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#and before anyone comes @ me i am well aware that its not the same song
dancingbirdie · 6 months
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hi! can I request Astarion x Tav where Tav is crying (same innocent type Tav from your last fic) and Astarion has to comfort them? (like after his confession scene in act 2 but before his final quest please?) tysm for your time!
Ask and you shall receive, my dear anon! Although a word of warning: this fic has a lot of fluff and a whole lot of angst. Also damn I really explored some of my own shit in this fic and am feeling very vulnerable but also very good. PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE WARNINGS/TAGS BEFORE READING <3
If I could nominate a song that inspired this writing, it would be "When The Lights Go Out" by Gabrielle Aplin.
The Dark Sun
Word Count: 1.6K
Rating: Teen
Warnings/Tags: Mentions of death, grief/trauma response to death of loved ones, mentions of blood, emotional pain, hurt & comfort, FLUFF, ANGST, non-sexual comfort, Astarion x GN!Tav, Minor Act 2 spoilers.
None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name. 
It isn’t true. It isn’t! Get away from me. Go!
Sitting in their tent, as far away from the other party members as safely possible, Tav was powerless to stop the replaying of Arabella’s words over, and over, and over, in their mind. They saw in their mind’s eye the maelstrom of emotions that had played across the young tiefling’s face when Tav gently broke the news that her mother and father had been killed. Shock. Anguish. Disbelief. Rage. Despair. Resentment.
Tav knew those feelings well. They had felt them before. They still felt the echoes of them, even now, so many years after the death of their own parents. Tav had been so like Arabella in their youth. They had recognized a kinship with the tiefling as soon as they met her in the Emerald Grove. To be the one who ushered in those emotions for someone so young and so full of unbridled joy - it was a cruel irony. To be that bearer of such unspeakable news, to a mere child. 
Though Tav knew that time would eventually take the immediate sting from this news, they also knew from their own experience that Arabella would forever be scarred. Even before she was aware, the world had been violently reforming beneath her feet. Life would never be as it once was. And the knowledge that they would forever be intertwined with Arabella’s memory of losing her parents, even if those deaths had not come at their hands, felt like opening the fissure in their heart all over again and injecting acid throughout its crevices. 
The reality of it all had Tav doubled over, sobbing into their hands in a feeble attempt at hiding their pain from the rest of the camp. None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name. 
Most of the time, Tav didn’t mind being that cheery glue that held people together. It was a role that was helpful to others, and they had performed it very well throughout their life. It also had the added benefit of distracting Tav from hosts of problems that were better left in the far corners of their mind. Seeing them like this, in this state of despair? It would topple the whole façade. And given where they were, in a bleak forest of darkness, fumbling through perpetual night, Tav knew the party needed sunshine more than ever before if they had any prayer of making it through this area alive.
So, no, Tav resolved to work through this pain in solitude. They had done so before. They could do it again. 
***
The Shadow-Cursed Lands were not exactly an Eden for animals that could quell Astarion’s thirst. Most of the beasts were either blighted or dead. Given this, Astarion had purchased an ox and some boar from the Harpers at the Last Light Inn for the express purpose of draining their blood and storing it in vials he could consume along the way. Gale had come up with a handy little spell to keep the containers cool and prevent the blood from spoiling. He estimated that those reserves, coupled with Tav’s generosity of allowing him to feed off them, would be enough to keep him stable for several more days. 
He heard the sound as he was exiting his tent to retrieve a vial of ox blood from the camp supplies. 
Muffled choking sounds. Someone was…crying? He piqued his ears, concentrating to locate the direction from which they came. 
Tav’s tent. He was sure of it. 
Pitched as far away from the others as possible, Astarion had thought it odd earlier in the evening that Tav had positioned themselves so far away from everyone, including himself. Normally, they rested at the dead center of the camp, where they could easily chatter and joke with the rest of the party. But, given his own proclivity for solitude, he hadn’t pondered it further, assuming Tav had just needed some quality time to themselves. 
Hearing their quiet sobs now, in the middle of the night, Astarion could have kicked himself for not realizing sooner that something was wrong. 
Though he had confessed his feelings several days ago and found them wholeheartedly reciprocated, his new… status… with Tav felt like learning a new language. A language with an alphabet wholly different than anything he had ever known. He certainly wasn’t fluent yet. He wasn’t even sure if his ability to… speak it, per se… was passable. But, if for nothing else, he was grateful to Tav for their patience and understanding as he navigated this entirely foreign situation. They never asked for anything more than he was willing to give, and that empathy continued to compel him to try. For himself. For Tav. For their future prospects. 
Of course, knowing all of this made Astarion feel all the more worse for failing to intuit Tav’s emotional state. They were not exactly a closed book. Had he not have fallen back on old ways of thinking and processing people’s behavior, he likely could have recognized the signs of Tav’s distress. But 200 years of habits and mindset was hard to break. He could hear Tav’s voice in his head, gently reminding him to be patient with himself, to afford himself grace. 
They were always giving him the space to be vulnerable. This time, he wanted to try providing them with the same assurance. 
Astarion quietly padded over to Tav’s tent and cleared his throat in a somewhat awkward attempt at announcing his presence. 
Immediately, the sobbing ceased. “Um, just a moment!” came Tav’s watery reply. 
Astarion listened carefully to Tav’s quiet sniffles and movements about the tent. He assumed they were quickly trying to right themselves, slip that cheery mask they wore so well back on. The thought broke his heart. 
“Tav, darling, can I come in?” he asked softly so that their fellow party members would not be able to hear. 
“Oh sure, are you thirsty? I was just lying down… resting,” Tav added lamely before finally poking their head out from between the tent flaps. They gave him a tiny smile, a weak attempt at normalcy, before pulling back and making room for him to enter.
Astarion seated himself across from Tav, who began rearranging their pillows and preparing for what they assumed to be another feeding session. He took in their ruddy cheeks, their tearstained eyes, swollen from crying so much. Tentatively, the movement still so foreign but becoming more familiar, he reached out a hand to cup their cheek. 
Tav stilled at his touch, sucking in a breath. He watched as tears began welling in their eyes.
“Darling, you don’t need to hide your pain from me,” he gently intoned. 
Tav gave a breathless laugh, traitorous tears leaking down their face. 
“I didn’t want any of you to see me like this. Especially you,” they warbled, sniffling. 
“And why ever not?”
“I’m ‘Tav The Sunshine,’ remember?” they said with a self-deprecating grin. “The sun only ever shines on us. That’s its job.”
“But the sun isn’t always shining,” Astarion reminded them softly. “Times of darkness are allowed.”
Tav released a quiet sob. “I don’t… w-want you to see that darkness. It’s too much… I… I can’t-”
Seeing Tav fall apart before his eyes, so broken and disconsolate, the urge to take them in his arms felt like second nature. Not a foreign language at all, not a struggle to initiate a touch. Astarion couldn’t explain it; his subconscious had known how to respond and barreled through all those years of self-loathing, manipulation, and disgust to reach out for Tav. Quick as a flash but so very gently, he pulled them into an embrace, maneuvering them so they sat cradled in his lap, their arms wrapped around shoulders. 
“My sweet, sweet Tav,” Astarion crooned as they cried into his shoulder, tears quickly dampening his nightshirt. He raised one hand to push back the locks obscuring their face and softly caressed their cheek. 
“I want to tell you something,” he continued. “And I want you to truly listen... I’ve walked in darkness for over 200 years. Mostly alone. Committing depraved acts against others in the service of a master who sees me as nothing more than a means to an end… There is nothing - nothing - in your darkness that could scare me away. I swear it.”
Tav raised their head to look at him. Slowly - as one would approach a wild animal - they raised their hand and kept it hovering right beside Astarion’s face. 
That Tav would still be thinking of his comfort, even in their abject sadness, unleashed a powerful wave of… some strong emotion in him. 
Is that love? Is that what it feels like? He thought. 
He couldn’t be sure. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. 
Acknowledging their silent request for consent, Astarion pushed his cheek into their hand. He turned his face for a moment to kiss their palm. He felt Tav shudder in his arms. 
“You’ve already borne so much sorrow in your long life, Astarion,” they whispered. “You deserve lightness and levity from your partner.”
“And you have given me that every day since we met, darling,” he returned, carding his fingers through Tav’s hair. “But we also agreed to share something real between us. That isn’t possible if you hide a part of yourself away. You deserve space for light and darkness inside yourself, Tav.”
They sat in silence for some time, Astarion allowing Tav to empty their tears onto his chest, until they were finally calmed. 
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Tav finally sniffled.
“Shh, shh. There’s no space for apologies here, love. But, there is space to share your pain. And I’ll carry it with you, as you do for me,” Astarion promised. 
And in that quiet night, in the heart of the Shadow-Cursed Lands, Tav opened their darkness to Astarion. 
And he was not afraid.
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Ed’s journey this season is going to perfectly mirror addiction and recovery, and I am so fucking here for it. Watching these first three episodes of S2 was like watching a highly dramatized AU of my own descent into rock bottom (except everyone was dressed wayyyyyy cooler than I ever was), so I have a lot of thoughts, reactions, and insights that I want to share with other fans. I’m sure many of us who have struggled with our mental health connected with Ed in these episodes, but I think addiction is the most appropriate lens through which to view him because addicts (more often than people who struggle with other mental illnesses) so wholly destroy their own lives and utterly devastate those of their loved ones. I want to share - from the perspective of someone who has steered her own ship straight into a storm and woke up alone to face some very hard choices - what is going on with Ed at the start of this season and what I think is coming.
Let me start by saying that Ed isn’t literally addicted to any one thing, despite his heavy use of drugs and alcohol, but his goal is the same as that of all addicts: escape. He does not want to sit with the pain of Stede leaving him on an immediate, surface level; on a deeper, more habitual level, he doesn’t want to sit with the pain of his own self-loathing. Of course the two are related: the former brings the latter to a head. Stede abandoning him dredges up and brightly illuminates all of his insecurities, and now Ed has to run. Get out. Escape. Don’t think about it. So he is fighting, stealing, drinking, snorting, shooting, killing - whatever it takes to not think about it.
“Demon? I’m the fuckin’ devil.” People in recovery often talk about addiction as if it were a separate, sentient monster living within them. Ed taking on the mantle of demon - a creature known specifically for possession, for removing the host’s free will - is intentional. So is his insistence that he’s not just any demon but the demon. The worst there is. (More on that when we get to The Innkeeper.)
Izzy’s confrontation of Ed in the captain’s cabin and then on deck is a form of intervention. Izzy is trying to help Ed, but of course this goes terribly for him and for Ed because interventions (I cannot stress this enough) are maybe the worst thing you could do to an addict. All addicts know things are bad, but they cannot be pushed to change one single second before they’re ready. Ed knows things are bad. He’s well-aware of how he’s spending his time, how his crew feels about him, how disappointed Izzy is. Being confronted with all of those truths by Izzy was always only going to make him do two things: 1) dig further into his unhealthy coping mechanisms, never mind that they don’t have nearly the effect that they used to; and 2) lash out at the person who forced him to think about it. Izzy lost his leg the moment he stepped into Ed’s cabin.
The impossible bird. You guys remember the song Chandelier by Sia? The one about her addiction to alcohol? The whole thing may as well come right out of Ed’s mouth at the end of that first episode, because that experience is exactly what he’s trying to convey to Frenchie. Nevermind that Frenchie has the temerity to tell him the bird can’t exist, that it has to come down sometime, that flying forever isn’t sustainable. The bird can come down on its own terms, or crash… but Frenchie’s definitely not going to say that much. Still, “that sounds like something that can’t exist” hits Ed, and leads us to the next episode.
Now we’ve got Ed forlorn, heartbroken, almost catatonic while playing with his cake toppers. We don’t actually see him crying in the opening of the episode, which is the point. He’s done crying now. The impossible bird can’t exist, and Ed has already resigned himself to this. He’s decided to die. The only sure-fire permanent way to not think about it.
When next we see Ed, he seems to be doing better, but this is a huge red flag for anyone who knows to look. He’s giving away his responsibility to Frenchie; he’s cleaning the cabin for the closure. He knows the end is coming fast, and the relief that knowledge brings him leaves him weirdly at peace. It is he eeriest part of these episodes, IMO.
Then he goes to find his first mate, the person who knows him better than anyone else in the world, the man he just fucking shot and ordered killed. Ed needs his low opinion of himself validated, and of course he thinks he’ll get it from Izzy after everything he’s done to him. He wants the one person who has stuck with him through everything to confirm that he’s now irretrievably broken and no longer worthy of his love. Ed wants someone to tell him that he’s right: he should die.
He doesn’t get that from Izzy. Interestingly, Izzy doesn’t tell him he should die. He says “Clean up your own mess.” Izzy has learned the lesson now that Ed isn’t ready to get better and that he can’t make him be ready. (This post isn’t about Izzy, but hoo boy - I have big feels about that man.)
Ed has been indulging in various forms of self-destruction in order to not feel his feelings, and steering the ship into the storm is his worst indulgence yet. This is the worst of his crimes - not beheading or arson or a red wedding. It’s when he tries to bring down everyone who has ever loved him into his misery, into believing what he believes. The audience generally (and Ed’s audience of Stede specifically) can forgive him for hurting strangers and for the non-specific mayhem whose victims we’ve never met; but it is much less certain that anyone will forgive him for hurting the only family he’s ever known.
The storm itself is the perfect metaphor for Ed’s attempt on his and, incidentally, everyone else’s lives. One of the most common metaphors used by friends and family members of addicts is that of a hurricane: that their addicted loved-ones tend to destroy everything they touch, anyone who was foolish or brave enough to stick around. And, like hurricanes, addicts aren’t malicious. Ed’s primary goal here is to get himself killed, not to kill everyone else. He wants the ship to go down so his death is certain. His firing a cannonball into the mast and asking Jim and Archie to fight to the death isn’t malice: it’s utter and complete nihilism. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing and no one. The end is near, and he’s so fucking drunk and high off these distractions that he couldn’t think about it if he tried. He’s manic with relief. (See also: “Finally.”)
And now for the finale: Purgatory. Buckle up, because this is where the addiction analogy gets real *chef’s kiss.* Purgatory is the equivalent of the morning after the worst, most rock bottom binge night of your life. You wake up with no one for company but the ghosts of your former selves. Now what?
Well, first - who is Hornigold to Ed? Why is he the guy Ed sees? It’s because Hornigold is another addict, if you will, but one who is (in this Purgatory hallucination) farther along in his recovery. He can impart some wisdom from that place, but he can also stand in as someone Ed can loathe because they’re not as different as Ed once thought, even if Hornigold can say he’s grown.
Hornigold tries to give him soup. He tells Ed, “Gotta get these nutrients into you,” and then literally shoves soup down his throat. That’s what it’s like in rock bottom. You don’t want to take care of yourself, but some lizard brain survival instinct takes over and makes you drink water, eat a piece of fruit, take yourself to the hospital. These things don’t really happen voluntarily that morning after, but you can still count on that instinct to kick in with some damage control.
Ed telling Hornigold how he “got here.” Hornigold says “Mutiny. It’s always mutiny.” Ed insists his mutiny was special, worse somehow. This whole scene is exactly what happens in your first recovery support group meeting. You go in thinking no one has ever been as fucked and fucked up as you are, which makes you feel isolated and alone. But then you get there and everyone else in the circle has done the same shit, been through the same shit. Ed’s not actually the devil; he’s just another demon, like many demons before him.
Ed worries he’s insane when he reflects on everything he’s done. Hornigold’s reply that “Feeling bad isn’t going to rebuild an abdominal wall” is a concept that people usually learn a little bit later in recovery, so I expect we’ll see more on this theme from Ed. Guilt is a useless emotion that only serves to conversely make the addict feel better but doesn’t help the harmed party: the addict feels like their suffering is cleansing, but it’s not - feeling guilt is just more self-indulgence, more self-destruction. Hornigold - a fellow addict in this moment - is trying to get this lesson to him early. It’ll return.
“You’ve got to move on or blow your brains out.” We’re getting back to Purgatory as the metaphor for the morning-after rock bottom, because this is the exact calculation that every person in recovery has done. They all had to answer that one big question. Your whole life is a mess, and you made the mess. Do you want to clean it up? Or quit? (Or make some soup? Yeah. That big question can’t be answered without basic needs having been met. So let’s eat. Let’s start there. It’s easier.)
Now we have Ed’s fantasy about opening an inn: This is also a common part of the morning-after rock bottom. You start thinking about the wrong turns you took, the mistakes you made, the way your life was supposed to go and all the reasons you’re not where you wanted to be. (And all the people you can blame for the fact that your life didn’t go as planned.) And when that honest part of yourself starts telling you that actually it’s all your fault… well, a) you don’t wanna hear it, and b) you can’t silence (kill) that monster, no matter how hard you try. You’ve got to face it. Face all those truths you’ve been running from for years. Now you have to think about it.
So now the big question, the inevitable math. Hornigold suggests looking at the pros and the cons. That’s the easiest way to break the calculation into manageable variables. This is probably my favorite moment of the episode, because when you’re sitting there, morning after the worst night of your life, everything is fucked - these are the exact variables that go into your equation. Do I really want to live? You ask yourself that, and because your life is in fucking shambles, you come up with the stupidest goddamn reasons to keep going. You wanna see the next seasons of Good Omens and Loki. You wanna eat your mom’s spaghetti again. Sometimes it’s nice when someone hugs you. It’s never the big things that save your life; it’s a bunch of the littlest things. The smallest comforts. The big things… they’re too unattainable. They’re too much to hope for, and they’re more than you could possibly deserve. What are the pros of living for Ed? Warmth, good food, orgasms. This is a stunningly accurate representation of the things that will keep you alive once you’ve hit rock bottom.
And then the cons: “I don’t think anyone is waiting for me.” This is why addiction is the better metaphor. There is no human experience more isolating than addiction. You are alone in more ways than you’ve ever been before. You have pushed away or pissed off everyone who ever cared about you. And even the ones who will maybe still be there for you - they can’t help you clean up the mess you’ve made. You have to do the work alone, even if they’re still willing to stand next to you. And this con… it’s the scariest one. Your list of little pros looks so pathetic next to the horror of being utterly fucking alone. Who is going to brave that for some stupid shit like Tom Hiddleston sexily flipping his hair back in that Loki way he does? Why should Ed carry on just because blankets are cozy and marmalade is pleasant?
This is where we get to the moment on the mountain, and what Stede represents. Hornigold tells Ed “You’re unlovable, and you’re afraid to do anything about it.” Ed could do two things about being unlovable: He could try to fix it, or he could end it all. Hornigold represents the worst part of Ed: his weaknesses and cowardice. And if Hornigold is in the driver’s seat, he’s going to end it all. He throws the rock off the cliff, and Ed gets dragged down into the water to drown. (Let’s also talk later about how often addiction is compared to drowning, and how nothing else in the show actually threatened Ed’s life - not Izzy with a gun, not all the rhino horn, not Jim’s cannonball - like drowning in his own mind.)
But then there’s Stede. Stede is how the pros win over that one big, horrifying con. Stede is hope. Stede is just a glimmer of hope. Hope is the most important thing you need in the morning-after rock bottom. As much as I enjoy the idea that it was love that saved Ed, I don’t think that’s a wholly faithful interpretation. Because Stede’s love for Ed doesn’t solve anything, doesn’t fix anything - it certainly doesn’t fix Ed. It cannot fix Ed. Hornigold just told Ed that he’s the one who has to “do something about it,” because Ed is the only one who can save himself. But even if Stede’s love for him in itself isn’t what saves Ed, Ed’s trust in Stede combined with that love gives him hope. Stede loves Ed, truly loves him, came back to him even though he knows Ed’s nature, knows his list of crimes, knows what he’s done to Stede’s friends and family. And maybe Ed can find in himself what he trusts Stede truly sees. It’s a “maybe,” not a certainty. But it’s hope. Someone loves him. Maybe he can love himself, too.
This Woman’s Work: I read this song as referring more appropriately to Ed’s relationship with himself, in no small part because Ed literally made himself the woman in the cake topper couple. All the things that should have been done, should have been said - they’re things Ed needs to do and say to himself. He’s got a little life and a lot of strength left. The journey has just begun.
I want to pop back quickly to a few other moments in The Innkeeper that resonated, starting with Stede and Izzy’s discussion about what happened to Ed: “He went mad. He was a wild dog.” Izzy describes Ed’s breakdown as if he was no longer the same person he once was; this is exactly what addiction does to a person. Ed hasn’t been himself; he’s been held hostage by his need for escape, and he’s become something else. Possessed, if you will.
Izzy: “You and me did this to him, and we can’t let the crew suffer any more for our mistakes.” I’m not writing an essay on Izzy (yet), but this is a very interesting perspective that says a lot about Izzy. Stede and Izzy both owe apologies to Ed, but they are not responsible for his actions. I predict we’re going to see this theme explored in later episodes as a part of Ed’s healing process and recovery. And also hopefully in Izzy’s growth.
Frenchie’s line that “We’ve been living second-to-second for a while now” is a callback to the impossible bird idea. Which, again, is just Chandelier x Sia. “I’m holding on for dear life, won’t look down, won’t open my eyes, keep my glass full until morning light ‘cause I’m just holding on for tonight.”
So what’s next? For me, it was learning to sit alone in a quiet room with my thoughts. It was apologizing to the ones I hurt, because even if I didn’t mean to hurt them - even if I was suffering also and worse - they still got hurt, and in the end it didn’t matter why. It was developing the habit of liking myself, and acting on whatever self-love and affection I could conjure up. And yes… it was new seasons of Good Omens and Loki, my mom’s spaghetti, and hugs.
So I think Ed has a lot of accountability, reflection, and breaking of old habits in his future… but also warmth, good food, and orgasms. And good for him. That’s the beauty of recovery: we get to come back.
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indouloureux · 2 years
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𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 (part two)
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summary: she sought for validation; he sought for acceptance. two juveniles who believed they’d spend the rest of their lives playing red guitars and borrowed claviers, (along with the trepidation of isolation), meet in one boring afternoon, and find themselves reveling in caterwaul voices, laying in a field of colossal grass, and writing lyrics with botched ballpens and crumpled papers.
— or: two people bond over emotional trauma, and fall in love through great manifestos
warnings: 1hr reading time, slow burn, friends to lovers, slight teenage angst, jealousy, tooth-rotting fluff, eddie being a sap, weird manifestos, reader being adopted, eddie and reader both having a self discovery whilst falling in love, fem!reader (she/her pronouns), me not knowing how to write both piano and guitar playing properly, deep words (sorry guys open google), lengthy, idiots in love, a love story about two sad teens going through a phase (jk) eddie has a bit of a corruption thing (not kink) bc he introduces reader into new things lol!
explicit warnings (for part two): virgin!reader, virgin!eddie; piv, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, overstimulation, first time, soft, vanilla porn, mentions of blood, handjob, cum eating, biting, marking, missionary, maybe soft!dom eddie bc he watched porn a lot and thinks he "knows his way", sweet but short aftercare
a/n: this is a story of fiction. i do not know the locations in both indiana and illinois. this is written in the way i prefer it to be to fit its story telling, and i am well aware of the things i write in here, and how i write this story. based on the song '1979' by the smashing pumpkins. hope you all enjoy part two!
PART ONE; SERIES MASTERLIST
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That we don't even care
To shake these zipper blues
And we don't know
Just where our bones will rest
When you were young, you remember sneaking out of your room from the orphanage to sneak into the living room and watch the television with a low volume, loud enough for you to hear so as to not disturb the Nuns asleep in their rooms.
You thought falling in love was exchanged between lingering stares, a ring of hope and yearning in their eyes; sharing gospels about yourselves that you’d never tell anyone else, compliments coming from Freudian slips. The ‘will they, won’t they,’ the supportive friends. And months, maybe years, of mutual pinings until they end up confessing beneath the rain in the middle of the road as if there’d been no cars passing by. Yelling through the thunderous storm their words of utter devotion and kiss like their lives depended on it.
For years, before you’d been adopted, you watched the same scenario of love stories on a small screen for hours until your eyes ran dry. Boy and girl meet, one fell first and the other fell harder, an almost confession, an almost kiss, a secret that could ruin their relationship and it almost did, a confession spat in a dangerous situation right before everything went to shit, and then they lived happily ever after. 
The same one every movie.
But they never really expressed how falling in love truly felt. They just showed it. 
Your mother, adoptive mother, had once said that you’d feel this electricity inside you. That sparks fly when you see their smile, or just see them in general. That you’ll feel a thousand butterflies consume you until you feel like you’re floating in the clouds with their hand in yours as you fly into eternity together. 
That everything else falls apart and it’s just the two of you. Heartbeats heard in your ears as you get lost in this abyss of abiding love. Or a spotlight would compel you to look at him like a sacred artifact in a museum. That you’ll find yourself wanting to be closer to them no matter how dangerous it has been—like moth to a flame.
Eleven year old you had stared at her with a look that told her you understood. And you did. Kind of. A young mind like yours couldn’t fully understand that feeling. 
So you waited.
Up until Eddie Munson came to your life.
Eddie Munson, who’s been hiding something from you the past couple of weeks.
Every time you were together, whether it had been for school purposes, songwriting, or just for the hell of it, he’d be stuck in this small mental corner with his front facing you, the back of his notebook keeping a somewhat barrier to hide whatever he was doing. And whenever you asked, he’d stop writing, tap your nose with the tip of his pen, and say
“A satanic ritual.”
Then he’d go back into writing. 
Your curiosity would sometimes almost get the best of you; debating if you should take a quick peek when Eddie leaves the notebook with you (closed) and excuses himself to the bathroom. But it was an invasion of privacy. 
And he’s doing it right now.
Walking through the somewhat crowded hallway, you’ve got a hand clutching the sleeve of his unbuttoned black plaid shirt, just right on his elbow as he writes while walking. Just like you’d been all those months ago.
His tongue darts out, his feet stumbling across his own, muttering short apologies to the people he accidentally bumps too. But he lets you guide him through your small tugs. 
“Christ, Eddie!” you push him away when one of the students comes running in with their projects, almost smacking him against the locker. “Put that down!”
Eddie laughs a bit before he finally snaps it shut, shoving his pen in his pocket. You drop your hand from his elbow. “Sorry, Mands.”
“You’re gonna trip,” you avoid the judgemental stares. Of gossiping kids speaking behind locker doors; you focus on Eddie. “And honestly, if you did, I’ll just make fun of you and pretend you don’t exist.”
“You wound me, pretty girl,” he slaps his hand to his heart, a sardonic pout coming with. But the pout is gone sooner when he realizes what he’d just said, and he clears his throat. “You gonna sit with us at lunch, or you’re still sticking with Wheeler and her friend?”
“They’re revising for the school paper,” you fiddle with the clasp of your bag. “So, uh, maybe I can sit with you if that’s alright?”
“It’s more than alright,” he smiles. Eddie’s palm slams on the cafeteria doors and pushes it open, letting you in first before he follows, letting the door swing until it hinders and settles closed. He scratches his jaw, looking up at the ceiling. “But, uh, you gotta sit beside me. Or else you’ll be stuck between a sticky mess of Sour Patch Kids and, well, kids.”
You walk between the chairs from his table and the one beside him. Eddie takes an empty chair beside Dustin, dragging it beside him at the head of the table and pulls it out for you to sit on. You smile at him, sitting down.
“Oh, hey, (y/n),” Dustin smiles, braces a different color this week that leaves you endeared. “Hey, Eddie.”
Mike chews on his pudding pie. The same brand as Nancy’s, and he’s got a confused frown on his face that’s almost mistaken as repulsion had you not known him. “What are you doing here?”
“Eddie has stained my reputation. I’m a pariah now.”
“Hey,” Eddie laughs, pulling his ball pen out of his pocket. “I could embarrass you right now,”
“I’m always embarrassed. For you, at least,” you jest. 
Gareth opens his small lunchbox, his name written on the side in capital letters. “You ready for tonight?” he asks Eddie.
You whip your head back at the boy beside you, sleeves rolled above his elbows, which reminds you of the one he posited just on your arm. If people didn’t look at you for walking around unabashed beside Eddie Munson, they were looking at the tattoo on your arm. It had caught Principal Higgins’ attention, and you saw him visibly parley to himself if he should punish you for it. 
But then his eyes flitted to Eddie and he sighed, sauntering back to his office with a shake of his head and muttering something about blemishing the temple of God with your tattoos. 
“Been practicing our asses off for the past few weeks. ‘Course I’m fucking ready,” Eddie scoffs. Then he lifts his head off the notebook and looks at you. “You’re coming, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you smile softly. 
He returns the same smile with the same fondness, his eyes twinkling in appreciation. The hand on his lap comes up to twirl his pinky around yours, dimples deepening in glee. You feel your heart pound at the small touch; see how everything behind him blurs. And you flutter your lashes. 
Dustin clears his throat that breaks your eye contact. Eddie shoots him an almost murderous glare, unhooking his finger from yours. 
-
The Hideout was dark. With stone walls and chipped wooden tables. The bartender looked like he was nearing his fifties, but looked approachable and kind when he’d greeted you with a rag in his hand as he wiped the glasses when you stepped inside. The lights were dim but bright above the small stage with band equipment—where you saw Gareth’s Corroded Coffin drums. 
Eddie had been over exaggerating when he said he had a crowd of five drunks. But they’re not exactly many either. There were people scattered around, preoccupied in conversations you don’t, and couldn’t be bothered to know. 
You nervously tug on your dress. A deep shade of red that’s almost black to match him. You walk between tables and old men, sitting on the table second to the front, giving you a clear view of the stage.
Earlier, you’d told Eddie you’d meet him there before he dropped you off at your home despite his protests. He told you to wear something pretty—simple, but pretty. Something that’s you, in his words.
Waiting patiently, you hear the soft clinkings of glass against bottles of alcohol at the bar, the quite boastful laughter of the men in the corner. Your knee bounces, hands clasped in front of you as you trace the rigid strikes of Corroded Coffin’s band poster, and startle yourself when a looming presence hovers over you, casting a shadow over the light.
You yelp, looking up to see a man. His hair gray as his hairline recedes, exposing his forehead. He had a nose that looked a bit like Eddie’s, and his blue eyes shimmer in curiosity as they settle on you; his stare is anything but creepy.
“Are you…Mandy?” he says gruffly, a lilt of uncertainty in his voice, and he sounds as nervous as you are.
“No. I’m (y/n)...” you furrow your eyebrows. “Oh, shit. Are you Eddie’s uncle?”
His hands rub the back panel of his hat, nodding. “Yes ma’am. Wayne Munson. D’you mind if I sit?”
“Not at all,” you gesture to the chair beside you. Wayne pulls the chair out, moves it a bit more to the side to give you an appropriate distance so he wouldn’t make you feel uncomfortable, and he sits down with a grunt. “S-sorry for cursing. I’m Eddie’s friend—”
He says your name. “I know. He can’t stop talking about you,” he chuckles lightly. “I finally get to meet the girl that makes my nephew wake up before his alarm clock.”
“That’s me,” you twiddle your thumbs. “Um, Eddie told me you worked at night.”
Wayne understands what you mean, placing his cap on his lap and rubbing his hand on his knee. “I do. But it’s a holiday and I couldn’t pass on the opportunity to see him play.” he scratches his silver beard. “Do you drink? I could order us some.”
“I’m eighteen, Mr. Munson” you tell him. “I can’t drink yet.”
“Coke it is,” he hollers for a waiter, a man a bit younger than the bartender. He orders a pale ale and two cans of coke before he takes out his pack of cigarettes when the waiter leaves. You notice how he’s got a small lighter wedged to the side of his cigarettes like Eddie’s, and you wonder if he’d caught it from his uncle. “You smoke?”
You look around cautiously when he sticks one in his mouth. “Will they let me?”
“You ain’t gonna go to jail for it,” his eyebrows raise. “I’m not pressuring you, kid. I’m just offering,”
Finally, in an impassive shrug, you take one and you place it in your mouth. When Wayne lights up his own, he offers you his lighter. “Thank you, Mr. Munson,”
You sit in silence for a short beat, the smoke of your cigars mixing in the weak waft of the ac. He wasn’t as menacing as you expected, and you didn’t know why you expected it in the first place. Based on Eddie’s stories, Wayne had never questioned his love for his fantasy game, or complained about his love for metal. He’d been the first person to accept Eddie for who he is, the only family in his life that stayed and cared. 
“You know, I-uh-I’d like to thank you,” he turns to you. “You never judged my nephew for who he was. You made him happier and, hell, I haven’t seen him this happy in years. He’s always hogging up the phone talking and laughing with you. I’m not there for him as much as I used to; and I’m glad you gave him back his smile,”
Flushing, you look away and hide your parlously proud smile behind the borrowed cigarette, stained by your fuliginous lipstick. “Nothing to thank me for, Mr. Munson. Glad I could make him happy.”
“Ah, please,” he waves his hand, cigarette in the air. “Call me Wayne. Makes me feel old.” then he waves around his face. “I know my- hair says otherwise. But I’m still in my forties.”
“Copy that,” you take a quick hit. “Wayne.”
Wayne nods his head in acknowledgement, a guttural grunt leaving him. “My nephew hasn’t been this happy in a while. Eddie tends to… hide his emotions. Likes to distract himself with that god-deafening music and his fantasy game. And since you came to his life,” his arm lifts, as if to give your shoulder a pat before he clenches it to a fist and puts it back on his lap.
You chuckle. “You can pat me, Mr. Muns- Wayne.”
“You sure?”
“It’s just a shoulder pat, sir,”
Balky, his hand comes up to clap at your shoulder, shaking it lightly. You smile, placing the cigarette back in your lips and sucking until you couldn’t breathe, and let it all out.
“You helped him… (y/n),” he swallows. “And I thank you for that.”
When your drinks come, footsteps advance the stage. First came Gareth who settled behind the drums, who saw you immediately and gave you an ebullient wave, then Jeff and the other guy who’s name you’ve (sadly) forgotten.
Then Eddie came just when you opened your can. The fizzle of soda coalesce with his eager footsteps. Your hand stops around the ring, eyes trailing up to Eddie’s face.
You try to bite back a gasp.
There’s dark eyeliner beneath his eyes that names him hellaciously unique; the liquid kohl renders his eyes wider—his umber eyes darker, almost voluminously black, although fulgurated with the dim lights and his buzzing excitement. His vogue is eccentric, almost a masquerade that fools, had you not known him. But it’s so him, and at the same time, it isn’t.
But Eddie looks unashamed and proud of his look of ripped sleeves and borrowed eyeliner, his hair asininely wild, curlier like he’d gotten himself a perm. He’s wearing black jeans with more tears, his Dio vest that accentuates his lanky arms, the pudge of his stomach seen through his shirt but he wears it proudly; happy trail peeking underneath when he lifts his hand to pull on the mic.
He taps on the silver mesh head of the mic. Eddie clears his throat. “Uh, hello?”
You see everyone turn their heads, unamused, but forcing themselves to acknowledge his presence. Eddie smiles nervously, before his eyes settle on you and Wayne. 
“Good evening gentlemen and lady,” he winks at you. “Uh, yeah, thanks for being here tonight. It means so much to the owner who’s been working his ass off so, give him a round of— ah, screw it no one’s listening,” Eddie tuts with a ridiculous smile, eyes meeting yours in a short apology. He’s not upset, but he finds it amusing. “This first song is, um, Breaking the Law by Judas Priest. Hope you guys enjoy it and if it gets too loud, I suggest you cover your ears.”
He picks up his red Warlock NJ guitar (Sweetheart, he names her) resting on the amplifier beside Gareth’s guitar, slinging it around himself before he pulls on the vermillion pick on his neck. Eddie settles himself up front, lips hovering over the mic. Then he looks back at Gareth, who throws one of the dumstricks into the air but fails to catch it and falls to the ground with an awkward cattle. 
Beside you, Wayne smiles at the inconvenience, but doesn’t elicit a laugh out of him. Gareth shoots the both of you a penitent smile, picking up the stick. He taps it together three times to signal preparation, before you’re startled with his sudden slam on the snare.
You’ve never really seen Eddie play the electric guitar. Well, you have. You’ve just unfortunately forgotten the first time you actually did. And you wonder if thirteen year old Eddie was just as great as twenty year old him, playing the guitar with such precision; he was, indeed, a virtuoso with guitars—electric or not. 
The sight holds you ransom. Eddie, with his hair unruly, an unforgiving proud smile on his face when he darts his tongue out to glide his dexterous fingers across the bronze strings of Sweetheart, his voice a caterwaul as he recites the almost innocuous lyrics. 
“Feel as though nobody cares if I live or die.”
But his eyes were passionate—not of the barely there crowd, but it was obvious he loves what he’s doing. Especially now that you’re here, witnessing this for the first time with his beloved uncle. In that small stage, it stymies all judgment of conservative people, and he lets himself relish in the freedom of doing what he desires. 
A gloss of pursuit sybaritism coats his eyes; with a white ring of sheer wanton hedonism just above his dark irises. The rest of the boys mimic the same passion, arms kinetic at their own playing, noses scrunched in glee. 
Eddie doesn’t look like an angel tonight. When the lights shine horns on top of his head—the cardinal hue of serpentine antlers usurps the halo over his head. He’s devilishly handsome, wickedly catching your eye through the palls of branded cigarettes that spread across the room. 
Beside you, Wayne claps and whistles, showing his everloving support. Eddie smiles brightly, leaning back when he does a riff you’re certain you’ll struggle studying it. When the song ends, scattered claps gift him. Few, but loud to show their support. 
He’s sweaty all of a sudden, and he runs his hand through his dampened hair, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Thanks. Thank you- hey, man, you owe me a beer,” he points at the guy sitting in the corner, who raises his bottle and tips his hat. You don’t know him. “This next song is dedicated to this lovely lady up front,”
You feel eyes on you. Suddenly, you want to sink into your chair just to avoid the unwanted eyes, and you tell yourself to forgive Eddie for making you off-guard. But the strangers give you either confused eyes, or looks that say they could care less.  But Wayne claps, which makes you hide your flustered smile behind the coca-cola can that you drink from.
“It’s Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic by The Police. I know it’s unusual for us to play something that’s not metal, but I practiced this song just for her. A…token of gratitude. And also for my uncle,” he adjusts his mic. “Um. Hope you guys enjoy,” 
You appreciate the fact that he’d practiced a song from one of your favorite bands just for you, despite it being out of his taste. You clap, a silly smile on your face that hurts your cheeks.
He strums, benign in all his dexterity, and shoots you a cheeky wink. You playfully grimace at his action, and you fail to miss the laugh Wayne lets out at the wordless banter. 
You gently sway to the indie music, see the way his rings glide across his nylon strings, how the bones of his fingers move through his skin when he plucks, mouth pressing up to the mic to sing clemently. You copy his nods, your own fingers tapping on the tin of your can.
The only thing the song lacked was the piano; you, basically. Eddie started playing with his eyes on you, and suddenly you remember being eight years old in the dark living room of the orphanage you stayed in. Except you hadn’t been the one watching — this time, you’re in the screen of that small box, finally feeling what it’s like to stare at someone so completely enamored with everything they did. With everything Eddie did. 
Because everything slows and everything else blurs, a flame igniting across every vein that brings you into a lovelorn haze. You hear your heart beat with the precious song Eddie has dedicated to you right in your ear, and you feel like floating off the chair. The halo comes back to slot itself between his horns, luring you in like a moth to a flame; like a venerated, fallen angel that has you plunging your hand through the clouds and taking his, flying you to his safe haven. 
“I resolved to call her up, a thousand times a day. And ask her if she'll marry me, some old-fashioned way,”
His once caterwaul cry of a voice shifts into a soft, canorous sway from baritone to tenor. Eddie smiles at you, a look in his eyes you can’t fathom but makes your heart burst, blood dripping down your chest but you don’t care. 
For four minutes and twenty seconds, your eyes never leave Eddie. And neither does he, like he knows he won’t so much as place the wrong finger on the wrong string or fuck up his plucking. Everything’s a scene on a cheesy romcom, a feeling told through a lovesick song, a story told through a galore of rhyming words in a poem. 
“Every little thing she does is magic; everything she do just turns me on. Even though my life before was tragic. Now I know my love for her goes on,”
In your mind, you push yourself off the table, chair falling to the ground, coke spilling onto the wooden top, walking yourself up to him and tackle him in a kiss; one of his arms would be around your waist and the other holding the mic stand tightly, your hands cupping his delicate face and mold your lips with his like some puzzle piece waiting to be connected. 
That the spotlight settles on the both of you, and you’ll fly up to the skies to spend the rest of your lives loving each other in eternity like everyone else did. 
But you stay on your seat with a fluttering heart and an agape mouth. You don’t realize Gareth has sped up his drums for the denouement of the song, and Eddie leaves on last hard strum before the small crowd claps for him, seemingly happy to finally watch someone play a song they knew. 
Eddie bows, an abashed smile for gratitude. “T-thank you, everyone—”
“Holy shit. They’re actually clapping for us—”
“Shut up, Jeff,”
-
“Thanks for coming, uncle Wayne,”
Their hug is tight with claps on the back and prolonged grunts. Wayne breaks away, hands on his nephew’s shoulder, a proud smile on his face. 
“No problem,” he nods at him. “Needed a break from work, anyway,”
You stand behind Eddie, fingers joint in front of you. Wayne gives you a kind smile that you return, one that makes Eddie turn to his shoulder to look at you, and you can see the roseate glow that dusts his cheeks. He bats you his eyelashes, eyeliner slightly smudged, before he turns back to his uncle.
“I like this whole… makeup thing,” he points at his eyes.
“Thanks,”
He leans in to whisper something in Eddie’s ear that you can hear, hushed words that are suspicious when Wayne looks at you again and when Eddie laughs nervously and lightly pushes at his uncle’s shoulder with a small whine of uncle Wayne, shut up! 
“Nice meeting you, Mandy,” Wayne tips his hat to you. “Drive safe, kids. I’ll see you tomorrow, Eds.” he pats his shoulder, shaking it lightly before he walks away.
Eddie walks you to his van, a hand on the back of your waist with his notebook clutched to his side. It’s quiet, with your shoes crunching with the gravel ground; he opens the door for you, right before he moves to his side. You watch in the side mirror as Wayne gets in his own car and pulls out of the driveway. 
Eddie throws his black notebook in the back, key twisting to start the car, and Broken Wings by Mr. Mister plays. It startles you, whipping your head at him.
“Where exactly are you taking me, Munson?” you narrow your eyes in feigned suspicion. He chuckles, buckling in his seat belt. “Well, that’s a first.”
“We’re leaving Hawkins. I can’t go to jail,” 
“Oh?” you raise a brow. Eddie laughs, humming along to the song which peaks your interest but you’re more curious about something else when he pulls out the driveway. “So where is it?”
He gives you a quick glance, the corner of his lip twitching up. “Illinois,” 
Your smile falls a bit, shifting into something confused when you squirm in your seat and rest your hands on your lap. “Oh,” you purse your lips. “What’s up in Illinois?”
“A surprise,” Eddie chuckles. “I’m not kidnapping you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Noooo ritualistic sacrifice.”
“I wasn’t thinking that,” you toy with your fingers, scratching gently at your tattoo. “You do know that when we get there, it’ll be one in the morning,”
He slows the van for a moment, driving with one hand as he reaches blindly behind him. Finally, he pulls out a pillow. It looks new, smells fresh, even, like laundry detergent. Eddie places it on your lap. “Figured. Take a nap, then,” 
You don’t. You hug the pillow to your chest, but you rest your head on it after you say a small thanks. Eddie adjusts the volume of the radio, redirecting the acs and when you give him a silent thanks with an abashed smile, he takes this as an opportunity to talk again.
“I’m really glad you came, by the way,” he smiles. “I mean, I know you said you’d come a while ago. And I’m really happy that you came even though our gig kept on being canceled for months.”
“I made a promise,” you lightly slur. “Your uncle’s really nice, by the way. He showed me this picture of you in his wallet when you were a baby. All ass and naked-”
“Shit, really?”
“No. I’m kidding.”
He tsks. “Would have been a nice, PG way to show you my ass but hey, it’s good to know my uncle doesn’t go around showing my butt.”
You laugh, unabashed. “I think I’d prefer grown up ass than baby ass, Eddie,”
Is this… flirting?
Flirting that’s not PG-13? Although, when has flirting been family friendly?
Why is he flirting with you?
Eddie’s smile dwindles. “You also look nice,” then he stammers. “I mean, more than nice. You look good- great- pretty- b-beautiful.” he sighs, the embarrassed pink tinge on his cheeks hidden by the darkness of his van. “You look… beauteous”
A rush of heat convulsing from your head to your toes that makes you squirm on your seat and toy with the ends of your red dress. “Beauteous, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Big word,”
“You know me,” he makes a psh sound, tapping his fingertips on the leather of his steering wheel. “I like it when they’re big…words,”
You turn your head to him. “Are you alright?”
Eddie’s fidgeting on his seat, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed, feeling like he’s been berated for something so small. “Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be? I’m- sorry for, uh, the whole ass thing.”
“It’s just ass, Eddie,” you laugh.
“Yeah, but it’s my ass,” he motions to himself. “Isn’t it weird that I’m talking about my ass as a baby to you- you know what?” Eddie suddenly stops the van, right in the middle of the road, where it was just the two of you in his van in the asphalt ground. 
You gawp. “What are you doing?”
He unbuckles his seatbelt, leaning forward to shrug his vest off, leaving him in the extra shirt he brought along after his show—The Van Halen shirt he opted to shoplift one time, but you’d stopped him by buying it which he thanked you with an ice cream. And coincidentally, Runnin’ With the Devil starts playing.
Eddie places his vest on top of you, the entire shoulder length covering your chest; it’s as if he wants to keep you warm. You pout, hugging the pillow with one arm and the other tugging the vest around your right arm.
“Take a nap,” he pats your knee gingerly, giving you a small smile. “We’re gonna have a long night, sweetheart— god fucking damnit,”
You blush at his moniker but laugh at his rabelaisian accident. He sings beneath his breath, gives your bare knee a rub with his thumb before he starts driving again, forgetting to put his seatbelt back on.
-
“Oh my god, you are so gonna sacrifice me to the Devil,”
“Only bad girls get punished, (y/n)— I’m just gonna shut up now,”
When Eddie said he’d be taking you to Illinois for a surprise, you don’t expect to be brought to some abandoned home in a place you’re an alien to. Upon you stood a house which hangs on rusted nails and broken cement walls. It seemed to be a small historic mansion, built in a hamlet a couple minutes from the suburbs. 
You feel like you’re one of the protagonists who idiotically explore a home they shouldn’t be exploring in some horror movie. That behind the bushes hid a man with a burnt face and knives for fingers. The trees rustle, crickets chirp and the wings of birds flap into the night sky. There’s a dog that barks from a distance, cars that speed across the asphalt road to their destination, and Eddie’s labored breathing as he stares at you for any signs of fear or hesitance. 
You should be afraid — it’s one in the morning, and Eddie’s brought you to a place that’s hours away from your home. Are you afraid of him? Never.
But are you afraid of ghosts…?
“Is this safe?” you look around, surrounded by low hills and trees from afar that hide the city and the suburb. “Are we gonna get arrested?”
“We’re safe,” his eyebrows raise a little. “No ghosts, I promise. Although I can’t guarantee you there won't be any bugs and weird creepy crawlies in there, but I’ll protect you from them,” Eddie jokes.
You laugh, looking at the broken windows, the shape making it seem like someone had thrown a rock inside. There’s a small graffiti beside the door. Mellon Collie & Infinite Sadness, motherfucker!
“Mands, come on,” Eddie offers his hand, a glint of hope that bejewels his dark eyes. He’s gotten rid of his eyeliner already (sadly), but he looks just as handsome. Shyly, you place your hand on top of his. 
His palm is rough; the same goes for his fingertips. But they’re warm and gentle and so welcoming. It’s like your hands are made to hold his, with the way they connect like some padlock. Eddie holds your hand the same way you hold his heart: of reverential attentiveness and utter devotion.  
Eddie beams, bearing a smile that reaches his eyes. He tugs you close to him, pocketing his keys. “I got you, ‘kay?”
You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Copy that, rockstar,”
He blushes.
Slowly, Eddie pushes the door open. An eerie creak emits from the decrepit door, loud that you worry it would be heard from the houses a couple minutes away. He visibly winces at the sound, your hand tightening around his when he tiptoes his way in.
“Fuck, I forgot the door did that,”
You look at him. “You forgot?”
“Well, how’d you think I knew about this place?” he smirks at you. “Gotta impress you, sweetheart. You, as an avid lover of pianos and Billy Joel, need to take you somewhere you’ll love,”
In all honesty, you appreciate the effort. And the thought of Eddie wanting—needing to impress you, makes your heart perform an elegant summersault. “Well, that’s nice of you. I can learn how to love some dingy home.”
Eddie laughs.
There’s a spiral staircase that leads up to the second floor, its balusters broken in half, the risers in the middle having foot-sized holes, the handrails covered in green veins. There’s an arched entrance beside the foyer, leading to a living room with couches covered in a thin white sheet, with a coffee table fallen sideways and a couple of smashed plates on the ground. There’s a window beside the fireplace, too, although what only remains to be the frame itself.
The carpeted floor is covered in mold, and you wonder what its design might have been before it had turned into this disgusting, brown color. 
“Don’t worry, there’s a room in here that doesn’t look this… mlegh,” he frowns deeply, wiping his hand on his thigh. “God, that was gross. This way, m’lady,”
He leads you through the spacey hallway, passing by ripped picture frames, a kitchen full of smashed plates and open cabinets filled with moldy and spoiled food; bedrooms with blankets covered in dust and démodé clothes inside unhinged wardrobes. Each item and corner harbor cobwebs from lingering spiders, and you almost ran into one if it weren’t for Eddie warning you to be careful.
Finally, your feet meet the marbled floor of a new room; moldy carpets gone, the darkness gone as this room is lit with the moonlight that sparks through the broken window. But there’s a clean blanket in the middle of the room, a picnic basket and a pack of beer—both fresh and clean.
You look at Eddie with a parted mouth and he says,
“Behold,” his arm stretches, moving behind him to guide your vision. Eddie’s ringed hands unearth his surprise, where your eyes follow his direction. “A piano,”
There’s a primeval grand piano in the middle of the room, the dust wiped off of its existence; its legs had been duct taped, the lid chipped and it’s missing two wheels but it was beautiful nonetheless. 
“You said you’ve always imagined playing Billy Joel on a grand piano, so here you go,” he lightly punches a wall. “Now, I know I’m no rich, snobby person, but I would applaud you, sweetheart,”
You near the piano, running your fingertips across the keys, pressing on one of them to see if they’re in tune and they are. You snap your head at Eddie with a slack jaw, tears welling your eyes. 
“Gareth and I drove up here, fixed up this room. Luckily, he knew someone here in Illinois who could tune the piano. And as for the blanket, and the beer, and the sandwiches, well, uncle Wayne did me a favor and brought all that shit up here. Now, I know it’s kind of gross in here and it’s like, one in the morning but—oh!”
Eddie’s tackled by your hug, feet knocking him back and almost to the ground. You wrap your arms tightly around his neck, nose digging onto his hair and eyes slammed shut to fight back the overwhelming tears. There’s not a single bone in him that’s hesitant to hug you back, holding you close to his chest, his heart pounding against yours when he presses his lips on top of your head.
“This is amazing,” you say against him. “I can’t believe you-you did this for…me.”
You pull away from him, hands on his biceps when you turn to look back at the grand piano. Eddie’s arms run back and forth on your waist, looking down at you with a triumphant smile before he twists you so that your back’s to his chest.
“Anything for you, Mandy,” he moves his hands up to your arms, rubbing them. “This was all I could do but-”
“I accept anything you give me,” you murmur with a smile, starstruck with the piano and his gift. 
“Yeah, I know,” he rests his chin on your head. “Now, you’ve got something to play for me?”
-
The lively music created by your adroit fingers was enough to make Eddie sway. You lack the guitars, the drums, and the trumpet but it’s robust with buoyancy nonetheless. 
You play the same way Eddie did—with a bobbing head, a bewitching voice, and dexterous fingers that know their way to your beloved instrument. He sips his beer, sitting cross-legged on the blanket, watching you with such awe; an exact mirror of you and him in the Hideout.
You keep your eyes riveted on the piano lest of mistakes. But Eddie thinks you’re far from failure, with how nimble your fingers are, and how your voice was as angelic as it had always been.
“You mighta heard I run with a dangerous crowd, we ain't too pretty, we ain't too proud,” your fingers glide, from left to right, pressing on all chords in quick speed, and it makes him holler. “We might be laughing a bit too loud. Aw, but that never hurt no one.”
“YES!” he claps. “You’re amazing! A fuckin’ star!”
Eddie takes a swig of the bitter liquor, headbanging to a song that wasn’t even metal but you could headbang to any song, right? 
When you’re done, he pulls out a rose from a basket and throws it at you, falling on top of the piano as he stands up from the blanket, clapping loudly that it ricochets outside the empty, broken halls. You flush, smiling bashfully when you stand up and take the red rose into your hand, bringing it up to your nose and bowing as if you just finished an hour-long concert.
“Felt like I was in church,” Eddie pants, wiping his palms on his jeans. “You’re goddamn amazing, Mands. You really could be the next Billy Joel,”
“Oh, stop,” you wave him off, playing with the stem of the rose. “You’re just-”
“Complementing? Praising you?” he cocks a brow, walking towards you and places his hand on your back. “Okay, now sit. I’ve got a surprise for you, babe,”
“I swear, if you’ve got Billy Joel around, I won’t hesitate to kiss him in front of you,”
“Keep it in your pants, young lady,”
You guffaw. “How could I keep my lips inside my pants?”
“By- shh. I’m trying to show off here,” he stretches his arms, fingers settling over the keys. “Um, Dustin taught me this. Kid’s great with the piano and all that shit. Not as great as you, though. He’s more…superior with his mind than he is with music. But, he was able to help me with this so let’s thank the little shrimp for that.”
Nodding, you bump your shoulder with his. A smile paints your face, having already been surprised that Eddie Munson learned how to play the piano for you. But you wait for the real one, eager to see what he has in store when he positions his fingers on the piano, rings pressing against the ivory.
“Uhhh- oh!”
You peer quietly, watching the way his fingers keep a leisurely pace; an obvious sign that he’s still unsure of which keys to press next. But he knows the words by heart — something you’ve never heard of, and it’s obvious that he’s written this himself. You deem the meaning behind them salient, singing with his voice a dulcet tenor, eyes evident that he’s repeating all the words Dustin said: 
Remember the keys. Play gently. Make sure you don’t get pinched by the keys, and you can always go slow. This isn’t some Corroded Coffin show where you start headbangin’ and making those fucking riffs. You play- gently! What did I just say? God, you’re gonna die a virgin.
Eddie looks at you for a split second, nervous, worried with the way your eyebrows furrow and your mouth parted. If he were being honest, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. The minute he sat down on the bench, he'd forgotten half of what Dustin had said, mind almost omitting to remember the lyrics he’d worked hard for for weeks.
And god, you’re staring at his hands and his face with bewilderment. And you’re beautiful. He feels so fucked up (in a good way). He’d probably kill himself if he fucks this one up.   
But you regard the lyrics. They’re meaningful and heartwarming, meant just for you when he takes those short glances, but there’s a part that stitches all your wounds together, provided by his dangerously blunt needle.
“You whisper into my heart. And I've never been quite smart, but I heed your words in a tempest; just where our bones will rest,”
Piano played with fidelity, lyrics sang with breathless devotion, fingers genuflect to please you with its core venerated. Eddie Munson plays for the key to your heart even though he’s had it in his palm for a long time; shakedown your mind with a flickering flame in his mind, veins high on morphine. 
Suddenly he stops, and Eddie looks at you with a face so wrecked with nervousness you just want to kiss hug him. 
“That’s- that’s everything that I remember,” he flops his hands down to his lap with a huff. “It’s actually unfinished. But I couldn’t wait any longer,”
You croon. “Why not?”
“Well, why’d you think I brought you here in the first place?” he whispers. “Other than me wanting to surprise you. I mean, Mands, I wanted to impress you. Think of any other guys who’d bring someone to an abandoned home for anything but a date.”
“A date, huh?” you repeat, slowly smirking. “This is a date?”
Eddie pales. “Well, I mean, if you want it to be… a date...”
You decide to play with him. “I hardly think of this as a date,”
“Why not?”
“I’ve barely eaten,”
He giggles, leaning back with his head lulling back. “Sorry! Sorry I jus’- wanted to see you play.” Boldly he reaches up to push your hair behind your ear, the side of his face glimmering by the bright moon seen from the huge hole on the wall of the room. “I stole your lyric, by the way. Kind of makes me not want to give you some credit,”
Flushing, you look away, mustering up the courage to place your hand on top of his. “I’d really appreciate the credit, Munson,” you murmur. “That way the world would know who I was,”
“But who cares about the world?” he cups your face, thumb resting on top of your cheek. “I’m here, Mandy. I’ll… heed your words. Y’know? I’ve never been smart but I’ll heed your words in- what was the next word?”
“Tempest,”
“Tempest,” Eddie repeats. You giggle, leaning into his touch. “I am…stupid for you. But I’ll understand you. I’ll listen to you, and I’ll take care of you, (y/n). I…”
He’s redolent of piety to genuine amor. Eddie looks at you like you painted the stars on the dark sky, like someone who’d pulled him out of hellfire and thought that all his devilish, leather and metal glory was worthy of your attention and acceptance. He cradles your heart in his hand.
“I think I’m in love with you,” he states. “I didn’t know anyone could fall in love twice but, life is full of possibilities.”
Tears well your eyes, rivulets transferring to your eyelashes. It seems like Eddie has mirrored you, too. You cock your head to the side, letting out a dry chuckle. 
“Me too,” you bite your lip. “I really like you. And I think I’m in love with you,”
“Thank fuck. My next option was to sacrifice you to Satan if everything went to shit,”
“Hey!”
“Kidding,” he smiles softly. “Can I kiss you?”
Four words enough to sweetly kill you, only to be resurrected by his yearning stare. You nod. “I don’t know. Can you?”
He doesn’t answer, but yeah, he can kiss you.
It’s tender, it's soft, it's warm, it's free, and it’s loving. It feels like summer in the dead of the night; like sitting in front of the fireplace with hot choco during winter. Eddie kisses you the way a lover would, with megawatts of avidity. And his lips are soft and home and so validating. I see you. I feel you, I understand you. 
Eddie fully carries your face in his hand, slanting his mouth against yours when he takes a deep breath. He breaks away for a moment before he tackles you with an open mouthed kiss that you reciprocate, the feeling of his balmy tongue grazing your plump bottom lip.
You feel the heat wave itself from your chest to the space between your legs that makes you subconsciously lean closer to him, thighs bumping. Eddie’s hand crawls from your cheek, to pressing lightly on the dip of your neck, to your plump shoulder, grazing the tattoo he painted on your skin until they land on your thigh, lifting it on top of his.
You moan softly that vibrates across his warm chest. Eddie hums, playing with the ruffles of your red dress, keeping your hot mouth locked against his. But when your hand comes down to grasp at his bicep, moving behind to tangle lightly on his curls, your body searches for friction and uses his thigh as the nearest solution. 
“Christ, babe,” he breaks away, the tip of his nose still pressed on your cheek. “You only got panties beneath?”
“You never know,” you pant. 
He groans, feeling blood rush down to his cock that immediately hardens. You feel an acute bump beneath your knee, giving Eddie a rubicund glow. You press the back of your knee against it, which makes him squeak. “Y’ really wanna- wanna do this? I mean, I just kissed you.” he swallows thickly. “And I’ve- I’ve never done this before,”
Eddie looks ashamed, like it’s embarrassing to be a virgin in your twenties. Your heart melts for him, face softening, taking his hand into yours and kissing his knuckles. 
“Me, too,” you confess. “But I trust you and- and I wanna do this with you. Besides, it’s better than to leave high and dry, right?”
I trust you.
He laughs jovially. 
“You’re right,” he gives your mouth quick pecks, too short for your liking but he makes up for it when Eddie readjusts himself so that he’s fully facing you, urging you to do the same so that he’d wrap your legs around his waist. “‘M gonna take care of you, Mands.”
He easily lifts himself off the old bench, carrying you with him. You sway with every step, arms locked around his neck, lips slotted against him with his eyes closed tightly but luckily he knows his way to the thin blanket.
Eddie kneels, almost falling down with your weight. He places a hand to the back of your head and the other on the bottom of your spine when he gently lays you on the light eiderdown. 
Immediately, he lays himself on top of you, a forearm on the side of your head with the other palming at your waist. Your dress rides up to your thigh, pooling beneath you when Eddie moves forward to caress his thigh against yours, your knees pressing up at his sides. 
“Can I- Can I remove your dress?” he asks gently, eyebrows joint. “Please?”
“Yes, please,”
His hands wander to the buttons in front, removing them with ease until your bra appears. It doesn’t match what’s below you, something you’re slightly embarrassed about, but Eddie goggles at them as soon as he pulls on your strap. “Oh, god, you’re hot.”
He mouths at the top of your breasts, sucking gently as he begins to pull down on your dress until he sees your cotton panties. He drags them down until your body’s free of restraint, where he moves back so he’d remove them off your legs and place them on top of the basket to avoid any dust ruining the fabric.
Then he goes back to kissing your tits, hands cupping them together, bunching the material of your bra in his fists. You moan softly, grasping his shoulders.
“Beautiful,” he says. “Goddess divine,”
Eddie helps you sit up slightly so he could reach behind and clumsily unclasp your bra. His tongue pokes out in determination, makes a happy sound of success once he sees your bra loosen, straps draping down your shoulders that he gladly removes from you. 
“Hold on,” he leans back, moving to his knees to remove his vest and shirt. Eddie stuns you with his alabaster skin tainted with black ink. A gnarly demon on his chest beside a black widow, the infamous bats on his outer forearm, the puppet master on the inside and the butterfly on his wrist; the wyvern on his bicep, and there’s a huge, hotly formidable tattoo of a pair of bat wings starting from his v-line, curving around his waist, and a skull beneath his left pec. “There. Now we’re even,”
“You look… christ, I’m not even gonna fucking hold back. You look hot. Very fuckable,”
He laughs with a light shake of his head. “I’m gonna pretend you were looking at my face while you were saying that.”
When he goes back down, his lips attach to your hard nipple. You mewl softly, feeling his hot saliva lather around your tit when he suckles hard like he searches for something in there. You clutch at his hair, head tipping back, hips jolting up to grind against his bulge which makes him groan. 
“Do you have to suck on my tits longer or should I start touching myself already?”
Eddie chuckles in disbelief. “Patience, honey. ‘M gonna give you what you want, don’t worry.”
His hand grips at the warm flesh of your thigh, index finger moving up to slip beneath the waistband of your panties, massaging your flesh. And he treats the other breast with the same hunger, doesn’t stop until he’s certain they’re sensitive (they are. They really are.)
Finally, he starts moving down, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses on your belly, down to your navel, until he reaches your dampening underwear. You prop yourself up to your elbows when he stutters in his movements, staring up at the wet spot that reveals the indent of your little cunt.
“What’s wrong?” you ask, a forming billow of insecurity preparing to tackle you the longer he stares at your clothes sex. 
“Nothing,” he clears his throat. “Jus’ that I’ve never… eaten a girl out, before. Well, I’ve had practice. Just not at a girl’s p-pussy,”
Curiosity waves insecurity off. “Well, where? At your hand?”
“At a fleshlight,”
Your head feels like burning. “Oh,” you blink. “Well, do your best, I guess. Good luck,”
“Thanks,” 
Eddie sniffs at your arousal, biting back an animalistic groan that scratches at his throat when the aroma of nectar fills his nostrils. Eddie leisurely removes your panties, lifting his eyes up to connect with yours. They’re achingly concupiscent, pupils blown in the thick glaze of frisson that makes the hair on his arms raise with anticipation. 
Finally, he tugs them down, wiggling them off you. Eddie’s practically edging himself, with the way he slowly reveals your cunt, mouth watering at the shiny gloss at your clit from your slick. He growls lowly, sliding them off faster until he tosses them into nowhere (you make a note to hit him later for that).
His hands push at your knees, spreading your legs apart, making your pussy open and splay out for him to press his tongue against. 
Which he does; Eddie’s lips purse, lets a thick glob of his spit cascade down to your clit before leaving a featherlight kiss to it, until he licks a fat stripe from your tiny hole to the bud. You keen, back arching, which makes him link his arms around your legs and press a hand on your navel to keep you down.
It’s a foreign feeling you know you’d relish for the rest of your life, especially when it comes to his tongue. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper. 
“You taste- taste fucking amazing,” you do. Like honey; like a pétillant sweet moscato, syrup on pancakes and all other sweet shit he could think of. Eddie repeats his action, which makes your hole flutter around nothing. He suctions his mouth at your clit, sucking all the juices that continue to leak out of your blushing cunt. “Christ on a fucking clutch- oh, god, Mandy.” 
There’s an embarrassing sound that seems to be like quiet slurping and the raw music of wetness created by his lips and your arousal. Your toes curl, the tip of his tongue dragging along your folds like some kitten before he returns to taking your clit back in his mouth.
Mewling, your elbows give out and your head falls down to the sheets, eyes squeezing shut. His vacant hand comes down to drag itself along the mess of your hot sex, amalgamated with his saliva and your lubricous dampness, rubbing your clit with his index and middle finger in slow, pressured circles that begins to ignite the flame below your stomach. 
“God- Eddie- I-”
“Wanna use your words, babe?” he laps at your hole, nose rubbing at your clit when he shakes his head vigorously. “Tell me how good it feels, come on. Don’t go shy on me.”
You nod, your wrist pressing on your forehead when Eddie parts your slick petals with his fingers, formed into a v to expose more of you. He licks at it, teasing your folds, gawking at you. 
“Feels- feels amazing. Felt like I was gonna pee whenever you- fuck- suck at my clit. God, Eds, I want more,” you whine, bucking your hips at his face. “Please. Please please please,”
He laughs against you. “You weren’t gonna pee, sweetheart.”
“How’d you know?”
“Porn,” he furrows his eyebrows. “Eavesdropping works sometimes.”
Eddie licks at his fingers, index and middle stuck together in his mouth as he twirls his tongue around them. He pulls them out with a small pop, eyes  wandering up to your bare, heaving chest, and he couldn’t resist a teasing squeeze using the hand pressed on your navel.
Then, he begins to ease one finger, lips apart, breathless as he watches you take in his digit slowly. It’s a strange feeling, with something prodding deep at your entrance, where Eddie doesn’t stop until he’s practically knuckle deep into you, pressing against your viscid walls; an alien sensation that feels good, albeit you still don’t feel full, even so, it’s tingly and blissful.
Your brows furrow, lips disjoined to produce heartily mewls, evoking Eddie of his altruism. He can’t get enough of how you taste, of how heavenly your sounds are despite the deed being so irreverent. He’s thrusting the single digit slowly. So you buck your hips against his face, almost shoving your clit into his mouth.
“M-more,” you whine. “Please. I can take it,”
“Yeah?” he kisses the outside of your cunt, nipping at your thighs. “Gotta stretch you open first, right?”
The tone’s a question, though it careens to remind you of what he’s going to do next. Eddie pulls his finger out, moaning quietly at his scintillating limb. He lifts his middle finger, placing it beside the sticky index before he gingerly impels inside. Your hips raise, your wails turning a bit louder, bursting into pleasured linns of coloratura. 
When he brushes that sensitive spot that makes you sob, one that abuts the waves and fluxes delirium on every blood that swims on your insides. Eddie looks up at you, hair in a tangled mess when you keep pulling on them as he picks up his pace and quaffs at your pulpy button, shoulders spreading your legs at an almost uncomfortable distance that puts an ache from your legs to your thighs.
The sounds you make are absolutely empyrean. They reverberate from the torn walls of the hallway just outside, like angels warbling as they play the harmonious harp with their cherubic fingers; like the skies had opened, let out a beam of sunlight surround him in a circle and take him up to heaven where you remain. 
And they shouldn’t be taking sinners like him; a devil worshiper as they rudely opine. Yet here he was, listening to an angel cry, her teardrops leaking down his fingers to his gyrating wrist, combing through his hair pruriently. 
But now, because of him, he doesn’t think you're an angel anymore. With what’s happening — angels don’t submit to the devil now, do they?
Eddie’s hair is a blazing abradation against your sensitive skin, heightens every part of your senses that explodes your mind. You feel an overwhelming, anomalous twist in the pit of your stomach. 
He places gentle kisses on your silky thighs, looking up at you with such vehemence. “You make the prettiest sounds, Mands. Just as pretty as your voice, hm? Wanna sing for me? Gon’ make you sing so loud, baby.”
Fingers fasten. They scissor, and they spread, and they augment on your viscous in your tight canal. An amoral sound produced by his neophyte hands and your needy, swelling cunt that aches for more despite already having been split open by his fingers. 
You moan, loud, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit as his arm begins to shake the faster he moves his hand inside you. Eddie begins moving up, fingers still fucking you, kissing his way up to your face. He leaves wet spots on your skin, both of his saliva and your wetness. Your hands leave his hair, eyes scrunched close to weep coarsely, pushing at his hand, urging him to go deeper that his cold rings sting your raw folds. 
“I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, stomach flexing, arm grasping at his hastening hand. You clench around his fingers, locking him in place for a split second from how tight it was. “God, Eddie, I’m- you’re making me cu- I’m close,”
“You can cum,” he kisses your cheek, dragging his lips up to kiss the corners of your eyes. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Come on, be a good girl and cum for me,”
You do, with your back bowed, jaw slack with mewls and moans, thighs shaking when he continues to rub your clit even when your cum starts to coat his fingers, dripping down to his rings and wrist. Liquid spurts, a hollow but wet sound when he slows his fingering and fucks your tiny entrance open. 
Finally, Eddie pulls them out with a humiliating shlick, cum leaking out of your hole and onto the thin blanket. He shoves his fingers in his mouth, like it’s his libation —god of fingerfucking, as you’d call him in your mind when he sucks all the white sap.
“Felt good?” he pokes your cheekbone with the button of his nose. “Because if it didn’t, I might as well leave you here and go back to Hawkins butt naked.”
You laugh, slapping lightly at his arm. “It felt amazing, Eddie. Don’t worry.”
Your hands fumble with his jeans. But Eddie kisses you, unrestrained with his tongue sweet, a faint bitter taste of the beer he drank earlier. He places his hands on top of yours, placing them on top of your stomach before he goes back to removing his jeans. 
The sound of his pants unzipping excites you, eyebrows raising as you kiss him harder, hands coming up to grasp his face gently, thumb on his cheek and the rest of your fingers below his jaw that you caress its emolliency. Eddie raises his hips, tugging them down until he’s clad in nothing but silver rings and checkered boxers.
He nods towards his crotch when you break away from him, eyes leading from his chest, to the fuzzy brown hair of his happy trail, to the bulge that pokes out of his loose underwear. “Wanna see it, babe?”
“Can I?”
Eddie snorts. “Yes you abso-fucking-lutely can. Take it out, sweetheart. You can play with it a little,”
He moves to lay halfway beside you, legs dropped and slightly spread, hands on his back to support himself. You get on your knees, face aflame when Eddie’s eyes watch your every move with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. You wonder how he could be so calm; if he felt the same nervous sensation overwhelm your core, both being neophyte to sex. Nevertheless, you’re not nervous enough that you want to stop.
But when you tug down on the band of his boxers and his cock vaults up, he tries to hide how overwhelmed he is. You ogle, and if you could, you would have foamed at the mouth at the sight of his thick girth, tip swell with precum, how a vein bulges beneath and how his sack hung heavy. A voice in the back of your mind wonders if he could even fit inside you but suddenly you’re starved.
“Pretty,” you breathe out, tongue licking your lips. “Dude, you’re big,”
“Thanks.” he blushes.
Gallantly, you swipe your hand across your slick heat to lubricate your palm. He visibly shudders, eyes glassy, groaning when your fingers enclose around him.
“Fuck,” your wrist gyrates, starts moving up and down on his length. Eddie’s hips buck into your fist, your movement leisurely, like you’re relishing the feeling of his hot cock in your hand. But you lean down, mimicking him earlier by letting a dollop of your spit drizzle down on top of his tip. “Oh- oh god, that felt good,”
You slant down to wrap your lips delicately around his engorged helmet. He moans, breath ruptured when you sink down onto him, taking only what you could and coat the rest with your trembling hand. “Fuck- shit- yeah, baby, your mouth’s amazing,”
He tries not to buck up into your mouth, restraining himself by carding a hand through your hair to cup it on the back of your head. His hearing becomes muffled, nothing but the opaque sound of birds, deluging it with your gurgles, your spit and his fluid that continues to leak from his slit leaking down to his balls. 
Eddie had imagined this once- twice- three, he doesn’t know. It had been too many to count and he feels bad thinking about it; what kind of normal person would imagine their friend being on their knees, naked, sucking on their cock?
You look up at him, eyes vast and credulously submissive with enameled innocence, like you’re repenting with his dick in your mouth, as if it had been your god and you beg for forgiveness for all the sins that you’ve caused.
Jesus, Mary, Joseph. Oh…fuck.
Cardinal paints the alabaster marble of his cheeks, brushing over it until it spreads down to his clenching neck and heaving chest as you imbibe his tip, suctioning your cheeks around his length and jerk him off. You look like you know what you’re doing, leading him to wonder if you’d done this before. He should be jealous, let that fraught warp in his mind and spread over his nerves until he stops you and begins to ask. But pleasure besets him, too much, that the question withers away into the carnal haze.
You gag and he almost cums. “Shit, ‘ve been thinking about this for a long time,” Eddie’s voice is rough, sweat dripping down his temples and onto his hair that settles over his shoulders. You break away from his head, moving down to lave your tongue up from the base above his sack to the ridge beneath his tip. “Ohhh- fuck,”
Eddie gently pulls himself off your mouth, his hand coming down to your cheek and raising your head. His cock grazes your upper lip when it pops out and arches to his stomach, leaking down his happy trail. A luster of his precum and your spit smears on your plump lips, mouth parted to take a short gasp of air as he pulls you up to him.
“How’d you learn how to do that?” he wipes the fluid off the corner of your lip, bringing you into a kiss because he misses you, and just because he wants to taste himself.
“Gave a guy head before I left New York,” you murmur against him. “He came all over my face and some of his cum went in my eye. Got pink eye for two weeks,”
He winces. “Ouch,”
Then he gives you a kiss on your eyelids, your laugh that he interrupts with his mouth, cajoling you with kisses as he lays you onto your back beneath him where he slots himself between your legs, his cock grazing your still sensitive folds that makes you whimper in his mouth.
Craving, Eddie’s hand ventures from your waist, squeezing your ample thigh, stopping on your calf to hike your leg up his waist. He grinds down onto you,  pressing his hardness against the swell of your cunt.
“Still want to do this?” he questions between wet kisses, your hands venturing the slope of his back. “Just say the word and I’ll stop.”
“Don’t,” your eyebrows furrow in frustration. “I mean, I still want to do this. Christ, please,”
“Okay,” he breaks away, moving across you to check the basket. “Okay okay okay okay- fuck. Gareth forgot the fucking condoms.”
You stammer. “W-you knew we were going to have sex?”
“You never know,” he laughs nervously, copying you. “Um. I could pull out. I mean, I can’t exactly promise you I’d have the- the energy to do so. But I could just eat you out ‘till you’re okay. OH! Sixty-nine! We could do that! That way we’re both satisfied,”
“Eddie,” you reach between to grab his cock, squeezing lightly. His eyes flutter, groaning. “Just- just fuck me, okay? We can figure it out later.”
“Shit, okay,” he leans down to kiss you. “And I’m not gonna fuck you, babe,”
Eddie digs his nose into the crook of your neck, his hand replacing yours, slapping his tip on your bud. His forehead rests on your cheek when he does this, relishing in your small moan. “Why not?”
“‘Cause I’m gonna make love to you,” he lazily kisses your cheek. “‘Y need to stop being vulgar sometimes, sweetheart.”
He jabs at your entrance, before he slowly pushes himself in.
A searing pain threads around your cunt, chiefly at your entrance and your inner walls; though, when the pain spreads across your body, it numbs on your nerves, so the only thing burning was your sex. But Eddie’s taking it slow, agonizingly slow, feeling the tension that radiates. He comforts you through soft strokes against, kissing your cheek at every inch he pushes in.
When you wince once his pelvis pushes against your clit, Eddie lifts his head from your shoulder, his eye twitching lightly from holding back. He massages your thigh, other hand coming up to cup your face and rest his thumb on the corner of your eye when tears begin to form. 
“Are you okay?” he whispers, trying not to move, but his tip’s right at your spot. “Do you want me to pull out? Does it hurt too much?”
“It’s supposed to hurt right?”
“Well, I heard it does,” he kisses your nose. “Sometimes it doesn’t for others, though,”
“Okay,” you chuckle lightly, grasping harder at his back.
It took almost a minute for the sting to retire, and he stayed pliant inside you, waiting until he felt your walls relax around him; until your crumbled face slackened and your mouth opened, letting out sacred breaths. 
“You can move now,” Eddie smiles, slanting his mouth against yours. His tongue explores your mouth, mouth staying closed around yours as he begins to pull out halfway, before he pushes back in slowly. 
Eddie sheathes himself inside you, an omnipotent surge of sybaritism divaricates your senses.  He brushes his hair behind your ears, gazing down at you even though your eyes are closed and you stare into a void with your body aflame. And he feels good- amazing, with every stretch that enkindles every nerve.
You look blissed beneath him, every bone submitting to every grind, every time his head hits that very spot that lets you create sensual croons, soft ones that it seems like you’re silently gasping with your parted lips. He places a kiss to where your eyebrows join, sloppy with his hedonistic thrust. 
It’s nothing but soft, breathless moans, his grunts and your whimpers when the pain numbs out, his lips moving down until he meets yours with his ever loving tongue brushing your bottom lip from the lax kiss. The tush of hair tickles your skin, his balls slapping gently against your ass, his hand leaving your thigh to push your silky coiffed hair off your shoulder. 
He doesn’t hurry, takes his time with you like he’s got every second of your lives, like you both don’t lack sleep. And Eddie can’t stop kissing every inch that he could reach — whether it be the hollow skin of your collarbone, or leaving bites on your neck to mark you, not because he claims your being but because he wants to own your heart. He kisses your cheekbones dampened by your tears, taking your hand from his back, leaning down to kiss the tattoo he stabbed onto your skin. 
“You can cry,” Eddie whispers. “I got you. You look so pretty, hm — fuck, my pretty, pretty girl.”
You let your tears fall down to his thumbs, slowly opening your eyes even though it stings to do so with the tears that prod at your eyeballs. Eddie smiles, clasping his hand around yours and kisses every calloused fingertip.
“Ah, Eddie,” your bottom lip juts out, letting the moans flow. “Feels- f-feels so good. Your cock feels amazing,”
“Shit, Mands, don’t say that,” he laughs weakly. “You’re gon’ make me cum faster than I intend to,”
Each thrust builds a bubble inside, until it explodes and floods you in rhapsodic waves. A heavy feeling that tells you that you’d never get sick of feeling him buried deep in your gummy walls, or of hearing his breathless moans, or the love that radiates through every caress of his that brings you comfort. 
The lacuna is almost not there, like he wants to melt his skin with yours. His sweat drips down to your bare chest, where his lips venture until he wraps his mouth around your sensitive nipples that had been chafing against his chest. You run your fingers through his hair, your hips lunging up to grind with his. 
Eddie’s definitely not fucking you. No, no with his velvet sighs, or with his naughty suckles. He’s making love to you like he said; like he promised. 
“You feel me making love to you?” you nod, taking his face down to smush it against yours. “Put your legs around me, sweetheart,”
You do, gently circling your legs around his waist, heel pressing onto the bottom of his spine. You feel yourself split open, suctioning his cock, driving him deeper. It’s when the lewd sounds increase their volume, whenever his heavy sack hits your wet cunt as he picks up the pace of his thrust, pushing in and in and in.
“Fuck,” you cry out, pulling lightly on his hair. When you suck on his collarbone, a claret bruise colors his pearlescent skin, his chest reddening from the amount of sanguine blood that flows through. “You’re so deep,”
“Can you look at me, honey?” your eyes force itself open to stare deep in his doe eyes, roaring with ecstasy, staring right at the windows of your soul. “Hi there, Mandy.”
Eddie gathers both your hands in one hand and pins them above you, which you meekly allow him to while his vacant one slithers itself between your bodies to rub on your clit. The words in your mouth turn into moans, getting drunk at the bliss. 
He moves faster, the sounds making it seem like he’s fucking you but you’re too lost to care. Eddie moans, keeps on nudging your nose whenever your eyes begin to flutter shut from lethargy.
“You’re taking me so well, hm?” he nips at your jawline. “Pretty little pussy just taking my cock, yeah?”
It’s just you and Eddie inside that abandoned home, you believe. You feel him carve his skin against yours like a promise, when you exchange your slick sweat and your breathy moans swallowed by his open mouth that hovers yours; his hips folding against yours in corybantic impetus. He refuses to close his eyes as if he’d lose you when he blinks, devotion swelling his waterline. 
He drills faster and deeper, the hollow and wet sound of your arousals spurs him on more. There’s a sting on the inside of your cunt, though too faint for it to even dwell in your mind. Then that now familiar feeling of something twisting at the bottom of your stomach comes to surface, burgons over your senses, and so did Eddie’s.
“I’m gonna cum,” you mewl softly. “I’m gonna cum, Eddie.”
“I know, baby,” his grip tightens on your wrists, his thumb on your clit adding pressure and fastens his rubs. Eddie wantonly fucks his cock inside you now, moaning at your small cries when he hits that spot over and over again. “I gotta pull out, okay?”
“No!” you push his chest against yours, locking your feet around him. “Cum- cum in me. Want it in me, please.”
And who was he to resist you?
(Someone who isn’t ready to be a father, technically. But he seriously couldn’t resist you.)
Eddie kisses over your fluttering pulse, his cock snug, pressing himself against your thighs. He continues rubbing your clit, his blunt nails pressing on the sides of your wrist. And he coaxes you through the billow of your orgasm. “That’s it, baby. Good girl- shit- oh, fuck, gonna cum inside this pussy, yeah? Gon’ give you all of me.”
You cum with a gasp, lewd sloshing from your pussy as you gush around him weakly. You feel his cock twitch inside you, right before he tries to muffle his moans by kissing you sloppily, mixing his sultry seed with yours when he slows his thrust, pushing it inside deeper.
He mouths at your chest, licking across the top of your breast before he works up your nipples. Eddie moves his hips again for a couple more times before he slowly pulls out of you.
Your legs fall to your sides. Eddie kisses your knees, massaging your legs, spreading them apart.
Then he pales. “Fuck, (y/n), you’re bleeding-”
“Huh?” your head lifts, seeing the small pink puddle beneath your ass. Eddie wipes his sweat on his thighs, reaching for his shirt that’s been thrown somewhere to wipe it across your cunt hastily. “Babe that’s normal…”
You hide your eyes behind your wrist, panting heavily. The pounding on his heart eases, gently wiping across your cunt. “Really?”
“To some. But I did,”
Eddie reaches for a new bottle of beer from the basket on top of your head, opening it with his teeth before he slots himself back between your legs. You prop yourself up to your elbows, his hand cupping below your mouth when he brings the bottle to your lips.
You drink the bittersweet liquor, swallowing slowly. He smiles at you. “You did a great job, yeah?” He kisses your forehead, and he can’t help but cheekily lather your cunt with his cum when he reaches down to slide his fingers between your semi-bleeding folds. 
“Ah-” you squirm away, gripping tightly onto him. “Ouch. Sen- sensitive, c-christ,”
“Sorry, baby,” he plucks his finger inside his mouth, morsel of cum and your blood filling his taste buds. “Couldn’t resist,”
Eddie slants his lips onto yours, letting your pulse relax in the frenzied mist, the afterglow ensnaring your beating hearts. You see that the moon grants his eyes a vermeil glow when he pulls back, skin glistening like stars in the night sky, luring you in for you to lose yourself in them — you do, basking in the comfort of his gaze, pilfering your soul.
Double-cross the vacant and the bored
They’re not sure just what we have in store
In November of 1979, Eddie Munson stood breathless on the stage of the theater room for the Middle School Talent Show, electric guitar in hand, buzzed hair drenched with sweat that dripped down to his Bauhaus black shirt. The aftermath of his oh-so-metal performance of Breaking The Law left the parents clapping scatteredly, and his classmates hollering and yelling from their seats.
He looked back on his then bandmates and little Gareth who sat proudly behind the large drum set. Eddie laughed, clapped with them before he genuflected, ignoring the judgemental stares of conservative parents who watched his every move as he walked down the stage.
“Well, that was a very loud and brazen performance from… Corroded Coffin,” Mr. Clarke smiled brightly at them, holding the card in his hand. “Up next we have a very, very lovely girl named-”
He said a name, which Eddie deemed as the girl who sat in front of him during History, who wrote things on top of her books that he recognized were lyrics he’s unfamiliar to. Eddie ran his hand across his buzzed head, looking around and wondered where that girl may be.
Little Gareth stood beside Eddie, who pointed behind to the backdoors. When he turned, the doors were swinging open, the exit seen through the small window where he saw her running away to Hawkins High.
Eddie patted his friend’s back, deciding to follow that girl in a purple dress and short pigtails that disappeared into the darkness of the school parking lot.
The doors slammed against the walls, twice, and he ran and ran until he reached Hawkins High where she hid. He roamed the unfamiliar walls, knocking against the dents of the lockers, until he heard the gentle sound of piano from the music room nearby.
Like an angel’s cry for help, as he remembered. The tune of that song his uncle sang every morning familiarizes itself in his eardrums. Eddie approached the door, peaked through the small window, and saw
You.
Your back to him, back hunched, purple dress resting down to your knees with your hands idly pressed at the keys with a melancholy mist surrounding you. Eddie listened to you sing, a couple pitches wrong but nevertheless soft and dulcet, even though he heard something restraining your throat with what seemed to be held back sobs.
“Oh Mandy, well you came—”
When he stormed in, the doorknob slamming at the wall, you yelled, high pitched and laced with fear. Eddie’s eyes had widened and closed the door, placing a finger up to his lips to shush you.
“Hey- hey hey hey no, shh, quiet—” he lunged at you, cupping his hand over your mouth. Your screams had died instantly, though your eyes remained wide with distress and tears that stained his hand. You placed your hands on the bench, waiting until Eddie removed his hands from your mouth.
He saw that you had missing teeth like his, both on the same spot when you hissed at him. That you looked like you had been freshly crying (which you were) with your lips pouted and eyes stained red with the tears that priced your eyes.
Once his hand returned to his side, you kicked his shin, hard enough that Eddie knew he’d have a bruise (he did. A big one that lasted for a week). He winced loudly, rubbing the spot “What is wrong with you? Why didn't you knock?”
“Dramatic entrance,” he spread his arms, bowing down to you like he’d just finished a show. “I didn't mean to scare you like that. S-sorry. Are you okay?”
You had surveyed his intimidating demeanor of oversized black Bauhaus tee, ripped jeans, a single skeleton ring with a slick buzzcut that shone from the fluorescent lights of the music room with puffy eyes. Eddie felt that nervousness bubble in his stomach, knowing how well you’re judging him. But your posture remained relaxed and you showed no ounce of fear so he thought that was new.
When you remained silent, he took the opportunity to speak again. “My uncle loves that song,” he sat beside you, making you scoot over. “He sings it almost every morning.”
“Mandy?” you said, fiddling with your fingers, sniffing.
“Yeah,” his tongue prods at the gaps between his teeth, feeling the gums that protected his adult teeth. “Oh, Mandy. Well, you kissed me and stopped me from shaking,” 
You smiled weakly, sniffling. “My mom likes it too,” 
“Really?” You nodded, tugging on your dress. “I wouldn’t blame her. I like it, too.” Eddie had reached for his pocket, pulling on his skull handkerchief as he spoke again. “Why did you run away? You were next and you ran.”
“I was nervous,” you huffed, tears welled your eyes. “Tammy Thompson said I sounded like a muppet singing so I ran away so I wouldn't embarrass myself,”
Eddie gasped. “She said that?” he furrowed his eyebrows. “She’s the one who sounds like a muppet.” 
You gawped. “No she doesn’t!”
“Yes she does!” Eddie pressed his fingers on either side of his nose, before he began singing in a voice shrill and deafening that made you laugh hard. “Yesterday's a dream- oh! I face the morning yeah yeah crying on a breeze woah ooh The pain is calling- aaaaaaa!!”
You laughed beside him, both your small chests aching for the lack of breath that had been wheezed out, cheeks strained and eyes welled with tears. “Okay, maybe she does sound like that,” your smile withered. “But, what if she’s right?”
 “She isn’t.”
“You didn't even hear me sing,”
“Yeah, I did,” Eddie scooted closer, bumping his arm with yours. “You sounded cool. You sounded like an angel. A pretty metal angel.”
You remembered that it had been the first time you blushed — thirteen year old Eddie Munson, who still had baby teeth at his age, had been the receiving end of that bashful smile; you remembered that he asked if you could play, and you did, with the ends of your purple dress tickling his knees that exposed from his jeans.
“Metal?” Eddie nodded. “I was playing the piano.”
“Well, anything can be metal,” he pulled out his handkerchief. “Crying is metal. Singing is metal. This chair,” he used his other hand to grasp at the leg of the bench and shook it, making you giggle. “Is metal.”
That night, not only did Eddie Munson offer you his handkerchief for aid (that he wiped beneath your nose himself, unbothered by the thick snot dampening the fabric), but he offered you friendship. He offered you comfort and validation, and you offered him acceptance. 
That he proceeded to compliment not just your voice but your hair and your dress. Eddie Munson made you comfortable that night, had kindled something between the two of you that you called a friendship. He watched you play that piano in the music room unabashedly and confidently, him being your first ever audience, and Eddie stood up from the bench, and clapped at you like you’d performed at a concert.
That he sang Don’t Fear The Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult (and gave you a mixtape right before you left) in front of you so you’d get even.
He took your feelings seriously, said that you’d do great and it’s normal to get nervous before a performance; talked to you with his innocent, doe-eyes gaze with his hand on your shoulder for comfort.
And that he watched you, standing in front of the crowd, cheering you on as you sang Mandy with full confidence and carelessness of the judgemental eyes and insults from Tammy Thompson.
You went back home with the thought of that boy with a buzzcut that made you smile brighter than anyone else had. And you had a silly little childish crush on him for god knows how long. 
But Eddie had a crush on you until 1982, where he unfortunately started to forget. And you, the same.
Yet he never forgot. He always thought about that girl in the pretty purple dress who had a pretty smile and a cute laugh, who gave him a kiss on the cheek for cheering her on during the talent show. 
He thought about her — you — every night before going to bed and he dreamt of you. 
And now, here in 1986 where you sat on the passenger seat of his car with a cigarette in your mouth, racing the borrowed time before the sun begins to rise, the open window that blew the hair out of your face as you stared out with a blissed smile, Eddie realizes he’s been playing that dangerous love game since he was thirteen.
That he’s already charged Vecna and his swarm of bats with nothing more than a blunt spear, courage, a dream and a crush that blossomed into love. He’s been there since 1979, having it paused for four years before returning to the Upside Down when you came back.
He’s already played that dangerous game of love and now, he’s killed Vecna with a stake through his heart and won.
Eddie parks his car beside the broken fence of weathertop, the black sky now a bright shade of gray. You smile at him, unbuckling your seatbelt, before you simultaneously open the doors together and exit.
You hold the basket in your hand, the other laced around Eddie’s, climbing up that hill until you reach that spot you both were in weeks ago, with the tall grass tickling your bare ankles, hands tight against each other, a silent promise of protection as he holds you close to him. 
Your equilibrium is askew from earlier events, his shirt hangs well over your body that tickles your sensitive skin, and Eddie actually is shirtless, after unfortunately getting too much dust on your dress. 
But he feels free, standing on top of the hill with his tattoos and the love of his life holding his hand. When the white clouds start to emerge and levitate above him, its shapeshifting glory; pertinently gifting you with peaceful vapor that flows through the town. 
You both sat down, and soon you’ve both got a sandwich and a beer in your hands, sitting side by side, watching as the sun deliberately rises from the earth. You rest your head on his shoulder, munching on the sandwich, bottles balanced between your legs.
“No wonder why your mom’s eager to watch the sunrise,” you smell his musk of faint sex and cigarettes. Eddie presses a kiss on the top of your head. “It’s beautiful,”
He looks at you, the afterglow of sex still dawned on your vogue. You rip a piece of bread off and pop it into your mouth, and Eddie says, “I love you,”
You look up at him, the warm, dandelion smolder of the sun illuminates your face stupendously. He doesn't need to go further into detail how pretty you looked. 
But you? — with all the darkness of the world put on pause like some movie, the pastel colors of dawn that crawl up from his chin to the entirety of his face, his tangled mush of curls that frame his picturesque, devilishly handsome face, it heralds safety; love and adoration that you harbor for this man. 
“Yeah?” you press your chin on his shoulder. “Didn’t peg you as the type to fall after sex, Munson,”
“Oh, sweetheart, I fell a long time ago,” he rubs his nose against yours. “I just forgot,”
“How romantic,”
Eddie places his sandwich on his lap, just so he could push your hair behind your ear and stare at you. So he could see you, validating you for all your worth. 
You both sit there, on the field just where your bones will rest, until it withers into dust and disappear behind those dirt and stone and go one like you both never existed. But death was the least of your concerns, relishing in the moment you have with this person who'd given you validation when you sought for it (and Eddie, who stares at you with such devotion like you'd given him everything he fought for — acceptance).
“But yeah,” you whisper. “Maybe me too,”
He leans down to kiss you. And when the sun rises and coats you with its celestial brilliance, with his kiss chaste and soft and so loving, you break away with a small click created by your wet, plump lips.
“I love you,” you say. And you mean it.
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songs played by sequence: unnamed Mötley Crüe song/ Mandy - Barry Manilow/ Your Love - The Outfield/ Third Uncle - Bauhaus/ Marian - Sisters of Mercy/ Message in a Bottle - The Police/ I Wanna Be Somebody - W.A.S.P./ I Want To Know What Love Is - The Foreigner/ Paranoid - Black Sabbath/ Breaking the Law - Judas Priest/ Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic - The Police/ Broken Wings - Mr. Mister/ Runnin' With the Devil - Van Halen/ Only The Good Die Young - Billy Joel/ 1979 - The Smashing Pumpkins (not in the fic)
special thanks to @poppy-metal and her very horny anons who inspired me for the smut i love u
REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED 💕
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epickiya722 · 22 days
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I do not know if it was you, or another blogger that made a character analysis of Gojo that made me like the character and discover more about him through the manga.
While I never read the manga before or watched the anime, I had been exposed to it by my friends and some BNHA bloggers. Back then, I found Gojo to be overhyped (discount Kakashi) while liking the animation(?) style, bit still no interest.
BNHA and its Endeavour Redemption arc in the doing was tiring me to the point that I stopped reading it and manga altogether. For mayne six months or so, until now, at least. I randomly found your blog last week , and it got me a new hyper fixation 😃. You got me to start reading JJK (Megan cos playing also helps).
I bought Number 0 and Number 1 of the mangas. Only to remember midway in Number 0 that Walmart Kakashi will be snapped in two like a Kit Kat🥲. I saw that leak in one of the BNHA blogs, and I didn't mind it back then since I wasn't in the fandom, but Lord, now it sucks.
Anyways, all this long rant to say that I like reading your posts.
Gojo, rest in pain, I guess?
Probably was someone else, I don't write much analysis posts about Gojo. I think once or twice I did, I can't recall. Probably reblogged one though you saw!
I don't know, they're really just two different characters to me. Also... I was never really an active reader or watcher of Naruto like that (just very familiar) so when I first saw Gojo, Kakashi didn't register to me at all.
Like, I did not get similar vibes at all. And it actually annoys me that people will be like "He copied Kakashi's flow"! Kakashi ain't the only white haired, face covering character out there with magical eyes, y'all stop. 😆
Even funnier when, by this point, Gojo has probably been unmasked more than he has been wearing something on his face and switches up what he puts on his face. Kakashi been wearing the same mask for...? Also, didn't it take years for Kakashi's whole face to be shown or something? Took like seven episodes for Gojo to show that face.
**
I always been a fan of Megan's music and then when I found out she was into anime I was like "YYYYYEEEEEAAAAH". She cosplayed as Miruko one Halloween and it made my year. I am a former believer that Miruko would vibe to her music.
Just seeing other Black women being unapologetic fans of anime (or anything) does wonders for me and I hate it when people act as if it's such a foreign idea to understand. Honey, we can have interests, too, like everyone else. It's normal.
**
I always try to be careful about spoilers for anything I'm into. Like, I can talk about a chapter that happened two years ago, but I'll still mark as a spoiler because I know some people don't read Mangas or even if they do haven't caught up to that specific part.
That actually what set me off when Usher cosplayed as Gojo because he literally put "rest in peace, Gojo" or something along those lines and the amount of people who weren't even aware of 236... like bro, come on.
I knew it just had to be a marketing tactic because I know damn well Usher ain't seen JJK a day in his life and how convenient it is he comes out with that cosplay around the time when "Daddy's Home" becomes a fairly popular song used in Gojo's edits. I can't go watching one video on YouTube without hearing that song play when Gojo pops up. And even if he has... WHY WOULD YOU TAG IT LIKE THAT?!
Oh, but Megan definitely doesn't know any of the characters she be cosplaying, alright... okay... 🙄
I'm just going off on a whole tangent here, I apologize for that. I've been sick for like three days and just woke up from a nap. 😅
**
Also, thank you! Glad you enjoy my posts!! Anytime anyone says they like reading my posts, I still get shocked. They're really are just random thoughts I been having and really I'm still learning grasping the characters and story myself. And this is just for any. I don't even for them to get read, let alone for anyone to actually agree with me. I guess because, at the end of the day, I really just needed to throw a thought out there before I lose it or keep rethinking about it over and over.
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sinni-ok-sessi · 5 months
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The Deacon of Dark River
Hello friends, spooky season continues and I am here once more with a translation of one of my favourite Icelandic ghost stories, this time The Deacon of Myrká. This one is also a Christmas story! A gift for all seasons. This one also comes with a song version: Djákninn á Myrká by Rósa Ingólfsdóttir. And apparently there was a ballet too, which sounds cool as fuck and if anyone has a recording, hmu. The music for that, by Alex Cook, Hlér Kristjánsson and friends, can be found here on Bandcamp.
As with Bjarna-Dísa, I am translating the text from Snerpa here.
There are some notes for people unfamiliar with Icelandic placenames and folklore conventions at the end of the story - these will give added context to some events, but are also mild spoilers. There are also content warnings.
The Deacon of Dark River
In earlier times, there was a deacon at Myrká in Eyjafjörður; no mention is made of what he was called. He was courting a woman called Guðrún; according to some accounts, she lived at Bægisá, on the other side of the Hörgá River, and she was a serving woman to the priest there. The deacon had a grey horse, and rode him often; he called the horse Faxi. One time, a little before Christmas, it happened that the deacon went to Bægisá to invite Guðrún to a Christmas party at Myrká, and he promised her that he would meet her at the appointed time and accompany her to the party on Christmas Eve. The day before the deacon had gone to invite Guðrún, there had been a heavy snowfall and it was icy out: but the same day that he rode to Bægisá, there had been a rapid thaw, and as the day passed, the river became impassable because of the rushing water and ice floes, while the deacon was delayed at Bægisá. When he left there, he thought little of what had happened during the day, and expected that the river would still lie as it had before. He crossed over Yxnadalsá by bridge; but when he came to Hörgá, the river had burst its banks. He therefore rode along the bank until he reached Saurbær, the next farmstead over from Myrká; there was a bridge over the river there. The deacon rode onto the bridge, but when he came to the middle, it collapsed beneath him and he fell into the river. The next day, when the farmer at Þúfnavellir rose from his bed, he saw a horse in riding gear at the far end of the hayfield and thought he recognised Faxi, the horse of the deacon of Myrká. He was surprised at this, because he had seen the deacon leave the day before, but was not aware he had returned, and so soon suspected what must have happened. So he went down to the end of the hayfield; there, as he had thought, was Faxi, all wet and in a sorry state. Then he went down to the river, out along the point called Þúfnavallanes; there he found the deacon washed up lifeless on the farthest point of the promontory. The farmer went immediately to Myrká to tell them the news. The deacon was badly injured in the back of the head from the ice floes when he was found. Like this, he was brought home to Myrká and buried the week before Christmas.
From the time that the deacon went to Bægisá up until Christmas Eve, no news passed between Myrká and Bægisá about this event, because of the thaw and the flooding. But on Christmas Eve, the weather was calmer and the river had gone down in the night, so that it seemed a good idea to Guðrún to go to the Christmas party at Myrká. As the day wore on, she went to get herself ready, and when she was well on the way with that, she heard a knock at the door; another woman went to the door, which was next to her, but saw no one outside, and it was neither bright outside nor dark, because the moon waded through the clouds and drew them back and forth. When this girl came back inside and said she hadn’t seen anything, Guðrún said, “The game must be for me, and of course I will go out.” She was then entirely ready, except that she had yet to put on a cassock. Then she took up the cassock and put on one sleeve, but flung the other over her shoulder and wrapped it about her like that. When she came outside, she saw Faxi standing in front of the doors and a man next to him that she thought must be the deacon. It is not said that they exchanged any words. He took Guðrún and set her on the back of the horse and he himself sat in front of her. They rode like this for a while, not speaking. Now they came to Hörgá, and the river was high in its banks, and when the horse plunged forward off the edge, the deacon’s hat lifted up at the back, and Guðrún saw his bare skull. At that moment, the clouds drifted away from the moon; then he said:
The moon rises, the dead ride; can’t you see the white mark in the back of my skull, Garún, Garún?
And she was startled at this and fell silent. But some say that Guðrún lifted up his hat at the back and saw the white skull; then she had had no choice but to say, “I see that which is there.” No more is said of their conversation, nor of their journey, before they came home to Myrká, and they dismounted there in front of the lychgate; then he said to Guðrún:
Wait here, Garún, Garún, while I bring my Faxi, Faxi up to the yard, the yard.
Having said this, he went with the horse; but she looked into the churchyard. There she saw an open grave and became very afraid, but to save herself, she grabbed hold of the bell-rope. At that moment, she was seized from behind, and it was fortunate for her that she had not had time to put on more than one sleeve of the cassock, because so mightily was she gripped that the garment split apart at the shoulder-seam of the sleeve that she had on. And the last she saw of the deacon’s journey was that he flung himself with the torn cassock, which he was still holding, down into the open grave, and gravedirt from both sides was swept in on top of him.
And there is this to tell about Guðrún, that she rang the bell continually until the inhabitants of Myrká came out and found her, because she had become so afraid from all this that she dared neither leave nor stop ringing the bell, because she was almost certain that she had encountered the revenant corpse of the deacon there, though she had not previously heard of his death, and she was later certain of it, when she got word from the people of Myrká, who told her the whole story of the deacon’s death, and she in return told them about the journey of the two of them. That same night, when everything was over and the lights had been extinguished, the deacon came and sought out Guðrún, and there were so many wicked tricks that everyone was woken up, and no one slept that night. Half a month after this, she could never be alone, and needed a watch kept over her every night. Some say that the priest had to sit by her bedside and read psalms.
Now a sorcerer was summoned from Skagafjörður in the west. When he came, he had them dig up a large stone from the end of the field and roll it back to the main hall. During the evening, when it grew dark, the deacon came and wanted to get into the farmstead, but the sorcerer forced him south in front of the hall, and settled him there with many great wounds; then he rolled the stone down on him, and there the deacon rests to this very day. After that, all the hauntings at Myrká ceased and Guðrún began to be more lively. A little later, she went home to Bægisá, and it is said by people that she was never the same as before.
~
Notes: There are some ~potentially significant~ names that appear in this narrative. They’re not suspiciously apposite, but it might be nice for the reader to know that the deacon’s home of Myrká means Dark River, with many of the other placenames in the story also containing the river suffix -á, and that the first syllable of the name Guðrún refers specifically to the Christian god (as opposed to goð for other gods). The undead and other unholy creatures are generally held to be unable to pronounce the name of God. This is perhaps because, somewhat unintuitively, it's pronounced Gvuð. It's also worth knowing that Christmas Eve is generally considered a deeply haunted time in Icelandic folklore and many supernatural events occur on it.
Content warnings: death by drowning, the undead
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lmamp · 10 months
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Another day, another post. I am on a roll! Shall we?
I didn’t read the book from last time today, so I’ll be gushing about my favorite Webtoon Nevermore and Edgar Allan Poe (I swear they’re related). My profile pic is a screen grab of one of the main characters, Lenore. Just in case you were curious. I think it’s pretty. 
Nevermore is a gothic romance set in a boarding school for those who have died. If you do well enough at Nevermore Academy (the name of the boarding school) and get enough merits, you get a second chance at life. Only one person is going to get that chance, however. Everyone else goes to the Land of the Dead. And, no one remembers who they were when they were alive. Once you start to remember, however, you have the potential to unlock a Spectre, which is basically a ghost that has powers. Students use the Spectres as a leg-up within the school. Simple enough of a premise, until you consider the characters involved. Enter Lenore and Annabel, two students who meet during the first episode. It’s very clear that they care for each other, for reasons that elude them until they start remembering who they were in life. The extent of their relationship while alive is still a mystery, but there is plenty of room for speculation. The subtext (and just the text in general) however, is clear: they were definitely close. Still, only one person can leave.
Thus begins the game the two must play. Annabel will keep the other students and the deans of the academy distracted so that they won’t target her or Lenore, while Lenore must find another exit out of Nevermore Academy. The problem is, while Annabel is great at games and plays them well, Lenore has mixed feelings about leaving the friends she has made while at the academy to lose themselves in the Land of the Dead. It’s made worse when the reader (and Lenore) is made aware that Annabel doesn’t really care about anyone else except her and Lenore and the life she believes they were unjustly taken from. This begs the question as to how exactly they died.
We know Annabel died on her wedding day because of her Spectre being the Lady in White, a woman betrayed on her wedding day. But betrayed by who? And why? We haven’t met Lenore’s Spectre, but we can assume they died around the same time based on their arrival at Nevermore Academy. So how did Lenore die? So many questions! I like mysteries though, so I love it. 
The comic is kind of infuriating because it’s a brain worm. I swear I look forward to its Thursday night updates more than I look forward to Friday itself at this point. And it’s so pretty. I’ve already said this, but I can say it again, and again, and again. I’ll put some pictures on here too.
Okay, but how does Edgar Allan Poe fit in? Well, the comic is based on his poetry. There are a few excerpts from some of his work sprinkled throughout the panels. It’s caused me to read some of his works as well. It’s so delightfully morbid. I’ll put my favorite one below. 
Cheers, dear reader!
lmamp (548)
Ah broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toll!--a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;
And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear?--weep now or never more!
See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come! let the burial rite be read--the funeral song be sung!--
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young--
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.
"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,
"And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her--that she died!
"How shall the ritual, then, be read?--the requiem how be sung
"By you--by yours, the evil eye,--by yours, the slanderous tongue
"That did to death the innocent that died, and died so young?"
Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel so wrong!
The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that flew beside
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride--
For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.
"Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise,
"But waft the angel on her flight with a Pæan of old days!
"Let no bell toll!--lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
"Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the damnéd Earth.
"To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven--
"From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven--
"From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven."
Lenore, By Edgar Allan Poe
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(I apologize for the quality of some of these. I swear the art is insane, tumblr may or may not deliver on that)
(Also they're so hot and cold. Very Katy Perry, very dramatic, very nice, I love it so much)
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ultimate-ranger · 2 years
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Gundham Tanaka General HCs
⋙⎯⎯˚۰˚⸙͎۪۫༻☀༺⸙͎۪۫˚۰˚⎯⎯⎯⫸
Some headcanons for Gundham cause I adore him so damn much
Disclaimer: These are just my own opinions based off of my ideas and education in animal ethics and wildlife education!
⋙⎯⎯˚۰˚⸙͎۪۫༻☀༺⸙͎۪۫˚۰˚⎯⎯⎯⫸
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Biromantic Demisexual. While he develops feelings easily, it’s a different story when it comes to having sex; he’d have to trust his partner more than anyone else in the world before he feels comfortable.
Hot take, but despite popular belief, Gundham isn’t vegan/vegetarian. I know, I know, hold your heckling and let me elaborate:
◈ Yes I’m aware he’s stated that he pities how livestock is raised solely for human consumption. However, Kodaka isn’t majoring in Wildlife Education like I am, and thus likely slapped this ideal onto Gundham since it’s such a big stereotype for animal lovers to absolutely hate any consumption of animals in anyway.
◈ He understands that most livestock are already natural prey animals, meaning they don’t need much to reach their life goals and stay comfortable. As long as needs are met, there’s no cause for concern.
◈ I can ramble on about the ethics of animal consumption all damn day, but I’ll spare you from that lmao
◈ Gundham doesn’t hate the idea of raising animals for consumption as a whole, he just hates how industrialized it’s become. He’s totally fine with smaller, less commercial farms that care for the well-being of their livestock.
◈ He only buys from said farms, both meat products and crops. I can definitely see him as an “organics” guy. Same goes for the food he gives to his own animals. Only the best for his army.
◈ Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if this guy fishes for himself too.
Has a pretty good sense of humor. He’s well aware that his way of speaking is outlandish and dramatic, so whenever he feels like teasing/pranking someone (usually Kazuichi), he’ll speak totally normally. He might even throw in some modern slang for funsies. He’ll go right back to being dramatic after a single sentence though, when he feels he’s thrown the other off enough.
Hates PETA with a burning passion <3
Made a “pact” with local shelters that any animal that isn’t adopted within a year or is placed on the euthanize list will be taken into his own care. If he’s unable to find an adopter, then that animal becomes part of his family army.
Actually has very little experience with wildlife, his grizzly bear being an exception. He’s mostly only worked with domestic animals, and sometimes wild animals make him nervous, even if he doesn’t show it.
Speaking of his grizzly bear: It’s an educational animal, not a pet. It does not live nor reside anywhere near his home, and is instead sheltered at a wildlife reserve he trusts.
Renaissance fairs. On GOD does he adore Renaissance fairs. He very rarely goes out west to the Americas/Europe, but when he does, he damn well makes sure he visits at least one Ren fair.
◈ Sometimes he’ll have his own area! A petting zoo/creature feature, where he dresses up and acts as a sorcerer with his familiars. So really, just his typical self, but with more medieval clothing.
◈ Visitors and staff adore him cause he’s just a funky lil guy.
◈ Kaz and Sonia tag along sometimes too! Kaz as a steampunk blacksmith and Sonia as either a Renaissance-era princess, or a witch whenever she’s assisting Gundham.
Listens to obscure music that you’d expect from folks like him. Viking metal. Medieval rock. The occasional unknown indie band. Gaelic rock. Instrumentals. That kinda thing. No I’m totally not projecting.
◈ Will never admit it but he also enjoys acoustic covers/versions of popular songs every now and then.
Even though he canonically doesn’t wear underwear, he still wears boxers to bed. Sweatpants if its chilly out.
He actually has troubles sleeping. A lot of people say he’s an early riser, and I think so too, but that doesn’t mean he’s waking up after a full uninterrupted 8 hours.
◈ He’s got so many animals to care for, theres no way they’d let him rest for longer than 3 hours.
◈ Ever take care of baby birds? Birds in general? Say goodbye to your sleep schedule, cause baby birds typically have to be fed nearly every other hour, depending on the bird/age.
◈ Dogs begging to be let out/fed. Cats yowling and pawing at his bedroom door because they want to be let in. Birds waking up and chirping at 4 am. Roosters crowing at the ass crack of dawn, sometimes even before, and never in a pleasant note.
◈ Yeah, that’s not just eyeliner he’s got – them’s some eye bags, baby!
Avid social media user. Yeah it’s canon he runs an animal care/breeding blog, but I like to think he also peruses various other social media platforms too – just under a burner-type account.
◈ It’s not until his friends, mainly Kaz, encourage him to actually make a proper online presence for himself. Twitter and Instagram for animal related topics and photos, and a Facebook simply for business/resume purposes.
◈ Y’know the “is-the-___-video-cute” blogs that aim to help inform others if a video is actually a good/ethical animal video? Or animal-related behavior blogs? Yeah he’s got one of those. Maybe one on Twitter and Insta too.
◈ People LOVE him online. He’s got a fanclub but he never interacts with them cause he’s too nervous. Still likes/shares/retweets/etc their photos and posts though.
◈ Whenever he DOES interact on a post, though, its like spotting a cryptid. Single word or sentence responses that are either haunting af or insanely funny in that dry wit kinda way. Like having Seth Everman reply to your post.
◈ People have begged him to make ASMRs whenever he posts a video where he speaks. He’s debating on it.
◈ Is absolutely 100% debating on making a podcast.
Is in plenty of documentaries/mini series as a guest speaker/interviewee, and no matter how hard he tries to look spooky and intimidating for the video, the animals always end up making him look soft and gentle.
◈ It’s both jarring yet hilarious to see this dark, brooding man talk in such a deep and rough voice, only to then turn his head and place a lil kissie on one of the Deva’s heads.
Doesn’t want to have kids in the future. He feels as though he doesn’t have the proper mental stability to raise a child, nor is he that fond of the idea of being a father to another human. Besides, animal care takes up pretty much all of his time and energy. He’s a Dog Dad™ for life, man.
Despite being a Dog Dad™ though, he has no bias over cats or dogs. If it’s an animal, he loves it. Training a good dog to be a companion? Curled up by the window with a cat in his lap on a rainy day? That’s the life, bro.
Terrified of heights. We all saw how he acted on that rollercoaster.
Very protective of his friends! If someone’s been able to wiggle their way into his closed-off heart, then he’d lay his life down for them.
◈ If he hears or catches wind of someone talking shit about one of his friends, you can bet he’s gonna give them one hell of a Shakespearian smack down.
◈ If he gets really mad, though, he may even drop his persona completely and just cuss the fuck outta the person. That’s when you know he values that friend a lot.
◈ Even with people he claims to hate (cough Kaz cough), he still sticks up for them if he hears their name being slandered.
Wants people to better understand animals, yet gets super anxious and restless whenever he lets someone hold/handle an animal that isn’t a cat or dog. They’re just so fragile and he’s nervous!
In conclusion your honor, I love him. Please talk to me about Gundham.
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thoughtfulposting about some art i made recently (readmore cus long)
this year i rly wanted to draw madoka for her birthday in a way that represents the frequency of self actualized libra, as a test for myself like how well can i put down the energy i sense visually, but also, to help myself understand my own motivations at this point in my life. i watched madoka magica for the first time in 2012 when i was 18 so its been w me for 10 years now. there’s a lot of ancient text posts scattered across my old tumblrs where im ranting about how i feel so useless and empty like madoka, i have nothing to offer except giving all of my self up to the people in my life. i see it in so many libra types, suns moons risings whatever, its like you want nothing more than to be a side character in your own life. the sun is in it’s detriment when it’s in libra because it makes your ego so weak, it often takes years to even gain the self awareness that you accidentally merge with everyone you care about to the extent that the thought of being You is terrifying. it wasnt even like anyone had to force me to be their sidekick. it just happened naturally, it was what i wanted, i was always known as someone’s best friend or partner, it’s what i was comfortable with but.. over time it wore me down, when i was alone i’d lose my mind, i grew so insecure that i had no means of self sufficiency. since the time i was 18 i slowly became more aware of the way i was sacrificing too much of myself in a way that was ultimately unproductive to everyone.. i had to cycle through the same lessons over n over again before it really REALLY sunk in. speaking of cycles, i am almost done with my saturn return, which is the first cycle of saturn that takes around 29.5 years. my saturn is in aquarius, almost exactly trine my libra sun and jupiter. saturn is also the ruling planet of my chart, being that i am capricorn rising. its a time of high pressure. everything i was doing that was  unsustainable has completely crumbled around me. i am forced to develop into my own person and for all the pain, it is giving me an unusual sense of gratitude.. so i knew that when i drew madoka i wanted to draw her by herself. and i wanted her to look strong.. i kept thinking of the world card, the way it’s representative of wholeness, fulfillment, completion of cycles. the way she’s looking back into the past w compassion as she steps forward into the future. i wasnt sure though, i was trying to come up w other ideas too. i had just started listening to bladee spiderr for the first time as i was looking up pictures of the world card. suddenly as understatement is playing it clicks w me the lyrics im hearing,,
(Gravity very up, won the World Cup) (What? What? What? What?) F the world, what? F the world, what? What? What? What? What? (Gravity very up, won the World Cup) (What? What? What? What?) (F the world, what? F the world, what?)
i just kept hearing him repeat “The World” and it felt so synchronized like it was the first time id ever heard that song, i am hearing these lyrics for the first time as im staring at the world card which i had just searched up right before it got to that part in the song. it felt like a message T-T and then this as the outro,
Never read the reason as a sign Keep this little secret in your mind Final destination is the sky Caterpillar dreamt that it could fly
yep OK i hear you loud & clear, im drawing madoka as the world! it was a cathartic thing to draw, more than most of my drawings. i cried a lot during the process, thinking about how far ive come, how much ive evolved from the scared fragile 18yr old madokaform i once was. its not like im doing amazing now but i know who i am and i am working hard to create my own purpose that will unfold just for me. this blog has helped me a lot to feel like i can explore my own world. ofc the nature of this blog is still somewhat reliant on input from others.. but i like that.. i think there’s good and distinguishable boundaries and like. this time last year i was posting to no one and it was basically like that for 6 months. and id do it again! because i post to post, whether people reciprocate or not, does not dictate my actions. it’s freeing.. it really is great though, the little tumblr community on here, it’s incredibly sweet and i love u all a lot. it’s really helping me get thru the crumbling period of my life. if you even read all this, thank you! i wanted to write this for catharsis. i want to be the hero of my story like aries bladee. yep thats my ramblings for today.
Your favourite songs getting old, the same story being told Over and over and over again Too many times in a row, the same lesson I know the same lesson I know I know, I know To holy lights we exposed We start shining in gold Golden, golden, golden
#9
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smoosnoom · 1 year
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oh moon. ur writing bop after bop. my only wish is to fix ur sleeping schedule (as i don’t write it at 2 am before my work).
“although Will wasn’t sure why, with a lack of an attempt to call or write or remind him that he actually cares about Will in any facet” it’s actually crazy how differently ur looking at this situation after reading mike’s pov. like, will, honey. u didn’t reach out too…
“Will just misses him like home” well sad version of the phrase “home is there the heart is” is valid too 😭
oh and the sky!! “gray sky” when he’s lonely, “gray-red sky” when hes torturing himself about loving mike, “The sun glimpses through cloudy skies” when ice started to melt, “grayish-blue” when they went back to normal but before coming out
“Will knows it’ll never be like before” the way he’s right and wrong at the same time.
“We should all have one person that knows our favorite song” and u decided to become wills person yeah?
“he hear when Mike lets out the smallest of sighs, fleeting when he lands on the ground” he signs like an old person when he’s going any physical activity 😭 grandpa in a young boy body
“You don’t have anything to apologize for” i love when ur doing this
“It makes Will’s mouth run dry” as california summer. fake but never forgotten
““You’re crazy,” [...] He surely drives Will crazy.” yeah cause they’re crazy together
“There’s – there’ll never be a girl.” coming out scenes always make me shrink like im looking for something bad to happen. even though i know it’s impossible. i can’t imagine how hard it’s write one
“if – if you did, that’d be – I’m just” i love when mike is aware of his feelings and finding out that will is gay but still hesitating cause that will is gay doesn’t mean he likes mike.
“Now, I know you better than anyone” hes so 😭😭 i swear if he could put will in his pocket and don’t let anyone interact with him he’d do it
“to brush Will’s hair away from his forehead” im obsessed with this trop
“He’s going to overthink it for the rest of his life, he knows” a lot of others kisses are coming my boy </3
“He can feel Mike’s eyes on him.” and then whole “will-they-won’t-they” thing will start.
also i loove the playlist u made :) “lost in japan” is like… my favorite shawn song Ever 😭😭 and there’s a song “concentrate” which is “hitchhiker” twin But i love “hitchhiker” more so it’s crazy that u chose it 😭😭
ur music taste is soft and sweet like cotton candy. i feel like mine is more like confetti cause i listen to more pop. does it make sense? (it doesn’t mean i don’t like it. it’s just different and that’s cool cause im struggling to find music outside my comfort zone)
anyway. love ur fic and ur playlist. ty for them <3
i feel like we should support u at every given opportunity
my sleep schedule has been in Shambles since i was nine ! so ! at least u get some fics out of my terrible insomnia :D
u know they have some of the worst miscommunication problems ihave Ever seen . i need to trap them together in a room for three hours with a sleeve of ritz crackers
oh my god im so happy u noticed the whole sky motif !!!!!!! it makes me so excited whenever someone notices something like that especially when its probably something u skim over alya Love of my life
mike immediately going over will and filing away every song hes ever listened to is so real to me .
ok YES he sighs like an old man when he does anything . BUT SO DO I 😭😭😭 LET ME LIVE
the bedroom scene where mike looks So offended when will is like I Deserved It :/ lives rent free in my mind . i need to implement it whereveer i can
"as california summer. fake but never forgotten" HEELEPJHP
CRAZY TOGETHER !!!!! CRAZY TOGETHEERRRRRR
coming out scenes intimidate me so so much oh my god ive never even . come out to anyone i just imply things and let people figure it out on their own and watching coming out scenes make me sweat like a sinner in church but . writing them is so hard for me !!!!!!! im trying to write one with jonwill and it is so so so slow and difficult oh my god
so true !!!!!!! mike the gentleman that u are .
he would he rly would !!! number #1 will byers fan Mike Wheeler he just like me fr
omg "lost in japan" is one of my favorite songs of his too and i was like . this is So alya and im so glad u liked it yayayy !!!!!! also what a coincidence i chose the twin u liked better !!!! our brains are Connected for real
urs is definitely like confetti omg what a perfect way of describing it ! urs is like bubbly soda and mine is like . a milkshake . does this make sense . urs so fun and hype and i lovee the songs u showed me !
thank u so much for liking both things alya :D u mean the world 2 me !
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Seeking Rock Art
Colsterdale North Yorkshire
Just over the moor from my cottage lies a little magical gem where you can our ancestors sat over 5000 years ago and marvel in the beauty of our landscape.
You can imagine that Colsterdale was a frequented place for hunter gatherers due to its streams full of fish and life , the fertile soils , protected woodlands and valley. It must of been a jackpot for the first to wander up this valley. It as beautiful and serene today as it probably was then.
I did not come here entirely to put into my journal the stone cup circles as it is also a great source of finding natures art , it is a beautiful quiet walk and I am not sure where I am going to be in the next 6 months to whether I can return and then have no memory of the place due to my brain condition.
Natures Art
Old woodlands are a great source of nature art , old stumps and lichens on rocks full of vibrant colour is such a great way of connecting to nature . Rummaging around in woodlands seeking out it art secrets and recording them helps me connect back to nature and myself. In the beginning it was difficult to distinguish I was outsourcing my wellbeing to going into nature , although a healthier way to soothe than booze; it was still holding my resilience to conditionality. I guess I faked it at first , but now I go when it is possible rather than needing to go.
I love the rust ochre coloured lichens and this woodland is so abundant of beautiful lichen colours. I had meant to come to take some of the lichens as well for making ink but this year everything is packed up ready for moving so maybe in 6 months time I can find another source.
In the fields before the woodland there are a few large boulders with different cup marks. In certain places to can see feint rings around but I guess that being exposed has eroded the rock. But it is fun wandering around the boulders looking for them. The whole of the woodland is littered with massive boulders and you could spend hours just investigating them for other markings.
You never know what you can find if you pay attention to looking at nature. I use nature as a meditation , walking round being aware of yourself and the environment you are curious about is for me the most powerful meditation : bringing yourself back when your mind wanders. I feel my batteries charging the longer I them searching , playing and being curious to what I see : you have to be mindful to look but you have to look through your heart rather than your thinking mind.
My favourite part is always finding shapes on rocks formed by lichens that have bleached in the sun. They inspire my painting as if the consciousness which has created playful shapes suggesting entities and creatures is the same emerging from my painting. I like my imagination to go wild and create stories.
You can re wild yourself and let go of your inhibitions and let nature guide your playful imagination. Imagine what those ancients people carving the rock were connecting to, the songs, dance and stories they told whilst there. What were they seeing and doing ? It is anyones guess, so why not create your own stories about it. We have become so serious about life and lost our playful imagination , connection to other worlds and ability to be kind. It is like we feel ashamed of being ourselves and letting go of control. But in truth we really do not have any control.
Nature is a great teacher, but in my opinion , it teaches us different things and I cannot know what or how you experience things in life. I can only suggest fun ways , ways I connect to nature. You have to remember we are nature , just as the squirrel was searching nuts in the woodland I was searching nature making art to nourish myself. Go into nature as nature as let it teach you what you need to know. Re wild yourself.
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Can you feel the love tonight by Elton John is a song I connect with Reiner. “It’s enough for this restless warrior just to be with you”. I suppose it could work with all the love and legends love interests.
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Does your father know? [Sapnap x reader]
Paring: Sapnap x Gender neutral!reader
Summary: A couple of nights out, that the local adults certainly aren't supposed to know about. But definitely does. And the things that happen at those parties. College AU SBI!reader.
Warnings: Fluff, so much fluff
Words: 4.6K
Masterlist: Sapnap's Masterlist - SBI Masterlist - Full Masterlist
A/N: This has been brewing in my head for days, so here it is. Please request if you feel like it. REQUESTS ARE OPEN. Request here.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
You are casually chatting along with Karl, and a very drunk Quackity. The music is loud in the house. You don’t remember whose parents own the house, it's more likely it's an involuntary frat house. But it sure isn’t a place you are used to coming to. You can spot Sapnap as he makes his way over to the three of you, and before you know it.
Sapnap pulls you along onto the dance floor, barely giving you time to put your drink down. You are already a good few drinks down and can’t help but feel like floating as he drags you along. A giggle passes your lips as you make your way into the dancefloor.
The music is loud, and while you have never heard this song before, you feel like you know the lyrics to it.
Sapnap places his hands on your hips as the two of you dance.
It’s nice, it’s fun.
It’s not what you are supposed to be doing.
Because as far as your family is aware, you are sleeping nice and soundly at home, and not out drinking and partying.
Well, most of your family, you could have sworn you saw your brother, Wilbur, in the crowd earlier. But what he doesn’t know. Won’t hurt him.
“Having fun tonight?” Sapnap’s voice breaks you away from your though. His face is suddenly a lot closer than before. His warm breath hitting your ear as he whispered. A grin works its way onto your own face.
“With you? Of course.”
It’s loud. It’s warm. It’s crowded.
Yet there is nowhere else you would want to be for the night.
Sapnap pulls away from your ear again, mouthing along to the song that’s playing. And the two of you dance, losing yourself to the crowd. Losing yourself to the music. Losing yourself to each other.
None of you have count on the number of songs that pass by. Each one seemingly bleeding into the next, and your energy never-ending. Your dancing ever the fun.
You can feel his hands as they glided over your body, seemingly exploring all of it. And you enjoy it, egging him on as you dance. You dance only for him. Matching your hips to the rhythm. Your eyes locked on his. His hands locked on you.
A cheeky wink from you timed to the music, is all Sapnap needs for him to pull you close against him once again. His lips ghost over your ear.
“You look great in blue.”
His touch goes from warm to hot, seemingly setting you ablaze. His lips trailing over your neck. Down to your shoulder. From your shoulder back to your neck. His teeth grazing over your neck lightly before he continues back up to your ear.
You can feel him whisper something to you, but you have lost most senses. Only able to focus on his touch. As his fingers grip you tighter.
He pulls his face back, and you lock eyes with him. A smirk is eminent on his face.
It’s clear to him, it’s clear to anyone taking a glance at you. He is driving you wild.
His left-hand leaves your side to cup your face. He pulls you in slowly, and you more than willingly follow along. His lips ghosting over yours once more. For a second, it’s just the two of you. Just for a second. But only for a second. Then the spell breaks.
“Fuck.” Sapnap mutters and pulls away. His hands letting go of you completely, and suddenly you are forced to stand on your own. You feel a bit disorientated at the sudden pull back to reality.
Sapnaps eyes are locked on something a bit behind you, a string of curse words seemingly leaving his mouth. You’re unsure if he’s muttering or talking. The music overpowering them either way.
You turn around to find what has brought him to pull away.
And there in the outskirt of the dancefloor stands a tall pink-haired guy, holding a brunette slumped against the pink guy. Or as you formerly know them, your older brothers Techno and Wilbur. They seem to be looking for someone, as Techno seems to be looking through the crowd that has assembled on the makeshift dancefloor.
Sapnap leans over to your ear once again.
“Does your dad know that you are out?” This time he’s yelling, no longer intimate or secretive whispers.
“No!” You yell back to him.
“Do you think they’re looking for you?”
Techno catches your eyes and raises a hand. Answering Sapnaps question for you.
You manoeuvred your way through the dancing crowd, leaving Sapnap alone. Approaching your brothers. You cast a glance back to where you stood, Sapnap already gone in the crowd. You try not to look disappointed, as you look back at your brother, but one raised eyebrow from Techno is enough to tell you, you failed to do so.
“Drunk?”
“Drunk.”
You sigh, as you guide Wilburs arm over your shoulder, and the three of you head into the night and down the street. A couple of minutes passes, and Wilbur starts to mumble about his big plans for the future.
You and Techno share a laugh at your brother's expense in the night. The inevitable scolding from Phil far away in the future.
It takes you exactly three weeks before you have done enough chores to get ungrounded. Although all three of you had snuck out in the middle of the night. You and Techno had been responsible enough to bring Wilbur home without trying to drive, and you had even woken Phil up yourself when you got home. Although you were pretty sure he had heard you from the moment you had stepped through the door. And Wilbur had decided that the hallway would be a perfectly good place to take a nap.
But that was three weeks ago, and now is now.
You have the clothes you want to wear in your backpack, along with your laptop and a physics book to make it believable.
While you don’t pride yourself on being a party animal, it doesn’t hurt to participate when invited. And especially not when Sapnap himself invites you.
“Bye Dad!” You yell out as you pass the kitchen. Phil sitting on his laptop, with Tommy beside him looking close to crying in frustration over homework, and Wilbur seemingly trying to cook something up. Keyword trying.
“Wait up!” Phil yells out, making you stop in your track. “Come in here.” You slowly backtrack your steps, making you stand in the doorway of the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” He squints his eyes at you, before looking you up and down. Tommy mouths ‘someone is in trouble’ to you. And you resist against, in all better judgement, to hit him.
Instead, you lift your backpack, “Study session at Karls, remember? I’m staying over for the night.”
Wilbur decides now is the perfect time to join the conversation, a playful look on his face. He knows exactly what’s going to be happening at Karls place tonight. Despite still being grounded, you know you will see him there later tonight.
“Study session huh? I thought you had study group on Wednesdays?” Wilbur brings a hand up to mimic a thinking position.
Fuck.
“I do!” Was that too quick? You look back at Phil, “I do.” You repeat yourself, “It’s just for my physics lecture, got a test on Monday.” Phil seems to not completely buy it. “Besides Dad, I am ungrounded after all, you said so yourself yesterday.”
Phil hums. “I did say that…” He looks you over once more. “Alright. At least let Techno or Wil drive you.”
That decision is easy enough for you.
“TECHNO! DAD SAYS YOU HAVE TO DRIVE ME!” You yell into the house. You swear you can hear your brother grumble about having to drive you from upstairs. But you elect to ignore it.
You look back over at Wilbur who is now discarding his apron in favour of getting out of the house. He knows if he can play his cards right, he can make Techno stop at the music store. And he might just be able to catch his totally secret girlfriend Sally for a couple of minutes. Not like he won’t be seeing her tonight.
You listen as Techno walks down the stairs. Now audibly complaining about being the only responsible driver in the house.
You would drive yourself, but having one car for four people to share isn’t exactly great. You tried having a driving plan once that you could put yourself on when you needed to borrow the car. It ended up with a month of Wilbur hogging the car. So now instead, you all just always drive each other around like soccer moms.
Techno looks annoyed at you as he passes the kitchen. But you know if he was truly annoyed he just wouldn’t have come down at all.
You turn to follow Techno into the hallway but are still able to overhear Phil questioning Wilbur on where he is going.
“To drive with them of course.”
“You’re still grounded.”
“C’mon Dad, Phil, Philza, it’s just a drive, it’s not like I would be seeing anyone.”
“Fine.” Despite not being able to see Phil, you know your dad is trying his best not to smile at Wilbur’s antics. “Just a drive. You probably need to get out of the house anyway.”
And that’s enough for him to end in the backseat of the car. Tagging along.
You automatically go for the AUX, as the designated DJ in the front seat. You barely get to press play, before Wilbur has started a conversation. A conversation that is closer to an interrogation.
“So Karl’s place to study, huh? Nothing to do with what’s going to happen tonight at all?”
“Oh please.” You turn your head to look back at Wilbur. “As if you won’t be there too.”
“Techno is gonna be there too!” Wilbur whines, as if it would make the situation any better.
“Wait, really?” You look over at Techno, turning forward in your seat once more.
“Yeah, Dream won at practice the other day.”
“How?” “You lost?” You and Wilbur speak at the same time.
“The guy put oil on my sword, so I dropped it.”
You snort, and Wilbur laughs. “So much for Techno Blade never loses.”
“Oh, shut up the two of you. At least I’m not grounded.”
“Hey!” Wilbur shouts.
The car ride passes with sibling banter, and a couple more jabs at each other before you are pulling up to Karls house. You quickly get out and yell a quick “See you later!” before heading over to the front door. You smile to yourself as you overhear Wilbur asking if they can stop by the music store as he changes from the back seat to the front seat.
You listen as the car pulls away, and you get to ring the doorbell.
A flustered Karl throws open the door. Loudly greeting you, before pulling you into a hug.
“You made it! I didn’t think you would, but then again Sapnap did invite you. But you did say no the other couple of times and-”
“I get it Karl, but I’m here now.” You smile at him, letting him breathe. He giggles. “Can I come in?”
“Oh yes! Of course! Of course! Come in.” Karl guides you into the living room, closing the door after you. You stand awkwardly in the doorway until Karl grabs your wrist and leads you over to the sofa telling you to sit down.
You kinda expected more people to be here. But instead, you are met with the familiar faces of Karl and yours friend group. Not to mention a couple of Wilburs friends. Not that the small town is big enough for everyone close in age to not already know each other. The community college isn't exactly helping either.
You can already feel tonight will have a different feeling than last time. Way more down to earth, and way more chill.
Quackity falls into the seat beside you and offers you a drink, which you happily take. “It’s nice to see you not all dressed up you know.” He tells you. Suddenly you’re happy you didn’t change at home, not that you had much of a choice.
“Yeah, it’s nice not to be all dressed up.” You say, taking a sip, as you eye your backpack that was placed against the wall in the living room.
“I hear both your brothers are gonna be here later. I can’t believe Phil just lets you guys go out. My mom thinks we are studying for English class.” Quackity complains. "I hate still living at home."
“Oh no, you have it all wrong, Phil doesn’t.” You laugh, a bit dry, but it is what it is. “He thinks I’m here for a study session for my physics lecture, Wilbur is still grounded for the last time the three of us was out, and Techno is only coming because he apparently lost to Dream at fencing practice.”
Quackity snorts, “Techno lost to Dream?”
“I know! That was my reaction too.” The two of you share a laugh.
“I can’t believe the Minecraft household is filled with degenerates.” He feigns a disappointed tone.
“You aren’t that much better.” Sapnap buts into your conversation. You hadn’t noticed him walking in. Quackity lifts his hands in defeat and gets up from the couch. Only for Sapnap to quickly takes his place.
“I’m guessing by that your dad doesn’t know about tonight either.” He teases you, and you look away for a moment, your purple drink suddenly very interesting.
“He does, sorta, not. He thinks we are here to study.” You give Sapnap a weak smile, and he chuckles at your antics.
You barely miss him muttering, “Cute.” Underneath his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
And then silence falls upon the two of you. You want to keep him talking, of course, you do. How could you not want to? It’s Sapnap.
Every time he speaks, you want to cling to each word and hold it dearly. Instead, you flash him a smile, and he smiles back. Before looking away, and you can’t help but feel a bit defeated at that.
However, you are saved by Karl hooking up his phone to a speaker and way too loud music blasts into the living room.
It takes a good half-minute before the volume is lowered enough for it to be background music, and it takes even longer for anyone to agree on what playlist to be put on.
The afternoon bleeds into the late afternoon, and more people have decided to join. You now share the three-person couch with two more people, leading to you being pressed up again Sapnap. Not that you are complaining.
Wilbur and Sally have arrived too, already sitting on the floor together. Already - as your youngest brother Tommy would say - already sucking each other’s faces dry.
Techno seems to be the last person to join the gathering, bringing beer too. Of course, you can’t help but think. Of all the people he’s the only one of the three of you, that could ever make Phil buy any of you beer.
"Techno is the most responsible of you four."
"C'mon on dad! This isn't fair!"
"Exactly! I understand her, but daaaad we're both 20 why do you want to help him but not me?"
"Shut up Wilbur."
You are in a heated conversation with Karl about the right way to read document history. When you notice a touch on your left side. You stop midsentence, Karl doesn’t notice and keep arguing his side. But Sapnap does.
You can feel a pair of eyes on you, as you look down to see his hand around your waist. Neither of you have talked to each other since the quick conversation. Then Dream and George had each pulled up a chair nearby the couch and the three of them had talked since then.
Suddenly you get hit with the thought, that maybe, despite all better judgement, just maybe. What happened a couple of weeks ago wasn’t just because you were the nearest person. Just maybe it was because Sapnap actually looked your way.
You don’t let the thought get to your head too much, because the second you look at him. He’s back in his conversation with Dream and George about something you don’t really care about from the sounds of it. You shake your head; you must have been imagining stuff. He didn’t look at you.
You get two more drinks in you, as the evening passes on, and Sapnaps hand seems to find its way onto your thigh. You have no intention of getting drunk, but the feeling of Sapnaps hand on you seems near addicting.
It’s nearing midnight when a less than sober Dream suggests a game of Truth or Dare.
Techno complains against it as the only one, stating “We aren’t middle schoolers.”
So you play truth or dare.
The first couple of rounds starts innocently enough, the mood is good. Everyone is having fun. You are enjoying yourself, listening to embarrassing stories, to creating new ones alongside your friends. Finding yourself curling into Sapnaps side just a bit more.
He doesn’t protest or say anything against it, so you take it as a win, and keep leaning against him.
Then a drunk Quackity gets his turn and asks George for his worst hook-up. And the energy in the room changes. From then on the innocent truths and even more naïve dares are out the window. For stories about peoples experiences, and dares that seemingly gets riskier and riskier.
You manage to dodge most questions, keeping to the truth after that point on. Until you are unable to.
“Don’t be boring! Choose dare!” George eggs you on, and you give in. Anyone would give in, you swear the guy has pretty privilege. Most of the living room cheers.
“I have a good dare.” Dream says.
“Too bad it’s not your turn to ask then.” You stick your tongue out at him and turn your attention back to George. When you see the guy motioning for Dream to whisper his dare. “Betrayal George, I will never forgive you.”
“Too bad for you then.” His smile widening the longer Dream keeps whispering. Your worry starts to grow, you are already regretting deeply for giving in to the peer pressure.
Dream retreats and looks satisfied with his idea. George takes a moment to think it over, but it’s clear that he has already made up his mind.
“I dare you…” He clicks his tongue. “I dare you to give Sapnap a lap dance!”
“What?”
“You heard me!” George looks proud of himself, or his idea, or Dreams idea. You don’t know. Your stomach is seemingly doing backflips at the idea, while your head is spinning for the exact opposite reason.
“Chicken?” You try, you don’t notice the desperate look Sapnap is giving George.
“Nope,” George pops his ‘p’, “you’ve been boring all evening with only choosing truth. Besides we're all adults here, c'mon it could be a lot worse.”
You look over at Wilbur, who is more than occupied with Sally. Then over at Karl, who has a teasing grin on his lips, as if he knew this would happen. Then to Quackity, who looks like someone who definitely knew this would happen. Then to Techno, who looks like he could murder Dream. And knowing him, there is a 50/50 chance he’s still mad over losing or that it’s about the idea Dream just proposed.
“He didn’t say it had to be here,” Sapnap says to help you out. “We can just leave.” Your head pecks up at that. He’s right. George didn’t specify where. A smile forms on your face, a smile based on relief.
Dream starts to protest, but you have already grabbed Sapnaps wrist and started dragging him into Karls room.
You miss Techno slapping Dream over the head.
You make Sapnap sit on Karls bed, as you make sure the door is locked. You would rather die than anyone walk in on you. You look around for a speaker, and you barely get your phone out of your back pocket before Sapnap has put his hand on your wrist now.
“Hey, you don’t have to do it.”
You look at him, panic still evident in your eyes.
“What?”
“I said you don’t have to do it.”
“What?”
He smiles at you and tugs you over to sit beside him on the bed.
“For the third time, you don’t have to do it.”
His left-hand cups your head, his right hand has moved from your wrist and into your hand.
“It’s just a stupid game of truth or dare anyway. Techno is right, we aren’t middle schoolers. Fuck, we aren't even high schoolers.”
You smile at him, before letting out a quiet chuckle.
“Yeah, you’re right. I thought you would want that, though.”
Sapnap leans his head to the side. Asking you to continue.
“I mean, you’re Sapnap. Oh, c’mon on don’t make me say it.”
“Say what?” he grins at you now. The air suddenly becoming light around you.
“Please, don’t act like you don’t know. Everyone knows.” You look away for a moment, his hand lightly turns your head back to look at him, and you let him. Although the look you are met with is one of confusion and not the cockiness you were expecting.
You sigh once.
Then twice.
Then once more.
You were really about to do this, in the bedroom of your childhood friend. Jesus.
“Sapnap, seriously. This isn’t funny.”
“What? I feel like I lost the thread somewhere here.” His hand falls from your face, and you can’t help but want to chase it.
“I like you, everyone knows that. This isn’t funny. Seriously. Everyone knows I’m absolutely hopeless for thinking you would even look in my direction.”
You fall onto Karls bed, letting yourself sink into the purple bedsheets.
“Well, I can tell you two things.”
Sapnap falls onto the bed beside you. The two of you now staring into the wooden ceiling that’s decorated with glow in the dark stars.
“And what are those two things?”
“You see, one nobody thinks you are hopeless.” He chuckles a bit at that. “If anything, I’m the hopeless one here.”
You turn your head to look at him, and he does the same to you, giving you a kind smile.
“And now why would you be that?”
“Because two, not everyone knows that you like me, I didn’t.” You return his smile, although you feel a need to look away at the words, you keep eye contact with him.
“Well, now you know, making me right.” You tease or try to. You can feel the air has gone from light, to very heavy suddenly. Barely breathable. And you can feel your breath hitch in your throat, you know what words you hope he speaks next. But yet, you can’t stop expecting to get laughed at and rejected right here.
“I guess, but you see, I would say I’m the hopeless one here. Because I’ve been trying to tell you that I like you for months now.” He covers his face with a hand. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, I sound like a cliché.”
You let out a small laugh, “Yeah, you do a bit. But…”
“But…?” he asks, his hand still over his face, but you can see him peaking through his fingers.
“But I don’t mind it, I think it’s cute.” And now it’s his time to laugh.
Then slowly a silence falls over the two of you. Unlike the one from earlier, this one is saying more than a thousand words, while saying absolutely nothing at all. It’s just two people who like each other enjoying a moment.
“We should probably get back to the others again.” Sapnap breaks the silence, and you take a deep breath at the sudden disturbance.
“Oh yeah, the others.”
“The longer we stay here, the more they are going to wonder what we are doing.” You can’t help but laugh at that.
“You are sadly right Sapnap. You are unfortunately right.”
You groan as you sit back up, offering him a hand that he gladly takes, but instead of you helping to pull him up from the bed.
He pulls you down into his lap once more.
"However..." He starts, "They can wonder all they want."
You can feel his hands on your hips now. As he leans in to start trailing kisses over your neck once more.
Your breath hitches.
His teeth grace your shoulder before you can feel him sucking.
His hands exploring you as you lean into the pleasure.
You start squirming in his lap, and he stops.
"No."
You pause, as his hands quickly leave you.
"No?"
"I am not having my first time with you, with your brothers down the hallway, and my best friends absolutely listening in," Sapnap admits to you.
The statement makes your face heat up, and you try to hide away in his neck. He chuckles at the cute gesture.
"We should get going..." He trails off but makes no moves to actually get up. Just basking in the heat you apply to him.
You sigh, as you get off him, his hand now holding yours.
"Sadly you're right."
He gets off the bed and stands beside you.
However, when you prepare to let go, he keeps your hands entangled, and if you’re honest, you don’t mind all that much.
You unlock the door and head back into the living room. All conversation going stale the second the two of you stand in the doorway.
Dream ever the curious, is the one to break the ice. “Sooo…”
Sapnap lifts your entangled hands, and the room breaks into cheers. And you swore you heard a couple of people mutter finally. You hide your head in your hand, trying to hide your embarrassment alongside it.
Leading you to miss Karl throwing Quackity some money, and George doing the same to Dream.
You lift your head from your hand as you hear Wilbur speak.
“Good luck explaining that one to Dad.” Wilbur laughs, but a smile clear on his lips.
"What?" You say, as you can feel Wilburs eyes burning onto your throat. Your hand quickly coming up to try and cover the clearly evident mark.
A glance at Techno tells you that he too is happy for you, but even more clearly he is on the brink of smugness. Knowing you're going to get in trouble tomorrow.
He has been the one on the end of most of your seemingly endless rants about the moment that happened weeks ago at that party. The one that your brothers ruined, so it felt self-explanatory for them to be on the end of your whining.
Sapnap guides you, as the two of you return to your seats on the couch and the night continues.
Nothing has truly changed, yet it feels like everything has changed.
And somewhere along the night, things did change.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
477 notes · View notes
miyagihawk · 3 years
Text
why’d you only call me when you’re high? pt. 2 | eli “hawk” moskowitz x reader
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part one
here’s part 2 by popular demand! based off the arctic monkeys song and amazing request by @deadbeatharlz <3 thank you guys for the support on part 1 im so happy you liked it :)
warnings: self harming behavior, LOTS of swearing, alcohol and drug abuse, sooo so angstyyyy buckle up
summary: it’s been 3 months since your last night with hawk, and you haven’t been yourself.
word count: 3,062
The past 3 months have been rough. Maybe the worst you’ve ever been. You fell into the deep hole that you dug yourself. The hole of loving Hawk Moskowitz.
You never thought you’d be one of those people who let unrequited love devastate their whole being. In fact you always thought the whole heartbreak thing was pathetic and melodramatic. Until it happened to you.
You hate yourself for letting him have this effect on you. But there’s a pestering voice in the back of your mind that reminds you: it’s all your fault. He didn’t ask you to love him. It’s just easier to blame him for your downfall.
Parties, drugs, alcohol. Sex with people you don’t even know. High on the same drug that compelled him to call you in the night.
You’ve become so desperate to forget him that you ruined yourself. It hurts your pride to be the whiny heartbroken girl who let a stupid boy’s rejection shatter her self worth. But the hole is too deep and there’s no hope trying to grasp onto the dirt walls to get out.
The worst part of it is that he sees it all. At school, (if you even go) he looks at you like the scum of the earth as he passes by with his little karate gang. When you end up at the same party, he’ll have a disgusted expression on his face and leave as if he can’t bare to look at you. 
Tonight is one of those nights, and you watch him from across the backyard as he goofs around with his friends. He hasn’t noticed you yet, hence why he’s even still here and not on his way out the door to get away from you.
“If you stare at him any longer, I think he’ll shoot up into flames,” your best friend Robby hands you a cup, and you don’t hesitate before downing its unknown contents. The burn in your throat makes you hum with content.
“That’s the plan,” you take your eyes of off Hawk to look at Robby. You gesture to his own cup in his hand, “Are you gonna drink that?”
“Easy there, Y/N. We got here 5 minutes ago,” he warns, but holds out the drink towards you anyway. Robby’s always been worried about you and your habits, but he knows how you can be when you’re told no.
You swallow down the drink in a few seconds, ignoring his remark. “5 minutes? I can beat my record!” you cheer sarcastically, and start walking to the kitchen in search of a keg. Robby follows closely behind you, a wary look on his face.
The fuzzy feeling starts to take over your body as you throw back drink after drink. It’s the buzz you crave every second of every day because it just makes you feel so good. Everything is happier and your cares feel so far away. Hawk feels so far away.
You sit on the couch next to Robby in your dazed trance, drunkenly rambling to him about random things. He glares at anyone who comes near you and looks like they would take advantage of you in your state.
Robby really hates you like this, but he can’t help but feel protective over you. He’s not even a fan of parties; he really only goes to keep an eye on you. You’re grateful even though you act like you hate it when he babysits you.
“Heyyy pretty Y/N! Want some?” Yasmine approaches where you sit, a joint held between her fingers. Her eyes are drooped and she sways as she stands.
You reach out to take the blunt, but you feel Robby push your arm down. “You’re already drunk. That’s enough,” he says sternly, making you roll your eyes.
“I can do what I want, Dad,” you taunt, and take the joint from Yasmine. Smoke fills up your lungs, immediately giving you pleasure. Robby just shakes his head in disapproval as the air around him becomes hazy.
“I’m going to the bathroom. Stay here,” he orders, getting up from the couch.
You nod, but of course, you don’t listen. The sound of splashing from outside sets off a lightbulb above your head and you feel like you’re floating while you walk to the backyard.
Right as you step out of the house, you make eye contact with none other than Hawk. He gives you a distasteful look like always, before turning back to his group. Asshole.
You just scoff and stumble towards the pool, where a couple is making out and a few people are drunkenly playing with the water like little kids.
Reaching the edge of the pool’s rim, you let yourself fall in with a splash. You feel the pressure in your ears start to build as you sink to the bottom. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re cross faded, but being underwater feels like a world of bliss.
The loud music of the party is muted, creating a sense of serenity. The legs of the other people in the pool make you laugh to yourself, sending bubbles from your mouth to the surface. It’s glittery and pretty and you want to stay forever.
You don’t know how long you’re under there for, but you don’t notice your lungs running out of air. It just feels good to be alone for a second. Next thing you know, you feel your eyes start to droop closed; a strange peace overcoming your body.
A loud thrashing noise in the water makes you wake up with a gasp. You swallow too much water as you feel someone grab hold of your arm. It’s all a blur and you’re being pulled up to the surface, taking you away from the tranquil world you were just in.
The music is pounds against your ears again and the air is cold on your skin. You feel your body being laid down on the concrete of the poolside, but everything feels numb. You just feel sleepy and you want to close your eyes again.
“Y/N, hey, wake up. Wake up,” a voice makes your eyes shoot back open. Someone is looking down at you, with a hand shaking your shoulder. Your vision is somewhat blurry, but the mohawk gives it away. It’s him.
You suddenly become aware of the large amount of water in your lungs and you turn over to your side to cough it up. After you get it all out, you notice the people at the party looking at you with eyes of pity mixed with judgement.
“What the fuck were you doing? You could’ve died, are you fucking stupid?” Hawk curses, but even in your inebriated state you can hear a hint of worry in his voice.
You sit up to face him. He looks angry; his clothes and hair are as wet as yours.
Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen in your brain, or maybe it’s the marijuana and alcohol, but you just feel the urge to laugh. So you do. Like a complete maniac. The way he probably just saved your life like he cares is sickly comedic to you.
His face twists in confusion as you break out into a fit of giggles. “Are you serious? You’re fucking insane, Y/N,” he gets up, shaking his head at you. He gives a glare to the people staring, and they look away in fear.
You think he’s going to leave like usual, but he surprises you by grabbing your arm to pull you up. People whisper amongst themselves as he drags you through the backyard, going through a gate that leads to front of the house. You trip over your own feet, still feeling dizzy from almost drowning, but he just pulls you along.
“What are you doing?” you ask, tugging on your arm to try and release it from the tight grip he has on you. You’re both dripping chlorinated water, leaving a track of drops on the concrete below.
“You’re going home Y/N,” he says sternly. You two arrive at his car and he opens the passenger door. “Get in.”
“Hey!” a voice yells from the house and you both turn to see Robby rushing towards the car. He looks pissed, and now you remember him telling you to stay put. Shit.
“Robby I-”
“Don’t get in there with him Y/N,” he says, sending a death stare to the boy next to you.
“I’m taking her home, Keene, so back the fuck off. Get in Y/N,” Hawk snaps, clenching his fists.
You keep quiet, not wanting to add to the fire already starting. They loathe each other; if not because of the karate rivalry, then because of you. To Robby, Hawk broke your heart and made you spiral. To Hawk, Robby is the piece of shit who he thinks is your boyfriend, and he won’t admit it but he’s jealous.
“You’re not driving her, asshole. You’re probably as drunk as her,” Robby reaches to take your arm, but Hawk pulls you back.
“You don’t know shit about me, Keene. I’ve been sober for three months, so yeah, I will drive her,” Hawk picks you up like you’re a doll, placing you in the passenger seat and closing the door. You don’t resist, you just feel tired and your head starts to pound as if the mix of drugs in your system are punishing you. The window’s down, so you can still hear the two boys loud and clear.
I’ve been sober for three months, his voice echoes in your head.
“Oh so now you care so much about her? It’s your fault she’s like this!” Robby raises his voice even more, starting to move towards Hawk threateningly. You begin to feel scared that a physical fight might actually break out, but you don’t know what to do.
“I’m not the one who almost let her die a few minutes ago, am I? Just fuck off, we’re leaving,” Hawk dismisses him, walking around the car to the driver’s seat. You’re surprised by his self control to not throw a punch, especially with his reputation.
“Robby, it’s okay. I just want to go home. I’ll call you, alright?” you reach your hand out of the window in reassurance and he takes hold of it. Hawk clenches his jaw as he turns on the engine.
“Promise you’ll be careful? I’m sorry I left you,” Robby furrows his eyebrows in worry. When he came out of the bathroom, someone filled him in on what happened to you and he almost had a heart attack.
“Promise. And it’s my fault,” you hook your pinky with his, before the car pulls out of the curb and separates you from your best friend. He watches you guys drive away, an anxious expression etched on his face.
The whole situation has sobered you up pretty well, and now you’re left with a throbbing headache, wet clothes, and awkward tension. You hate it. Being sober. You miss the foggy feeling that prevents you from thinking too hard about things. But now you’re inches away from the boy who broke your heart, all by choice.
You don’t know why you agreed to go with him, but did you even have a choice? You’re confused by his actions. He acts like he hates you but he jumps in a pool for you. He yelled at you but he’s driving you home. It all makes you overthink and it causes your head to ache even more.
You hold your head in your hands to try and ease the pain as Hawk drives quietly.
“You good?” he breaks the silence. His voice is softer compared to how he talked to Robby minutes ago.
“Head hurts,” you mumble.
“What were you doing back there? If I didn’t get you out, you’d probably be in the hospital right now,” he says. You peek at him through your hands and his eyes are on the road.
“I don’t know,” you sigh. “It was just peaceful. I didn’t really even think about breathing.”
He scoffs. “Well that’s just fucking stupid. You’re lucky I noticed you were under for so long.”
“Well thanks,” you reply quietly, feeling like a little kid being scolded.
There’s a couple beats of silence before he speaks, “What happened to you?”
The question makes you sit up and look over at him. “What are you talking about?”
“The old Y/N wouldn’t even touch a drink. You’re different,” Hawk taps his finger on the wheel in thought. His icy blue eyes quickly glance at your confused look before returning to the road.
“You happened, Hawk.” You pinch your temples in frustration. Anger starts to bubble up in your stomach at his criticism. At the mention of “old you”.
“I didn’t do this to you,” he shakes his head, as if trying to convince himself of his own words.
“You did,” you raise your voice, making him flinch. “You know it.”
“What, because I stopped sleeping with you? I didn’t make you fall in love with me, Y/N. You did that to yourself,” he spits, sending a knife to your heart and making you see red.
“You knew I loved you way before I said it. But you still stringed me along, didn’t you? You knew I would pick up everytime you called. You knew that I would let you into my bed because I was the girl who loved you no matter how fucking shitty you were!” you fire back, vomiting out words that you’ve wanted to say for months. The alcohol in your system makes you bolder than usual, but you’re grateful for it.
He’s at a loss for words at your outburst so you continue, “I didn’t ask for this Hawk. Loving you. I’m sorry that I’m such a burden and that you hate me so much that you can’t stand being in the same room as me. But please just answer me this and I’ll leave you alone forever. I’ll leave when we show up at the same party and I’ll even hide in the halls so you don’t have to see my face.”
You pause, choking on your words. You didn’t even realize that the car is already parked in front of your house and your clothes are halfway dry.
“Why don’t you love me?” your voice cracks as you spit out the question that has caused you to throw yourself away. The question with an answer that could dissipate your self worth in a mere moment.
Hawk finally looks into your glassy eyes with shock. He could’ve never anticipated what you asked him and his mouth runs dry.
“I told you, I- I don’t deserve someone like you loving me,” he swallows, but you shake your head.
“That’s not what I asked.”
He blinks slowly, trying to come up with an excuse. Any excuse, to avoid telling you the truth. You can see the inner conflict on his face, the panicked speed of his running thoughts.
“You should go home, Y/N,” he deflects, turning away from you. Putting on his mask to keep you from reading him like a book.
“I’m not going until you tell me,” you demand.
“Just get out of the car, fuck!” Hawk yells, slamming his hands down on the steering wheel. It makes you jump a little, but you’re too angry to fear the flames in his eyes.
“Why can’t you just tell me!” you fire back. “You came to me almost every night, so why do I feel something that you don’t? Is it me? Is there something wrong with me?”
“What do you want me to fucking say Y/N! That I do love you? Fucking fine. I love you. Is that what you wanted to hear? Just get out.”
I love you.
The same words you said that made him leave.
“You don’t even mean that,” you blink back your tears.
His voice is softer now, more gentle. “If I didn’t mean it then I wouldn’t have said it.”
“You said you needed me and then you left me,” your voice shakes and you hate how pathetic you sound.
“I-I didn’t leave you,” he stammers before taking a deep breath. “I left because you wanted something more than I could give you. I would’ve felt like a selfish asshole if we became more than just sex, Y/N. You deserve someone like Keene and yeah he’s a pussy but he’s good. Better than me.”
It feels like every piece in the puzzle is being put together. Everything makes sense. He does love you, but he was just afraid. He can’t be near you because it hurts too much to see someone he can’t have. Somehow, you can’t find the anger you’ve held against him for these past months; you just understand him now.
“I’m sorry, alright? For everything. For treating your feelings like shit. All of it.”
You swallow, thinking about his words. It all feels too much and the truth is now looking you in the eye, demanding an answer. You love him, but he dropped your heart on the floor for you to pick up every shard. Is one sorry going to magically fix everything?
“I- I don’t know what to say,” you admit, and he nods in understanding.
“You don’t have to say anything. Let’s just... move on. And you get better... I hate seeing you like this,” Hawk scans your red eyes and dilated pupils. “We’ll get to a better place and you and me, we’ll be good.”
It’s bittersweet, but he’s right. Being together now just because he loves you back would be a huge jump that would only end in broken hearts and toxic cycles. It would be foolish. As much as you want him, the only person who can fix you is yourself.
So it’s a meet up at the top of the mountain, when you’ve both made the journey from opposite sides.
“A better place,” you reiterate, before placing a light kiss to his cheek and leaving the car with a new sense of closure.
a/n: that was longer than i planned and a freaking roller coaster!!!!!!! im not sure if there should be a part 3? lmk what you think maybe it’ll just be short. but hehe i added robby into the mix he was so cute. ty for reading!
taglist for people who wanted part 2 :) ty friends for the support <3 @littlered6307 @deadbeatharlz @spiderman-berries @axastasiasstuff @r0-xie @estupidteen @hawkwhore @idkwhatishouldput4
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bowtiesandflutes · 3 years
Text
First Kiss
First Doctor
You were the one to initiate the kiss, causing the room to go silent. The Doctor stuttered before continuing the conversation, and you smiled when he told you to follow him, the other companions left on their own.
It was known on the Tardis that he had a soft spot for you, and when he wandered off, he made sure you were the one following.
Second Doctor
You kissed when he believed you thought he was Ramón. But when you found out he wasn't, you told him you would keep his secret and kissed him again.
Third Doctor
You were watching him work in the lab, head in your hand as you waited for him to finish. He was talking to himself, wondering what could fix the problem, and when you made a suggestion, he placed a chaste kiss on your lips, surprising you.
"Excellent!"
You sat in a daze, "Yeah, it really is."
The Doctor looked at you with a smile. He had a feeling you would be paying more attention from now on.
Fourth Doctor
"I can't do it!" You huffed. "The vent is too small!"
"Must be all the jelly babies." You heard him say.
You scowled, "Oh! Wait until I get my hands on you!" You crawled with more determination, and when you reached the opening, the Doctor pulled you out. Before you could yell at him, he kissed you.
"See? I told you, you were the better choice." You raised an eyebrow when he walked away, turning around to look at him.
"You also said I ate too many jelly babies." You crossed your arms.
He looked at you, twisting wires. "Yes...I'll find some way to make it up to you." You shook your head with a smile, walking over to help him.
Fifth Doctor
He was about to participate in a cricket match. You had been begging him for days to let you see him play, and he finally gave in. You adjusted his collar and smiled brightly.
"Good luck." You kissed him passionately, and he pulled away, hands on your arms, shocked by the kiss. You knew he would lecture you later about the possible points in time that were damaged by you not only being in his past (current present) but by you kissing him. Future him would remember it.
He wasn't completely upset about it, judging by his smile, and you handed him his cricket bat, standing to the side as you watched him play.
Sixth Doctor
He wasn't snapping or insulting anyone. That's how you knew something was wrong. After the trial, you found him in the console room, setting a course for your next adventure.
You put your chin on his shoulder, standing on your toes as you looked up at him. "Are you okay?"
He nodded.
"Does that mean no?"
Again he nodded, and you turned him around to hug him. After a few minutes, you lifted your head, your eyes meeting before he leaned in to kiss you.
Regeneration was tricky. But you had managed to fall in love with him all over again. And despite his foul moods, he had never stopped loving you.
Seventh Doctor
"I like him." You said as you followed Alistair. "He has a lot of stories about you."
"Don't listen to anything he says." He told you, making you laugh before you became serious, turning to him.
"This thing we're up against...if we fail -"
"We won't."
"If we do fail...I just want you to know that -"
"We won't fail." He said. "So whatever you have to say, tell me when we succeed." He put a hand on your arm.
You stepped forward and kissed him, holding his jacket. Ace turned, hearing that you stop talking, laughing at the expression of pure shock on The Doctor's face when you walked away. He followed, sending her a look not to say anything.
She nudged your arm, and you looped your arm with hers, walking ahead of the two men, whispering to each other.
Eighth Doctor
"We did it!" You laughed when he picked you up, spinning around.
When your feet touched the ground, you were high of adrenaline and grabbed his jacket, kissing him passionately.
He put his hands on your waist, and you stood in the street for a moment in each other's embrace before pulling away. You smiled, biting your lip as he rested his forehead against yours.
You heard Lee chuckling and felt Grace's glare. You looked to the side, seeing him roll his eyes at her.
You smiled at them, feeling the Doctor take your hand. It was time to part ways with them, but you chose to go with the Doctor.
War Doctor
He had travelled for centuries before Gallifrey fell. And he knew that you both needed reminding that the universe was thriving. He took you to a planet that resembled Gallifrey and as you walked through the centre of the city, you were smiling as you were handed flowers. Children were laughing and you could hear a group singing.
It helped you forget the Time War for a few hours and when you returned to the Tardis you were humming the song the planets inhabitants had sung.
The Doctor smiled, closing the door as he followed you to the console. "Your first planet. What did you think?"
"Its incredible." You told him. You kissed his cheek, pausing for a moment before pressing your lips to his, pulling away moments later. "Thank you."
Ninth Doctor
You took the gun from Jack, and the Doctor frowned, approaching you. "Don't try to stop me." You sighed, knowing if he did, he would succeed. You were a scientist, not a warrior.
"Just be careful." He told you.
You smiled faintly, aware this could be the last time you saw him. "You better be more than careful." You stepped forward and kissed his cheek, lingering before turning your head to meet his lips.
"This is my type of goodbye." Jack interrupted.
You rolled your eyes, looking at him. "I am not kissing you. Your mouth has been kissing things that don't have a mouth." You walked away, looking back at the Doctor before leaving with Jack.
Tenth Doctor
You didn't want to stay on the Tardis, knowing it brought him pain. But he interrupted your well thought out speech; he didn't agree like you believed he would. You were shocked that he wanted you to stay with him.
He apologized for making you unwelcome, and you grinned, hugging him tightly and kissing him out of excitement.
He chuckled, and the kiss was never talked about between you two. But Donna loved bringing it up when she could.
Eleventh Doctor
You walked out of the wedding reception and sighed at the cold night air. You felt a jacket go over your shoulders and smiled at The Doctor as he stood beside you.
"I wondered where you went to." He said.
"I needed some air." You leaned on the wall, facing him. "So, mad man with a bow tie," he smiled, "where to next?"
"Depends..." He stepped towards you, "will you be coming with me?"
"I don't know. You confessed your feelings for me, called me brilliant before shooting yourself into the heart of the Tardis explosion. So...I'm not sure where we stand. Am I a companion, a friend, or -"
Your eyes closed when his lips met yours, hands on his chest as he pulled away. "Does that answer your question?" He asked with a smile.
You shook your head, smiling up at him. His eyes widened when you pulled him closer, kissing him passionately, his arms wrapping around you, bringing you closer.
Twelfth Doctor
You ran down the corridor and crashed into him, falling on the ground. You grinned when you saw him, kissing him hotly before jumping up when you heard the Dalek's getting closer.
You ran off after Missy, and he followed, awestruck.
Thirteenth Doctor
You were unsure of your future in the Tardis, revealing your insecurities to her. You were dating before her regeneration, and since she had changed, you felt out of place, not knowing your role in her life.
You found her in the console room and talked while the others were sleeping. She revealed that she, too, was unsure of where your relationship stood, and if you felt the same way about her now, she was a woman. You told her that it would take getting used to, but you still cared about her.
Your kiss was brief but passionate. Your feelings were still strong, and it was just about adapting to the change.
Delgado!Master
You woke up on the floor of the console room, The Doctor on your left, and The Master on your right.
"Are you alright?
The Master looked at him, "It was your fault she was hurt."
"Me? You took her -"
You cleared your throat, rolling your eyes at them. The Doctor left to get you something to ease the pain, and you looked at The Master.
"He's right, you know. But I chose to follow you into it. And I would do it again."
He glanced away for a moment before helping you stand up. "I did some thinking while you were on the floor, and perhaps for once, The Doctor is right. You would be safer away from me."
"Shut up."
He raised an eyebrow, rising higher when you kissed him. You pulled away, breathlessly, moments later, a smirk on your lips, "Still want me to go?"
Ainley!Master
You were arguing, your morals conflicting with his, which was a regular occurrence. The sexual tension that had been ignored for months boiled over, and he ended your argument by kissing you.
Roberts!Master
You were waiting for him to return after chasing The Doctor and Grace. You were friends with her, so you knew where she lived. And when he returned, there was a heavy silence as he sought you out in your house.
"It's all falling into place." He told you.
You smiled, nodding. "Good. I-I'm glad." You looked out the window, and he stood beside you.
"Are you alright?" He asked. "Second thoughts?"
"No. Well, sort of. It doesn't matter."
He turned to you, making you sigh, knowing he wasn't going to let it go. "It's just...in a strange way; I'm going to miss you." You explained.
The Master looked down for a moment when you turned to the window again. "When I succeed, it doesn't have to be goodbye." He said.
You looked at him, "I can't imagine I'd be much help. Out there." You looked at the night sky and turned when he tilted your head in his direction.
"You would be brilliant. You are magnificent." You glanced away, smiling as you tried to hide your blush. When you met his gaze, his face was close to yours, noses brushing as he leaned down to kiss you.
You closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling.
And although he did not succeed, you would share many kisses before his defeat. It was more than an understanding, more than an alliance. He admired you, the lengths you went to help him inspired him. And he never forgot about you.
Jacobi!Master
He was wearing thin. Stressed, unable to sleep, and suffering headaches, that only got worse as the days went by. He got frustrated by his lack of progress, snapping at you and Chantho. You reassured him that Utopia was within reach and gotten an apology. You told him that it was okay; you knew the pressure he was under.
"You've got this." You smiled, hand-on his right cheek, leaning in to kiss his left cheek. "It's going to work out." You turned your head to meet his gaze, finding your lips were close to touching. Seeing his hesitation, you closed the distance and smiled as you pulled away moments later.
Simms!Master
"We shouldn't be doing this." You whispered.
The Master smirked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "If it's about Lucy, our marriage was never about love. It was merely a means to an end."
You felt his hand on your waist and put your hands on his chest, tilting your head as he started to lean in. "What am I then?"
"I don't know yet." He whispered, lips crashing upon yours, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, moving closer.
You broke the kiss minutes later, biting your lip. "Damn."
He smirked, meeting you halfway, and you returned his kiss with less hesitation than before. It would be a scandal. An affair with your boss, but when he kissed you as he did, you couldn't walk away.
Missy
She was brought onto the Tardis, and you had kept quiet while The Doctor explained to Clara who she was. Missy told you the memories only you, and she shared in her last incarnation, and still, you were wary of believing her. You had mourned for him, and he had returned as a woman, calling herself Mistress, Missy for short.
"How do I know it's really you?" You asked teary-eyed.
"Oh, for Pete's sake!" She kissed you passionately, the Doctor looking away awkwardly while Clara stood awestruck at the display.
You were quiet for a moment before speaking. "Yeah, it's him. Or her. It's going to take time to get used to the different...everything."
Missy smirked, and the Doctor rolled his eyes. "Not in the console room." He said.
You cracked a smile, laughter leaving your lips as you hugged her. "I missed you."
Dhawan!Master
He was telling you about what he had learned on Gallifrey, the truth about the Timeless Child, and you had comforted him, kissing his cheek, slowly wrapping your arms around him as your lips created a path to his.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Jamie McCrimmon
It was after the Doctor had jumbled his face, creating a man who resembled nothing like Jamie. You knew he was wrong, but it had to be The Doctor that chose the features. When Jamie returned to normal, you had hugged him tighter than ever and kissed his cheek. Later in the Tardis, you confessed how worried you were and when he revealed how he felt about the arrange marriage, you didn't want to waste any more time fighting the inevitable.
"When I heard it was going to be you I was to marry, well, I was thrilled but -"
"I didn't react the way you expected me to." You finished. He nodded. You smiled softly, touching his cheek, "I hope I'm not too late." You kissed him, and he immediately returned it.
You gave in to the feelings you had been masking for weeks. You cared about him, and you could see a fulfilling, loving future with him as your husband.
Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart
You watched the Tardis dematerialize, and doubts quickly entered your mind. Were you mad for leaving the Doctor? Would things between you and Alistair work?
You turned to the Brigadier and surprised him and everyone around him when you kissed him. You smiled, dazed by the kiss as you walked away to the car.
"Yeah, worth it."
He cleared his throat, looking at Benton and Yates, who were smirking.
"Problem, Sargent?" Benton shook his head and quickly walked away. "Captain?"
Yates stopped smiling, "Uh, N-No, Sir." He followed Benton, and Alistair allowed himself to smile before turning stoic as he followed you to the car.
Mike Yates
You were best friends for many years. When you were fifteen, he told you about his dream of joining the military. You were in love with him but feared rejection. Little did you know Mike felt the same way, longer than you had, and he didn't speak up out of fear of losing you.
"I will worry about you when you go away to the army." You told him.
"I would write to you every day." He said.
You smiled softly, "I could give you a picture of me to take with you so that you didn't forget about me." You said.
"I could never forget about you." He admitted.
You looked at him, shaking your head with a smile.
"I mean it." He tilted your head in his direction. "There's no one who means as much to me as you do."
Your eyes softened, and your eyes flickered to his lips, darting up to his eyes. He was staring at your lips, and when you saw him leaning in, you closed the gap between you, erasing any doubts he had.
And ever since that moment, you were inseparable.
Alydon
You had gone missing, taken prisoner by the Daleks. And although at first the teasing about Alydon instantly becoming smitten with you irritated you, making you slightly hostile towards him, you were relieved when the door was broken down and Alydon stood on the other side.
"Are you alright?" He asked, rushing over to you.
You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder when he hugged you. You met his gaze when he moved away.
"I was so frightened."
"Me too."
You tilted your chin up and Alydon pressed his lips to yours.
Rory Williams
His marriage to Amy had gone downhill long after their life on Earth. You continued to travel with the Doctor, although Rory offered to help you settle in his time. You were shocked by the bitter couple who argued constantly. Amy hadn't spoken much to you but she hadn't confided in the Doctor either. Death was around the corner for you as exiled Daleks chased after you. Rory appeared out of nowhere and you gasped when you saw him, rushing to hug him.
It took you back to when he was trapped in your time. And although he was determined to save his fiancee, you had fallen for the sweet Roman.
He checked you over, making sure you weren't hurt, hugging you tightly afterwards. "Don't ever leave my sight again. I've just got you back."
You lifted your head to meet his gaze, shocked when he kissed you but welcoming it as you reciprocated the kiss that was filled with emotions that had been repressed by his relationship with Amy.
Ian Chesterton
Your first kiss happened late at night. You made a habit of spending hours talking about your latest adventure amongst other things with Ian and tonight you were laughing at memories back home. You were laughing at one of his stories, not noticing he had stopped, admiring you for a moment, until he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You leaned into his hand when it rested on your cheek and met him halfway when he leaned in to kiss you.
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pupiiaye · 3 years
Text
Reminiscence of Violence //. A yandere Diluc x GN reader.
They were a virus, a disease that needed curing, a simple tune that needed listening. They were a pill, an addiction if you will. He had to have it, he craved it more than the bloodlust that trickled through his veins and caused up a storm. What exactly was this feeling? Why did he feel it? Why was it more intense than the deaths and bloodshed he's seen a thousand times over? And why… why did he want it so badly? Why did he want to rip it from its core and feast upon it like a starving man? Tonight, he will have his answer.
Fair warnings: knife play, character death / threat implied, possessiveness, spankings, dirty talk, a rather dark Diluc, markings.
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The stars in the sky glistened above them, whispering secrets told from different lands, different stories. The clear wind danced through trees, kissed against skin, leaving their invisible mark against the bare flesh. It was not odd to be seen wandering around the grassy plains of Mondstadt, travelers and knights had duties to attend to, commissions to complete and bounties to conquer. Moonlight blessed those who decided to wander without any real reason, the wanderer in question being a simple soul. One who had found themselves living amongst the city of freedom for quite some time. Not a knight, but a fair citizen who took the pleasure in helping others. They didn't consider themselves to be a savior, nor did they consider themselves to be someone without any purpose. This was the main reason as to why they've managed to catch the eye of /the/ the richest man in Mondstadt.
It goes without saying that this was rather impressive, everyone can see the clear hook they had on him. The addiction they provided without even doing as much as lifting a finger. Their eyes screamed of excitement, and in return the ex knight's heart would scream with desire. Diluc, quiet noble man who had his morals, his regrets, and his fancies. Diluc, the man who didn't take pleasure in affairs or hit offs, the man who cared not of looks but of trust and genuine emotions.
This drove a man crazy, off the walls even. It was not of hate, but confusion as to why or how one person could pull the heaviest of beats out of his once dying heart. Frowns that once covered his features turned into ones of admiring grins, turned into little smirks whenever they would ramble and rant about their passions. Beauty, they were littered with it, from the very gleam of irises to the movement of plush lips. Archon's, he wanted to taste them, wanted to nibble and bite into those moving pillows they called lips. He wanted to make them bleed and bruise after getting done with kissing them, and would he stop there? Absolutely not.
His daydreams were becoming worse, and the only thing that could snap him out of them were the blissful sounds of laughter. The symphony of little chuckles mixed in with a breathy hiccup of air. Oh, he knew this sound like he knew the scriptures of poetry, this sound was one he got drunk on. Instead of wine, he could listen to his baby's sweet giggles until death slayed him where he stood.
The reason as to why it was happening, however, was enough to make a man see red. How dare he? How dare that betraying drunk prick, the simple audacity of this … Fool. Was he asking for another death wish, perhaps? Did he wish to watch the flames of hell rise once more? Did he want Diluc to throw him out in the coldness of oceans and watch him choke and gasp and cling on to whatever breath of fucking air he could get? So many questions, not enough action. The solid glass in his hand could shatter from how tight he was gripping it, however Diluc was a man with pride, a man with patience and logic on his side. He would not yell, he would not allow his nerves to get the best of him. What he will do, is way worse than a simple “get the hell out” will do.
“Sir Kaeya, last time I checked, that was your fifth drink as of tonight. I suggest you wrap it up quickly before it gets too dark.”
The words were not of an option, but rather one of a demand. Those blazing embers Diluc called eyes were boring into a crystal one. He did not care where Kaeya went, how he got there, or where he will end up. All he knows is that he best make his decision quick before patience thinned out. The look he got in return did nothing to calm his raging pulses of blood either, he could kill this man given that chance again. This time, Diluc wouldn't forget it.
“My, what a rush… Pardon me, Master Diluc. I was not aware you had other things to tend to, throwing me out so soon. Or do you wish to have them to yourself, hm? Very well, I mustn't interrupt your … Desires. Just do not have too much fun whilst everyone are away, it would only make me jealous. Ain't that right, sweetheart?”
This chattering baboon talked too much, he was too touchy with what clearly belonged to Diluc. He did things too much, talked too smoothly, acted as if they had any interest in him when Diluc knew for a fact who the real winner was. As expected, Kaeya always thought certain things belonged to him, and for once in his life Diluc had the urge to be as competitive as his brother.
“Are you quite done? Hurry up and take your leave, or do I have to throw you out myself?”
Venom laced with every word, hands turning white from how hard he gripped onto the table. Mark his words, when he's done laying claim, this man was next on his overdue hit list. His thoughts were so loud that he didn't even hear his brother mocking him before the tavern doors closed with a squeak. So loud that he didn't even hear his soon-to-be — no, that's not right. They are his dearest, his love, his desires, and everything more. Right? Why would they look at him with such concern if not were true? Why would they touch his arm and smile so sweetly if not for him? Did they not come to him, and only him when scared, if not because they held dear feelings that he too reciprocated? They loved him, it was plain as can be. They adored him even, yet they were too shy to admit it to his face. Figures, Diluc knew this, he knew them more than the back of his hand. They just need a little help expressing It, right? Especially with the way they were chatting and laughing up a storm with his dearest, soon to be dead, brother.
Clouded eyes came back down to heaven, that heaven being the warm smile of his love. That's so much better, he didn't want to see that smile directed towards anyone else but him, it wasn't their fault. They didn't know that they belonged to Diluc yet, and that was okay. This is why he must teach a very simple lesson. One that will engrain itself in their memories until death.
“I find it funny…” eyes hands smooth over the wooden surface of the bar stand. He took in the smoothness, the patterns that followed along his fingers. “I find it hilarious even, how he thinks you belong to him when we both know that isn't true, right?”
What was that expression they wore? Confusion? Oh, how Diluc loved it when they played stupid, they were nothing of the sort. Perhaps they wanted to entice Diluc further, pull him in deeper, so he could ravish them against this here bar stand. Yeah, that's exactly what it was, Diluc could tell, he knew the signs all well. Being the observant man he was, he would not allow this one to wiggle free from his dangerous palms.
Slowly, gloves slowly began their journey off of slender fingers. Those red eyes burning into ones of a pretty little thing, just waiting to be taken. Their body screamed to be claimed and taken over by, but not just for anyone — no. He danced those same eyes up and down, taking their time to design the way they'll look, shivering and begging for more of him. He took his time imprinting the thought of them choking on air as he drew breaths and sweet words out of them. Bare hands reached for the blade tucked away in the waist band of his pants. Hands gliding over the wooden surface as long legs carried him out to where they sat. Confusion on their face turned into one of interest, and oh Diluc could not wait until that face of theirs turned into one of pleasure, pain, and agony. He wanted to make them beg, scream, chant his name like a god-damn song. It will happen, he's sure of it. They had nowhere to run, nowhere to escape. The only thing saving them from Diluc's hands was Diluc alone.
“Now, I hate to be the giver of bad news, but he doesn't own you. You do not beckon to his every call, and you certainly do not belong to him. Your thoughts, your words, your actions, even the way you move…”
A small sigh, eyes casting down on sweet thighs that were soon to be marked with the carvings of his name
“You know it all belongs to me, correct? When you lay in bed, and you drift your pretty head to sleep, you are aware you dream of me, yes? When you bat those eyes and look up … At me, you know I am the one who controls that seemingly empty head of yours, right?”
There's so much silence, but Diluc has enough patience to see the way their legs clench at every word, could hear the way their breathing thickens and stutters in the back of their throat. That's all he needed to see to know what he was saying was nothing far from true. Finally, hands are reaching forward, moving to caress and then cup at warm cheeks. Blushing, he can tell just from how abnormally hot they were. Their temperature is never this warm, he should know since he memorized their normal body heat.
“So you do know that. Then why is it, why my pretty flaming flower…”
Remember back when he thought he had patience? Apparently he had thought wrong of himself. He found his hands gripping tightly to their jaw, the free hand coming down to cup at smooth thighs. Oh, oh how they flinched so beautifully in his grasp, oh the hopeless look in their eye made his dick sing. They way they didn't resist, the way their thighs rubbed together. Their body was so damn honest, what was he to do? How could he not take them when they were basically asking for it?
"Why is it you let him touch you? Why did you allow him to touch and flirt with something that clearly belongs to me? Answer me, quickly."
He saw their mouth open to talk, and for a moment he had nothing but the thought of making them choke on his cock. Soon, not tonight, but soon enough.
"I'm sure he wasn't flirting, Diluc. You know Kaeya, he talks with charm, theres nothing I can do about that."
Wrong move.
A deep breath was taken before a hot hand reached up to grab at their arms, pulling them up just to twist them around and push them against the edges of his very own bar.
"Give me a good reason why I should not mark this body with my name at this moment."
He didn't give them time to answer, too busy trailing the edges of a blade down their clothed back. No matter, they do not need to talk all too much. Diluc only wanted to hear their cries and begs, nothing more nothing less. "Tell me that you desire me. I need to hear you speak your truth before I continue, I already know that you do so do not try to lie to me, dear flower."
His words spoke deep into their ear, tone clear and free from hesitation. And when their lips opened to plead for him, oh it made it all the much better. His pride hit the ceiling, he knew it. All those signs from before were so true, and now he was able to hear it for himself, soak in those desperate words of, "yes Diluc, please take me. Make me yours, please." oh how polite they were, always so obedient, always listening out for any command. What a good pet they were, what a good flower they were.
The sounds of material being cut open filled the thick air, along with those rough fingers feeling up the smooth of their back, enjoying the way his canvas felt right under his flaming tips. Diluc could not wait to sink his teeth in and taste their sweet necture himself. Those eyes drunk up their topless form once more before trailing the knife further down, he had other days to take his time with them. Tonight they were his to destroy and break down.
Lips and teeth ran free on their body. Leaving purplish marks against sweet tender skin, his knife work not being cut short. He made sure to tear at their bottoms leaving them in nothing but the bruises he had gifted them. Their sweet moans and whimpers filling his ears, filling his desire to ruin them even further. He wasted no time in running possesive hands down their waist, grabbing at thighs just to pull them apart. The squirming under his palms not going unnoticed, infact he laughed something dark at the way their body twitched and pathetically squealed under his touch.
'Look at you. Isn't this just pathetic, if it were any other day I would give you the honor of laying under my damn boot just to watch your body squirm for me. Just to watch it beg for me to continue, Archons look at how you move, and you expect me to just stand idle while others try and get of piece of you? No, I refuse."
It didn't end there, his touches only got more intense. Grabbing a handful of their ass, manhandling it under a rough smack was placed upon them. Oh he hoped that left a bruise, he hoped that with another smack they would cry out /louder/ for him. He deserved to hear. After nights and endless nights of not being able to see them under him, Diluc deserved to watch them grow more desperate for him.
"Look at that, look at you squirm for me and not him. Listen to the way you call my name and not his. Do you know what that is? It's the signs of you belonging to me, nobody else but me. And if I catch anyone, and I mean /anyone/ putting their damn hands on you I will make sure to take you in front of them. That is a promise, my flower."
He made sure they could feel his now slicked up warm fingers prodding at their entrance, the dark chuckle exiting from his lips and into their burning ears. The warmth of their gates of heaven fans against his fingers and diluc can't help but groan out in pure need. Oh how crazy they make him. With caution diluc moves his fingers in, one and then the next and then the next after that. Each finger slipping inside once pained gasps turned into ones of satisfaction and greed. They were so good for him, taking him like he was no damn problem. As expected of course, it were only his fingers after all, but soon...
Sounds of metal and then thick clothing could be heard hitting the ground. Their ears can pick up the way diluc's breathing deepened, showing signs of how badly he needed this just as much as they did. Hot hands suddenly slam on either side of them, their skin touching so they can feel how hot Diluc was at the moment. No words were spoken while a hand came behind them, caressing that sweet throat just to pull their head back. Lips coming in contact with their own, connecting in this brutal dance of love, crazy untammed and dangerous love.
This was a great time for him to distract them, leading his aching cock with the other free hand he had. Poking at their entrance with the demand to be let in, eyes glowing with determination. Inch by inch walls wrapped tight around him loosened up the more they took him in. Archons the way they arched against his chest and lips trembled against his own, the way they whimpered and furrowed their eyebrows, gods help him for he is a man weakened by the simple sight of them breaking down.
"That's it... There we go, you take it. You take it like the good bitch you are, yeah? Look at you, god damn look at you. Do you think kaeya could make you react like that? Here allow me to help you answer that."
Hips finally got sent flying home. Making contact with their skin, kissing at the thin layer of sweat, evidence of how much work was put in. Diluc felt his grin widen, something so foreign to his features, yet he invited it in whenever they were involved. One hand came down to grip at those hips, pulling them back home to the base of his cock every single time. They cries, oh their sweet cries encouraged diluc to destroy that willing hole of theirs. The tears that began to bubble up brought him nothing but satisfaction, the gush and mess made was art against his now squirming canvas.
"Harder. Cry harder for me if you wish to cum, I promise you I'm not allowing you out of this damn tavern until your tears beg me to. You can squirm and gush all over my fucking cock as much as you please, but until I start seeing some real tears... Well, baby love, you can kiss Kaeya goodbye, would be a shame for him to lose a friend, hm?"
This was followed by harsher thrust, his dick swelling up to the brim, damn near ready to explode and unload deep inside of their aching fuckhole. Oh but the harder they teared up and rushed out with tears, the more diluc couldn't help but wish to fill them up with his thickening seed. His hand on their throat growing tighter and tighter until one more thrust sent them jerking against the edge. Hand now moving to their head, pushing them down until their faces squished against the wooden table. He kept them there while hips rolled his name out against their ass, unloading his cum inside of their shivering walls. Feeling them clench and gush with their own orgasm, oh how proud he was to know they knew when to cum. How proud he was to know that his flower could milk him for everythiing he had.
"That's it.. There we go, you are so good for me, sweet flower. Unfortunately I am not finished with you."
Diluc, a man who will never be satisfied until things were perfect. Diluc , a gentlemen , a man who only believed in trust and hard work. Diluc, the man who could go more than one or two rounds. Diluc , the man who made them scream until their throat went dry and their vision went blurry.
Tonight he laid his claim, and much like many other nights, he will make sure the entire city of Mondtstadt knew who they belonged to.
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bubblesuga · 3 years
Text
Once In A Lifetime
Summary: Yoongi is a pain in your ass, but sometimes that's okay. What's a cafe job without a little drama?
genre: college!au tags: smut, fluff, mutual masturbation, cream pie, dirty talk W/C: 4,740 a/n: i have a weak spot for blond yoongi
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You seethe silently while you stare at the schedule on the pin board in the back room. You begged your boss, damn near pleaded on your knees in front of her not to schedule you with him.
Its hard enough to close with only two people but fuck, if it isn't impossible when you're with Min Yoongi.
Don't get it wrong, Yoongi has a knack for customer service and he's quite good at making coffee but for some reason-- when the two of you were completely alone-- he became unbearably annoying.
It's like the moment the open sign turns off, he forgets how to work. While you're in the back cleaning dishes, sweeping the kitchen, counting cash drawers, taking out the garbage and everything else involved with closing, Yoongi turns on his speaker and plays whatever song he's been working on recently.
Okay, sure. This job isn't the most important thing on the planet. You both are just trying to get a little extra cash while you push through college, but you'll be damned if you get paid the same while you do all the work.
"Kati!" you yell from the back, your arms crossed and your nails digging into each of your biceps. You hear footsteps behind you, causing you to turn around expecting to see Kati.
Unfortunately for you, Yoongi leans in the doorway with a smirk on his face, "Awe, we're closing together again!"
"Awe we're closing toget-" you begin to mock but end up giving up and allowing your frustration to take over, "shut up, Yoongi."
"Don't seem so glum, sugar plum. I promise I'll be a good boy and listen to you." His words were too sweet to be true, they were laced with his famous sarcasm which only made you want to yell at him more.
Before you have the chance to counteract his sarcasm, he taps your back lightly before turning around and walking back out.
If there was one thing you did enjoy about him, it was the view of him when he walked away.
As the hours pass, eventually you and Yoongi are the last ones there. When Seokjin said goodbye, you silently pleaded that he would stay for just a little while longer. He gave you a slight apologetic look, glancing at Yoongi before shaking his head and walking out.
A groan leaves your lips.
It's only 9:30, you still have half an hour until the shop closes and there's way too many pastries left over.
Yoongi stands behind you, silently wiping down the coffee machines and humming along to whatever song was playing over the loud speakers.
Leaning back against the counter, you cross your arms and watch Yoongi for a moment. In a dark denim apron and slim black shirt, it feels as though the uniform was made for Yoongi. You can tell he's been working out lately, his muscles are more defined beneath the fabric of his shirt. It's killing you that despite being as annoying as he is, he's still immensely attractive and he knows it.
The snapback rests backwards on his head, blond hair poking out subtly. He turns, meeting your eyes for a moment which causes you to turn away quickly. It's quiet for a while again.
"I don't think anyone is going to come in," Yoongi breaks the silence, "I doubt Kati would mind if we closed early."
"I think she would. She said she gets a rush in the last 15 minutes so we should be prepared for that."
"We're not going to get a rush, we're a coffee shop and it's almost 10pm on a Monday."
"I'm not disobeying Kati just so you can play your shitty music and do nothing while I close."
"Shitty," he scoffs, "my music is hardly shitty, and I do help close. Who do you think cleans the front?"
"Wiping down espresso machines isn't the hardest part of closing." Maybe you're being a bit too harsh. Maybe you're trying to cover up the fact that he caught you staring at him earlier.
Yoongi sets the yellow rag down on the counter, turning to you fully, "I also sweep and mop up here. It's kinda hard to do anything else when your coworker does everything else. Ya ever think of delegating, huh?"
You feel your eye twitch. Just as you're about to respond, the bell above the door rings and you instantly wipe away your anger and throw your best customer service face on.
"Hi, good evening! What can I get for you today?"
As you help the customer, Yoongi walks to the back.
You make her coffee, heat her Panini, and speak with her for a moment about the aromatics of the freshly ground coffee beans that you had become used to. You didn't have the heart to tell her that you didn't smell it anymore, so you talked about how that was your favorite part about working in a cafe.
When she leaves, you realize it's finally time to close.
Switching off the open sign, you open the cash drawers and begin counting. Anything extra goes into the safe, and it seems as though everything was in place tonight.
In the back, you can hear Yoongi moving around and you don't question what he's doing.
Cleaning, sweeping, and mopping... Eventually you finish the front and move to the back but you stop suddenly.
Yoongi isn't playing his music.
Raising an eyebrow, you push open the door to the back and see that the kitchen is completely spotless.
Yoongi puts the last of the dirty dishes away and turns to you, "Don't worry, princess. I did it just the way you like it."
"T- thank-" you stutter but you're not able to finish your sentence before Yoongi pushes past you and walks out the door. The bell rings and you realize that he's left. The two of you managed to close in under 20 minutes.
You can't help but feel a sense of guilt wash over you. You definitely we're being a bit too harsh, and it seems to have affected Yoongi more than you thought it would.
Sighing, you push a hand through your hair and walk out the door.
Your drive home is silent. You're not one to overthink, especially when it comes to Yoongi, but you feel the need to apologize.
After your nightly routine, you plop into bed and glance at your phone. It doesn't take much to make you open your contact list.
(Y/N) sent 10:55
hey. just wanted to apologize for calling your music shitty. for the record, it's not. you're pretty good.
Your phone dings quickly.
Yoongi received 10:56
no need to be sorry, i know i'm good.
You don't respond, rolling your eyes and tossing your phone onto the night stand.
~*~*~
Closing the next day was much more simple than before. Yoongi did the back again, but this time you could hear his music playing again.
The beats are much more incredible than you'd ever admit to him in person. His voice speaks melodically to the music, drowning out your thoughts. You find yourself tapping your foot to the beat as you finish cleaning up the front.
The song finishes and there's a sudden change of pace.
Instead of a strong bass line and incredible drum work, a piano plays through.
Your interest is piqued, your legs carrying you to the back where Yoongi stands. He doesn't notice you, allowing the song to continue to play.
"This is gorgeous." you murmur, and a switch flips in Yoongi.
His hands, though soaked with water and soap, reaches up and turns off the speaker. He turns to you, panicked, "N- no one is supposed to hear that one. I didn't realize it was so loud."
"So you're telling me you just...listen to your own music?"
"Well, no," for the first time, you see a blush creep across Yoongi's face, "I play certain songs for you, and there's certain songs that are just for me."
"You play songs for me?" Any resentment you had towards the man dissipated in an instant. Instead, butterflies swarmed in your tummy. Butterflies for him.
He scratches the back of his neck, "Well, I don't play them for me. I want you to see how good I am."
"Humble," you hum, giggling slightly. Yoongi seems taken aback by the sound but doesn't get a chance to dwell as you continue to speak, "why can't I listen to this song?"
Yoongi sighs, "It's embarrassing."
"Let me listen," you begin to walk towards the speaker but Yoongi puts his hands on your shoulders to hold you back, "come on, Yoongi."
Yoongi doesn't give, but you manage to slip passed his hands and fall against his chest. He chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist and waddling you backwards. In a last ditch effort, you attempt to reach passed him but his grip on you is surprisingly strong.
"No, no, Princess. That song is for me and me only."
The nickname has a stronger affect on you than usual.
"But..." you stick your bottom lip out in a fake pout, "I wanna hear the softer side of Min Yoongi."
Yoongi's eyes dart to your lips, licking his own. You're suddenly aware of just how close Yoongi is keeping you, his cologne filling your nose. He's cute from this angle, his nose is rounded and is tinged with red at the tip. His eyes, though dark, are brighter than usual. He smiles softly, a gentle giggle falling from his lips.
"I can't tell you how many times I've wanted you this close to me." Your heart melts at his words, and you look down to the way your chests are pressed against each other.
"Why didn't you say anything?" you question.
He smiles, "I did, you just didn't listen since you were so preoccupied with your little closing routine."
"My little closing routine makes the opener's life so much easier." you defend, trying to distract yourself from the way his hands sit at the base of your spine, playing gently with the hem of your shirt.
"I'm sure the opener is very concerned with the fact that you make sure you set the forks before the spoons and the knives right after." Yoongi whispers, his tone joking but his eyes glazing over. Even in the horrendous white lighting of the kitchen, he looks beautiful.
"Bite me, Yoongi."
Yoongi bares his teeth and scrunches his nose, "If you insist."
Without wasting a second, Yoongi's mouth latches onto your lips. You gasp into the kiss, but Yoongi's grip tightens and holds you closer.
To say your stomach exploded into butterflies would be an understatement. Your entire body lit up like a Christmas tree, heat radiating from your skin because Yoongi was everywhere. His hands were large, slipping underneath the hem of your shirt and resting on your lower back. He didn't stray any higher or lower, simply planting himself in one spot while his lips continued their attack on yours.
He smiles against your lips, taking them away only to begin his reign over your jaw line and down your neck. Then, he nips.
One.
Two.
Three.
By the fourth, his teeth are biting at your collarbones, but his hands have not moved from your back. You mewl above him, desperately clinging to his arms. Damn your neck for being so sensitive.
"Yoongi," you breathe, "touch me, Yoongi."
"I am touching you." He murmurs stubbornly against your skin.
You whine, "Your hands, Yoongi."
"Hmm," he hums, chuckling, "I like when you say my name."
Suddenly his hands drop down to your ass, kneading it through the thin fabric of your work leggings. He pulls himself back up to your face, planting his lips against yours again as you moan into his mouth.
Yoongi slips his hands between the two of you, hooking his fingers beneath the band of both your leggings and your panties.
"Are we really about to fuck in the kitchen?" You ask, your chest heaving.
Yoongi leans back, taking a second to assess the situation. "You're right, my apartment?"
"No, your car."
"Dirty girl," he grins, taking his keys out of his pocket, "I'll turn off all the lights. Go get ready for me."
You nod, grabbing his keys and walking out of the door. As you're about to reach the front door, it already swings open and Kati waltzes in completely unexpectedly.
Panicked, your eyes go wide and you halt just before leaving from behind the counter. Kati glances up from her phone, "Ah, perfect, is Yoongi still here?"
Swallowing, you nod carefully.
"Great, I need to talk to you both," she turns towards the kitchen, "Yoongi! Get your ass up here!"
Closing your eyes, you pray to god that he's composed himself a little more than you have. Sure enough, he walks from the kitchen and seems just as nonchalant as ever, "Yes, boss?"
"So, I need you two to close for the next couple weeks together. Jackson quit and Woojin can't work nights."
"...and?" Yoongi questions.
She seems slightly taken aback, "Well, I need to make sure you two won't kill each other."
Both you and Yoongi hold back laughter.
Resting his arm softly on your shoulder, Yoongi's skin is still hot against yours, "No promises, boss."
"I'm serious," she scolds, "It's only a couple weeks then I'll never schedule you two alone again."
"Yes ma'am." you put your hand up in a salute.
Working alone with Yoongi for 2 weeks? What could possibly go wrong?
Kati smiles, "Alright then. I'm gonna grab the money from the safe then I'll let you two get back to closing."
You two silently watch Kati unlock the safe beneath the register, taking out the deposits from today. Yoongi's arm hasn't left your shoulder, his fingers brushing lightly against your collarbone. When you turn over to him, his face showing no emotion but his hands doing more to you than you could ever imagine.
Kati turns back, "Okay, be here at 2 tomorrow. Thank you!"
As she walks out, Yoongi's arm falls from your neck.
You turn to him, raising an eyebrow as he wipes his brow.
"I was shitting bricks." Yoongi says, causing you to tilt your head. "Why?"
"You have hickeys all over your neck."
Your eyes widen, your hand flying to your neck, "Yoongi! Do you know how fucking bad that could have been?"
"I know, that's why I covered your neck." He explains, gesturing with just as wild eyes.
"No, no-" you shake your head, "We almost fucked in the kitchen, Yoongi. That's not okay."
"But we were gonna go to my car!" Yoongi's shoulders slump and his mouth is agape in confusion.
"Imagine if she had walked in when your tongue was down my throat."
"Well I would have asked her to join."
"Yoongi!"
"I'm kidding, you know I only have eyes for you babe." He steps closer, leaning forward to press a kiss against your lips once again. You pull away, shaking your head.
Despite the fact that it was taking everything in you not to kiss him again, not to giggle at his lighthearted jokes and just follow him to his car, you knew that you had to practice self-discipline otherwise no work would ever get done with Yoongi.
"Are you upset?" Yoongi seems hurt.
"No," you sigh, "I just don't think it's a good idea for us to do anything here."
Yoongi straightens his back, clearing his throat and adjusting his clothes, "Right. Wouldn't want anyone's coffee getting out late because we're in the back fucking."
"Right." you whisper.
Yoongi smiles softly, "Doesn't mean I won't imagine it."
"Such a gentleman," you roll your eyes, bending down to grab your bag, "I'll see you tomorrow."
~*~*~
"Can I get an Dirty Chai with oatmilk, Yoongi?"
It's the first time you had one of those late night rushes that Kati was talking about. There's a line out the door, drunk college students desperate for some sort of carbs to soak up the alcohol. Yoongi is running back and forth from the panini press to the espresso machine while you grabbed pastries and muffins for what seemed like hours.
It being busy hasn't distracted you enough from the past couple of days with Yoongi.
Yoongi has respected the boundary you set-- for the most part. Walking passed you in the small space behind the counter, his hands brush along your back, a trail of heat following his fingertips. Though it's not the most intense of touches, there's a sensuality of it that leaves you nearly a panting mess.
Your conversations have been more open, you continue to ask him about his music and he wonders aloud about your studies. He learned that you were a history major, specializing in paleontology. Ever since then, he likes to ask questions about random dinosaurs. It's certainly cute, because you can tell he's genuinely interested but he's only interested because you're the one telling him.
You still haven't been able to listen to that song that he started, and he insist its because its not good enough for the rest of the world to hear it yet. You're sure its finished, he's just not ready for you to hear what it's about. Something tells you you're getting close though.
Yoongi turns around a few moments after your request, setting a Dirty Chai on the counter. You call out the customer's name and smile as you hand it to her.
"Swap me, babe. My hands are shaking."
Oh yeah, the pet names have evolved as well.
"Shaking?" you question, but you don't have enough time to dwell as the panini press dings and you're rushing to the other side of the front.
Sure enough, as you glance back Yoongi's hands are shaking while he begins handing out pastries.
Finishing up a few more coffees, you call out customer names and the dining room begins to clear out. The line is gone and a few groups sit in the dining room, eating their food.
The second that Yoongi hands the last pastry out, he walks to the back without saying a word to you.
Glancing at the customers, you swallow and follow him.
When you enter the kitchen, Yoongi's taking deep breaths against the sink. He doesn't notice you, so you lean opposite him against the counter.
Leaning forward, you rest your hands on either side of Yoongi's face, forcing him to look you in the eye.
"That was a lot of people." Yoongi breathes.
"It was, but we kicked ass." you reassure him, but his breathing doesn't slow down.
"I think I'm having an anxiety attack," he explains, "can you hug me? P- pressure helps calm down the fight or flight response and-"
You don't allow him to finish, pulling him close to you and wrapping your arms tightly around him. His face buries itself into your neck, his breath fanning raggedly over your skin. It takes him a few moments, but his breathing slowly begins to calm, his heart rate slowing against your chest.
"If its ever getting to much for you just let me know and I'll fly solo for a little bit." you speak softly, your hand moving up to stroke the back of Yoongi's head.
"I can't do that to you," he sighs, "I'm sorry you have to see me like this."
"No, I get it," your nails begin to scratch his scalp gently, "a lot of drunk people wanting food is overwhelming, especially when their patience is non-existent. If you ever need to take a breather then I won't get mad."
"You already hate closing with me, I don't want to make it worse."
Your heart breaks.
"No, I don't hate closing with you. I think I was just trying to hide my feelings." You never expected to say this to him, but at this point you'll do anything to make him feel better.
He pulls away from your neck, a shy smile on his face. He has done a complete 180 from two nights ago.
"You have feelings for me?"
"Well, I certainly feel something." You look down, hyper aware of how close he is to you.
He grins, leaning down and pressing a soft, quick kiss to your lips. Before the conversation can go any further, the bell dings open and both of you jump apart, moving to the front to help yet another customer.
The rest of the night went by much more smoothly than earlier.
Yoongi turns on his music in the front while you do the dishes in the back. He's playing his usual mix, and you find yourself humming along to the songs as they come.
It's not until you're almost finished do you hear the familiar piano notes begin to play. Peaking your head out of the kitchen, Yoongi holds the speaker in his hands and watches you carefully. Slow melodies play out underneath his gentle voice, the lyrics portraying the man's first love.
You cross your arms, soaking in the lyrics as much as you can. His face is red as more emotion plays out. It doesn't take you long to realize that what you're listening to is the personification of Yoongi's passion. A conversation is held between him and the piano, and Yoongi sets flame to it all.
When the song comes to a close, you don't move, or breathe, or speak.
"Oh my god, say something!"
You look up, meeting Yoongi's scared eyes.
"When you become famous can I sell your autograph on ebay?"
Yoongi laughs, "Yeah, you can sell it."
You don't think of a witty response. Instead, you walk towards him and hug him once again. Resting your head on his shoulder, you two sway for a moment, almost dancing with the air. The atmosphere of the empty cafe has become much more calming than it was before.
His hands dance along your spine, "You know, I've never shown anyone that song before."
"I'm glad that my insistence made me the first." you tease, inhaling Yoongi's cologne. He certainly knows how to smell good.
"Your insistence, yes," he starts, "but also your impeccable ability to strengthen my confidence."
"Awe, does Yoongi have a soft spot for me?" you try your best to hide the way his smile is making your heart flutter.
"Always have." He murmurs, his lips kissing the tip of your nose.
"We're not very good at the whole 'not-kissing-at-work' thing." you giggle, feeling his grip tighten.
"I don't want to be good at it."
He doesn't allow you to respond before his lips are on yours once again. Against them, he smirks, "Shall we go to my car tonight?"
"God yes."
With steamy windows and Yoongi's hot body on top of yours, you both completely forget about your surroundings. His back seat is incredibly comfortable, your head resting on his shirt while he nips along your stomach and down to your hips.
It didn't take long for the two of you to move, you listening to Yoongi's every silent demand as he taps your hip to signal you to lift them.
Smiling, he murmurs a soft, "Good girl." before sliding your leggings and panties off in one go.
Now fully exposed, goosebumps raise under your skin. Yoongi is slow moving, his tongue drawing circles on your pelvic bone before biting down harshly. You gasp, your back arching into him.
"How long have you been this wet?" Yoongi asks, his fingers moving forward to collect your arousal. He slips through your folds, pushing a single finger into your aching heat.
You can't formulate a response to his question, because he begins a tormentingly slow thrust into your head, curling his finger upward.
Dipping his head down, his lips wrap around your clit, and he sucks.
Your hips jerk against him, but the pleasure doesn't play out for long before his pulling away.
"I don't want you to cum yet," he chuckles when you whine, standing and unbuckling his belt, "I just needed to make sure you were ready."
"And what?" you bite playfully, "you gonna pull out a huge snake or some shit?"
"I don't think so," Yoongi responds, sliding his pants down his legs, revealing his cock, "it's alright."
It's more than alright. Your mouth waters over the sight, twitching slightly from his arousal. It's curved upward, the tip already a hot red and leaking precum. His hand wraps around the base of it, stroking it slowly. Out of habit, you slide your middle and ring fingers into your mouth, sliding them down your body and to your clit.
You eyes don't pull themselves away from the way Yoongi is skillfully touching himself, thumb running along the tip and a string of saliva falling from his mouth to the tip of his cock.
"You like watching me touch myself?" He asks, his voice significantly deeper than it was before. You nod, not looking away from his cock.
"Answer me." he takes his hand away from his cock and brings it to your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He's willing to sacrifice his own pleasure to get an answer out of you, and for some reason that only turns you on even more. You speed the movements on your clit, moaning softly while you look into Yoongi's eyes.
He clicks his tongue once he notices your movements, grabbing your wrist and dragging it up to his mouth. Licking your fingers clean, he grabs your other hand and holds both of your wrists against your pelvic bone, just out of reach of your heat. He likes playing games, and he likes to win.
"Yes," you finally manage, "yes I like watching you jerk off."
He grins, a gummy grin that makes him seem much more innocent than he is. The words are dirty falling from your tongue but it only seems to heighten the fire in Yoongi's eyes.
"Good," he says, gripping his cock again and thrusting into his hand, "should I let you cum just from watching me?"
Your wrists twitch in his other hand, "P- please."
"Okay, whatever you want princess."
He lets go of your hands and your fingers fly to your clit, desperately rubbing harsh circles while he continues to stroke himself.
As his pace speeds up, he begins to let out soft, subtle moans. Your chest heaves at the sounds, hands shaking while you push yourself even closer to the edge.
"Louder, Yoongi," you beg, "please."
Yoongi bites his bottom lip briefly, a small whimper falling from his mouth while you arch your back, the heat in your abdomen growing stronger and stronger.
Yoongi's hand stops suddenly, "Where do you want me to cum?"
You grin mischievously, gesturing to your core.
Yoongi's eyes widen, crawling closer to you and leaning down, "You want me to cum in your pussy?"
You nod frantically.
"Who would have thought my pretty princess was such a dirty girl."
"Just fuck me, Yoongi." you whine, pushing your heat towards him. Yoongi does just that, slipping his cock into you. You instantly clamp around him, causing his hips to stutter deeper into you.
He gains his rhythm quickly, not holding back as he holds your hips into his back seat and pounds into you harshly.
A deep growl erupts from his chest at your small whimpers, an almost primal instinct taking over him as he leans down to kiss you. The second his lips touch yours, you gasp and feel yourself release. A loud moan of his name falls from your lips as you come undone, pushing his hips into yours with your heels.
Yoongi follows suit quickly, his release coating your walls and his head collapsing onto your chest.
"Holy fuck." He says after a minute, his mouth agape while he tries to catch his breath.
"Better than you imagined?" You feel proud of yourself for having such a huge affect on Yoongi. It's not often does he seem caught off guard.
"Way better," he replies, "the best I've ever had."
You run your nails over his scalp again, feeling him shiver against you, "Maybe if you take me out, you'll be able to have it again."
Yoongi pulls his head up, "When, where, what time?"
"I'll leave that up to you," you smile, "let's just cuddle for now."
"Don't have to tell me twice."
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