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watchmegetobsessed · 10 months

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THE FINAL SHOW

A/N: last night was a rollercoaster of emotions and i still can't believe love on tour is over, but it will always have a special place in my heart. one thing is for sure, im sill here and i will continue writing for this amazing human until he returns onto the stage where he belongs.

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

SUMMARY: You made a promise in the beginning of Love On Tour and now it's catching up with you and though your heart wants you to keep your word, you know it's not that easy, because it's about your boss, the person who matters the most to you.

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You should have learned by now that Harry Styles never forgets.

He remembers every birthday, anniversary, every story anyone tells him, he remembers fans he has interacted with and he is extremely good with names. It’s definitely one thing you admire about him.

But know this tiny detail about him did not teach you to watch what you say around him, because he will recite your words even years later.

It’s been an on and off tango between the two of you for a long time. As his assistant, you’ve been dancing on the line of being professional and jumping into his bed whenever he does as so much as looking at you with those stupid, gorgeous eyes. He is your job, you keep telling that to yourself, but deep down you know he is more than just that.

He is… everything.

It would be easier if he only saw you as his assistant, but that’s not the case. Just how you caught those certain feelings, Harry has shown interest towards you, on several occasions, flirting with you bluntly, asking you out every possible chance.

And each time, when you turned down, a voice in your head screamed at you, but your rationality has been stronger so far and it hasn’t let you take that leap that would change everything forever.

Now, back to his immaculate memory.

You’d been working for him for over a year when the first European leg of Love On Tour was about to start, the residency shows were set to be announced and along with the South American, Australian and Asian dates and another full European leg was in the planning phase. Tour was looking endless and everyone on the team was joking that there won’t be a final show of Love On Tour.

Following another meeting in Harry’s LA home you were hanging out by his pool, something that happened quite often, because he liked to share what he had with the people around him. The sun was setting and you both had several glasses of wine, so the business talk has been long forgotten when you ordered food for the two of you.

You were in the shallow, lounge area of the pool where you could sit in the water and you were enjoying a hamburger while he was swimming around, watching you. You caught him looking right in the middle of a huge bite.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him as he swam closer with a grin on his face.

“You look amazing.”

You snorted out loud, mouth full and probably smelling like onions.

“I’m sure I do,” you sarcastically said. “Is this what turns you on? Chewing and onion smell?”

“No. It’s you.”

You stopped and gave him a suspicious look. He moved over and sat beside you.

“You turn me on, Y/N,” he added, when you didn’t say anything, just leisurely staring back at you, as if he hadn’t just overstepped a major boundary between boss and employee.

“Harry, stop,” you mumbled, putting the remainder of your burger to the plate at the edge of the pool.

“What? You started it with guessing what turns me on.”

“It was just a joke!”

“Okay, and I told you the truth.”

“You definitely shouldn’t be saying shit like that to me.”

“Too late, already did, so I think we could take it even further,” he shrugged and you couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“Oh, you are something else, Harry Styles, you know that?”

“That didn’t sound like a no to me,” he grinned, moving just a tad bit closer, but still respecting your private space. “I really want to kiss you, Y/N,” he bluntly added and you knew it was the wine talking from him, sober Harry wouldn’t have said those words out loud, but it didn’t fail to make you feel dizzy and weak.

“That’s not gonna happen now,” you shook your head.

“Okay, if not now, then when?”

“You are so annoying,” you laughed again. “You know what? You can kiss me when Love On Tour officially ends,” you joked.

It was a genuine joke. Anyone would have known you didn’t mean it, but it was Harry you said it to and the moment the words left your mouth they burned into his memories forever.

“Alright then,” he simply said, splashed you and then swam away.

That was the beginning of 2022. You slept off the wine and though you never forgot you said it, you didn’t keep track of the promise you initially made.

Harry did, however.

Not one day went by without him thinking about those words and it was the only reason he was looking forward for the very last show of Love On Tour.

He’s been acting weird, probably since about Vienna. With two weeks until the end of tour and his break, your workload hasn’t gotten less so you couldn’t really care about his weirdness, but when you’re out for dinner in Barcelona with the band and some other crew members and two rounds of drinks have been consumed already, you finally acknowledge the change.

“Hey, you alright?” You poke your elbow into his side, stealing a fry from his plate. Shrugging, he pushes the plate closer to you.

“Just thinking.”

“About what?” you ask, snacking on his leftover fries.

“The end of tour.”

Freezing you instantly remember to that one conversation in his pool. You peek at him and find him already looking at you with a gaze that burns right into your heart. Clearing your throat you turn back to the fries and pretend like you don’t remember the promise you made.

“Just two more weeks and you’re free.”

“That’s not how I see it.”

“Mmm,” you hum, but don’t dare to look at him. You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, but luckily, before he could bring up anything specific Mitch call out his name from across the table and you’re relieved. For now.

It’s almost midnight when you all head back to the hotel and you and Harry somehow end up at the back of the group. The elevator is too full for the two of you to get in as well, so you wait for another round. While you’re still ignoring to look at him, he is very much only looking at you, it feels like.

The elevator returns and you get inside, but Harry pushes the button for the top floor.

“Hey, that’s—“

“I want to show you something,” he hold up a hand.

The top of the hotel has a rooftop bar with an amazing view of the city, the perfect grid of the streets, it’s breathtaking.

“I knew you would like it,” he smiles, leaning against the railing next to you, with his back towards the view, as if he was way more interested in seeing you than the city.

“Because you know me so well,” you chuckle softly.

“I do,” he answers quietly. “We have only four more shows.”

“Mhm,” you nod, eyes glued to the view in front of you.

“The final show of Love On Tour is in ten days.”

“I’m glad you keep track of the shows so well, I feel like I’m not even needed anymore,” you joke with a chuckle, but when you finally look at him you know why he is bringing all of these up.

“Do you remember what you promised would happen when the last show finally comes?”

“Harry…”

“You do,” he simply says. “I know you as someone who keeps her word.”

“It’s… Harry, that was never a promise, I was just joking!”

“None of it is a joke to me, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, but hate the effect his words have on you. Like your whole inside is on fire, begging to just give in finally, to end this years long game and act on the feelings you’ve been pushing down so hard all this time.

Sighing you cross your arms over your chest. You want to make fun out of it again and say that it was all just about a kiss, but you know, you both know that it would never stop at one kiss, that it’s bigger than that and it would consume you fully if you let your walls down.

“This seems like a big mistake,” you tell him honestly. “What if it goes wrong and… I lose my job… and you.”

Your voice breaks at the end and you can’t look him in the eyes. You’ve spent endless nights thinking about what would happen if you gave in and it all went downhill. Your job might be the last thing on the list of worries, what really scares you is to imagine a version of your life without him because.

It would break you.

“Being scared of the wrong outcome will keep you away from the best things in your life, Y/N.”

“Did you just call yourself the best thing in my life?” you try to joke, but he just gives you a look.

“Don’t think about the what ifs, if you get there, you’ll figure it out. You always do. We always do.”

“This is not that simple,” you shake your head. “You know it’s not that simple.”

“But it is,” he chuckles, but you keep shaking your head. “Figuring out my feelings has never been this simple.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence when not even you know whether you’re about to give in or not and for a split second it actually feels like you’re breaking, but something pulls you back last minute.

“No. And we should be heading back, you have a show tomorrow. You need to get some rest.”

You step away from the railing and start walking back, but when you notice that he’s not coming you turn around and see him staring at the city this time. Opening your mouth you’re about to call out for him, but then change your mind and let him be, walking back to your room.

When you see him again in the morning he doesn’t bring it up again and you’re convinced he won’t bring your promise up again.

The last show has everyone all over the place, you’ve been running around since about six in the morning, picking up people, making sure the hotel check-ins go smoothly and everything is exactly how it should be. The day feels like a whole week, but the excitement and bittersweet sadness that’s been wrapped around everyone is what keeps you up on your feet still.

But the real weight of the last show hits the moment it finally starts.

This is the time when you have nothing to do so you watch Harry perform every night, meaning that this is the 169th time you’re seeing him take the stage and perform just as perfectly as he did at the first, the fiftieth and one hundredth show. He always gives his absolute most. Not just at his shows, but in his life as well. That’s one of the million reasons you fell for him.

Medicine has everyone dying, all 100 thousand people out there and then Harry starts giving his speech that’s extra long this time, talking about how grateful he is for everything, for his fans, his friends and family and it’s one big emotional mess and you can’t help but cry a bit as well, watching from the side.

“The last two years of my life, the last two years of this tour has been the greatest experience I could ever ask for…”

“I see it, the love, in how it’s affected all the people around me, continue to affect people. It does not end with this tour.”

“I love you, thank you so much.”

Screaming rolls over the crowd as an answer and you expect him to go on with starting As It Was, but then he starts talking again.

“There is one more thing I want to say tonight. I have learned and experienced so much in the past years. I will be forever thankful for the memories we’ve made.”

There. He said we, he switched up his narrative. That’s how you know he is not talking to the crowd. He is talking to you.

“If this is it, if it never goes beyond this, I would live a happy life. With you forever in my heart. But if we ever take it further, if we ever take the risk and reach for the stars and we might fall… just know that I will always be here for you. You can never lose me. No matter what. I love you.”

You suck on your breath, covering your mouth with your hand as you stare at him stand in the middle of the stage, staring out ahead of him, the crowd screaming for him, oblivious to the one sided conversation that just happened between you and him.

As It Was starts and the show carries on towards the end, but you’re still frozen in that moment and when the show ends and you watch Harry drop to his knees on the stage, you know things will never be the same.

Backstage is like a tornado once the show is over, the band walks off the stage and Harry is following right behind with Lloyd by his side, but when he sees you standing still in the middle of the madness, he drops out of the conversation right away and stops a few feet away from you, letting you decide where to go now.

“You promise?” you breathe out, your throat closing up. “You promise I will never lose you?”

“I thought that was clear by now, Y/N,” he replies, his chest still rapidly rising and falling. “But if you need me to actually say it, I will. You will never lose me, no matter what. It will always be you and me and I know you’re scared, but I’m—“

He doesn’t get to finish, because you’re already throwing yourself into his arms and kissing him.

It doesn’t matter that the whole crew bursts out into screaming and whistling, that you’re giving a second show with the way you get lost in each other, because in your little bubble it’s just you and Harry and everything that’s been building between the two of you.

Every joke, every teasing comment, all the stolen looks and suppressed feeling that was never acted on is now free, they all burst out of your chest and into the electricity that’s snaking around you as you keep taking more and more of him, hungry to make up for the past years.

The clapping dies down when you finally pull back, forehead resting against his, his hands holding you so tight as if he was afraid you might run away any moment.

“You kept your promise. I knew you were trusty, Y/N Y/L/N,” he chuckles, pecking your lips softly again as you laugh at his words, finally opening your eyes to look at him.

“Actually I feel like I kissed you. I promised you could kiss me, so technically—“

“Shut up, you’re already getting on my nerves,” he laughs, kissing you over and over again, so your promise is actually fulfilled. “Can’t wait for you to do that every day for the rest of my life.”

“I thought that was part of my job too, have I not been doing that?” you tease, lips moving against his as you speak.

“You have, but you can take it to a whole new level now,” he laughs, pulling you against him before letting you go and popping the bubble, though his hand never lets go of yours, not while everyone congratulates him, not when the final show celebrations start and not when he pulls you into his hotel room to end this journey of Love On Tour with you by his side, but also start a new chapter.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

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xxsidneywritesxx · 11 months

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Hcs for Hashira men confessing!

Includes Tengen, Tomioka, Sanemi, Rengoku, Gyomei, and Muichiro

Warnings: Minor swearing! Minors MAY interact with this post, but hopefully only for Muichiro being as he is a minor <3 Reader is set as a female for these hcs!

This man already has three wives...he's pretty dang experienced in romance.

You're a hashira at the same time he is, and he admires how you dress. Your hair is also quite "flashy" to him.

"Hey, Y/n...looking flamboyant today. Nice."

"Oh....thanks Tenge-"

"No problem!"

If you have long hair, there's a chance he might want to style it for you. He's not a braiding expert like Kanroji, but he has three wives, so he's gotta know some good stuff in that department, right?

He admires you from afar for a bit before wanting to go on missions with you and hang out.

He'll go to his wives for help, and when he says you could possibly become love interest number four, instead of being jealous, they're ecstatic because they like you too.

So they scheme up a plan .

While you're out on a mission, Hinatsuru takes a...rather large rock, shoving it out in front of you while you were chatting with Tengen.

You're clumsy here so you don't notice it.

You trip, about to hit the ground WHEN

Ninja man catches you HAHA! He thinks he's so flashy and brags about it after that. He confessed to you while holding you.

"Y/n...can I be real with you?"

"Sure, but can you put me down first?"

"I...love you, Y/n, and so do my wives."

Your heartbeat pulses fast, and you smile. "I love you guys too...now put me down."

"No."

Giyu is stoic, quiet around the other pillars.

This doesn't change when you enter the scene...as his tsuguko. You're not much younger than him, maybe a year, tops.

While he does help you train, he keeps that same demeanor at the beginning of your mentorship.

He even has to get close to you to help you swing your sword at times, which for some damn reason...

It makes your heart beat fast??

No, there's no way you could-

Oh, yes there is.

After a few months or so of training with Tomioka, he seems to lighten up with you. He'll talk more frequently, asking you how your day was and what you were up to.

You'll definitely notice that he's warmer. But when out with the other hashira, his demeanor goes back to silence and staring.

You get curious, so you set him down and ask about it.

"Tomioka, what's been up with you? I mean, the changes aren't bad, but I wanna know why you've been acting so...social? Lately?"

He's blankly staring at you, looking at the floor, his haori, and then back at you.

"I thought you'd like it...if I talked more...because...I like you, I guess."

Hah. Awkward boi let's be honest.

You're another hashira in this hc.

You're very bubbly and talkative, kind of like Mitsuri. Of course, in the beginning, Shinazugawa Sanemi finds this annoying.

He'll shoo you away with every chance he gets.

It's only when you stop by his estate with a plate of ohagi for his birthday that his opinion of you slowly begins to shift.

You're still annoying as fuck in his eyes...but maybe you were tolerable?

It would take a few days of him ignoring you for you to storm into his estate, grab him by the collar, and scream at him.

Jk jk he'd fucking kill you

You'd actually walk into his estate and demand to hear what's up with him.

He'd attempt shooing you of course, but you're not gonna take no for an answer, are ya?

Didn't think so.

That's when HE grabs YOU by the collar, shoves you against the wall, and tenderly presses a kiss to your lips. He couldn't find the words to confess to you, so he used his actions. And they worked, becaue you kissed back, caressing his white, fluffy hair softly.

Rengoku would be straightforward with his feelings. He won't push you away, or ignore you, to figure out his heart because he's so in sync with his feelings that he doesn't need a second opinion or thought.

You'd be just another slayer, part of the kamaboko squad with Tanjiro and his pals, but you're the eldest, being around 19.

He'd invite you to have a picnic with him, classic, right?

You'd obviously be honored...I mean, a hashira invited you to eat with him!! What an honor!!

Not to mention he's a cutie

You meet up with him, it's around 12pm, he's there earliy, you're a little late.

"Ah! Y/n! Good morning!"

"...it's noon-"

"I know !! Good afternoon!!"

*Facepalms*

He would talk to you about your missions, what you've been up to, and one more question...

" I know we sincerely just formally met !! But you are gorgeous !! Would you like to be my girlfriend ?!"

You'd chuckle, covering your blushing face. Of course you're gonna say yes.

We're gonna keep Himejima's short n' simple.

You are a hashira, and you first met him at a meeting with the master.

His strength impressed you, and your friendliness intrigued him.

You talked a lot, being as you were both quite strong and were only called on extremely high ranked missions.

You both fell in love and told each other you liked the other in his estate.

Also, a plus, hugs with him are ALWAYS comfy.

You're a minor. And so is he, so it fits !

He's younger than you, but if he ever hears the word 'seniority' come out of your mouth, best expect a cold-hearted scolding.

He confesses through his crow to you. He can't bring himself to do it in person.

He won't admit it but he fell head over heels. He'll just say he loves you. You know how he feels, though <3

{ Sorry Mui's and Gyomei's were short </3 I got a lil lazy- }

#sanemi x reader #muichiro x reader #tengen x reader #gyomei x reader #rengoku x reader #giyu x reader #fluff #headcanons #Sanemi's were my favorite hehe #I love him damn

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lovebugism · 1 year

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i am so sorry but reader talking about robin right before making out with eddie is like absolutely the best thing i’ve ever read i’m obsessed i genuinely can’t wait for anything else in that universe that you do

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | god help the girl

summary: in which you come to terms with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with eddie munson. pairing: virgin!eddie munson x reader word count: 13k warning: phone sex, more discussions of shitty boyfriends, j*son c*rver name drop, talks of unhealthy eating practices, smut 18+ mdni! a/n: this ask has been sitting in my inbox for ages now, but i wanted to save it until robin made an appearance in the series! thank you, anon, for being so sweet! and for the few of you who've been waiting on me to finally post <3 hope you enjoy! xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

They only met once, but it changed their lives forever.

That’s what the movie cover reads at least, but the words have long blurred into a jumbled mess at your tunnel vision. John Bender stares you in the face, but all you see is Eddie — boyish and brazen and scowling because he thinks it makes him look intimidating, but nowhere near as cruel as he seems.

He’s certainly got the hair for it, much longer and curls far wilder than Judd Nelson’s measly set of brushed-back locks. He’s got the terribly animated personality down pat, too; the one that either makes you laugh uncontrollably or squirm in discomfort when it’s pointed your way. And the style’s a pretty fine match also, though you’d argue that no one sports a leather jacket quite like Eddie Munson does.

Wallowing in your boredom at the empty Family Video store on Main Street — where your best friends slave over mundane work with aching backs and a lingering sense of gratefulness that no customer has been in in well over an hour — you find yourself analyzing each character pictured on the front cover of The Breakfast Club.

Robin would surely be Allison, you conclude rather quickly, because their deadpanned glowers are eerily identical. They’ve also got this sort of atypical aura to them, too, like a dark storm cloud or the promise of a long night. But strangely it sparkles — strikes of lightning or a sky full of stars. It draws everyone’s attention to them; even when they’re desperately trying to hide in the very back of a room.

And Steve would be Andrew, not particularly because of his affections for this Allison-Reynolds-Robin-Buckley hybrid you’ve concocted, but because "popular guy with daddy issues" is a trope that fits him far too well. He’s way more likely to get detention for trying to look cool in front of his assholes friends than for anything actually malicious of heart. But that would’ve been years ago now. He’s not that kind of guy anymore.

He’s soft and sweet — a Brian Johnson sort of soft and sweet, if you will. If Brian wasn’t the brains, but the sweetest dumbass anyone’s ever met.

You realize then, that Jim Hopper would make a mean Richard Vernon. He’s impatient to a fault, almost too stern at times, but never enough to make you genuinely fearful of him. You’ve found that it’s virtually impossible for you to take him seriously when he’s so cartoonishly angry. It’s a match made in heaven, you find, though Jim might take offense to the comparison.

And if Eddie is Bender, then that’d make you the Claire Standish of the bunch.

She’s dreadfully stylish, a bit stuck-up at times, and perhaps a little bit more spoiled than the average person; but it’s not like she ever claimed to be perfect. And you wouldn’t either.

You’ll take more pride in your wardrobe filled with pretty pleated skirts and flouncy dresses than your somewhat glacial disposition. And you might not be drowning in daddy’s money, but you’re certainly spoiled in other ways — if only in the employee discount at Enzo’s that got you wine for cheap and your connections at Family Video that meant free movie nights whenever you wanted.

The bad boy and the princess was a tale as old as time itself. It’s a fairytale you wouldn’t mind living in if it ended how it did in the movies — with a kiss on the cheek and an exchanged diamond earring in the calloused palm of another. A soft pink smile and a celebratory fist in the air.

But you’ve met your fair share of John Bender’s and none of them had been particularly kind to you, let alone had fallen in love with you.

Maybe that’s because you were no Claire Standish. Never pretty enough, never mousy enough, never pure enough. You try and dissect why you’ve never been successfully loved, and all the signs point to you, you, you.

You hope Eddie’s different. You need Eddie to be different.

“Something’s wrong with me,” you blurt out of nowhere.

Well, it’s not totally out of the blue for you. You’d been stewing over that thought since you got there — since you left the woods with damp underwear and the scent of you on Eddie’s fingers.

But to Steve and Robin, who’d stayed relatively silent and locked eyes only once after they noticed how abnormally hushed you’d gone, it catches them quite off guard.

Steve lifts his heavy head from where he mans the counter. His tired eyes leave the computerized catalog for the first time in forty minutes, and he has to rub at them with the bottom of his palms to see you properly. Meanwhile, Robin crouches at your side, taking returned tapes from the bin sitting next to her and placing them back upon the shelf you lean against.

She blinks up at you, deep ocean eyes swimming with apprehension, like she can sense the spiral you’ve just about twisted yourself into.

“What do you mean?” she wonders, ever the supportive best friend, as she plucks Heather’s, Pretty in Pink, and Weird Science from the bin and sets them onto their assigned rows in the Teen Drama section.

“Eddie won’t fuck me.”

Neither of them is particularly stunned by the unabashed nature of your admission.

Not only have they both fucked you at one point or another, but they’re your best friends — no one’s ever going to know you quite the way they do. It leaves little left unsaid between the three of you, with secrets you’ve all sworn to take to your graves. Steve once stuck a finger in his ass to see if he liked it (he did) and Robin sometimes gets off on her childhood teddy bear (rather ironically named Mr. Snuggles).

So this? This was nothing. Especially in comparison to all the other shit you’ve confessed to them because god knows the whore of Hawkins has a plethora of stories to tell.

Steve is more shocked by the name that leaves your mouth than anything else. “Eddie Munson?” he repeats with furrowed brows, like he had to have heard you wrong.

You bring your chin to your right shoulder to look at him, then nod.

“Eddie… The Freak… Munson?”

You nod again, slower for him this time.

“You wanna fuck… Eddie Munson?” Steve reiterates once more, as though the idea was too appalling to be true. “Eddie Munson — The Freak?”

“Yes, Steve,” you huff in irritation.

His face contorts into a puppy-like confusion. A frown settles between his bushy brows and he cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching and his lip quirking slightly. He couldn’t look more disgusted if he tried.

“…Why?”

You groan and tilt your head back dramatically. “That’s not what’s important here, Steve. The better question is why won’t he fuck me?”

The boy’s lack of any actual assistance doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest — his dumbfounded gaze and innate confusion are actually pretty on brand. It just puts all the burden on her, to help you wriggle out of the mess you’d tangled yourself into.

It’s not like she isn’t used to it, though, nor does she mind doing it for you. She walks you through your emotions like a professional, squashing out all the burning orange embers for you before they have the chance to burst into flames.

“Well, what do you mean he won’t fuck you? Like… did he actually say that or does he just wanna, you know, take things slow?”

The latter would’ve been way too easy. Eddie’s always been nice enough to you. It’d make sense for him to want to stay unhurried and gentle with you, but those words weren’t exactly in your vocabulary.

The first time you were alone with him, you were getting yourself off on his thigh after making him come in his jeans. The next time you saw him, after four days of him clinging to your consciousness, there wasn’t as much small talk so much as there were two of his fingers stuffed knuckle-deep inside of you.

You don’t know Eddie’s birthday, but you know how he likes to be touched — squeezed and not rubbed. You don’t know his middle name or how he likes his eggs in the morning or what his relationship with his mother is like, but he’s already made you come. Twice.

You are completely, utterly, and totally incapable of taking things slow. So it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. So it had to be the other thing. The very scary, terrifying, boogeyman of a thing.

“I mean, I offered to give him a blowjob and he completely turned me down,” you lament in reply.

Robin and Steve wince. Like, physically wince. Their faces scrunch and their heads flinch from something invisible. Audible ooh’s fall from their mouths without them even realizing it, because you don’t get rejected. Ever. Especially not after offering to pleasure someone without much of anything in return.

They don’t mean to react the way they do. The visible shock that coats their features is involuntary more than it is anything, and it only adds to your fears.

“Exactly!” you exclaim.

“I hate to say it, but I think hell might be freezing over as we speak,” Steve half-jokes.

“Well, he was working, right?” Robin asks with raised brows. “Maybe he was just busy.”

“Sorry, Rob, but no guy’s too busy for a blowjob.”

“Real charming, Stevie.”

“Maybe he just has a small dick,” the boy concludes with a shrug.

“I felt his dick,” you shake your head almost immediately. The feeling of Eddie’s hard cock through his denim jeans, all rough and warm against your palm, hasn’t yet left you. “It’s not small.”

“Well, maybe he can’t get it up—”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem either.”

Eddie was rock hard when you left him, throbbing and aching and obviously needing some kind of relief. That’s partly why you’d been so ardent to return the favor, though the other half of it was purely selfish — you haven’t seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie Munson getting off. To deprive yourself of that masterpiece made you feel like you were starving.

You have a hard time imagining the raging hard-on just… dissipating after you’d left him. That means he probably jerked off in the back of his van and you missed it. And if he came, right after he promised everything was okay, that means he just didn’t want you to do it… right?

Steve seems to be caught in the same inner turmoil you’re currently stuck in; and for good reason. In all the years he’s known you, he can count on one hand how many times he’s had to turn you down. And every time, it was because he’d gotten back together with Nancy. It was never because of you. Not once. And sometimes he felt like it hurt him as much as it did you.

As far as Steve’s concerned, you’re so out of Eddie Munson’s league that you’re not even in his fucking orbit — so the freak show, turning you down, doesn’t make whole lot of sense to him.

“Huh…”

“It’s me. It’s definitely me,” you conclude with the shake of your head. A bitter, almost hysterical laugh spills from your lips. “He thinks I’m fucking ugly or disgusting or something. It’s totally fucking me—”

Robin completely abandons her basket of tapes then. She rises to stand in front of you, looking timid as she does so. Her raised brows form wrinkles on her freckled forehead and her blue eyes widen to reveal more of the whites of them. She looks like she’s approaching a wild animal. A bomb that’s about to explode.

“Okay… You’re starting to spiral, alright? So let’s just try and take a few deep breaths—”

You don’t listen to her.

Actually, you do quite the opposite, as you begin to blurt every fleeting thought that crosses your mind.

“I’ve made out with nearly everyone in this stupid town— I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked almost half— and you’d think Eddie would wanna take advantage of that, the way everyone makes him out to be some sort of freak, right? But he hasn’t and at this rate, he won’t, and I just don’t understand why,” you ramble without taking in a single breath. “Usually being a slut is a huge turn-on for guys, you know? But what if Eddie thinks it’s gross? I mean, it is gross— I’m gross—”

You only stop for air when Robin takes your shoulders in both hands. She looks less apprehensive and more stern, as she forces you to look at her.

“Look. I love you, but you need to get a hold of yourself, alright? I know you’re not used to being told no, and I know how much it sucks, but shit happens. I’m willing to bet all the money I’ve ever seen that whatever is going on with Eddie has nothing to do with you, okay? And if it’s making you this upset, maybe you should just talk to him.”

“But I don’t wanna seem like I’m too eager, that’s gross—”

“Then find someone else to fuck,” she offers with her signature Robin Buckley half-smile. “I’m sure it would take you less than five minutes to find a willing participant.”

“Yeah, right here,” Steve jokes from the counter with the pathetic wave of his hand and a dumb grin on his lips.

You don’t hear him over the voices in your head — half calling you crazy for letting a boy drive you this mad over nothing, and the other half bitterly affirming each of your deep-rooted insecurities.

Your face screws up, like the thought of being with anyone other than Eddie upsets you — it does upset you.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Then what do you want?” Robin yells in your face, shaking you by your shoulders.

“I want Eddie!” you shout back without thinking. The words seem to spill out of nowhere. It takes you of all people by surprise. No one in this rat trap town would ever expect the whore of Hawkins to want to settle down, least of all the harlot herself. It’s strange; it’s riveting; it’s really fucking scary. “…Fuck.”

The brunette smirks, proud of herself. “Well. There’s your answer.”

“I hate when you’re right,” you mumble to yourself, pouting as she crouches back down again.

“I know.”

It was a terrifying thought, to know that you were head over heels for someone else. You try to come to terms with what that means.

Sometimes you think you fall in love with a new person every day. A cute guy holds the door open for you, a pretty girl compliments your outfit — they never think about you again, but they’re on your mind for days. It was so easy to develop such meaningless infatuations, especially when you were bored.

But Eddie was different.

He was a nice guy. A nice guy that was sweet to you just for the sake of being sweet to you; not because he secretly wanted something in return. That made you fall for him at first, but then you just… kept on falling. Eddie Munson was an infinite void you couldn’t crawl your way out of even if you wanted to, even if you tried.

And that’s what frightened you the most.

Because if you really thought about it, you’ve only truly been in love a handful of times. And, sure, it didn’t work out — that was normal — but some of them fucking ruined you.

You’re still trying to figure out who you are without all of the people that have broken your heart. You’re still fighting like hell every day to recognize the person you see in the mirror, while Billy Hargrove fucks off with a new girl every other week like he didn’t totally destroy you.

But, even still, Eddie was completely different. No one’s ever made you feel the way he makes you feel. And it’s more than the stupid heavy petting — it’s more than anything. It’s never been like this before; not even with the blonde mulleted asshole who ripped your heart to shreds.

And you’re scared that if you get hurt again, you’ll never be able to come back from it.

“Steve, do you have another copy of Fast Times in the back?” you suddenly ask the boy, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

It’s your last ditch effort to rid yourself of the ponderous, gray doom and gloom surrounding you like some storm cloud. Your comfort movie solves all of your problems — or, at the very least, Phoebe Cates does — but it seems everyone else in town has developed a similar fondness for minute fifty-three of the film and got all the tapes off the shelf before you could get your hands on one.

“You know I keep on in stock for you,” he answers quietly.

He reaches below the counter to pull out a spare copy for you, and your heart swells with the rays of a thousand rising suns and the songs of every morning bird.

Steve told you some time ago that he could change. And back then, all it did was piss you off, because he didn’t want to change for the town slut — for the girl he put through the goddamn ringer. He wanted to change for Nancy. The princess bruised his brittle ego a little, and then he realized what an asshole he’d been to everyone, to you.

But as angry as it made you, you never believed him. “Once the King of Hawkins High, always the King of Hawkins High,” you remarked bitterly.

You wouldn’t say it to his face, for the sake of keeping his ego from inflating all over again, but you could tell he was really changing.

He was kinder, he was softer. He stopped caring about what everyone thought about him, about what not caring would do to his reputation, and started giving a fuck about the people worth giving a fuck about.

Apparently, you were one of them.

“…Really?”

He nods with a subtle shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for you — keeping your favorite movie on hand so you’ll always have a spare, knowing that it’s the only thing that gets you out of a deep, dark funk sometimes.

“Stevie… You’re gonna make me blush,” you lilt with a grin as you saunter over to him, hands innocently laced behind your back. “You need to be careful, Harrington. I’m gonna start to think you actually like me.”

He scoffs. “I do like you.”

“Yeah, when it’s convenient.”

It’s obvious your joke hits him where it hurts. It serves as a bitter reminder of the asshole he used to be, the douchebag he’s trying like hell to grow out of. He looks up at you with a sheepish, honey-tinted gaze before ducking away again.

A year or more ago it would’ve made you feel good, to know that you hurt him just a fraction of the way he hurt you. But you know that that isn’t the same man standing in front of you now, that he’d rather die than make hurt your feelings, and it makes you feel like shit for saying it in the first place.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a scrunched nose. The palms of your hands dig into the edges of the counter as you lean against it. Your shrug. “It just kinda came out…”

The barcode scanner in his hand beeps as he passes the thing over the back of the tape — never charging you, just getting the movie out of the database.

“So, uh…” he starts before clearing his throat. He focuses his gaze on the computer and types on the bulky keyboard with the tip of his pointer finger. “You really like this Eddie guy, huh?”

“Maybe. I think so.”

“And he’s not, like… a total freak or anything?”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to look out for you or if he just wants intel on what it’s like trying (and failing) to bang the local weirdo. Either way, it makes a smile tug slow at your lips as you joke: “Not in the way everyone thinks.”

“Jesus,” he winces at the obscenity of your words.

“Sorry,” you apologize again, though the laugh that bubbles from your lips after cancels out any hint of actual sincerity. “You don’t need to give me the talk or anything, Steve. I can take care of myself.”

“…Can you?” he half-jokes.

It makes you falter. “Well… With you and Robin and Hopper constantly on my ass, then yeah.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve finally admits, soft and suddenly shy as he hands the VHS over to you.

“That’s rich coming from you—”

He jerks back the tape before you can take it from him, leaving your hand reaching for thin air. His cinnamon eyes glimmer with a foreign seriousness, not completely unkind, but lacking their usual blithe. “That’s why I’m saying it. I just… I want you to be okay.”

Steve is one of the rare ones, you conclude right then in there — in the liminal emptiness of Family Video, beneath fluorescent lights that cast sharp shadows upon his already chiseled features. He was a mythical creature of a man, one who breaks your heart and does everything in his power to mend it again.

He hasn’t forgotten about what he did to you, not like Billy did, and he won’t. Not ever. He saw what he did to you and he never moved on from it, just matured enough to make sure it never happened again. And he won’t let another unworthy douchebag hurt you like he did. Not if he can help it, at least.

And he did try to warn you about Hargrove, to be fair. You were just the dumbass that didn’t listen.

“Well, me and my Phoebe Cates wet dream are golden, Pony Boy,” you promise. He hands you the tape again and lets you snatch it from his grip this time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie.”

Steve Harrington was right.

The fleeting thought flashes across your mind for half a second, and you quickly realize that those words have never been uttered in the same sentence before now. But he wasn’t wrong in what he’d said about you, just before you left — you were completely, totally, absolutely, and implicitly unable to take care of yourself.

You nearly passed out in the bathroom after taking the hottest shower of your life, feeling too woozy to slap on anything other than moisturizer because you failed to remember to actually eat something that day. It wasn’t totally your fault, though; if anything, it was because of Eddie and all the butterflies he’d given you that made food the very last thing on your mind.

You half-heartedly dry yourself off, keeping your hair in a towel, while you slip on a cotton set of underwear you’ve had for way longer than what's likely acceptable. Damp and half-naked, you prance into the kitchen to fix Bowie her bowl of dinner before you feed yourself.

You fork a can of wet food onto a flower-shaped plate and let her eat on the counter — because you’re an adult now, and you can do that sort of thing.

The calico purrs while she feasts, but your stomach thunders with negligence. You peek into your mostly bare refrigerator and make a mental note to go grocery shopping when you get paid next week.

With a lack of food and an even lesser will to cook something, you settle for the half-eaten chocolate bar you keep stashed in the very back of the fridge; kept only for the most special of occasions — when you’re reveling in your loneliness and trying to convince yourself that you can make it on your own.

It was practically the size of your forearm when you first bought the thing at some too expensive candy store in the city. Now it’s no bigger than your hand.

You eat the thing in bed, even though you know you’ll get crumbs everywhere and that it’ll make sleep agonizing for you — if you get any, that is. You’re bound to feel like a total zombie by the time the sun rises and the late-night sweet will likely make its appearance on your skin by then, in a red and raging blemish of a consequence.

You’ll feel empty and starved and surly, a snapping grouch instead of an actual person, until you get some actual food in your system.

And you’re more than aware of all of these things, but you don’t do a single damn thing about them.

You’re nothing but a sulking lump upon an unmade bed, lying in a pitch-black darkness that’s evaded only by the static-y television across your room, trying your best to pretend like you aren’t waiting for Eddie’s phone call. It’s hard to remember to forget him, though, when the movie you’re watching is practically a feature film of him and all the ways he makes you feel.

Spicoli and his terribly inebriated friends slur as they chorus “No shoes, no shirt, no diiiice” and you swear you can feel Eddie’s shoulder bump softly against yours as he laughs, hear every sound of his melodic chuckle in your ear that made you giggle right along with him. The low bass of Moving in Stereo plays in the otherwise empty silence of your bedroom, and every beat feels like the rhythm of your thrusts against his thigh.

Eddie Munson is all-consuming.

Even the thought of him feels physical.

Phoebe Cates all but undresses herself in front of you, but you’re stuck thinking about some guy who lives in a trailer park across town, deals drugs for a living, and can’t graduate high school. You’re a total fucking goner.

Your eyes flutter shut, and instead of the backs of your eyelids, you see Eddie’s trailer. Your lips start to tingle as they kiss his for the first time — hungry, yearning, needing. His thigh is pressed snugly into your cunt, denim jeans rough against your soft cotton panties, and you have to bite back a moan when he tenses every time you squeeze his hard, covered cock.

You can feel it, all of him, like he were here with you now.

You wish that he were.

His fingers would feel far better, leave far more sparks of electricity in your belly, than the ones as you sneak through the hem of your underwear.

You try and take things slow with yourself, to be as gentle as he had been with you earlier in the woods, but it feels strange to treat yourself with so much tenderness. To touch your pussy like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched. Like it’s a beautiful thing you need to be sweet to.

Maybe you find it so foreign to be careful with yourself because no one has ever been careful with you.

No one, except for Eddie.

Your touch doesn’t rival his. It doesn’t even come close.

No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how hard you try to pretend that they’re his fingers inside of you, you can’t make yourself feel as good as he did.

Your fingers aren’t as rough as his guitar-string-scarred ones and they don’t caress your clit with the same methodical care. They don’t fill you quite the same either, nowhere near as satisfying as his much thicker ones.

And you’re no stranger to masturbation, not by any means. Sometimes it’s the only way you can guarantee an orgasm for yourself when you’ve got a partner who cares so little about your own pleasure. But Eddie was different. Eddie cared — so much so, that he’s gotten more orgasms out of you than you’ve gotten from him, which is something you’ve never said about anyone else you’ve been with.

It’s rare and unfamiliar, a bouquet of all things refreshing and terrifying and strange, tied together with a pretty little ribbon.

You know that you can make yourself come. It’ll just take way too long to actually be worthwhile and won’t be nearly as mind-blowing as you need it to be. You won’t be left with trembling thighs and nearly numb legs — just a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that you could get from any one of your exes with half as much work.

What you need is Eddie.

And you hate that. You hate how much you need him and you’re terrified of what that means.

As far as precedent goes, right when you start needing someone is usually when they start to leave. It’s like fucking clockwork most of the time — like everyone knows that you’re a ticking time bomb and eventually it gets too risky to stand too close to you.

You’ll just have to keep Eddie at arm's distance. So he won’t see the grenade that you are.

You pull your fingers out of your wanting cunt, still slick and throbbing with a need that you can’t give it, when the phone rings.

The high-pitched shrill in the quiet makes you tense like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard the damn thing. Your breath catches in your throat, first out of fright and then at the inclination of who waits for you on the other line.

Suddenly, you’re scrambling to collect yourself. As though there was any possibility that Eddie might be able to see you through the phone line.

You wipe your wet fingers haphazardly on the cotton of your underwear and sit up straighter from your ungracefully lazed position. Then you count to five — one mississippi… two mississippi… three — so Eddie won’t think you’re some kind of crazy person who doesn’t have anything better to do than wait for his call.

So he won’t know that’s exactly what you are.

You lift the ruby red rotary from its hook at your bedside table and stretch the corkscrew cord to press it to your ear. “…Hello?”

“Yeah, hi. I’d like to order a pizza. Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.”

You roll your eyes at his dumb joke, even though the familiarity of his voice makes you smile. It warms you like a home-cooked meal, like you were high-pitched and starving before and now you’re on the soothing comedown of finally being satiated.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re closed.”

“Then why’d you pick up the phone, huh?” he teases back. You swear you can hear the grin in his voice. You didn’t know a smile could be so audible. It makes you wonder if he can hear yours — if you’re doing a real shit job at pretending. You anxiously twirl the cord with the pointer finger of your free hand.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to call me all night, dummy.”

Your answer is more honest than either of you were expecting.

Eddie’s sigh crackles through the shoddy reception. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I’ve been working all night. I only got home, like, five minutes ago.”

You can hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice. “Rough day?”

“Kinda,” he answers with a shrug. You can hear the grating squeak of his mattress as he plops down onto his bed. “I dealt to one of Jason’s goons today… They always give me a hard time.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to answer.

Eddie’s been the brunt of every joke since seventh grade — people made fun of too big clothes, his too wild hair, his too loud music. But he took it all in stride, laughing with everyone else before volleying a harsher joke back in response. You almost started to think that he liked it. That, somewhere deep down, he was fond of all the attention he got from people who supposedly couldn’t stand him.

But it hurts to know that it hurts him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you did anything,” he assures with a soft laugh. He makes the bold decision to be honest then, too. “You, uh… You made my day a whole lot better, actually.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about the brief fling in the woods or the phone call you’re sharing now or if you particularly care either way. Your heart flutters like it’s been kissed by the wings of a butterfly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… I don’t know— I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know. And, knowing that I was gonna get to talk to you again kinda got me through the day, I guess… And, yes, I am fully aware of how lame that sounds, but—”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his excuse, of why what he just told you totally isn’t lame, because you’re covering the receiver with your palm and turning to squeal into your pillow. A far more pathetic sight, in your humble opinion.

There hasn’t been a more fulfilling feeling than this one, to know that he’s been feeling the same way you’ve been feeling about him this whole time. It’s better than all the orgasms he could give you combined, to be loved so wholly.

“…You okay?” you hear his muffled voice ask after you’ve gone suddenly AWOL.

You press the phone back to your ear and nod like he can see you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. The phone… fell— you said you just got home?”

“Uh, yeah. I met with Hellfire for a bit at school. We’re almost at the end of the Cult of Vecna, so they’re kinda on my ass about it. The little shits are obsessed.”

“Well, they should be. It’s a really good campaign, Eds.”

“Thanks to you,” he mutters. You can almost picture the glimmer in his button eyes and the shaky half-smirk he always looks at you with when he gets all shy.

“That was all you, Eddie Spaghetti,” you retort. “I still have no idea how you did it.”

“Did what?” he wonders, chuckling a bit at the nickname.

“Make something so beautiful out of thin air.”

Lying in the depths of his bedroom, blanketed by the darkness and bathing in streams of moonlight, Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat.

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a joke to spew out on the spot. He’s speechless, just for a moment, a quick blink of a second, with nothing to say. Because, if he really thinks about it, that’s sort of what happened with you.

You were just his customer and he was just your dealer.

You were a loyal client and then a girl way out of his league that he developed a too big a crush on. Then you made him come in his underwear and washed the sticky stains out of the denim for him. Now you’re on the phone with him. You let him tell you all about his shitty day and apologize like you weren’t the only good thing about it — like you aren’t the only good thing, period.

It’s not the most cliche love story, nor is it the most beautiful, but it has his cynical little heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.

Then, when all the mushy mess fades like fog, he finally thinks of something to say.

“It’s the witchcraft, sweetheart,” he shrugs to himself. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a devil-worshipping freak.”

“You know that’s not it, Eds,” you retort with the roll of your eyes.

You know that it’s hard, to be a metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks in the eighties — at the height of the Satanic Panic and all the delusional craze. That shit’s followed him since freshman year. Even still, it nips at his ankles like rabid dogs.

Maybe you were never naive or bored enough to believe all the rumors, but Eddie Munson was always more than that to you.

“No?”

“You can blame it on being a freak show all you want, but I know it’s because you’re one of the funniest, smartest, most creative guys I’ve ever met—”

“You must not know a ton of guys then, sweetheart,” he interjects playfully, like he couldn’t stand to hear you compliment him any longer. You’d give anything to see his blushing cheeks just now.

“…You’re kidding right?” you giggle in response.

“Sorry— that’s— I didn’t mean it like— It was— I was joking,” he stammers, frightened that he might’ve offended you in some way.

It only makes you laugh harder. Both of you know you lost count of all the guys you ‘know’ a long, long time ago. You do imagine it’s somewhere near ‘a ton’, though.

“I know, Eds,” you assure with a contented sigh. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh.”

“The slut and the freak… Who would’ve thought?” you wonder all dreamily, like it’s a fairytale as old as time itself. That’s what it feels like, sometimes.

Eddie isn’t sure what you mean — who would’ve thought you’d be friends? Two people caught in that in-between stage of platonic and romance that’s complete agony and total, total bliss? A couple of kids falling in love—

“It’s sort of kismet, huh?” he answers.

“I think so.”

“So, uh… What are you up to?” Eddie wonders then, equal parts curious and eager to keep the discussion going. He’s frightened any lapse in conversation is going to lead to saying goodbye.

He wants to stay on for hours, until both of you are fighting to stay awake, and then listen to the sound of your heavy breathing when you inevitably lose — like that isn’t the creepiest thing anyone’s ever wanted. He’ll fight Wayne about the bill if it comes to that, he doesn’t care, he just never wants to stop being this close to you.

“Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”

“Uh… Both?”

“Well, I’d say I was doing something super productive with my night, you know, catching up on all the boring adult shit, but then I’d be lying. And I don’t wanna lie to you, Eds,” you tell him with a teasing lilt playing at the edge of your voice.

Eddie swallows thickly, fearing he’d somehow been caught in his own lie — or rather, his half-truth. He moves on quickly, though not exactly full of grace. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

“Honest answer is, that the only productive thing I’ve done tonight is shower, and now I’m in bed watching Fast Times and eating all the chocolate in my house, because I can’t cook for shit and I have nothing else better to do with my night,” you admit to him, picking at the thread of your comforter.

“Oh, don’t tell me I missed the ‘Moving in Stereo’ bit,” he agonizes.

“Just.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but it sounds like you’re having loads of fun tonight.”

“I’m having a lot more fun now,” you assure him.

“Glad I can be around to make you laugh,” he retorts like he’s not all too happy to do it.

“You’re a total comedian, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“If I’m the jester, you’re the queen, sweetheart,” he promises, a grin evident in his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat something fierce; you’re almost worried that he’s heard it. His words pierce your heart, a stroke of lightning or a blade of steel. He’s joking, but it’s so strangely profound, the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you and it’s dripping in sarcasm.

It’s sort of Eddie’s love language, you’ve come to understand, to say something so sweet but coated in venom to make it sour again. It makes you feel special, loved, almost.

A fire builds behind your rib cage, sharp and distant and all-consuming.

“Are you alone, Eds?” you ask him suddenly.

The sudden curve ball in the conversation takes him by surprise. “Uh, yeah, Wayne’s at work right now… Why?”

“Because I want you to talk to me…”

“Oh?” is all he can say because isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?

“And I want you to say things that… maybe other people shouldn’t hear,” you explain slowly to him.

“…Oh.”

He’s heard about this only once before, the whole phone sex thing.

It was from Andy in the back of Ms. O’Donnell’s class a year or more ago, though Eddie never called him by that name. Andy, in all actuality, was Jason Carver’s right-hand man, and he meant that in every sense of the phrase. Eddie was more than convinced that the guy was so obsessed with the blonde haired, blue eyed douchebag that he was giving him handjobs on the regular.

But it seemed the dick brigade couldn’t function properly without their leader and Eddie had the misfortune of hearing all the mindless bullshit they were spewing behind him — basketball, parties, girls; in true white bread fashion.

His friends gathered around him like he was telling some sort of secret, though it was loud enough for anyone in a three foot radius to hear. Eddie, caught directly in the line of fire, heard all about Chrissy’s older sister, Wendy, who was two years older and off at college.

He’d gotten her number from some party he’d crashed. At least that’s how he told it, right before telling everyone that she swore like a sailor when she came and that she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him while she did.

“It was like her hand was on my dick, dude, I’m serious. That shit was crazy, bro,” he’d laughed after retelling the whole conversation in excruciating detail.

Eddie rolled his eyes to himself then, inwardly jealous that he’d never get to meet Wendy — or any other girl that would be willing to have phone sex with him, for that matter. His phone only ever rang for telemarketers or a rogue Dustin Henderson calling to annoy him.

But, here you are now, the most wanted girl in Hawkins, offering it to him on a silver platter. He wonders if you’ve done this before, surely you have — oh god, he thinks to himself, what if you’ve done this with Andy?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him after his unusually long silence. “I know you’re probably busy and tired and everything—”

“No! No, yeah, I— I want to. I totally want to.”

“Okay,” you nod. Petals of a flower begin to bloom in your chest as you lie back in bed, settling further into the mattress. The movie, already long forgotten, serves only as light and background noise. “So… What are you wearing, Eds?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” he laughs.

On the other side of Hawkins, in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, Eddie rises from where he’d originally flopped back onto his bed with the notion that it was going to be a semi-normal night. He props himself against his headboard. His fingers twitch at his thigh.

“Beat ya to it, Munson.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that it is very sexy, sweetheart. I’m wearing the same Hellfire shirt you saw me in, I don’t know, five hours ago — except now it’s got a rip in it because I totally ate ass on the way back to the van.”

He tells you this to make you laugh — it works — but he prays you don’t ask any questions. Because he got it while hurrying back to his van mere minutes after you’d left him, so hard he thought he was going to burst, with no more than seven minutes until his next client arrived.

Thankfully, he only needed three.

“I love that shirt,” you respond in place of saying what you really want to — ‘I love how that shirt looks on you’ — how it clings to his lean torso and reveals his midriff whenever he stretches his arms over his head.

“She’s a lit-tle worse for wear now, sweetheart,” he lilts.

“I’ll stitch it up for you.”

“And I’ve got on a pair of boxers that are so old they’re practically see through because I’m pretty sure they used to be Wayne’s back in… I don’t know… the eighteen-hundreds.”

Eddie was right. It was sexy, though, for the exact reason they weren’t supposed to be.

There was something so domestic about it all. You can picture him lying in his bed, in the most comfortable clothes he owns, in the one place he can feel at peace. Like a renaissance painting, something familiar and comforting and beautiful — fuck, you’d give anything to be next to him.

“…I think that means it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” he teases.

“Is it?” you mock in return.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’ over here.”

“It’s nothing, special,” you assure. Your eye flits down to peer at your own body — nothing special, indeed, you think to yourself. The lilac cotton set came from the grocery store downtown on the clearance rack you so often frequent. “I just have my underwear on. It’s very boring, I’m afraid.”

It’s not boring. Not to Eddie — the boy who prides himself on his insanely active imagination. He might not be able to pass english with his brain, but he can certainly create worlds with it, and it’s too easy for him to picture you. He imagines you, freshly showered, and smelling of the warm lavender-vanilla scent you always smell like, mostly bare and lazing upon a fluffy comforter.

He swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s— that’s really, uh— that’s really sexy.”

His thankful that you don’t seem to mind his poor excuse for dirty talk.

“It’s only because I was too lazy to get into actual pajamas.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you press, smiling to yourself and caging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Eds?” you wonder, made brave enough by his own admission.

“‘Course you can.”

“Before you called…”

“…Uh-huh?” he eggs on, intrigued at the way you trailed off, sounding suddenly shy.

“I was…” The thought of telling him what you were doing mere seconds before he called makes you nervous. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of touching yourself or anything, nor is the art of dirty talking lost on you, but something about Eddie makes you timid.

“You were… what, sweetheart?” he wonders gently, with a too audible grin.

“I was touching myself.”

That’s all you tell him. The words linger and hang in the air of your separate bedrooms and you cling to the silence — almost mortified and anticipating his reply. Eddie, meanwhile, feels like his tongue has swelled in his mouth and all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“Oh...” he tries to respond without the breath to accurately do so. “…Yeah?”

“You know what Phoebe Cates does to me,” you try to joke.

His laughter crackles through the receiver. “Yeah. I kinda have her to thank for the other night, don’t I?”

“Give yourself some credit, Eds. The hottest guy in Hawkins was sitting right next to me, what was I supposed to do?”

“No way you think I’m the hottest guy in town,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for pretty boys.”

“Pretty boys?” you echo with a giggle.

“Uh-huh. The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington type, you know?”

“Well, I think you’re a hundred times prettier than he is.”

“Really?” he scoffs cynically, obviously not believing you.

“He wasn’t the one I was thinking about with my hand shoved down my panties,” you admit, immediately quelling his self-doubt. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and then stammers, “I— I guess so— yeah.”

“Are you hard, Eds?” you ask in a breathy whisper.

And he just nods to himself at first, too stupid to answer audibly. He can feel himself stiffening in his boxers, only halfway hard now, but getting firmer by the second. Soon, he’ll be aching.

“Yeah…”

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

Eddie would rather take a bullet to the chest than say no to you — at least, he figures that’d probably hurt less — so he slips his fidgeting fingers through the band of his boxers and takes his warm, stiffening cock in his hand. He squeezes himself just enough to make his stomach tighten.

“Want you to touch yourself, too,” he admits, neither asking or demanding it, just telling you.

“Yeah?” you tease.

“Well, I think it’s only fair, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but notice how breathy he’s gotten — how it shakes on the inhale and hitches on the out. He’s got his hand shoved down his underwear and you’re jealous of the fingers that get to wrap themselves around his cock. You wish they were yours. Both of you will have to settle, it seems.

“Whatever you want, Eds,” you answer playfully.

You obediently slide your hand back into the warmth of your panties. Your fingers slot between your lips and collect the slick that had gathered there since before you’d even answered the phone. You bring it up to your clit, circling the pads of your fingers there until you twitch, then dragging them down to press into your opening. They slip in with ease.

Both of you have turned into lovesick idiots, separated by so many miles, and missing the other most ardently. Lying in the depths of your bedrooms, basking in a velvet loneliness, building with a mutual pleasure with nothing but yearning hands and longing sighs.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut at the sounds of your low moans and fragile whimpers that crackle through the static — beautiful still, but certainly no match to the ones you were breathing in his ear just hours ago.

His lashes dance across his cheeks as he tries to remember how you’d felt against his fingers, soft like velvet and delicate like silk, weeping and pulsating with need.

He drags his hand from his boxers and lets the band snap against his pelvis. He spits into his palm and wets his cock with it, sighing as he tugs at himself without much friction.

“Are you wet, sweetheart?” he asks, though the words threaten to get stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” you whisper back like it’s some kind of secret.

You work yourself open with your middle finger and slip your pointer in next to it without much trouble. Your walls flutter around them while you fight to find the spot the makes you keen. You’re only able to tease it, fingers not quite long enough to caress it completely. Your thumb keeps working at your clit, though, to make up for the lost pleasure.

“I’ve been wet since I left you,” you admit through labored breaths. “Haven’t been able to… to stop thinking about you, Eds.”

“Glad I’m not the only one whipped over here, sweetheart,” he manages a laugh.

“No one’s ever made me come that hard before. Not just with their fingers,” you tell him mindlessly, dumb on pleasure, as you feel yourself climbing that peak.

“Really?”

“Never,” you promise, then whine. “Doesn’t even feel as good now… Can’t get as deep as you can—”

Eddie hangs on your every word as he works his palm up and down his stiff cock, squeezing at the base and swiping his thumb over the head with an expert hand. His face scrunches as his stomach starts to tighten, he’s close to coming — too close for his liking. He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly.

“You’ve ruined every other guy for me, Eddie Munson,” you confess, more than pleased to hear how it makes him whine. It sounds like it comes from the depths of his chest, the way it crackles low and needy through the receiver.

“Good,” he grumbles through his pants after he’s gathered himself all over again. “Don’t want anyone else to have you, sweetheart.”

This time you’re the one letting out the most pathetic of whines. It makes a smile flicker at the corners of his lips.

“You like that?”

It sounds so dirty, but you can tell by the sincerity of his tone that it’s genuine. So you answer with a longing truthfulness, a delicate “yes”entwined with a yearning moan.

“You just wanna belong to me, don’t ya?”

Now, this is dirty talk. The teasing lilt of his tone — it’s almost degrading — and makes you clench around your fingers. “Yes, please,” you whine, all but pleading for him now.

Eddie’s close, so dreadfully close, with a pleasure so tangible he could taste it. Your words make his cock twitch in his hold as the fire builds in his belly.

Through your whole-hearted promises and wanting moans, he can hear the sound of your slick through the receiver. The static reception doesn’t do it justice, but the wet click of your fingers working you open was unmistakable.

A moan grumbles in his throat as he digs the crown of his head back into his pillow. “Holy fuck— I can hear you, baby.”

“I’m so wet for you, Eds,” you tell him through fragile slurs, like it wasn’t inherently obvious.

You were wrong before, about wanting to hide from him. You couldn’t conceal your need for Eddie if you tried. The honey you drip, all sweet and just for him, wouldn’t let you keep it a secret.

“I know, baby, I know,” he nearly coos. “Are you— fuck, please tell me you’re close?”

“Yes,” you promise in a whine. Your thumb presses harder into your clit. It makes your thighs tense until they’re shaking.

“You rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart?” he asks like he knows. “I know that’s what you like.”

You whimper, working at the spongy spot within you as your hips buck off the bed. “Yeah.”

“Keep rubbing yourself like that for me, okay? Want you to keep going until you come for me.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, it’ll come a lot quicker than he’s prepared for.

It’s too soft to be much of a demand, but you listen obediently anyway, rubbing at yourself though your sensitivity keeps building. It grows like a morning tide, rising and flowing like white waves on an ocean, stirring something fierce in the depths of your stomach.

“Eddie,” you sigh out his name, broken through staggered pants.

You hear his stuttering breaths, too. “Y—Yeah?”

“I’m about to come,” you promise through a whine when the familiar crescendo sends a shock through your body.

“O… Okay,” he responds, pathetically, then whines, even more so.

“Want you to come with me… Please…”

“Fuck— okay. Shit, sweetheart, I’m almost there.”

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

“Your pussy,” he answers without thinking — he’s not doing a whole lot of that anymore. “Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier. Wanna feel you… fuck… Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

“Holy shit, Eds,” you moan at his words, at the vivid picture they paint in your head.

“And you get so… God, you get so fucking wet. Just want you to drench me, baby.”

It feels good, to be complimented for something boys used to make fun of you for, to realize for the first time that’s it’s sexy — that you’re sexy — and that Eddie is more than happy to drown in you. The feeling almost rivals the impending orgasm that’s bound to hit you like a tidal wave.

“I’m thinking about how I coulda took you on that bench… Just, fucking, get on my knees for you. Shove my head between your legs. Hold your— shit, baby— hold your thighs open, keep you exactly where I want you,” he rambles but then cuts himself off to moan at his own words. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

The moan you let out is pitiful. It leaves your mouth in the most delicate cry.

No picture has ever been clearer than the one of Eddie between your thighs, your hands knotted in his hair to move him to exactly where you need him most and forcing him there. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips, his rings pressed against your burning skin, and the way your legs tremble on either side of his head.

“Yeah. Keep— Keep doing that. Keep moaning for me,” Eddie tells you. “I’m about to… holy fuck, I’m about to come.”

“Wanna feel your tongue in me so bad, Eds,” you whimper, egged on by the moan he lets out. “Want your cock even more.”

That’s what does him in, the assurance — the promise — that you want him just as bad as he wants you.

He tightens his fist around his cock, achingly hard and raging a crimson at the tip, trying to imitate the way you’d feel around him. It’s not all that close, not nearly as wet as the honey you’d be dripping for him, but his imagination does the rest of the work for him.

All at once, you’re on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, your pussy threatening to swallow him whole. You’ve drenched him, just like he’d begged for, and that wet schlick noise still echoing from the receiver is the evidence of each of your assured thrusts over top of him.

You’re still pleading for him anyway — for more, for his tongue, for his cock — and he wants so desperately to give everything to you.

“Oh god, baby—” he sputters. He grips the phone in a white-knuckled, fist trembling. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

“Please, Eddie. Please come for me,” you plead over the low sounds of the forgotten film playing across the room and all the dirty wet sounds your pussy makes against your fingers. You sound like you need it, like you want his orgasm more than your own.

“Want you to come with me… Can you— Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Please?” It’s not dirty talk anymore. He’s actually fucking begging you and doesn’t feel the least bit ashamed to do so.

He wants to hear all the pretty noises you make when you come — that initial cry that stems from the depths of your soul, the high-pitched whimpers that come when the sensitivity builds, and the whines that leave you when it ebbs.

He wants to hear it over and over and over again, like a worn cassette, and play it until the tape spins out.

“Yes…” you promise through a set of stuttering breaths.

There’s no talking when either of you come. Eddie’s long forgotten to talk you through it, but you would barely hear him if he had. The phone slips out of your hand when your grip slackens and it falls to the pillow beside your head.

You chase your orgasm full throttle, working through the crescendo and the strikes of lightning, focusing only on his muffled moaning and the pretty sounds he makes as he comes.

The breath of your name whimpered through a tight throat is what does it for you. Your body has hardly any time to warn you before you’re gushing all over your fingers, twitching every time the pad of your thumb rubs over clit.

That cry, the one you always let out as you come — all wet and full of need — makes Eddie orgasm right alongside you.

He swipes his thumb over his head again, collecting the pearls of precum gathering there and sliding them down the base to squeeze himself there like he’d been doing this whole time. He clutches harder this time, imagines it's your cunt locking him in a vice-like grip, and whines in his throat when he comes.

Several loads of it spill onto his cotton boxers, most of it gathering along the side of his hand and dripping down his knuckles. His breath staggers as he works himself through his high, praising you through the phone like you’re the one who brought him to it.

“Fuck, baby… You’re so good… So fucking good.”

You’ve long settled from your own orgasm, still tingly and numb in some places, but not as gone as you had been just moments before. You still float on a cloud, getting lost as you stare through your window at the half-hidden stars sprinkling the night sky and feeling as though you could reach out and touch them.

You can feel the satin moonlight bathing you, and the jittery static of the neon of the television screen. You can feel everything and somehow nothing at all.

“I don’t know how you do it, Eds,” you confess, hardly thinking about the words spilling from your mouth when you lazily bring the phone to your ear again.

“Do what, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know… You always make me feel good. Even when you’re not here… Even when we’re not getting each other off.”

“I feel the same way,” he promises you, all mushy, even though he feels like a slob for wiping his hand off on his discarded jeans on his bed. “Just… wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there, too… Wish I could clean you up.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight as his head tilts back to his pillow at the thought. “Fuck… You’re gonna make me hard again, sweetheart.”

You perk up suddenly as an idea sprouts like a flower in your head. A smile blooms on your lips, and you rise up onto your elbows, glowing with an unanticipated excitement. “How long would it take you to get ready?”

“…Get ready?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” is all you say.

“I mean, I— I don’t know. I figure if I put on some new underwear and a fresh pair of pants, I’ll be good as new... Why?”

“You wanna do something?”

“Yeah. Sure. Anything,” he answers clumsily in place of saying, ‘Anything to not have to be without you.’

“I wanna go to Skull Rock.”

“Skull Rock?” he repeats.

Legend has it, you and Steve made that place a local landmark. People have always said that Hopper caught the both of you one too many times up at Lover’s Lake and the Quarry, that you needed a more hidden place to fuck. So you’d stumbled around in the middle of the woods until you found a place the chief wouldn’t think to look for you.

You’d certainly found it. Then every other horny high schooler did too.

It’s the place you go to fuck, the most private place in all of Hawkins — hell, maybe even Indiana entirely for teenagers who can’t get the house to themselves. And as appealing as it sounds, to take you beneath a sky of twinkling stars, Eddie doesn’t want his first time with you to be on dirt or in the middle of the woods. That’s how all the horror movies start, don’t they?

So, needless to say, your answer takes him by surprise.

“Yeah! You can see all the stars really good from there. It’s too hard to see them so close to town.”

Eddie’s heart swells all at once at how sweet you are, like sugar poured directly onto his tongue. You’re not eager to be without him either, it seems, and that thought is as gratifying as it is thrilling.

You’re an adventure he’s about to go on, without a map or a way out, a journey he’s happy to go into blind as long as you’re holding his hand the entire way through it.

It breaks his heart to hang up the phone. He practically begs you to do it for him, and it makes you laugh — a kind giggle entwined with a tease ‘you’re such a baby.’ It rings in his ears long after the receiver clicks.

Most of all, he hates all the stoplights that separate your place from his. He hadn’t known where you lived before now, not until you uttered it over the phone. He makes a mental note to figure out a quicker way, somewhere through the winding back roads that his old van can speed through to make the distance less daunting.

He pulls into your apartment complex, a quaint two-story thing on the quieter side of town, where the woods are plentiful and the street lamps far fewer. He turns his radio down out of respect for all your neighbors that he’s sure he’ll never meet and spies you through the neon orange porch lights. You shut and lock your door in quick succession, then scurry across the way to meet him.

Eddie leans over to unlock the passenger side door for you, already beaming, and finds you’re smiling too when you climb in next to him. The grin you shoot his way outshines the night sky and makes a bright yellow sun of the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

“Hi,” you’d greeted him, all shy like you didn’t just make him come all over his hand thirty minutes ago.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he volleys back like he always does, with that big ol’ smirk and teasing lilt as he cock his head to the side — using his playfulness to cover up the bashful mess you so easily reduce him too.

Neither of you had gotten particularly dressed up to see each other. All he did was put on fresh under and pajama pants. You succumbed to a smilier laziness it seems, haphazardly brushing through your half-damp hair, throwing on a too big t-shirt, and calling it a day.

The cotton hangs low at your chest, stretched out and obviously well-loved. It falls well past your thigh, though you spend much of the drive anxiously tugging it down.

It makes him wonder what you’re wearing beneath it. If you’ve tugged on a pair of shorts or if you’re in the bra and (undoubtedly wet) underwear you’d told him you were wearing over the phone.

Eddie winds himself up all over again while you sift through the flimsy case of endless cassettes he keeps tucked in the glove compartment that never quite shuts all the way.

“How do you now have any ABBA tapes?” you wonder like it’s baffling, with an Iron Maiden tape in one hand and Cinderella in the other. Metallica plays lowly, nearly inaudibly, from the stereo.

Eddie laughs and darts his eyes from the darkened back roads to look at you, all smiley and bathed in moonlight, before turning back to the road again. “Uh, because I’m not a thirty-year-old woman. That’s the shit moms listen to.”

“Moms and hot girls,” you retort jokingly.

“Right, moms and hot girls listen to ABBA — of which, I am neither, sweetheart. Sorry to be the one to break it to you… Besides, it’s not like you walk around listening to, fucking, I don’t know— Van Halen or whatever.”

“Hey. I listen to Van Halen,” you shoot back.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s got what it takes!” you sing suddenly, not quite catching the rhythm of the song, but smiling anyway as you reach for his forearm resting on the center console. “So tell me why can’t this be love!”

“Oh, my god— that’s literally their worst song,” Eddie chuckles through the widest grin you’ve ever seen from him.

It makes you smile big too, looking like an idiot who’s totally head over heels for the boy next to her. And of that, you’re happily guilty of.

“Not true,” you shake your head defiantly. “I love that song.”

“So that means it has to be good, right?” he retorts playfully, shooting you a teasing look, though his beam is more than sincere.

“Obviously,” you answer with a scoff that makes Eddie roll his eyes.

He knows he’s going to start to love it, though, if only because it’s the only Van Halen song you halfway know.

He’s going to hear that song on the radio and he’s going to want to turn it, but he’s going to remember this moment now — the one with you reaching for him while you sing the lyrics to a song he can’t stand, sitting pretty in his passenger seat, while the moonlight blanches your smile and the bare skin of your thighs.

Eddie Munson is going to love that goddamn song for the rest of his life.

He parks as close as he can to Skull Rock, knowing his van can’t work its way that far into the woods. The two of you are forced to walk the rest of the way, not exactly minding it, though Eddie’s incessantly worried you’re going to get cold.

He’s already forced his jacket upon you, which you took with little fight. It warmed you almost immediately — with his cozy heat and musky cologne.

You make mindless conversation the entire way there, about music and then about his band and then what animal you’d want to be in your band if that were the least bit possible. Eddie chooses a sheep without any hesitation, though you’re confident that a penguin would be far cooler.

You keep a careful distance between you, at first, like both of you are too scared to initiate the first move. That is, until you trip over a raised branch and nearly eat ass on the forest floor. Then Eddie’s holding your hand the entire way, keeping you close.

“If you wanted me to hold your hand, you coulda just said so, you know?” he jokes. “Didn’t have to go through all the dramatics, sweetheart.”

You try and yank your hand out of his grip in protest then, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he pulls you closer and twirls you into a bear hug that you happily relax into.

He feels your sigh fan against his collarbone as you rest your head at the nape of his neck, his arms wrap around your shoulders as yours settle at his waist. He rocks you back in forth, in a moment that’s too almost sweet to make fun of.

Eddie finds a way, of course, “See?” he singsongs. “I’ll hug you like this all the time, if you want. You don’t have to almost kill yourself to get my attention, babe.”

“All I did was trip,” you laugh at his theatrics.

“Death by tree root… What a gnarly way to go.”

He holds your hand the entire way to Skull Rock.

He doesn’t let you go once, not until you’re ascending the large boulders to plant yourselves at the very peak of them. He’s grabbing you again once you settle, though, and the two of you just sit there, for several long moments, just gaping at the stars that dance with life above you. They sprinkle an infinite void with enough light that manages to touch you, trillions of miles away.

There’s a subtle beauty in that Eddie never would’ve appreciated before now.

“Shit, babe,” he breathes through a whimsical existential dread. “You were right. The stars are really fucking pretty out here.”

You love how much he loves this, to come to Skull Rock with you and count the stars. Any other guy would’ve had their tongue down your throat by now, stuffing your hand down their unbuttoned jeans.

But not Eddie.

He just holds your hand because he likes the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, grasping tightly onto you while he gazes at an infinite universe — like you might float off right along with it.

His neck is stretched to gape at the night sky. You catch his adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallows. You want so desperately to kiss his milky white skin and sprinkle blotchy red bruises there.

His curly locks fall over his shoulders. He shakes his head to get his bangs out of his eyes while the chocolate buttons of them dart around the endless void.

He’s more beautiful than every star in the sky combined. You can’t be sure of how many that is, of course, but it’s a whole bunch if you had to guess. It makes sense, though, for the prettiest boy in the whole damn galaxy.

“Told ya,” you answer with a smile, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. “You come out here often?”

You’re asking if he takes girls here and he knows it, but it’s not like you’re being inconspicuous about the whole thing. Eddie gauges it almost immediately, the subtle jealousy hinting at your tone — something no one else would’ve caught — and he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

He shakes his head. “No… Never.”

“Never?” you press with raised brows, like his answer shocks you.

“Ever. It’s not really my scene, I guess… But what about you, sweetheart? Never seen you around these parts before.”

You knock his shoulder again, harder this time. “Shut up. You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah…” he nods to himself, eyes darting back and forth as he reminisces on something. “You and Harrington, you and Hargrove. Hell, I think I heard about you and Jason one time—”

“That was a long time ago,” you argue. “Before I even knew you, okay?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs in defense. “You totally have a thing for pretty boys, sweetheart.”

“I never said I didn’t, Eds. Just that you were pretty, too.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes like he isn’t glowing red beneath the moonlight.

“You’re better than all three of them, Eds,” you confess with a sudden softness that catches his attention almost immediately. He turns his attention from the sky to look at you properly again. His breath catches at you sad you look — all beautiful and coated in shades of blue.

“…Yeah?”

You nod and drag his hand into your lap to fidget with his fingers. You trace the skeleton heart on his middle finger, subverting all your attention there because it’s easier than having to look at him now. “Better than all of them combined— not even just them, you know? Out of everyone. No one’s ever been this nice to be before.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he confesses with a morose grin. “The freak of Hawkins High attracts a lot of assholes, believe it or not.”

“Is it bad?” you wonder cautiously, like you’re scared to hear the answer. In some ways, you are.

You hadn’t known him in high school, not really. For obvious reasons, you ran in very different circles. You never even had classes together. There was never any excuse to be close to each other before now, never a reason to become friends. So you didn’t.

You grew to know him as a freak, and he knew you as the town slut. Then somewhere down the line, he became your dealer and now… here you were.

But you’ve graduated now and he’s still army crawling towards a diploma. You couldn’t save him from the hell of Hawkins High even if you wanted to.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugs. “Jason and the dick brigade just wanna make my life hell, that’s all.”

“I hope they aren’t,” you respond shyly.

Eddie scoffs then shoots you a smile. “Oh, of course not. Look at me. I’m at Skull Rock with the most wanted girl in Hawkins. I’m living the dream, sweetheart.”

“So you don’t care?” you wonder, peering at him through your lashes, as you twist the silver cross around his finger.

“Care about what?”

“That I’m a slut,” you laugh like it’s obvious.

Eddie doesn’t think it’s all that funny. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s not like it isn’t true, Eds,” you retort with a trembling smile. “I mean, that’s literally what people call me — most people don’t even care to call me by my real name anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t give a shit about what people say about you. If everyone cared about what everyone said about everyone, neither of us would be here right now… Because you’d think I was some devil-worshipping freak and I’d think you were too busy getting it on with Chief Hopper.”

You screw your face up immediately at the thought. The mere idea was repulsive. The asshole was practically your father these days. Jim Hopper was in that small bunch of available people you would never fuck, and happily so.

“I’d never stoop that low,” you joke.

“I like you, how you are, right now,” Eddie promises. “Don’t want you to change a damn thing.”

His brown eyes twinkle with a sincerity that rivals the stars above you. All of a sudden, you don’t care about a bunch of heavenly bodies light years away from you — you care about this man, the one sitting beside you now, holding your hand even though your palms have gone all sweaty.

It’s too good to be true — the way you looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you. You’re scared that it’s a dream, that you’ll wake up and find that none of this was ever real. Or worse, that he was, and that he just didn’t care about you the way you cared about him.

It’s almost irrational. Almost.

But it’s happened before.

And it’s left you a scarred and mangled mess.

You shake your head to yourself and scrunch your face as you turn to look him. “Have you ever done this before, Eddie?”

“Don’t what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “Any of this? With anyone else?”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to lie. Or tell some clumsy half-truth for the sake of saving his own skin. He realizes tonight is perhaps the most honest he’s ever been with you, baring his pale soul beneath a silver moonlight.

“Never,” he answers, unwavering, with a firm shake of his head.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods, then swallows thickly at a gut-wrenching realization. “I’ve never felt his way about anyone else before.’

“Me neither,” you promise.

It’s a tad more meaningful coming from you than from a boy who’s never had someone to love and to love him back.

You’re experienced, you’ve found what you like and what you don’t like. You’ve been with guys who have given you the world and guys that have ended yours altogether. And out of all of them — all of the assholes in Hawkins you could’ve picked — you’ve chosen the freak.

You want him.

You want Eddie.

The revelation makes him grin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, Eddie Spaghetti.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #virgin!eddie munson x reader #virgin!eddie munson

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namelessdumbass · 3 months

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Meliora/Popestar Ghouls guide

I noticed some people still have trouble telling the Ghouls apart. Specifically Meliora era Ghouls. So i'll try to make things easier for all of you :)

WARNING: lots of text, my silly comments

Happy reading 😏

Learning which symbol/alchemic element (which was Martin Persner's/Omega's idea btw!) belongs to a certain Ghoul is essential:

🜂- Fire, 🜄- Water, 🜁 - Air, 🜃 - Earth, 🜀 - Quintessence. The first Fire Ghoul was also called Alpha and the first Quintessence Ghoul - Omega. Why such names? Because Quintessence/Ether Ghoul had Ω sticker on his guitar and fans started calling him Omega and his counterpart - Alpha. These names just fit them perfectly. Meliora era was unique because neither of previous Papas, nor Cardinal/Papa 4 called Ghouls by their names/elements. Only Papa III did that.

There were few changes of lineups during Era 3 and some Ghouls were given different names by fans. Simply because naming their elements wasn't enough. Examples will be seen below.

Ways to tell them apart when they are on stage:

Their instruments and stickers.

They are placed in certain areas of the stage: Quintessence and Earth on Papa's right, Water in the middle, Air and Fire on Papa's left.

Different body types, eyes, rings, bracelets and tattoos.

The way they behave.

When they are off stage, on promo photos etc just take a look at their chests.

Even though every Ghoul has 5 elements embroidered on their suits, their respective element is highlighted.

HQ pictures are pretty helpful if y'all wanna find your favorite Ghoul.

(from left to right: Air, Earth, Omega/Quintessence, Water and Alpha/Fire)

Also check this video of Papa III introducing Ghouls.

2015 lineup:

Air Ghoul #1. Simply Air. Joined Ghost in 2011. No tattoos, no rings. Usually quite calm on stage, favorite gesture is🤘 . Was the tallest Ghoul till 2017. Had cool keytar solo. Didn't move much.

Pebble aka Earth Ghoul #2. Joined Ghost in June 2015. Smol (yes, smaller than Papa). Has intense stare. Literal beast when it comes to playing drums. Had a special way of throwing sticks to fans (literally footballed them into the crowd lol). Funny one.

Quintessence Ghoul #1 aka Omega. Terzo's favorite Ghoul. His butt was smacked and grabbed by Papa countless times during Year Zero solo. Known for his stomping, graceful guitar playing style, has big silver rings on both hands and pretty eyes. Has the cutest laugh. Did lots of interviews when Special Ghoul wasn't around. Loves Abba. Has been in the band from 2010 till july 2016.

Water Ghoul #4 aka Delta. Slightly shorter than Papa III. Joined in 2015. Sometimes kicks air (literal air, not his fellow Ghoul) on stage, also filled in for Alpha (when he injured his shoulder) and Omega for a few shows. Played rhythm guitar after Omega left. Has no rings, no visible tattoos, but has mad skills. Allegedly he's the one who tried to kick the dude who got on stage and kissed Terzo lol

His regular bass Omega's guitar

Fire Ghoul #1 aka Alpha. Popular among fans. Hangs out with every Ghoul on stage, especially with Water and Pebble. Loves cameras, does✌ a lot, humps his guitar sometimes. Enjoys attention, a bit horny:) Also did a few interviews (mostly with Omega), has strong accent, also speaks Italian. Has rings and tattoos on both hands (had none during era 1 and 2!). Taller than Papa. Joined in 2010, left in november 2016.

2016

Omega left in july, so Water took over rhythm guitar and the first Ghoulette of the Ghost, Mist, was introduced. This lineup toured till the end of the year and nobody returned for Popestar tour in 2017.

Quintessence Ghoul #2. Basically just Water, but with different guitar and highlighted QE symbol on his uniform.

Mist Ghoulette aka Water#5. Tiny💜, unlike Copia's Ghoulettes she wore the same outfit and mask (that looked a bit too big for her) just like other Ghouls. Badass bass player, has a ring, a tattoo on her finger and painted nails. Veeeeery calm. Cute as hell. Alpha liked her a lot.

Fire, Earth and Air Ghouls were same as in 2015:

(from left to right on this picture: Mist, Quintessence #2 (aka Delta/Water Ghoul#4), Alpha/Fire, Earth/Pebble, Air)

2017

All of the previous Ghouls left and the new pack replaced them. If you see Ghouls who are +- same height as Papa, that's them!

(Dewdrop/Water #7, Aether/Quintessence #3, Zephyr/Air #2, Ifrit/Fire #2, Ivy/Earth #3)

Ifrit aka Fire Ghoul #2. Chaotic, hyperactive, Papa's hype man. Same height as Terzo, sweet bean, has wiiiide chest dorito shaped No tattoos, no rings. Spins, dances, jumps a lot. Gets "shot" during Ghuleh/Zombie Queen. No 🜂 sticker on his guitar. Only toured till 2018.

Aether aka Quintessence Ghoul #3. Beefy, jumps a lot, has rings and a bracelet. Always looks friendly. Plain black guitar with no QE symbol. Also pretty active, especially with his pal Ifrit. A bit taller than Papa III. Ran after Terzo when he got gragged off the stage by Papa Nihil's people. Joined in 2017, left in 2022.

P.S. since he's not Omega, his butt was safe during Year Zero solo 🙃

Dewdrop aka Water Ghoul #6 aka Sodo. Smaller than Terzo. Has an aggressive guitar playing style. A bit horny (it got worse). No visible tattoos. Proudly played bass with someone's panties. Syncs with Ifrit and Aether during Ghuleh/Zombie Queen outro. Became Fire Ghoul #3 in 2018. He's still in the Ghost (as of february 2024).

Zephyr aka chAir Ghoul #2. Sits on chair, a lot :) Charming, more active than previous Air ghoul. Loses it during Monstrance Clock, Per Aspera Ad Inferi and Cirice. Could be a great DJ. Almost the same height as Papa. Has a ring. His Mummy Dust keytar solo -[X]. Only toured till 2018.

Ivy aka Earth Ghoul #3. Underrated, many don't know much about him. Was present only during European leg of the Popestar tour (from march till july). Has brown eyes, a tattoo and bracelets. Same height as Ifrit. Wasn't around much, but still did a great job. Was later replaced by Mountain.

Mountain aka Earth Ghoul #4. Joined Ghost in july 2017. The tallest Ghoul. Hates shoes. Has a tattoo on the finger of his right hand, but you won't see shit on photos from this era because he wasn't photographed much and drummers usually get less attention than others in general:/ Quite calm comparing to Pebble. He's still in the band (as of february 2024).

Honorable mentions:

Special Ghoul aka Phil. Has green eyes, speaks Swedish. Did lots of interviews, showed up to grab a few awards for Ghost, worships cats and loves Abba. Literally Papa in disguise (aka Fire Ghoul's uniform and mask). Has been in the shadows since 2017.

Cowbell Ghoul. The myth, the legend. Played cowbell during "Ritual" and "If You Have Ghosts" a few times at the end of the Popestar tour in 2016. Tall, has a posture of a shrimp, always got shooed by Papa. Many want him back.

Aaaand that's it. I hope it was helpful. Thanks for reading :)

🌈👻

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avocadorablepirate · 1 month

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What Do We Call This? - 01

mini masterlist || next

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Summary: On a quest to find what you've been looking for, you acquire the help of the Straw Hat pirates, who've agreed to let you temporarily join them. There are however many challenges that come along with your temporary recruitment - an alliance with a certain Trafalgar Law being one of them.

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: fluff, angst, kinda slow burn, swearing. OP spoilers (especially in this chapter). Probably shouldn't read if you haven't watched/read the Punk Hazard Arc.

A/N: 16 year old me is rolling in her grave, ready to resurrect from the dead, unalive me, and take my place because both she and I cannot believe that we are back here writing fics about a fictional man. We also cannot believe that our writing style has not changed one bit. It's honestly quite disappointing.

Anyway, this chapter kinda sucks (proof read, but for sure there are mistakes somewhere there), and the others probably will too (all I've written after this is my favourite part, the rest is up to fate and my willpower to continue writing). But, if it comes to it we can always just erase all of this, and act like none of this ever happened.

Why is it called 'What Do We Call This?" you ask? Because I honestly don't know what the fuck to call this.

—⁠☆✿☆—⁠

She found herself being welcomed onto the pirate ship, despite the fact that just a few days ago she was after their lives. It was truly a strange turn of events that had unfurled in the blink of an eye.

"If that's where you want to go then we'll take you! If I'm going to be Pirate King I'll have to visit every island anyway!" The captain had said without a second thought when she had asked them whether she could tag along for a short while.

To put it briefly she had met the crew at Fishman Island, initially with the intent to get rid of them. However, after certain explanations about memories that she did not want to dive into for the 2nd time that week, and some forgiveness on the part of the pirates, she was now onboard the Thousand Sunny, on her way to the new world, fulfilling her initial goals.

——————————————————————————

The Straw Hats ship had docked at Punk Hazard on getting a call from someone on their Den Den Mushi. Luffy having picked it up without any hesitation had decided that he was going to help whoever it was.

A lot had happened since then. You had been captured along with Nami, Sanji, Chopper and Franky, and had found yourselves in a metal chamber along with the head of a samurai who was somehow still alive, despite lacking an entire lower body. Franky and Sanji had managed to break open the cell, allowing for your escape, but as all of you looked for a way out you ran into some children in what looked like a nursery. You had then escaped with the children, who had begged you to take them with you, but on exiting from the front you ran into a pirate named Trafalgar Law and the Marines. The group's interaction with the two was short, quickly choosing to find another exit.

Law, you thought to yourself as you kept running. You had heard the name before but couldn't quite remember when. You were however pulled out of your thoughts when from the corner of your eye you saw a thin blue orb surround the four Straw Hat pirates. You watched in shock as the hearts of the pirates were switched.

What had just happened?

You took a quick glance at the people behind you, had this been the work of the Marines or the pirate Trafalgar Law?

What you found was the pirate, frozen in place, staring at you as if he had seen a ghost. He had been caught off guard perhaps, not realising that there was someone else with the Straw Hats. But, he was quick to snap out of it, turning away and focusing his attention on the Marines at hand. You too turned back around, a small smile on your face despite the situation. You remembered now, where you had heard the name. What were the chances that you would finally meet him after all these years, you thought to yourself as you lightly touched the strap of your hood.

——————————————————————————

Everyone was now hiding out in a cave behind the research facility you had been trapped in, the situation having completely changed.

You had reunited with the rest of the Straw Hats and Trafalgar Law had also joined the group with the intention of forming an alliance with the Straw Hats. You couldn't help but laugh to yourself when Luffy had readily accepted, thinking back to when he had gladly welcomed you onto his ship, despite the few protests from the rest of the crew.

Your laughing caught the attention of the captain of the Heart Pirates, and you were quick to regain your composure, giving him a quick smile as he eyed you. His attention then turned back to Luffy, but his hand pointed at you, "Who's that?"

Luffy looked from Law to you and back, his smile stretching from ear to ear, "Oh! This is (Y/N). She was trying to kill us," he says, his smile not letting up while Usopp and Nami yell at him for the introduction while you, Robin and Franky laugh, Chopper too stunned to speak. Usopp then explains to him that you've temporarily joined them, not going into further details.

Trafalgar Law was obviously not expecting that for a response, almost in complete shock that someone could be dumb enough to welcome an assassin onto their ship. However, he didn't address it, there were other things that needed to be dealt with, he would just have to be wary of you.

You, Nami and Usopp had volunteered to stay back and watch over the children. However, Caesar Clown himself had come to attack you. Unable to land an attack on him the three of you were knocked out and he took the children back with him leaving the three of you and Brownbeard behind. Luckily, the four of you had managed to escape and were now back inside the research facility with everyone else.

It was a strange group of people; pirates, Marines, a few of Caesar's subordinates, and whatever you were. However, given the situation everyone had decided to work together to escape the gas, defeat Caesar Clown and save the children. But you sensed that Trafalgar Law had other intentions as well.

Initially with the task of helping find the children, you stuck with Nami, but watched intently as Law went off on his own. You quickly made the decision to follow him. Unsure of whether he had any ulterior motives to form an alliance with the Straw Hats, you felt it would be a safe bet if you kept an eye on him, in turn protecting the Straw Hats who you were indebted to - incase he tried anything.

"Nami, I'm going to follow Trafalgar Law. Maybe I can find something that can help the children," you say, and quickly follow behind the other pirate, not giving Nami the chance to protest to your decision.

You kept a safe distance from Law, you couldn't let him see you. Following him through various corridors he finally stops at a room filled with huge tanks, the words 'S.A.D' painted on each of them in big bold letters. What is this place?

"Room."

"Shambles."

Law's voice draws your attention away from the tanks, and you notice the same blue orb from earlier surround him. You're taken by surprise when you see a translucent cube with what looks to be a heart inside it appear in the palm of his hand. Then suddenly Law's flung back and in front of him stands a tall man in a white coat and shades, the cube now in his hands. He looks vaguely familiar.

"Ver-go," Law tries to say as he stands up but the man squeezes the cube causing Law to fall back down and yell in pain.

Your eyes now focus on the heart, is that Law's? How did Vergo get his heart?

This time Law tries to land an attack on Vergo. He's able to hit him but it doesn't seem to do much. Vergo once again squeezes at Law's heart, harder this time, and you watch as Law falls on his back, unable to get up.

Shit what do I do? You scan your surroundings trying to find some way to help Law. You're not one for close combat, or combat at all for that matter, so running in and attacking is not an option. Just then you see the Marine from earlier, and you let out a sigh of relief, you could hold off on intervening for now.

Things however seemed to be taking a turn for the worse. Vergo had the upper hand, Smoker almost completely knocked out, yet you had a sliver of hope when you noticed Law dragging himself across the floor to reach for his heart. But, just as he was about to reach for it Vergo picked it up. You looked back to see Smoker lying still on the floor. Then you heard Law scream. A gasp fell from your lips, but you were quick to duck behind a wall before anyone could see you. Your body was shaking, Law's screaming was bringing back the memories.

Prison cell.

Dragged out.

Handcuffs.

Words.

Screaming.

More screaming.

Silence.

Handcuffs.

You try and take deep breaths to calm yourself. There's no point in remembering those things. You're free from it now, you try and tell yourself, You need to do something, if you don't, no one gets out.

Three deep breaths. You swore to yourself that you would never do this again, but maybe that wasn't the best idea when you had decided to associate yourself with pirates.

You outstretch your arm, and focus your attention on Vergo while still trying to hide yourself. From the corner of your eye you can see Smoker slowly starting to get up. You have to time this right.

"Grip."

"Twist."

You close your hands into a tight fist, and twist your wrist to the right.

Vergo suddenly screams, an excruciating pain surging through his right arm, and he drops Law's heart just as Smoker hits him from behind.

You unclench your fist and bite down on your hat that you had already placed between your teeth, trying your best not to let out a gut-wrenching scream of your own as you slide down against the wall to hide yourself.

The problem with these powers? You feel the same pain you inflict onto others, only it's far worse than what they feel.

——————————————————————————

Law's surprised by the way Vergo is suddenly gripping at his arm, but he immediately looks to his right, he heard that gasp from earlier. He knows you've been following him, watching him, but until now he wasn't sure why. You're gripping at your right arm as well, from your expression he can tell you're in pain, did you do that? He doesn't know what to make of it. However, he takes this as his chance to get his heart back, and just in time - Vergo's attention is back on him.

——————————————————————————

Trafalgar Law, you say to yourself, eyeing the man who's sitting by himself away from the rest of the group. He's different from what you had heard about him. Given, what you had heard about him was from a long time ago.

After the pain had subsided you had decided to get away just as Law laid his final attack on Vergo. You didn't want him questioning why you had followed him, and you definitely wouldn't have been able to explain why your right arm was limp. Instead, you headed back to the Straw Hats and acted as if you never saw or heard anything.

"(Y/N)-chan?"

"Hmm?" You turn your attention to Sanji who's holding out a bowl of food.

"Could you give this to Tra?" he asks, and you nod your head as you take the bowl from him.

Law's staring at Luffy and the rest of the Straw Hats, annoyance etched on his face. When he sees you his eyes do a quick scan from head to toe, but you notice how they linger on your right arm, which you quickly hide behind your back, shoving the bowl towards him.

"Here, Sanji wanted me to give this to you," you say, and he takes the bowl from you, nodding in thanks. You stand beside him for some time, waiting for him to say something, anything, but not a word comes out.

"Well, if you need more let me know," you say, quickly scurrying back to the cook who's all too happy with your company.

——————————————————————————

A/N: Now you're probably wondering after reading this, why the fuck are you writing? It's very simple actually - because what's the point in living if you don't keep adding to the list of things you're embarrassed about <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠> ..... anyway see you next time....unless I choose to dip after this.

#one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #law x y/n #law fanfic #screaming crying cannot believe im doing this

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silksongeveryday · 8 months

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Drawing Hornet everyday until Silksong comes out - Day 200!!!

(huge thanks to this person for the art suggestion!! <3)

I genuinely can’t believe that I’ve made it to 200 days, it’s truly been wild how time flies by like that and the amount of doodles I’ve made during that time. Over 200 doodles (217 to be exact if we’re counting double pictures/extra doodles) have been made over the past 200 days. :0

And thank you all so much for the love and support! Not only have we reached 200 days but also 1400+ followers about a week ago! <3

But, having said that I’d like to make a few announcements—some good, some not so great—about a few things regarding the blog, myself, and other stuff.

Putting it all under the cut so the post isn’t long if you’d like to know more

______________________________

Announcements!

My pfp!

1.) I’ll be changing my pfp again!! I’ve officially decided that after every 100 days or so I’ll change up the pfp so it’s up to date with my doodle style (assuming it changed at all lol), but generally it’ll look relatively the same as the last!

Possibly more admins?

2.) As of right now I’m looking into the idea/possibility of having a second (maybe third?) person help me with daily doodles! As much as I’d like to keep doodling everyday there are some days that it can be tough or some situation might be happening. (i.e. recently got injured)

See, the problem is I don’t exactly have a proper way of trying this out??? My idea was to maybe do this through dms or more preferably Google Forms. I also don’t really know what form of communication afterward would be best either, suggestions to help me work this out would be great! (as you can tell I’m not very good at this stuff lol)

Commissions!

3.) After much consideration and a lot of thought, I’ve decided that in the near future, I’ll be opening commissions again for the first time in years. I don’t have everything set up quite yet, but expect more info in the near future!

About requests:

4.) You may have noticed recently that I haven’t been doing as many doodle requests recently. Sure, there’s usually quite a few in a row at once but you may have noticed I’ve also been doing “non-requested” doodles aka ones that I just do on my own.

Expect this to become a very normal thing going forward. I probably won’t be doing as many requests as before because frankly with the amount of requests I get daily when it’s open is a lot to handle sometimes. Does this mean requests will be stopped entirely? No, I’ll still do some occasionally, but not as much as I have in the past.

Also I’ll likely be doing strictly anonymous requests.

About Burnout:

5.) Alright let’s address the elephant in the room.

There have been quite a few instances where people have wondered if I would ever have burnout and have occasionally joked about “dying” from said burnout because “Silksong will never release, you’ll be doing this forever” etc etc.

In the past I’ve been fine, motivation has been great, but recently I’ve noticed it a little bit.

Unfortunately life has its own plans so it can be a little hard for me to make a doodle that day, expecially recently since I’ve been experiencing personal/medical issues. It’s part of the reason I’m hoping to get a second (maybe third) person to help me do daily doodles so I can take a little bit of the load off my shoulders.

So what does this mean for this blog?

Not much right now. But in the future, there may be some changes. My current plan is to keep going on daily doodles/posts for the length of a standard year, so roughly 365 days. After that, if things in personal life keep up the way they have, I may have to stop daily doodles and instead will post only if I have time. That likely means doodles every other day or every three days or something. At the very least I’ll still post a doodle once a week.

Not to worry though! I’ll still try my best even after I reach day 365 :)

I’ll discuss how things work a little more on my main @miizori later, but that’s as much as I can think to explain rn.

———————————————

Just a few more things I wanted to say!

This community has been so cool to interact with, so much tamer than some others I’ve been apart of in the past. I’m genuinely thankful for how much support and how nice everyone has been. I truly didn’t expect to get this far, I was fully expecting to have stopped like 10 doodles in lol. I especially love to see all your comments in the tags and people sharing their art. You’re all so cool :)))

I have a dtiys from back when I reached 300 followers that’s still available if you’re feeling up to it!

Also my main (again, @miizori) is where I make updates on doodle stuff, regular art stuff and so on if you’re interested at all in that lol

I think that’s all that I can remember wanting to say, so thanks!! I look forward to more doodles for you all :)

#hollow knight #silksong #hk hornet #hollow knight hornet #silksong hornet #hk shade lord #shade lord #hollow knight shade lord #hollow knight fanart #hk fanart #silksongeveryday

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welcometothesewers · 3 months

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Page 5, I’m letting him enjoy life for a bit. I think he needs a break… for now :3

My style has changed quite drastically in last year but I think it’s for the better!

Table of Contents | Previous | Next

#skyfire #jetfire #tf earthspark #Earthspark Sonata #earthspark skyfire #tf skyfire

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mtkay13 · 5 months

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The one and only Qi Ye trio!

Details on the painting, meta and more below!

So this piece is actually a "remake" of a much older drawing that I made right after I had finished reading Qi Ye:

First, I want to elaborate on the drawing itself. I usually don't like to detail the symbolism and ideas that I put in my art, simply because I don't want to impose a reading and I'd rather everyone gets their own; but following some discussions I have decided to do so for this one.

The main theme of this illustration is glory, power, and the ascention towards it. The principal symbol of it is, of course, the stairs going up. I used light, directly, colours and positioning to signify each character's relationship to those themes.

Helian Yi is the one in the light, ascending upwards, in red clothing. Helian Yi's power, as future emperor, is in the light, visible, going towards the heavens as the son of heaven himself--to enact his heavenly duty. Part of his face is in the shadows, and his being casts a broad shadow behind him for, of course, a lot has to happen in the shadows for him to reach the throne. He's looking behind as his ascension comes with dread and paranoia, never being able to fully trust anyone.

Zhou Zishu is entirely in the shadows, doesn't exist in the light. He's standing tall on the stairs but not facing upwards because his own way towards power isn't following the traditional path of having one's name being remembered in historical records. He is at his most powerful concealed in the shadows and doesn't look directly, his gaze unreadable.

Jing Beiyuan is sitting on the stairs, uninterested with the climb towards power itself, uninterested in the glory. The thin line of light on his figure means that among Helian Yi's closest allies, he's the one using his title and influence; light grazes him even if he doesn't want it to. His presence in Helian Yi's shadow signifies how he, along with Zishu, is quite literally behind HLY's ascension. His gaze is knowingly directed towards the watcher.

The main reason I decided to repaint it was because I wanted it to match my current style and, more importantly, my current mental image/character design for them. Jing Qi barely changed since my idea of him was fairly clear from the start, but Helian Yi and Zishu went through much bigger changes.

For Helian Yi, it was mainly a question from taking him out of Jin Wang's robes to get him his own. I really like Jin Wang's wardrobe in SHL, which is why I initially wanted it for HLY, but nowadays it simply doesn't correspond to how I picture him anymore. My understanding and/or envisioning of Da Qing's fashion has changed a bit as well, so I wanted to reflect that. In the original, he more seemed like a kid in vaguely chique robes that were too big for him LOL. His face was afforded a bit of refinement as well, especially since my big Qi Ye spread.

Jing Qi's robes are just a tad less flashy somehow--which wasn't so much planned as just... another design I had in mind. I still really like the first version of the robes but, oh well. His face is a bit more defined now, and overall more details in the quality of his clothing and in his hair piece.

Zhou Zishu...... well, haha. His original design was quite unpolished--a vague mix of SHL!Zishu and some random hakama I barely worked on. He was also very slim and had big eyes, which I just don't see anymore. He's bigger now, by quite a bit, both in height and musculature, and I made him look just a bit older as well--simply because he is older than HLY and JBY by a few years. I much prefer his current expression which is a tad more vicious but also a bit harder to read (I think). His robes, hair shape are much better defined and thought-out, and I am happy with the subtle shading on his face.

That's it!! Thanks for readiinngggg as always!

#qi ye meta #qi ye #helian yi #jing beiyuan #zhou zishu

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fandom-alley · 1 year

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Rekindling at the Spa

18+

Summary: Spencer has an evening at the spa as per his doctors orders, and meets up with a girl he met at Penelope's over a year ago. This time he convinces himself not to leave without getting her phone number, but he ends up getting a little bit more.

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Reader

Category: Fluff, smut (like hardly though)

Warnings: 18+, kissing, making out, semi-public (no ones around) grinding, coming untouched/in pants

Word Count: 3.7k

a/n: inspired by my recent trip to the spa where i realized just how single i am. this is my first time writing something spicier than making out, so it's not a lot and just at the end, go easy on me lol

Also on AO3

The last thing Spencer Reid wanted to do was spend his evening at the hydrotherapy spa. Germs from the water of hot tubs could make you sick if consumed, and so could the vapour that comes off the water. Not to mention the possibility of a rash due to the chemicals used. But it was his doctor's orders. Apparently his own doctoral status was not good enough to sway them to let him come back to work early and skip this step.

There were many steps he had to complete as part of his recovery process; resting his injured leg, physical therapy, changes to his diet, therapy for his mental health. And the dreaded ‘spa relaxation’.

Now, most doctors probably wouldn’t prescribe a day at the spa as something to do as part of recovery, but Spencer’s doctor knew him well. He knew that throughout the last month, even though Spencer had completed most of his steps, he wasn’t relaxing through any of it. And his doctor was correct. Spencer’s brain had been working double time, reading twice the amount of books he usually did in a day while he was immobile elevating his injured leg. Reading up on new techniques for profiling and offering tips to the BAU when they worked a local case.

His doctor could tell that his inability to relax his brain, therefore relaxing his body, was the last step in holding him back from complete recovery.

So here he was, entering a Nordic hydrotherapy spa, where he was not allowed to bring in any cell phones, tablets, or hold loud conversations with anyone. And while it was acceptable to bring books in to read, Spencer didn’t want to risk dropping one in the water and ruining it. So he was about to be forced to put his self meditation techniques to use.

After changing into his swim shorts, putting on the complimentary robe and locking away his belongings, Spencer stepped out of the main building into the frigid evening air. He breathed in the scent of salt, chlorine, and eucalyptus from the nearby steam room. Hidden speakers in the plant beds around the property played out relaxing spa style music. Spencer had to admit, despite his reservations regarding germs, he already did feel quite relaxed.

The steam coming off the hot pools seemed to blanket the grounds in silence. It wasn’t that busy, but Spencer spotted a few people relaxing in the pools and walking in-between sections of the spa grounds.

Upon his check in tonight, the kind lady at the front desk informed him how to use the spa for maximum relaxation and hydrotherapy benefits. She recommended he sit in a hot pool for 10 to 15 minutes, take a plunge in the cold pool for at least 15 seconds or as long as he could handle, and then relax in a sauna, steam room, or relaxation room before continuing the process a few times.

The property was large, with 4 different hot pools, 3 different cold plunge pools, 2 rooms for wood burning saunas, the eucalyptus steam room, and multiple chairs dotting the ground surrounding fireplaces where you could sit and relax. Without putting too much thought to it, Spencer hung up his robe near the closest hot pool and stepped into the burning water.

The change in temperature stung his cold toes as they started to warm up. The water was only up to his waist as he waded through past a few couples sitting to the sides. He made his way to the back of the pool where it was blissfully empty and took a seat. Since he was so tall sitting on the built in seats along the edge of the pool, the water only went up to mid chest. But the rest of his exposed skin felt refreshed with the cool air blowing over him. A good contrast to the hot water covering the rest of his body.

Spencer leaned his head back and closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to shut his brain off. It worked for a few minutes, before he heard a couple a few feet over whispering sweet nothings to each other. It just made Spencer start thinking about his own lacklustre love life.

With his job in the BAU there wasn't that much opportunity and time for a relationship. Sure, some of his co-workers had figured it out. Like JJ and Will for instance. Spencer had seen how difficult it was for Morgan to hold down a relationship with their crazy work hours as well.

He hadn't really put that much effort into a relationship, though. Part of the reason was that he just didn't have the time. Some of the cases kept them away from home for weeks at a time. Sometimes to the point where he really didn't know how his friends and co-workers were able to keep it up. He was the type of guy who wanted to get to know someone, be around them lots in the early stages, and that was just too hard with work.

Spencer jolted out of his daydream when someone splashed into the seat next to him.

"Is this seat taken?" The voice belonged to a pretty girl, who if he had to guess was maybe just a few years younger than him. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't seem to place where he recognized her from. "You're Dr. Spencer Reid, right?" She asked.

"Yes, that's me," he replied with a furrowed brow, wracking his brain on why her big brown eyes looked like they knew him as well.

Thankfully she caught on to his confusion. "I'm y/n. Penelope's friend from book club. We met a year ago at her place when she had a viewing party for the season finale of Love Is Blind. I almost didn't go because I really don't watch reality TV, but I had just moved to the area and I wanted to try and make some friends."

Spencer remembered her now. Back then at the party she had her hair down in unruly curls and it was the colour of fire engine red. Now her hair was tied back to stay out of the water and it was the colour of midnight black. He wasn't one to forget a face, or forget much of anything really. But something about a dramatic change in hair colour and style had the Clark Kent effect on him. Maybe it was because he was in a pretty decent state of relaxation.

"I remember you," he said, nodding his head in recognition. "I also didn't want to go to that party but Penelope is hard to say no to."

Y/n laughed, "Yes she is, isn't she. It's good though. Because of her persistence I was able to make a few friends that night. And on multiple other nights as well. Penelope frequently tries to set me up on dates." She was talking pretty quietly as per spa rules, and it would have been hard to hear if she hadn't sat close and leaned in while she talked. Normally Spencer would have backed away, but something about her presence was soothing. Or maybe that was just the water jets from the pool shooting into his back.

"So what brings you to the spa tonight?" Spencer asked her. He might have met her back then at the party, but they hadn't said many words to each other. He remembered being slightly intimidated by her fiery hair and bubbly personality and after their initial introduction he snuck away with his glass of juice to browse Pen's book collection.

"Actually, it was a birthday gift from Penelope!" Y/n smiled.

"Oh, happy birthday." Spencer smiled back at her. Why was he intimidated back then, he thought to himself. She was so beautiful and so nice, and so far fairly easy to talk to, it seemed.

"Thank you. But it's actually not until next month. Penelope just told me this was the only night she could get a reservation and that when my actual birthday happened she would buy me a cake," y/n laughed.

Spencer pursed his lips in confusion. When he booked his reservation on his doctor's orders, there looked to have been multiple available times from now until the end of the year. The only day that was sold out was Thanksgiving weekend.

"When did she give you the gift with the reservation in it?" He asked y/n, with a hint of scepticism in his voice.

"About 3 days ago I think it was," she answered. About 3 days ago is when Spencer called up Penelope to rant to her about being forced to go to this spa. Was it possible Pen had given Y/n the gift as an excuse to try and set them up? Back at the party he had gotten the vibe when she introduced them that she wanted them to become friends. But Spencer had never gotten her number or email, and figured it just wasn't meant to be. Although how could it be, when he actively avoided her most of that night.

"What a coincidence that we're both here on the same night," Spencer told her.

"I know, right? I wasn't completely sure that you were you when I saw you sitting over here. But you're a hard one to forget, Dr. Reid," y/n said. Was that a blush he saw forming on her cheeks, or was she just getting too warm from the water.

"You can just call me Spencer. I really don't make anyone use doctor unless we're at work," he chuckled.

"Will do, Spencer. I hope you don't mind that I came over to sit with you. I can leave if you want the relaxation of being alone." She started to slide away from her seat slowly, giving him the opportunity to tell her she didn't need to leave. Which is exactly what he did.

"I don't mind. It's kind of nice to have company. I didn't realize how many people went to the spa with their partners," he told her.

"Well, perfect. We can experience this spa together then. So how come you didn't come here with your partner?" Y/n asked slyly. Spencer could feel his face heat up with the attention turned to himself.

"No partner. I actually had to come here by doctor's orders. I got shot in the leg last month, and as the last part of recovery my doctor wanted me to relax more and figured what better way to force me to relax than to send me to the spa.”

“Oh my gosh. I’m tempted to ask if you’re okay, but it seems like you are, since you’re sitting here. I had no idea your job could lead to such violence,” Y/n exclaimed.

“Every day is something different. They usually keep me off the field working from the office or police stations, but even then you never know what could happen,” Spencer explained.

“Wow. Okay, sorry. This is supposed to be relaxing and here I am bringing up work talk. What do you say we take a plunge into the cold?” Y/n asked with a grin.

This was probably the experience at the spa he was least likely to enjoy, but he followed her out of the water and next door to the cold pool. It was completely empty and Spencer was not surprised. Y/n grabbed his hand, sending a shock through his body, as they stood at the top of the stairs to the pool.

“It’s pretty likely that one of us is going to wimp out once our feet hit the water. So if need be, we have to drag the other person in, okay?” She said as she looked up at him. His voice got caught in his throat as he looked down at her and all he could do was nod in agreement.

With a deep breath in, together they stepped onto the first step. It was so cold Spencer felt like his toes would fall off in a second. However he didn’t even get a second thought to think about stepping back out before y/n fell forward into the water, pulling him with her. He had to grab onto her hips for stability so he didn’t end up falling on top of her in the 3 feet of water.

“It’s so cold,” Y/n gasped out.

It might have been 15 seconds, it might have been 5 minutes, but Spencer felt lost in time as he held Y/n in his arms in the freezing cold water. He didn’t even feel that cold in the places where Y/n’s skin touched his. Slowly, as if held down by some invisible force, he removed his hands from her hips and grabbed her hand this time to help her out of the water.

Feeling a new burst of energy from the cold shock, Spencer helped Y/n into her robe before putting on his, then wordlessly grabbed her hand and led her to one of the saunas. Inside, they were met with a blast of heat as Spencer guided Y/n to the back bench. Every seat in the sauna faced a wall made of glass that overlooked a small lake with a fountain cascading in the middle. As he relaxed into his seat, Y/n decided to lay out on the bench beside him and use his thigh as a head rest.

Neither of them said a word as they gazed out the window, watching the birds fly by and the ducks swim in the lake.

Spencer thought back to the night of Penelope’s party. After he had pushed himself to the wall to avoid interacting with people, he did end up watching from afar as Y/n made her way around talking to all the guests. He might have initially felt intimidated, but he was also fascinated with her. He’d seen a lot of different people with his job, and he’d seen people with colourfully dyed hair before as well, but something about her red curls just drew in his eyes and he couldn’t take them back.

She was beautiful, enchanting even, and he wanted to get her phone number. But then he had thought back to their last case. Where they had been gone for 16 days in a row. He had watched JJ as she video called Will and her kids any chance they got. Watched Hotch take numerous phone calls from his son. Even Morgan escaped for private chats with Savannah. He wasn’t sure if that was something he would be able to handle. So eventually he said goodnight to Penelope, left the party, and left any thoughts he had about Y/n behind as well.

Now that Penelope had schemingly gotten her back into his life, he was determined to make sure he got her number before leaving again.

Spencer and Y/n enjoyed the spa amenities for another couple hours, cycling through the recommended steps while chatting quietly or relaxing in silence. Despite not doing much, they started to feel tired from the heated pools and saunas before eventually agreeing to meet outside in the parking lot after they got changed so they could say a proper goodbye.

Spencer rushed through changing, not wanting to take too long in case Y/n decided she didn’t want to stay, and made it outside in record time. He stood off to the side at the parking lot entrance, waiting for her with his heart racing. It took her a little bit longer, but eventually he saw her walking down the path.

Her hair was down now, damp and a little frizzy from her curls trying to poke through. Wearing a simple black zip up sweater and black leggings, she looked cozy but also like she was about to rob a bank. She smiled at him when she reached his spot, taking his hand in hers to lead him to where she parked. The lot had almost emptied, leaving mostly staff vehicles and the last few remaining spa guests wanting to get every minute out of their visit as they could. Even with the empty lot, Y/n led Spencer to her car, a little black Honda, parked alone in the corner lit up only by the bright moon in the sky.

“Thanks for letting me hang out with you tonight, Spencer,” Y/n told him when they stopped beside her car. She didn’t move to unlock it, opting instead to stand there with her hand still clasped in his.

“Of course. It was really lovely to see you again, Y/n,” said Spencer. Okay, he thought to himself, now is the time to do it. Bite the bullet and ask for her number. “Would you, maybe, be willing to exchange numbers and we can plan to go out for coffee some time soon?”

Y/n broke into a smile. “I would love that,” she said before reciting her number. She knew he would remember it, if Penelope’s constant chatter about how amazing Spencer’s memory is was to be true.

“Awesome. So, I guess I’ll talk to you later?” Spencer moved to head back to his own vehicle but was stopped by a hand placed on the centre of his chest.

“Yeah. Or,” said Y/n, “Maybe we could do this?”

Before he could ask what ‘this’ was, she used the hand on his chest to push him back against the door of her car. Then she leaned in, rising up onto her toes to try and match his height, and placed her lips on his. It was quick, but enough to leave Spencer breathless, before she pulled away the slightest bit to look into his eyes.

“Is this okay?” she asked, and when he mumbled out a yes, nodding his head, she wasted no time going back in.

Their lips crashed together in an instant, almost too eager to finally be getting what they’ve both been craving all night. Y/n removed her hand from his chest to bring both of them into his hair, feeling the damp curls and giving them a little tug. Spencer brought his arms around her waist tightly, bringing her in closer to help relieve the strain of standing on her toes.

He couldn’t believe this was happening, and in a parking lot. But he wouldn’t change a thing. Y/n’s hands made their way down to the back of his neck, before she brought them to his jaw. He let out a groan when she pulled on his bottom lip with her teeth, before their tongues collided with one another.

Spencer brought his hands down even further, to grip the soft area at the back of her thigh just underneath her butt. He used his new grip to pull her up higher, spinning them around so that it was her back pressed against the car this time. She wrapped her legs around him to hold on as Spencer moved one of his hands up to her face, running his fingers along her jaw before finally pushing her hair back away from her neck. He broke away from her mouth to trail kisses along her neck, stopping to suck or nip at areas that drew a soft moan from her lips. He made his way down to her chest, where she had left part of the sweater unzipped.

When he pulled back on the sweater he stopped with a groan, breathing deeply as he held her closer and grew tighter in his pants. Where he was expecting to see some sort of lace bra, instead he was met with nothing. She wasn’t wearing anything under the sweater. Hungrily, he opened her sweater more and he attached himself to the soft swell of her breast. Kissing, sucking, and gently biting.

Without even realizing it, they started to move against each other. Spencer rolled his hips against hers, seeking that friction but focusing his attention on the skin between his lips.

“Oh, fuck.” Y/n threw her head back in a moan as Spencer finally attached his mouth to the hard nub that was waiting for attention. He swirled his tongue around as he sucked on the sensitive area. “That feels so good.” she groaned. She brought her hands up to tangle them in his hair and hold him in place, only letting him move when he wanted to show her other side some love as well.

It was difficult to move much against the car, but Spencer was hitting her in all the right places. Y/n could feel a familiar welcomed pressure building in her core and she gripped her legs tighter around him.

“Spencer,” y/n breathed out. “I’m close.”

He lifted his head enough to look at her. Her head back and eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. “Yeah?” he asked and she nodded her head while trying to move her hips faster against his.

Spencer ground into her with a new purpose now. Paying more attention to the moves from his hips, he went back to sucking on her breast. This time he brought his hand to palm the other one. Squeezing and feeling the fullness of it in his hand. He rolled and pinched her nipple between his fingers at the same time as he gently grazed his teeth over the other one. It was enough to send Y/n over the edge, with Spencer right behind her.

Spencer’s thrusts grew short until eventually they stopped as they came down from their high. He brought her in for another kiss, lazily moving his lips against hers while they got their breathing under control. Finally, Y/n unwrapped her legs from around him and he let her go.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe we just did that,” she said with a suddenly shy smile and glanced up at him. He looked down at her like he was seeing an angel.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. He gripped the edges of her sweater and zipped it up tight to her neck. “What do you say we skip the coffee and go right back to my place?”

“I like the way you think. Lead the way.”

Click here for chapter 2! Available on AO3 only because it's basically smut and I was too nervous to post it on Tumblr lol

Thank you for reading, liking, or rebloging! <3

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