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littlexdeaths · 20 hours

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scotty doesn’t know - e.m. ii.

eddie munson x fem reader

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: all characters are 18+, some angst, no use of y/n, cheating, protective eddie, shitty boyfriend behavior, unwanted touches/advances, underage drinking/partying, grinding, fingering, light praise kink, biting, unprotected piv sex, cream pie

series masterlist

based on scotty doesn’t know by lustra

a/n: god i feel like this took me forever, so apologies for that. but i just need to thank both @undead-supernova and @xxbimbobunnyxx for helping me so much with getting this fic put back together. i love you both so so much. 🥹💕

word count: 8.3k

Out of all the places you wanted to be on a Friday night, Jason Carver’s house wasn’t one of them.

The party was in full swing, music blasting from the speakers in the living room. Red solo cups and beer cans littered every available surface, as your classmates drank without a care in the world. Between the loud, synthy pop music and the constant chattering, you felt incredibly overwhelmed.

Parties were never really your scene.

You wanted nothing more than to go home and put on a film for the night. But dating a popular basketball player brought you out of your comfort zone more often than not. While that could be seen as a good thing, it was the opposite in this case. You never got to do things that you wanted, the plans always revolving around Scott.

However, there was one good thing about the party tonight. Or rather— someone.

Eddie Munson.

He’d kept his distance of course, so as not to raise any alarm bells with anyone. Most likely using the excuse of a good sale to be there in the first place. If anyone bothered to ask him. He rested his shoulder against the living room wall, a bag of freshly rolled joints clutched in his hand.

Eddie had surrounded himself with Robin and Steve the entire night, looking like he wanted to be there even less than you did. You can’t help but steal glances at each other from across the room.

Eddie looks good—he always does. His long curls are tied back in a low bun, sporting his signature ripped jeans and a Metallica shirt that hugs his broad shoulders nicely. You’ve wanted nothing more than to jump his bones the moment you got a chance to be alone.

The idea of sneaking off with him to one of the many guest rooms became more tempting as the party raged on.

You’ve secluded yourself on the sofa in the living room, adjacent to the makeshift dance floor. Thankful that most people are having too much fun to notice you there. You’ve been slowly sipping on a now watered down mixed drink, finding yourself feeling less and less in the party mood. However, your boyfriend seems to have other plans.

Scott is plastered. Irritatingly so.

You spent most of the night hiding from him, knowing how handsy he liked to get when he was drunk.

And as much as you’ve tried to pretend that everything was fine with Scott, your ability to fake it has become much harder. Especially knowing what you could be having instead.

So for the past week you’d avoided being alone with the basketball star. Ever since that fateful phone call the weekend prior. While you had still gone to the party that night, Scott eventually noticed something was up with you. Mostly due to the fact that you hadn’t let him touch you in over a week.

That was the driving force behind his drinking rampage tonight. The male had done 3 keg stands (that you’d witnessed) since he’d been here, on top however many beers he’d consumed. You’re exactly sure, but it’s the worst you’ve ever seen him.

Part of you does feel guilty, but a bigger part of you is starting to care less and less.

Ironically, Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money starts playing the moment he finds you again. But going anywhere with him is by far the last thing you wanted to do. The male slurs along to the track as he plops down next to you, nearly spilling his entire drink in your lap.

You can’t hide the grimace on your face as he leans into you, his breath reeking of stale beer. You grab the cup out of his hand before it spills everywhere. Huffing in annoyance as you set it down on the side table.

You really aren’t in the mood to play babysitter.

Scott’s hands, now empty, immediately grab at your hips to pull you in closer. His lips easily find your neck, the feeling of his hot breath making your skin crawl. You gently shove him off, but he leans back into your space immediately.

Normally you’d let him wear himself out, but you really don’t feel like it tonight.

“Scott, come on stop,” you sigh, no longer able to hide the irritation in your voice.

But your boyfriend is clearly not listening, continuing to press sloppy kisses along the exposed skin of your collarbone. A muffled moan leaves him as he guides your hand onto his lap.

You’re no longer able to conceal the alarmed expression that appears on your face as you tug your hand away. “I mean it, Scott.” He just groans in annoyance, feeling his fingers hook into the loop of your jeans.

“You’re too drunk, I said knock it off,” your voice drips with malice, despite how panicked you feel.

The male would always listen if you ever told him off, but his current state of intoxication clearly overtakes any rational thought.

“Oh come on, babe. We haven’t fucked in over a week, I have needs,” he slurs.

Before you have the chance to respond, the weight of his body disappears. You quickly glance up, your eyes widening in shock. Eddie has pulled your boyfriend up by the collar of his polo shirt, and suddenly it’s like the air is sucked out of the room.

Scott is fuming, a slew of curses leaves his mouth as he attempts to shove him off. Eddie is stone faced as he releases him abruptly, causing Scott to stumble backwards. He recovers quicker than you expected, raising his fist to aim a punch at the metalhead. But Eddie’s reflexes are much faster, catching the closed fist and knocking it away.

Scott was good in a fight, but he’s too inebriated to do much damage at this point.

“She said to knock it off, Scotty. I know you’re stupid but are you deaf too?”

You quickly get up and squeeze yourself between the two males, a clear pissing contest about to ensue if you don’t intervene. Your back is pressed against your boyfriend's chest, as your eyes plead with your lover to calm down.

“She’s my girlfriend Munson, fuck off,” he sneers.

The music has suddenly been turned down to a more tolerable volume, the focus of the party now shifting onto you— much to your dismay.

You can feel Scott’s hot breath against your neck, as his hands wrap around your middle to pull you further against his chest. Eddie is furious, his jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscles straining underneath his pale skin.

If you weren’t in this current predicament, you might have found it sexy. But you’re far too anxious to focus on anything else right now.

“Doesn’t matter, she doesn’t want you to fucking touch her,” Eddie’s voice continues to raise, until he’s almost yelling over your head. “No means no, dickhead!”

You can see Jason beginning to push through the crowd, Steve hot on his heels. The last thing you wanted was for this whole situation to escalate further. But judging by the look on Jason's face, you don’t know if you can stop it.

The crowd is clearly itching for a fight to break out, the whole atmosphere of the party shifting.

“Hey, freak! Who even invited you here?”

Eddie doesn’t even flinch at Jason’s insult.

“I did, Carver,” Steve answers, inserting himself in the already strained situation.

The tension between the four males is so thick, it makes you wish the ground would open and swallow you whole. Steve glances down at you for a moment before continuing, “But it seems to me like you need to get McGuire here in line. She’s clearly uncomfortable.”

You feel multiple pairs of eyes flick back to you, your shoulders slouching in an attempt to make yourself appear smaller. You catch Jason’s gaze, knowing he can clearly see the distress flitting over your features. The blonde sighs deeply, resting a hand on Scott’s shoulder.

“Scott, come on, just let it go,” he says, beginning to tug the male away from you. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

Before your boyfriend can even begin to protest, Jason and a newly joined Patrick lead him away. While you’re quite shocked that he was willing to break this up, part of you is thankful. Normally, the pair would egg each other on to keep a fight going. But as big of a prick Jason Carver is, he knew Steve was right.

You can feel the tears welling in the corners of your eyes, the party seeming to return to normal. While Steve has also disappeared into the crowd, Eddie hasn’t moved an inch. His eyes follow the group of jocks as they filed out of the room, casually flipping them the bird.

But his focus quickly returns to you. You can see in his eyes how he so desperately wants to envelop you in his arms and kiss your tears away.

But he knows he can’t. Not here.

Those protective urges are getting harder and harder for him to fight.

He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can say anything else you’re rushing past him. Pushing through the sea of drunken teens and to the front door. Your fight or flight instincts are finally kicking in, and you know you have to leave.

Anywhere is better than here.

You’d hitched a ride to the party with Chrissy, but you’re not about to try and find her now. You need to be alone.

You run for almost three blocks before you have to stop, resting your hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath. You take a minute to let your heart rate slow to a more steady rhythm before you start walking in the direction of your house.

While Hawkins is a relatively small town, your house is still a couple miles from the party. Walking the entire way isn’t the most ideal plan, but you didn’t give yourself much of a choice. And there’s no way you were going back there now.

You can only imagine the rumors that will be floating around the school come Monday. As much as you try to put on a brave face, you care too much about what your peers thought of you. You can already hear the kind of insults that would be thrown your way.

Skank, prude, lying whore.

The possibilities of cruel words were endless. You let out a small hiccup as you continue down the dimly lit street, finally allowing the tears to roll freely down your cheeks. You don’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry too.

How did you even get to this point?

Two months ago you couldn’t have foreseen yourself in this position. Falling for another guy, whilst simultaneously falling out of love with another. If you ever loved Scott to begin with. You’re not entirely convinced of that fact.

It felt like the easiest option, being with someone like Scott McGuire. He’s well-liked, a person your parents approve of. But you weren’t really happy, just going through the motions instead of chasing what you really want.

Perhaps that was what Eddie had really witnessed that night he had stumbled across you and Scott. Someone who was desperately searching for a way out. And he’d given it to you in ways you never expected.

Eddie was kind, attentive— cared about your feelings and desires.

What started off as just sex quickly snowballed into something much deeper. You had never really given much thought to your own needs. Maybe that was why his offer was too good to pass up, it let you indulge in uncharted territory.

You’d been labeled as a good girl your entire life. You never rebelled and always do exactly as you’re told. To the extent that you never felt an ounce of control over the trajectory of your own relationship. Or many other facets within your life.

It was whatever Scott or your parents thought was best for you. They’ve never taken into consideration what you had actually wanted.

But being with Eddie was like a breath of fresh air. It filled your lungs, greedily inhaling everything he has to offer. After struggling beneath the current for so long, there was no way you would let it pull you back under.

A cool breeze suddenly whips across your face, stinging your wet cheeks. You wrap your arms tighter around yourself to stop a shiver. Thankfully, you had forgone the usual skirts or dresses you adored, in favor of a sweater and jeans. Grateful for the extra layers to combat against the sudden drop in temperature.

You keep your head down as you continue to walk further down the quiet street. Only the sounds of your sneakers padding against the concrete and your soft sniffles fill the night air. It’s almost peaceful.

You make it another block before that tranquility is interrupted. You hear the loud rumble of an engine as a vehicle approaches you from behind. While not many people would be out past midnight in this sleepy town, you don’t think anything of it. You figured they would continue driving down the empty street.

That is until that same vehicle begins to idle next to you.

You glance out of your peripheral and curse softly. You would recognize that van anywhere, having found yourself in the back of it more times than you could count.

The window is cranked down as you turn away, beginning to walk a little faster. But the van keeps pace with you regardless. Eddie calls your name, but you keep your eyes trained on the ground. Tears are steadily streaming down your cheeks now, smearing your mascara.

While the brunette has seen you cry before— it was under very different circumstances. This feels different, like he’s seeing you naked for the first time all over again. Only this time you don’t feel ready for it.

You feel vulnerable and exposed.

You hate it.

Eddie proceeds to plead your name, as you continue to ignore him. He let the upper half of his torso practically hang out of the driver’s side window. The theatrical nature of it is almost enough to make you crack a smile. But you know he wasn’t going to give up until you at least tried to talk to him. With how he had stood up for you, he at least deserves that.

Having made up your mind, you suddenly stop in your tracks. The van squeaks to a halt beside you, the male flinging the driver’s side door open. You see his scuffed Reebox’s first, letting your eyes linger there for a moment. But you immediately squeeze them shut as his fingers softly grasp your chin, tilting it up.

“Sweetheart, look at me, please.” His tone is gentle, but still laced with concern. “It’s just you and me, you’re safe.” The sincerity behind those words has your heart skipping a beat.

You let out a shaky breath as your eyes begin to flutter open. His face is blurred from the tears flooding your lash line. You slowly blink them away until he finally comes into focus.

“There she is…” he declares, the indent in his cheek deepening as he smiles.

The male cups your face between his palms, letting their warmth seep into your cheeks. His thumbs swipe away any lingering tears as he presses a kiss to your temple. Eddie envelops you in his arms, letting you bury your face into his chest. You breathe in the familiar scent of his cologne, letting him hold you like that for a while.

The glow of the street lights cascades down on both of you. The night air only seems to grow colder the longer you both stand there. A shiver runs through you despite the heat radiating from his chest, something he doesn’t miss.

“Alright, time to go, doll,” he mumbles softly, “Can I drive you home?”

You are silent for a moment, mulling over your options in your head. “No,” you finally say, untangling yourself from him.

He looks a little hurt as you turn to walk towards his van, that hurt morphing into confusion as you yank open the passenger door.

“I don’t want to go home,” you explain, seeming to snap him out of his frozen stature. Eddie quickly climbs back into the van, the door barely slamming shut behind him before he pulls back onto the road.

He keeps one hand on the steering wheel, the other tangled with yours on the seat. When you left the party, you had fully intended to go home alone.

But being tangled up with him sounds like a much better option.

You had never been to Eddie’s trailer.

Whether that was intentional or not, you’re not sure. But it’s the one place that he has never taken you to.

He seems nervous as he leads you through the living room. Your eyes wander curiously around the room, taking in the large collection of coffee mugs and hats that decorate the walls. Eddie sheepishly begins picking up some discarded food wrappers, junk mail— all in an effort to tidy up a little.

“Sorry about…” He pauses, hands full as he motions around the room. “All of this." You refrain from rolling your eyes. Tossing some items into the trash, he jokes, “Goddamn maid left us high and dry last week.”

“Let me guess…she ran off with some wannabe rockstar?” You smile, watching as he leans against the kitchen counter with a matching grin.

“Something like that.”

Despite what Eddie has implied about his humble abode, you liked it the moment you crossed the threshold. It has character, a clear representation of the two men who live there. But it also feels warm and incredibly inviting, something your own home hasn’t felt like in quite a long time.

His uncle already left for the night shift, which means the two of you have the place to yourselves. Eddie shows you to the bathroom, giving you a moment alone to collect yourself. But mostly to clean up the mess your mascara had made on your cheeks.

You emerge from the bathroom a few minutes later, Eddie nowhere in sight. He didn’t tell you which room was his, but it doesn’t take you long to figure it out. The door at the end of the hall was left slightly ajar, golden light spilling out onto the shag carpet. But it’s the strum of a guitar that ends up being your guide.

You push open the door to his bedroom, unable to help the small smile that graces your features as you take it all in. The room is a little messy and cluttered— something you expected.

You let your eyes roam over the many posters splayed across the walls, Metallica, Slayer… and one handmade one. Corroded Coffin. You knew Eddie was in a band—it was the one of the things apart from DnD that he seemed extremely passionate about.

Music.

Eddie’s quiet as he sits on the edge of his unmade bed, an acoustic guitar perched on his lap. This machine slays dragons, is painted in white on the side of the instrument. You find yourself suddenly mesmerized, watching as his fingers slowly brush over the strings.

He finally notices how you’ve planted yourself in the doorway, glancing up at you from underneath his lashes.

“Make yourself at home, sweetheart,” he smiles, gesturing around him. “What’s mine is yours.”

He focuses his attention back on the instrument in his lap, testing out a few chords as you shut the door behind you. You step further into the room, letting your fingers trail along the top of his desk.

Being alone with him like this suddenly feels more intimate than any other time before. It’s like he’s letting you peek inside his mind, showing pieces of himself that not many others get to see. Only those that he trusts. And you can’t deny how it warms your insides.

You’re a little too busy exploring the rest of his room that you don’t notice when his eyes have drifted back to you. The brunette gazes at you fondly when you spot a pair of handcuffs dangling next to his mirror. His soft chuckle fills the room as you reach out to run your fingers over the cool metal.

“We can definitely put those to use, doll.” Those words have you squirming, warmth spreading through your limbs. You shy away as you take a seat in the chair next to his desk. “If you want.”

Eddie grins at your flustered expression, glancing back down at his guitar. He’s playing freely now, the chords unfamiliar to you. But they’re beautiful nonetheless.

“You’re really good at… uh,” you trail off softly, gesturing to the instrument.

You notice how the tips of his ears flush pink from your admission, although he acts unfazed by your compliment.

“What, fingering?” he teases, purposefully pressing his fingers down onto the guitar strings in a dramatic manner which makes you giggle.

The song he was playing quickly morphs into something else, something quite familiar. But you can’t quite put your finger on it. You lean forward to rest your chin in your palm.

The moment he begins to hum the lyrics is the moment when the song becomes abundantly clear.

I, I will be king… and you, you will be queen.

“Heroes,” you murmur, the word almost becoming lodged in your throat.

You had mentioned to Eddie in passing a few weeks ago that it’s your favorite Bowie song.

You never expected him to do anything with that information, or even remember it. But he kept finding ways to surprise you. This small act alone proves that he truly cares about you, that he listens to you. It’s overwhelming in the best way possible.

Your body suddenly feels too warm under the thick layers of clothing. Rising to your feet, you grip the hem of your sweater and pull it over your head. You let the soft material fall to the floor, joining a heap of his own clothing. Standing before him in only your bra and jeans.

Eddie seems to fumble over the next few notes as he takes in your newly exposed skin, averting his gaze as he clears his throat. Now it’s your turn to make him flustered.

But he can’t help but glance at you out of the corner of his eye, as you begin unbuttoning your jeans. You shimmy the denim down your legs, kicking them off to the side. You felt emboldened as you strolled over to the brunette’s dresser. His eyes boring into your back as you rummage through his drawers.

You’re in search of a particular item, a smile stretching across your face once you locate it amongst the various band tees. Reaching behind your back you unclip your bra, you let the straps slide off of your shoulders. The item quickly joins the rest of your discarded clothes on his floor.

You don’t hear how his breath hitches in his throat over the strum of his guitar.

You pull Eddie’s faded hellfire shirt from the drawer and slip it over your head. The soft fabric glides over your skin, the hem falling just past the curve of your ass. It smells like an intoxicating mixture of his cologne and laundry detergent.

You hum softly as you breathe it in, turning to face him again. His dark eyes are blown wide, the guitar now almost forgotten in his hands. Just the sight of you in his clothes is making him feel things he’d be too afraid to admit out loud.

You saunter towards him, carefully grasping the neck of the guitar and leaning it against his dresser. He seems dumbfounded as you climb into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck. You tilt your head down towards his ear, lips grazing over it. Enjoying the way he almost shudders beneath you.

“I just want to thank you properly,” you whisper, nipping at his lobe.

Your lips continue to trail across his jaw until you reach his mouth, unable to hold back any longer as you press your lips to his. The feeling of your mouth molding against his own seems to snap Eddie out of whatever trance he was in. His large hands easily find the curve of your waist, gripping the fabric of the shirt in his fists.

Eddie kisses you slowly but deeply, trying to savor the taste of your mouth on his. Your fingers slip the elastic band out of his hair, letting his curls cascade wildly over his shoulders. But the longer he kisses you, the worse the ache between your thighs becomes.

In desperate need of some friction, you grind your hips down against his crotch. Whining as you feel his hardened cock through his jeans. He’d been struggling with it ever since you took that first piece of clothing off. Initially, he was going to ignore it, but then you climbed right into his lap and he lost all sense of logic.

But as much as he wants this to continue, he knows you’re not in the right kind of headspace for more. He groans into your mouth as you continue to rub yourself against him, but his firm grip on your hips stops any further movement. Your eyes flutter open, confusion filling them.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” he pants, one of his hands lifted to carefully cup your cheek. “We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

The look he’s giving you has your heart stuttering, but his words are throwing you for a loop. The whole basis of this… arrangement was sex. The fine line between a casual hookup and a relationship have been blurred for a while. But tonight has made it crystal clear that this has evolved into something much more than that.

Even if neither of you wanted to admit it.

“Do you not want…” you trail off, unable to hide the sliver of hurt in your tone.

He shakes his head, leaning his forehead against yours with a strained sigh.

“Trust me, doll. I definitely want to.” He chuckles, shifting his hips beneath you. “But tonight was… fuck, it was intense. And you can't expect me to believe you're okay after all that. I just want you to have a clear head, is all.”

You mull over his words for a moment as the weight of what happened earlier crashes back over you. And with it, squashing any urge to finish what you had just started.

"I'm not that asshole,” he continues, unable to make out your puzzled expression. “You don't have to fuck me just to make me happy. I'm happy just being with you, like this."

You’re willing yourself not to cry again as he gently presses a tender kiss to your forehead. Eddie basks in the scent of your strawberry shampoo, feeling you start to relax against his chest.

“Now, I don’t know about you.” He yawns, nuzzling your nose with his. “But I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

You laugh quietly, nodding as you climb off his lap. Draping your body over the bed, keeping your eyes focused on him. The male stands to strip down to his boxers, in such a hurry to get back to you that he almost trips over his jeans.

“Down, boy, I’m not going anywhere.” You giggle as he slips under the covers with you.

A sheepish grin tugs at his lips as he clicks off the bedside lamp, bathing the room in darkness. You reach for him just as he does for you, your hands bumping together clumsily.

“Scoot closer.” You can almost hear the pout in his voice, eagerly moving forward until his bare chest is pressed against your clothed one.

“Much better,” he hums.

Eddie slots one of his legs between yours, snaking his arms around your waist. There’s no part of you that isn’t completely entangled in him. You can feel his clothed erection pressing into your hip, and that sense of guilt washes over you again.

Knowing you’d left not one, but two guys pent up tonight.

“I’m really sorry for everything tonight,” you whisper into the darkness, feeling his arms tighten around you.

“Hey, don’t do that. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.”

You nod, but those feelings welling up inside you don’t dissipate. Not completely.

Eddie begins to rub soothing circles over your hip, continuing up your side. Your body tenses as you try to stifle a laugh. The male doesn’t realize that his touch isn’t exactly… soothing. But the further his hand creeps up your side the more you start to squirm and a small gasp leaves your lips.

That sound alone is enough to tip him off, now well aware of what he’s done. You can vaguely make out his mischievous grin in the dark, calculating his next move. Before you have time to react both of his hands are trailing up your sides, tickling you.

“Eddie!” You squeal as your body thrashes in his embrace, rolling you underneath him in the process.

The chain of his necklace dangles in your face, his fingers unrelenting as he pulls giggle after giggle out of you. This is a sound he’d vowed to hear as often as he could, his own laugh mingling with yours.

“S’not f-fair!” you squeak out between fits of laughter before he finally lets up so you can breathe. You’re panting a little, your noses brush against each other.

“I like making you laugh,” he admits, almost shyly. “It’s cute.”

You reach out for his face in the darkness, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his jaw. You can feel the warmth that’s radiating against your lips, allowing your lips to linger there for a moment.

Coming to the realization that you’d just made Eddie Munson blush brings a wide smile to your face.

“I just want to say thank you for earlier… and for letting me stay the night. I really appreciate it.”

Eddie settles back down next to you on the mattress, your palms resting against his chest. His lips search for yours in the darkness, leaving kisses all over your face in his fumbling attempt to find your lips. Another round of giggles escapes you from the tender gesture.

His ability to make you feel so safe and secure is still so new to you. You don’t want this feeling to end— you never want any of this to end. However, you know this isn’t fair. Eddie doesn’t deserve to be someone’s secret.

But as time passed and this relationship continued to progress, the more you began to realize that you didn’t want to keep him a secret anymore.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

You snuggle yourself further against him, limps tangling together. With your ear pressed to his chest, you can hear the steady beat of his heart. The way his breathing starts to slow and become more even.

“Goodnight, Eds,” you whisper, stifling another laugh as a soft snore answers you.

You allow your eyes to slip shut, exhaustion finally overtaking you as his heartbeat continues to lull you to sleep.

Sunlight streaming through the thin curtains is what awoke you that next morning.

A sigh falls from your lips as you attempt to stretch out your overly stiff limbs. Which is when you feel a stirring beneath you. Your eyes fly open as the events of last night trickle back in.

The party, Scott being a grade A asshole, Eddie taking care of you...

If your body wasn’t currently draped over him, you might have convinced yourself it was all a dream. That Eddie dropped you off at home, and you were snuggled beneath your floral bedspread. But to your relief, that clearly isn’t the case.

Your body stills in an attempt not to stir the sleeping metalhead beneath you. At some point during the night you must have gotten yourselves into this position. Laying on his chest, with his arms wrapped securely around your middle. But you don’t mind in the slightest.

In fact, you feel more rested than you have in quite some time. You just wish you could stay like this forever, wrapped up in him and only him. Lifting your head, you rest your chin on your hand and begin to study his sleeping features.

He looks completely at ease.

Faint freckles are scattered across his nose and cheeks, his long lashes fanning over them. His dark curls are wild from sleep, fanned out over his flannel pillowcase. Pouted lips slightly chapped, but kissable all the same. He really is beautiful.

You continue to watch him sleep for a while longer, the morning sun cascading over the tops of his cheekbones. But his breath remains even, small snores slipping out every so often. As you gaze at him, you can’t help but silently scold yourself.

You’re falling for Eddie Munson more and more each day, and you know you can’t keep this up.

You have to end things with Scott.

And as much as you want to stay snuggled up with Eddie, your body has other needs. You don’t exactly know how you’re going to get up without disturbing him, but your bladder is in desperate need of relief.

You sigh as you begin to shimmy further down his body, your legs falling on either side of his hips. A squeak of surprise leaves you as you feel his hard on pressing against your inner thigh through his boxer shorts. It shouldn’t have been that big of a shock to you—morning wood is normal, right?

But you didn’t have much experience with sleepovers of this nature. Despite dating Scott for well over a year, you’ve never spent the night with him like this. So it’s something quite new to you. While you silently ponder over this, Eddie begins to stir again.

A soft moan tumbles past his lips as you accidentally press yourself harder against his boner in an attempt to swing your leg back over the other side of his hip.

“Mm… where do you think you’re going, doll?” His voice is thick with sleep, an octave lower than normal. The gravelly nature of it makes heat shoot between your legs.

You curse softly as you glance up at him, those chocolate hues gazing back at you. Eddie’s fingers splayed across the tops of your thighs, sliding up to encircle your hips. You feel your body flush, his eyes darkening as he looks you over— straddling him, wearing nothing but his shirt.

When he lifts his hips to grind you against him, you can’t stop the whimper that escapes.

“Eds, hold on. I have to pee,” you mumble, feeling embarrassed as his hips still beneath you.

He just lets out a deep laugh as his hands release your hips. You climb over him, quick to scramble off the bed.

“Alright, I guess I’ll allow it,” he teases, the tips of fingers brushing against yours. “Just hurry back, sweetheart.”

Your heart warms at the sight of him, his brown eyes filling with adoration as they look up at you. Leaning over the bed, you press a small kiss to his mouth. A giggle leaves your own as he gives your ass a small pat before you book it to the bathroom.

You feel much better after finally relieving yourself, washing your hands as you glance into the mirror. Your eyes almost sparkle in the muted light, a dopey smile stretched across your face. Is this what it feels like to be in a healthy relationship?

You don’t dwell on it long, far too eager to return back to him. You slip out of the bathroom and tiptoe back to Eddie’s bedroom. Taking extra care to be quiet as you weren’t sure if Wayne has returned home from work yet. And frankly, you’d be mortified if you met him under these conditions—with you clad in only Eddie’s shirt and your panties.

What a great way to make a first impression.

You close his bedroom door behind you slowly, letting the lock click gently into place. You turn back around to face him and lean against the door. Eddie is in the same spot you had left him, only now he’s leaning halfway up on one elbow. That hunger hasn’t left his gaze as he beckons you over with his index finger.

Looking at his hands makes your thighs clench together, knowing all the wonderful things they were capable of. You take your bottom lip between your teeth as you approach him, stopping at the edge of the mattress. Eddie’s fingers ghost over the plush skin of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

They continue up until they reach the elastic of your panties. He gives you a look, silently asking for permission. You guide his fingers beneath the fabric, aiding him in sliding them down your legs. As you step out of the material, your eyes glance back up to meet his.

“Come here.”

It’s spoken softly, but the command in his voice makes your breath hitch.

You move on instinct, your desire fueling your actions as you straddle his hips. There’s a fluidity in your movements as you rest your hands on his chest. Your manicured nails gently trail over his stomach, watching the lust continue to swirl behind his irises.

While this wasn’t a position you’d dabbled in up to this point, the way he’s regarding you has your confidence flourishing. He wants you, and he wants you badly.

At this point you’d give him the moon and the stars if he asked.

Once you’re settled on top of him, you can feel how his cock strains against the fabric of his boxers. Testing the waters, you glide yourself along his shaft, his hands reaching up to encircle your waist. He simply rests them there, allowing you to take the lead.

The worn cotton of his briefs provides some much needed friction against your clit. You bite down on your lip in an attempt to keep a moan from slipping out. But the male isn’t having any of that. He reaches his hand up to remove your lower lip from between your teeth.

His calloused thumb brushes over your mouth, slipping the digit past your lips.

“No need to be shy, sweetheart. I wanna hear you.”

You nod your head, humming as your tongue swirls around his thumb. You eagerly suck it deeper into your mouth, which pulls a low groan from him. But Eddie can only take so much of your teasing, removing his thumb to grip back onto your hips. Your lower lip juts out in a small pout, which causes him to chuckle.

“Now none of that, or I’ll give you something to pout about,” he quips, giving your ass a warning smack.

The hint of a threat in his tone has you whimpering, guiding your hips harder along his shaft.

You grip the hem of his shirt in between your fingers, beginning to lift it over your hips but he stops you. A brow raising as you look down at him.

“Fuck, keep it on,” he says with a groan. “Wanna see you riding me in it.”

His confession has you feeling timid, letting your hands settle back at your sides. Eddie’s fingers begin to trail over the top of your thigh, before dipping between them. His digits glide between your slick folds, brushing over your bundle of nerves. It causes your breath to hitch, eagerly grinding your hips back against his fingertips.

“Eddie, please,” you breathe.

“Use your words, pretty girl,” he hums. “Tell me what you want.”

Impatience gnawed at you as you lifted your hips, your fingers dipping past the waistband of his boxers. You tug them down to release his cock from their confines, your actions surprising you both. As much as you loved when he touched you, your body was already craving more.

Wrapping your palm around the base of his shaft, he groans. His jaw slackens as he watches you guide the tip through your drenched folds. Nudging it against your clit once…twice…a third time.

Before you finally line him up with your entrance, guiding your hips down.

“Shit, hold on doll, need a condom.”

Eddie holds you in place with one hand, as the other reaches over into his night side table. He’s blindly searching for one of the foil packets when you blurt out, “I don’t want it. Need you to fuck me raw, Ed.”

Your words stop him in his tracks, eyes widening in almost disbelief. You suddenly feel nervous, praying you didn’t just ruin everything with your admission.

“Are you sure? I-I wouldn’t want to risk…” he trails off, licking his lips as he regards you with a somewhat guarded expression.

You nod, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, “I’m on the pill. I just… I want you to be the first one to do it, Eddie.”

His groan rumbles through his chest, the implication behind your words only makes him want you more. Scott never got to do this.

This is something that would be his, and his alone.

His hand cradles the back of your neck, guiding your face towards his. Crashes his lips against yours, the desperation behind them telling you his resounding answer. But you want to hear him say it. Nipping at his lower lip, you pull away to sit back up and rest your palms on his chest.

The male is panting beneath you, his flustered expression only causes your confidence to grow. A smirk adorns your features as Eddie lifts his hips upward in an attempt to grind them into yours, but you push back against his hip to stop the movement.

“Nuh uh, handsome,” you purr, your fingertips gliding through the hair just below his navel. “Tell me what you want. Use your words.”

Eddie’s brain nearly short circuits as you use his former words against him. A slew of curses tumbles from his lips as you grasp his cock in your hand, rubbing it through your folds but not yet breaching the entrance. Awaiting his response as you continue to tease him, feeling his fingers grasping onto your ass.

“Fuck, I wanna come inside you so bad, sweetheart,” he whines.

You hum in approval, leaning back down to press a sloppy kiss to his mouth. Eddie instantly reciprocates, his tongue working its way past your lips. You teasingly suck the muscle into your mouth before pulling away. A string of saliva connects you as you sit up fully. Eddie curses again, his hands gripping onto your ass even harder.

“Fuck— come on, please.”

Hearing Eddie Munson beg is what finally breaks your resolve, slowly sinking down onto his cock.

It didn’t matter how many times you’ve had him, he always made you feel so full. This time feels…different, though. It’s as though you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock caressing your inner walls, the sensation has you gasping. Your body stills once he’s fully sheathed inside you, letting your palms splay across his chest.

“That’s it, takin’ me so good, doll,” he grunts as his head falls back against the pillow. His praise has you beaming.

You stay like that for a moment until you become familiar with the feeling of him inside you again. Beginning to lift your hips slowly, his cock nearly slipping out of you completely. As you begin to lower yourself onto him again, his face contorts in pleasure—now hiding those beautiful irises from you.

“Eddie… baby. Look at me,” you coo.

The pet name slips past your lips almost too easily, enjoying the way it sounds on your tongue. Eddie’s eyes snap back open to meet yours. His pupils are blown wide, the black nearly swallowing the brown of his irises whole. The male peers up at you in a mixture of lust and awe as you continue to take him deeper.

If he could watch you ride him all day, he would.

However, your leisurely pace is starting to drive him insane. The brunette begins to buck his hips up into yours, swift but deep thrusts that take you by surprise. A moan gets caught in your throat as he rams into your sweet spot, eyes rolling back into your head. Witnessing your visceral reaction, he continues to repeat the action as your chest starts to heave.

“Christ, you look so pretty with my cock inside you, baby,” he moans, his fingers digging harder into your hips.

Any thoughts of remaining quiet are thrown out the window the moment he speaks. A loud moan rips itself from your throat, filling the silence of his bedroom. His praise has your walls tightening around his shaft, your head falling forward as you open your eyes. A smug look adorns his features, eyes falling to where your bodies connect.

He looks so good like this— underneath you, eyes wide and his cheeks beautifully flushed.

“You like that don’t you? My pretty girl…”

The sound that leaves you is borderline pornographic, nails digging into his shoulders as you ride him faster. You can’t disguise the way your body reacts to being called his, your arousal making a slippery mess between your bodies.

You reach for him, coaxing him up until your chests are pressed together. Lips find each other instantly, tangling your fingers in his already wild locks. One of his hands travels between you, rubbing at your swollen bud.

“Fuck— Eddie,” you cry out as he massages your clit faster, simultaneously bucking his hips up into you.

You meet each of his thrusts by slamming your hips back down, thighs burning with the effort. One more brutal thrust into your cervix has you seeing stars, your head burying itself into the crook of his neck. You bite down onto the flesh of his shoulder to muffle a loud cry.

Your thighs tremble as your body slumps forward—unable to continue.

But Eddie keeps going, chasing his own end as he guides you further along his cock. He isn’t able to hold off much longer, as the constant fluttering of your walls becomes his undoing. He spills inside you with a deep grunt as you cling onto his biceps.

The male soon collapses into you, his chest heaving as he captures your lips together. You sigh into his mouth as he holds you tightly against him, breathing the air back into your lungs. You stay like that for a moment, locked together in the most intimate way possible.

Eddie carefully ushers your hips upward, coaxing you back onto the mattress. You whimper softly, already missing the feeling of him inside you. His cum has begun to drip onto the bed sheets as he kneels before you, spreading your legs so he can admire the mess he’s made.

Eddie’s eyes are still wide with lust as he takes in the sight of you, dipping his fingers between your thighs to gather some of his cum on the digits. He slowly eases them back inside your entrance in an attempt to keep anything else from spilling out. You whine his name, reaching out for him as he gently removes his fingers from your center.

The male presses multiple kisses to your shaky thighs before he crawls his way back up your body. Just as he goes to wipe his fingers on his sheets you grab onto his wrist, slipping the digits past your lips.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he mumbles, feigning hurt when you playfully nibble on his fingers. He starts to pull away, ignoring your pout as he gets off up off the bed. You’re about to protest but he hushes you with a kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

Eddie quickly fixes his boxers before he slips out of his bedroom, returning moments later with a damp washcloth. He’s back between your legs, gently cleaning up the dried arousal on your thighs. He takes his time, making sure every inch of your skin is clean before he tosses the dirty rag in his overflowing laundry basket.

Eddie helps you into a sitting position as he cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your lower lip. He smiles fondly at you, dimple indenting his cheek as a familiar look flashes through his eyes. The one you had noticed the week prior when you were draped across his chest in your bedroom. A look he seems to give you almost every time you’re together now.

You still aren’t sure what exactly it means. All you do know is that you want to see more of it.

Eddie tries to hide it as he presses a kiss to your nose, chuckling as you scrunch it beneath his lips. “You hungry? I’m not the best cook, but I can definitely whip you up a nice omelet?”

You beam at him, nodding your head as he gets up to rummage through his dresser drawers. He eventually finds a pair of shorts for you to wear, handing you the garment as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. You glance down at the ground, attempting to look for your discarded panties, only to come up short.

“Eddie? Have you seen my panties?” You sigh, beginning to look through the clothes scattered across the floor. Hearing him chuckle you glance up, a small smirk stretching across his lips. It’s then that you notice the black lacy fabric clutched in his fist.

“These are mine now, sweetheart,” he winks, tucking them into his bedside table.

You feel a little flustered as you pull the shorts up over your legs, playfully swatting his chest as you stand. Eddie just laughs, pulling you into arms and kissing you again. He eagerly threads your fingers together, leading you out of the room.

However, once he begins to guide you through the trailer— there's only one thing on your mind.

Scotty has got to go.

sdk taglist: @xxbimbobunnyxx @munsonhoneybaby @mugloversonly @lemme-slytherin-that-dick @transparentenemypenguin @calumfmu @vamp-bunny @eddiesxangel @nailbatanddungeon @deathst9r @comeonatmebruh

#the freak writes 🫧#my series: scotty doesn’t know 🫧#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader

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shares-a-vest · 2 days

Text

Happy MET Gala Day. I wrote some tags on THIS post and instantly got brainworms. cw: In this ficlet, Eddie calls Steve a slut but it is said with affection.

"Steve!" Eddie screams over his shoulder into the next room. But his voice only echoes around him, bouncing off the pristine white walls of the hotel room ensuite that he thinks is as big as his uncle's old trailer, "The car is gonna be here any minute!"

Silence.

He smoothes his hands down his lapel one last time and smiles at his reflection before he turns on his heel and rushes into the hotel suite where he finds Steve right where he left him, in a make-up chair getting all dolled up by Chrissy with Robin by his side.

She is asleep in a bedazzled bathrobe and honestly, Eddie would prefer to join her. Not only is attending the MET Gala an expensive evening (Eddie loathes to think how much money Steve has spent in the lead-up to all this), but it all involves being gawked at and judged and repeatedly asked the same three questions by the press who are just going to make him come off like a real asshole anyway.

"Just getting glam done," Steve says, grimacing as Robin gives a grunting snore.

"Stop eating those flowers, Erica..." she mumbles, dipping her head and nuzzling into the plushy warmth of her collar.

Chrissy rolls her eyes and steps back to examine her handiwork.

Whatever that is, Eddie can't really tell. Steve looks just like his regular pretty self with maybe a spot of shimmering blush. He opens his eyes, fluttering his lashes and – well yeah, whatever Chrissy did makes his eyes pop more than usual.

But those eyes quickly grow dark, shadowed by a frown when Steve gives Eddie a once over.

"Is that your outfit?" he accuses.

Eddie nods and does a little twirl only to spin back around to the sight of Steve pursing his lips.

So much for pleasantly surprising each other with their outfits – the only thing that had Eddie giving this whole deal an ounce of his attention.

"Well it isn't on theme," he continues, shrugging with a nonchalance that would give Anna Wintour herself a run for her money.

"What are you talking about?" Eddie defends, "I'm wearing lace!"

He flaps his jacket to reveal a sheer black lace shirt before lifting his touser legs enough to show off his matching socks.

Steve pinches his nose.

"Eddie, that is a bare minimum!"

Eddie flails his hand in the direction of Steve's barely-there shirt, a sheer number that shows all of his chest hair.

"Excuse me for not dressing like a total slut."

He blushes as Steve stands up to reveal a similarly sheer pair of pants (if you could call them that). Underneath is nothing short of a goddamn codpiece that Eddie is certain won't cover his boyfriend's whole ass and –

Robin snorts again, causing Chrissy to giggle.

She nudges her partner and Robin startles awake, almost tipping back in her makeup chair and Eddie realises that 'doing glam' has taken so goddamn long, all because Buckley decided she needed the world's biggest feathery eyelashes.

"Boring!" she says, taking one bleary-eyed look (if she can see through those bird wings, that is) at Eddie's outfit.

She blows a raspberry for good measure.

Steve turns, chuckling and yep – that is at least half of his ass hanging out in some sort of lace-assless-chaps-codpiece situation that has no business being anywhere but on their marital bed – or a paid-for hotel equivalent.

Maybe they should just stay right here, Eddie thinks as he looks, his mouth agape as he ogles the sight before him.

"Calm down, Eddie," Chrissy warns with a wicked grin.

"Well, it's far too late now for us to do anything about it," Steve pouts, throwing on a floral-embroidered vest that at least covers a shred of his modesty, "I told you to come see my stylist."

"What about my brooch!" Eddie shrieks, pointing to the diamond-encrusted rose pin just above his breast pocket, "It's crystal."

#idk i imagine eddie is a rockstar and steve is a sports star of some description #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #famous au #👕🧥

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sweetnans · 2 days

Text

That's not how this works.

Pairing: f.reader/bakugo katsuki.

tw: mention of break up, mention of violence but not described because bakugo isn't a bad boy, soft and persistent bakugo.

a/n: a three part sequence between you and this boy who's sorry about letting you go.

part 1

Your return to town was nothing you expected. On the first day you had Bakugo at your house professing his love to you, after a fucking year with no contact and not knowing anything about him.

After you left, you were debating on ghosting everyone you knew, even your friends, Mina and Kirishima because of him, or telling them you didn't want to know anything of him, you chose the latter.

They understood. They never mentioned him, and they never mentioned you in front of him, even if asked them how you were. They made a pact for you. They choose you over him. He could tell that he fucked up massively after their own friends denied telling him where you were or if you were settling fine.

He convinced himself that he deserved that.

The week passed without any inconvenience. You went to job interviews that were looking for someone with your profile. You were a hero, after all, and people needed heroes on the streets. In the year that you weren't in Japan, you learned other languages, so that helped you a lot to get a job in an instant.

After they called you to tell you that you were hired, you couldn't keep your content to yourself so you called your friends to tell them the news, they didn't answer right away but your phone rang after a few hour.

Mina called first. You told her the news about your job, and she told you that she was planning a party for you but she was just arranging the details.

Kirishima called in the afternoon to talk about the party, and he completely ruined the surprise by telling you everything Mina told him no to tell you.

And then he asked you.

"Is it okay if Bakugo goes to the party? I haven't invited him, so it's okay if you tell me -"

You interrupted right away.

"It's okay, don't worry" you lied

You didn't tell any of them what happened the other night. You wanted everything as normal as possible, and you knew yourself. You could be civil around him, and you knew Bakugo, too. After he spilled his emotions about you, he would mostly ignore you for breaking his ego.

Your friends, Mina and Kirishima, threw a party in your honor. Basically, it was because you made your way back to them, and they have missed you and for your new job. That was the excuse to get drunk, at least this time.

You thought the party would be less crowded, but everyone from the class 1-A had made it. Everyone was super nice to you, stopping to chat about your trip. You told them everything venting the good and the bad and told them about the people you met and how friendly everyone was.

"Oh please, you talk like you are going to abandon us," Mina said, clinging to your arm. She was quiet tipsy.

"I won't, I promise," you told her, squeezing her arm.

She smiled at you and then her smile fainted.

"Here comes trouble." she downed her glass and rolled her eyes to make her way out of the scene.

You looked at Kirishima, who made his way to you with Bakugo. He wore a black shit tucked in his black pants. He looked extremely hot. You couldn't lie to yourself.

"So she still mad at me," Kirishima stated, following Mina with his eyes.

"What did you do to her?" You asked kissing his cheek and then Bakugo's, greeting them. You haven't seen them at the party before.

"Me," Bakugo talked, trying to hide his smile.

"What?" You asked, confused. "Did I miss something?"

"Ew no." Kirishima made a gag. "I didn't do him, I invited him, Mina didn't want him to come because of you but I told her that you said it was fine"

It was weird talking about Bakugo with him standing right in front of you. You just shrugged and sipped your long cocktail.

You excused yourself and went to talk with the others.

"I heard that you got a Job in my father's agency" Todoroki said with a smile when you approached.

"Yeah, I didn't use the 'I'm friends with your son' card tho" you said, laughing. For your surprise, that made him laugh, too.

"It's okay, I'm the one that receives the possible resumes," he answered nonchalantly.

"So it was you," you said, grinning. "Jeez, one day you think you're enough, and the other you're crashed by reality itself," you joked.

"Don't do that. Your resume was above the others for many reasons"

You leaned into the wall, taking him in. He was cute in a friendly way. He never understood sarcasm. That was something that made him different from Bakugo, Bakugo spoke sarcasm, dripped sarcasm, and breathed sarcasm. He was pretty straightforward with everything that came into his mind, but he had his ways of speaking it.

"Of course her resume was above others she's fucking awesome"

A voice, louder, made its way from your back. Bakugo was right in your back, putting his hand above your shoulder to mark his presence.

"I didn't know that you two-" Todoroki tried to read the room.

"Oh no we don't" you anticipated.

His hand on your shoulder made a subtle flinch at your words. You could smell the booze emanated from Bakugo's figure. He was already drunk.

"That's exactly why I came to talk to you, princess," he said, putting himself behind you and tugging his fingers to your wrist.

"Excuse me, Sho," you said, giving him a side glance while letting you get guided by Bakugo.

He walked you to the main room. It was Mina's room. You couldn't miss the familiarity that the place gave to you, many sleepovers, many drunken nights spent there and the hungover the next day.

"What happened?" You asked. Pleading memory loss, like he wasn't in your home days prior, begging you to come back to him.

"You happened, talking to fucking half n' half" you rolled your eyes at his statement pinching your nose. Here we go again.

"For what I recall, I'm pretty fucking allowed to talk to anyone I want, you're not the boss of me" you said trying not to ruin your mood. You still wanted to catch up with all your classmates.

"You know what I mean. I know you, how you were looking at him"

"I was looking at him the same way I look at everybody," you explained. "Why are you doing this? Why right now?"

"I'm doing this because I know you still feel it," he almost screamed at you like he was desperate for you to react. He didn't know that you were doing everything to push away, trying against the feeling that emerged the other night.

He was in a drunken state, but his eyes were telling you that he knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn't a drunken haze where you spurred words meaningless. It was the opposite.

"You can't do that," you pointed to his chest. The first time you touched him in a year. You felt electricity running through your spine. You couldn't quite pin the feeling, but it was exactly what you felt when you touched him every day for almost six years.

"Do what? Realize that I was a fucking asshole for letting you go and wanting you back to demonstrate you that I'm better? That I'm different? That I'm going to love you the way you always deserved?"

He took your hands in his. Looking at you with dilated pupils. His breath was a mere inch from your face. Whisky, mint and caramel. He was sweating.

"You can't say that" you closed your eyes in pain. "You never called" you whispered.

"I know, I know," he repeated with his voice hoarse. "I messed up"

You leaned your forehead to him. He was contouring himself to be at your height. You sighed, and he did the same. It was pretty intimate.

"Remember when we say forever? I mean it now, " he said. Your nose touching his.

"Stop reminding me what we said. This is hurting me more than I thought it will hurt." You let out, embracing him slightly. You missed the proximity. You missed his smell, his antics, his humor, his ways of telling you that he loved you, but you were still afraid of him spatting and messing with your head all over again.

"I'll stop the hurting," he closed his eyes.

You'll give it a go. Maybe he was right. You could just give yourself to the feeling. You wanted him, you missed him and he felt exactly the same, maybe it was the right thing to do. Maybe you should just seal your lips and kiss him the way that you wanted to for a year.

Just an inch for your lips to be touching, his hands made their way to your neck, putting you close to him and with no escape. He put a lock of your hair behind your ear, focused completely on the task, and then he examined your face looking for hesitation in your face. There was none.

He smiled, his signature grinned smile, lips ready to smash at yours, sealing the deal. You could feel your heartbeat against his chest.

A loud knock in the door made you back from his grip, losing every step you walked. His face twisted at your maneuver.

"Guys, we are going to do Karaoke. The rules are simple, for every time you messed up a word, you have to take a shot," Kaminari said, clearly tipsy against the door. His voice sounded muffled.

Bakugo stomped to the door, and when he opened it, Kaminari nearly fell at his feet.

"Bakubro! We thought you were at your house by-" he noted that you were just behind the man that was about to howitzer his friend into the next dimension. "Oh"

"It's okay," you hurried. "I'm going to the bathroom, excuse me, I'm about to piss myself"

You took your cocktail and made your way out, ignoring the fuming blonde that tried to reach for you to stop and end what he began.

By the time you had splashed water to your face, fixed your clothes, and went back to the karaoke thing, he was nowhere to be seen.

He just bailed, like he always did.

Part 3? let me know :)

#bnha bakugou #bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bakugo x reader #bakugo headcanons #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #mha bakugo katsuki #mha x reader #mha #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero academia #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 days

Note

Aita for bluntly telling a telling a friend I don't want to discuss *media* with them after them not taking the hint for a couple months?

I read a serialized manga —nothing mega popular like op or jjk but popular— as do many other folks excluding this friend from a different fandom. This manga fandom is full of shippers who can't figure out how fan shipping works so they shit on the manga for not making their headcanons true. They'll call the author illiterate fetishizer over ships and frankly most of them read it through other fans' tweets or tiktoks so I don't care for those opinions regardless. I think the manga doesn't deserve the hate and real readers who look up meta or volume extras enjoy it more. Needless to say I have my own fave ships with varying degree of canon backing, and I'm a "hag" fan I make my own food without resorting to bashing someone's work.

This dear friend of mine has been on and off into this manga for about a year, has been part of a server that's full of Those shippers, but also talk to me and another mutual separately when they remember we also like it. Problem is that their opinion about the manga changes according to who they're talking to, if it's us two individuals this manga is aight, good shit, if it's the server girlies they Loathe that manga it burned their crops— the latter is their real opinion I have proof of that. Naturally I don't enjoy discussing it with them but lately every time there's a new chapter they comes knocking, "Omg did you see 👀? My fyp was saying this and this"

One time I had dismissed them saying I hadn't read it to discuss anything, I fell into a habit of saying this again and making other excuses while being publicly open about hating the manga hate bandwagon over ships. They should have noticed this but I can't be sure. This week again they wanted to talk but I was pretty upset about something at work so I went unfiltered and ranted just a little bit. My sister believes they use me to form discussion topics for their server which was also bugging me. I said to them, "You should start reading the manga if you want to discuss it. I'm getting tired of correcting you and you should know I can see what you tell your other friends so can you quit making contradicting comments in my dms?"

They got really mad and started subtweeting me so I blocked them. Replies to them are still visible and I saw another mutual tell them whoever didn't communicate nicely was a bad friend and it's sad that a long time friend would break up over ships. I'm having a little guilt feeling now because I was really not in my best mood yesterday.

I can't say I'm new to this sort of inane arguments over ships especially in today's fandom climate, but them being all Jekyll and Hyde to desperately be part of the conversation while never reading the manga first hand is still crazy to me. This could have been a nonissue.

So was I the asshole or are we both in the wrong? please share if you faced something similar or like what my sis said.

—💜

#aita #am i the asshole #ship discourse

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fluffyglass · 3 days

Text

This is the "Cromdo did nothing wrong" post.

HEAR. ME. OUT.

I'll start with what sparked this whole discussion; Cromdo being fully justified in "robbing" Liz and Egg's house. You may be thinking "what the hell that's obviously a terrible thing to do" NO. And here's why.

Cromdo states in his interview that he thought of sailing away when shit hit the fan, only to discover that the boat was gone (and some of Liz's belongings are nearby), which lead him to assume that Liz and Egg had abandoned everyone. Based on the evidence he had, this is a completely reasonable conclusion! Considering (in Cromdo's view) that Liz and Egg are no longer on the island, him salvaging their belongings is completely reasonable. Was trying to sell them cool? Not really. But taking them in general was completely justifiable.

Where do we go from here? Well, that leads me to another story that requires some context. For those who aren't in the Snakpack discord, I recently went on a three hour deep dive discussing when and why everyone left Snaxburg post-Liz's disappearance, and something came up regarding Cromdo that I couldn't come to a conclusion for- why Beffica planted evidence in his hut.

In Cromdo's interview, he claims that Beffica planted her diary in his hut to frame him.

(I believe he's telling the truth here, because it's such a specific detail that I don't know if he'd make it up. Given it's something everyone would have known about, he'd be incredibly easily disproven, so I'm taking his word for it.)

Now, what motivation would Beffica have for falsifying evidence? Given her interview where she states she posted pics of all his little crimes, we can presume she had photographic evidence of Cromdo "robbing" Liz and Egg. So why would she need to fake a diary theft if she already had all the evidence she'd need against him?

This is the part where I go a little insane LET ME COOK.

I think that once Cromdo found the boat gone, he told everyone that Liz and Egg abandoned them. And yknow what? Some (maybe most?) of Snaxburg believed him. So when he started salvaging their belongings, nobody was too concerned - save for Beffica, of course. Beffica didn't believe Cromdo because she already had a bit of a vendetta against him, so I think she planted false evidence in Cromdo's hut to "prove" that Cromdo was lying and was just using the disappearance as an excuse to rob them. Because... why would she be so concerned about Cromdo "getting back" at her if everyone in Snaxburg was on her side?

I think she was worried he'd call her out for falsifying evidence against him.

CROMDO. WAS. FRAMED.

Now I'm not claiming Cromdo isn't a thief. He (presumably) stole one of Snorpy's lunch pads and enlists the journalist to steal Triffany's map. However, compared to some of the shit these grumps do (looks at Wambus, Beffica, Gramble, Wiggle and Snorpy) some petty theft is NOTHING. Snorpy had multiple lunch pads. Triffany was biased against Cromdo possibly because of the slander Beffica pulled about him, and yeah stealing it from her house was bad, but again. He isn't punching the shit out of someone or placing trackers on people without their knowledge.

In conclusion:

The title of this post is technically a lie. Yeah, Cromdo did some stuff wrong, HOWEVER, his petty theft is really all you can count against him. Cromdo was quite possibly framed and blackmailed and had the entire town turn against him when he was (kind of?) trying to help. Cromdo did some bad things, but given this island? Practically nothing. I will stand by this.

Thank you for your time. Cromdo did nothing wrong.

#bugsnax #cromdo face

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sarathrwizard · 1 day

Text

Some things were said.

(Made in apology.)

On a cold rainy night, April and Beth sat on the edge of a rooftop. April crossed her arms and looked away from Beth with an angry expression. Beth looked down at the city lights and the many cars passing by.

April: You know, that was very immature of you to do that. Not only did you insult me directly, but you insulted an entire race doing so!

Beth: It wasn't my fault.

April: It wasn't your fault!?! What the Heck!

Beth: If no one complained about it in the first place, none of this would have happened!

April: None of this would have happened if you had got it right in the first place!

Beth: Are you accusing me of being racist too?!

April: What do you want me to think after you made that photo of me?!

Beth: It's just a picture!

April: YOU TURNED MY SKIN THE LITERAL COLOR BLACK!!!

Beth: …

April: What were you trying to get across with that? What even prompted you to go that far?

Beth: People said I made your skin too light in my comic. They kept going on and on even after I said it was an accident! They said, 'Why is April white?' And 'You know, people would enjoy your comic more if you just fix her skin color.'

April: Yeah, then why didn't you just go back and fix the color?

Beth: I already finished them! I didn't want to have to go back and fix the Dumb dumb pages just because some people said it was the wrong color!

April: Oh, I get it now. You're just lazy.

Beth: Lazy?! I Give my all into each page! Each frame in my comic, and you say I'm lazy!?

April: If you can't just go back and fix the skin color, then yes. I do call you lazy.

Beth: …

April: You should have just changed the color and said nothing. You know people are now laughing at what you said in reply, right?

Beth: Which ones specifically?

April: 'May I say, the Devil side of me came out.' And 'Suck it up, butter cup!' Also making excuses that can't be proven, then claiming you're Christian after what you did and said. I'm just going to say this. No one cares if you're Christian or not if you insult people and pull stunts like that.

Beth stands up and raises her arm up.

April: Beth?

She turns to reveal she's holding a blade to her neck. She looks down at April with tears rolling down her face.

April: … Beth? You're…

Beth: What?! A lire!? Heartless?! Racist!?! Is that what you're going to say!!?? You were right! I shouldn't have said ANYTHING! And now I've made EVERYTHING WORSE!

April: Beth! Look at me! This isn't the proper way to handle this-!

Beth: Oh! You think I should cut my wrist open instead! Like how my sister almost died! Or maybe through my 'black heart'! Don't you think everything would be better if I wasn't here?! If I just killed myself!?!

April: Beth! Killing yourself is not the answer! It never is! You should just apologize for what you did, and learn from your mistakes!

Beth lowered the knife. April slowly approached her. Beth stepped back and quickly raised the knife back up to her neck.

April: Beth, no! Lower the knife! Don't throw your life away because of one mistake!

Beth: STAY AWAY!!!

April stepped back and raised her hands.

Beth: … I'm scared, of you! I'm scared they'll hurt me! I'm scared… You'll hurt Me!

April: Beth, I'm not going to hurt you! I'm trying to prevent you from hurting yourself! Please, give me the knife.

Beth held the knife tightly. Suddenly a portal opened up behind her. A hand grabbed Beths wrist and bent her arm away from her neck. Leo appeared from the portal, firmly holding her arm down. His tight grip made her drop the knife. Leo let go of her arm and picked the knife up. Beth fell to the ground.

Leo: Well, that got a little out of hand.

April: Leo, were you spying on us?"

Leo: Nnoooooo?

Beth started sobbing.

Leo: Uhh… Hey, kid? You alright?

Beth: I'm sorry! hic! I'm sorry!! I don't want to be enemies!

Leo: Hey, hey! Kid, it's okay! We all make mistakes sometimes.

Beth continues sobbing. Leo and April sat to the sides of her. Leo rubs Beths shoulder to comfort her. And April puts her hand over her face, not sure what to do anymore.

Beth: April, I'm really really sorry. I was rude and selfish. I didn't care how you or anyone else felt. And when someone told me I was in the wrong, I shoved the blame on something else.

April kept her face away from Beths view.

Beth: I'll take the blame on myself, and I will fix the comic pages.

April placed a hand onto Beths arm and sighed.

April: I won't forgive you for how you handled the situation.

Beth: … I understand.

April: But I'm glad you've recognize your wrongs and apologized. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some thinking to do, alone.

April got up and left. Leaving Beth and Leo alone.

Beth: Leo, Is there any way I can make it up to April??

April: Right now? No. You're gonna have to let this simmer for a while till it cools down a bit.

Beth: Okay.

Part 1 of only 1.

#apology #I'm sorry #Some words were said #rottmnt #saverottmnt #riseofthetmnt #Riseleo #april o'neil #Hamato Beth #Unforgivable #I don't want to be enemies

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avoicebehindthestars · 3 days

Text

No Feelings So In Unison (Good Omens fanfic)

Right, I figured it's time I shared my newest fanfic "properly".

rating: G

Length: 6k words (oneshot)

Summary: Overwhelmed by the all-encompassing brightness and endless vastness, Aziraphale manages to sneak out of heaven.

Excerpt:

Crowley hesitated again. His brows furrowed as pain crept onto his features. Of course, safety (Aziraphale’s safety) came first, but that didn’t mean the demon wasn’t hurting. He now smacked his lips and sighed.

‘Do you want me here?’ he asked, the same defeated voice that had been resonating in Aziraphale’s mind ever since that ill-fated morning, despite the passage of time.

The angel was so, so glad he had made it rain. He could only hope the raindrops would mask it when the tears building up in his eyes would inevitably overflow. Still, as he nodded, he could do nothing about the quiver of his chin.

‘Kay,’ said Crowley, but rather than joining the angel on the bench, he crouched in front of him to meet him at eye-level.

Aziraphale was wishing so hard that he could remember a single scenario, a single opening line of the countless speeches he had rehearsed ad nauseam for when he met Crowley again. I’m so sorry. I was wrong. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t know what to do. I never should have… Please, give me another chance. Forgive me. I need you. I can’t do this without you.

I love you.

Yet, nothing sounded right, nothing was coherent. It felt as if an impenetrable wall had risen somewhere between his mind and his lips. Messages crashed like angry waves against this dam that held them, so desperate to get across, but instead only scattering into a chaotic whirlpool where he could no longer make head or tails of any single thought.

‘So what happened?’ Crowley broke the silence, his voice a little less distant.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but words still wouldn’t come. How could he even begin to explain?

‘Did they kick you out?’ Crowley tried guessing.

Another head shake was all he could manage.

‘Did you run?’

‘S-sort of,’ Aziraphale finally forced his speech apparatus to obey, though each syllable spilled out of his mouth in a clumsy murmur. ‘N-not quite. Just… for a while. I, I couldn’t… It was all… All so… so…’

He began gasping despite himself. It frustrated him how hard it was to formulate simple concepts into plain sentences. The frustration made his thoughts even more scattered. His lips, his cheeks, his tongue and his limbs felt so numb as if they weren’t even parts of his body. He felt he would either be sick or start crying any moment.

‘Bright and empty?’ Crowley supplied to the angel’s massive relief. ‘Yeah, you never did like it. Neither of us did. Always jumping at the first excuse to get away from the office, do some fieldwork instead.’

Inspired by: this tumblr post and this fanart

A massive thank you for the GOAD WG members for helping me choose the setting!

@goodomensafterdark

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens fanfic #my fanfiction #good omens after dark

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television-overload · 2 days

Text

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 12/34 - empty suitcase

[Read on AO3]

His only thought as he holds her in his arms while they wait for the police to arrive, is just how much he’s failed her as a husband already. Sure, their marriage is mostly for show, but replace “husband” with “partner” and the statement still rings true.

He almost lost her. Again.

He knew something wasn’t right the moment her phone went to voicemail. He had been the one to assure her that things were okay—that the case was over. It was his fault that she let her guard down, and look what it got her.

When Pfaster’s body hit the floor, the first thing he did was take the gun from her hand and pull her away to where she couldn’t see him anymore. She was in shock, that much was obvious, and he scarcely had the time to take in the wreckage of her apartment in his haste to make sure she was okay. He cleaned the blood leaking from her nose (an unpleasant reminder of days past) and applied some cream to the burns on her wrists, and they waited.

The only thing he tells the police when they arrive is that she acted in self defense. If they want anything more than that from him, he has a shiny new ring and some spousal privileges he’s more than willing to wave around and refuse to testify. Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. It seems the police are happy to believe whatever it is that wraps things up as simply as possible—no one will miss that wretched creature of a man.

It’s well into the night by the time the detectives clear them to go, promising to follow up soon. Arrangements have been made to get her apartment back in order in the next few days, and until then…

“Excuse me,” Mulder says, giving a parting nod to the local law enforcement officers. They wave him off, returning to their various duties around the living space, cataloging every shred of evidence.

Evidence that, when he looks at it, shows how Scully had been forced to fight for her life again, all alone and hopeless.

When he turns, she wanders out of the bathroom like a specter, a white knit blanket flowing behind her in an almost ghostly form. The door to her bedroom shuts behind her unceremoniously, and his heart constricts.

Sucking in a deep breath, Mulder glances up at the ceiling, willing the angry tears forming in his eyes to go away. Scully needs him. His wife needs him. Not his self-directed anger and loathing, or thoughts of would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.

He starts toward her room, knocking lightly on the door before opening it.

“Scully?” he says, poking his head in. He finds her sitting on her bed facing the wall on the far side of the room, staring at nothing in particular. He swallows past the lump in his throat and enters. “Come on, I’m taking you home.”

She doesn’t react, not that he’d expected her to. He finds an empty suitcase in her closet and splays it open on her bed, tossing in a few items he knows she’ll need. Her comfy slippers. Silk pajamas. A blanket. A few of her medical journals from her to-be-read pile.

Her Bible.

He leaves the shampoo and hair products where they are. She can use his, tonight.

“Scully,” he tries again, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder and bending to meet her eyes. She flinches, but softens at the sight of him, which is an immense relief. “They’re letting you go,” he says. “Can I take you home?”

She nods wordlessly, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. He lets her keep the blanket wrapped around her for comfort, hoisting her now packed bag into one hand while guiding her gently with the other. The officers spare him a glance and a nod as they make their escape, an odd sense of understanding and respect passing from one man to another.

He’s not sure if he’s just that obvious about it, or if it’s some innate caveman sense of duty that has activated in their brains, but either way, he’s thankful for the ability to attend to his partner without judgment or pushback. A few neighbors peek their heads out their doors at them as they pass, and it causes him to pull her closer, shielding her from their wandering stares.

She rides in silence in the passenger seat of his car, kept warm by the blanket she wears. The night is crisp and clear and way too quiet, but he’s used to that by now. Life changing events happen, and the world goes on none the wiser, that’s just how things go. The pinpricks of stars in the sky shine whether you want them to or not. It’s not like the movies (or like Kroner, Kansas). It doesn’t rain just because you’re sad, or storm because you’re upset. Sometimes the night is as beautiful as ever and you just have to face the fact that you’ll never be the same again.

He wishes it didn’t have to be that way.

When they arrive, he unlocks the door to his apartment for her, pushing open the door to number 42. The keys get tossed on the kitchen table, to be dealt with properly another time. Right now, there are more important things to take care of, like the woman standing in the middle of his entryway as if she had never stepped foot in there before.

Recognizing that she’ll need him to take the lead, Mulder guides her further into the space, wordlessly ushering her into the living room where he sits her down on the couch. He disappears into the bathroom to get things ready for her; a clean towel, a brand new toothbrush, a disposable cup for water. He gives the small room a once over to make sure none of it resembles Pfaster’s preparation of her bathtub hours earlier, and nods in approval.

“Dana,” he says tenderly, crouching in front of her at the couch. She looks up at him, and he nods toward the bathroom. “You want to get cleaned up?”

“I– yes,” she agrees, nodding feebly. He offers his hands to help her up and pulls her to her feet.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” he says, sending her off on her own while trying not to hover or act too worried about her.

He hears the heavy wooden door shut behind her and lets out an exhausted sigh, his shoulders slumping. He takes a moment to gather himself before trudging into the bedroom, digging some rumpled but clean sheets out of his closet and starting the process of stripping and remaking the bed for her. He leaves a lamp on, just in case she wants it, and sets her suitcase on the bed.

Only then does he notice that there hasn’t been any sound of running water since she went in there.

“Mulder?” he hears, her voice muffled through the closed door. He nearly trips over himself in his haste to get to the bathroom, stopping halfway through shoving a fresh pillowcase on a pillow. He stands outside the doorway, his hand hesitating over the knob.

“I’m here, Scully,” he says, holding his hand up to the door. His forehead almost presses against the wood, and he listens intently for her to speak again, wondering for a moment if she even will.

But then he hears her uncertain voice come through again.

“Can– can you come in here?”

His hand finds the doorknob and turns, the door creaking open slowly so as not to startle her. She’s wrapped in a towel and standing in front of the shower, but that seems to be as far as she’s made it. Her clothes are neatly folded on top of his sink, splatters of blood still visibly dotting the hem despite her attempt to hide them. Her feet are bare and probably freezing on the cold tile, but that isn’t what’s bothering her.

She stares at the bathtub like she’s seeing a ghost.

“What can I do?” Mulder asks. Not ‘what’s wrong?’ because he knows. That’s plain enough to see.

“Stay– stay in here?” she asks, sounding shy and ashamed, all things she doesn’t have to be. Not around him.

“Of course,” he says, because of course he will. He’ll do anything—whatever he can to make this easier for her.

She gives a shaky nod, not even casting a glance back in his direction, and takes a bold step forward.

Mulder finds a seat on the closed toilet seat lid and closes his eyes, offering her some semblance of privacy despite the circumstances.

“Talk about something,” she says, the sound of the shower coming on audibly marking her progress.

He thinks, frantically filing through a list of safe topics in his brain before finally settling on one.

“I had a dream,” he starts, picturing it in his mind as he speaks. “Skinner was holding up a piñata on a rope, shaped like an alien. And there was this kid, maybe four years old? I knew it was her birthday, and she started yelling about how the alien was the wrong color, except it was supposed to be rainbow colored, not gray. It was completely unrealistic.”

Scully doesn’t respond, but the scent of his body wash wafts through the curtain, so he knows she’s doing okay so far.

Encouraged by this, he continues. “Suddenly she has a baseball bat—a real Louisville Slugger one, not a cheap one. And she takes this massive swing and lands one straight in Skinner’s– well, you can imagine where.”

He smirks at this, the memory just as amusing as it had been when he woke up that morning.

“Skinman obviously drops the rope, and Mr. Alien goes for a dive. It practically explodes on impact, and there are sunflower seeds absolutely everywhere. I’m talking way more than can feasibly fit into a piñata, Scully, not that anyone in their right mind would put seeds into a piñata.” He’s not sure why this detail is important, but it seemed like it at the time.

In any case, it adds to the absurdity of the dream, which is the whole point of the story. Distract her from her troubles by sharing something utterly stupid and meaningless.

“And then we all just laid down and made sunflower seed angels on the ground until I woke up.”

He lets his tale trail off there, the bathroom returning to silence save for the constant trickle of water down the drain. He can’t tell if his distraction worked or not, but he listens anyway, hoping for some sign that she’ll be okay.

And then:

“That’s ridiculous, Mulder.”

The tight squeeze of his heart loosens immediately at the sound of her voice. Her voice. Laced with the usual loveable skepticism that he’s come to expect from her.

He’s never been so happy to be called ridiculous in his life.

“I didn’t say it was a reasonable dream, Scully,” he teases back carefully, smiling in spite of himself.

She doesn’t ask him to speak again for the rest of her shower, but the mood has lightened significantly, and for that he’s grateful.

Eventually, he hears the sound of the curtains getting pulled back, the faucet dripping now that the shower has been turned off. He’s getting tired, if he’s being honest. The sound of the water combined with the darkness of having his eyes closed for the past ten minutes has combined to form the perfect conditions for sleeping, not to mention the bone-deep exhaustion the day had leveled on him. It’s only the responsibility of looking after Scully that keeps him lucid. Otherwise, he might have conked out right there on the toilet seat before she was even done.

She asks for pajamas to borrow, the silk ones he'd packed in her bag too close to what she wore when Pfaster attacked. He gladly hands over some sweatpants and a t-shirt, helping her to roll the hem to fit her much shorter frame. It dwarfs her, but she doesn’t complain in the slightest.

“I, uh– I made up the bed,” he says, hovering awkwardly around his bedroom, fussing needlessly with the sheets. “I'll just be out there,” he adds, pointing to the living room. “If you need me.”

He starts toward the doorway, ready to collapse on his leather couch for what is sure to be a fitful night's sleep. She'll be fine, he tells himself. He'll just throw her clothes into the washer before bed, then leave her be.

“Mulder?”

He turns, worry creasing his brow.

“I need you.”

She sits on the bed, looking so small and helpless in his oversized clothes. Even during her cancer treatments, she found it hard to admit her need for help. But things have changed since then.

He sets her bloodied clothes aside and crosses to her, his eyes searching hers, asking what she wants him to do.

She pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed, and suddenly, he understands.

Glancing down at his own bloodied clothing, he sends her an apologetic look. “Give me a few minutes,” he says, his eyes meeting hers intently, as if she might disappear the second she's out of his sight.

Reluctantly, he tears himself away long enough to take a quick shower and slip into some comfortable sleep clothes. He wonders if this is wise, if having a man in bed beside her will trigger some kind of post traumatic stress, but she asked him, so he will gladly do it anyway. He'll just be cautious, let her take the lead. Give her as much or as little space as she needs.

He exits the bathroom, taking his clothes and hers and tossing them in the washer along with the blanket she'd worn on the ride over.

He re-enters the bedroom as quietly as possible, and can tell by the uneven rise and fall of her chest that she's still awake. With a boldness he doesn't quite feel, he slides onto the bed beside her, adjusting the sheets over his chest.

He doesn't want her to think he's uncomfortable with this, because he's not. He just worries that he'll scare her, that the unfamiliar surroundings will be too much, too soon, and she'll panic or run screaming away from him.

He stares listlessly at the ceiling for a few minutes before she speaks.

“Can I ask one more thing of you?” she says, her voice a whisper in the dark.

He turns his head toward her, staring at the back of her hair. Her shoulders are hunched in on themselves, her body stiff and unmoving.

“Anything, Scully,” is his answer. If she asks him to get lost, leave her alone because she changed her mind, he'll do it. But that's not what she does.

Instead, she turns and faces him, her expression defeated. Her request isn't spoken with words, but instead in the way she inches toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest.

It takes his brain a second to catch up with his body, but when it does, he circles his arms around her, burying his nose in her freshly cleaned hair, potent with the scent of his shampoo.

She doesn’t cry, like he might expect. But she doesn’t pull away, either. He holds her close, reveling in every second of being allowed to comfort her in this way. If this is his only opportunity to hold his wife in his arms, he’ll make the most of it. His fingers tangle in her hair, cradling her tightly to him in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. She’s safe here, he needs her to know that.

They lay there for a few minutes, the room silent except for the sound of a ticking clock and the heater kicking on. He starts to wonder if she’s fallen asleep, but then he feels her hand brush up his chest, palm flat against him. Her fingers pause over the circular object tucked beneath his t-shirt, tracing the outline of it thoughtfully.

Oh, Scully.

Though he’s loath to part with her, he leans back a little, creating some space between them. With one arm, he pulls the chain from around his neck, unclasping it and removing the ring from its hidden place.

His eyes meet hers, heavy with meaning, as she lays back on the pillow looking up at him, and he slides it on his finger, his gaze never wavering.

A single tear slips from her eye, dissolving into the fabric of the pillow.

Tonight, she doesn’t need her partner. She doesn’t need her friend.

Tonight, Dana Scully needs her husband. And that’s exactly what he’ll be.

Without a word, he scoops her back into his arms, this time pulling her so his front is curled around her back, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. Her hand finds his left one, her fingers taking a moment to brush over the cool metal band before resting atop it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner,” he says into her shoulder, his voice straining against the emotion constricting his vocal cords.

“Why did I do it, Mulder?” she speaks, whispered like a dark secret into the night.

He doesn’t have an answer for her beyond what he’s already said.

“Because you are good, Scully,” he says. “That kind of evil doesn’t belong in this world.”

He knows his words won’t be enough to put her mind at rest. Not yet. But he’ll keep saying them until she believes him. As many times as it takes.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he says, the endearment falling easily from his lips. He presses a kiss to the side of her head and curls in tighter, providing much needed comfort and security to the both of them.

She does, and he follows soon after, drifting off into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

-.-.-

He wakes the next morning to the sound of his phone ringing in the living room. It’s cruel, to be forced to leave the warmth of the bed without getting to savor the last few minutes of peace while she sleeps, but he drags himself away anyway, creeping out of the room as quietly as possible. With one last glance back at her, he sees her roll into the divot he’d left in the mattress, wrapping her arm around the pillow he’d vacated.

His heart tugs painfully. Go back to her, it says.

The phone call turns out to be Skinner, asking after Scully and wanting to know how she’s doing. He’s not sure whether the Assistant Director had guessed where she was, or if the police had said something to him, but either way, it doesn’t seem to surprise him that he’d taken her home with him.

Their boss is generous, giving them a few days off to recuperate. Scully needs it, whether she’d admit to it or not. He thanks the man and hangs up the phone, contemplating how best to fill the free time they both suddenly have.

He starts some coffee brewing in the kitchen and moves their laundry into the dryer, then drifts back to the doorway leading into his bedroom, pulled like a magnet back to her side.

He hates to wake her, but it’s been hours since she’s eaten anything. He perches on the edge of the bed and tucks her hand into his, holding it gently as he sits mesmerized by the soft fluttering of her eyelashes.

“Scully,” he says softly, running his thumb over her knuckles. He repeats her name and she shifts slightly, slowly coming to consciousness.

“Mmm—Mulder?” she asks, her brows furrowing, eyes still closed.

He smiles softly. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he says. “How do you feel about breakfast?”

-.-.-

It feels dreadfully normal to be sitting across from her at his kitchen table, the newspaper open to the funny pages while they nibble on slightly rubbery scrambled eggs and steaming coffee. He’s still not used to the clink of his ring against the ceramic mug when he picks it up, but it just adds to the perfect picture of domesticity, one he’d never thought he’d experience again after Diana left him, and that was never so perfect in the first place.

Scully is doing well, this morning, all things considered. He tells her that Skinner called, a gesture he knows she’ll appreciate. Now the question is what to do with the rest of their day, and the days that follow.

He has some ideas about that. The only concern is whether she’ll be receptive to them.

The television is tuned in to a channel playing reruns of I Love Lucy when he approaches her on the couch, setting a stack of flattened cardboard boxes on the floor by the coffee table.

He can’t believe he’s about to suggest what he’s about to suggest, but he can’t deny that it makes sense. Pfaster was the final straw, the one that pushed him over the edge. Bad things happen when they’re apart. If the last seven years with her have taught him anything, it’s that.

He’d told the adoption agent he was planning to take a step back from the X-Files. The events of yesterday merely solidified his belief that it was the right decision. He’s ready if she is.

He sits beside her on the couch.

“I was thinking,” he starts, focusing his eyes on the scene playing out between Lucy and Ricky Ricardo on the screen. “It might be good if I move in before they do a home visit—hypothetically, of course. If we get approved.”

She turns to look at him, surprise—not unpleasant—lacing her features.

“I mean—” he fumbles with his words. “I have a good feeling we will get approved. So, if you want…”

“Yes,” she says simply.

He blinks, astonished that it was that easy.

The home visit ‘deadline’ is just an excuse, and both of them know it. But she still says yes, and once again he feels a thrill at all the drastic life changes they’ve made with comparatively little thought in the last several months.

It’s all worked out well so far, so why shouldn’t this too?

He fights back a grin, nodding calmly in response.

Okay.

“Uh, I figured we could start with the small stuff first,” he says, focusing intently to keep his voice from shaking. “Decide what to donate, what to keep, what to throw away…”

“Sounds fun, Mulder,” she says, a hint of the old Scully finding her way back into her speech.

Oh, yes. This is the right decision. He’s sure of it now.

Armed with packing tape, permanent markers, and bubble wrap, they take to the apartment with gusto, smiling infectiously whenever their eyes meet over the top of cardboard boxes and piles of his belongings, on their way to a new home.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

#orison #msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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oddlittlestories · 6 hours

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Okay so I can’t find it but I saw a post about wishing at least one other character would acknowledge there’s a reason House doesn’t want to go to his dad’s funeral. And I wanted to say that I agree with this. And I think it’s the point. And that House as a show was also subverting expectations, so I wanted to talk a little about this.

So first off, I think it does really interesting things when you take a non-diegetic / non-in-universe approach to the show.

One, this was Supernatural era. You know, the show that sometimes categorized the dad (who would leave his child sons alone for weeks at a time, was sometimes implied to hit them, and openly shamed them especially Dean) as the only true hero. And also iirc a lot of shows and movies at that time centered around the theme of forgiving your abusive parent.

Two, in the previous season, we get an episode that canonically parallels the severe traumas of rape and physical child abuse.

Three, House never apologizes or forgives his dad. Yeah, he’s a misanthrope, so there’s a narrative excuse there, but he’s also allowed to do it. And he’s right about his dad not being his bio dad.

Four, for the above reasons, it is reasonable to view the narrative as being on House’s side. He goes because of extreme social pressures (which exist in the real world!) and, possibly, because his mom wants him there. But the narrative essentially says that his dad was a bad person and House shouldn’t have had to go. (With the possibly caveat of ‘[even shitty] funerals are sometimes a place to reconnect with living people you actually care about.’)

Part Two: Diegetic / In-Universe

House’s mom. This is really interesting, right? House’s mom is brought up over and over again. And the narrative thread is—she was abused, too. Should House connect with her? And if so, why and under what circumstances?

And what’s really interesting is, House doesn’t want to under the given circumstances. Because it means submitting to social mores he doesn’t agree with, including the circumspect of implying, “My dad was a good guy.”

But his mom doesn’t seem to see it quite the same way. “He’s not going to care [that we started late], Greg. He’s dead.” Essentially saying, this really isn’t about him. He’s dead.

So it’s this moral ambiguity again. Can and should House align with his also-abused mother? What would it cost him to do so? (And implied: childhood abuse can have lingering impacts forever, especially when people dismiss it because - the war is not over.)

To me, this episode is one of the examples where many characters take on roles as foils to expose a narrative theme. In this case: social pressure around “respecting your parents.” And I think it’s brilliantly done. I think when you have the overwhelming suffocating feeling of WHY ISN’T ANYONE LISTENING TO HIM

I think that’s EXACTLY the point

These motives are, to a degree, being placed on the characters. It’s extremely well-written, so it feels authentic, but to me it’s just as likely Chase would say “he shouldn’t have to go” and Cuddy with her mom would be more sympathetic. But the writers chose to unearth all the reasons each of them would put social pressures on House. And this happens to people in real life.

And of course, Wilson. It’s not inauthentic for Wilson. He’s doing two things at once. One, he’s playing out his own issues around social obligation. Two, he’s grabbing onto “I am socially obligated to be around House” like a lifeline.

Which leads us to the second theme of the episode, which is inherently true to the characters and deeply humanizing.

Complicated grief.

House’s grief is complicated because of social pressure. And he’s not sad his dad is dead—he’s sad that it changes nothing. Like he says to the kid with the facial deformity: “you can change your face, but you can’t change who your face made you.” House can change his circumstances. But he can’t change who they made him.

And Wilson’s grief is complicated because his girlfriend died suddenly, violently, unreasonably. And his best friend was deeply involved—in trying to save her and in her ultimate loss. He’s terrified of losing people and he almost lost them both. And because it’s Wilson, he represses, justifies, and misunderstands his own motives which makes everything harder. And it’s also deeply real. People compartmentalize. They misunderstand their own feelings.

So yeah! This episode is a twofer. One is meant to make you scream internally about the social pressures around funerals and abusive parents. The other is about complicated grief and mourning, and reconnecting despite and sometimes because of death.

The complexity gives me brain worms. I love this episode.

#this has been in my drafts for months #house md #season 5 #s5e4 #birthmarks #gregory house #james wilson

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notf1obsessed · 7 hours

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wrapped round my finger: Charles Leclerc x Carlos Sainz (AU!)

Carlos and Charles are both automotive designers who are big names in the car industry, having worked with many companies before. They have both set aside their past, but what happens when they're forced to work together?

Chapter 1: disrupt my life (again)

"It's wonderful to have you with us Mr.Leclerc," Vettel shakes his hand in greeting, "Im sure you'll make a wonderful addition to the team."

Charles shook his hand in response, smile on his face. After many hours spent working, he'd finally made it. He'd finally been able to join Ferrari in designing their new car model. This was a lifetime goal of his; working with Ferrari. This was the moment he'd worked up his whole life for, he knew it.

They were standing in the Ferrari HQ in Maranello, right in front of the meeting room. If you had told younger Charles he'd be standing here, he'd be laughing in your face. But now, Charles's fantasy was very much a reality.

"Right, you and one other will be our head of this project," Vettel continued, "Come with me so I can introduce you to them."

Vettel pushed open the doors to the meeting room, holding it open for Charles to enter.

His smile was immediately wiped off his face.

"This is-"

"Carlos," Charles interrupted him before he can continue.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow in response taking a seat in front, "I see you have met before."

"Yes something like that," Carlos joins in, smile on his face. He was at on the opposite end of the table, hands clasped together and bent forward.

Charles felt bitterness boil in him, trying hard to keep his doll face on.

He would rather be anywhere in the world than with Sainz right now.

"Well then no need for introductions I see," Vettel now continued, expression much more relaxed, "We can get straight to the point."

Charles took a seat on the table opposite Carlos, eyes glued to Vettel. He turned over his papers as he spoke, dimming his voice which was quite quiet.

Not much help to Charles. Words entered through one ear and exited through the other, though he did manage to pick up some points. It was hard to stay focused with Sainz in front of him.

He could feel Carlos's eyes pierce through him.

Seb went through the points of them having to work on the main design, nothing much besides the clauses and contracts. Though Charles payed particular attention to when Seb mentioned they would have to work together.

Together.

He dwells about that point for a short time before refocusing. He can't throw away his opportunity at Ferrari just for some guy who didn't even earn it.

He can't.

The meeting ends quite quickly, Seb simply explaining the days they will work on the design. Charles shakes Seb's hand, walking through the door afterwards. His excitement is very much bursting through him, the goal of his life finally achieved.

"Long time no see, mi amigo," A familiar voice calls from behind.

His excitement is damped rather quickly, stopping slightly before continuing to walk towards the exit.

"You too," he responded, voice barely above a whisper. He doesn't turn to face Carlos, eyes on the glass doors in front.

Sainz picked up his pace slightly, meeting level with Charles (a few centimeters taller).

"Haven't seen you around since you moved away from town," he countinued.

The mention of his past town made Charles freeze abruptly. He left all his memories there and didn't want them to return. Though, with the arrival of Carlos, 2/3 of them already had.

"Yeah well work's been busy," he responded blandly, wanting to end the conversation as quickly as possible. He raises his wrist to look at his watch, trying to find an excuse to leave.

Carlos didn't speak for a minute, hands ruffling to fix his black suit.

"I have lunch with some of my friends so I better not keep them waiting," he lied through his teeth, eyes now lifting from his watch, still not daring to face Carlos.

"Well, see you on Monday," Carlos responded, his face indicating that he knew Charles was lying. The uncomfortable silence stretched for what seemed like hours before they finally reached the doors.

Charles didn't repsond, instead walking towards his Mercedes. He opened the door to throw himself on the seat.

He buried his face in his hands, groaning loudly.

That idiotic Carlos with his idiot smile his idiot hair his idiot suit his idiot-

He lent back on the seat's headrest, slowly opening his eyes to see Carlos smiling smugly through the window.

He wanted to rip that smile off his face so badly.

___________________________________________

Charles arrived in his Mercedes on Monday, confidence spilling over. He adjusted it quickly, taking the sunglasses off his face as he entered the building and shoving them into his shirt. His hair was ruffled, not very messy though. He's planning on making a good impression, and he isn't going to allow a shitty Carlos interfere. His eyes navigate the place, looking for any sign of someone who will lead him to the designers. His trip isn't long lasting as he sees a person approaching him.

He seemed quite old, probably in his early 40's. He wore a Ferrari employee fit, his hair combed neatly to one side (probably using a lot of gel in the process considering how his hair glistened under the light).

"You must be Mr.Leclerc?" the man asks, eyes glued to a clipboard in front of him.

Charles nods, not sure the man saw him, so he replies as well, "Yes."

The man nods into his papers, finally taking his eyes off to look at Charles, "Right this way then."

The man leads him to a fairly sized room, not a lot of people crowded inside. Charles stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, not sure what to do. What doesn't help is that the man immediately abandons him afterwards. The people in the room, chattering amongst themselves, turn to face him. He freezes on the spot, not sure of how to take this forwards. And while he had worked on large projects before, this one was Ferrari, and the nerves seemed to kick in quite quickly.

He was brought out if his trance by a tap on his shoulder. A voice leaned into his ear, hot breath on his cheek sending shudders down his spine, "Leave it to me, Charlie."

He hadn't heard that nickname in a very long time, and there were only very few people who called him that. Specifically the one standing next to him, hand still on shoulder.

Carlos.

Carlos's hand left his shoulder, making his way to the front of the room. Charles stayed frozen to the spot, watching as Carlos talked. He wasn't listening for the majority of the time, words becoming noises to him. He wasn't sure when Carlos's little speech ended, but he was snapped out by Carlos walking towards him.

He leaned in closer to him this time, lips millimeters away from Charles's cheek.

"No wonder you always froze in class."

Charles hated what he was doing, pulling out pieces from the past to remind him with. He had already buried his past deep, and was not planning on reviving it.

But Carlos had other plans.

The next day of him working, Charles decided he was not going to let Carlos's reminders of his past affect him from doing his best. So he made sure that before Carlos was to go and give another one of his 'little speeches' that he was going to actually inform him what the fuck he was doing. So that's exactly what he did, trying to avoid his remarks and focus on getting to the point.

"What was your little presentation even about yesterday," Charles grabs hold of his arm, wishing slightly he hadn't. His muscles were tense, veins tracing his skin.

Carlos turns around to face him, same smug face that he always has. Charles hated that smug expression that he had, like he was the one who hung the stars. Like he was the one who brought life to earth. Like he was the centre of the universe.

"I see Mr.Leclerc wasn't really paying attention to the speech, am I really that handsome and distracting," he snarkily replies.

Charles rolls his eyes at him, "and maybe Mr.Sainz wasn't planned out enough to tell his partner what he was actually doing."

"Fine fine, it was simple points about the car's design, someone in here should have the points printed out," he said, eyes tracing as they lit up when someone waved a stack of papers in hand. He went to grab them before shoving them in Leclerc's face.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered taking the papers out of his face, "no need to be aggressive Sainz." He looked through them, they were quite short considering the time Carlos had taken to go through them.

"Since you did all the simple, baby stuff, let's get going with the real shit, shall we?"

Carlos rolled his eyes at him before going to take a seat, paper and pencil in front of him, "If you insist on being so wise, how about you begin the designs."

Charles smiled sarcastically, hand going to grab the pencil from Carlos's hand. Carlos's hands held a slightly longer than expected grip on the pencil before letting go, letting Charles take it out of his hand.

Charles leaned in to the paper, finding an angle for him to work at, pencil lightly waving over the sheet. His brows furrowed and he stuck out his tongue in concentration, taking slow steps in drawing details to the car.

Carlos thought he looked ridiculous like this, but it wasn't unusual to him.

He's seen Charles like this a million times before.

Charles sketched out a very light base of the car, only drawing the rough shape. It was the outline of a convertible, its shape curved inwards giving it a sharp front.

"What do you think," he dropped his pencil from his hand and leaned back into his chair, proud with the sketch he'd made.

Carlos did the opposite by leaning in closer to get a better look of it. His lips folded back into his mouth, dissatisfied with some details.

Read: a lot of it.

He picked up the pencil, fingers holding a firm grip. He flipped the pencil to the erasing side, taking out large chunks from the car. He then went back in to give it a more outwards curved shape, this time closing the sunroof with his detailing.

"Much better"

Charles shot him a look, picking up the pencil and re erasing the shape, restoring his once more. It gave the paper a slight wrinkle, but Charles didn't pay attention to it.

Carlos smiled sarcastically in response, snatching the pencil out of Charles's hand and once again erasing the shape. He roughly restored the shape, giving the paper an uneven look.

Charles shot him a menacing look, aggressively snapping the pencil out of his hands, once again restoring the shape. This time, the paper was severely distorted.

"Better."

It seemed like Carlos wasn't going to win this time.

Not like this.

So instead, he shot daggers through his eyes before smiling.

"Whatever you say, Charlie."

Charles ignored his remark, eyes darting to the silver clock hung on the wall.

"Oh would you look at that, it's time for my lunch," he responded, getting up from his chair, "See you in the cafeteria, Carlito."

He decided if Carlos was going to have some fun, so would he.

He turned around before exiting the door, his smile fumbling slightly.

Carlos's expression wasn't his usual one. It was a mixture of softness and hurt at the same time. Like a piece of him had been brought back, but cutting him in the process. Like going through a photo album and getting a paper cut.

Like his hope had been shattered and restored at the same time.

Charles didn't waste anymore time analyzing Carlos's expressions, instead darting his way towards the cafeteria.

He wasn't going to let Carlos's emotions interfere with him.

Not again.

#carlos sainz #charles leclerc #f1 #charlos #1655 #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #ao3 #alternate universe #ferrari

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