentenced in. A rich navy pinstripe, chosen because gray would have been too flashy and black would admit defeat. âOf course!â your mother had said, marveling at his ingenuity. But the pantomime of his defense was wearing real thin on you; whispering at school had started growing louder and louder and you were finding more and more chips in the porcelain of your fatherâs worldly facade.Â
âWhy not compromise. Wear charcoal,â youâd said, leaning against the kitchen counter in Loch Nora, drinking orange juice from your parentsâ wedding crystal as the movers taped up your boxes, âYou can plead guilty and still look smug about it.â
Your father had smacked the flute from your hand and it shattered in forty thousand pieces on the ground. You didnât move, didnât breathe, because you knew if you did, youâd be next.Â
Navy it was. And navy it is. He sits at that dinette like heâs expecting white jacket service. You swear even more gray has started glimmering through his hair. Flashy.Â
âShould I ask how youâre here?â you say, stiff and scared. Your mother, standing at your fatherâs shoulder, tuts and sighs. Canât you just enjoy this? she silently bemoans.
âGood behavior,â Ray smiles, âCanât say the same for you. Can I, Lorelei?â
âPrincipal Higgins called,â your mom chimes in, âOr rather, that odious little secretary called. You think you could get a Saturday detention and they just wouldnât tell us?â
âThatâs why heâs here?â You laugh a little, inwardly. âWith all due respect, Daddy, thatâs a terrible reason to break out of prison.â
To your surprise, your father chuckles too. Makes your blood run cold, obviously.Â
âYâknow, I really didnât anticipate this for my homecoming, I gotta tell you,â he says, shifting in his seat and plucking a cigarillo from his jacket pocket. âI mean, honestly. I thought, a nice bottle of Beaujolaisââ
âWeâre fresh out,â you gesture to your cringing mother.
â--a dinner at, Christ, Enzoâs, since thatâs where our budget is at now,â his lighter flicks and ignites the end, âBut no. I have to sit here and cross-examine my daughter about⌠fraternizing with the lowest of criminal elements.â
The lack of self awareness here is off the fucking charts. It makes your blood pressure spike.
âTake a seat, Lacy,â your father so gallantly gestures to the vinyl backed kitchen chair in front of him, âand tell me all about Eddie Munson.â
Chair drags aggressively against the linoleum. You sit, and swear that the next time youâre caught off guard by anyoneâs father, itâd better be God himself.Â
This bit is getting old.
author's notes: so i'm not fucking around when i say i need to hear everyone's thoughts on what just happened immediately. i really do think that happenings-wise, this was my favourite chapter to write thus far. felt cathartic, from the al munson to the hellfire article of it all. anyway. onto the good stuff
- like i feel like everyone who reads this series will have clocked this but of course i lifted the garlic slicing right out of goodfellas. i just think it's a perfect al munson attribute to have
- al munson kicking out the jams instead of picking up his kid i know that's right
- our dukes of hazzard ref is a tribute to my own personal al munson fancast
- not that paris, texas but this paris, texas. (and you know when lacy eventually gets eddie to watch it he CRIES. they both cry)
- i should probably put the repo man trailer in here as well
- speaking of another fancast! the manager of forest hills trailer park is, of course, to me, in my heart, carl rodd.
- the best song off of abbey road by the beatles, fight with the wall
- SHOULD WE CALL THE MAYOR
- lacy promising eddie that he can ride circles around her on a motor bike is a reference to hunter s thompson being ambushed on canadian television by one of the hells angels he wrote about in his book. dude rolls onto set on his hog. it's crazy.
- eddie is kinda gossamer coded
- cow tipping? at mccorkle's? anybody? our love is god
- god wheels of confusion is kinda horny sounding huh
i think that this might be the shortest references recap so far in the series?? one of them anyway. probably because i wrote 4k words of FILTH. anyway, thank you all so much for continuing to read this fucking thing. we're almost at the end of this part of the story which is wild to me. now let me get on your ass and remind you that REBLOGGING FICS IS ESSENTIAL TO YOUR FIC WRITERS HEALTH. SO ARE COMMENTS AND SO ARE ASKS so send those pls :) love you hellcats. be well, cats
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oh i need him BAD
YES, NURSE RATCHED - a hellfire & ice retelling of chapter eight's most pivotal moment, from eddie's pov
a special treat for my love @deadlynightshade-and-hyacinth
eddie munson x f!reader, reader is nicknamed lacy, reader's last name is also mentioned, this is lore-filled and handsy so if that's not your thing keep it truckin, minors dni i do not like you go away warning for strong language, smut inthe form of public fingeringgggg, drug usage, extremely bad parenting (al munson klaxon), evoking the feeling of a comedown, billy hargrove gets his shit rocked, excuse all typos it's redacted o'clock and i'm a little buzzed
word count: 2.6k
The first thing you should know about the following occurrences is that they are preluded by a whole lot of next thing Eddie knows. Things snapping his attention to the left, to the right, knocking him over the head, rearing up on him with little to no warning.
Number one? His dad showing up at Reefer Rickâs, eyes bloodshot and sleep deprived and frantic, putting on a pantomime of being so psyched to see his boy! Rick snapping to attention and falling into his role of affable associate of Munson Senior immediately, despite the apology heâd tried to press against Eddie right when Al crunched the gravel of his driveway. What followed was a bender that Eddie couldnât help but give into. Al has that effect on people, even him, even Eddie in his angry, angsty resoluteness that he should know better.Â
You try knowing better when you're all bewitched, bothered and bewildered and shit.
Cue cut lines and records blaring until daylight broke over Lover's Lakeâ then Eddie, rising at noon but barely landed from his previous (ill-advised and bad-parentally-supervised) high, got it in his head that he ought to show up for school. At least for a little bit.Â
Because theyâd tossed your last name around a little last night, Al and Rick. Doevski this, Doevski that, in weird, vague terms that Eddie didnât all the way understand. And the more weed he smoked and the more Jim Beam that got passed around, the less he remembered.
Which, dumb, right?
Youâd tell him that was dumb.
Youâd tell him he should have stayed sharp, listened up, gathered information.
He passed out on Rickâs sagging couch, mind searing with nothing but thoughts of you nagging him for intel.
Eddie woke up cotton-mouthed with your name on his lips.Â
He needed to see you.
To catch one of your avoidant, barely-there glances as you flit through the hallway or maybe even spy you smoking a cigarette on the outdoor bleachers, reading in silence with Ronnie or Wheeler.
Heâd think of what to say to you in the moment; probably spurned on by the sneer youâd give himâ which heâd totally have earned, for having the nerve to ignore you for so long.Â
Forgive me, he'd say, hands held aloft in Christlike composure, I just couldn't look you in the eye knowing you were getting willingly boinked by some Ivy League sweater monkey.
And then you'd have to admit your little bullshit college boyfriend wasn't Ivy League, and he'd prod you with that for a while, and things would eventually ebb back to whatever shade of normal you two were pretending to be. So? Okay!
But.
Next thing Eddie knows, heâs peeling into the parking lot and the first thing that he sees, bada bing, is you. All however many feet of you, steel true and planted on the hood of Billy Hargroveâs fucking Camaro, wielding a baseball bat like a sword. Â
Eddieâs heart stops for the full entirety of a what fresh hell is this filter-focused second before he skids the van to a halt and launches himself from it.Â
He advances this helluva scene just in time to hear you holler out, right in front of God and everyone,
âOne thing you can say for Eddie Munson, is at least the motherfucker can get hard!âÂ
Eddieâs tread stutters and he wonders if this is what people mean when they use the expression taken out at the knees. Can he get a fucking encore, please?Â
But then thereâs the issue of the rabies-ridden Hargrove, the kid whoâs snorted so much of Eddieâs dubiously cut supply that itâs no wonder that word has gotten around that he canât keep his johnson rigid. Thereâs a thread dangling somewhere that makes Eddie wonder how familiar you are with that concept but. Alas. Digression.Â
Hargrove calls you a cunt, and Eddieâs vision is replaced with a swathe of red.Â
How âbout you try playing it cool, hearing someone talk to your girl like that, after a night of fun family drug-taking?Â
Wait. His what? Hold on--
Next thing Eddie knows, heâs side-swiping Hargrove like a dirty bumper car, yak yaks something kind of funny (he hopes) and does not turn to look at you standing backlit like a holy fucking statue. Because he knows youâll look beautiful up there, white hot with rage, holding a weapon poised for minor automotive destruction. He canât handle beauty, not right now. Because of that thing from before with his knees.Â
â...now her snooty ass is spreading it for half of Hawkins! Desperate! Stringinâ you along like the dumb piece of shortbus shit you aââ
Itâs impossible to say whose hair trigger that tugged first, yours or Eddieâs. Thatâs like chicken vs egg. Thatâs like Han vs Greedo. Thatâs like, irrelevant.Â
That baseball bat clatters to the pavement, a hearty overture to Eddieâs surge of empowerment, of rage, of insisting that she isnât, Iâm not, she isnât, Iâm not, nobody talks about her like thatâ
Next thing Eddie knows, heâs sitting beside you. Outside the principalâs office. Hand split open and aching, nose backed up and a little bleeding, coming down like the fucking Hindenberg. Reckoning with the fact that he wouldnât need to be a little morning-after zipped on coke to throw a punch for you, if it came down to it. If it came down to it, he would have tried caving in Billy Hargroveâs other eye socket. He would have made him look like the Elephant Man if you needed him to.Â
He liked that Eraserhead movie you made him watch.Â
âHe needs an ice packâŚâ
The soft mumble from you makes Eddie take this breath that makes his chest feel like it might concave. You, you. Reckless, unbuttoned, unlaced, off-kilter you, that still had time to snap at him after heâd tried to freeze you out, that still had eyes that asked him did it hurt?Â
Eddie eavesdrops on as much of your grilling with Higgins and the hot guidance counsellor as his damaged eardrums will allow. Temporary insanity. Disgusting prank. He wonders what thatâs about⌠and again, didnât even think to question what brought you onto the hood of Hargroveâs car. He just saw you. He just acted.
He just keeps doing that.Â
And then he hears. College. Application deadlines are within touching distance.Â
âI can turn this around.â
Of course. Eddie hadnât even thought about that, because heâs him. And it was something you were probably worrying yourself sick over, because youâre youâ you wanted out of here. To get up, go, be someone great.
âNew York, ideally,â youâd said to him once, tightrope walking across the broken bleachers outside; youâd been waiting around for him to give you a ride home, but he had a deal to make first. You were weirdly patient, weirdly pensive that day. âSomeplace I can go and burrow in and absorb everything and grow out of a crack in the sidewalk, new.âÂ
Eddieâd held your hand, helping you step over a gap in the bench, âNot taking Manhattan by storm? Hurricane Lacy?âÂ
Youâand he remembered thisâhad held onto his hand for a few more minutes, a cigarette dwindling in the other. Your fingers were cold; they clutched at his a little tighter when you spoke again.Â
âNo. Not Manhattan, not midtown, not big business. I have precipitated a change in my weathervane.â
âWhat does that mean?â
âMeans that someone taught me the difference between being important and being significant.âÂ
Back in the room. Eddie drawls out some stupid crack to Higgins, who heâs still supplying with enough benzos to take out Jonestown a second time, which is the only reason he hasnât been booted out of Hawkins High for absolute and final good. And then youâre alone again, the two of you. Together.Â
âWanna get out of here?â
Next thing Eddie knows, heâs spending the last of his energy like itâs burning a hole in his pocket, horsing around on the nurseâs saddle stool while you rifle through her office. You are all edgy and commanding because you have no idea how to say sorry you got wailed on by Hargrove for me.
Good. He likes you better like this, at least for right now. Likes to watch you attempt to pirouette on the razorâs edge of your relationship to one another, mostly because your attempt is more graceful and easier to watch than his is. And he likes to watch you. Watch you do anything, really.Â
Watch you snap at him to get on the bed. Fuck.Â
Watch you tear and dab at his busted knuckles. Fuckfuck.Â
Watch you talk about Cat People and press his hand to his chest and tell him heâs injured and wrong and watch you watch searing, singing alcohol on his split lip dry up. Eddie watches your eyes brighten and darken with curious affection, like those twinkle lights that fade in and out, steady as breathing. His breathing is anything but steady. His knees have come apart, letting you stand between them.
You dab and he lets this broken sound loose from him, because the proximity of your body to his feels like a fresh fucking spring breeze and god, god, the way youâre touching him with such gentle, measured movements, like youâve choreographed every oneâ
Youâre so exact. Youâre so organized. He wants to unexact you.
Eddie uses his good hand, not that either of them are really any good, and presses as much of you into him as he can. The flush of your front, the flush of your mouth, he even has to stop those shorn denim-sheathed legs of his from wrapping around your hips. Eddieâs grip, it travels, hitching tweed up the curve of your ass.Â
You donât push him away like he figured you might, you donât indignantly demand what is going on?! You donât. You weave your hand up the line of his thigh, to the hard edge of his crotch where he is straining, a rigidity thatâs been building since you went all Nurse Ratched on him.Â
A rigidity thatâs hard to keep down around you, badum-tsssss.Â
Fuck.
Eddie almost knocks the word loose with a low groan thatâs pressed into the supple flesh of your cheek, your lovely blushing fucking cheek, a cheek he goes to kiss or bite or something but misses by a hair because youâre straining your neck back. To look at him. Not soberly, he hopes.Â
Someone down there is wishing him death by dick.
Not the wettest, wildest, filthiest dreams that heâs had about you (and categorically, there have been many) could have prepared Eddie Munson from the earth-shattering consequences of this tiny gesture. Your tongue, perfect and pink, darts to his lip, stinging and sore and comes away with the tiniest drop of ruby-red blood sitting on its tip.Â
And you suck his bottom lip between yours, eyes fluttering closed.
Eddieâs cock jumps as his heart does, not a second out of time, as you clamber up, into his lapâ so completely un-Lacylike, so totally⌠unexact. How, in all the vastness of Heaven and earth and Middle Earth and Hell and the Bookstore and the closet and his bedroom and the van could he be so fucking stupid?
âJust friends, right?â Eddie is deaf to how pained it comes out sounding.
His good hand travels. He finds your thighs, the softness there giving way to easy indents for his fingers and he knows, he knows that this is where his hands should beâunless, higher could be good? Higher, high up past those offending, incriminating lace top stockings that drilled through Eddieâs mind like an ice pick, giving him whatever the opposite of a lobotomy is. Haunting him with a fervour, begging him to snap them, but thereâs no fucking time for that, god it hurts but thereâs no fucking time for that because you. Two. Are. In. The fucking. Nurseâs. Office.Â
But the world has ceased turning.Â
Eddieâs mouth opens in a silent attempt at a moan as his fingers push past to the beating, radiating core of you that the throbbing, radiating core of him longs for.Â
Youâre so wet, and soft and lush and it rings through is head like a fucking hallelujah, youâre wet, youâre wet for him.
More than anything, he needs your encouragementâhe needs to know that you want him to keep going. That you want him, that you want him, thatâ
You nod, frantic and undone, and Eddie kisses you for it just before he realizes he has no idea what heâs doing. But nothing in his body tells him to zoom outâin fact, the only thing he wants is more in. More you, more of you wrapped around him. He moves his hands with a clumsiness usually uncharacteristic of him, fucking guitar guy, fucking painting miniatures and shit guy. But it works, according to you and the way you keen against him with your beautiful, spit-shining lips parted and pulling against his.Â
These little noises, chirps and swallowed moans of yoursâ itâs like music. He wants to choke on them.
Eddieâs voice kind of cracks open again, letting a little air and a touch of begging out. He strains, pained, cock aching against the hitch of denim. âDoes he do this? Does anyone do this for you, Lacy?â
Because youâre lonely, and Eddie knows that, with his fingers stroking you deep. Youâre lonely, or would be, were it not for him. And it feels like now, in the heady swirl of these few moments that are stretched into an infinity, that heâs using it against you, but heâs not. He should be the one doing this for you, he should be the one making you feel this way, making you tremble even as he clumsily thumbs at your clit, because he thinks knows you and he thinks you want it unmeasured and unshackled and washing over you in a wave of sheer blind devotion and thatâs why his tongue is all over your neck.Â
Thatâs why his knuckles are split.Â
Thatâs why thereâs no malice in Eddieâs voice when he croaks, âJust friends? Lacy?â as you rock and spasm, hands clutching him around the shoulder and whimpers barely deadened against his lips. He can feel the texture of your pinched brow against his own.Â
He wants to clutch you as close as he possibly can, but heâs got one good arm and itâs between your legs.
Between your legs. Jesus fucking Christ.Â
Sobriety hits like a tidal wave as your breath returns to its normal rhythm; Eddieâs doesnât quite have the same rebound. Heâs still huffing a little, out of exertion or out of nerves, as he slips his hand out from under you, brushing what was off on his jeans. A small patch of his own bodily fluid collected there too, making sure heâs wearing the both of you like Hester Prynneâs scarlet letter as he walks around for the rest of the day.Â
Eddie, throat starting to tighten up, pulls you in for one kiss, to give you one last taste of where heâd been split open for you. Melodrama dances around it; shades of we shouldnât have, but we did, but we canât, but now I have to fucking live with the fact I cracked open this Pandoraâs box and Iâm sorry.Â
Or something to that effect.Â
And you see right through him, because you always do. Hair in a muss, lips flushed, adjusting your skirt, re-exacting yourself, you clean up any evidence that this had ever happened. At least, on a surface level.Â
Eddie dares to look at you once more, and you dare to look back at him. And thank god heâs sitting down, because that look shoots him right through the fucking aorta. You, wide-eyed and small-looking, pupils darting and unsure, are asking him why. Pleading with him, why. Why do this. Why now. Why at all, ever, why did you have to. Even though you know.Â
âIââ
âNo, I know. I know. I certainly know.â
Because youâre Lacy. You know everything.Â
Eddie does think about going after you for a second, after your curt nod and dash through the door but he knows that itâs a zero-sum game. He has nothing good to say. Itâs not even you thatâs rendered him speechlessâ funny thing, you usually do the opposite. You always give him something to say. He just has nothing good to say. Nothing worthy of you.Â
So he sits there, on the examination table, waiting for the mythical Nurse Lydia to tend to his wounds.Â
First heâll will himself soft, then heâll will himself sane.Â
Famous last words.
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JUMPING! SCREAMING! kicking my feet and twirling a phone cord around my fingers like iâm one of eddieâs lacy fantasies
FOUR TIMES YOU WERE STRUCK INCAPABLE OF IMAGINING YOUR LIFE WITHOUT EDDIE MUNSON
(+ one, of the many, where he felt the same about you)
part of the hellfire & ice universe
eddie munson x f!reader, reader is nicknamed lacy, you know the drill, minors dni only warnings are for fluff and eddie and lacy being cute and in denial
word count: 2k
tagging @chiefbonkpruneegg happy birthday pal <3 enjoy this nonsense
TRACK ONE: LET'S STICK WITH TELEVISION FOR TWO HUNDRED, ALEX
You and Eddie balance on either side of Ronnie Ecker's couch like faithful gargoyles, armed with soup and homework. Ronnie's caught the worst end of some green-gooed virus, so you two have taken it upon yourselves to deliver the necessities; tomato soup with extra hot sauce ("To snot out the demons," quoth Eddie) and history homework. But something on the television sucked you both right in, Poltergeist style, as you entered the Ecker trailer. Some hot young thing called Alex Trebek, captaining the maiden voyage of a brand new Jeopardy.
"You know who would kill on this show?" Eddie says, settling himself on the armrest to Ronnie's sniffling left.
"Guh, who?" Ronnie asks, huffing the steaming vapors of the spicy tomato soup like it's paint fumes.
You're pitched on the other armrest, pointing the rolled up history homework toward the screen. "What is the White H--US Treasury, are you fucking stupid?! Have these people never seen a twenty dollar bill before? What is the White House!"
You toss a glance over to Ronnie and Eddie for reassurance, just in time to catch them sharing a look. A good ol' Lacy know-it-all look. "Oh, shut up. as if I have more useless information rattling around in my brain than--"
Both you and Eddie snap at the TV in unison, "Who is Elvis Presley!"
Your turn to share a look. Game on? Game on.
It rolls on like that for a couple of categories, Ronnie sipping her soup straight from the container between you, hiding a smile as you and Eddie gradually bark louder and louder. Who are the Marx Brothers! What is 'break a leg'! Who was Napoleon!
"What, you're paying attention in History all of a sudden?"
"I'm a solid C student thanks to you, baby."
It occurs to you suddenly and begrudgingly and all at once; Eddie's right. You would kill on this show. But more than that, you want to wipe the floor and wring Eddie Munson out like the mop that he is.
"The greeting which opened each episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents."
"What is," both of you, in perfect Hitchcock tonality and without missing a beat, "Gooooood eeeeevening."
TRACK TWO: LIKE IF BECKY SHARP WAS FRIENDS WITH A BIG GOOFY HOUND DOG
Your first honest-to-god paycheck from the Bookstore was a fat wad of tens and singles plus change and it was handed to you in a brown paper bag. Invest this wisely, said Ivana, so of course, you followed your heart and your hard earned cash directly to the thrift store.
The front bell ding-a-lings and you walk through the door holding your moneybag aloft like the biggest, blue ribbon winning-est gourd at the county fair. You are proud as hell, because you did this! On your own! This isn't your daddy's money, this isn't the result of a once-toyed with idea that you might make a really good cat burglar, this was yours all yours!
"Put that down already! It's like you're wearing a sign saying mug me!" Eddie, bringing up the rear, yanks your arm back down by your side.
You laugh, mirthful and Hepburnian. "More like try me! I'm a working woman now, Eddie! I can hold my own! I can buy boots, guilt free, no strings, no blood money!"
"Uh-huh. consider that glass ceiling of having an after school job well and truly," he picks up a lamp from the scarcely populated homewares section, mimes slow-motion smashing it, "shattered!"
"Plus!" you cheerily pivot on your heel, a spring in your step that cannot be unsprung, even by Eddie's welcome to the real world, jackass flavored attempts. "Who would ever dare try and rob me when I've got a big, tough guard doggy like you three feet behind me at all times?"
Eddie's eyes narrow, like he's not all the way peachy keen on how you've pointed out your inseparability. But. He doesn't deny it either. A broken-stringed tennis racket bops you on the head.
"You owe me gas money."
"Shut up, please. I am shopping."
TRACK THREE: BUSTER MOVES
We'll always have the movies.
You sit, glassy-eyed, in your regular seats at the Hawk as The Cook starring Buster Keaton ticks along on the screen ahead of you. This Keaton retrospective, which you had been looking forward to for weeks, which you had been threatening to drag Eddie to for weeks, is going down a little... bland.
Not even that over-the-shoulder gaze that has Keaton beaming lasers of lust right into Virginia Rappe's skull adds any spice. You don't even bring up the whole scandal with her and Fatty Arbuckle, which would ordinarily be fertile territory to plow through with Eddie as a rapt audience.
In fact, you don't even tell him to kick his feet off the seats.
You've zoned out, because you still have the chill of the penitentiary's visiting quarters under your skin. Your dad and his cruelty that the bulletproof glass couldn't dull. The usual escape to the movies bit isn't doing the trick.
Then, you feel shaggy waves tickling your shoulder.
"I can do that."
"What?"
Directly in front of you, Buster is giving it his best Salome, his dance moves all angles. This display of pure deadpan goofiness was what made you obsess over Keaton in the first place, falling head over heels for a man who kicked it long before you were born.
And to your immediate left, you have Eddie Munson in your ear, telling you, "I can do that."
"No you can't," you say, and it doesn't sound like half the challenge it usually would.
Then, in a jolt that makes the whole row of rickety theater seats shake, Eddie's on his feet and stripping off his jacket. And before you can utter some totally perfunctory what're you... he's hot footing it down the steps to the splash zone, the front row, of the screen.
"You know I've seen this movie a million times?" Eddie says, projecting his voice right out like he's performing a one man show. Munson: Meditations on Dumbassery. You sit upright, glancing around to double-triple check that you're definitely alone in the screen. And you are-- Hawkins doesn't have as much a taste for the non-talkies as you do. And you were pretty sure that Eddie didn't either, and yet...
"Are you serious?" you ask, a laugh starting at the back of your throat.
"Does this look like a call and response? Let the maestro work, please," Eddie chides you over his shoulder, turning his back and hopping in place like a boxer about to take the ring.
And then, all of a sudden, he's... dancing? Sort of? Well, he's certainly moving his body, but it's nothing like what Buster's doing, and it's nothing like anyone's ever possibly done and not been hospitalized for, because the way his limbs are moving is borderline inhuman and you are laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing in a way that feels like Eddie reaching right through the fog of your horrible, dissociative feelings and bringing you back into the light.
You toss popcorn at him and he totally fails to catch it in his mouth, his face lit up in shades of black and white by the projection.
"A million times, huh?"
Eddie, breathless, shrugs, "Alright, I lied. But you laughed."
Point to Munson.
TRACK FOUR: LIBERATING MY MAGAZINES
It was a favor that he'd agreed to before you even offered to buy him breakfast after, a favor that didn't need sweetening up. As his van rolled into Loch Nora, Eddie's brows knit a little bit-- and you wondered how much of him regretted saying yes so hastily.
"On a scale of one to felony..."
Your house hadn't been sold yet. Repossessed, sure, but not sold. It stood there, darkened and quiet and gathering dust and the sheer sight of it being the only house on your street with an overgrown lawn made your chest feel tight. You bet the neighbors had something to say about that. You bet the neighbors had a lot to say about you. Curtains were no doubt twitching when you and Eddie pulled up in front of your old driveway.
"It's fine. It's my stuff, anyway."
About a half hour later, Eddie drops a pile of slightly-weather beaten copies of Rolling Stone bearing your name and old address onto a table in the diner, the remnants of your now-cancelled subscription.
"You gotta wonder what they're putting in that new print format that kept those things from totally composting."
"Thank god they didn't! I need to finish that Tom Wolfe serial or I'll die," you declare as he picks up a menu and you rifle through the pile. "Order whatever. It's on me."
Eddie snorts. You're still carting around that dwindling brown bag of cash. "You don't have to do that."
"No," you say, eyes darting around to anywhere but his face, "but I want to. For helping me to liberate my magazines."
"Lace. I'd happily liberate your magazines without the promise of pancakes," his mouth twists into this little grin you can't help but think of as sweet, "but they do help."
"Order enough to keep us here for a while," you say, and pass him a Rolling Stone.
The next while passes silently between you two, passing issues back and forth until one of you picks out something the two of you can fight about. Eddie twists his rings around when he's reading; you gather this from the looks you keep sneaking.
It feels eerily relaxed. Slightly domestic. And by the end, over-caffeinated with the way you two are soundlessly cackling over an imagined world where the cover of Springsteen's Born in the USA isn't an ass shot, but a full-frontal dick shot. "But where does he put the flag?!"
It's one way to kill a Saturday.
SECRET SONG: SWAPPING NOTES
In the relentless waves of the morning crush to get to his next class, he almost misses you-- just like he'd like to almost miss this next class. But then, there you are with freshly-manicured nails digging into his elbow.
For whatever reason, you've taken it upon yourself to make sure that Eddie Munson doesn't skip! At least, where you can help it.
"Yoohoo! Spanish is this way," you say, reorienting him in the right direction in that insistent little way that you do. Eddie's pretty sure that if he sat on you, you'd snap, yet he lets you completely manipulate his clearly superior physical strength anyway.
"We're not in Spanish together!" he tries, a last ditch to get you to turn around so he can ditch.
"No, but French is juste par lĂ so you are pas de chance, my friend!" you tell him with a stare that says I've been tracking your movements like a hunter, dumbass. See my big spear? From that gargantuan folder you're clutching, you dig out a paper. "I have that thing you wanted me to look at."
"Sssshut up, I don't need everyone to know," Eddie flushes. It's not homework he begged to copy from you for once. It is actually this comparative essay that he actually thinks he might not have completely screwed up. But he kind of wanted a professional not-screwer-upper-of-homework's point of view, so... that's why your little red pen marks are all over it.
"Why, whose reputation am I sparing?" He sees your point. You are basically walking arm in arm with him. You. "But, y'know, I was right about you! The thought is there, the execution just needs a little fine tuning."
"So it was..."
"Not amazing! But not awful. I've done my edits and you can just copy as per-- but absorb them, please, okay? Learn something?"
Eddie's head rolls back on his neck with this petulant groan and he almost clocks a freshman at elbow level, shaking his arms in total frustration. God, now you were giving him homework on top of his homework? He should have just paid you to do the homework!
"I hate when you want me to better myself! Shit!"
"Well!" you say, in that bright, adorable, annoyingly-self satisfied way, "I wouldn't do it if I didn't see potential, so suck on that."
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hey enjoyer of media who participates primarily in fandom of said media. whats your opinion on this female character and DO NOT use the word "girlboss", "mother/sister", or allude to her being the groups guardian. you have five seconds or else the saw trap goes off btw
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FUCK!!! FUCK!!!!
HELLFIRE & ICE â eddie munson x f!oc! reader as enemies to star-crossed lovers
CHAPTER EIGHT â SEWN UP
PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT
summary: you'd need a hacksaw to cut the tension between you and eddie, but that's not your weapon of choice this time around. a newspaper pitch, a patchwork girl and a tasteless prank all work together to make things ever more awkward between you and the boy you keep senselessly calling your friend.
content warnings: MINORS DNI, THIS IS NOT SAFE FOR YOUR PURITAN EYES - reader is an ex-bitch on a journey of self-discovery through being an even more specific kind of bitch, angst in the form of an elizabeth munson mention, miscommunication, lacy engaging non-platonically with someone other than eddie, mention of lacy's surname and dad's name, REEFER RICK CAMEO, billy hargrove slander as per, violence, a humiliating prank, smut in the form of public hand stuff (f!receiving), me feeling insane about this chapter
word count: 14.3k
Dear Mom,
She hasnât got warm hands. She hasnât got the kind of smile that draws people to her. She hasnât got a kind word for everyone, no matter where they come from. She hasnât got a lot of patience. She hasnât got a fixed sense of herselfâwell, she does kinda. But, not totally. Not yet.Â
Sheâs not like you.
Other cheerleaders wore ponytails and theyâd bounce. But when she wore a ponytail, it swung like a sword. She used to be cruel and exacting, but now sheâs just exacting. Sheâs honest and observant to a degree thatâs, like, almost psycho. Sheâs a cold front, but she laughs like a lightning strike. I feel like thunder, powerless to do anything but roll after her. Canât help myself.Â
She knows what she wants, she thinks. Other days she doesnât. I keep trying to tell her thatâs okay, in ways where I donât actually have to use the words. My words wouldnât be as good as her words. Her words burn clean through me like a lit tip of a cigarette.Â
But she does have your book.Â
Yâknow, I always thought it was kind of creepy the way some guys would try and look for their mom in other girls.Â
So this might be a good thing. Less Oedipus-y, more eaââŚÂ
Shit. I was gonna say something Iâm so sure youâd smack me around the head for. But youâre not here to do that. I might be in better shape with this girl if you were.
Anyway. I miss you.Â
Eddie Munson stands in the midst of an incredibly awkward aftermath.Â
See, for two people so purportedly self-assured, he in his freakshow roguishness and you in your prim-perfect knife-edge sharpness, youâre both entirely dogshit at acknowledging⌠well⌠anything.Â
You both tried to snap back to normal so quickly, with Wheeler and her science experiment pregnancy scare smashing through the ice. But the water underneath that ice is still freezing coldâ and youâre both pretending youâre not gasping for air, pretending like you donât remember gasping for each otherâs lips.Â
This is totally cool. This is totally fine.
And then Eddie comes to see you at The Bookstore, which has become just as routine as nearly never brushing his hair, and sees you fixing your sellerâs tag to your pick of the week. Your face in that arresting, self-conscious smile that he wants to melt off with the blowtorch of his mouth.Â
Itâs The Patchwork Girl of Oz by L. Frank Baum.Â
Now, he noticed that you would habitually drop writersâ names into conversation like they were your lit professorsâ Didion said this, Bukowski said that, Bronte yadda, Burroughs yadda. Always some genius-adjacent, formative-thinking, socio-politico-boffo brainwad, more often than not with a substance abuse kick that you romanticized from a safe distance.
But then you unearth this book, a green clothback cover yellowing with age and roughness, red and yellow inlaid titling blasting out a name he ought to know. It makes his visual memory brrrrrrring! like a bright red tomato shaped kitchen timer.
The Patchwork Girl of Oz was with Elizabeth Munson wherever she went. Her records were her plane tickets, her escape to another world, but you couldnât take your records with you to the hospital. Escaping to Oz was a decent substitute. She must have read it a bajillion times; she even took to calling Wayne Unc Nunkie after the elderly munchkin who only ever had one word for anybody. And whenever Eddie would drop an egg when they were baking or come running through the house with his knees all cut up, sheâd coo, âOh, my liâl Ojo the Unlucky!â
The book lingered everywhereâ on the kitchen counter of the house on Pennsylvania,on the vinyl seat of the booth at the now-shuttered Bennyâs when she could afford to take Eddie for a treat, on her bedside table.Â
Up until the end.Â
It knocks the wind out of Eddie when he sees it on the display shelf. He does a bad job of hiding that.Â
âWhat, too shocked to make fun of me?â you say, perching yourself on the rickety stool behind the counter, and your voice betrays a little embarrassment. âThatâs a first.â
âIâ... huh?â He tears his eyes away from the book long enough to catch the specks of blush high on your cheeks.
âItâs not my usual flavor, I know, but Iâm capable of whimsy too.â
âWhy that one?â His limbs feel stony like Unc Nunkieâs, as much as he wants to languidly lean over the counter and bother you like he always does.Â
You shrug, but you tilt the opposite shoulder. A reverse, a peek behind the looking glass. He notices that about you, which goddamn shoulder is your shrugging preference.Â
âI think it was one of the first books I kept checking out of the library when I was little,â you say, glancing back at the display, âItâs about this poor little kid who has to find a way to reverse a spell on his uncle whoâs been turned to stone, and the eponymous patchwork girl isââ
âI know the story.â It comes out a little blunter than Eddie was intending it to. So much so that it knocks you back a beat.Â
âOh,â you say shortly, eyes flaring down at the counter. âNo need to cut me off mid-stream about it.âÂ
Eddie winces, knowing heâs coming across as weird and stilted but with no idea how to safely climb down. âNo, justâ I know the story, yeah. My momâŚâ That is not a safe dismount, dummy! â...she⌠liked it a lot.â
âYeah?â your tone stays even, yanked back from him a little. He wants to be like, sorrysorrysorry. âShe ever read it to you?â
âA bunch, actually.âÂ
âNo shit.â The corners of your mouth tick up. âWanna hear something super dorky?â
Just the mere invitation of your little smile loosens him up a bit. Eddie twists a ring around his finger, head kicking to his shoulder as his foot kicks to the counter. âAlways,â he says, squinting.Â
You straighten your spine up on your stool and clear your throat. Hand goes over your heart, like youâre about to recite the damn declaration. Your eyes shutter closed.Â
âHereâs a job for a boy of brainsâ a drop of oil from a live manâs veins; a six-leaved clover; three nice hairs, from a Woozyâs tail, the book declares; are needed for a magic spell, and water from a pitch-dark wellâ the yellow wing from a butterfly to find must Ojo also try; and if he gets them without harm, Doc Pipt will make the magic charm; but if he doesnât get âem, UncâŚâ your crack one eye open. â...will always stand a marble chunk.â
Eddie is silent for⌠for a while. For a good handful of heartbeats, for a beat so long that makes you knit your brow up, your eyes needling into him. Eddieâs looking at you with rose-colored soft focus. His elbows are eagerly pitched on the counter now, chin in his hands. The last person to recite those words to him was his mom, her voice raspy and tired but still willing to read to him. She hadnât smelled like herself. It was sad.
And now, your voice, with all its snippy chainmail thrown off, gone all soft and lyrical and dedicated.Â
He thinks about a littler you, one he could vaguely pick out of a lineup if he really, really tried, criss-cross applesauce and pouring over that book so often that that little spell jams itself into your brain.Â
The mage before she donned the mink coat.
Eddie is looking at you and canât force his heart out of his throat.Â
Well, until he can.
âEw,â he cringes.
âWhat?!â you exclaim, your eyes getting all incredulous and kind of mad.Â
âAnd they call me a fuckinâ nerd, what the hell was that?â Eddieâs laughing, mocking, not with his whole heart. But itâs enough to make you scoff, irritated with him again.Â
See, you thought you were being cute and he knows you thought you were being cute. He needs to put you back in a place where youâre marginally unlikeable enough to just be a friend.Â
Restore the natural order. Donât think about how he wants to recite that same verse back to you in front of an ordained Elvis in Vegas. Because he would, in a heartbeat. If he wasnât committed to not being stupid.Â
Christ, youâre pretty. Christ, heâs gonna do something stupid.
âYou are⌠completely undateable, you know that?â he nods ferociously, eyes trailing you as you cross out from behind the counter and head for a box of books that need to be shelved. All uh-huhs and sure, Eddies. The bell on the front door jangles and a customer passes behind him.Â
He yells after you, voice traveling down whatever winding path youâve taken through the stacks. âYou with your black and white movies and your twat rock and your Wizard of Oz⌠baby, what crowd are you even playing to?âÂ
âWhat crowd am I playing to? What crowd are you playing to?!â you seethe, shuffling the ten-tonne box of books down the aisle with your feet. âFucking baggie-pushing, guitar-brutalizing, board-game-...maker-...upper!â
âWoah. Witâs unmatched as usual, Lace.â
This fucking guy. This fucking guy. You try and do one darling little thing, you just recite a little piece of a book his dead mom used to read to him or whatever, and you get verbally bashed! God forbid, god forbid you let the fucking drawbridge down for half a second! This blows!Â
Youâre trying to be less of a bitch, in case you idiots didnât notice!
Itâs kind of inexplicable, how sensitive youâre feeling about this. Could be that since you kissed and since you pinkie-swore with Nancy Wheeler in the bombed-out boys bathroom, you kind of felt as if you were standing on a bladeâs edge with Eddie. Not knowing where to put your hands, not knowing how much or how little to joke around. Not entirely happy with your moment of madness at the Ecker trailer. Not entirely happy that it hadnât happened again.Â
But youâre not about to apologize. Not to him. Don Rickles in a battle vest over there. Must he always just poke you like that?!
âYouâre undateable!â You shove a bunch of books aside on the shelf. âMe, Iâm cuâ...â
Right through the shelf, a customer stares at you. Your voice dies in your throat because, unfortunately, heâs looking right at you in your flurry of annoyance toward Eddie. And unfortunately, this stranger, heâs a littleâŚÂ
âWhat were you gonna say?â he asks, closing Gravityâs Rainbow.Â
âCute.â
Guy smiles, doesnât break eye contact with you for a second. Heâs wearing a sweater. He looks fresh out of somewhere stone walled with crawling ivy. âIâd attest to that.â
You forget about Eddieâ just for a second. Gesturing to Gravityâs Rainbow, you say, âGonna attempt to finish that?â
âWhatâs that mean?â His grin is infectious, or maybe youâre just starved for this kind of attention.Â
âNothing,â you say, with a little more tongue than you need to, âJust, I donât know of anyone thatâs ever finished that behemoth.âÂ
Well, you donât know of a lot of people that read the way you do either. But, digression. He raps a knuckle against the cover of the book and for some reason, you feel it in your belly.Â
âI always finish,â he tells you.Â
âDo you now?â
Thatâs the longest youâve been quiet in a hot minute, and thatâs the kind of thing that gets under Eddieâs skin. Chain on his jeans jangling, he starts off into the creaking labyrinth of lined-up bookcases.Â
âWhat, did you expire back here or somethingâŚâ he mutters, a little whine in his toneâ play with me, play with me, even though Iâm being kind of a dick to youâ
He sees you, a book lying lax in your arms, your body swaying to and fro and youâreâ
â--talkinâ to yourself, Lacy? Great look. Real honeytrap, if youâre lookinâ to catch some imaginary diââ
âEddie,â you grit at him, and he spots the whole other human male youâre talking to through the stacks. Well, not just talking to. Not with that body language.Â
This dude tilts his chin to Eddie. âHey, man. I remember you. Didnât you used to sell dimebags in the woods outside school?â
Fire flares in Eddieâs gut. He vaguely recognizes this guyâ class of â83 or â82, not remarkable enough to be hateable but now, heâs certainly collegiate looking enough to be⌠distracting to you. So, annoying to him.Â
âWhy, man? You lookinâ to buy? Or just cruise some high schooler tail?â
âEddie!â you hiss again and he scoffs like, really?! You turn back to this⌠whoever the fuck. âCâmon, Iâll check you out.â
âYouâll check him out, huh?â Eddie sneers, bearing over you as you pass him in the aisle. Body heat breezing right by, face a mask of sheer disgust. Impulse talks; it totally wants to just grab you and throw you behind him andâ well, he hasnât thought that far ahead yet. But heâs creative. Who the fuck even is this guy? Where did he come from?
âThat you?â this guy says, jerking his head toward the staff display, toward The Patchwork Girl of Oz. âLacy?â
âTo my friends and co-conspirators,â you say, ringing up that godawful Pynchon book.Â
âWhich one was that guy?â he asks, watching you jot out his receipt on the carbon copy pad because for whatever reason, Ivanaâs cash register is from the fucking 1800s and she refuses to upgrade to anything with a thermal printer. âFriend? Co-conspirator? ⌠boyfriend?â
You wrinkle your nose. And donât exactly answer, but itâs enough confirmation for him.Â
âGood. Say, why donât you jot down your number on this thing?â He pushes the receipt back to you. âI can keep you updated on my Pynchon progress. You can⌠see if Iâm good enough to co-conspire with.âÂ
You like this approach. In fact, you love this approach, because you hadnât been earnestly picked up in⌠forever. And he has this certain je ne sais quoi about him, something that screams moved out of state for college. You stay grinning, biting your lip for a good breath or two after he leaves the store.Â
Then Eddie appears in your peripheral, like some terrible harbinger of embarrassment.Â
âUndateable, huh?â you say, fully aware that he was earwigging on that whole exchange because heâs a nosy bitch and he canât help himself. Glutton for gossip.Â
âYou donât have to throw yourself at the first person who walks in the store just to prove a point, baby,â Eddie tells you, this big face of condescension. You want to smack it off him so bad your palms are itching.Â
You huff and backtrack to where that box of unshelved books sits. âMaybe Iâm tired of waiting around.â
â
Ronnie Ecker and Robin Buckley are looking each other in the eye, wolf-whistling furtively when you elbow open the door of the gym.Â
âYouâre flat. Iâm telling you youâre flat,â Ronnieâs insisting, an adorable three inches away from Robinâs face.Â
âI canât be flat! A mouth whistle cannot be flat!â
Itâs marching band practice. You donât know what the hell goes on in here and you know better than to ask.Â
âWould you two get a room already?â you call, heels clicking across the glossed wood of the gym. These dorks have all got their feathered hats and bibs on, a kind of half-assed dress rehearsal for some pep rally theyâre having on Friday. You missed the bulletinâ kind of stopped paying attention, actually. Extracurricular distraction is a hell of a drug.Â
âExcuse me, this is a closedââ thatâs the voice of Miss Genovese, the band teacher, stomping down from the bleachers in these tragic little loafers with the pleather peeling off. She makes it about halfway toward you, then this exasperated look washes right over her. The teacher dashes for the double doors and you point after her with a freshly painted red index finger. New lease on looking good.Â
âAnd that is?â
âLike, the third time in the last hour,â Ronnie shakes her head, taking her flamboyant little hat off. âBiggest running theory is morning sickness.â
What, is pregnancy like, catching or something? youâre about to muse.
âItâs almost contagious, right?â Robin says, tugging at her clip-on collar, âI mean, first your whole thing and nowââÂ
Ronnie doesn't even have a chance to gesture for her to ixnay! before she slams pause on herself, eyes wide and all shit, did I say that out loud?! Your eyes narrow in return. Thatâs suspicious.
âWhat whole thing? My whole what?â
Ever and eternally knowing when to call it, Ronnie holds a hand up before Robin can even start to scramble an apology and serve it to you. Panther versus a precious little puppy dogâ the fight ainât even fair.Â
âNothing. Scuttlebutt bullshit, the usual,â she rolls her eyes, throws a sympathetic glance to Robin who winces and retreats. Huh.
âWhatâs going on with you two?â you ask, crossing your legs over the bottom rung of the bleachers.
This actually makes Ronnieâs expression soften a littleâ her eyes race back in Robinâs direction and you swear you catch a blush. âAlso nothing! Compound nothing. Why, does it look likeâŚâ
Lips purse into a little satisfied grin. Knew it. Toldja. Point to Lacy. âLooks like whatever you want it to look like.â
Ronnie reaches forward and waves her feathered hat in your faceâ stop being so observant! You cough in protestâ ew, I donât know where that thing has been!Â
âWhatever! What brings you to geek church?âÂ
âThatâs what theyâre calling it now?â
âStick around, weâll start speaking in tongues.âÂ
âSatanic Panic bringing about a fun new turn for the pep rally! Put some God back into that wind instrument,â you croon. âNo, I actually wanted your thoughts on something.â
Ronnie raises her eyebrows and you feel like you oughta mirror her. Youâre not usually one to seek out a second opinion, but the more youâve gotten to know Ronnie, the more you see that sheâll tell you how it is. Especially now that youâve dispersed with the whole intimidating it-girl cloud and sheâs stopped pretending to be shy.
âI know. Iâm shocked too.â
âIâm honored,â she swings her shoulders in girlish delight, âDish it up, Doevski.â
âOkay, so,â you clap, hiking forward on your creaking bleacher, âIâve been seeing this guyââ
â--this is the bookstore guy?â
A blink and a beat. âHowâd you know about that?â
A face that has Eddie told me with footnotes of and he was kind of jealous scrawled all over it stares back at you. âI âunno, maybe I overheardâŚâ
âDoesnât matter.â You slice a hand through the air, no time for this right now. âFacts are facts, Iâve been hanging out with this guy,â interesting change of phraseology, considering, âand heâs a college guyââ
âIf they could see you now.â The royal court of Hawkins, obviously. Older guys are generally an accomplishment. But Ronnieâs half-jesting.Â
â--I know, shut up. But, he mentioned something that would absolutely rock my college applications is a really, really greatââ
â--feature in the Streak?â youâd gasped out in the back of his Ford Cortina (how very European!). College guyâs mouth was on your neck and his hand was inching into your shirt, playing at a faux placket of pearl buttons. Boys can never tell a real button from a fake one, apparently, even if they go to an East Coast school. I mean, shit! Youâd gleaned enough information from him over a shake at the diner; relatively well-to-do family that lived near the Wheelers on Maple and kind of underwhelming taste in lit for an English major.Â
But he maintained eye contact and listened to your witty little bon mots, even if he didnât⌠laugh at them. One thing led to another and thus, the backseat college advisory-slash-makeout session.Â
âYeah, yeah, they love that shitâŚâ heâd said, moving to your mouth in order to swallow any forthcoming words. But his words had piqued your interest more than his fingers had.Â
âWhat about an underdog story?â you said, eyes kind of hazing over in the middle distance.Â
âSure, underdog, greatâŚâ college guy grabbed ahold of your leg and tugged you into him, âWe can talk more about it later, okay?â
âOkayââ
ââokay?â
Ronnie grimaces. âI didnât need that much detail.â
âYes, you did.â You stare at her. âIâm a storyteller.â
Ronnie chews the proposal over a little, cheeks kind of bunched up in confusion. Behind her, band geeks badly hide their hickeys and exhibit too-gangly, too-obvious body language. No inspiration to be tapped from there.
âAn underdog story⌠on the society pages? Like, who could you possiblyââ
You smile that awful, conniving smile, because you came in here armed. âYe of little faith.â
âOh, no,â Ronnie says, and honestly, youâre a little taken aback by that reaction, âHellfire?â
A shrug pulls your shoulders right up, rapidly on the defense. âWhy not, right?âÂ
âWhy notâ Lacy, you almost guillotined Jeff that one time he asked you.â
True that you hadnât had the inches of article to spare for Hellfire Club in not-too-ancient history, but, âThat was then, this is now! Worldâs changingâ and itâs topical!â
The whole Satanic panic thing really did tickle your funny bone; and you saw yourself having a little fun with that by turning the focus on Hellfire. Subverting Eddieâs cult-leader mythos to show that he is just a kid who might have a propensity for telling a good story, surrounded by other kids who want to get a word in. Youâre not looking to turn the tide on his reputation or anything but maybe⌠yâknow. You could do the admirable journalistic thing and scratch the surface a bit. Show what youâve learned.Â
Itâs a challenge. You love a challenge.
âAnd itâs a good excuse to get in Eddieâs face,â Ronnieâs voice breaks through.Â
There is a lonnng beat, one you hold like the last shoes in your size at a sample sale. Your mouth keeps going to make the words yeah, right or itâs not about him! or yâknow, something to exonerate you from the notion.
âI know he isnâtâŚâ Ronnie trails off, coming to sit next to you. âthat heâs kind of being weird to you right now.âÂ
Go ahead and feign that ignoramus, girl. Shoulders quirking and all.Â
âOh. Is he?â
And then Ronnie says maybe the dumbest thing on the planet, regarding the abominable sitch between you and Eddie Munson.Â
âYou should just talk to him.â
âEcker, thereâs fruitless efforts and then thereâs barren wasteland,â you scoff, âGuess which category proposing this to Eddie falls into.â
âThatâs not what Iââ
Jâexcuse, Ronnie, but you donât care! Because this isnât actually about anything other than getting all of those dice-throwing dorks, including Miss Ecker herself, into your damn paper. Okay?
âWe have to ambush him! Element of surprise, thatâs it,â you smile primly and hop off the bleachers. âIâm just going to show up at Hellfire, photographer in hand andâ he wonât have a choice, will he?â
Ronnieâs expression is a mask of reproachfulness. You donât let it shake you. Youâre a cat playing with a now-endless ball of yarn, and youâre unshakeable.Â
âHeâs such a sucker for attention,â you say, tossing your hair, and it sounds a lot more like youâre convincing yourself than anyone else in this echoey gym, âHe wonât be able to resist.â
â
Reefer Rick doesnât call, unless itâs an emergency. All of his communication is inbound, or passed through a shoulder check and a goofy smile at Melvaldâs, or a nod of the head across the pool table at The Hideout. He doesnât frequent there so much, because Bev knows heâs a pool shark and ever since âNam, his ears are a little too sensitive to all that metal racket, man! By all means, rock on, but by then I gotta go rock-a-bye myself to sleep, alright? Anyway, thatâs how Eddie knows to ride over to his place, if itâs not through a call heâs placed himself.Â
You need me, kid, you come and find me.Â
So when Eddie gets a call that says, âWe gotta pow-wow, ese,â his nerves are set on edge. Not that he wasnât feeling bad enough, what with the fact that some douchebag in a Cortina had picked you up and dropped you off to school the last couple of days. What with the fact he had actively dogged the car down a little bit of the road from the trailer park with his van, resisting every temptation to just run it all the way off into a ditch. And what with the fact he didnât know what to say to you about that without it coming out in an anti-missive of jealousy! jealousy! jealousy! so what he did say to you was⌠nothing.Â
You two canât maintain a consistent line of communication to save your lives, he realizes. Thereâs too much left unsaid, and the both of you are too stubborn or too scared to say any of it. Or even think it, in his case! The amount of times heâd had to slap himself sober, his brain going into overdrive thinking, if I had just told her⌠Itâs a âfriendshipâ, if you can even call it that, based on barbs and bad behavior and doing things because you know you shouldnât. For the thrill. Right?
Like. Whatever. Itâs not like heâd made tapes of a half dozen Black Sabbath albums because you mentioned you wanted to âstudy upâ on that âmonster musicâ heâs making. Itâs not like youâd given him an annotated copy of Still Life with Woodpecker because he wanted to throw some ânonsensical curveball shitâ into a later Hellfire campaign.Â
Itâs not like Eddie missed youâ he just⌠should have seen this coming, is all. Heâs used to getting left in the dust while people move onto better things, or whatever.Â
God, Munson, your voice taunts him from somewhere in his hippocampus, need some help nailing yourself to that crucifix?
Anyway, fuck, Rick called him.Â
Rick had gotten out of lockup about a month agoâ some truncated charge or another that Eddie didnât bother asking too much about, mostly because⌠well, Rick hadnât really been himself. Larger and brighter than the sun itself, the great and powerful lion of a man that oozed life ainât shit if you ainât havinâ fun energy, Rick had kind of dimmed. Lost a lot of weight while he was inside. Came back a little bit twitchy and fluent in Spanglish, for some reason.
Eddie was worried, because of all the adult figures in his life, Rick was meant to be the one with levity. Heâd lost out on a fun uncle when Wayne stepped into his father-figure role. Al was nothing but a dangerous bit player. Rick, he could rely on.Â
Thinking back to that infamous day when he had gotten loaded at Lipton Landing, before he picked up you and Ronnie, before he⌠well, you know the rest but, Eddie had sensed that Rick could use the company. He kind of tried to poke it out of him, whatever was wrong. Didnât work. They had just watched The Godfather in a tense-ish silence and doofed a lot of joints. Sorta freaked him out.
Eddieâs crushing gravel on the descent to the infamously slanted Lipton Landing for his summons. Thereâs a hum that seems to traverse the window panes, a fond plucking work that could only belong to Link Wray. He puts the van in park and jogs up the steps to the front door, bracing himself for the pungent plume of skunk smoke that always greets him.
âEduardo,â Rickâs voice curls around the greeting like smoke curls out of his mouth and he yanks Eddie over the threshold. Door slams, arm tightens around his shoulders. âYouâre here.â
Rickâs always a handsy sorta guyânot like that!âbut this grab makes him seize a little.Â
âYou rang,â Eddie says, voice lilting, âEverything okay?â
Rick clutches him by the shoulders and looks at him for a long, long time. Uncomfortably long. How has he managed to puff on that joint for this long without choking long.Â
âNo.â
And Rick begins a shuffle toward the kitchen. Eddie follows in an awkward half-step, headache threatening to bloom someplace in the back of his skull because he does not know how much more of this vagueness he can take!Â
âDoes it have anything to do with why you called me down here? Because, shit, I would love to get a straight answer out of someone for once!â A mirthless chuckle follows, trying to soften his desperation.Â
A flick of the refrigerator door and Rick places two beers on his kitchen counter, hands bracing against the surface. âThen letâs sit crooked and talk straight. Itâs about yourâŚâ
Hss. Eddie takes a notoriously mis-timed sip.
â...neighbor girl.â
Ffflpâ Eddie wishes, just one day of his goddamned life, he could act cool at the mention of you. Even the suggestion of the mention of you. But no, heâs got PBR streaming from his nose like a moron and a look on his face that says uh-oh, spaghettio!
âThatâs what I was afraid of,â says Rick, taking a knowingly smooth drink from his beer.Â
With the heel of his hand, Eddie wipes away his spluttering mess and fumbles around for a crumb of nonchalance.Â
âI donât knowââ
âEddie,â Rick levels. God, Eddie hates it when adults are adults, and Rick hates having to act the adult even more.Â
His shoulders drop. âWhat about her?â
âWell, when I was in the penâlocal, Iâll have you knowâI got approached by a very interesting man with a proposition I was powerless to refuse.â
With some trepidation, Eddie mumbles, âOh, yeah?â
âSomeoneâ well, letâs say me and this someone have a friend in commonâŚâ
âRickââ Eddieâs attempting the leveling thing, but heâs not as good at it as Rick is. Or as you are, for that matter. And youâre who heâs attempting to imitate here, even if he wonât admit it.
â--a certain mutual business partner, if you willââ
âRick.â Eddie tries to punch through the tension with the big manâs name. âIt was Lacyâs dad. Right? You can just say it was her dad.âÂ
Rickâs brow sinks into a wrinkle. â...Lacy? The fuck kind of a dumb name is that?â
âItâs a nickname.â Why does Eddie feel defensive.
âThe fuck kind of a dumb nickname is that?â
âThey call you Reefer Rick.â
âThat is a calculated business decision, a calling card if you wââ
âRick. Can we close in on the point, here?â Ooh! Seems to actually work this time, much to Eddieâs relief. âI only got so many if you wills left in me.â
âSi, pronto,â Rick nods with apologetic understanding; heâs such an empath, this guy, âLong and short of it is, her pops offered me a little bit of cash and some assistance, iffinâ I promised to keep an eye on her.â
âAssistanceâŚ?â Eddie murmured out of the side of his mouth. Itâs all in the way Rick says it! âLikeâŚâ Hand a loose fist. Jerky-jerk.Â
âEddie,â Rick chides, âAssistance gettinâ out. In prison, that is just called beinâ sociable. âanyway, I have this conflict of interest, with the whole surveillance thing.â
âAnd what is that?â
âYou.â The way Rick drops it is obviously meant to cause some kinda ripple effect of realization, but Eddieâs still confused.Â
âSo you⌠didnât take the money?â
âHuh?â Now Rickâs all confused. âOf course I took the fuckinâ money! What kind of a chump do I look like, man? What Iâm getting at is, I knew that rattinâ on her also meant rattinâ on you.â
âWhâ why would itâŚâÂ
âI got eyes everywhere, man. Dig? Iâve seen whatâs been happening.âÂ
Eddieâs heart leaps into his larynx. Eyes everywhere. And the truth was, you two had been stupid enough to be a lot of everywhere, thinking your respective trailers were the only hot zones. The Bookstore, the Hawk, Main Street Vinyl, Family Video, the diner, you name a Hawkins establishment and it has probably seen Eddie Munson and Lacy Doevski good-naturedly bickering in its aisles.Â
He wonders if Rick even had eyes in the Ecker trailer. Ronnie could be a Lipton informant. That girl can hold a secret about as well as Wayne Munson can hold his liquor, which is gracefully.Â
âNothingâs been happening, weâre justââ
âEddie.â Like a bulldozer, this guy. âI know Ivana pretty well. You ainât hanginâ around that bookstore for the good of your health.â
âSo what, youâre gonnaâ,â Eddie can feel himself starting to scramble, starting to sweat, backed into a corner like a hunted animal, â...tell her dad that we went to the movies a couple of times? That I go to her job, that Iâ that weâreââ
âWhat are you?â The way Rick puts it to himâ rock, meet hard place. Should this really feel like such a tough question to answer?
âFriends.â
Rick draws up to his full height (tall, mountain man) and looks at him like he just shoved a cream pie into his face.
âIt doesnât matter, okay!â Eddie froths over, like a snapping dog, âWeâre barely hanging outâ anymoreâ so you can⌠youâre not gonna tell him anything, are you?â
Rickâs hands slowly, slowly rise, urging him to calm the yapping. No need to get into such a tizzy. Which Eddie wishes he could believe.
ââcourse not, man,â he shakes his head, âRay Doevski only needs to know what Ray Doevski absolutely needs to know.â Eddie can feel a little more weight behind that sentence than heâd like. âNo reason you need to figure into this story.â
âThatâ thatâs it? Youâre not gonna tell him about uâ about me?âÂ
âYouâre in enough of a shitheap as it is, is how I see it.â A beat. Rick takes him in; really takes him in. Feels like an embrace, his stare. Concern uncrinkles the ever-present smile in Rickâs eyes.Â
âEddie, you care about this girl?â
Eddieâs mouth attempts to form around an answer, but heâs just blinking into nothing. Does he care about you? Does he care about you? He wants, needs to say no, to pfft you off, but every molecule is screaming otherwise. And Rick can sense it, operating on the extraterrestrial level that he does.Â
âThen Iâm real sorry.âÂ
âFor what?âÂ
As if on cue, car wheels on gravel shuck Rickâs attention away from him. His eyeballs jitter in his head, heading for the doorâ Eddie close behind him. âSorry for what, Rickâ?!â
âLittle bit for that, little bit for⌠this.â
Standing in the window of Rickâs living room, these two watch an offensively red muscle car skew into the driveway, making a mockery of Eddieâs beat up van. The driverâs door pops open and the first thing Eddie clocks is a blinding glint off some brand new aviator sunglasses.Â
The second is that trademark Munson smile.Â
â
âThis is exciting!â Nancy Wheeler says, kind of flatly but with a conviction buried deep under her curled bangs.Â
On the table sits two piles of playing cards, one steadily growing and one steadily decreasing.Â
You two had taken to playing gin rummy when staring at paper layouts became a little too much. Technically, she actually had a say in layout and you were just nosy, but itâs a decent excuse to hang out. Though, both you and Nancy had this incredible tendency to hyperfocus on detail so hard that neither of you could pull the other out far enough to look at the big picture, so one day she tossed a deck of cards your way and said, âDeal!â
âI know,â you say, trying to focus on these melds of suits youâre makingâ that discard pile is looking poor, âFresh turn for me, yâknow? Less fluffy, more Didion.â
Nancy snorts softly, swapping out a card from her hand. âWho does that make Eddie? Charlie? Or Linda Kasabian?âÂ
A smile dances across your lips and you shrug, reaching for a cigarette before you go for another card. Usually, smoking in the newsroom was prohibited, as it was prohibited on most of Hawkins High grounds, but whenever that deck came out, you felt it was appropriate for at least one of you to be smoking. Gave a kind of Torchy Blane feel to the whole scenario which fit you and Wheeler pret-ty keenly, if you did say so yourself.
âThatâs not what I was talking about, though,â Nancy says, poking Fred Bensonâs empty mug toward you to use as an ashtray.Â
Your eyes narrow; this could be a play to distract you from a winning hand.Â
âItâs not?â
âNoâŚâ she puffs out another soft scoff, meeting your eyes over her fan of cards, âI mean the college guy.â
âWhy is it exciting?â and you do want to know why Nancy thinks so. Sheâs a mile wiser beyond her years, even precocious enough to keep in step with you most of the time. Youâd like her take.Â
âWell, itâs what you wanted, right?â she tells you, watching you puff your cigarette and dig into the stock pile. âSomebody older, decidedly not a grabby high school boyâ but someone with more experience, both with girls and with being outside of Hawkins. And the fact he goes to Vassar meansââ
âHe probably eats kitty like a maniac.â
Nancy lets out this full-bodied Merlot of a laugh, only a little color dashing over her cheeks. Sheâs gotten used to you being provocative on purpose because it gets a laugh out of her. So far grown out of the prude shoes you were sure she was still sporting. Youâre proud of her.Â
âNot exactly what I was getting at butâ more sensitive to the female perspective, sure.â But then she registers what you forgot youâd even dropped. âHold on, probably? You mean you havenâtâ...â
You shrug. Itâs a little withdrawn on your part.Â
âOh,â Nancy says, and seems to be leaning a degree or two towards unsurprised. That ruffles your feathers a little bit. Again, with the frigid thing. You couldnât shake it.Â
âNo,â you emphasize, shucking your pitiful melds back again. âIt's not as if we haven'tâdone things. I've copped a handful. Time is of the essence, and I take, y'know, a little more time to get there.â
âSo no return on investment...?â
"Not... yet."
Nancy almost tosses her cards at you, the way she jabs them through the air. âYou? You, the one whoâs been preaching Betty Friedman to me, you haven't been gettingââ
âYes, me! Did you not hear me about time and the essence?â
âI know, itâs justâ a little surprising.â
There have been exactly three instances of almost you tying your panties to the rearview mirror of college boyâs Ford Cortina, so to speak, and youâve come out of each one with this desperate echo of oh well! Maybe next time! careening around your skull. Like youâre trying to convince yourself that by virtue of him not being in your grade, this has been a worthwhile way to spend your time. And listen, no misunderstandings here, it has! At least, part of it. It usually starts like thisâ the two of you grab some shitty diner coffee or some shitty diner food and then he takes you around in his car for a turn or two, admiring that famous Hawkins scenery (see: shuttered businesses and if youâre really lucky, that one mangy fox that feasts on the overflowing trash can near the Big Buy). You talk (you mostly talk) books and movies and say something that should be a hook of conversation but usually ends up with him screwing his face up in amusement and saying something along the lines of, âGod, youâre so beyond this place.â
Which, duh. Youâve been saying this. This is the raft upon which your whole identity floats.Â
The exchange dies in the air and he puts his hand on your leg and that is just⌠wonderful. Heâs a solid B on the kissing GPA, and heâs cute and sort of funny, even if he doesnât rally back jokes the way youâd⌠sort of gotten used to. Sometimes he makes a halfway-interesting observation about like, Philip Roth or somebody. But when it comes down to the minute of it, it still feels like going through the motions. Fumble bra strap, catch nail on his zipper, crank back passenger seat to climb in the back. Hey presto, youâve distractedly jerked off a boy once again.Â
You are not entirely sold on the fit of his hands on your body, even if he doesnât look at you like heâs just solved a Rubikâs cube.
In fact, he kind of looks at you like youâre precious. Virginal precious. Innocent precious. Which youâre not totally sold on either.Â
Nothing about him that makes you fantasize about what his mouth might feel like on you. What your fingers might feel like wound around his curls. His hair doesnât even curl. Thereâs just nothing about him that calls for your full attention.
âThink there might be a reason for that?â Nancy, your annoyingly perceptive Nancy, presses. Goddamn intrepid girl reporter. She hasnât stopped staring at you with that smug little look. You havenât answered the question. âAnd it might be⌠living across the way from you?â
âTch. What?â you snip. âIâm⌠having fun. What?â
âNothing,â she smiles. âJust⌠gin.âÂ
She lays out her dazzling melds, complete with a measly goddamned three in deadwood cards and you toss your own bullshit hand to the side. A dumb amount of spades that add up to nothing scatter across the desk. An accusatory finger jams in her direction.Â
âYou are a fucking card shark.â
âNope!â Nancy says, popping her âpâ, âI just know a really great set when I see one.â
Reaching into Fredâs mug, you crush your cigarette with a little too much force. Now, how would Nancy have a read on that? you think, oblivious to your own obviousness. (Like a neon sign. Like a circus tent.)Â
You hadnât even reminded her of the catastrophic events of her thirteenth birthday which led to a whole lot of this awkwardness, which, now that you thought about it, actually implicated her in the crime of you kissing Eddie Munson âtil you were breathless in Granny Eckerâs closet.Â
If you hadnât been born and had a birthday, I wouldnât be in a spiral over some boy with a curl pattern like a fucking backwoods libertine.Â
âYouâre not clever,â you tell her, but sheâs looking at you all cleverly, âLike. Youâre clever, but I need you to know that youâre not clever.â
With flicking fingernails, Nancy picks up your discarded cards and folds them neatly back in the deck.Â
âIâm just saying,â and the tone she takes is a little gentler now, âdonât⌠let yourself miss out on something just because, I donât know, the thing youâre currently having fun with is what you think you want. What you feel you want and what you think you want are two very differentââ
âThis isnât entirely about me, is it?â you realize, defenses peeling down a little bit. The Nancy and Steve of it all had been looming since your (admittedly triumphant!) visit to the war memorial that was the boyâs bathroom. Still no sign of that place getting fixed, by the by. And ever still, Nancy hadnât told Steve about their little mission. Many a reason for that, you were led to believe. Not a lot she wanted to dissect, though.
Nancyâs face scrunches up and she stops packing the cards.Â
âNo. But letâs pretend like it is.âÂ
A groan escapes you as you sink back into your chair, a twinge of pain running along your shoulders. Â
âNance. This is all so much more complicated than you realize.â
âTry me.â
You toss a hand through your hair, slapping your palm down on the desk.Â
âFine. But if I tell you thisââ
A hand rises out between the two of youâ yours, pinkie extended.Â
âNot a word,â you press.Â
Nancy clamps her finger around yours in a way that enforces how super-serious she is about this. The reason your usual reserve doesnât hold up under that x-ray stare of hers is because you can tell she actually gives a shit. Sheâs not looking for gossip. She cares. Which is still an entirely alien feeling to you.Â
So the whole thing spills out. Steveâs party, the record store, getting locked up in Eddieâs trailer and getting locked up in feelings, Roane County Quarryâs incredible acoustics, the friendship that made you fold all the neatly arranged origami parts of yourself out toward him only to realize you had no idea how to fold them back. The kiss. The subsequent awkwardness of said kiss. The college guy. The relative radio silence. The fact thatâŚ
â...I donât feel like myself when heâs not around,â you say, lighting a fourth cigarette off your third. âIsnât that silly? I spent all this time painting this like, fabulous eggshell of myself then this wild-eyed, smart-mouthed, catastrophic ass smashes it clean open and nowââ
âAll the college boys couldnât put you together again,â Nancy nods. âYouâre a very beautiful Humpty Dumpty.âÂ
â... does Humpty Dumpty die in the end?â
âMaybe we shouldnât be teaching it to kids.â
âNo. They should know. The fall comes for us all.â
Thereâs a suspended silence. You get this feeling like youâve emptied your purse on the table and you still canât find that thing youâre looking for, despite sifting through everything.Â
âHow does that even happen?â you question, biting at the skin on your little finger. Not Humpty Dumpty, the Eddie thing. It comes out idle, but you pray that Nancy, with her feelings scalpel and surgical precision, doesn't decide to answer it.Â
Instead, she says, âYou need a photographer for that piece.â
Thatta girl. Your dimmer switch turns up. âFred hasnât even okayed it yet.â
âIâll deal with William Randolph Hearst, okay?â Nancy says derisively and tosses her eyes to heaven. She pushes her chair back. âAsk Jonathan Byers.â
âHe hasnât taken photos for us in a while,â you remark, eyes searching Nancy. Sheâs readying herself to leave, so totally dodging this line of questioning before you can even cast it. Clever.Â
âNo, he has not,â she sighs, winding her scarf around her neck, âBut heâd be good for this. He knows how to capture action. And his kid brother plays DnD with mine, so thisâd be, like⌠nice for them.âÂ
And this is just as much me making amends with Jonathan Byers as it is you, backwards as it may seem, you nearly hear her say. Or youâre making that up.Â
Shame Nancy is so dead set on becoming the next Nellie Bly. Under the right circumstances, sheâd make a hell of a normal person.Â
Good thing you prefer freaks.
â
Jonathan Byers is a notoriously hard boy to get a hold of, it turns out. Nancy passed along his number (which, you actually already had but you didnât bring that little detail up) and when you finally punched it in on the yellowing phone nailed to the wall of your trailer, it rang and rang and rang.Â
Which, after the fourth time, was just rude. Do the Byers have a thing about not answering the phone, or something?
âJonathan!â you holler across the parking lot, emerging from the passenger side of Nancyâs car this time.Â
College guy was decidedly busy and despite the hanging tension, youâd toyed with the idea of asking Eddie for a ride. Alas, the boy in the Dio patched battle vest was nowhere to be seen. His van hadnât been there since the weekend and he had been MIA from school the last couple of days, actually, which was itching at you.Â
It also made you miss when you had a goddamn set of wheels at your disposal.Â
Anyway, Jonathan looks at you with flaring eyes, kind of like youâve just stuck a shotgun to his snout and thereâs no hope of him making a getaway. âUmâŚâ
Now, keep in mind that these are the first words youâve spoken to him in a measurable high school forever, so his surprise is entirely justified. Itâs just not within the beam of your patience right now.Â
âHi. Can we chat?â you say, falling in step with him as you head towards the front door. You donât bother asking for permission, and forgiveness wonât be necessary. âI was hoping you could help me out with a piece for the Streak.â
Blink, blink. Jonathanâs grasping for wordsâ seems to be a lot of that going around lately.Â
You strike your hand through the air. âLet me put it to you like thisâ you are going to help me out with a piece for the Streak.â
âWhy?â he asks, and itâs prickly.Â
âBecauuuse,â you draw out, âI need a photographer. And god knows whenever Nicole attempted to work a lens, those snapshots were so out-of-focus they looked like an optical illusion.âÂ
âAnd, youâre not talking to Nicole right now,â Jonathan nails you, but not totally. In your mind, you revisit flashes of Nicole recounting, in gloriously erroneous detail, those photos Jonathan had taken of Nancy. You had pretended to be scandalized and rolled your eyes, thinking whatâs a little peep show among losers.Â
âEven if I was,â you say, dogging Jonathan all the way to his locker, âI still wouldnât ask her. This is important to me.âÂ
That avoidant Byers reserve stands strong, with Jonathan grabbing books in hurried succession. He is trying to get away from you, but thatâs not happening without an emphatic yes!Â
âI donât even reallyââÂ
âTake pictures anymore?â you pfft, pointing to his messenger bag, âTwenty bucks says your camera is in there and the filmâs half shot.âÂ
âI donât have twenty bucks.âÂ
âMe neither,â you shrug, âSpent it on that new Echo & the Bunnymen.â
Jonathan hesitates a bit, fingers strumming against his biology textbook. A thread of something long forgotten by the listening booths of Main Street Vinyl tugs between you both, but itâs not weighed down by the prospect of will we kiss about it. He kind of smiles.Â
âWhat did you think? I havenât gotten down to hear it yet.â
You thought it made you want a flowing dress and a place to prance. Like if the more whimsical end of Fleetwood Mac didnât exhaust you. Those last four tracks snapped your heartstrings like suspenders, with comical aplomb.Â
âGrandiose! That âKilling Moonâ song? Itâs got Jonathan Byers written all over it,â you chirp, and mean it. âIâll make you a copy if you put that camera to work for me.â
He shrugs, but you can see youâre wearing him down. âIâm not much for shooting pep rallies.â
âLiar. Wheeler says youâre top banana in the action shots department,â you counter, âBut how about players? I think I want some portraits, too. Non-corny ones.â
âWhat team?â Jonathan screws up his nose. The distaste for jockery runs deep, and rightfully so.Â
But you shake your head, face curving into an expression of near excitement.Â
âNo team. Better, and worse, depending on what side of the cafeteria youâre sitting,â your hands splay out, and for godâs sake, you feel like Munson himself, âHellfire Club.â
Jonathan looks like his recordâs skipped. Eyeballs sort of jiggle in his skull and he mouths, oh, like the association of you between Hellfire should mean something. Suspiciously like Nancy, and just suspicious period. Your eyebrows start to inch towards one another.Â
âWhatâs that look? Does that mean youâll do it?â
âUm,â he dillies, then dallies, âSure. Yeah. You know, my kid brother loves DnD.â
Ah, yes. The other Byers boy, the one whoâd gone missing all that time ago. You remembered. Actually, you remembered not being able to figure out how you should feel about itâ how you should act, other than falling in line with the majority of people who were giving Jonathan shit at the time. You regret that now, with a chill that runs right down to your toes.Â
âCould be cool for him to see, no?â you try, corner of your mouth lifting, âA little niche in the midst the high school horrors. To look forward to, yâknow.â
The look on Jonathanâs face is more than a little bit screaming, thatâs rich, coming from you, you were the high school horror. But he shakes it off, because heâs nicer than you are, even though he doesnât need to be.Â
âYeah⌠whatever you say, Lacy. When do you need me?â
You tell him Friday and he agrees, much to your satisfaction. Youâre just about to punch him on the shoulder like teamwork, buddy! before he saves you such a wildly out-of-character display by dodging toward his homeroom.Â
You sail toward your locker like the bastard thatâs risen alongside the cream, only to be greeted by something⌠strange. Scratches, all around the maudlin gray paintwork of your combination lock. Like itâd been tampered with, or something. A blaze of paranoia burns at the base of your skull, and you instinctively try to recount where your journal is⌠in your bag. Phew. Fine. This could be⌠anything.Â
Fingers reach forward to twist your lock, and with the slightest touch, the door is forced open by a push from the other side. A flash of bright red, then SPLAT. Yellow, SPLAT, blue, SPLAT, SPLAT, SPLAT! You shriek a real ear-piercing shriek as at least a dozen water balloons spill out of your locker, hitting the floor with an obscene smack. Water dashes everywhere, and youâre barely able to move out of the splash zone in time.Â
âWhat the fuck!â
Within seconds, thereâs a hubbub and a crowdâs gathering, trading sickening snickers with one another as you peer into the dark of your locker. You gingerly step through the puddle, suede boots irreparably spattered, and yank the door the whole way open. There, sat atop your schoolbooks and a stray water balloon that hadnât made the fall, is a horribly familiar set of test tubes.
In one of them sits a squirt of blue liquid and that offensive strip of plastic. And scrawled across it in clumsy black marker?Â
ITâS A FREAK!
Realization hits you like Carol did, making your head swim among all the murmurs of oh my god⌠and gross! and told youâtrailer trash and unconcealed cackles. A voice sparks up like a sizzling ember in a swathe of darkness.Â
âWhereâs your baby daddy at, Lacy? Get tossed in the slammer with your old man?âÂ
The languid tones of none other than Billy All-Balls-No-Brains Hargrove drift by you, sailing right past the back of your head as you stare a hole through the innards of your locker. Then, your stupid hippocampus gears upâ Robin, mentioning âyour whole thingâ while Genovese baby-barfed her guts up, Ronnie urging her to shut the fuck up, even Jonathan Byers was privy to this hot little piece of gossip.Â
This theory that you were up the spout with Munson Junior Junior.Â
How many people had seen you, stupid little you, coming out of that drugstore hiking that Advance box over your head like the championship cup? Seen you hopping into Eddieâs vanâ and out of it, and back in again on what now seemed like countless occasions?Â
Nobody could have suspected it was Nancyâs test, because nobody saw her. They saw you. That was the whole idea. You just didnât consider the blowback.
âWhatâs going on out here?â the softly-coated concern of Ms Kelley rings out in the hallway, doing absolutely nothing to disperse the peanut gallery thatâs set up around your locker.Â
âLacy?â her voice points to you. Even the goddamn guidance counselor uses your beloved nickname. Â
You donât react. You donât even know what youâre doing until you come to a couple of paces down the hallway, feeling the thin, straining rubber in the palm of your hand. Your footsteps make heavy, wet, slapping noises against the linoleum as you follow the half-slouched shouldered swagger of Billy Hargrove down the hall.Â
Down, and down, and down towards the boyâs locker room and he doesnât even register it, and you donât even register that Ms Kelley is still calling your nameâyour full name, nowâuntil sheâs two dozen paces behind you, losing you in the throng of students making their way to class and you shove past half-dressed seniors in the locker room who guffaw at you in a way that feels like a knife in your gut and you yell, voice shakingâ
âHey Billy!âÂ
And launch the water balloon, making square contact with his smug face.Â
âCute fucking prank!â
His reaction, predictably, is way too slowww moooootion for your fucking liking, so you donât even give him a shot to fully wipe his face off and mumble, âWhat the fuuuuck is yourrrr probbbblemmm, ssssllluuuuttttâŚâÂ
You just go for him with the ferocity of a jumping jackal. Hands ball in his stupid sleeveless flannel (itâs winter in Indiana, you West Coast jackass!) and you shove him against the lockers withâ well, with the strength only an ex-cheerleader brimming with suffocated rage would have.
Metal clatters and one empty unit even careens over like a big tin domino and you say, âCome up with that idea all by yourself, you fucking nimrod?â
Billy just smirks at you in half-speed, mullet sopping, as if this is a come-on. âI had a little help.âÂ
It occurs to you that right here, right now, you could sell Nancy Wheeler down the river. You could be the you you once were, and you could say, well, primo observation skills, that pregnancy test wasnât even for me!Â
But you donât, because a pinky promise is a fucking pinky promise.
You let go of Billyâs shirt. Step off. âYouâre pathetic,â you spit, but it feels more pathetic coming from you. All that molten blood in your veins makes you want to eviscerate him and whoever else was involved in orchestrating this stupid, stupid, stupid prank. But you come up lacking. Fuck!
Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes and you start to rush out of the locker roomâ but youâve given Billy a reason now, and heâs gonna follow you.Â
âShit, are you crying? Those hormones must have you really messed up, huh?â he faux-croons, the thunk-thunk of his poseur motorcycle boots following you to the back entrance, by the sports equipment. Your eyes are streaming freely now, lashes frantically blinking a path to vision.Â
But Billy isnât letting up. And like the Pied Piper of slimeballs, heâs drawing followersâ not least of which include Tommy Hagan.Â
âWhat about that college dropout youâre banging, Lacy?â his nasally tone slices through Billyâs tarry taunting. âHe know youâre knocked up yet?â
âJesus Christ, Doevski! Iâm impressed,â Billy laughs, âJust how many loads are you taking?â
An abandoned baseball bat lies on the ground, having rolled out of the sports closet; instinct behind the wheel of your personal van, you stoop to pick it up and shove through the doors. You can nearly feel the breath of Hargrove and Hagan and all of these horrific, horrific boys with nothing better to do than to torture you hot on the back of your neck.Â
âNot yours, thatâs for fucking sure,â you manage, your voice thick. The bat, at least, feels solid in your hand.Â
âItâs fun not being frigid, ainât it, Lacy?â Billy goes on, and you squint against the sunlight as you round the building. âTell me this, Munson teach you how to suck cock yet? âcause if not, I got a little time on my hands.â
Forging ahead, you cross the tarmac of the parking lot. The soft frost hasnât even totally thawed out yet, sparkling atop the paintwork of Billyâs blue Camaro.  Â
âThat a fact, Billy?â you say, tears drying in quick streaks in that brisk morning air, leaving rivets in your made-up face.
You use your momentum to launch one foot onto the hood of Billyâs car, then the other. You nearly slip against the icy exterior, but steady yourself fast. Bat dangling at your side. Stomp. Stomp. You stand on the roof, and turn to face this congregation of assholes. You do not let sense set in, despite it threatening to inch through the white hot flame of your rage.
âWhat the fuck are you doing,â Billy outright cackles and Hagan and company guffaw along with him.Â
âBilly,â you sigh, a little breathless from the speed at which youâd booked it from the locker room to the parking lot, and the sheer vigor of your shock, awe and rancor, and everything else, âWhat the hell am I supposed to do with your limp dick in my mouth? Chew on the fuckinâ thing?â
Billy repeats himself, a touch darker now. âWhat the fuck are you doing.â
âIâm serious!â you say, a little shrill, a little stomp to punctuate that last word, âOne thing you can say for Eddie Munson, is at least the motherfucker can get hard!âÂ
Motorcycle boots advance towards you, and you point the bat at him like a broadsword.Â
âDo not. Come any closer. Or Iâm gonna start doing some serious damage to this ugly piece of overcompensation.â
âSheâs bluffing,â Hagan crows, and you turn your flaming glare on him. You wish you had a mirrorâ you wonder if crazy becomes you. Billy takes a pointed step forward and you raise the bat above your, head bracing for actionâ thatâs enough movement for him.Â
âGimme that bat, you stupid fucking cuntâ!â But Billyâs cut short by a body barrelling into the side of him, knocking him askew. A jangle of denim and leather. The bat slips a little in your grasp.Â
âGet the fuck off of me MunsonââÂ
âNo way to talk to a lady, Billy!â Eddie gasps, tossing Billy back and letting his limbs hang. âYou kiss Karen Wheeler with that mouth?â
Billy rounds on him like a triggered animal, spittle flying.
âSome fucking lady!â he snarls, âGot downgraded to that trailer park and now her snooty ass is spreading it for half of Hawkins! Desperate! Stringinâ you along like the dumb piece of shortbus shit you aââ
Activated, you throw that bat to the fucking wayside and scramble off the fucking carâ nobody talks to him like that!Â
But youâre not fast enough, nobodyâs fast enough, nobody can compete with how huge and booming and definite Eddieâs voice sounds when he says, smile glimmering, sun breaking through the bleak midwinterâŚÂ
âYou know what I like about you, Hargrove?â Â
THKUNCK. Bone to bone, fist meet fucking fleshâ
âNothinâ.â
A scuffle goes up, and Eddie canât even feel the hits of Hargroveâs hands connecting with his face, chest, ribs, whereverâ all he can feel are your arms locking in vice around his waist, putting yourself in the eye of the storm in order to yank him back.
â
You got an elbow to the crown of the head, which isnât too bad, even if you feel like a cartoonish lump should be rising there. But look at these other guys.Â
Billy with a black eye thatâs bulging up rapidly, Eddie with a split lip and more than a couple of scratches on his knuckles. In that fray, he hadnât exactly considered the implications of punching a guy with all his goddamned rings on. The implications being that shit hurt like hell. There is this radiating pain in his hand, not letting him unfurl his fingers completely.Â
Thereâs also this radiating feeling of dread cloaking his entire upper half as you sit three-to-the-wall outside Higginsâ office. You had, in Eddieâs estimation, incredibly bad timing.Â
See, considering the events of his past week, he was slowly making peace with the fact that he should probably be avoiding you entirely, even if that meant he died a little inside. He should have been doing that from the jumpâ but you, unbuttoned and reckless now apparently, kept requiring interventions so you didnât get killed, or worse.Â
And Eddie couldnât help himself when it came to you. Especially not when you were standing on top of Billy Hargroveâs sick Camaro, swinging a baseball bat and getting called some shit that no one should ever be calling you.Â
Youâre out of control. Totally unsheathed. End of your rope. Unlaced.Â
And heâd do just about anything to keep you safe.Â
Even fuck up his guitar-playing hand. Which is also hisâŚ
âI canât believe you fucking suckerpunched me,â Hargrove mumbles from your left. âWith those ugly fucking rings on.â
Eddie canât help himself, the last shred of propriety knocked out round about the time a knee to the ribs had winded him. âAw. Billy. Donât be so hard on yourselfââ
âEddieâŚ,â you start, tone warning in a way that makes him want to pinch you, kind of. He leans towards Hargrove, meaning heâs leaning over you. Hair brushing across your shoulder. You notice that it smells distinctively skunkier than usual. Camping out at Lipton Landing?
â--honestly! Youâre no sucker!â he implores, eyes shining in jest, âYou totally had that coming!â
You hear Billy seething from his end, Eddie snickering from his and launch a well-timed arm in front of both of them before they can snap at it again.Â
âCut it out, assholes! This is becoming increasingly more pigheaded.â
âAnd youâre the voice of perfect reason now, huh?â Eddie sneers, not giving you much breathing room. âWhereâs the bat at, Babe Ruth?â
âIn the parking lot, waiting to finish you off,â you grit back, nearly nose-to-nose with him, because you donât know how to digest the guilt of his aching fingers.Â
âWhat are you mad at me for?â Eddie hisses, a smirk threatening to break his scowl, because he doesnât know how not to provoke you.
âKnocking her up, probably,â Billy mumbles from the side.Â
âShut up, Hargrove!â you both snap, eyes never leaving one another.Â
Higginsâ door creaks open and a quietly livid Ms Kelley says, âLacy.â She jerks her head, motioning for you to up and at âem. You do, but not without one last look at Eddie, cradling his hand. Round, bottomless irises meet yours for a moment, then dart away with an impact that thickens your throat.Â
His poor hand, you find yourself thinking.
âHe needs an ice packâŚâ you find yourself mumbling, Kelley shuffling you into Higginsâ office. The principal sits behind his beat-up desk, fingers steepled. You absently wonder if heâs been campaigning for a new, shinier, possibly more oaken desk because this doesnât paint the picture of threatening figurehead that he so clearly wants you to tremble under.Â
You accidentally kick the thing, crossing your legs as you sit. âSorry.â
âYou should be,â Higgins declares. Here we fucking go.Â
âPermission to state my case?â you attempt. This hadnât been your first time in the principalâs office; minor classroom infractions, a saccharine weâll do everything to help that we can after your dadâs arraignment, but this time was certainly the worst.Â
âDenied,â he shoots you down.
âPermission to submit a plea of temporary insanity, then,â you try, patting at the sore spot on the crown of your head. âYou know this doesnât bode with my track record. You think I climbed on top of Billy Hargroveâs car completely compos mentis? Please.â
A tense silence from Higginsâ and Kelleyâs end.
âYou saw what Hargrove did, didnât you? That disgusting prank?âÂ
Again, nada.
âIâm a honor student, for Chrissake!â you exclaim, and Kelley plucks herself from the windowsill behind Higginsâ desk.Â
âWere an honor student, Ms Doevski,â she corrects. âYour grades have been slipping sinceâ the events of the last couple of months. Youâve dropped cheerleading, youâve made really puzzling false claims about peer tutoring, youâŚâ
âYes! Yes, the events of the last couple of months, if by which you mean familial imprisonment, then yes, Iâve been a little distracted!âÂ
Higgins kicks back in his seat just as you hitch forward in yours, too angry to be pleading but too desperate to defy. His turn to mutter here we fucking go.
âI can turn this around,â redirected to Ms Kelley and her ever-sympathetic expression, âI can turn this around.â
âCollege applications deadlines are within touching distance, Lacy.â She of little faith.Â
âI know that!â As if your hands arenât itching every time college guy mentions Ithaca or⌠wherever the fuck it is he goes. As if that isnât a crack in the assuredness that you were going to take flight out of this town in a spectacular fashion.
âLadiesâ can we dispense with the hysteria and deal with the here and now?â Higgins insists and you and Kelley, despite your opposition, share a look.
World class, this guy. Top of his field, asshole-wise.Â
âTwo week suspension should do it,â he says, jotting something down.Â
You open your mouth in protest and Kelley quells youâ youâre in no position to start bargaining down.Â
âTechnically, she didnât do anything,â and for good measure, but pressed, âSir.â
âShe climbed on top of that boyâs car with a baseball bat!â Higgins barks; now whoâs hysteric?! âShe had intent to do harm!â
âIt was justified.â You canât help yourself.Â
Kelley stares him down, and that womanâs charm is something that should be studied in a fucking lab, because he relents right away.Â
âTwo weeks of Saturday detention, then. Christ. Am I going soft?â
You shake your head, all the knots in your body releasing just a little bit. You try to dig out whatâs left of your once-famously refined charm, while simultaneously dashing towards the door before he can change his mind.Â
âAu contraire. Youâre a paragon of masculinity, sir. Regan could take a hint. Door open or closed?â
Higgins grimaces. âSend in Hargrove. Tell Munson heâs suspended. I donât have time for both of those pricks today.âÂ
Eddieâs voice travels through the crack in the door. âI heard that, sir.â A beat. âI miss you, sir.â
You bite back a deeply reluctant laugh and jerk your head toward Billy. Youâre up, champ.
Then, itâs the two of you. You and Eddie, Eddie and you. Alone, save for the ever watchful jam jar eyes of Janice the secretary. Eddie is still nestling one hand in the other like itâs a baby bird with a broken wing. Shit, you really hope it isnât broken.  Â
âYouâre suspended. They told me to tell you.â Itâs a statement made to turkey-stuff the silence more than anything.Â
The way Eddie lolls his head back makes you want to reach out and push it in the opposite direction. You donât know why.Â
âYouâre a regular town crier, ainât ya.âÂ
âHear ye, hear ye.âÂ
A leaden pause. Your hearts might have thumped both in time just now.
âWanna get out of here?â he asks.
âNo leaving school grounds,â Janice unhelpfully squawks.Â
Eddie gets up, drawing himself to his full height. Your eyelids flutter. Thereâs a little purple around that cut on his lip, which you bet is starting to throb something awful. You feel dwarfed beside him, and he uses his good hand to turn you by the shoulder and shuffle you past the nosy secretaryâs post.Â
âI meant the sick bay, Janice,â Eddie pelts, giving each vowel sound a hard flick. âIâm wounded. And sheâs apparently pregnant. Or didnât you hear?â
â
The nurseâs office is tiny and cramped, smelling of bleach with a glaring fluorescent overhead. Eddie has a hard time figuring out why anyone would come here to feel better. Especially given that Nurse Lydia is barely ever present.Â
Eddie carpes the opportunity to slam himself down on her rolling saddle chair, gliding into your path as you try and snoop around for first aid materials. Â
âI donât think you should be driving that thing,â you remark, âYou could be concussed. Youâre acting concussed.âÂ
âItâs keeping me awake!âÂ
Eddie watches you, digging through drawers and pulling out tongue depressors, your teeth making an indent into your bottom lip. Your eyes are doing that darty thing, quietly frantic in place of an apology. You donât know how to say sorry you got wailed on by Hargrove for me. Instead, youâre acting like heâs bleeding out.Â
âLace, just wait for the professional.âÂ
The clip of your nickname makes you toss your stare over your shoulder, hardness framing your eyes like mascaraed lashes. Eddie stops rolling around at once.
âI am the goddamn professional, as far as youâre concerned.â Your little chin jerks towards the exam table thatâs beat into the corner of the room. âGet on the bed.â
Whack-a-mole. Woodpecker. Other euphemisms for his cock developing a pulse. Eddie has to physically restrain his jaw from dropping.Â
âYes, Nurse Ratched.â
Scoffing out a little fuck you!, you go about scrambling together supplies and Eddie obediently launches himself onto the bed, the ancient thing creaking beneath him. When you finally approach him, you seem to be holding a lot of alcohol pads.Â
The look before you admit to a shortcoming is one he wants framed. You always flick your eyes around like a guilty cartoon character, like Betty Boop on her way to gaining a doctorate in the pretentiousness of the English language, and pout. Lean your neck in, like youâre swearing him to secrecy.Â
âI actually donât know anything about first aid. Beyond the rudimentaries.â
Eddie chuckles. âYou were a cheerleader. You were getting thrown in the air a whole bunch, if I recall. Feels like you should know how to like, resuscitate.â
âRudimentaries, I said!â and you grab his injured hand a little roughly, alcohol pad torn out and ready, âLike, I obviously know alcohol disinfects a wound, ice for a bruise⌠I donât know how to, like, reset a bone. BesidesâŚâÂ
You inch closer to him now, wiping at his torn and tender knuckles a little too carefully. Theyâre just stupid cuts, Eddie thinks, his breath beginning to shallow.Â
â...that Cat People remake was premiering at the Hawk the day we had first aid training. Like I was going to miss that.âÂ
He can feel heat radiating off your body, a core change for cold little you. Feel the fabric of your skirt brush the rip in his jeans. A little choked, he mumbles, âCat People is a remake?â
âBased on the 1942 original,â you nod, flicking the tiny used pad in the nearby trash can. âI like it. But I like that David Bowie song more.â
âThat song sucks.â
âYouâre injured and wrong. What a shame.â Your fingers close around Eddieâs wrist and slowly, slowly press his forearm to his chest. âKeep that elevated.â
âItâs not broken,â and heâs staring at the quiet tremble in your bottom lip.
âCould be sprained,â head cast down again, tearing open another pad, and he can smell your hair, âDoes it hurt?â
Eddie doesnât answer right away, because heâs waiting for you to look back up. Because he thinks heâs going to carpe something else.Â
You fall for it, and your eyes sucker him in. He feels weak in the joints. You repeat yourself. âDoes it hurt, Eddie?â
He just nods, boyishly. Nearly passes out when your fingertips tilt his face towards the light. Skin buzzing underneath them, you peering at his mouth like you know what youâre doing. The slit in his lip feels raw and strained.Â
âThisâll hurt, too,â you murmur, and he feels your breath against his jaw. A sharp prick from the alcohol against his cut doesnât make him winceâ worse. As you swipe the cotton against his bottom lip, he whimpers. Unh.
Oxygen stops short in your throat, hearing that. That noise. It sends a wave of motion through your lower body. Youâre leaning awfully close to him, closer than you need to be. In fact, his knees are settled either side of your hips. How did that happen. When did that happen. How did you allow this.Â
How are you allowing your fingertip to trace against his lip, alcohol evaporating without a hope or a prayer. How are you allowing yourself to look at him through the fan of your lashes, his injured hand still obediently propped against his chest. His good hand pressing into your lower back.
You taste the vagueness of the disinfectant on his lips as he presses them into yours.Â
Jerking back, youâre not far enough away from him to create a distance that matters. All you see are Eddieâs eyes, flickering open, apologetic in themselves. About to tell you heâs sorry.
No.
Hands fly, one woven in the curls at the base of his skull as you kiss up into him, tongue an impolite peak. This is not the closet; this is arguably far more dangerous, with the nurseâs door still open a courteous gap. This is the harsh light of day. This is Eddieâs hand moving your skirt further up the curve of your ass.Â
Heâs grabbing onto you as best a one-armed man can, and your hand travels in turn. A jagged, fevered path drawing up his thigh until, under your palm, is the hard outline of him. The pressure of your hand over the denim-bound curvature of his cock makes him groan sharply, the sound pressed against your cheek.Â
Face angles back for a look at him. Because this is bad, mindless, reckless, stupid. And heâs always worth a look.
You spot a tiny speck of blood on the pink of his lip from where his cut had split.Â
And your curious tongue flicks at it.Â
Eddieâs eyes flare. You, unable to unglue your stare from his, suck his lightly bleeding lip between yours. Fragile. Crushable.Â
He did this for you.Â
No oneâs ever cared, or known you enough, to do something like that for you.
Desire moves you like a shockwave and your hand leaves his crotch to help you clamber onto the exam table, clamber into Eddieâs lap.Â
Downright idiotic.Â
You cast a glance to the door, Eddieâs fraught breath puffing against your neck.Â
Thought you were a smart girl.
You look right into his face, the poster boy for sheer distraction, pre-occupation, skin-searing annoyance, nervous charm, surprising wit, magnetism, oh my⌠and feel his fingers edging far past the hem of your skirt, past the binding top of the thigh-highs youâre wearing because itâs fucking laundry day and stopping at the gusset of your panties.Â
He can feel how wet you are.
Lips a breath away from each other, one set bleeding, one set housing a gasp. Eddie nudges his forehead against yours, the both of you blind to consequence.
âJust friends, right?â His breath is jagged and unconvinced, and your hips kick toward his hand.Â
You do not answer.
Unbruised fingers push the fabric covering your radiating heat aside and you have to tighten your grip around the back of his neck so as not to tumble over. Eddie is not deft, because this isnât the moment to be deft. He plunges two fingers into the plush of your pussy and looks to you with pleading eyes. Eyes that say, is this good, eyes that say, donât make a sound.
You nod in the affirmative to both and he drags his digits out slowly. Rhythm picks up and youâre clenching around Eddieâs hand in a matter of minutes, lower muscles seizing and het-up moans being gratefully swallowed by him. Pad of his thumb moves to create rough, clumsy friction against your clit that elicits a sharp, high, wanton ah! from you, grinding against him in an unquenchable search for more.
âDoes he do this? Does anyone do this for you, Lacy?â
Eddieâs eyes keep searching you for approval and youâve lost the ability to appease or deny himâ all you know is the blind, nonsensical want thatâs pouring out of you is being lapped up. Lapped up. His tongue, you want his tongue everywhere, but itâs working at your earlobe, your neck, sucking, whispering, âJust friends? Lacy?â
And when you cum, itâs fast and hard and suffocating, an achievement youâre close to angry at him forâ because no one has ever been able to break you apart that fast.Â
Or at all.
He can never know. Heâd be so insufferable about it⌠some bare fragment of a thought passes through your brain, synapses busy firing elsewhere.
Youâre rocking against him through the crest, pressing your forehead to his with such a force that youâre frightened itâll splinter, youâre murmuring, âEddie⌠Eddie, dâhmn, fuckâŚâ
And you can tell by the way heâs attempting to press his body against you that he wishes he hadnât bust that stupid fucking hand of his, so he could hold you properlyâ and youâre right. Youâre right, youâre always fucking right, but you told him to keep it elevated and heâs going to do what you say.
Heâs got no choice when it comes to you.Â
He needs you safe. Needs you happy. No matter what.
Which is why heâs got to pull this bullshit move.Â
Eddie is patient and watches you regain a little consciousness, faster than heâs sure youâd like. He extracts his hand and, sticky with you still, wipes it on the thigh of his jeans. Heart thundering in his ears, he tugs you into one more breathless kiss and wonders if you can still taste the rust sharpness of his cut in between your lips. Heâs strangled himself against cumming up till this point, and this doesnât help matters. An imperceptible spot of pre-fun lies in his lap but the thing is, the really fucked thing isâ
Eddie gently shoves you away, mind silently babbling for the right thing to say. Iâm sorry is something youâd see right through, get off is too harsh, oopsie is too fucking whimsicalâ
But you, ever-perceptive you, you realize your place. Knock yourself back into reality so fiercely that heâs afraid itâll bruise you, lovely, awe-inspiring you that just softened into his hands like that. You clumsily clamber off the exam table in a hot flash of rejection, whichâ no, god, no, he doesnât mean thatâŚ
âIââ
âNo, I know,â you grit, prickly all over. Thumbing at the edge of your blurred lipstick. âI know. I certainly know.â
Eddie dares to look at you and you dare to look back at him. His lips looking worse off from you, but at the very least kissed. At the very least kissed, but you could cry with the empty feeling inside you. A cavern of a girl. You nod curtly, like this is the conclusion of a particularly charged run-in of acquaintances, not like you wanted him to swallow you whole moments ago.Â
Slipping out of the nurseâs office, you run right into the myth that is Nurse Lydia.Â
She looks tan.Â
âHeâs,â you struggle, âHeâs waiting for you.â
â
Cheating out sick from school and taking a shift at The Bookstore following the latest in a series of apparently neverending aftershocks was probably not the smartest callâ but hell, youâre fresh out of smart calls.
Ivana smells a rat, and she doesnât take to rats lightly, so she gives you your space.Â
The morning ticks on at a pace that feels supernatural; like youâre witnessing outside of your body, like you canât orient yourself in the right direction. You attempt to arrange and rearrange poets from alcoholic to puritan. You sell someone a copy of The Fountainhead without giving them their free blistering evisceration of Ayn Rand.Â
Youâre at a loss. A shameful, dangling loss that almost makes you feel pious. Like you should go to confession.Â
Bless me, Father, for I have sinned⌠I let my one-time best friend, current-cloudy object of my affection get beat up for me then bring me to climax in the nursesâ office.Â
You retread the same sentence in your over-thumbed copy of Save Me the Waltz like a table corner you keep stubbing your toe on.Â
We couldnât go on indefinitely being swept off our feet.
You said it, Alabama. Somethingâs got to land.
And, because someone down there wants you dead, land it does.Â
The bell of the storeâs door clashes upon opening, and all of the energy draws toward one magnetic point. A shock of silver hair, standing on end catches the lamplight, glowing almost eerily.Â
You feel a zzzzip of static. The air feels charged.
He doesnât face you right away. Kind of slinks into the place, edging along the shelves.Â
âSay, Lacy. Ballpark me somethinâ,â his Southern drawl is barely contained within the Midwestern flatlands of his accent, bursting through the baseline like a corpse that hasnât been buried deep enough. âHow long⌠do you thinkâŚâ His fingers tap along the worn spines of the display, creeping closer to the counter, â...it would take⌠to read all these books?â
The lilt of his voice is so familiar that you recognize it instantly. Even the way your name falls out of his mouth. Like a funhouse mirror, a distortion of a voice youâd come toâŚ
Well. Letâs not get into that. Letâs get into this.
A roguish smile with a couple decades of road wear on it and a tacky Hawkins High class ring on his finger. You couldâve sworn Eddie told you he dropped out.Â
âHow many years in the big house with nothinâ better to do?â He finally stops and pivots on his heel. The way he looks you over makes you nauseous and lightheaded, like he took a long, long sip out of you. Jammed a straw in your jugular and sucked.Â
Lot of blood play happening âround these parts.
âHello, Al.â
âHello, sweetheart. You filled out.â
author's notes: christ alive. i mean WELCOME BACK! i really missed you guys. happy new year, thank you for keeping me on the level with writing this chapter, it was so much FUCKING harder than i anticipated! was it too much warped angst? are the feelings complicated? does the pope shit in the woods?!!!!! you betcha. anyway, be seated for today's lesson
- "less oedipus-y, more ea--..." there is an ending to that joke that i felt was too crass for the moment but if you can guess it you win a prize
- the patchwork girl of oz is the seventh book in the wizard of oz series by l. frank baum! obviously. it's actually a laugh riot, you should check it out. scraps, the eponymous patchwork girl, is a full tilt lunatic who's kind of a bit of me. but theoretically, the patchwork girl made out of a thousand different scraps of everything else... bit of lacy innit
- the mage in the mink coat is self referential lmao we've gotten to THAT point in the story
- gravity's rainbow is a book that guys i dated used to recommend to me constantly which is like infinite jest for people who are ran through
- i'm really fucking with college guy at this point, making him drive a ford cortina. because i think it is ugly
- i know it's entirely stereotypical but i can't not hear him when i think of the love of my life, rick lipton
- the plot of the annotated book that lacy gives eddie, still life with woodpecker by tom robbins, is... interesting eye emoji eye emoji. tom robbins also wrote even cowgirls get the blues which was adapted into a feature film starring, say it with me, robin's mom
- the link wray song that soundtracked the lipton landing visit in question
- "charlie? or linda kasabian?" go ahead and read the white album by joan didion for me wouldja buddyroo, just like lacy and nancy already have
- fun fact, i played a two person game of gin rummy with myself to get into the mindset for this chapter. i suck at it
- torchy blane is another one of my pre-code wonders-- glenda farrell plays an intrepid newspaperwoman, and this character actually went on to inspire lois lane from superman
- and I KNOW some of you are going to be mad at lacy for fucking college guy, but... shit happens when you're a booksmart lovedumb eighteen year old that can't face up to her feelings! i don't wanna hear it!
- betty friedman. enough said
- fred benson i love you baby! i'm almost sorry i called you william randolph hearst, newspaper magnate and all around lunatic and the inspo behind the diss track citizen kane, but i'm not!
- nancy wheeler has a photo of nellie bly in her locker where a photo of her beau should be
- so echo & the bunnymen's 1984 album ocean rain is obviously most famous for the killing moon (jonathan byers you ARE my donnie darko) but may i point your attention to motherfucking seven seas
- the song that plays during the great pregnancy test prank
- OH YOU KNOW I (EDDIE) HAD TO DO IT TO 'EM. this was shameless but i've had this in my heart for over ten years babe
- for the purposes of this timeline, you know eddie is keeping higgins in pills. which is why he hasn't been kicked out of hawkins high so fast his lunchbox would combust
- nurse ratched, obviously from one flew over the cuckoo's nest and that ill-fated ryan murphy series....tf was that...but also from this fucking sick tune!
- sorry to cat people and also to god but this is the best use of cat people by david bowie in cinema
- oh edlacy we're really in it now
- save me the waltz is by zelda fitzgerald!
my loves, thanks for hanging in for this chapter. i know it was a wait, but i hope you enjoyed! i also know it was a little more angsty pants than my usual fare-- but look baby. we need grist for the mill, okay? as always, reblogs, comments and likes are FIERCELY appreciated! love u all so much. my little hellcats. to die by your side etc
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oh iâm screaming crying
đľ+ our girl lacy hehe
send me đľ+ character name and iâll write a lil blurb inspired by a song from their playlist (you can also request songs and i will do my level best. god is a dj and i'm god)
âś MAKING THE BED - OLIVIA RODRIGO
and i'm playin the victim so well in my head, but it's me who's been making the bed or lacy visits her dad in prison and reflects on the life she's created*
*as part of the hellfire & ice universe
warnings for mentions of past parental abuse, incarcerated parent, slight drug mention, cussin up a storm as always
also the amount of time this has spent buried in my drafts! it's not right! but it is okay i hope thank you love you anon <3
You had been putting this off for as long as was excusable to put it off-- as long as you could push it, you'd push it. Busy with school, with work now since your gig at The Bookstore had started (which he'd hate), with your... friends (which he'd hate even more, if he knew exactly who that company included).
But eventually, you do just have to bite the bullet and pick up the phone.
The bullet tastes rancid and the visitation room is always freezing. Doesn't matter if you wear your warmest coat--the mink that he bought you, that still smells of smoke from a garbage can at Roane Quarry--you're still practically vibrating by the time you sit down.
"You always ran so cold, baby girl."
Your father smiles at you through the glass. His eyes are wrinkled at the edges, kind of tired. They've got him behind there like a caged animal. Like you're supposed to tap on the glass of his enclosure and see if he'll respond with glee or fury. He's docile today. It's a change; the last couple of times you'd accompanied your mom here, he'd been seething.
"I think it's an iron thing," you muse vacantly, winching your shoulders in.
"Should eat some red meat."
"There's been a concerning lack of filet mignon in my life lately."
That makes him chuckle and that makes you smile. The orange jumpsuit reflects badly against his skin, extra harsh under the burn of overhead fluorescents. Makes you both look sickly; worse than you are. Misery loves company. There's no way you can tell him that you're actually...
"So how are you doing?" He asks you this question and there's a weight attached to it. He must know, right, he must have figured the shitstorm of trouble that you'd been in for in the aftermath of his arrest. The blowback on you. On your mom, who you were white-knuckling yourself into having pity for.
Your lips purse, tugging to the side. Again, no clue how to answer a question like that. Is he expecting game face? Is he expecting... honesty? You can't read it. So you shrug. "You know."
"I don't, Lacy. That's why I asked."
He has a terrible stare, your dad, the kind you can never get out from under. The kind that makes you feel like you're being constantly watched. In the walls, this guy. As if he knows everything already.
"Well, ah-- school is fine, I'm doing about the same as always," you try to smile as casually as possible, "An even keel of greatness, as you used to say, and extracurriculars are... yeah. I, um," and you attempt a throat-clear, "I dropped cheerleading."
Your father pinches his chin between his pointer and his index as you speak, scratching at the side of his face. Contemplative. The smoothness of this expression doesn't break as you drop that on him.
"Why would you do that."
Your toes curl up in your shoes, ten little ice blocks you're begging to thaw out. Your pulse quickens with such a rapid pace that you feel it in your skull. So, you try and answer like he might.
"Conflict of interest."
"Conflict being?"
"Tina and I came to an impasse."
"Pass it." His laconic brilliance outshines yours.
Your throat tightens. "Why?"
This makes his expression falter, his hand drop from his face. There's a weird rush of satisfaction in that, seeing a crack in the facade--but then you have to deal with what leaks out of the crack in the facade.
"What do you mean, why? Because. This is who you are. This is what you've worked for."
Sshrrk, slicing right through the prime rib of you. He doesn't even need to hear you out, because he knows you, he created you.
He saw you attempting to alter and distort yourself in order to be something perfect and said, good.
Necessity is the mother of invention. Take their standards and make it look like you could maintain them in your sleep, bleeding, blindfolded. Be better, and make it look beautiful. Make them love you, then make them fear you.
And if it doesn't fit, shave parts off of yourself until it does.
You doubt that your uniform would even fit anymore.
Your teeth grit so hard that your jaw starts to ache. "I just don't understand why I should--"
"Why are you letting them win?" he asks.
"I'm not," you insist and it turns your stomach, "I'm not letting them win, it's just-- Daddy, you don't know what it's been like out here for--"
"Of course I do. I bet they're saying horrendous, gut-punching things about me, about what I've done, about you-- but what makes you think that freezing them out is the answer?"
You choose not to mention that you'd actually thrown a Molotov cocktail at them the night of Steve Harrington's party. Reason being?
"Self preservation."
"Your fragile ego can't take it?"
"I'm not fragile."
"No, god, you're solid as a rock. At the first sign of trouble, you turn heel, you quit."
"Dad, that isn't fair."
"This life isn't fair. And frankly, Lacy, I don't have faith in your capability to make it on your own."
Something about the way he uses your nickname makes it feel like it's tied too tight around you.
"You're scholastically intelligent, sure, but you're a shell. You have no inner structure. If you don't pack yourself full of something, whether it's pom-poms or prom invitations or fucking diet pills to keep you pretty, you will fall in on yourself." A pause. "You're not a well-rounded person. But it doesn't matter, not if you can make people believe that you are."
"Is that what you did?" Your voice is nearly slurred. When your father wants to cut you down to size, it's the one time that sound moves faster than light-- and it makes your head spin.
"Yes."
"Worked out pretty spectacularly for you, Daddy." It knocks out words you ordinarily wouldn't say.
"You're the child. You're supposed to learn from my mistakes."
"Can I count them on one hand?" Sometimes he'd knock you back for it. But this time there was a sheen of bulletproof glass between you.
"Lacy."
"Is doing yourself up like Saint Jude Thaddeus and siphoning money out of made up charities one of them?" You wonder if he could crack it. Use that handset as a hammer and gather his might and crack it.
"Lacy."
"Is Al Munson another one?" That one lingers between you a moment. "He's a two-bit do nothing deadbeat lowlife that's never come clean out of a job, straight or otherwise. Or so I've heard. People talk. He's like a folk hero now. Does it embarrass you that trusting him was all it took to topple everything?"
A beat. The sense memory of his hand cracking against your cheek is so visceral.
"Does it embarrass you that your charm offensive wasn't offensive enough to fool someone as surface level as him?"
A beat. The feeling of letting him have it, as they say, is all the more real.
"Does it embarrass you that you should've known better?"
A beat. You feel like you've just done a bump of something very dirty. Something somebody would sell out of a tin lunchbox. Immediate headrush.
"You got sloppy trying to fill that gaping maw inside you. And what do you have now?"
"What do you have, Lacy?"
And the descent of fear.
You open your mouth to answer, but decide y'know what. You hang up the headset, and leave him there.
Bussing it back to Forest Hills, your blood slowly starts to recirculate in your veins. With that, second guessing starts to flood in. Should you have said that. Were you right. Did any of it get through. Were you cruel. Did he read you.
Coat shrugged around you, you discover Eddie sitting at the picnic bench on your lot. Handful of pebbles in one hand, old SpaghettiO can in clear sight. A flash of pink presses out of the corner of his lips in sheer concentration-- you watch him miss three shots before you call to him.
"Knew you were flukey."
Eddie's head cranes over his shoulder and he grins a grin so loud and lively that it puts color back in your cheeks. They apple up; you're smiling too.
"Where the hell have you been?"
You cross to the bench, propping yourself up on the table beside him. He keens into you, bumping his head against your fuzzy elbow like a happy cat. Playfully, you nudge him away, but he's relentless.
"Prison. Where the hell do you think?"
Eddie hits pause, stares up at you with eyes brimming with shit, dude and fuck, dude. "Oh. Did it suck?"
You start to shrug it off, to completely glaze over it like the donut of daddy issues you'll force yourself to swallow later. But then you take a second look at him, his big eyes yelling you can tell me, y'know.
"It was fucking awful. Like, horrible."
His spine bolts up a bit. "You okay?"
This one you roll around your head a bit. "Right now, yeah. Maybe it'll hit me later."
"Okay. So worry about it later." Eddie's nonchalance when it comes to dad talk is reassuring. To you, he's a zen master when it comes to disengaging with the goading nature of toxic fathers.
"Worry about it later!" you echo brightly.
"I'll stick around in case, for later." He's a good friend. And your stomach sort of flips.
"Take me to the movies?" An afternoon in the warm dark sounds good.
"Fuck you, what if I had plans?" Eddie pushes back only because it'd be weirder if he didn't.
"You don't," you say, pushing back too, "Unless aiming rocks into that soup can is a prelude to something much more spectacular."
"Maybe it is. Maybe I'm finally trying out for basketball." He misses another shot.
"At the eleventh hour." It's a little transfixing, watching him aim and score. Moreso than when she ever stood on any basketball sidelines. "Why are you so bad at this. You're usually kind of good at this."
"These rocks are too small!" he exclaims, animatedly frustrated. Another one, making a sharp ting! off the can's jagged rim. "But seriously. I got banned from the trailer for playin' my gee-tar too loud while Wayne was sleepin'."
Because vaudeville was always one of your fascinations, you mimic your shittiest Southern accent in tribute to his uncle, "Goddamn, boy, ain't nobody teach you any manners?!"
"Was you brought up or dragged?!" His is so much better than yours.
You chuckle. He chuckles. There's a moment, the two of you looking at each other with the softness of two people with nothing but dumb bits and dangerous families. What ludicrous kinds of lives you lead.
"So, movies?" Eddie says, like it's his idea. You let him have it. It's nice to share.
"We'll always have the movies."
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oh this is JUICY
still into you
after abruptly leaving hawkins (and you) seven years ago, eddie munson, ex-boyfriend turned rockstar, makes a grand return. how will things pan out when your lives couldnât be further apart?
this has been in the drafts for god knows how long and you can definitely tell where my writing started to improve as i came back to it.. hope yâall enjoy anyway! this is so long good lord. also includes a bit of bestfriendism with stevie!
18+. mdni. smut. mentions of alcohol. eddie is a dickhead. no use of y/n!
ââĄâ§âË
âyou know heâs coming back next weekend?â steve mutters, nodding towards you as you rip the sellotape from the brown box, beginning to stack the cans of soup.
âis he? oh my god oh my god,â feigning excitement with a straight face.
youâd already known he was coming back, youâd received the invitation just like everybody else. except, youâd swiftly put the gimmicky piece of paper into the trash and got on with your day. confused why everyone else seemed to be losing their goddamn minds over it.
he huffs quietly, helping you with the heavy tins, âare you gonna go?â steve didnât actually work in melvalds but came in on his breaks purely to chat and distract you from your work.
âam i gonna go? hmm, let me think.. no.â
âhe wants to see you.. you should come,â prodding his elbow into your side, collapsing the box into a flat piece of cardboard.
âyou spoke to him?â ears perking up. you didnât care if heâd mentioned you. no, really.
âyeah.. he called a few weeks ago, yâknow when the invitations got sent out,â picking up the next box to start filling the shelf.
âoh! itâs nice to know he called you and just hilarious to know i never got a phone call,â getting frankly quite sick of hearing about eddie fucking munson and his grand return.
once upon a time, eddie had actually been your boyfriend. mustâve been 7 or so years ago by this point.. anyway, that was before heâd got his big break and decided that he was going to completely forget about hawkins.. and about you. youâd still been together after his first tiny tour, excitedly waiting for him to come home when he just.. never did.
heâd had the decency to at least call and tell you that he was breaking up with you.. weâre just in different places right now.. itâs not you.. i donât want you to ruin your life waiting for me..
it was essentially a whole bunch of bullshit, because the very next month he was spotted with some bottle blonde model looking suspiciously close at some club heâd have absolutely hated the year prior. it was like a punch to the gut, flicking through the pages of the trashy magazine just knowing that you hadnât been enough for this new lifestyle of his.
from then on, youâd decided to disengage with any and everything about him. turning the tv off when corroded coffin came on one of the morning talk shows, leaving the room at parties when one of his songâs inevitably came on and just completely blanking out of the conversation when his name was brought up. it was easier that way, saved your feelings and the awkward glances youâd get.
at some point things had become slightly more complicated and youâre not sure how exactly it had happened but you had wound up pregnant. and by jason carver no less. maybe it was your shared disdain for eddie that had brought you together. who knows?
but it had happened and now you had to deal with it. and although jason may come in a close second to worldâs biggest assholes.. you had gained a beautiful daughter from it all and had become quite content with your single mom life.
people had come and gone, robin jetting off to some fancy college in california.. jonathan and nancy ending up in new york at some hot-shot newspaper.. the kids youâd sort of gathered had all gone off to various colleges, becoming adults themselves. all except for steve.
steve had stayed in hawkins like you, begrudgingly following his fatherâs footsteps, getting a job at his accounting firm. it was good money and kept his dad happy so he couldnât fault it really. heâd even got his own place just down the street from your house and at some point youâd just accepted that he was probably your only friend in hawkins.
it had brought the two of you undeniably closer and maybe youâd even call him your best friend now. well, except for right now as he was beginning to piss you off with all this fussing over eddie.
âyou have to come.. itâs not just for him, everyone is going.. itâs a reunion,â steve continues to pester you despite your efforts to shut him down.
âsteve, iâm not going and thatâs that.â
he sighs, staring at you with a blank expression, âokay, well.. iâll tell him itâs a maybe,â checking his watch before frowning, âshit, iâm late.. iâll see you later,â throwing the empty cardboard to the floor before dashing off down the aisle, giving you an exaggerated wave as he disappears.
you just knew that he was not going to drop this until you agreed to go. but he could kick and scream as much as he liked, you had absolutely zero desire to go this flimsy reunion and even less desire to see eddie in the flesh.
-
itâs another dull week of stacking shelves and managing a team of absolute morons and before you know it, itâs the day before that fucking reunion and steve is still as incessant as ever that you must go.
âmy mom can look after ella.. please just come,â he sounded like he was a second away from getting on his knees to actually beg you to go.
youâd started to just ignore him now, getting on with whatever you were doing, choosing to give him the silent treatment. he hated that.
âyouâre so annoying,â he scoffs, still helping you unbox the bags of chips, âwill you just come for five minutes.. you donât even have to talk to eddie, itâs the first time weâll all be together again.. puh-leaseee,â breaking into a weird sort of sing-song tone.
you exhale through your nose, visibly frustrated by the man, âiâm going to ban you in a minute,â raising your eyebrows, taking the same tone you used when ella was being a brat.
âno you wonât,â furrowing his brows, âwhat if i promise to stand in between you the whole night? iâll beat him with a stick if he even tries to talk to you,â completely serious with what he just said.
you chortle, covering your mouth as one of the elderly customers walks past, slightly bewildered by the noise that just escaped your mouth, âcouldnât you just beat him with a stick anyway?â
âehh.. not really, he is paying for the whole thing,â straightening the bags of air heâd just placed on the shelf, âi mean, i could if you really want me to.â
you roll your eyes, of course he was. heâd rented the fanciest restaurant just outside of town for your gaggle of pals. any chance to flaunt the fact that heâd made it out of this hell hole and left the rest of you in the dirt.
âi have a child, steve, i canât just go out and leave her at home.. some of us arenât free like you are,â turning to face him with a stern hand on your hip.
âi just told you my momâll look after her.. she hasnât seen her in so long and.. and you can stay at mine and iâll take you to her first thing in the morning,â his eyes are round, glimmering in the harsh overhead lights.
âi donât have anything to wear,â shrugging, you really didnât. becoming a mother isnât quite so glamorous and a lot of clothes youâd once fit into had become a little tight.
âwhen dâyou finish?â
narrowing your eyes at him, âtwo..â
âgreat.. okay well, iâll take a half-day and we can go shopping.. on me,â wiggling his eyebrows at you. the thing about steve is that he believes that most problems can be solved by throwing money at it.
he wasnât wrong, of course.
because you reluctantly agree to go shopping with him on the condition that you werenât definitely going to this thing. you were just going to try on dresses. that was it.
-
you get a cab to the restaurant, there was no way in hell you were doing this sober nor did you want to subject steve to being sober for your sake. palms clammy as you clamber out of the vehicle, immediately regretting your decision.
no one would care if you didnât go, right? you could quite easily just get back into the taxi and go home without forcing yourself to endure the night.
steveâs one step ahead of you, grabbing your hand so you canât run away. throwing him an awful glare but you werenât really mad, just annoyed that heâd succeeded in persuading you to come.
âcâmon.. it wonât be so bad once youâre in there,â smoothing down his fresh shirt as he begins to walk up the winding path, dragging you along behind him.
heâs wrong. itâs so much worse inside. the place was huge, extravagantly decorated and full of people youâd once regarded as your best friends, all too busy in their own conversations to notice you and steve walk in.
it wasnât like you hadnât heard from them, it had just been through occasional letters and christmas cards rather than seeing them face to face. robin would call sometimes, fill you in on whatever she had been up to and beg to speak to ella who absolutely loved it. you were sure they were on the same wavelength.
you look to steve with wary eyes, digging your fingertips into his hand, âwe could just leave right now.. no one would even know,â tugging gently on his arm.
âhey,â he whispers, âitâs okay.. look, robinâs coming over, weâll say hi and see how you feel,â using his spare hand to wave at the bubbly girl, dropping your hand to give her a hug.
âoh my god,â she rushes, âhow are you? you look so good.. and i donât mean you,â pulling away from steve to throw her arms around you, her gentle hands rubbing on your back.
âhah, itâs nice to see you too,â steve rolls his eyes, grabbing two of the champagne flutes being ferried around by fancy waiters.
she pulls back, âi didnât think you were coming.. how are you doing? howâs ella?â the words falling out of her mouth at super speed, it was as if her mouth moved before her brain did.
âi wasnât gonna but i wanted to see you guys,â you nod, taking the glass from steveâs outstretched hand and taking a lengthy sip, âiâm okay.. ellaâs okay.. youâll have to come and see her before you leave.â
âi will i will! i literally landed like two hours ago and had to rush but iâm back until friday,â her hands flying around as she spoke, âcome and say hello..â her arm intertwines with yours as she leans in closer to your ear, âheâs staring yâknow..â
your eyes roll back on their own, not even wanting to search the room for him, âiâm not speaking to him so he can stare all he likes,â straightening up as you approach the group robin had left.
nancyâs talking to max about something in incredible detail but is quite to stop when you approach, mouth in a small âoâ as she hugs you, âyou came? i thought we were gonna miss you,â grinning wide when she pulls back.
you give an overdramatic sigh, âof course i had to come.. youâd all miss me too much,â waving to the rest of the group.
there are a lot of small pleasantries swapped, asking about their journeyâs here and how theyâd been.. standard small talk. but then el asks to see a picture of ella, ecstatic that their names were so similar. youâd come prepared, pulling the creased picture out of your bag.
they all gush and coo over her, it was a picture youâd snapped from her first day of kindergarten, cheesing with her pigtails and pink hair bobbles. passing it around the gathered group, still steadily sipping on the bitter champagne.
âwhoâs that?â eddie asks, you hadnât noticed him sidle over to the crowd, stood peering over lucasâ shoulder at the photograph.
your eyes meet his, seeing his face for the first time in what felt like centuries. he looked older, obviously, still sporting the same long curls except now it actually looked as if itâd been styled. heâs in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, forearms now littered with tattoos and a nice looking watch. your heart just about stops beating when you realise youâll now have to explain exactly who that is.
âuh.. thatâs ella,â you nod, not quite meeting his eyes, â..my daughter,â taking the photo from lucasâ hand, the atmosphere had quite suddenly shifted and people begin to scatter, starting their own conversations so they donât have to bare witness to this one.
âoh.. oh, right.. well, congratulations then,â the shadow of a smile on his lips, could he feel how fucking awkward this was?
âthank you,â giving him a half nod, startled as steveâs hand brushes the small of your back. heâd seen that you were in conversation and had left dustin to fulfil his security guard promise.
âitâs nice that you two found each other.. you have a beautiful daughter,â still not fully committed to smiling but he was getting there.
your face contorts, immediately looking to steve before letting out a god awful cackle, âoh no.. sheâs not steveâs,â covering your mouth before another taunting laugh comes out.
steve is trying to stifle his grin but fails, reaching his hand out to shake eddieâs hand, âah man, no ellaâs not mine but she is beautiful, isnât she? how are you?â
youâre eternally grateful that he heâs managed to sway the conversation and you arenât forced to explain why or how youâd had a child with jason fucking carver. turning back to robin as you hear steve ramble on about work and corroded coffinâs new album, something you had absolutely no care about.
âshall we get another drink?â robin asks, eyeing the open bar and your empty glass.
âplease.â
the rest of the night is going.. relatively well. itâs kinda unsettling to watch the younger kids drink legally, getting more boisterous and loud as the night progresses. itâs nice, if not a little sad just thinking about how you werenât really able to enjoy yourself at their age because you had a newborn.
you mustâve been deep in thought as you donât even notice eddie creep up to the empty table, standing awkwardly besides your chair, âcan we talk?â
your eyes shoot up to meet his, baffled by his presence, âwhat could we possibly have to talk about?â
he exhales through his nose, âuh.. a lot? we donât have to do it here.. i have a room upstairs or.. outside?â
âno,â gripping onto your glass of wine, desperately trying to grab the attention of someone behind eddie to come and save you, âi donât want to speak to you.â
heâs exasperated, clutching onto his beer with strained white knuckles. how were you ever supposed to move past this when you wouldnât even give him the opportunity to explain himself. but that was exactly it. you didnât care about any of the silly excuses youâre sure heâd conjured up, he did what he did and that was that.
âiâm trying here..â sounding exasperated, âhow âbout dinner? sometime this week, on me,â his voice is deeper now, raspier. you figure as a result of constant partying and chain smoking while on tour.
âi have a child and a job.. i donât have time for dinner with you on top of that,â swallowing the rest of the sweet white wine, putting the empty glass back on the table with a forceful slam.
you make brief eye contact with will who was passing behind eddie and decide to take the opportunity to pounce, standing from your chair and rushing over the second he nears your table.
âwill.. hey,â speeding to catch him up, mouthing a small save me, clinging to his arm as you move away from eddie who was stood deflated at the table.
will thankfully catches your drift, steering you towards the bar, âyou okay? i was just about to leave..â placing his empty glass onto the bar with a soft sigh.
âwhat? no.. if i canât go then youâre not allowed either,â talking sternly to the boy even though he now towered above you and just about everybody else in here.
he screws up his face, looking over to the dance floor, âitâs just..â sighing once again, âawful, isnât it?â following his gaze to an intoxicated mike performing an elaborate air guitar routine in the middle of the floor.
it wasnât exactly the same, but you could empathise with the difficult situation and that foul feeling in your stomach that you were sure he could feel too. you could imagine that it wasnât easy to see the man youâd once, or perhaps still loved after so long. in fact, you didnât really need to imagine at all.
deciding it was better to change the subject, distract him from the unraveling scene on the dance floor, âdâyou smoke?â
he looks around quickly, watching out for a listening jonathan, you assume before he nods quickly, âbut no one can know,â a hint of a smile creeping onto his face.
you return the devilish grin before hooking your arm in his, pulling him towards the door where you could get the hell away from annoying men and their long black hair.
-
itâs gone three by the time you get back to steveâs, genuinely having to coax him from the party and into the cab youâd shared with a belligerent dustin, making sure he had got home safely.
âi wasnât too mean, was i?â snuggled up in steveâs blankets, facing each other in the low light of his room.
ânooo, no you were on fire,â he laughs, he was still tipsy and slightly reeking of booze as he lay next to you.
âreally? youâre sure?â he was definitely just drunk and blabbing on but youâd take it.
âyes.. it was perfect,â he hiccups, interrupting his sentence, âbuuut.. and iâm not the only one who said this so donât kill me..â kissing the back of his teeth, âyouâre not gonna like what i have to say.â
âwhat? what is it?â prodding his shoulder with a quick jab. knowing eddie, heâd probably gone round the party whispering some bullshit about the two of you.
âwell..â holding his hands in the air, âthereâs still chemistry there.. yâknow i could see it,â raising his eyebrows, hands collapsing onto the blanket.
âright, iâm going to sleep.. youâre drunk and just saying stupid shit now,â rolling your eyes as you settle into the soft pillow, closing your eyes so you no longer had to entertain his idiotic nonsense.
he chortles, hiccuping mid-laugh which makes a horrid choking noise, âiâm not that drunk.. robin said it too,â the lamp clicks off, darkening the room, âand dustin..â
âgo to sleep steve,â unamused and tired.
âokay okay.. goodnight,â he calls, you can hear the smile in his voice as he turns to face the other way, taking that as your opportunity to rest your head on his back, nuzzling into the soft cotton t-shirt.
-
monday is particularly awful and youâre reminded exactly why you donât drink often. two days on and youâre still exhausted, half-heartedly filling the shelves and just trying to make it to two oâclock.
in your tired state, one of the bottles of shampoo you were putting out, falls out of your hand and rolls off somewhere down the aisle. you sigh, a deep, fed-up, exhaustive sigh and get up to go and fetch it when the bottle appears before your face, a tattooed, ring-filled hand latched onto it.
âcarver? really?â eddie frowns, watching you from above, eyebrows furrowed together.
you place the bottle onto itâs rightful spot on the shelf and choose to ignore him. if heâd come all the way down here just to piss you off about your poor life choices then he could get fucked.
âwhenâd that happen?â
blanking him again as you continue to put stuff onto the shelves. this was the easiest way to guarantee that you werenât going to get yourself fired for being rude to him.
âyou gonna ignore me? i just wanna know,â still poking and prodding, he clearly wasnât very good at picking up on context clues.
nothing.
âfuck, can you just talk to me for five minutes?â your silence was driving him crazy, aggravating him to no end.
âiâm at work, so no,â hurriedly trying to finish the stock you had so you had an excuse to rush out the back and away from him.
he was fortunate that it was a quiet monday, the store full of mostly older ladies who had no idea who he was. you sorta hoped that heâd get mobbed and would have to hurry off and leave you alone.
âwhy jason? out of literally everyone else in this shithole you choose jason?â screwing his face up in disgust.
you slam the box cutter down with a loud clatter, causing a few turned heads and raised eyebrows. fuck âem. if you had done what youâd really wanted to do, youâd be locked up forever.
âi donât know if you remember this but my boyfriend of like, two years ran away and never came home so yeah.. that kinda fucked with me a little and lucky for me, jason carver was there and also hated my exâs guts.. so it was perfect, you know?â staring flatly at him, you were not dealing with his shit today.
eddie scoffs, âso you had a kid with him? and now.. what? you play happy families just to spite me? is that it?â
âyes eddie, i had a whole child just to piss you off.â
he gawps back at you, clearly also did not possess the ability to sense sarcasm.
âno,â scowling at him, âit was an accident and now heâs.. i dunno, coaching basketball at some school in ohio or some shit.. why donât you go and bother him?â
âso youâre not together?â
you can only roll your eyes in response, in sheer disbelief that heâd made such a fuss because he couldnât just outright ask if you were single.
un-fucking-believable.
youâve had just about enough of this conversation, pulling your little trolley back towards the swing doors that lead to the warehouse. at least he wasnât allowed in there.
âwait! wait..â he grabs onto the other side of the trolley, stopping you from walking off, âhave dinner with me tonight or.. tomorrow?â eyes big and pleading.
ânow why would i do that?â
âbecause i want to explain myself.. i need to.â
one of the younger shoppers notices who he is and begins trying to talk to him, coming over to where you two stood rather excitedly. eddie is kind enough to smile and give her a few polite words, eyes still latched onto yours despite the ecstatic woman beside him.
âokay,â honestly just wanting to get away from all this commotion, âtomorrow.â
his scowl subsides, replaced by a gleaming grin, âsix oâclock.. pinoâs, iâll sort it, okay?â already starting to walk away from the crazy woman.
âright,â you nod, pulling your trolley away and into the back warehouse, leaning against the concrete wall. the whole exchange was tiring, knocking whatever tiny bit of energy out of you.
were you actually gonna go?
absolutely fucking not.
-
by the time six rolls around the next night, you really had forgotten all about it. rushing to get ella her dinner after swimming lessons, already worrying about paying for yet another field trip sheâd sprung on you earlier. youâd begun to wonder if they even taught in the classrooms anymore with the amount of permission slips she brought home.
sheâs finally settled into bed, after much protesting and a lot of coaxing. youâre just about to finally relax on the couch when someone hammers on your front door. and if you werenât already pissed off with ellaâs whining, you were most definitely about to be with whichever mindless prick was banging on your door.
âwhat do you want?â you hiss, jerking the door open to reveal a pathetic looking eddie on the other side, face forlorn and dejected.
heâs in that white shirt again. it makes you sick to your stomach to admit that it really does look good on him. his arms now more defined, the cotton sticking to his muscles, briefly showcasing the new tattoos underneath. maybe heâd actually got off of his ass and did something other than smoke weed all day.
âoh so you are alive, dâyou forget about something?â heâs snarling now, having conjured up some elaborate excuse in his head as to why you hadnât showed, only to find you at home, seemingly with no care in the world.
âoops,â the corners of your mouth twitching into a smile, you hadnât even actually meant to stand him up, you were just gonna call his hotel and cancel but the thought had just completely slipped your mind.
and even if it shouldnât, it really did feel good. knowing he was the one sat waiting for you for once.
âoops? i sat there for an hour waiting for you and then spent the last hour trying to convince dustin to give me your fucking address.. and all you can say is oops?â
you shrug, âfeels pretty shitty to be forgotten about, doesnât it?â tilting your head, watching as his face falls. heâd been got.
âokay.. okay, i get it, and iâm sorry.. thereâs not a day that goes by that i donât feel like shit for how i treated you,â his head dips low, looking particularly sorry for himself.
and for a second you do too. not that he deserved it. quickly having to remind yourself exactly what he had done to you, which was not at all helped by the fact that he now had everything heâd ever wanted in life.
and you couldnât fault your life. truly. but fuck did it sting sometimes, to know that your life had stagnated, stuck in the same shitty town youâd grown up in while he was on the other side of the country, more money than sense and a hoard of doting fans that would do absolutely anything heâd ask of them.
âgood,â you bark, going to slam the door shut only for it to bang against his black boot wedged in the door, âif you donât move your foot iâll- iâll call the police.â
âno you wonât,â his hand reaches out to grab onto the other side of the handle, he couldâve easily pushed his way in if heâd really wanted, âletâs talk.. like adults,â begging you now, âplease.â
you huff, this would end with you either letting him in or being forced to wake ella after you bashed his head into the doorframe. it was easier to just accept the first option and youâd find some bullshit to get him to leave later on.
opening the door wider to let him in, keeping your eyes square on the ground as he walks through, peering around at your home. probably comparing it to his mansion in the hollywood hills the pretentious fuck.
ânice..â he nods, leaning in to look at the photo of you and ella a few christmasâ ago, she was tiny then, sporting a miniature santa hat.
âyeah well, sheâs asleep upstairs so.. make it quick,â you frown, closing the door behind him, watching as his eyes take in the cluttered room, smile fading when he catches sight of the singular picture you have up of jason and ella.
âi canât believe you chose to fuck jason of all people.. i mean, iâve made some shitty decisions in my life but..â he stops himself from going any further when he sees your face, if looks could kill, heâd be long gone by now.
âdid you come here for a reason? or are you here to talk about my life decisions.. because i really donât want to hear it from you,â crossing your arms over your chest, wanting him out of your house.
âno.. no, shit- iâm sorry,â he shuffles on his feet, banging his head, âi wanna talk.. properly.â
you roll your hand to motion for him to continue, âgo on..â
he inhales, chewing on the inside of his cheek, trying to psyche himself up to actually say what he wanted to say. it wasnât that he didnât know what to say, he just couldnât string it together to make sense.
âiâm sorry for the way i treated you.. it wasnât right and i know that now,â his hand coming to rub the back of his clammy next, why was your house so fucking hot?
âokay.. apology accepted, was that everything?â you say flatly, glancing up the stairs to make sure ella wasnât awake and out of her room.
his face falls, âcan you just.. just let me explain,â his adam apple bobbing as he swallows, âwhy donât you sit down..â motioning towards your ratty couch.
you relent your stern stature, hesitantly going to sit on the couch, trying to ensure that he couldnât possibly sit next to you by sprawling your legs out onto the empty cushion. so he takes the seat furthest away, running his hands down his tight jeans. designer, no less.. the only person you knew stupid enough to spend thousands on designer jeans just to tear holes in them.
âwhen i ended things with you, i wasnât.. well, it was me, but i had my manager screaming in my ear that itâd never work and he could hook me up with some fuckinâ model.. itâd help the band.. so thatâs what i did,â and for once, he looked genuinely remorseful, fiddling with the loose threads on his expensive jeans.
âso you sold out? thatâs your excuse?â
his head shoots up, mouth hung open with absolute disgust all over his face, âi am not a sell out.â
which is incredibly refutable, youâd heard a snippet of one of their recent songs on the radio at work and it had sounded exactly like the commercial shit he used to rag on when you were together. not a touch on the corroded coffin you sat and watched practice for hours on end.
âoh? so you didnât break up with me to further your career? you just wanted to fuck hot models? which one is it âcause iâm a little confused here,â completely losing it, springing up from your slouched position.
âokay, yeah.. yeah i did, i broke up with you because i wanted to fuckinâ make something of my life.. and look at where i am and look at-,â
â-donât you dare finish that sentence,â you snap, gritting your teeth together as you near his face, positively shaking with rage.
âwhatâre you gonna do? you gonna hit me? do it,â his chin tilted to match your elevated position, eyes glued to yours.
âi should.â
his lips twitch into a smirk, âyou wonât.â
and before your brain has the time to really process your next movements, he balls his fist into your t-shirt, causing your chest to collide into his as his lips smash into yours, knocking the air out of your lungs.
scrambling to find his shoulders for balance, sliding one hand onto his stubbly cheek. itâs all teeth and tongues, heâs ravenous and unrelenting, letting go of his grip on your shirt to place his hands on your hips, âmove,â mumbling against your lips as he attempts to manoeuvre you onto his lap while twisting around.
he slides down the couch, keeping a solid hold of your body as you find the right position. your legs are either side of his waist, sliding into the gap between his body and the couch sitting right on his crotch. wasting absolutely zero time in connecting your lips against, honestly not wanting to run the risk of him opening his mouth and ruining this.
his large hands find solace on your ass, creeping up to remove the oversized shirt youâd thrown on. you place your hand above his, restricting him from moving any further. itâs not that you were embarrassed- okay, maybe you were a little. but your body had changed since becoming a mom and eddie had become accustomed to gorgeous models and perfect women that heâd certainly not want to see your boring, frumpy mom body.
he groans in protest, trying again to lift the shirt further only for your fingernails to dig into his hand, âno,â speaking into the filthy kiss.
eddie pulls away from the kiss, fingers coming to gently brush the hair from your face, âyou canât be serious? iâve seen it all before,â he grumbles, fingers itching to try lift it again.
ânot like this you havenât.. i just.. want it on, okay?â
âno- why wonât you let me take this off?â fingers curling around the hem, already trying his luck with getting it up again.
you sigh, meeting his blown out eyes with your glossy ones, âi donât even know what iâm doing.. fuck,â attempting to climb off of his lap while the spare hand he has on your ass clamps you down, keeping you pressed to him.
âhey.. hey, keep it on.. i donât care,â already trying to chase your lips, âiâm just saying, you donât need to,â the denim covering his growing erection starting to rub against your throbbing clit, the sparse material of your pajama shorts were not leaving much to the imagination.
âjesus christ, just take it off,â giving up in your protest, it was useless against eddieâs persistence.
you press your lips to his the second your shirt is off, there was no time to judge your body if he couldnât see it. pulling at his jacket to get it off, the metal buttons digging into your now bare skin.
âi didnât.. i didnât mean.. what i said..â babbling through the kiss as he shimmies out of the jacket, landing on the floor with a soft thud.
âshut up,â you whine, running your hand along the length of his chest until you reach the hem of his black shirt, gripping your fingers around the fabric and lifting it slightly, exposing his midriff, the soft trail of hair ascending the skin.
his head jerks backwards, allowing you to tug the shirt off, finally allowing his eyes to wander to your chest. âholy shit,â he remarks like heâd never seen a pair of tits before. itâs futile for him to pretend that he hadnât seen some amazing boobs in his time so you scoff, rolling your eyes.
working your hand at his belt buckle, fiddling with the metal until it pops undone. heâs hard already and it makes you groan, brushing your hand over the raised denim. this week seriously mustâve been difficult if he was getting hard so easily over you.
it doesnât ever occur to you how much of a mistake this was. and even if it did, you didnât have much time to ponder on it as his hands are grabbing at your breasts, palming them as his lips suck at your jaw and down onto your neck softly. guaranteed to leave a lovely violet mark that the old ladies at work would certainly gasp at.
heâs helping you with his jeans, one hand gripping onto your waist to keep you steady as he lifts his hips from the couch and the other hurriedly yanking them down just enough to reveal his boxers. thatâs the next port of call, fingers grabbing at the thin black cotton, pulling them down his thighs as his cock springs into action.
eddieâs lips are still on your neck while you mindlessly wrap your hand around his cock, pumping your fist as you shuffle upwards. his breath hitches in his throat, still peppering sloppy kisses to the sensitive skin.
âoh god,â he whines into your collarbone, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your jaw. for a man who had been painted as womaniser in the media, he sure was still just as pathetic as he used to be underneath you.
youâre a little annoyed that itâs you whoâs taking control right now. after so many years of disrespect from his end, you think he at least owed it to you to take charge.
your hand grabs onto his shoulder, pulling his face from your neck, âbe quiet, okay?â sitting taller to position yourself comfortably, the harsh fabric of the couch grazing your knees.
he nods, sliding his hand up your waist and back to your hip, taking in the sight of you. you wouldnât ever admit it aloud, but truthfully, you really did miss him sometimes. missed the way his pretty pink lips looked after being glued to yours or the way he gazed at you doing the most mundane tasks.
you cant your hips, sinking down onto his length slowly, biting down onto your bottom lip as his cock fills you to the hilt. his eyelids flicker, fingernails digging into your doughy hips. itâs been a little while since youâd done this so you have to take a second to become accustomed to the slight stretch. itâs good, in the most masochistic way.
your hands cling onto his shoulders, watching his slack jaw, tiny breaths escaping from his mouth as you attempt to move. painstakingly slow at first, knees beginning to shake as you try to remember what you should even be doing. your cheeks flushing, feeling so incredibly embarrassed. the man was fucking models and then youâre here, pitifully trying to ride him. itâs awful, you know itâs awful.
his arm comes to snake around your waist, taking matters into his own hands and flipping the two of you around, your back suddenly pressed into the couch. holy shit. you appreciate the initiative, wrapping your legs around his waist, readjusting your grip on his shoulders.
âneed you a little faster than that darling,â large hands digging into the couch either side of your head. youâd feel utterly mortified if you werenât thoroughly enjoying the sight of him looming over you, his hair falling beautifully into your face.
eddie starts slow at first, moving his hips slowly, obviously well versed. your mouth opens but no noise escapes, well aware that you werenât the only ones in your house. instead you pant softly, desperate for his lips to grace yours again.
itâs not long before heâs quickening his pace, unable to contain himself when you feel so perfect around him. âi missed you- fuck, iâve missed you so much,â he groans, keeping his voice low despite wanting to start screaming.
you donât reply, too fucked-out to even think about words. eyes drooping as his cock nudges against the soft spongy spot no one other than him had been able to reach.
the couch creaks beneath you, the old thing unable to keep up with his rutting hips, the top of your head knocking into the arm rest every time his hips collided with yours. your living room had never bore witness to such filth and as quiet as you were trying to be, the sounds are indistinguishable.
having to bite down onto your lip when his thumb meets your clit, legs tightening around his waist with every soft circle he draws around the sensitive bud. eddie was never bad in bed but holy shit, maybe money had done something right for him.
he sits up, soft sighs falling out of his lips as his hand disconnects from your clit, sliding toward your knee and positioning your leg onto his shoulder. your nails press into his forearm, willing yourself to stay quiet even now heâs seemingly trying to kill you.
and through it all, heâs smirking. relishing the way youâre writhing around, trying not to cum when he nudges against that sweet, spongy spot this position allowed.
his thumb finds your clit again, âholy shit sweetheart.. you gonna cum?â grunting softly with every thrust.
youâre positively wrecked beneath him, face pressed into the couch cushion as your stomach flips. panting into the fabric, incoherent ramblings of eddieâs name and a bunch of curse words fill the room.
âcum for me baby.. shit,â struggling to keep his own pace as you tighten around him, leg trembling around his neck as your orgasm takes over. pleasure overtaking your limbs as your hips buck instinctively, thankfully muffled by the couch.
âoh my god,â you breathe, struggling to see straight when your eyes eventually reopen, gazing up at eddie above, certain heâs about to draw blood from his teeth digging in to his lip.
âwhere.. where shall i- shit,â he squeezes out, feeling his hips begin to stutter, eyes rolling to the back of his head. heâs just about quick enough to pull out, thick ropes of cum paint your thighs. narrowly avoiding the couch.
if you had the energy to get annoyed, you wouldâve snapped, but in all honesty, your brain was still reeling and anger was the last thing you felt.
eddie reaches over, ever the gentleman and grabs his shirt to clean his mess. didnât matter to him obviously, he had more than enough money to buy another.
and there it is. the bitterness filling your body again the second heâs no longer on top of you, or inside of you rather. you attempt to bite it down.
âyou wanna talk now?â he asks, pulling his boxers back up to a more respectable position.
âiâm tired eddie,â and you are, on a school night like tonight youâd have been fast asleep by now.
he sighs, shoulders slumping over. even after youâd just had the most mind-altering sex, you couldnât speak to him. âplease,â pleading with you almost, desperate for one more chance.
maybe itâs the exhaustion or maybe the dopamine still pumping through your brain but you concede, pulling your shirt back over your head before motioning for him to speak.
âi donât have any excuses, iâm just-,â he sighs, turning on the couch to face you fully, âiâm sorry for hurting you, i was wrong and i know that,â his eyes are dipped, peering at you from underneath his spindly lashes, âwhy dâyou think iâve avoided this place for so long?â
âi donât know? because youâre a pussy? because youâre too scared to face me?â letting the words rattle off your tongue without much thought.
âbecause iâm embarrassed,â he corrects, without much offence, âbecause iâm ashamed and feel like i owe you more than some dick and a shitty apology.. i just didnât know how i could ever make it up to you,â half-moon eyes glossy in the low light.
your heart thumps in your chest, blood echoing through your ears. eddie munson, world renowned rockstar was sat on your couch, apologising for something you shouldâve forgotten about a long time ago.
the years of hatred and avoidance come tumbling down in a millisecond. all youâd ever wanted was to hear him say sorry. to admit that heâd fucked you over for a life of fame and now you had it, you werenât exactly sure what to even do with it.
âokay.. now what? are you gonna make it up to me? because i want to believe you eddie, i do.. but you canât just traipse in here and expect me to forgive you like that,â the tears roll over, sliding down your warm cheeks.
he nods, grabbing onto your hands in a last ditch gesture to show his sincerity, âiâm going to.. i-i want to,â heâs still nodding, bringing his face closer to yours, âtell me how, iâll do anything,â adamâs apple bobbing with every word.
âstay here,â your eyes are trained on him, ignoring the blurred vision, ânot forever, just for now,â lips pursed, ready to be broken once more.
you half-expect him to come out with some sorry excuse, tell you he had to get back to his hotel so he couldnât possible stay here.
but he doesnât.
eddie takes your hand, tugging it gently and with words you donât register, babbles something about bed. so you follow him, allowing him to guide you to your room and slide in between the sheets next to you.
everything is so gentle, soft and pure. something you hadnât felt in a long time.
-
âhey.. sweetheart,â eddieâs hand gently shakes your arm, whispering into your ear, âyou awake?â
you squint in the dim light, feeling his hand descend onto your waist, chest pressed against your back, âi am now,â you grumble, it was early.. early even by ellaâs standards.
âi gotta go.. you got work today?â he asks, making no effort to actually get up and leave your bed though.
you nod into the pillow, rubbing your sleep heavy eyes. in your sleep hazed state, you shuffle, moving backwards against him.
âokay.. shit- donât do that,â strained as you shift against him, unknowingly brushing against his cock, âiâll be back.. after you..â heâs losing it a little now, âafter you finish..â lips pressed to your ear.
you were moving deliberately now, just ever-so-slightly rocking your hips back and forth, you could feel him growing against your ass.
âi canât..â he groans, grip tightening on your hip,
âplease,â you breathe, reaching backwards to find his mop of curls, taking a fistful for leverage as his own hipâs thrust into your backside, his low growls only spurring you on.
you had been on your own for so long now, could he really blame you?
eddie doesnât leave for another hour, creeping out of your house with his head low and a shit eating grin plastered on his face.
-
the key turns in your door as youâre loading the dishwasher. youâd given steve a spare for emergencies but it seemed to get used for anything but.
he slinks into the kitchen where you stand with your back to him, âhey,â already knowing who it was.
âwell hello,â announcing his presence, something about his tone of voice already seemed off, he sounded short, annoyed almost, âhow have you been?â
âiâm good..â you spin to face him, puzzled by his strange demeanour, âhow are you?â
heâs holding onto something behind his back but you canât quite catch a glimpse, âactually.. iâm a little pissed off,â you can tell heâs not completely serious by the hint of a smile on his face.
âhmm? whyâs that?â
he looks around the room expectedly, âoh i donât know.. you donât have anything to tell me, do you?â shaking his head, still gripping onto this mystery object.
âno..â narrowing your eyes, determining whether he knew what you thought he knew.
he did, he one hundred percent did. holy fuck. heâd figured you out already. eddie had opened his big, stupid mouth and told dustin, who wouldâve told steve and god knows who else. fucking moron.
âno? soo..â his pulls the magazine from behind his back, flipping it to the page heâd already saved, âthis isnât real then?â shoving the glossy pages into your face, âbecause to me.. this looks an awful lot like eddie.. at this very house,â he jabs his finger at the pixelated image, âand this little blob here.. thatâs you, no?â
youâre utterly gobsmacked. mouth hung open in pure shock. because that most definitely was eddie.. and your house.. and you. you hadnât seen anyone with a camera, hell, you hadnât seen anyone on the street at all.
âand correct me if iâm wrong, but is this not our friend eddie leaving your house the next morning?â showing the next image of him leaving your house the day after, hair unruly and messed up, holding his denim jacket in his arms as he climbs into his car.
your mouth moves but no words come out, croaking as you struggle to meet steveâs eyes. completely speechless, there was no feasible excuse. you had been caught with your pants down. literally.
âi can explain,â waving your hands around while steve stands smug against the kitchen counter. â..no i canât,â shoulders slumped as you blink at your best friend, no you really couldnât. suppose you couldâve come up with some lie about a look-a-like youâd been seeing but that wouldâve made you look particularly strange.
âwere you ever gonna tell me?â heâs almost hurt that you hadnât ran to him to tell him immediately. this was true best friend gossip and youâd kept him from it.
âi was! steve.. i donât even know what happened- he came over to apologise and then we were arguing and then.. then we had sex and itâs not my fault..â youâre trying, and failing, to contain your smile, flashing your cheeky grin to your best friend in the hopes he would let this slide.
âi canât believe you didnât tell me!â jutting his bottom lip out, âso, youâre getting back together?â his eyes sceptical yet sparkling with a sense of hope. youâre grateful that all he seems to care about is the fact you lied. or actually, withheld the truth as you preferred it.
âno.. well.. no, we had dinner together yesterday and he mightâve stayed over but no..â shaking your head, âheâs leaving again soon and we both know what happened last time..â you shrug, leaning back against the counter, âi guess i donât hate him now, thatâs good isnât it?â
steve looks perplexed, âwait wait wait.. so youâre just.. screwing around? and then he leaves again, thatâs it? whatâs the point?â taking a seat at the small kitchen table, fully engrossed in the conversation.
âi dunno.. i guess thatâs it?â you hadnât really thought about the fact that heâd be leaving again, in fact, you hadnât really had time to think much at all about what was happening.
youâd just sort of acknowledged that at some point heâd go back to california and youâd stay here and whatever was happening would.. end? it wasnât as if you were going to be super upset about it like you once were. lots of people fuck their exâs.. this was fine.
because thatâs what this is, right?
just sex with an ex?
âthatâs it?â steve reiterates, looking completely flabbergasted that the woman who once left the room whenever eddie munsonâs name was mentioned was now being so casual about this.
âyeah,â you shrug, not wanting to make a massive deal out of it though you could always rely on steve to be over dramatic on your behalf.
âno,â he straightens up in the chair, âall of this canât be for nothing,â sounding utterly exasperated, âyou two obviously belong together so why donât you go for it? i could see you living it up out in la.. big house, big car-,â
you cut him off before he can divulge into his delusions any further, âi think youâre getting ahead of yourself steve,â shaking your head at his ludicrous attitude.
youâd be lying if you said you hadnât thought about it once or twice but it seemed silly to start imagining this crazy life together after all these years. heâd barely just made it into your good graces again, you were hardly going to run off to california with him. it was utter delusion.
âokay okay..â he scoffs, âbut i still think you need to talk to him. i donât want you getting hurt again, okay? just make sure that youâre both on the same page,â nodding as he stands from his seat and begins to rummage through your cupboards for something to eat.
he was probably right and you knew it deep down. you werenât keen on being the one to bring the conversation up, not after that first night. after you had sobbed in his arms in bed, letting him soothe you to sleep with a bunch of probable empty promises.
-
when eddie lets himself into your house a few hours later, steveâs eyebrows fly up his forehead but he doesnât say a word. instead, he nods at the man, keeping his opinions to himself.
the pair of you resemble an old married couple, except youâre the grumpy old man with your wife cuddled into your side. your wife being steve that is.
âoh.. is this uh, something that happens often?â eddie asks, settling into the empty chair across from you. slightly miffed that steve was nestled into your side.
âyup,â you nod, smiling at him your chin resting on steveâs head. he hadnât a reason to be jealous, youâd really rather poke your eyeballs out with a fork than do anything remotely sexual with steve.
âright.. yeah okay,â eddie says, looking perplexed but sitting back in the chair. if he was going to stick around then this would have to be something that he got used to. because you sure as hell werenât going to stop being so close with steve for the guy that broke your heart at eighteen.
âyou want a drink?â you ask, realising that you should probably be a good host even if it was only eddie.
âyeah sure.â
you untangle yourself from steve and trundle off into the kitchen. steve takes this as the perfect opportunity to grill eddie on his intentions, sitting up straight and making sure that you were really gone before beginning his interrogation.
âso.. you two?â
eddie shrugs, not wanting to get into it with steve after such a long day.
steve sighs, leaning toward eddie, âiâm gonna say this once.. but if you hurt her again, i will kill you,â staring the other man down. contempt in his eyes. he was dead serious too.
âiâm not- iâm not gonna hurt her,â eddie sits up, praying that youâd hurry back with this damn drink.
âi mean it eddie,â raising his eyebrows, âyou didnât see how she was after you left.. iâm not going through that again, iâm not letting her go through that again.â
âsteve-,â eddie blinks, stopping himself as you re-enter the room. hoping that you hadnât heard their conversation, heâd only just got you to stop hating him. he wasnât prepared to go back to that like, ever.
âwhatâre you talking about?â placing the bottle of beer in front of eddie and collapsing back into your spot on the couch.
âfootball,â steve answers quickly, groaning as he pushes himself off of the sofa, âiâm gonna head home, got work in the morning but iâll see you tomorrow,â he smiles, winking at you from above.
âokay,â you utter, sounding more like a question than a statement, watching carefully as he gathers his things without so much as a glance at eddie. you can only imagine what was actually said but that was truly none of your business.
youâd just grill eddie later to make sure steve hasnât been too much of an asshole.
âbyee,â you call out behind him, already eyeing a sheepish eddie. thisâd probably be it. youâd known it was coming at some point, you just werenât sure of when.
if steveâs sudden departure was anything to go off, you were probably right.
the door clicks shut and you turn your attention to eddie who was still sat on the solemn chair. oh god. maybe you had got a little used to having him around again and now to know that itâd all be coming to an abrupt end once again.. yeah you felt a tad shit.
âwhatâd you say?â you ask outright, it made zero sense to beat around the bush.
âme?â he looks almost offended, âi didnât say shit.. didnât get the chance to,â but heâs smiling ever so slightly and your heart relaxes.
christ you were so stupid. letting him back into your life just to let him walk away a second time. perhaps youâd done something horrific in a past life to deserve this same fate twice.
âso what did he say?â you press, unsure of if your even wanted the answer.
eddie sighs before coming to collapse on the couch next to you, âit wasnât important.. look, i wanna be honest with you,â his hand comes to grab yours and you freeze, bracing yourself for what was inevitably going to come next. âyou mean a lot to me and.. and i donât want you to think that i donât care or that iâm just leaving you again,â his eyes are focussed on yours, full of what you hope is sincerity.
you donât reply, instead you nod slightly and urge him to continue. this was it. the kicker. ďżź
âiâve gotta go back to la next week,â his grip tightens around your hand, âbut iâm coming back as soon as i can, okay?â heâs serious too and youâd like to believe him but if the past was anything to go by, you werenât eager.
you nod silently. fuck this. once again, you were sat before eddie munson, listening to his plans to jet off to la. it felt like the cruelest case of deja-vu. if anything, you want to kick yourself for even allowing him to wiggle his way back into your heart. most people know better after the first time.
âitâs three weeks.. maybe a month, but iâm coming back, i promise,â he pleads, hanging his head low. he knows thereâs absolutely nothing he could say to you that would make you believe him but he had to try.
you hum, frowning just a little before finally replying, âiâve heard that before,â not meaning to sound as snarky as you did, but it was true.
âiâm serious, iâm not.. not gonna lose you again, iâve learnt my lesson,â his eyes are big and pleading and youâre thrown right back to being eighteen, listening to him convince you how going to la would be the best decision.
âso.. what? youâre gonna come back to hawkins just to see me? i donât-,â you sigh, as much as you wanted to believe him, it just wasnât plausible in your mind, âi just donât understand, are we together or are you just coming back to fuck? you donât have to, you know? iâve made peace with it all and iâm fine.. you donât have to lie to me anymore.â
if anyone was going to fuck this up, it would be you. thatâs for certain.
âwhat the fuck?â he exclaims, genuinely flabbergasted, âthis is me telling you that iâm serious about this.. about you,â he takes your hand into his properly, scooting around to face you fully, âi love being here with you, and ella and there is nothing out in la worth more than this,â you think he might just start crying, or you might. or perhaps both of you.
you sniff, not wanting to speak in fear of bursting into hysterics. it was all just so confusing and weird. youâd grown accustomed to eddie being on the other side of the country and now suddenly he was back in your life with what seemed like a a declaration of love. it was just too much to handle. and maybe you blame yourself a little, for not truly thinking about the implications of fucking your ex that had abandoned you years prior. but now it all just seemed to be hurtling in the most intense direction.
you were the one that had told him to stay after all. because really, you couldâve kicked him out, refused to ever even acknowledge him again. but you hadnât.
âare you telling me the truth?â is all that you manage to squeak out. baring resemblance to a small child.
you really mustâve looked pathetic, eyes brimming with tears, bottom lip quivering as you hold in the implosion of emotions. itâs always scary being vulnerable with someone, let alone someone that once meant so much to you.
he still did. as much as youâre absolutely petrified to admit it, heâd weaselled his way back into your heart and now here you are, a mess of emotions and perplexing feelings that are too complicated to handle.
âi promise you,â he sighs, clearly fed up of your whining, âiâm coming back this time.â
and maybe youâre stupid. maybe youâre still hung up on some high school relationship that ended long ago but you canât help it, you nod.
idiotically believing him because what else can you do after letting him into your home and your heart again.
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another wonderful eddie series UGHHH i feel so fed and full
PRICE OF FAME (PART 11/?)
gasp she's finally here !!!
18+ â MINORS DNI
pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader
summary: the last day of tour has arrived and you're pushed to make a difficult choice
contains: enemies to lovers trope, alcohol consumption, smoking, sexual themes, mentions of oral, angst, and more glimpses of eddie being boyfriend coded <3
word count: 6k
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song inspo for this chappy, thx to my stink @mmunson86 ily hehe:
Sunday mornings are meant for being lazy.
You wake up, you toss around in bed for a bit, maybe turn on the TV, and order food if youâre at a nice hotel like you are nowâ which had been your plan. You had wanted to try the strawberry crepes here for ages, and you planned to finally order it to start the last day of your short-lived tour on the right footâ but apparently, someone doesnât believe in the mainstream concept of Sunday morning.
Itâs seven in the morning when you get a knock on your door. You want to ignore itâ and you have every intention to do soâ except the person at the door is incessant and apparently doesnât get the hint of silence.
It makes sense, though, when you open the door to see who is banging on your door like a madman. Eddie, of course.Â
âHousekeeping!â
Heâs got a cute, wide smile and damp curls that make your chest flutter even though you still have one foot in a dream. Although, you think the dream might be the man standing before you, clad in jeans and a graphic tee, and beaming at you.
âEddie, itâs seven in the morning.â You grumble.
Eddieâs smile widens, âI know. Perfect time for a walk in the park.â He says before pushing past you and walking into your room. Your eyebrows furrow as you watch him walk over to your window and open the blinds. You rapidly blink at the sunlight, âIâ what? A walk?â
Eddie turns to you, smiling still as he nods, âYes. Down at Central Park. Theyâve always got cute dogs down there, and I know a place with pancakes to die for.â
Youâre too tired to even wrap your mind around how cute of an image Eddie with dogs would be, âWoah⌠woah, woah, waitâ Eddie, Iâ I would love to,â you blink hard, âBut Iâm still half asleep, and I only got to bed like four hours ago, so I think Iâd pass out on a walk right now.â You softly laugh.
You feel a twinge of guilt stir in your gut, so you step forward to Eddie, reaching out to rest a hand on his bicep and gently squeeze, âWhy donât we order coffee up and sit on the balcony until my mind warms up a bit?â You offer.
Which, now that you think of it, was a perfect idea because thereâs a cool breeze this morning that gives you an excuse to press up against Eddieâs side and curl into the heat of him as you sip on warm coffee and watch Eddie burn through cigarettes. Eddie was bold enough to drag your legs to rest across his lap, and you decide to blame your compliance on lack of sleep rather than desire.
âAre you nervous for tonight?â You wonder aloud, watching as the morning sun cracks through his fluttering eyelashes. Eddieâs lips pull into a smile, âNo.â He leans into you, âAre you?â
You snort, pressing your fingers into the warm ceramic mug, âWhy would I be nervous?â
Eddie shrugs, âMaybe Iâve got a surprise up my sleeve or something.â He teases. His fingers are warm and send goosebumps across your skin as they dance across your leg, inching up your thigh until you slightly squirm. Eddie doesnât even try to hide the smirk on his lips.
You ignore his wandering hands as best as you can, although the lick of heat that runs up your spine when he fiddles with the hem of your baggy shirt sends your mind spinning, a dull throb of your center when his knuckles brush the crease of your hip. You raise an eyebrow, gazing at him and cocking your head to the side, âWell, do you?â
Eddie glances at you, busy drawing stars inside your thighs, âNo.â
You roll your eyes, shoving your foot into his jean-clad thigh as he barks out a laugh, hands squeezing your bare calves. âThatâs not funny, Munson. Youâre on probation, you know?â
Eddie tilts his head, dreamy gaze in his eyes as he gently squeezes your calves, âI know. Iâm working on it, though⌠which reminds meââ You take a deep breath, slinking your legs out of his grip and sitting up straight to stretch, âThink Iâm in the mood for those pancakes now.â You hum.
Eddie gazes at you, jaw loose as he watches you stand up and completely dodge what heâs been spinning out about for the last twenty-four hours. âBirdieââ âYeah, Iâm starving now that I think of it. Letâs go.â You wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug him up, ignoring his grumbles of protest.
It should be studied, the pull Eddie has on you, because here you both are in a booth at an old breakfast diner, and all you can think about is how you want nothing more than to slink over to the other side and burrow yourself in the warmth of his embrace.
But Eddieâs friends are here.
The entire ensemble: Nancy, Robin, Steve, Gareth, Jeff, and even Eric, who you hardly even see because heâs the busiest with groupies out of the Corroded Coffin band.
They caught you and Eddie on your way down to the lobby, and well⌠they just tagged along. Eddie wasnât so happy about it, mumbling about how he can never shake these assholes, but you just snickered and told him to be nice.
So, now, youâre sitting across from Eddie in a diner with the smell of pancakes and maple syrup wafting through the air and a friendly chatter ringing throughout the table.
You try your hardest to pay attention to the conversations, but itâs hard when Eddie is glancing at you with these eyes that melt your insides. It doesnât help when he leans forward on the table, shoulders pressing into the edge as his fingers skim your knee beneath it. You raise an eyebrow when he takes a menu, opens it, and stands it up to block the view of his friends as he beckons you forward. You lean forward, chest fluttering at the sight of Eddieâs pretty eyes so up close, pouty lips and curly hair that you want to reach out and card your fingers through. Heâs a dream, no doubt about it.
âLetâs ditch them.â
You snort, rolling your eyes, âYou canât ditch your friends, Eddie.â
Eddie makes a face, âWhy not? They crashed, and I have work to do.â
You tilt your head in confusion, âWork?â
Eddie grumbles, his voice carrying an obvious tone, âYeah, Iâve only got until tonight to pay my dues.â He reminds you. You hum with a teasing glint, âI reckon thatâs a fault on your part, Munson.â
Before Eddie can respond, the menu is torn out of his hands to reveal Gareth and Jeff snickering, âYou do know we can still see you two, right?â Eric teases.
Eddie rolls his eyes, âI donât know if you dipshits got the memo, but you definitely werenât invited to this.â
You giggle, nudging your foot against his shin, âDonât be rude,â You mumble. âYeah, Eddie, donât be rude.â Robin teases.Â
Eddie grumbles, ignoring his snickering friends as he stands up, âAll of you can fuck right off.â He sticks up a decorated middle finger to his table of friends, and you smile as you slide out of the booth, warmth spreading through your body when he reaches around to grab your sweater.Â
âOh, come on, we were just joking, Eds!â
Eddie waves them off, slinking an arm around your body to rest a hand on the small of your back, gently ushering you toward the exit as his friends create a scene.
âHey, donât be late to soundcheck, asshole, we wonât hear the end of it from Richie!â Jeff calls out, but Eddie doesnât answer because heâs walking you both outside of the diner and muttering something about them being a pain in his ass.
âWe could just take a flight out somewhere far away from them, princess. Say the word, and Iâll book it.â Eddie jokingly offers. You smile as you take your sweater from him with a small thanks, âThey love you. Thatâs a good thing to have.â You remind him. Eddie rolls his eyes, scratching at the back of his neck as you begin walking down the street, âSure, except not when I have important things to do. Which, when are you gonna put me out of my misery and tell me what you think?â
You hum, feing ignorance as you blink up at Eddie, âThink about what, Eddie?âÂ
Eddie stares at you, blinking once before his lips spread into a smile, âYouâre lucky youâre pretty.â He teasingly says through gritted teeth, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you in as he jokingly presses his palm to your face, laughing as you squeal and squirm in his hold. âEddie Munson thinks Iâm pretty. How cute.â You mock as you grapple at his wrist, prying his hand from your face, âOnly took him a month to figure that out.â
Eddie laughs, âSee, thatâs where youâre wrong, sweetheart,â He drawls, âI always knew you were pretty. I never thought you werenât pretty. Who told you that?â âNobody told me that; you just,â you shrug, âKind of hated my guts, so it went hand in hand.â
Eddieâs eyes soften at that, and your cheeks warm as his gaze zones in on you. You clear your throat, glancing away, âAre we going to eat or what, Munson? I told you Iâm starving, and you just dragged me out of that diner, so.âÂ
Eddie nods, âYeah, yeah,â He waves before lacing his fingers with yours to drag you along, âI got a place in mind; letâs go.â
âIf you wanted strawberries on your pancakes, then you shouldâve asked for them.â
Eddie, you are learning, has sticky fingers. Sticky in the metaphorical sense where he just takes things without asking and sticky in the literal sense where he keeps reaching over to steal strawberries from your plate and ends up dipping his fingers in your maple syrup as well.
Heâs like a child for fucks sake! Touching things he shouldnât be touching and grinning at you with a âyou canât do anything about it because Iâm cuteâ glint in his eyes.
You watch as Eddie sucks the syrup off his thumb and smirks at you as he says, âSharing is caring, you know?â
You look at his plate, tilting your head with a smirk before asking, âYeah? Then can I have your hash browns?â Eddie glances at his plate, a frown spreading across his lips as he looks at you, âBut thereâs barely any left.â He points out.
Your eyebrows raise, and he sighs in defeat, cutting into his hash browns to give you half of it. You snicker as he carefully reaches over to put the side dish on your plate, pursing your lips to hold a laugh when you look up at him. âWhatâs so funny?â He grumbles, stabbing into his food and shoving a fork full into his mouth.
âNothing. I just, like, hate hash browns.â
Eddie stops midchew, looking up at you for a brief moment. Heâs silent as he resumes chewing his food and swallowing, quietly eyeing you for a moment before clearing his throat. âYou hate hash browns?â He asks.
You nod as you take a bite of your eggs, and Eddie looks at you like you just told him something concerning. âIâ... what do you mean you hate hash browns? Do you like potatoes?â
You shrug, taking a sip of your drink, âSure.â
âDo you like fries?â
âI love fries.â
âTater tots?â
âI like them every now and then,â You shrug.
Eddieâs head cocks in confusion, eyes narrowing, âSo whatâs the problem with hash browns?â
Your eyebrows raise, and an amused smile spreads across your lips, âHoly shit. Iâm getting the sense that you might, I donât know⌠love hash browns or something?â
Eddie scoffs, âOf course I fucking love hash browns. Are you fucking kidding me? Who doesnât like hash browns?â
âTommy Lommi.â
âWell then, theyâre fucking weirdâ waitâŚâ Eddie blinks at you and stares like youâve just discovered time travel. âWhat do you mean, Tommy Lommi? How do you know Tommy Lommi hates hash browns?â
You shrug, âAte breakfast with the band a few years ago. They gave him hash browns, and he returned the entire plate. A lot of people hate hash browns, Eddie.â
Eddie waves a hand in dismissal, scooting closer to the table as he responds in a hurried and amused tone, âYou had breakfast with Black fucking Sabbath?â He exclaims.
You hold back a smile as you blink at the man before you, his brown eyes wide and blown from adrenaline, âYeah, itâ it was, like, a work thing. I was doing a short piece on them, so Anna and I had lunch with them and their manager.â At the mention of your manager's name, you make a mental note to call and update her on your piece.
Eddie raises two hands to his head, grasping his hair like heâs in distress, as he lets out a loud sound, drawing attention. You giggle, reaching out to grab his wrist and lower him back down to the table, âEddie, youâre making a sceneââ âYou met Ozzy, and you just, like, casually forgot to mention that to me? Like heâs not my idol? Like heâs not my literal lord and savior? Do you even care about me?â He exclaims in a loud voice.Â
Your eyes widen in amusement as the man practically spins out right in front of you. âIâm sorry! I didnât think itâ wait, havenât you met him before? Like on a red carpet or something?â
Eddie scoffs, leaning back into the booth and pulling a face like the words youâve just said are rubbish. âYeah, right. Like Ozzy Osborne would willingly surround himself with a bunch of untrained nuts like the boys of Corroded Coffin. Heâs a professional, Birdie. Thatâs an insult.â
You giggle, gently nudging your plate away, taking a deep breath from feeling so full as you shrug, âMaybe if you cleaned up your act, it would happen.â You teasingly say.
Eddie looks at you, runs his eyes over your face, and smirks as he folds his arms over his chest, reaching up with one hand to twirl a piece of his hair between his fingers. âYeah? And how do you suggest we do that?â He slinks his feet forward, gently tapping his shoe against yours before hooking an ankle around yours.
You hum, âI donât know. Maybe cut back on the parties. Less reckless act and more calculated rockstar. Less groupies⌠none, if that.â You mutter the last part, and Eddie snickers. He hums as well, tipping his head side to side as if heâs thinking, âAnd would you say maybe,â He clears his throat, âLike, a girlfriend would do good as well?â
You huff out a laugh, âNice try, Munson.â You snicker. âYouâre far from girlfriend status with me.âÂ
Eddie lowly hums, taking a deep breath as he shifts in his seat, âYeah, well, I intend on changing that, so, are you done eating?â
Eddieâs sure that Richie will chew him out.
Itâs the last day of tour before the next leg starts in a month, and Eddie is almost an hour late to soundcheck. Richie was adamant about being on schedule for today because itâs the last show, and Richieâs a goddamn perfectionist (who would take on the job of managing a group of rowdy rockstars if they have the personality of a fucking sergeant?). But honestly, Eddie doesnât have a single bone in him that cares becauseâ well, why would he care when heâs spent all day with you practically pressed into his side?Â
Youâre Eddieâs every dream compacted into the cutest, kindest, prettiest human heâs ever fucking known, and Eddie keeps having these moments where he wants to smash his head through a brick wall for ever letting a cruel word form on his tongue towards you. He would pay an endless amount of money to rewind time and do it over again, do it right, and give you the respect you deserve.
Then maybe you would stop dodging his kisses.
âCome on, just one?â He begs, watching as you walk a few steps ahead of him. Eddie wonât lie; itâs a great view heâs got from behind. Youâre wearing these black ripped jeans that hug your ass and thighs so perfectly Eddie wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into you.
You shake your head, âNope. A kiss has never been a kiss with you, and Iâm not too keen on giving Richie more reasons to put me in time-out. Youâre also definitely still on probation.â
Eddie grunts, âThis is just cruel, sweetheart.â
He jogs a bit to catch up to speed with you, âWhile weâre on the topic, whatâd he say to you?â
You glance at Eddie, brows furrowing, âWho? Richie?â
Eddie nods, and you shrug. âI assume the same thing he told you. Told me to hold off on it until the magazine blows over in the fanbase.â
Eddie hums because, well, thatâs not what Richie told Eddie. Actually, Richie told Eddie to just forget it, donât even attempt to do anything with that woman because when you fuck up, Iâm gonna be the one left to clean it up. And isnât that Richieâs fucking job? Isnât that precisely why Richie was hired? To clean up the boysâ mess and make their appearance seem squeaky clean.Â
âI donât blame him, though.âÂ
Eddieâs neck practically snaps in your direction, and he has to stop you from walking any further down the backstage hallways because what the fuck are you saying right now?
âWhat do you mean?â
You shrug, glancing up at Eddie, âI mean, heâs just doing his job, Eddie. Heâs trying to protect your image, and, honestly, I didnât understand where he was coming from until he pointed out that Iâm still practically press in the eyes of the industry, so.â
âWell, thatâs bullshit.â Eddie snaps. Doesnât mean to snap, really. Doesnât mean to have a harsh tone or sound upset with you because heâs not. Heâs upset with the situation and the absolute mess heâs created from having his head up his ass for so long. Heâs upset because he doesnât want to wait until the magazine blows over. Heâs upset because heâs finally admitting to what he wants, and youâre right there, and he wants to work on getting you but fucking Richieâ jesus christ, Eddieâs going to choke that bastard.
âThat doesnât even fucking make sense,â Eddie exclaims, âI already fucked up. Thereâs not much to fuck up at this rate.â
âItâs different when thereâs feelings involved, Eddie.â And Eddie doesnât like that. He doesnât like that you sound as if youâre siding with Richie, and he doesnât like that youâre using your hot ass journalist tone with him. âWhat difference does it make?â Eddie stresses.
âBecause shit could hit the fan. Things could go bad again, and, in Richieâs eyes, I could easily become an enemy. Itâs a rational call to make.â
No.
No, no, no, this isnât what Eddie wants, and itâs not how Eddie wants you picturing what you two could beâ a disaster.Â
Eddie blinks, heart pounding in his chest because god, he wants you and heâs scared heâs lost you before even getting the chance to fix things. âSo⌠is thatâ is that what you want? To wait?â
You gaze up at Eddie, âIâ no?â
Eddie frowns, stomach churning as you look away to avoid his gaze, âThat didnât sound confident. You donât want to do this?â
âItâs⌠Thatâs not what Iâm saying. I justâ Iâm not quite sure where this is aiming.â
âWhat do you mean? I told you how I feel.â
You make an exasperated noise, stepping out from the wall Eddie had you caged against, âNo, you havenât told me how you feel. Youâve told me what you want. Thatâs not enough.â
And youâre looking at Eddie with these eyes that make him want to crack open his chest and let you see it for yourself because fuck, the only time Eddie has ever confessed his feelings to someone, she ended up breaking his heart without a single care in the world.
And for this entire month, youâve been slipping from Eddieâs hands, but this is the time that heâs actually felt it. He feels dizzy and sick and so angry with himself.
âIâ well, how do you feel?â Eddie asks.
Itâs like time slows as you gaze up at Eddie, eyes filled with so many words and uncertainty that Eddie has only himself to blame for. âI donât know.â You softly reply.
Eddie says nothing as he stares back, gently nodding as you slink your arms around yourself, âI donât know, Eddie. Iâm⌠I donât know this side of youâ and thatâs not to say I donât like or want it, butâ but what happens when we get bored without the chase?âÂ
Eddieâs heart breaks.Â
âWhen?â
Your eyes fall shut, and you shake your head, âThatâs not what I meantââ âBut thatâs what you said.â
âYes, but I didnât mean for it to come out that way. You know what I mean, Eddie.â
Eddie scoffs as he steps back, âNo, Birdie, honestly, I donât. Iâm actually, like, really fucking confused right now.â
Your face twists in defense and your eyes glint with something that Eddie canât quite put his finger on, and it makes him want to scream. âYou seriously canât be upset with me for being hesitant on this, Eddie.â
Eddie looks at you, pauses, and holds his breath before shaking his head, âNo, Iâmââ He steps forward, âIâm sorry. Iâm not upset.â
Your lips are pulled into a frown as Eddie reaches out to softly skim his knuckles across your elbow, silently asking for you to stay open for him. âIâm not upset with you.â He repeats.Â
You donât step closer or move away, and Eddie takes that as a win either way. But before either of you can say anything else, Eddie is being whisked away with his assistant and promising to finish the conversation afterward.
You donât see Eddie for the rest of the day, and for the first time, itâs not Eddieâs fault but yours.
You regret to admit that the small dispute you and Eddie had caused you to spiral within your thoughts, and you spent most of the day holed up in your room packing, writing, pacing, and thinking until you exhausted yourself. On a good note, though, the day passes quickly, and before you know it, youâre making your way down the Madison Square Garden backstage halls.
Youâve walked these halls enough to know your way around by heart now, so you donât have trouble finding the dressing room. The usual small group of ladies that stand outside are there in their Sunday best for the show finale, passing a blunt between each otherâ and you donât even notice the missing leader of the group until sheâs storming out of the room.
âFuck you, Eddie!â She turns to yell into the room. You watch from a few feet away, stunned and slightly terrified. Sheâs beautiful, even as mad as she is now; her red hair is styled in bouncy curls that jump and jolt with each wave of her hand, her heeled boots clicking on the ground with each stomp of her heel. She steps into the room, pointing at someone who you can only assume to be Eddie, but the door obstructs your view, âI knew you before you had a single fucking dime! If you think for one second sheâs gonna stick with you through all of your bullshit rock and roll facade, then youâre wrong!â She snaps.
âJesus fucking Christ, Kenny, please get rid of her.â You hear the familiar grumble of Eddieâs voice. Kenny, the security guard by the door, steps forward and ushers the angry woman away from the threshold. âDonât fucking touch me.â She snatches her arm from his hold, and Kenny lifts a hand in surrender, âLook, Iâm gonna have to get you banned from the building if you donât leave. Make my job easier, please.â Kenny replies in a bored tone.
The girl scoffs with a roll of her eyes before turning around and storming down the hall, her posse quickly trotting behind.
You donât hear the usual chatter in the dressing room, so youâre slightly suspicious as you walk up, kindly smiling towards Kenny as he lets you in. The door shuts behind you, and you take in the empty room, void of the usual hustle of band members and staff.Â
âKenny, I swear to god, if itâs another groupie, Iâm gonna fire you.â You hear Eddie say from the ensuite restroom. Eddie doesnât notice you as he walks into the room, busy ruffling his hair up for the show and walking toward the vanity, âI already told you who to let in.âÂ
Finally, Eddie lifts his head, a cigarette hanging from his lips as his eyes brighten when he sees you through the vanity mirror. You smile, shifting in your spot as Eddie whips around to look at you, âHi.â
Eddieâs eyes widen as he takes in the view, eyes raking over your body as he blindly snuffs out his cigarette on the wooden vanity, face stunned as he walks over to you, âWhat the fuck?â He lowly says.
Heâs reaching out to loop his fingers around your wrist and bring you closer, eyes traveling further and further down your frame, âWhat the fuck?â He repeats.
âEddie,â You groan. âWhere the fuck have you been hiding this, princess?â He exclaims.
âItâs nothing. Stop.â You grumble, but Eddie only shakes his head, âNothing? Are you insane?â He steps back, hand wrapped in yours as his teeth dig into his bottom lip, âLet me look at you, come on.â
Your dress is black, tight, and form-fitting, with an off-the-shoulder neckline and a puffy lace hem matching the long sleeves' scrunchie endings. Two thin black straps hug your shoulders, tauntingly digging into your collarbones. The dress stops just above the middle of your thigh, leaving little to the imaginationâ- much in Eddieâs favor. Below the dress peeks out a black garter belt, two shiny silver clips winking at Eddie as they hold up your black thigh-high stockings. Your feet are held in shiny black stilettos. Sex.
Eddie nearly whimpers.
Eddie wants to sink to his knees, push up the skirt of your dress, and stuff his face between your legs. He wants to make you cum on his tongue until youâre pushing him away and begging for a break. Wants to feel the nylon stretch of your stockings scratching up against his ears as your legs clamp around his head. God, Eddie wants it, he wants it so fucking bad.
You smell sweet and taste even sweeter when Eddie presses his lips to yours, practically swallowing you wholeâ he would if he had the choice. Your lips split into a smile against Eddieâs, breathily laughing as he blindly leads you to the vanity, walking until he feels your body softly thud against the counter.
âJesus. Iâm gonna fuckinâ lose it,â Eddie grumbles against your lips, sloppy and wet, as he trails down to your jaw, neck, and collarbones. His hands are greedy as they grapple at your hips, squeezing the thicker parts to tilt you towards him, groaning when your pelvis drags against his quickly hardening length. You pant his name, one hand dropping to steady yourself against the counter as the other hand sinks into his damp, curly strands. Eddie groans, stuffing his face into your neck, licking and biting as he grinds you against him. Youâre all whiney breaths and moans, and Eddie just canât help himself when he nudges his nose against the strap of your dress before sticking his tongue out and dragging it up the length of the flimsy black piece.
Your head drops back, chest rising and falling with a sinful glisten under the vanity lights as Eddie drags his tongue all the way from your shoulder to your chin before smashing his lips back onto yours, fingers curled around the base of your neck. Wet, hot, and heavy.
Your lips curl against Eddieâs mouth, hips grinding against him, âS-should I be concerned about the angry woman that just stormed out of here?â You lowly ask.
Eddie laughs, smearing his lips against yours, teasingly flicking his tongue into your mouth, âDefinitely not. Good fucking riddance.â Eddie canât wait to tell you all about how he learned about Lanyâs money-greedy actions that led him to the page of every tabloid with a false girlfriend.
You fail terribly to hold the snort that rises in your throat, and Eddie cuts it off with his mouth, swallowing your hums as he presses his body into yours.Â
âWant you.â Eddie needily whispers. You whine, fingers curling against Eddieâs roots to draw a throaty groan from him. âNeed to have you, babyââ âIâ wait, wait, wait.â Your hands are pressing against Eddieâs shoulders, and god, Eddie feels lightheaded as he pulls away, blown-out eyes blinking down at you.
You huff, squirming against the counter, breath heavy and bated as you reach down to tug your dress down, âWe need to talk.âÂ
Eddie swallows, running a hand through his hair as he gazes at youâ and fuck, heâs so hard, and youâre so pretty, and Eddie thinks he might bust just looking at you.
Still, Eddie blinks through the thick fog of arousal and nods, taking a moment to not-so-discreetly adjust himself within his pants.Â
Ever the gentleman, Eddie offers you the seat at the vanity, but you only shake your head, and wellâ fuck, Eddie just wants to get back to kissing you so he doesnât fight it. He hops up onto the chair and gazes at you as you lean back against the vanity, fingers fidgeting with one another.
Youâre avoiding Eddieâs gaze, and Eddie doesnât like it very much, so he distracts himself by lighting a cigarette, but it does little to aid him in distraction when the words slip from your mouth.
âI think we need time away from each other.â
Eddieâs looking at you like you just told him you killed his dog, and you hate that you start feeling as if youâre wrecking everything when you knowâ when you both knowâ this is the best thing for the future.
The unlit cigarette between Eddieâs lips is removed and tossed to the side as he blinks at you, shaking his head with a confused and hurt expression, âWâwhat do you mean?â
You slink your arms across your body from instinct, mentally pushing yourself to stand on the rocky island youâve builtâ because even though you want nothing more than to cave and throw yourself into Eddieâs arms and start over, itâs not right. You didnât start on a good note, and itâs unfair to yourself or Eddie to avoid fully acknowledging that just because of your intense pull toward one another. You both need time.
âI donât understand.â
âJust so we can have the space to figure out what we want and need from each other, you know?â
Eddie runs a hand over his face, âIs this about what happened earlier? Because I was being an asshole, I know, and Iâm sorry, but just give me a chanceââ You shake your head, stepping closer to Eddie and running your fingers over his wrists, âNo. No, thatâs not what this is aboutâ I mean, it mightâve spurred it on, but it was on my mind before that.â
Eddieâs face twists in defeat, âI want to fix what I did, baby, just give me a chance.âÂ
You push his long bangs from his eyes, âI am, Eddie. I promise I am. But I need spaceâ we need space.â
Eddie doesnât even look at you, and your heart aches. âEverythingâs been so quick, Eddie. Itâs only been a month, and thereâs been so many emotionsââ
âThatâs bullshit, Birdie, and you know it.â
You tense at his harsh tone, âExcuse me?â
âYou said when,â He reminds you, âWhen you get bored. You really expect me to believe you âjust want spaceâ? Youâre scared.âÂ
Your eyebrows dip in anger then, eyes narrowing at the man in front of you as your chest tightens, âAnd youâre not?â
âYes!â He exclaims, ringed hands flailing in exasperation. âYes, Iâm fucking scared, obviously. I never wouldâve fucked up this bad if I wasnât scared.â
Your eyes are brimmed with tears, and youâre beginning to think maybe you shouldnât have even come tonight. Maybe you shouldâve just left without a single word and made Eddie hate you all over again. At least the foundations of your relationship were solid and clearly stated then.
How could everything have gotten so confusing in such little time?
Eddie notices your shifting demeanor and breathes, rubbing his eyes and smudging his eyeliner. You fight the instinct to reach out and fix it for him. âOkay, so⌠you want time apart.â
You nod, fingers twisting amongst themselves. Eddie turns his rings around his knuckles as silence cracks down on you both. Eddie swallows, eyes catching yours for a split moment, âOkay.â He nods.
You want to sink your hands into his and tell him youâre hurting just as much, wanting him just as much, but if you touch him now, youâre afraid youâll never let go.
âItâll be good, Eds.â You softly say.
The curtain of his hair obstructs Eddieâs face, but through the tiny windows, you can see the twitch of pain that flashes across his features. âAre you staying for the show?â He asks, eyes trained on his busy fingers, rings glistening in the lights. God, you want to give in to him so badly.
You shift in your spot, clearing your throat and blinking away tears, âIâll never leave if I doâŚâ
As if on cue, Kenny opens the door and pokes his head into the room, calling for Eddie to notify him of the running clock. You and Eddie only speak through gazes for a split moment, and you both know if he stays any longer, neither will leave this room. You only have enough strength to nod towards the door.
You canât even watch Eddie leave. Because watching Eddie go seems to be the recurring theme of the monthâ but now, youâre sending him awayâ and it hurts. You were so close yet so far away from justice.
The dressing room is vast and holds Eddie's phantom presence and smell, and you canât seem to hold the silent tears that end up soaking your cheeks. You can hear the distant screaming of fans, the loud booming of the opening to a song, and deep down, you understand that if you donât leave now, youâll end up in the crowd, thereâs no doubt.
You donât recognize the opening song for tonight, but you hear the words and Eddieâs voice crystal clearâ tugging you back with every step you take towards the arena's door.
My head is haunting me and my heart feels like a ghost
I need to feel something, 'cause I'm still so far from home
Cross your heart and hope to die
Promise me you'll never leave my side
âŚ..
So, you can drag me through hell
If it meant I could hold your hand
I will follow you, 'cause I'm under your spell
And you can throw me to the flames
I will follow you, I will follow you
The song echoes in your mind from the time the door slams shut to the moment you step into your cold apartment in Michigan, and it never stops.
ââââ
part twelve
ââââ
a/n: OHHH PLS DONT HATE ME IT HAD TO BE DONE AND IM SORRY THIS IS ON NEW YEARS EVE !!! these two will be back for one more round of fun in 2024. ok let me shut up before i start saying all my sob shit
as always, thank u for reading if you've made it this far and i appreciate any feedback, ILY AND I HOPE YOU ALL HAVE A BEAUTIFUL NEW YEARS, STAY SAFE PLS <3
ââââ
cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @ye0nvibezzn @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2
@daddyhetfield @s-u-t @hereforshmut @mmunson86 @welcometohellsock @lma1986 @birdsinmywalls @animechick555 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @spideydreams00 @lorosette @prestinalove @sirensleepingsoundly @nabiiturner @catherinnn @mossiswriting @kellsck @joannamuns9n @siriuslysmoking
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EEEEEEEEK
ON THIN ICE â TODOROKI TOUYA
synopsis: your partnerâs injury left the future of your skating career uncertain. but where one door closes, another is being held openâand has been, for many years.
tags: GN reader, no quirk au (figure skating), reader is an ice dancer, retired ice skater (+ teacher) touya, angst + fluff, sports related injuries, childhood friend shouto, best friends older brother touya, reference to canon, romance, mutual pining, first kisses, getting together, ice skating jargon (to the best of my ability lol)
wc: 8.3K
A pair of young, doe-eyed volunteers parted the curtains. Beyond it the battered ice and a stadium filled to capacity, their deafening cheers flooding through to the corridor. Harsh flashes of light assault your vision where the photographers are standing around the entryway; if not for the hand in yours, youâre not sure you wouldâve been able to move.
The applause crashes over you as the other couple exit the ice. Bouquets, ribbons and gifts are thrown onto the ice, swiftly collected by the sweepers as the gates are opened for you to begin warming up.
ââŚand Todoroki Shouto!â
Your names are announced side by side, syllables ricocheting through the cavernous arena. Aizawa is there to take your jacket and hang it over the crook of his arm. You havenât trembled under his sharp scrutiny in years but it is a close thing.
âGo out there and do what you do best,â he nods.
The cold rink air balloons in your lungs. It feels as though there is a black hole in your chest pulling at every quark within your body. You glide after Shouto, tension released from your shoulders in increments as you do a warm up lap of the rink, pushing into every stride to keep up with Shoutoâs pace. Heâs pale, you notice. A sickly sheen of sweat illuminated for you to see under the stadium lights and a pinch to the smile that softens as your fingers flex.
The beginning notes to music for your free dance start to play. In a blink it is nothing more than a figment of your imaginationâthereâs no time to second guess. Shouto takes you into his embrace and the routine youâve worked to perfect throughout the season comes naturally. Rippling around one another like water meeting again and again, endlessly going out and coming in. Every leg movement, every turn and lift, every flick of the wrist snapped in time with the beat as you reacted to each other, movements tightly entwined, merging with a synchronicity that you would have only dreamed of in your adolescence.
The song crescendoed. The world fell silent.
And then it erupted.
Applause echoed around the arena. Thunderous, enough to overshadow the violent beat of your heart. Youâre dazed, caught in a snare. Shouto poised above you, his pupils blown wide, a wild, pained look in his eyes. As presence of mind returns you become acutely aware of the arm shaking around your waist, the hand buried in his hair. The proximityâor lack of it. Short, frantic puffs of air ghost across your cheek.
You start to panic. Your hand slides down the curve of Shoutoâs throat and he blinks, startled. And then his face crumpled.
He grew heavy in your arms.
He collapsed.
ICE DANCING PRODIGY TODOROKI SHOUTO TO RETIRE: UNDERGOES SECOND HIP SURGERY
Skatebuzz - 11 December 20XX - 16:34
Three time national champion and prospective Olympian Todoroki Shouto will not only be missing the entirety of the 20XX-XX season but every one following. Revealed in a statement uploaded to his social media, Todoroki Shouto has announced his intention to retire. The ice dancer is reportedly recovering and âin good spiritsâ regarding his decision. While the skating community has come together to wish him well, they have also begun to speculate about the future of his partnerâŚ
A slow, electronic instrumentation accompanies you onto the bus. Soft vocals intertwined with a soothing ambience. Purposeful in your choice of musicâhoping itâll calm your restless mind before you arrive. Your body jostles as you stare down at your phone. You click out of the article and open the text app. Eyes skim over the messages Touya had sent you an hour ago.
Touya : 16:45
⢠Rink?
He mustâve heard the news.
You : 16:53
⢠omw
Touya : 16:55
⢠K. Hurry up
Things had gone quiet after Shoutoâs second surgery last week and you havenât been skating since. Over the years you had shared multiple strained numerous ligaments, a few blade nicks, bruised a coccyx and broken a finger or two, but a long untreated hip labral tear was not so quick to heal. Youâd respected his request to sideline any talk of skating for a while. Having been skate partners for nearly a decade you understood the grief he must be feeling, because in part you are feeling it too.
Shoutoâs absence on the ice was akin to a phantom limb. His father, Todoroki Enji, paired you together in early childhood, and over time a pleasant friendship quietly blossomed as you endured rigorous training and competitions together. Even after he broke away from Enjiâs iron grip and sought new guidance under Aizawaâs care you followed right behind him. You had plans together. Dreams to chase.
To put to rest. To create anew.
The bus rolls to an abrupt stop. You grip the nearby handle and gather yourself quickly, shucking your bag higher as you walk down the narrow aisle toward the front. You dip and murmur in thanks at the driver before stepping off into the tepid air.
Seeing the rink is always a bit like coming home. You would be lying if you said you hadnât desperately missed it. People smile in your direction, employees waving you in, recognising your face. The din is muffled by the music pouring into your ears; simple, contagious chords paired with soulful vocals. You hum along and kick off your shoes, taking no notice of the others in the locker room, incognisant to their whispers.
You hang your skates over your wrist and pad through toward the rink. Cold air fills your lungs. The old pop song playing through the speakers disrupts the harmony of your ownâyou pull out the earbuds with a sigh and lower onto a nearby bench.
A few feet away you hear a young girl exhale an awed sound. You glance up and follow her line of sight. There are a few junior level skaters doing their final lap, most practicing on their own, but that isnât what sheâs staring after. Gliding around the far end of the rink is their trainer, Todoroki Touya, and your best friendâs eldest brother.
Growing up alongside Shouto ultimately led to spending time with his family. You were integrated little by little, until it was entirely normal for you to have a set of spare keys to his house. Touya had been a taciturn presence amongst the siblings. You were drawn to him from the beginning. Rough around the edges and quick witted. Swan-like limbs, lithe muscle and a narrow waist, you recognised the subtle gentility in his movements that can only be attributed to skaters.
Though you knew he still practiced everyday, the topic of Touyaâs dead skating career was off limits. You learned that very quickly. And you understand why now more than ever.
Watching him warm up in solitude, you couldnât help but privately think the world had laid him to rest before his time. He shed his form and became one with the ice. Your ears prick at the sound of the blades as he slides, his loose white t-shirt billowing with the quick turn, flashing slivers of pale skin and scar tissue. The muscles in his thighs strained in the confines of his leggings as he took off to jump, wing span broad and beautiful, body suspended in the air.
Thereâs a lump forming in your throat. It didnât matter if he wasnât competition standard, or that his step sequences were unrefined. Touya always burned on the iceâhe threw away his shame and took every leap without fear, because he was determined to do it. Because he knew he deserved better.
Poised like a prima ballerina, Touya grabs the edge of his blade and bends his leg high, changing the trajectory of his spin. For a few short minutes he is a soft blur, and then he deftly alters his footing, pushing off into another lap of the rink.
His speed increases. Curiosity urges you forward towards the rink wall. Your hands grip the railing, sucking in a sudden breath as you recognise what it is heâs trying to do.
A triple axel.
Touya lands hard and barely maintains his balance, forcing a stunned gasp from your lungs, joined by a chorus of others. It was clumsy and amateur, yet perfectly imperfect. The bright fluorescent lights reflect on the ice, exaggerating the mottled pink cutting across his cheeks, and the expression on his face can only be described as serene. Your heart hammers with excitement as if you were right beside him.
A modicum of guilt lingers despite everything. It was always too easy to envision yourself there. Shouto was a wonderful skater, and a partner hard to come by. He managed to make the act of sweeping another person with one arm for three rotations over an icy surface look effortless and skated like he was born for it.
But figure skating is brutal, a dangerous and painful sport cleverly masked by elegance and beautyâjust like Touya. As he sinks to his knees with his head tipped back, releasing a loud, exhilarated laugh, you canât help but think:
Touya skates like heâs in love with it.
Brushing back the loose white hair stuck to his forehead, Touya surveys the rink. You flinch away from his gleaming eyes when they land on you. The joy in his face turns grim as he pushes up and begins to glide over.
You, guided by your foolish nerves, scramble back to the bench and start on your skates. A presence steps off from the ice, another warm body at your side. Your fingers tremble as they work at the knot in your laces, undoing, pulling apart the tongues, shoving in your pointed foot. The silence grows slightly oppressive as Touya lowers himself to sit He leans forward, propping his chin on his bony knee, blades scraping the floor.
âAll those gold medals at home and you still canât lace your skates properly?â
Itâs as much a lie as it is an olive branch. You bite your tongue, casting him an indolent glance. Touya rolled his eyes and patted his knee. You kick your foot up into his lap and set it down gently. He used to help you lace up, back when you were still floundering on the ice and learning how to fall. Meticulously, he crosses and pulls each loop taut. Touya remembers exactly how tight you liked your skates to be without a word of direction.
âTheyâve announced Shoutoâs retirement,â you say delicately. âAnd mine by proxy, I guess. I had to hear about it from Skatebuzz of all thingsâ.
Touya grunts. After two long minutes he makes another of his quiet pay-attention-to-me noises. Wordlessly you meet his gaze. The cool overhead lights illuminate how his expression is flat in admonishment, âYou shouldnât look at that shit. Itâll make you miserableâ.
A wave of irritation comes over you. âI still want to know. I knew he was considering it butâI shouldâve known first. I have a right to, and itâs,â your voice cracks under the sudden sad weight sitting on your chest. âItâs not all bad stuff. There were nice commentsâ.
âThey never stick. You forget them as soon as you see something negativeâ.
âThatâs notââ
"I would know," Touya interrupts harshly. His eyes shutter as he collects himself with a deep inhale. He shakes his head and your leg jerks, skate knocked off his lap now that it is secure. âGive me the other oneâ.
You do, but not without first making a face at him, that which he returns tenfold. âUgly,â he says. The warmth in his tone is all that keeps your hackles from raising. Thatâs how Touya is. Beautiful and bright and bruised, like a wounded animal that yelped at the lightest touch.
âBastard,â you reply. âYou looked cool out there, by the way. I didnât know you could do a triple axelâ.
âCanât. I always fuck up the take-off,â he shrugs. The compliment is dismissed but thereâs finally colour in his cheeks again. Youâve long since learned the intricacy of interacting with him. Treat him too delicately and heâll bite. Treat him too flippantly and heâll bite. Thereâs a careful balance between caution and carelessness.
Shouto never truly mastered it. As brothers they communicated like two closed fists. This is perhaps the only thing you can do that he cannot.
You smile at the thought, only for it to taper as you study Touyaâs hands. Lithe fingers, a broad palm, uneven skin. A memory pushes its way to the forefront of your mind. For a fraction of a second youâre small again, and your hand feels tiny in his. You can barely keep yourself upright in the ill-fitted skates on your feet. You catch your toe pick and careen towards the ice with a yelp, only to be pulled back upright by Touya.
âIâve got you,â he assured with a big, proud grin as you regained your bearings.
The force behind his present movements grows rough under your scrutiny. You wince. He loosens the laces and starts again. Off the ice thereâs nothing particularly graceful about Touya. None of the typical pride and swagger. Like this heâs justâTouya. Bony and awkward, white hair tousled in every direction. Your best friend's older brother. The boy that kept you from falling on the ice when you were five.
Your dynamic has always been oddly harmonious, if not a bit melodramatic, your crush withstanding. It had been a plentiful source of lighthearted teasing from your partner and rinkmates alike. Whether his attentiveness toward you was for the purpose of goading Shouto in some way you werenât sure, but grateful all the same.
It was Touya who stiffly suggested you assist him with the novice ice show. At the very least as something temporary to do, keeping your mind off the prospect of bowing out of competitive ice dance for good. The reception from your rinkmates had been lukewarm compared to the disastrous scenario youâd picture in your head. It came with varying degrees of surprise and confusion but overall they respected it. Shoutoâs insistence that he attend your rehearsal blocks whenever possible tempered a majority of the nastier rumours, for which you were thankful, though not everyone had a working filter.
Youâve been working on refining individual elements for the kids. Itâs far more difficult than you realised. After years competing at such a high level youâve needed to reacquaint yourself with the basics, and somehow assemble them into a coherent, beautiful dance that would make your class feel proud.
Appreciative as you are to have him there, Shouto was no real help either. He was a natural at skating; albeit reluctant to accept that fact. Whenever one of the children asked him to explain the specifics of something he would end up staring in a loss for words. He rarely gave much active thought to the mechanics of how he skated since he instinctively knew how to do it.
Touya was the opposite. He skated with purpose and understood every movement his body made. What he lacked in clean edges he made up for in musicality. Purported by his emotions, in a way, and coaxing you along with him. Heâs a good teacher. Passionate in a way that sparked passion in the studentâs while being firm enough to keep them in line.
He could demonstrate each solo element with ease and explain it step by step. You envied the fire in his bellyâundistinguishable and bright. Spending more time together has only succeeded in fuelling your feelings towards him.
âSkate with me?â
Touyaâs sharp eyes skim urgently across your face in search of something. They soften. He huffs and then jerks his head toward the rink. âWhy else would I tell you to meet here?â
Your cheeks ache, and you realise youâre smiling.
The junior level skaters have petered out, leaving the space relatively empty. You remove your guards and follow him onto the ice, doing a warm up lap of the rink. His legsâand by extension, his strideâare no longer than Shoutoâs, and you donât need to fight to keep up.
"Want to start with the Dutch waltz?"
While Touya earned his fair share of accoladesâplacing first in the Juniorâs Division World Championship and receiving a Grand Prix invitation before the accidentâhe was never an ice dancer, and you loved monopolising that fact.
As expected Touya shot you an affronted glare. âIâm not doing the Dutch waltz. Toddlers can do the Dutch waltz,â he exaggerated.
âShould be easy for you then,â you replied blithely.
Touya let out a long sigh and shook his arms out before extending them to you. Hip to hip, you take his hand, dazed by the unfolding reality of the situation and the warmth of his skin. You let your blades carry you through the long axis of the rink and stand in a starting position.
Your uncertainty carries into the first steps, ebbing as the sequence progresses. Touyaâs scowl smoothed out and his posture relaxed, aiding the flow of your shared movements and momentum. Your legs swing out in unison and the cold air whips across your cheeks. Preliminary as it was, you were excited to be skating with him. Glad, in part, that nobody else was around, giving the illusion that you were alone together in a space of your own making.
The hour passes cycling through a waltz at a time and crests at the final turn of a Westminster waltz. Despite his lack of formal ice dance coaching Touyaâs technique was decent, as was his speed, and he flowed through each pattern as if it was the hundredth time he had done it. There are areas where your edges could have been stronger, or your stances straighter, but the intimacy you worked hard to portray with Shouto came naturally with him.
âYouâre surprisingly good for a guy who insists ice dancing is beneath himâ.
âIce dance is equally advanced. Stop being dramatic,â he grumbles.
âWow. Did that hurt to say? Kinda nice of you, actuallyâ.
âShut upâ.
A wave of shocked murmurs bursts the bubble that had formed around the pair of you. Touya cranes his head, brow furrowed. Trepidation trickles in as you catch sight of a familiar dichromatic head. Shouto is here, leaning against the boards.
âShouchan,â you push off to greet him with a tentative smile. His expression visibly gentles, a smile of his own coming to his eyes. âYou look well. Itâs good to see you up, but is it okay for you to be walking so soon?â
âAizawa encouraged it. As long as I use the crutches,â he lifts one as proof, glancing around the rink. âYou looked great togetherâ.
It sends a surge of relief through your body, quieting the nagging part of your brain that always felt as if you were cheating on Shouto somehow. Touya is slower in his approach. He hunches over the sideboard and hums in that very cavalier, cool way that actually betrayed his piqued interest. âThatâs sweet and all, but whatâre you doing here?â
Shoutoâs gaze drags to his older brother. Touya doesnât appear perturbed by his inexpressive face, nor his stubborn silence. Mismatched eyes, azure surrounded by old scar tissue. His mothers face, her lips and the slope of her nose. They really are reflections of each other, in many ways.
âI need permission to come see my friends now?â
Touyaâs nose flares and his jaw ticks in irritation. âI didnât come empty handed,â Shouto continues. You hadnât noticed the takeout bag held against his front until he offered it to you. âHave you eaten? I bought udon on the wayâ.
âI could eat,â Touya says.
You stretch across the boards to take the bag, âItâs my udonâ.
His mouth thins as he cranes his chin, looking down his nose at you as he says, âMaybe itâs for me tooâ.
âIs not,â you stare stubbornly at Touya, shielding the food to your chest with one arm and side-hugging Shouto with the other. A warm puff of breath skims your collarbone as he laughs.
âPlease donât flirt in front of meâ.
âYou wouldnât know flirting if it hit you over the head with a crowbar,â Touya deflects haughtily. âWhatever. Hand that overâ.
You whirl past him to step off the ice, valiantly trying to keep the bag out of reach on principle. When youâre seated on the bleachers, Shouto to your left and Touya on the right, you unpack the contents and realiseâto the latters smug satisfactionâthat yes, Shouto had brought two containers of udon.
Shouto appears content to simply be there, chin propped on the handle of his crutch, watching you both eat with a small smile. The conversation is slow and pleasant as you eat, steering from genial small talk about the weather to sarcastic quips about your rinkmates.
You pinch your chopsticks around the thick noodles and inhale the tangy-sweet scent of oyster sauce, âIs Bakugo still peacocking around you?â
Bakugo Katsukiâanother prodigal solo skater and unwilling friendâhad been making a point of practicing quads whenever Shouto was around. While the intention mightâve been to gloat while Shouto is unable to skate, it instead came across like a hilariously aggressive mating dance.
âHeâs not peacocking. Heâs justâŚâ
âPeacocking,â Touya repeats with feeling. âAdmit itâ.
Shoutoâs mouth twists into a little self-effacing smirk. âWhat about the showâare the students excited? Eri-chan was, last I saw of herâ.
âDonât change the subject. But yeah,â you smile as memories sift through your thoughts. A mass of red, runny noses bundled up in sweaters and gloves, their bright eyes staring back with enthusiasm. âTheyâre really excited. Itâs no national competition butââ
âIt is to them,â Touya cuts in pointedly. The smile slips and you blink owlishly at him. âThe show will be the deciding factor for a lot of them, if they want to keep skating or not. Itâs equally as importantâ.
âIâI know,â you assure him, feeling a little ashamed for having made light of it, albeit unintentionally. âWeâve started on the rhythm elements,â you continue hesitantly as Touya acquiesces. âPicking the music has been a nightmareâ.
âTheir step sequences suck,â Touya interjects. You give him an incredulous look. Seemed his compassion ran dry quickly. âWhat? They do,â he argues, âEri and Kota arenât syncing. Every time she tries to skate closer the kid pulls awayâ.
âIt isnât a technical issue. They just⌠struggle to maintain their connection, before, during, and after an element is performed⌠is allâ.
âThatâs a problem,â Shouto says. âOn the ice youâre one entity. Itâs important to convey that feeling of unityâ.
âYes. Thank you, Shouto,â you sigh, choosing to ignore Touyaâs muffled snort. âItâll work out in the end. Kota just has a crush Eri-chan, so heâs being awkwardâ.
Shouto gives a noncommittal hum. âYou two seem to do fine thoughâ.
In that instant the weight of Touyaâs gaze is intense. You close your eyes, suppressing the urge to put your head between your knees. An exasperated breath promptly swelled out to the limits of your ribcage. Sheer mortification. You glare at Shouto who merely tips his head, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in amusement, not in the least bit sorry.
âWell obviously. Theyâre children,â you clear your throat, ducking to concentrate on finishing your meal. âI miss Fuyumi. The men in your family are impossibleâ.
Neither Todoroki brother reacts. âDonât lump poor Natsu in with us like that,â Shouto says coolly.
The hot takeout tray cradled in your arms does little to soothe the restlessness of your heart as Touya drapes along the back of the bench and smirks. He looks like heâs waiting for an odalisque to feed him grapes. Instead he shovels the last of his noodles into his mouth and sucks them through puckered lips. The strand flicks him on the nose.
âOur kids will do fine as well,â he says after swallowing. You temper a smile at the use of our, your embarrassment dissipating as Shoutoâs comment is left unquestioned. He picks at the last of his food with his chopsticks, pinching and letting them go. âThat Kota brat just needs to remember where to put his handsâ.
âHow about the costumes?â
âWe donât have music sorted yet. Now you want to talk about costumes?â
âYes. I think you should wear glitter, Touya-niiâ.
âTouya-nii,â Touya mocks with a distasteful scowl. âI canât pull glitter off like you, Prince Shouto. Forget itâ.
âAn androgynous look would work well. Youâre prettier than you think, Touya,â you cut in over their bickering. Touya baulks, flustered. âBut weâre not in the ice show, so talking about it is pointlessâ.
âWell, the giftbox costumes are simple enoughâ.
âYouâre making them wear boxes?â Shouto gives you both a flat look. Touyaâs mouth pulls into a wicked grin.
âOnly a few of them,â he shrugs. âThe elves, Santa and his wife will need a little more detailâwhat the hell is his wifeâs name, anyway?â
You tip back against the bench in thought. The soft hair on his forearm tickles your nape and you fight the urge to jerk away, not wanting to bring attention to the contact and subsequently lose it. âDepends on the adaptation I guess. Heard once that her name is Gertrude,â you reply.
âGertrude?â Shouto echoes, his English stilted around the unfamiliar name.
âShit. Guess thatâs why she never uses it,â Touya grimaces, tucking the chopsticks inside the empty tray and wiping his mouth. âYou done eating?â
Shouto, sensing the opportunity, rights his posture and asks, âCould we get a minute alone?â
You give Touya a once-over to gauge his reaction; outline his profile, trace the line of his cheekbone back to the pierced shell of his ear, glinting amongst his unruly white hair. When his eyes flicker to yours you scramble to look away. âIâll go throw these out,â he replies, shoving the empty takeout containers back in the bag and getting to his feet. âYouâve got twoâ.
Purposeful silence hangs thick over the bench. âI actually came today to apologise,â Shouto murmurs once his older brother is a distance away. âI am sorry I didnât tell you that I made up my mind. I knew youâd want me to give it more thought if I didâ.
You hook your thumb into the cuff of your skate as you allow his apology to linger longer than necessary. Enough that he squirms a bit. âYou get how bad that sounds, yeah?â
âI know. I didnât want to hurt you but I didnât want to be convinced otherwise either,â Shouto concedes, taking the seat beside you. A weight settles on your shoulder, slanting where he rests his head. His hair is silky against your cheek. âI wouldnât be upset if you took another partner next seasonâ.
âThanks, but I donât want to compete without youâ.
âWell. You seem happy working with Touya. You two really do skate well together,â he wrinkles his nose then, âI always imagined you would. Especially after you told me you like himââ
âI was drunkâon whisky highballs!â
ââand wanted to work with him. You have that chance nowâ.
You sigh and rub your cheek against his crown. The smell of tea tree and mint fills your senses. âBut what about you, Shouto?â
For a long, long time ice dancing had been the one thing Shouto picked for himself. His father wanted him to compete on the ice, but he hated doing it alone, and he hated carrying Enjiâs legacy. Ice dance was, in many ways, a tool for Shouto to forge his own path with you alongside him.
âSkating has been my life for as long as I can remember. Iâve pushed people away. Declined dates. Forgotten birthdays. Missed holidays,â Shouto eventually replies. âThese few months away have been⌠jarring. Like I came back to Earth and found out the world had been carrying on without meâ.
The finality of it leaves a lump in your throat. You sniffle and indulge the urge to hug him. Shouto melts into your embrace, his hand splayed at your back. It is comfortable, comforting. When you part itâll be as though you were walking on different sides of the same street. Not far, but a parting all the same.
Shouto leaned in and you found yourself mirroring the position reflexively. âIs it different?â he asks, hushed as if talking about something taboo. âSkating with Touya, I meanâ.
Flashes of the past few weeks filter through your thoughts. Of warm, rough hands on your hips. Of his mouth by your ear. Of bodies intertwined, synergies flowing. You cover your face and sigh, âI feel like Iâm going to develop cardiac arrhythmiaâ.
âItâs that good?â
âDonât make it sound weird! And heâs coming back soâquietâ.
The understanding noise he makes does little to comfort you. Touya raises a brow at the smug look on his brother's face but generously, says nothing.
Shouto slinks away soon after the cold starts to agitate his injuries. Eventually you find yourselves on the ice together again. You run through yet another set of twizzles at Touyaâs stroppy instruction, rotating on one foot with hard-earned grace. He mimics your attempt. He manages two before dropping his left leg.
âRemember to shift from ball to heelâ.
âFuck,â Touya hisses, his blade hitting the ice with a whip-like crack. You turn in place and raise a brow at his thunderous face. He was adamant about practicing step and turn sequences after a passing comment from Shouto about its difficulty.
âYou keep positioning your other leg too far back. It throws your weight off,â he eyes your hands with suspicion as you get closer, poised to reach for him âTwizzles are hard. When I first attempted a double my body seized up and I fell. Bruised the entire right side of my ribs,â you admit sheepishly, hoping it would at least make his own failures seem smaller in comparison.
âIt shouldnât be this hard. Iâve been doing axels since I could walk,â Touya insists. He sounds almost hurt, and you stand to wonder if the only thing he inferred from your words was âyou canât do itâ.
You understand his frustration. You are hardly a stranger to the desire to succeed. You know Touya, too; know how he built his entire life in pursuit of the summit. But while Touya has been striving toward his goal with renewed vigor, you've spent the past two months learning how it feels to desire in a whole new wayâto want so badly that it hurts.
âGive yourself some grace,â you shake your head with an exasperated smile and you glide toward the boards. âYouâll get it down eventuallyâ.
He remains in the centre of the rink and raises his voice as the distance yawns wider, âYeah, yeah. I got itâ.
âAre you staying longeâ?â the call thrown over your shoulder as you step off the ice halts midway. The hem of Touyaâs shirt has risen beneath the wide movement of his arms. Youâre drawn to the swath of bare skinâphysically unable to unglue your eyes from Touyaâs lower back as he attempts another step sequence. You frown, having not noticed it before, "Is that KT tape?â
Touya had two bands of athletic tape parallel to each other on his back, the pale blue contrasted against his skin. âSometimes. Increases my range of motion,â he reaches around to peel them off, then rolls the strips in his palm before shoving them in his sweatpant pocket. âSkin grafts messed with my flexibility. You know thatâ.
âI⌠do, yeahâ. You did. Yet the information never stuck, because Touya always worked so hard you never wouldâve thought he was suffering. âIgnore me, sorry. Are you staying behind, or?â
âNah. Let me do another lap,â his voice reverberates around the rink, volume rippling with his continuous awkward rotations. âGo on. Iâll meet you out front and walk you to the busâ.
The light scrape of his skates remains inordinately loud now that everybody is gone. You drag a cloth over your blades before snapping on the guards and heading to the changing rooms. You take off your skates and do a few light stretches before washing up. The satisfying burn in your muscles dwindles as they relax and fatigue sets in; lately theyâre so sore youâre sure theyâll slough off the bone.
After slipping into a clean pair of leggings and your loosest hoodie you hoist your sports bag up and cross the strap over your chest. Your phone vibrates with a notification from Nejire asking how youâve been. You reply as you shrug on your bag and head out toward the entrance, stopping to duck into Aizawaâs office.
âHey, Aizawa-sensei. Weâll be heading out no⌠oh,â you falter when you look up from the screen to find another skater seated across from Aizawa. âHey, Midoriya! Sorry, I didnât know you were here. I shouldâve knockedâ.
Izuku waves back and forth at your apology. âNo, no! Itâs okay I just came by to say hi,â he demurred, hand then fluttering to rub the back of his neck. He glances at Aizawa. âIâm just leaving, actually. Want to head out together?â
Itâs a surprise to see him, though not an unpleasant one. You couldâve sworn he was away to partake in a skate exhibition. In that fraction of a second you wrack your mind for the date, the place, and when it clicks you try not to grimace. It had been over a week ago. The knowledge makes obvious what an absent friend youâve been.
You smile softly, hoping he can see the apology in it. âSure. Iâd like that,â you tell him. âIâm actually meeting Touya at the reception. Just warning youâ.
âTouya-san isnât that bad,â his grin widens as he stands. Still boyish in a way heâll probably never shed. You linger in the doorway while he bows to bid Aizawa goodbye and you wonder if he had even realised your lapse in memory.
Your eyes catch a flash of colour. His signature bright red skates are hooked on his backpack. They knock together when he walks. âSo, tell me. How was the exhibition?â you playfully nudge his side as he falls in line with you. At the mention a stroke of pink spreads across his cheeks.
âIt was really fun, and so different from competing. The choreography was amazingâand the lights. I couldnât believe how coordinated everything was!â he rambles, brushing the mossy hair atop his head back and frowning when it flops back over his eyes.
You shove your hands into the front pocket of your hoodie. âIâm sorry I couldnât see it,â your fingers fiddle along the inner seams. âIâm sorry I didnât ask sooner, tooâ.
Izukuâs confused expression smooths into a familiar exasperated fondness. âYou sound like Shouto. Thereâs nothing to be sorry for. I know youâve been busy with Touya-san,â he teases, as though to remind you of that fact. âOchako took a bunch of pictures. Iâll show you them next time Iâm here, orâI can send them to you?â
âIâm still sorry. But thank you. Iâd love to see them,â you concede to his kind insistence. Guided by a surge of affection for your friend you loop your arm through his and Izuku slows his stride. âSo, gold medalist Midoriya Izuku, where are you heading off to next?â
The flush across his cheeks deepens, but he doesnât appear flustered, and he doesnât pull away. Izuku has long outgrown his childhood aversion to touch. You recall how wooden he once was, never knowing where to place his hands, how tight to squeeze or how long to linger. Now he takes it in his strideâactually, heâs something of a fiend for it.
âIâm meeting Kacchan. He actually picked this place,â he says, with just as gleeful as he had been while talking about the exhibition. You smile reflexively at the laughter jostling his shoulders, âItâs called âMean Mugâ!â
âSounds like the perfect place for Bakugoâ.
âRight?â
Interlinked, you pivot the next corner and wander into the open space. The receptionist desk is empty, as expected, and Touya is waiting by the entrance. What almost stops you in your tracks is the sight of Takami Keigo.
Touyaâs eyes find yours across the threshold, pleading. They harden as they flicker to Izuku. He wrinkles his nose, ignoring whatever Keigo is saying, and Izuku tenses. You squeeze his forearm and try not to laugh. âWhat happened to âheâs not that badâ?â you ask under your breath.
âThat was when we had one foot between us,â Izuku whispers. He raises his voice to greet the other men with surety as you close the distance, âTouya-san, Takami-san, itâs good to see you!â
âIf it isnât the wonder boy. You did well at the exhibition. The reviews were pouring in,â Keigo drawls, patting Izukuâs shoulder. The younger skater preens. Keigoâs attention turns to you. An amused smile stole over his features as he punctuated the syllables of your name, a flirty lilt to his tone. âYouâre a sight for sore eyesâ.
You unlatch your arm from Izukuâs and come to stand at Touyaâs side. âHawks,â you make reference to his stage name, equal parts amused and ruffled. âHowâs the season going?â
A lazy smirk hangs on his lips. He rocks on his heels. âAs expected. I was just tellinâ Touya Iâll be taking it easy until the NHK Trophy,â he says, waving his hand dismissively. âBut enough about meâ.
âThatâs a rare sentence,â you heard Touya mutter. You bite the inside of your cheek and elbow him in the side, hard.
âThereâs a noticeable gap now that you and Shouto arenât competing, yâknow,â Keigo pats Touyaâs shoulder, firm enough to not be shrugged off. âAre you planning on coming back, or are you stuck here with him now?â
âIâm perfectly happy where I am,â you answer, before Touya can interject with vitriol thatâll likely get you kicked out. Heâs physically bristling at your side.
Keigo scrutinizes you for a second longer. âBlink if you need help,â he squints. You smile back, unblinking, and he releases a noise of surrender, hands held out palms up. âAlright, Iâll bite. I canât stick around much longer. Midoriya, which way you headed?â
Youâre too preoccupied with assessing Touya to eavesdrop on their friendly small talk. âSorry I took so long,â you tell him. âHope you didnât suffer too badlyâ.
âI wonât forgive you,â Touya leans needlessly close to your ear. You tear at the fabric of your hoodie from the confines of the front pocket and suppress a shiver.
âAh, lucky lucky! Iâll give you a ride,â you hear Keigo announce, leaving no room for rejection. Izuku deflates slightly, moreso in surrender than actual dismay. You offer him a sympathetic nod.
âWeâll see you retired lovebirds some other time,â Keigo throws out a two finger salute. Izuku motions to hug you, but as his gaze crosses Touya he decides to redirect the awkward flight path of his hand to your bicep and squeezes.
âIt was really good seeing you again. Tell Shouto to text meâwe can catch up,â he says, wearily glancing to your left. âIâll see you!â
Keigo corrals him away with a distinct cackle.
âLovebirds,â you echo dumbly. Touyaâs presence moves away like the sun being blocked out. âWhere are youâhey!â
The doors slide open to a street lined with camphor trees. Long shadows are cast across the concrete. Stepping into the crisp evening air, you canât help but appreciate the apricity that kisses your face.
Touya walked onward, rubbed at his mottled cheek and stifled a yawn, arms stretching above his head. The faint bumps left where his skin grafts had been stitched together all those years ago pulled taut.
Stubbornly, you do not want to part ways yet.
âYâknow, the winter fair isnât far from here,â you managed to say, scrambling for a reasonable excuse to prolong his departure. âThey even put the little rink out with the fake penguins and everything this year. You wanna go?â
âYeah. Great idea. Let's go and do what we do every single day,â Touya replies, with enough sarcasm that you have to look again and check whether heâs joking or annoyed. The tendon along his neck strains under his thin lipped smile. Annoyed, then.
âJust a thought. You donât need to be such a dick about it,â you mumble, hearing how your voice goes tight despite your efforts. His jaw works in your periphery, like heâs trying to dig out the words he needs from between his teeth.
Touya sighs. The fight drains from him and in one swift motion he snatches your hand to thread your fingers together. Your palms kiss, clasped tight. You feel your heart kick in your chest. âFuckingâalright. Get that look off your face,â he conceded in an unexpectedly gentle voice. Your attention snaps toward him, but he has already schooled his expression back to resignation.
The winter fair is far from difficult to find. At the mouth is a narrow space covered by a canopy of twinkling lights, washing the darkening surroundings in a bright starlight glow. Stalls are lined either side, painted in shades of red and green, displaying various homemade crafts and street food. Your attention to the surroundings waned, returning again and again to Touya, sneaking furtive glances as he roved the market. You felt a surge of pride at the gleam in his eye, counting his ease as a small victory.
âLetâs get tamagoyaki,â you suggest excitedly. âOh, or hot chocolate?â
âAre you twelve?â
You point at a display in the distance. What appears to be a rendition of a sentient mug of hot chocolate, topped with whip cream hair and marshmallows. In its cartoonish hand is a liquor bottle, âThey can put rum in itâ.
That earns his unspoken approval. Touya herds you toward the tinsel-covered stall in lieu of a response. Melodious Christmas music plays quietly overhead, and your breathless laughter is light enough to get lost in the smooth notes. He orders the drinks, and while youâre distracted by the hot takeout cup thrust into your hands, he pays too. Kind of like a date, your traitorous mind whispers. In a leisurely daze, you allow the crowd to guide you both deeper into the belly.
Touyaâs defenses lower with every sip and appreciative hum, tongue loose enough to speak about the life he leads away from the rink. You find him easier to talk to like this, this softer, relaxed version of Touya, stripped of all tension, purpose and sharp edges. âI still canât believe you actually know him, thoughâ.
Touya rolls his eyes skyward, seeking patience, and you wonder how often he has to hear that line. âHeâs just some guy,â he says. âAnd a pain in my assâ.
âHeâs Shimura Nanaâs grandson. The first woman to ever land a triple axel!â
âOld news,â he pinched his brow in a delicate mocking gesture. âYou were all cosy with Mighty Yagiâs protege less than an hour ago but youâre excited about Tenko? He doesnât even skateâ.
Heat rushes to your face. âMidoriya isâI was not cosy! Heâs Shouchanâs best friend,â you argue before clusmily amending your words, âShouchanâs other best friendâ.
âRight,â Touya snorts.
Wisps of steam roll over the rim as you sip. The spiked hot chocolate slides down the back of your throat, warming you from the inside out. You watch the bob of his throat as he tips his cup back and swallows. Discarding it in the nearby bin, he motions for you to do the same. âCâmon. Youâre the one that wanted to skate moreâ.
âWe donât have to if youâre that botheredâ.
âIâm not bothered. I just donât get why youâd want toâ.
Because itâs you. âItâs for the novelty of it!â
The bickering continues on your journey to the skating rink. You give it a once over, then a second take, discerning whether it is even made of ice. The surface is murky and scratched beyond recognition.
âHere. Good luck tying those things,â Touya deposits a pair of rental skates into your arms with an air of disdain before grabbing his own. âIf I strain my ankle tonight Iâll kill youâ.
âYouâd miss me too muchâ you bump his shoulder to distract from your own racing heart. The corner of his eyes crinkle, betraying his harsh leer.
Cut-out frames have been fixed around the nearby benches, cardboard pillars have been wrapped in more fairy lights, giving the feel of an enclosed space. âCute. Like our very own kiss and cry,â you say, bending to shove your feet into the skates and grumble when the tendon guard digs unnaturally into your calf.
âThis is a cardboard boxâ.
You tighten your laces too tight after a spark of agitation. âCould you suspend your disbelief for five minutes?â
âNo,â Touya rises and stomps to settle into his boots. He inclines his head toward the rink. âLetâs go,â and he gestures for you to take his hand again while looking elsewhere. You smile shyly and take it.
As suspected the ice is miles from ideal for skatingânot that the general public would notice. You feel the difference the second your blade meets the surface and your instincts kick in. Simultaneously too soft and too rough. The thin indents catch as you glide ahead, fist enclosed to retain the sensation of Touyaâs fingers.
You can sense his focused gaze on your lazy motions like kerosene and after a few laps he dashes ahead, following the parameter, a lithe slip of moonlight. It makes known an unwarranted hollow in your chest. Thereâs nothing to be wanted or missed and yet your arms felt empty, hungry. Pushing against your skates you strive to keep pace.
You wanted him to keep looking at you. To see an equal in you. You suppose thatâs a quality you shared.
In your distraction youâd failed to notice the crowd gathering outside the rink. Awareness creeps the length of your spine. People are holding up their phones filming the pair of you and youâre hardly skating anything groundbreaking.
Touya relishes it.
âYouâve skated in front of tens of thousands of people but a few dozen spectators is what gets you scared?â he flashes a smarmy grin. His skates carry him closer. Rough hands take you by the hips, fingers kneading slowly towards the middle of your back, spreading outwards as if wanting to canvas more of you. The tiny hairs on your nape stand endwise as his voice deepens, âWanna make it a show worth their while?â
You suck a sharp breath and your toe pick catches on the uneven surface, almost throwing you off balance. He steadies you, tips his head back and laughs.
You remain markedly clumsy as a pair, in a drawing outside of the lines sort of way. Thereâs no music yet at some point you fall into a familiar sequence and Touya fights to match you. Itâs as though your inhibitors have been loosened; you often find yourself getting carried away with the routine. Any judge would think you were an over excited novice. But itâs exhilarating. Itâsâfun. Fun in a way it hasnât been in a long time.
Your bodies came flush together in a final grand movement. Close enough to mimic the rapid rise and fall of Touyaâs chest as though it were your own. You spend a few scant moments staring at each other as you catch your breath. Taking in the atmosphere, the proximity youâd never been afforded until now. Blood has risen in Touyaâs cheeks and thereâs a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His eyes are full of a childlike excitement you havenât seen in years.
âDid you mean what you said?â
You regain your bearings, âWhat?â
âAbout being happy with what youâre doing now,â he clarifies. Your mouth parts in soft surprise, and he grows tense in the seconds it takes to form an answer.
âWithout Shouto I might never return to competing and Iâve mostly made peace with that reality,â the tightening in your chest made it clear just how true those words were. You smile then, âHelping you with the kids, itâs⌠I feel like Iâve won all there is to win. Is that stupid?â
Years ago you used to watch Touya skate and think there probably wasnât a person in the world whose depth and intensity of feeling matched his loneliness. You would wonder how he survived itâ
Above, the lights emphasise the shadows of his scars. Maps of lines, intricate furrows, beginnings and endings, tangible proof that he had changed and grown.
âyou know now, having received your own fill, how he found himself surrounded by love with no idea how he came to acquire it.
âMaybe a little,â Touya answered in a fond murmur. A camera flash goes off. A couple dozen more.
âThatâs probably not good,â you point out, though youâre struggling to find it within yourself to care. âTheyâll have my name in Skatebuzz againâ.
âI can see the headlines now. Prospective Olympianâs disgraced brother steals away his partner,â Touyaâs vindictive mirth ghosts over your lips, fleeting and hesitant. Your blood sings, rising to the surface of your skin to meet him.
He slides a hand up the curve of your throat, thumb pressed to your pulse. The restraint drains away.
You clutch at the front of his shirt as he sips at your mouth. Itâs far too indulgent to be chaste, and when you pull awayâbarely an inchâto look at him, his eyes are already half lidded and watching you, close enough to count his lashes, pale as they fan over his cheeks.
A raucous applause thunders in your ears.
But the reverential murmur of your name is that much louder.
TO THE RINK AND BACK: TODOROKI TOUYAâS ROMANTIC RETURN?
Skatebuzz - 13 December 20XX - 10:05
Todoroki Touya, once a favoured national champion, skates publicly for the first time since the career ending accident that left him permanently scarred. But he was not spotted alone. Lips locked with Todoroki Shoutoâs former partner, the skating community are buzzing at the possibility of his returnâŚ
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u have done it again!!
hi, iâm not sure if your requests are open, forgive me if not, but iâve been thinking about bombshell!reader and spence lately. not sure if youâve written this already or something similar, but how about them sharing a room on a case? similar to alaska.
fem, 1k
Spencer predicted the outcome of the roommate situation fairly quickly. Ignoring whatever data he might have in his head about the team, Spencer was always going to end up sharing with you tonight, because the universe hates him, and because you quite like him.Â
It's nice to be someone first choice, if nothing else. âMe and Spencer will share, obviously,â you say, holding out your hand for a keycard.Â
Hotch passes it over without complaint. He doesn't have to say keep it professional, you will (ish), and he doesn't have to ask Spencer if he's okay with this arrangement. Despite endless exhausting teasing, everyone knows that you and Spencer are actually friends. Or, he thinks you are.Â
You certainly feel quite friendly as you hike your bag higher up your arm and sew the other arm through his. âLet's go. I'm so tired I might fall asleep on the way there.âÂ
You don't look tired. Spencer struggles to understand how every emotion you wear suits you. How every time he looks at you, you're prettier. He read a book recently on human attraction, and less factual but perhaps his most strongly believed takeaway from the book was that a person grows more attracted to the person they're attracted to, like a loop, or an ouroboros snake eating its own tail, forced over and over to make the same stupid mistake. What is he doing? Does he really think this is a good idea? Is he in love with you? How couldn't he be? You walk arm in arm to a room you're going to share and you don't care that he smells sickly of arnica and deodorant mixed together. You ignore the dark circles under his eyes, dark circles you never seem to have, always so perfect, always so you.Â
âThis one?â you ask, coming to a stop. âRoom⌠108?â He takes your bag and you smile gratefully, inserting the key, and legging open the door. âTada. Home sweet home, Dr. Reid.âÂ
The hotel room is small and stale. Clean, sure, but questionably, with yellowing furnishings and sparse furniture. There's a double bed, two nightstands, a cubby bathroom close to the door, and a single chair near a small free standing countertop opposite of the bed, hosting a microwave and cups with hot chocolate sachets.Â
âWow,â you say, beaming, immediately breaking for the bed.Â
âWait, wait! We have to check for bed bugs.âÂ
You hold your hands up in surrender.Â
Spencer peels the sheets back and uses the little torch on his keychain to investigate the mattress while you sit on the floor, one leg crossed beneath you and the other stretched in front of you as you sort through your clothes. You hum as you fold a shirt cleanly and make a pleased sound that may prove to give him indigestion as you unearth your pyjamas.Â
âSpencer, can I shower first? Do you mind?âÂ
âI don't mind.â He turns off the torch, satisfied. âThank you. For letting me check without being annoyed.âHe says the second bit quieter than he means to.Â
âWhy would I be annoyed?â you ask, standing up in a whirlwind of pistachio perfume. Low notes of something sweet and caramelised haunt him as you drop your hand on his shoulder. âI'm gonna shower really fast, I swear. Should we get dinner? I bet we could order something to the front desk.âÂ
âI'll see if they have any menus.âÂ
Sitting in bed with you, later, showered and fed and drinking microwaved hot chocolate from paper cups together, Spencer has a strange flash of pleasure. Talking to you, seeing you with your hair in its protective style for the night, your skin shining with lotions and serums, and to have the revelation that you really do have dark circles under your makeup, it all feels private and special. Because you're still undeniably beautiful, and you act like he's worth sharing that with.Â
He feels overwhelmed, in all honesty.Â
You can sense it. You do your best to calm him down.Â
âFinish your drink, babe,â you say, knocking him on the thigh with your knuckles. âIt was a really long day.âÂ
âI'm fine.âÂ
âYes, you are.â You giggle at yourself. âSorry, I'm being serious tonight, I decided.âÂ
âWhy?â he asks, puzzled.Â
âI don't want to make you uncomfortable.âÂ
âYou don't.âÂ
You put your hot chocolate on the nightstand and sink back into the pillows, looking every bit a movie star as usual despite your fresh face. It's your expression, the confidence behind them, that makes you so beautiful.Â
âWhat are you thinking?â you ask.Â
He looks down into his hot chocolate, swirling the drink around and around. âYou're beautiful.âÂ
It catches you off guard. You're quiet for too long, panic festering in his chest.Â
âYou are too.â You put your hand on his thigh. When he brings his haze to your face, you've closed your eyes, a small smirk playing on your lips. âWanna brush my teeth for me?âÂ
âNo.â You both laugh. âSorry if that was out of the blue, before.â
âI say worse to you,â you say. âLay down with me. We can snuggle.âÂ
Spencer lays down. You don't snuggle, but your hand stays pressed to the side of his thigh, and the smell of your perfume lingers despite your shower. It must've been caught in your hair.Â
âIt's weird,â you say, facing the ceiling, âI'm not tired anymore.âÂ
âIt's called learned arousal.âÂ
Your laugh is a shock. âOh, is it now?âÂ
âNot like that. Are you thinking about work? If you think about certain things while you're in bed, it starts to make it so you think about those things on instinct. You've conditioned yourself.âÂ
âI don't think so,â you say. âWell, maybe. Mostly I just think about you, Spence. And not like that.â You laugh again, so much laughter Spencer could conjure the sound from memory alone. âSorry, I shouldn't have said that. I promise I'm not trying to harass you.âÂ
He stares at the side of your face. âI know what you mean. I think about you too.âÂ
âWell, good to know I'm not in this torture alone,â you say softly.Â
It is the worst night's sleep of Spencer's life, but he thinks he might want to do it again.Â
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just binged all of this omfg GENIUS. OBSESSED. GOD-SENT.
HELLFIRE & ICE masterlist
life in hawkins, indiana is bittersweet for an eighteen year old like you. up to this point you've enjoyed your reign as the resident rich bitch ice queen of hawkins high. you glide above the student body with an impenetrable graceâ until the IRS comes knocking and your family loses everything that makes you you; the money, the super-trendy clothes, the people you called friends. you're forced to trade your plush suburban life for a double wide in forest hills trailer parkâ directly across the lot from resident hellfire king and noted freak, eddie munson. you've got plenty of reasons to hate him, but number one with a bullet? his daddy put your daddy in jail.
pairing: eddie munson x f!reader, mentions of unrequited steve harrington x f!reader
tags: NSFW / MINORS TURN BACK NOW! enemies to star-crossed lovers on a slow burn setting, angst, misunderstanding, yearning, swearing, smoking, drinking, era-typical classism/sexism/homophobia/sexual harassment, smut including but not limited to voyeurism, masturbation, public sex, discussion of crime that i pull out of my ass kind of, really mean jokes, eventual fluff (i promise). reader is nicknamed lacy. extremely canon divergent with references to flight of icarus.
ready to light this place up?
⌠- SERIES
⌠- chapter one: THE POISE, LUCK and INTEGRITY OF A KENNEDY
⌠- chapter two: VIOLENT DELIGHTS at HARRINGTON'S HOUSE
⌠- chapter three: EDDIE MUNSON COMMITS TREASON (BREAKS UP a CAT FIGHT)
⌠- chapter four: HOT SKIN and a HALL PASS
⌠- chapter five: CHEERLEADERS MAKE BAD NEIGHBORS
⌠- chapter six: IN MY ORBIT
⌠- chapter seven: WELCOME to the REAL WORLD, JACKASS
⌠- chapter eight: LIFE OUTSIDE the CORN MAZE
⌠- chapter nine: EDDIE the OBVIOUS and the LADY SPHINX
⌠- chapter ten: STOP THE WORLD (and MELT WITH YOU)
⌠- chapter eleven: I OWE YOU A BLACK EYE and TWO KISSES
⌠- chapter twelve: PERSUASION CHECK
⌠- BLURBS N SHIT
in-universe requests are open for business
flashback - EDDIE MUNSON STAMPS NICOLE SUMMERS' V-CARD (NOT A BOARD WAXER, NOT IN MAUI)
what if - EDDIE FOUND LACY'S JOURNAL
what if - LACY FOUND EDDIE'S WEIRD SERIAL KILLER WRITING SCRAPS
⌠- FUN STUFF
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screaming crying throwing up
IN LITTLE WAYS, WHEN EVERYTHING STAYS
a/n: rei got the kids the fuck out of that house au, maybe a little prequel to my where love lives au? reader referred to as she & girlfriend a few times, sibling tendencies amongst the rokis
In the streaky reflection of his bedroom vanity, Touya's mind circulates the same thought over and over again.
His shirt looks stupid.
And he doesn't even know what it is exactly that's making him look so fucking weird right now, but he's annoyingly hyperaware of how stiff he looks.
It's just a shirt, a nice one, at that; it's been washed and ironed and its buttons all correlate with one another so why does it look so awkward on him right now?
Just as he's debating between loosening up the collar again or ripping it to pieces, the situation somehow gets at least ten times worse within a matter of mere seconds.
"Are you hanging out with your girlfriend again?"
Like muscle memory, Touya's eyes close in annoyance at the sound of his youngest brother's nasally voice. Not botching to spare him a glance, he chooses to tug at the stuffy shirt collar.
"She's not my girlfriend," is mumbled with what Shouto knows to be both embarrassment and agitation.
"Then why are you wearing that stupid shirt?"
Touya tries, he truly does, to just bite his tongue and be the adult in the situation. Technically (and legally), he is the adult in the situation, but something about the know-it-all ten-year-old always brings out the immaturity in him.
"I think you're lying," Shouto continues, matter-of-factly. Gaming console in hand as his attention darts between what's on the screen and what's reflected in his brother's mirror, "I don't even think she's real."
Touya looks to put out the match before it can even catch fire. In a few strides, he's trudging towards his door and swinging it into motion.
"She's more real than the tooth fairy, I can tell you that--"
Just before he can get the satisfaction of slamming the door in Shouto's dopey little face, a thick wrap of fingers catches the wood before it shuts on its hinges.
Natsuo pushes the door back open with ease, the look on his face clearly amused with the bickering he's heard. When he sees Touya's appearance, he can't help but squint his eyes and lowly whistle.
"Slick. You seein' the girlfriend tonight?"
Nearly seething now at the second intrusion, Touya growls, turning his back on the two idiots in his doorway and returning his attention to the mirror.
"Not my girlfriend," he flatly recites.
The taller brother leans against the doorframe with crossed arms and a smirk that reads no good.
"Is she not your girlfriend because you haven't asked her yet or because she knows she's out of your league?" Natuso's tongue prods at the inside of his cheek in entertainment.
With it now being two against one, Shouto sees his window of opportunity and snottily chimes in, "Probably both."
After a brief glance at his phone and realizing it's nearly time for him to pick you up, Touya doesn't even spare them a glance. He quickly shifts his focus on undoing the highest buttons of his dress shirt.
"Eat shit."
Silence naturally settles amongst the three of them. Natsuo and Shouto make no move to leave their post at the door anytime soon, attention still quietly following Touya as he huffs and puffs around his room, messing up his hair and pulling at his way too rigid selves.
Natsuo, brave as he always has been, is unsurprisingly the first one to break the silence.
"Where are you takin' her that you need to wear that stupid shirt?
Touya knows it's a harmless question, but it bothers him all the same.
"Dinner."
"Where?"
"New place downtown."
Natuso nods in approval, "Are you paying for her?"
"Am I being interrogated?"
"You're paying for her?" Shouto crinkles his nose, "With what money?"
Touya's head doesn't miss a beat as it whips around with a slight smirk, "The money I took from beneath your fuckin' mattress."
"That's not even funny because I don't keep it there anymore--"
The three of them internally wince when the familiar squeak of Fuyumi's bedroom door flings open. On cue, she's tiredly sighing and stomping her way over to the commotion.
Touya doesn't need to see the scowl on her face when he can hear her from down the hallway, "Can you all please shut up before mom--"
She cuts herself off, appearing in the reflection of Touya's mirror with a face that reads a mixture of disgust and confusion.
She looks him up and down, and with the grace that only a sister could carry, delivers the final blow to her eldest brother's ego.
"Ew, why do you look like that?"
That last drop of charity in Touya's tiny heart shrivels up and runs dry when he snaps. "For fuck's sake--like what?"
The three of them watch as their sister gives Touya another once over before meeting his stare directly and scowling.
"Your shirt looks stupid."
In the creaky and muggy second floor of the Todoroki household, the air weighs heavy with sibling stress. Fuyumi glares, Natsuo chokes on a giggle, and Shouto's jaw is on the floor when Touya pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Get the fuck out of my room or I'm setting the house on fire," he exhales rather calmly, given the nature of his alarming (yet common) threat.
Unimpressed, Fuyumi is the first to leave, immediately followed by Shouto who quietly asks her about his own dinner. Natsuo hangs back for a second, continuing to watch his brother rub his calloused hands over his tension-filled face.
Giving up, Touya reaches across his bed and tosses on his old and ratty denim jacket over his nice, stupid shirt. When he catches Natsuo's eye in the mirror, he approvingly nods and shoots his older brother an encouraging thumbs up before, he too, leaves.
It's not two minutes later before Touya's lanky legs are carrying him down the wooden staircase of the house. He's throwing his scuffed boots on, yelling out to Rei about being home before the sun comes up, and taking a final look at himself in the reflection of the porch window before reaching for the door knob.
"Touya," a gentle voice calls as he makes a beeline to leave. To no one's surprise, it's Fuyumi.
He sighs but stops in his tracks anyway, allowing her to quickly scurry over to him. Her nimble fingers rise to fix the cuffed collar of his jacket before she smoothens out his shoulders and pulls taut on his zipper.
When she's deemed he looks acceptable enough, her voice comes as a knowing whisper. "Just ask her already," she prompts.
Touya knows she's right, but he can't help the bite that crawls from his throat when he says, "And what do you know?"
Fuyumi merely smiles and takes a step aside, giving him her stamp of approval and letting him open the front door.
"She seems good for you," she says. Taking one final look at him before turning her back and returning to the kitchen, her voice is warm and proud, "You've started brushing your hair again."
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[ni23ku] - reposted w/ permission
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La familia de anime mĂĄs bella en tu pantalla.
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