#pumpkin car radio

[autopumpkin]

How to install a Naviskauto Dual Screen Headrest DVD Player https://ift.tt/fOcdbmD

#IFTTT #Blogger #android 5.1 car dvd #android car radio #pumpkin car radio #android car stereo #andro

[pathetichimbos]

I wanna eat Thomas up like he my LAST MEAL 😫😫

Shawtyyy like I’m beating up his guts like I die TOMORROW!! 💖💖

Honestly if I saw him with my (dumbass) group of friends I would turn to them and be like “hol’ on i’ma try to wife up this super model ova here, go on without me cuz this town is my new home as long as he here.” While LOUDLY pointing to Thomas and trying to be suave AF but lookin dumb in the process. Lowkey though I feel like realistically he would think I’m making fun of him and kill me first 😭😭.

What’s your take on it?? How would our (hot-sexy-mouthwatering) Thomas Hewitt take a very bold flirtatious reader?? Thanks and bye!! ✌️💖💖

I am having thoughts and feelings about this thank you very much

So, we all know Thomas is a very shy and reserved man. He isn't bold or confident by any means. He does as he's told, and sticks to himself, pretty much never leaving his comfort zone.

But, Luda Mae's getting older, and despite her head-strong and strong-willed demeanor, Thomas worries about her.

So, he starts spending more time at the old country store, if for no reason other than to serve as a deterrent for the off-handed biker or degenerate looking for an excuse to try and rob a poor old station clerk.

It works, and Luda Mae enjoys spending more time with her son.

There's not much to do out at the shop, and so more often than not Thomas finds himself resting out in the old rocker to escape the hot smoky air wafting from the patron's and his mother's cigarettes.

It's a cool October afternoon, a nice breeze keeping the hot sun at bay as he gently pushes himself back and forth with his foot, eyes closed as he rests.

He hears you before he sees you, the loud, excited yells of a group of young women fading in from the distance as a jeep kicks up dirt, pulling up to one of the old, rusty pumps.

He squints his eyes open, watching as the four of you sing along to the radio, no one concerned with how off-key y'all may be.

He sighs, closing his eyes again, not moving from his seat in the old rocker as your group continues having the time of your lives.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," A clear voice suddenly emerges from the chaos, the music lowering to a quiet hum, "Who is that?"

He opens his eyes again, seeing that you have set your eyes on him from your place in the backseat, sunglasses lowered to take in a better look.

He frowns behind his mask, face scrunching in expectancy, waiting to hear the barrage of rude comments and hideous bullying.

The rest of your friends glance over his way as he shuffles in his seat, shoulders tensing as he looks away, uncomfortable with the attention.

"Goddamn." You start again, letting out a low whistle, "If this is what this town has to offer y'all can just leave me here."

A large eruption of playful teasing, groans, and eye rolls come from your friend group as you wiggle your eyebrows at him with a large, flirtatious grin.

He looks back, caught off guard by the terrible pick up line, frozen in place as you blow him a kiss.

"Are you for sale, pumpkin, 'cause I could just eat you up!"

"Oh, my god, leave the poor man alone." One of your friends tease you, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you further into the car.

He can't help but stare, left in shock by the sudden and unexpected flirting.

You couldn't be serious, right...?

There's no way you could actually be flirting with him right now... Right?

His thought process is broken as you ungracefully climb out of the truck, pulling yourself over the door and almost busting your face in the process.

Brown eyes stay glued to you as you walk over to him, hips swaying in what he was sure to be a much more suave and appealing way than the dorky saunter you were pulling now.

...This was definitely a joke.

"Hey." You barely stifle through your amused giggling to speak, "Do you have a name or can I just call you mine?"

"Y/N!" Your friends groan loudly from the car, watching you attempt to work your magic.

He looks you up and down, trying to figure out if this was some strange attempt to mock him or if you were actually coming onto him, the latter making his face flush pink at the idea.

"Thomas!" His mother steps out of the shop, poking her head out to look at the two of you, "Come help me put this stuff up."

He isn't sure if she really needs help or if it's a feeble attempt to get him out of the situation, and to be completely honest, he's not really sure he wants to leave.

But his mother says she needs help, so he stands from his chair, rising to his full height, something that would cause most people to take at least a small step back, but your smile only seems to grow as you stand in place, clearly checking him out as you look him up and down.

He starts to ignore you, heading back inside, only to hear the wooden floorboards creak behind him as he reaches the counter.

He looks back, a confused look on his face as he sees you following behind like a lost duckling.

"Don't mind me," You wink, "My mama just always told me to follow my dreams."

He huffs in amusement at that, shaking his head.

Maybe your pickup lines weren't all that bad.

...

As time goes on, and the more he gets to know you, the more he's going to find your flirtatious advances amusing and endearing, but if you don't make it very clear from the beginning that there's actual feelings behind your remarks, he's going to assume that they're just jokes and you're not actually into him.

He's a big romantic, he'll catch feelings rather easily the more you flirt and tease him, and if he isn't 100% sure that they're more than just jokes, he'll eventually grow to resent them because he feels like he's being teased, even if you have no idea he has feelings for you at all, so communication (while a big deal in every relationship) will be especially important if you're a flirtatious person.

#is this cat calling? #maybe #but thats okay #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x s/o #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x s/o

[daydreams-after-dark]

NSFW // 18+ // Smut

Let Daddy Take Care of it

Chan x Hyunjin x fem!reader, Seungmin and Minho are there but don’t touch.

Fem!reader is horny on the way to the club. Chan and Hyunjin help her out with their fingers in the backseat of the car.

5 min read approx

⚠️‼️ MDNI // SMUT ‼️⚠️

CW: vaginal fingering in the back of the car, stretch kink (she likes lots of fingers), edging, pet names (baby girl, daddy, kitten). Slight humiliation, video recording

🚗🚗🚗🚗

“Baby girl, what’s up? Are you nervous?” Chan whispers softly in your ear so no one else in the car can hear him.

You’re squeezed in the back of the sedan, between Chan and Hyunjin on the way to the club.

You shake your head shyly, rubbing your legs together and smoothing the fabric of your very tight, very short body con dress. “Not nervous, Channie.” You swallow hard and look at him through lowered lashes.

“Then what is it pumpkin?” He gently kisses your neck just under your earlobe, sending a bolt of need through your already very needy core.

“I’ts just…” you wriggle in your seat. “I’m just so horny… need to cum…” you pant breathlessly.

Chan nibbles on your ear and caresses your knee. “Shh, its okay baby girl. Let Daddy take care of it, yeah?” He coos stroking your hair with his free hand.

You hold your breath as his hand moves from your knee and slides up your inner thigh until his fingers brush against your bare- “Fuck! Baby girl! Where are your panties?”

You close your eyes and bite your lower lip as Seungmin and Minho in the front of the car mumble profanities under their breath, but otherwise ignore your helpless situation, even turning the volume of the radio up to drown you out.

“I was…in a rush. Needed to be ready to go out… oh fuck!” You let out a drawn out agonising cry of relief when you feel Chan’s thick finger graze your clit. “Please… fuck…shit…touch me Daddy…more… need more.” You grind yourself against his finger as he runs it back an forth through your wet lips. You want him inside you though. Fuck you need more.

Lips latch onto the left side of your neck now, Hyunjin has joined in on the fun. His plush, delectable lips sucking at the flesh. He’s bound to leave marks, but who are you to care right now?

His hands roam your body, stroking your arm, cupping your tits. He has such a gentle touch compared to how he is attacking you with his mouth. Your hips gyrate, your head lolls back, your eyes close, as you soak up how glorious their hands and lips feel on your body.

Chan’s mouth finds yours and you immediately open it for him. He thrusts his tongue deep into your mouth just as he thrusts two fingers into your dripping cunt. He’s rough with you, but that’s exactly what you need right now.

Hyunjin’s hand squeezes your other thigh, causing you to moan, and then he’s aggressively pulling your leg open to rest on his thigh, all while still nibbling all along your collarbone. Yes. yes. You love this idea. You hastily pull your dress up around your waist while Chan pulls your other leg open to rest over his thigh too.

You are spread open across the back seat of the car, dripping pussy on display to all.

“Please… please… I need to cum…” you cry out pathetically.

“Baby girl, Daddy and Jinnie are gonna take care of it. We’ve got you.” Chan’s fingers tease your slit for a moment, then your feeling fingers spreading your lips, prying them open and circling your entrance.

“Daddy… please don’t tease me.” You sob, your needy pussy clenches around nothing. Chan chuckles to himself and sinks three fingers into your tight cunt, all the way in. The force of his fingers and the sudden, abrupt stretch, almost lifts you out of your seat entirely. But Hyunjin is there holding you in place, forcing you take Chan’s fingers in their entirety.

“Fuck!!!” You cry out once the palm of Chan’s palm makes contact with your throbbing clit.

He fucks you with his fingers and grinds against both the sweet spot inside your cunt, and your clit simultaneously. It’s hurtling you towards the edge. Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop. You think to yourself. The squealching, wet sounds of your pussy’s juices become louder than the music, drawing the attention of Minho.

“Hmm, I know she can take more than that.” He turns in his seat to look directly at your desperate cunt, and then lifts his gaze to your pathetic face.

Chan stops his fingers. You whine, confirming to Minho how pathetic you truly are.

But Minho’s right. He always is. He knows how much you love your pussy to be stretched.

“Baby girl, do you want Daddy to add more fingers?” He asks with a smirk. You continue to glare at Minho and nod. “Yes Daddy…more.”

“Hyunjin, I need you to help.” Chan nods to Hyunjin, but he already has his long strong fingers encroaching your centre.

They start with two of Chan’s fingers and one of Hyunjin’s, and then quickly build up to more. You lose count at two fingers each, but there could be more inside you for all you know.

Your cunt feels so incredibly full, so fucking stretched you aren’t sure if you are a gaping mess or not.

You are vaguely aware of Minho turning around with his phone and videoing the mess you are making, holding the phone close to you the action. “Gotta send this to the other four, so they know what they’re missing. Ji’s gonna be fucking pissed he didn’t get a first hand look.”

Your eyes roll back in your head and you know you’re bout to come. “God, you’re so tight around our fingers baby. You’re like a vice!” Hyunjin hisses.

“I’m…Oh god… of fuck… I’m—”

“Alright, we’re here.” Seungmin’s announcement breaks the moment and Chan and Hyunjin slide their fingers out of you abruptly making you scream in frustration.

“No..no..no..” you sob as though it’s the end of the world and you frantically try and rub at your pussy to bring yourself over the edge.

“No, Kitten. No touching yourself.” Minho scolds you.

“Daddy! You said you’d take care of me!” You whine with tears streaming down your cheeks. But Chan just grins at you. The fucker.

“We’ll just have to finish her off in the club.” Seungmin decides, and they all agree it’s a great idea.

Part 2 ?? Should we do a part 2?

Part 2 is here and it’s a Minsung thing.

@noellllslut @kangnina @weareapackofstrays @itshannjisung @chansbabyg

#chan smut #Skz smut #hyunjin smut #skz x reader #sorshas thoughts after dark

[wroteclassicaly]

A Christmas wedding with Steve…

Soft jazz, the fragrant smell of his cedar-wood and apple body wash, his aftershave, and the buffets of various food and desserts. Pies, chocolates, spices, the smells of apple and pumpkin hanging heavily in steaming aromas. Low hanging and twinkling lights find your vision in dazzling swoops as Steve twirls you by them. He’s promised you that you can take your heels off and dance on his toes if need be — he’ll massage them when you get home.

“I want a Christmas wedding. What about you, honey?”

“It’s pretty romantic.” You’re completely awe-struck, caught up in how the greens, reds, and golds reflecting in the mossy amber of his irises.

You can smell the smoke of the wood burning fireplace that’s lightly clinging to his tuxedo jacket, along with the cigarette he’d had not long after dinner. His breath is warm, smelling of cinnamon and mints, chocolate, and the brandy he’d been nursing. His last few drops, he’d only convinced you to try when he dipped his fingertips in and let an an ice cube slick across your tongue, his thick digits remaining once it melted, carrying the enriching liquid down your throat.

This might as well be your own wedding with how euphoric everything is. And by the time that you’re in Steve’s car on your way home, he’s already got your dress halfway off, his jacket tossed in the back. He cranks the heat, pulls over and lets the soft snowflakes cloud the windshield into a shimmering oblivion. He’s wearing a silver chained bracelet on his wrist, a dainty silver chain around his neck, nestled in his chest hair, his bow tie off and crisp white shirt open, black slacks around his hips. You cling to the fabric as you’re welcomed into his lap, his hands settling on the silk of your garter held stockings, dress wound up around your hips, panties to the side.

You run your fingers through his hair and work out the slicked styling he’d worked to accumulate earlier in the day, layering one another with compliments. Eventually, you lace fingers as you rock slowly together, your mouth marking his neck. And somehow, that same Christmas jazz finds its way on his car radio, providing an audio backdrop to your panting breaths.

The following Christmas, you become Mrs. Steve Harrington.

#kristenwrites #my work #my writing #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things imagine #stranger things fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things drabble #stranger things blurb

[winedrunkwords]

lovely vision.

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: the one where people can tell when steve thinks about you and mike can't whisper. [1.1k]

warnings: fluff, unrequited-to-requited-love, gender-neutral!reader

✮⋆˙ ★⋆｡ °⋆ 𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑

In hindsight, he really played himself, hoping his super-observant, super-loud, no-boundary-having friends wouldn’t say anything. He couldn’t tell if that made it better or worse.

It’s one thing for Steve Harrington, self-proclaimed Halloween hater, to not mind when other people decorate his space. That can just be written off to him being polite and kind, even though Dustin would scoff at that and Eddie would laugh and Mike would call him out on the word “polite” being anywhere near his name.

The point is, being around other people’s decorations had some kind of plausible deniability. Him putting up Halloween decoration himself, however, there’s no deniability in that.

“What’s that?” Dustin asked as he slid into the backseat of Steve’s BMW, pointing at the ghost charm that dangles from the rearview mirror. Steve offered (read: was blackmailed) into driving the boys from the Wheelers house to the arcade even though they had perfectly functioning bikes. But then Dustin said they were teaching you how to play some game whose name he couldn’t remember and he definitely didn’t want you walking all that way, and since he was going that way anyways….

“Nothing,” Steve snapped back, staring straight ahead. Hopefully that would be the end of it and no one would s—

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” offered Mike, the traitor. His hair was long and in his eyes, like Eddie’s, but Steve could still feel the suspicious, almost accusing glare through the mess. “Looks like a decoration.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “It’s just an air freshener. I know teenage boys stink but you guys know what that is.”

“A ghost air freshener,” Lucas said, right in his ear. Steve had half a mind to kick him out, but he’d already started driving to your house and he didn’t want to be late. “That’s for Halloween, and you hate Halloween. You always buy those dumb trees.”

“Why are you paying so much attention to my spending habits?”

“Because they’re terrible.”

Steve glared at him through the rearview mirror (the traitor). “Don’t think I won’t make you walk.”

Your house was pretty close to the Wheelers and already decked out, considering Halloween was at the end of the month and it was only October first. Fake, giant spider webs stretched up the front yard to the porch, and pumpkins and Halloween decorations dotted almost every inch. Your house looked like it was out of a cartoon about the Addams family and your outfit matched it, all black and muted colors. Your smile, though, that made Steve feel like he’d sipped pure sunshine.

You slid into the passenger seat, your designated spot (to no one’s surprise and to your complete obliviousness). “Oh a little ghost! He’s so cute! Is he for Halloween?”

“Yeah, Steve,” Dustin asked with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Is he for Halloween?”

Rock and a fucking hard place. “Uh, yeah. It looked like it would fit the vibe, you know, and it smells nice.” Which wasn’t a lie. Steve genuinely did like the way it smelled, and the thought of you smiling at him the way you were now (warm, bashful, a little endeared) made the fact that it was a ghost a good thing.

You were endeared, maybe a few shades more than that. Steve’s indifference to Halloween was a well-known fact in the merry band of nerds (their name) that he chose to hang out with. Robin still talked about the year she got him to decorate his house with one (just one!) skeleton like it was a badge of honor. Now here he was, Levi jeans and orange sweater, with a ghost dangling from his car, glancing at you with a smile as he pulled into the arcade parking lot.

Maybe Mike thought he was quieter than he was; maybe he just wanted to ruin Steve’s life specifically. Either way, the entire car heard him over the radio when he murmured, “Man you really do turn into the people you love.”

Steve flushed and turned around so fast that you would be concerned about whiplash if you weren’t replaying what Mike said over and over again. People you love. “Alright, go play your damn games.”

None of the boys said anything, Mike looking almost uncharacteristically apologetic through the window. You smiled out at Dustin and said, “I’ll meet you guys in a few minutes, okay?” You could almost feel the man beside you turn into a statue.

“Okay.” He glanced between you and Steve nervously but ultimately chose to follow Mike and Lucas, leaving the two of you staring after the arcade door as it shut beside him.

“I’m sorry he said that,” Steve said almost frantically, eyes locked on the steering wheel so he didn’t have to see whatever horrible embarrassed look was on your face. “Mike never really knows when to shut up and he’s an instigator. He’s an idiot, actually. I’m really sorry; I can take it down if you want and —“

Your hand on his bicep shocked him into silence, and when he looked up at you, you were smiling like he’d given you a gift. “I don’t want you to take it down, Stevie.”

“What?”

“I don’t want you to take it down,” you repeated, “I like it. Why are you saying sorry for liking me back?”

“Because I don’t want to — pause. Did you say back?”

You laughed, and it was the best sound Steve had ever heard in his life. He wanted it bottled up for him only, the only thing sustaining him for the rest of his life. “Eddie kept saying I was really obvious.”

“He kept saying that to me too,” Steve replied. “He’s just stupid.” He wasn’t entirely sure what’s happening, but you were still looking at him. Your hand fell onto his, right on the console, and relief burst inside his chest, a cool relief like a sip of water when you were parched.

Liking him back. What the fuck?

“I don’t think either of us are much better right now.”

His hand, of its own volition but also because it knew if he didn’t do this he would never forgive himself, cupped your cheek, and he didn’t even have time to ask before you said, “yes,” and leaned in. And he was kissing you.

Steve Harrington was kissing you like he needed it to breathe, like it was the difference between him being able to keep going or crumble right then and there. Steve Harrington liked you back.

You parted, and fell back into each other once, twice, before he pulled away far enough that he could talk. He whispered, “If those kids come out here and stop me, I’ll strand them, I swear.” Your answering laugh felt like absolution.

✮⋆˙ ★⋆｡ °⋆ 𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑

thank you so much for reading this! i wanted to write something for the beginning of october and i've been missing steve, hence a little steve one-shot. pls let me know what you think; i'd love to hear it! feel free to like and reblog if you enjoyed this, it really does help <3

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x reader fanfic #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fluff #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things x reader fanfic #stranger things #mine #fic;

[cultofdixon]

Everything’s going to be okay. It has to

Daryl Dixon [PLATONIC] • She/Her Pronouns • An overprotective dad trying to calm his adoptive daughter after some asshole (that met his end) decided to shoot • ANGST/SFW • TW: Gunshot wound / Anxiety Attacks / Blood loss

Requested by: Anon

“Daryl, enough!” Rick tried to cut through another physical argument the archer was having with another Savior.

But unlike the other fights he’s had, this asshole had a gun on him. The second he aimed it, Daryl stepped back along with Rick whose words didn’t reach the Savior and all the archer thought of was his daughter.

“I had enough of this son of a bitch“

“Don’t shoot your weapon!” Rick yells as Daryl stood frozen thinking over a thousand times who the hell was going to take Y/N into their care when he’s gone. “We can simply talk about—-“

“Enough talking” But when he fired, Rosita knocked into the guy so the bullet wouldn’t land in her family.

Though as the gunshot rang through

And the silence grew

All that was heard was her screaming

“Daddy!” Y/N shouts off the top of her lungs in agony as Daryl instantly snapped in the direction of her screaming before running toward her.

The bullet hit his daughter.

While Rosita took care of restraining the man, Rick quickly ran over to his brother who was picking up his screaming child noticing all the blood that was getting on him.

“Get in the car, I’ll drive” Rick yells in order to reach Daryl’s mind knowing all he sees is red and the sound around him is muted. But he heard and did exactly that while the retired sheriff whistled for Enid’s attention. “Radio Siddiq to get ready for a gunshot wound at Alexandria! We’re coming from the Sanctuary!”

Rick opened the door for Daryl to get in the backseat holding Y/N as her good hand gripped onto his shirt while the other one shook from the bullet wound being in her bicep. He shut the door once they were in and quickly got in the drivers, practically speeding through the loading dock of the Sanctuary making his way to Alexandria.

When they got close, Rick hard pressed on the horn not caring if he was to crash through the gates but thankfully Michonne and Eugene were at the gates pushing it open the second they heard the horn. Michonne ran after the car once it came through as Eugene took care of closing the gates himself.

“What happened?” Michonne frowns watching Rick step out and open the door for Daryl. “Oh my god. Who fired?!”

“A FUCKING SAVIOR” Daryl snaps carrying Y/N into the infirmary where Siddiq was ready with the help of Aaron who heard the news when helping the doc with stocking up on the past run findings.

“I’ve got everything we’ll need but I don’t have anything to lessen the pain that isn’t orally given”

“So—-?!”

“She’s going to feel everything Daryl” Aaron states watching his face fall further as he turns to his daughter on the gurney struggling to keep still and brushing off the oxygen mask that Siddiq had placed on her to help her breathing.

“Pumpkin, you gotta keep it on” Daryl’s voice cracked when speaking to his little one because the sight was starting to become a permanent imagine in his mind. “Just take deep breathes, okay?” He frowns taking the mask and keeping it in place while Aaron held her legs down to keep her from kicking as Siddiq started to clean the wound to stop the bleeding.

It wasn’t a through gunshot wound. Siddiq had to remove it and wash it out while also stopping the bleeding.

It was a lot for a kid…

“You’re doing great” Daryl reassures Y/N as she curled up slightly when Aaron held her arm and Siddiq continues to work on the stitches. “You’re gonna be fine”

The tears started to burn making her jolt a bit when Siddiq was putting in another stitch, resulting in Daryl carefully pinning her and the stitch Siddiq had just done needing to be cut out and redone.

“C’mon pumpkin, just breathe and focus on me alright?” Daryl reassures continuing to hold the mask for her and taking a deep breath himself watching her mimic him. “Good job, you’re doing a good job”

“Just a few more stitches, Y/N then you’re all done” Aaron reassures as Siddiq went to get another kit.

“Daddy…”

“Yeah?” Daryl gently brushes the hair out of her face watching more tears form. “What’s wrong sweetheart?”

“D-Do we have to go back there?” Her cry was more of a whine followed by more sobbing at the thought of having to go back to the Sanctuary. They both have their own issue with the place

“No. We ain’t ever going back there”

“Daryl what about Rick’s—-“

“I ain’t ditching my kid here to watch that fucking shithole for somebody that made a mistake not burning it to the ground” Daryl snaps and quickly collected himself for his daughter who grabbed his hand when he yelled to squeeze it for herself and for him. “I’m sorry pumpkin. I’m sorry for yelling…”

“Let’s focus on this and the whole Sanctuary thing can be discussed once she’s healed, alright?” Siddiq states before going back to work to finishing up the stitches.

Finally the stitches were done and the wound was cleaned up along with a heavy bandage on it. Aaron had Daryl pick up Y/N so that he can remove the bloodied sheets and put a clean one along with a blanket.

“She should sleep here for tonight” Siddiq says as he cleans up all the gauze and instruments so that Y/N can lay down comfortably. “Just in case of anything because I live upstairs”

“A-Are you going ho—-“

“I ain’t going anywhere, pumpkin” Daryl reassures. “I just. I have to grab a few—-“

“I’ll take care of it. Tell me what you need. You just stay with your daughter” Aaron states listening to his best friend telling him what he needs to grab.

Once everything was taken care of, Y/N struggled to get comfortable on the bed as she hated sleeping on her back and couldn’t on her side because of her arm. The pain was also extreme even with some pain killers in her system. Daryl’s heart shattered when he tried to help her get into pjs because she would scream every time her arm was irritated.

Siddiq had made a bed for Daryl to stay with his daughter but the way she hasn’t stopped crying and the pain was that unbearable. He knew he was going to hold her and that would help just a little.

“C’mere pumpkin, I’ve gotcha” Daryl says softly while picking up Y/N carefully before bringing himself into the bed letting her lay on him as she already got herself comfortable hiding her face in his chest. She continued to sob but it lessened when her dad rubbed soothing circles on her back. “Shhh…I’m here, you’re okay”

“Daddy…”

“Yes pumpkin?”

“You won’t ever leave me right…?” Y/N pouts pulling her face away from his chest as Daryl instantly kisses her forehead holding her protectively.

“I ain’t going anywhere. I’m always gonna be here for you”

The next morning came and Siddiq came down to check on the Dixon child but to his surprise and thankfully, Y/N was fast asleep after a rough night. But also her dad holding her was sound asleep. He quietly approaches the two and covers them in a blanket before leaving them to catch up on much needed sleep…

Safe and sound

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

[indouloureux]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 (part one)

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. the whole lyrics layout inspired by @/upsidedownwithsteve! 1979 is like one of my fav songs ever and i wanted to write a story about it. sorry it took a while to post :( hope you guys all enjoy.

PART TWO; SERIES MASTERLIST

Shakedown 1979

Cool kids never have the time

On a live wire right up off the street

You and I should meet

In a field miles away from a town that’s cursed him, Eddie lays in the colossal grass with his hands on his chest and his eyes closed, the sun blinding him through the thin skin of his eyelids. Growing weeds tickle his inked skin, dirt stains his leather jacket, and ants cross over his hair; he does not mind one bit.

He daydreams of the sky. How accepting they’d be — how they wouldn't mind his disheveled, long hair, or his punk style and see him as one of them; One of the clouds who form themselves into whatever they want and float freely across the cerulean aether atmosphere. A place where he can be himself, where he can bring his darkness into that white airy cotton, even when it turns grey or when the night begins. Eddie would be himself, and no one would judge.

Ringed fingers touch the grass when he removes one from his chest, soft beneath his fingertips that he massages. Eddie hums, taking in the calming sound of air swishing the trees, the faint sound of passing cars, the optimistic birds, and the sound of Dustin talking to his girlfriend with a sickenly high-pitched and lovey-dovey voice. Which reminds him:

“Hey, Henderson,” he turns around, laying on his stomach. Eddie takes a quick glance at his watch — 7:05 am. “Wrap it up lovebirds. We gotta go to school.”

Dustin nods his head, his cap blocking his eyes. “Yeah hold on. I gotta go, Suzie-poo. I’ll talk to you later, I promise. I miss you already. I love you.”

A giggle. “I love you more, Dusty-bun.”

“I love you more multiplied by all the stars in the galaxy.”

“No, I love you—”

“Alright,” Eddie suddenly takes the microphone from Dustin, shooting him a judging look with a raised brow before he speaks. “Sorry, Suzie-poo. Gotta take Dusty here to school or else you won't be seeing each other and he’s gonna spend the rest of his life running up this hill crying. Bye-bye now.”

He almost laughs at the thought of Suzie’s shocked face when he turns the radio off. And maybe that same laugh comes out when he sees Dustin’s horrified expression when he realized he’d — or Eddie — had just cut her off. He looks back at Eddie, mouth agape, before he playfully punches his shoulder.

“Asshole,” Dustin kicks his shin. “That was my girlfriend, you idiot. She’s gonna be pissed that you cut her off!”

“Nah, she loves you too much,” he stands up, patting the dirt off his knees and his jacket, fixing his hair. “Now come on, Dusty bunny, we gotta go to school.”

“Don’t call me that,” Dustin swats his hand away when Eddie tries to ruffle his hair by slipping it beneath his hand, but the kid smiles anyway. Anything for the affection he gives. “You know, you’ll be like this one day,”

Eddie plays with his keys, walking down the hill in heavy footsteps that threaten to twist their ankles. “What’d you mean?”

Dustin hops over the fence, followed by Eddie who grunts loudly. “Being sweet. Disgusting. In love.”

He scoffs, walking over to the side of his van and opening the door, but not before he looks at Dustin over the hood of his van with a look. “So you admit that you and Suzie are disgusting?”

“From the words of you, Steve, Lucas and Mike — who actually both have girlfriends — yes, I admit that we are disgusting. Disgustingly sweet.” 

They close the doors simultaneously, the keys jingling when Eddie shoves the keys in the ignition. “You know, when I was fifteen, I spent my time playing the guitar and studying songs. My fingertips were bleeding, Henderson,” he shows him his palm, letting Dustin see the faint scar lines on his fingertips. “I never dated a girl. So I highly doubt I’d fall in love.”

“The only reason you never dated was because of your reputation,” Dustin throws his bag behind him. “And you’ll fall in love. I bet you will. You may be cynical and mad, but you’ll find the right person, Eddie,” he smiles at him. “Trust me.”

“Yeah yeah,” he shakes his head, the car shaking into a start and Mötley Crüe starts blasting that startles the poor boy beside him. “We’re gonna take this bet to my grave, then.”

Eddie Munson has only fallen in love once. When his Uncle, Wayne, had come home with a red guitar after his night, tiring shifts at the plant. He remembers clearly the way his eyes lost focus of the world and remained on that guitar, like the center of attention; the only attraction in this terrifying world. Eddie remembers the way his heart pounded like he’d fallen down a roller coaster, and remembered the way his tears had mimicked said coaster when he hugged his Uncle and sobbed out his gratitude.

That had been five years ago. When he was fifteen. And he swears he’ll never fall in love again.

Because love—in his own concept—was a dangerous game. More dangerous than when you decide to go and attack Vecna powerless in Dungeons and Dragons, or taunting a swarm of demobats. It’s a game with unknown intentions and arduous side quests that render you defeated before you even get to love itself. Dangerous and tiring, if you’d shorten it. And no one wants to delve into a love so treacherous if you’ll end up getting hurt anyway. 

It’s what Eddie thinks; understood. How he perceives love and what he thinks love is with his semi-nihilistic mind despite never having to fight for love. It’s a game he refuses to partake in and narrate, and would rather watch people struggle with it from the sidelines (with a beer in hand and a freshly rolled blunt in his mouth, as he’d imagined).

So he prays Dustin would win that game. Despite being miles away from his girlfriend; give him all the makeshift spears and shields made of garbage lids and dull nails. He cares so much for him that he actually hopes their love will succeed, that he’d go out not scathed but covered in grime and a triumphant smile. Even now when Eddie looks beside him to see the lovesick smile on Dustin Henderson’s face who replays every memory he had with Suzie during that one summer.  

He reaches over to give his friend a pat on the shoulder, which gifts him a bright smile before he races off to Hawkins High with eternal dread.

—

His day wasn’t at all dreadful. It felt like a normal day.

Probably because Jason Carver wasn't at school today due to a foot injury, and his little balls-in-laundry-baskets friends had no leader to bark at them around all day. They did nothing but practice and sit quietly at their tables, and so did Eddie.

Albeit the day being normal, he’d still get his usual judging stares and glares. Eddie Munson wearing a Dio shirt today? Freak. Eddie Munson wearing shoes other than his Reeboks? Freak. Eddie Munson trimmed his bangs today? Freak. Eddie Munson’s not wearing his vest? Still a freak.

He kept his head low, eyes on the ballpen that draws on his palm as he walks through the emptying hallway. Dustin had gone with Steve Harrington, and the rest had decided to leave early. Eddie? He’d just gotten out of detention for spacing out during class. Why detention? He'd never know why. Even Ms. O’ Donnel thinks he’s a freak. 

Eddie whistles. Mandy. Something new and unusual, a song he’d heard from Wayne early in the morning that he too whistles as he makes his coffee and smokes outside the porch. He’d woken up to the sound of it for two weeks and he finds himself subconsciously copying his Uncle.

His footsteps echo in the walls of Hawkins High. He jumps and spins and occasionally taps his fingers across the lockers covered in stickers, if not dents from rowdy students. The sight of the exit doors surprises him when he turns right, and a bright smile comes up to his face when he sees them. Eddie pulls his keys out of his back pockets, shoves his pen inside, and continues to whistle like he’s taking a walk on a quiet, sunny day at a park.

Until by the time he’s about two rooms away, he hears the sound of a piano. Soft and ear-pleasing, yet startling since it’s been an hour after school ended and no one, not even the teachers other than Ms. O’ Donnel should be here. Eddie stops his whistling, eyebrows furrowing as he hears the piano play the same tune he’d been whistling.

And then a voice. Far and hushed, like a ghost. Unseen through the walls, floating and yearning to be noticed; so they sing to be noticed instead. Eddie’s heart palpitates a little in panic, wondering if the ghost is singing the same song he’s whistling to get his attention. His hands curl into fists and prepare to run away.

But he thinks of disturbing whoever's in that room. He also thinks he should just go home because it probably could just be a ghost, seeing as half the victims from the Starcourt fire had been students and they’d probably come here for refuge in the afterlife. But Eddie’s curious. Maybe taking a glimpse over the small window on the door and seeing a ghost would cause no harm other than a possible possession, right?

So he tiptoes his way to the door he recognized as the music room. He’d seen this room once when he snuck in here during middle school and he needed a guitar for Gareth or else they would have lost that talent show (they did. No adult would let a child playing quote unquote, Satan’s Music, win).

Carefully, he peeks sideways through the small window, where he sees through the blurry glass; a girl sitting in front of a keyboard. Her back to him, head bobbing slightly at every key she presses, showing merely the tip of her nose and the plump apples of her cheeks when she sways lightly to her gentle playing. Eddie quietly shoves his keys back inside his pockets, pressing his ear against the glass, and watches the grace take upon her fingers. 

“I see a memory. I never realized how happy you made me,” 

A voice so celestial, like an angel he’s never seen but envisaged. Maybe like an angel he’d imagined in the clouds up above; a voice so warm like the summer breeze, soft like silk and the denim of his vest. It’s inviting and it’s hypnotizing, with every perfect lilt. 

Something new from his usual heavy ululating music. Something he might like and never get used to. 

And it’s tempting. So tempting that he finds himself opening the door harshly that the doorknob slams against the thin wall of the room that even startles Eddie.

“Oh Mandy, well you came—”

You scream, hands slamming on the keyboard that makes a distorted sound of unmatched keys. Eddie’s eyes widen and his hands raise in defense, hiding behind them when your own hand comes up to gasp into your palm, horrified by his sudden arrival. His heart pounds against his chest, hands coming down to clasp at his pec. And he’s staring at your petrified look.

“Mother of God,” you whimper. 

“I’m sorry!” he closes the door behind him hastily. “It’s, uh, I heard you. And I thought you sounded… great,” Eddie’s shoulders deflate, sighing when a small smile comes up to your face.

“Really?” you finish for him. “Sorry. I- I thought I was alone.”

“No, it’s okay.” Eddie finds himself smiling with you. More at the way there’s dimples at the bottom of your mouth and your teeth show slightly through your lips. 

He stares at you, longer than he intends to, a sense of familiarity waves down him when he traces the slope of your nose and the thick eyelashes that meet with your cheeks when you blink. Eddie thinks you’re pretty — especially with your small smile that makes his heart feel weird when he realizes he’s the receiving end of it. A faint picture flashes in the back of his head, and he limply points at you. “Hey, uh, I kinda remember you,”

Your eyebrows raise a bit, hands falling to your lap. “You do?”

“Yes! I think…” his eyes narrow. “Middle school.” 

“Yeah,” you tell him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “It was back in middle school.”

Yes, he remembers you. Only that blurry picture in the back of his mind only focusing on the small pigtails of a girl shorter than him, the ends of a borrowed purple dress that tickled his knees, and that similar smile of yours except you’d been missing a tooth on the bottom row of your teeth that matched his. And that voice, still sweet but deeper than it used to be, still entices him like it used to do.

Eddie gawps. “Holy shit,” he says your name with pure shock, the smile on his lips starting to strain his cheeks. But he doesn't care, not when you’re prettily smiling with him. “You— you played that same song! Mandy, right? You played that too?” 

“I did, yeah,” he walks over to you, hands on his lap and slightly bent. Eddie walks until he’s standing beside the bench you’re sitting on, hand grazing the plastic of the borrowed keyboard. “Mandy by Barry Manilow. Yep.”

“I’m Eddie Munson. Although I'm sure you already knew that,” he offers his hand, hoping you won’t notice the trembling and the silent clinking of his rings. You smile at him, taking his hand into yours and he wonders why even the handshaking felt familiar.

And your hand is warm. Soft like the grass he’s touched earlier this morning, feeling the same small scars in the pads of your fingertips when his thumb slyly runs through them. They were light and they were pretty, your own dainty little ring made by a wire that loops around a gemstone was a hard contrast to the abominable ones on his hand. Almost like an angel shaking the devil’s hand. 

Eddie wishes to feel this way again. How a simple touch ignites something new, yet the fire starts within him that he can't find. 

“I know,” you place your hand back on your lap, his own falling disappointedly on his side. “Sat behind you during History.”

He nods his head down on the bench you’re sitting on, asking for permission. You scoot aside, motioning for him to sit beside you; and Eddie, for the first time in his life, shyly does. He sits beside you, thighs almost an inch apart as he nervously watches you toy with the black keys. “How come I remember you a bit in middle school but not…?”

“Your early years of high school?” you press on a key he doesn't know. “I left after middle school. Moved to Queens, for my dad’s work. Came back here because my nana got sick.”

“Oh,” he plays with his rings, pulls them up before he puts them back on, a slight indentation on his fingers. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” 

Eddie exhales, feeling his heart unwind when you begin to play a steady beat, watching as you press down on the plastic keys. “I came inside because I thought you sounded good,” he nods his head to you. “Your voice. It’s nice. And, because I also thought that ghosts might have heard me whistling and decided to play with me. Scare me shitless.” 

“Ghosts?” you repeat, pressing on a key that emits a deep tune. 

He hums. “Hawkins is filled with dead people. Right beneath this school and those roads you walk on,” he points behind him. “‘ve you heard of the mall fire last summer?”

“I think so,” you furrow your eyebrows. “My dad’s friend called him about that.”

“It was horrifying,” his eyebrows meet for a split second when your eyes widen and you look away from him. Eddie smiles a little. “So, piano huh?”

You look at him again. “Well, technically it’s a keyboard but…it makes the sound of a piano,” you slam a finger onto a black key. 

Eddie has gotten to the point where he realizes there’s no future in this conversation if he doesn't make up another question. And he doesn't want this to end. He just met you again, and he’d like to stay here a bit more even though he’s been craving to leave the school an hour ago. Anything to get to know you a bit more before he sees what’s going to happen next.

“Can you play me a song?” he asks quietly, feeling embarrassed by his diffidence. “Only if you want to.”

“Of course,” you smile at him, fists clenching that your index scratches on the cuticles of your thumb. He wants to stop you, but he worries about crossing borders and you’re probably just as nervous as he is as you say, “what song?”

“Mandy,” he deadpans. You blink at his tone, which makes him clear his throat and speak again in a rather forced cheerfulness that means no harm but to correct himself. “Please?” 

You let out a short chuckle, unclenching your fists to spread them out and stretch. “Yeah sure.”

You began with grace, you performed with aplomb, and his ever-curious mind was captivated by how simple it was for you to play and croon at the same time, as if he didn't know how to do it himself. Eddie watches silently, sings in his head with your gentle humming; remembers how he’d caught Wayne swaying to this song once and thinking he looked funny and at peace, wearing his usual red flannel with a cigarette in his mouth and eyes closed. He looked high back then, unperceived that his nephew had been standing there to the side with crossed arms and an amused smile.

Is this what his uncle felt? Finding peace in music other than electric guitars and heavy drums? Lacking all that yowling rasps and instead replaced with a voice that runs through velvet flawlessly like yours. Where he sways and taps his feet, watching your slender hands switch between keys without having the pads of your fingertips stuck in between them despite him noticing the slight shakiness in your hands, dwelling in on the missing memory that scratches on the back of his mind as he watches you play. 

“Caught up in a world of uphill climbing, the tears are in my mind and nothin' is rhyming,” you take a shy glance at him, eyes flitting to the redness of his ears. Eddie smiles to take your attention, making his ears turn redder when you smile back at him. “I…I forgot the next lyrics,”

Eddie chuckles. “So have I,” he lies. He just doesn’t want to sing. Not in front of you, at least. He worries he might crack his voice and he could just jump out that window.

There’s a faint sound of a door slamming shut from outside that makes you jump a bit, which makes Eddie turn around to where the sound was before he completely ignores it.

Trying to hide the disappointment that flows from him when you stop playing, he focuses on the fact that you’re looking at him as you do so. Which twists his heart in a way that’s far from bad, and tries to distract himself by clapping like one of the people he wishes he had after his shows. “That was it, all I could remember,” you motion to the piano, flushing bashfully. “I- stop,”

You laugh, your hand barely touching his wrist but motions for him to settle it down. “Bravo,” he smirks at you, wiggling his eyebrows. “That was amazing. Talented. You could be the next, I don’t know, Billy Joel.”

“I barely finished the song,” you nudge your knee with his. “I actually think I made a few mistakes but, uh, thanks,” Eddie fights the urge to remove the lone lint from your hair. He smiles at you instead, settling his hands on his lap. “What about you? Still playing the guitar?”

Eddie’s shoulder bumps with yours when you sway gently as your right hand presses all five fingers onto the keys. He can't stop looking at you, anywhere but your eyes really, so they mostly stay at your cheeks. Sometimes shyly at the plumpness of your lips chastely, or at the dimples threatening to deepen. “Still do. We play at The Hideout every weekend for some cash. We’ve got a crowd of about five…drunks.”

He feels that unfamiliar sensation of heat blooming in his cheeks when you laugh. It’s as soft and inviting as the piano that your hands rest on. “You should come see us,” Eddie continues, nudging his shoulder with yours. “That way I can tell my uncle we’ve got six people watching us now.”

“Hm,” you remove your hands from the keyboard, copying his slumped posture albeit a bit more poise. “I might think about it. If you play me a song too,” you raise your brow at his grimace. “What? It’s only fair.”

“Fine,” Eddie crosses his legs over the small bench, walking around with his hair twirling over his shoulder as he does so. His eyes never leave you even as he crosses the room to pick up an acoustic guitar. “Damn room doesn’t even have an electric guitar. Amplifier’s at the gym and I hate that place.”

You laugh, watching him take the neck of the brown guitar and grab a monobloc from a stack beside the door. He sets it beside the keyboard, awkwardly sitting down before he sets the guitar on his lap eagerly. Eddie smiles at you, grabbing a part of his hair and hiding his mouth behind it bashfully.

“What song, m’lady?” he peers at you through his eyelashes. Eddie feels triumphant when he makes you laugh again, thinking he could watch you push your hair behind your ear with a demure look any time of the day.

Your shoulders raise into a shrug, the smile on your face falling a bit. “Dunno. Ever heard of The Outfield?” 

“On the radio. When my uncle listens to music early in the morning,” his fingers slide across the strings, pressing randomly on frets. “Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I listen to music other than metal.”

“Shocker,” you gasp dramatically. “You’ve ruined your image for me. I don’t see you as a metalhead anymore. You’re merely a commoner. A pretender.”

“You wound me,” he pouts at you. “Come on, (y/n). Give me a song,”

“Alright,” you rest your elbow on the keyboard, cheek on your fist. “Your Love. The Outfield. Think you know it or you’re just pretending?”

“Think I might have studied this for… other embarrassing purposes. But yes, I know it.” He clears his throat. “Prepare to cover your ears,”

Your Love wasn’t a song that was merely played by a guitar. However, an acoustic wouldn’t hurt. Not when he’s doing it for you. Eddie fears pressing his fingers on the wrong string, or a strain from his voice because that would just be plain humiliating. 

Your observance adds fuel to the fire of his confidence, while it also simultaneously makes him nervous ‘cause you’re watching; not just listening, not judging. You’re watching him like you actually want to see him play. And as far as he could remember, you’re the first girl to actually pay attention to what he’s playing without any cruel thoughts. He wonders if you think he’s great at this, just as much as he thought you were remarkable in the whole piano thing. 

Come on. E, C minor, B, E- no A. A, goddamnit.

When he almost misplaced his finger on the wrong string, he almost cried. But you’re not looking at his face anyway, perhaps too enthralled with the gentle sound of plucking; the deep baritone-like sound that the brass string produces makes you sway similarly like his earlier. 

“I ain't got many friends left to talk to, nowhere to run when I'm in trouble,” he shoots you a nervous glance, and he’s almost thankful that you’re looking at his hands. “You know I'd do anything for you, stay the night but keep it undercover,”

“You’ve got a nice voice,” his fingers slide across the brass string so quickly that it almost burns his fingertips when his voice dies in his throat and he looks up at you. “S-sorry.”

Eddie sets the guitar down, the flat of its back on his lap and knees. “No, it’s alright. Thanks,” you smile warily when he scratches nervously at the guitar. “So um- you gonna come see us in The Hideout? No pressure. Just, so I can show you that I really am into metal.”

Your lips tug downwards into an upside-down smile that teases him. Eddie tips his head back, flashing you a toothy grin as you say. “I’ll see to it, Eddie Munson,” you take a glance at your watch. “U-unfortunately though, I’ve got to go.”

He fights the urge to voice his disdain through a quiet groan of protest when he sees you reach on the other side of the bench to take your bag and sling it over your shoulder before you stand up from your seat. Eddie places the guitar on the ground, nervously fiddling with his fingers. “Um. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Stopping in your movements, your thumb slides between the leather strap of your bag and your shoulders. “Yeah. Sure. If you’ll see me, anyway.”

“I’m sure I will,” he offers you a smile.

He watches you leave with a sad frown. 

But later that night though, when he talks to Dustin on the RT, he remembers telling him that the girl in the purple dress wore ripped jeans now and a yellow blouse covered in pink flowers, her hair down in loose waves over her shoulders that enticed him. Eddie remembers telling him you’d looked mature, prettier, and that maybe you’d come to his show next week.

What he doesn’t tell him, though, is that he remembers every spot on your face that had dimples when you smile. That your voice was like petal silk that pleases his fingertips as he rubs it between them; or that your hands had similar scars like his, only you’ve gotten them for a different reason. How graceful you’d looked playing the keyboard like you’d been the only one in that room. 

A veridical sense of déjà vu makes his mind tingle and his heart twist. In his bed, Eddie has his hands over his stomach, staring up his ceiling with a poster of Tiamat he once saw during a yard sale that he bought. But he thinks of you, the exiguous curiousness grows the longer he remembers that bright smile on your face. And he feels nothing but the want inside him that yearns to see you again.

Justine never knew the rules

Hung down with the freaks and ghouls

No apologies ever need be made

I know you better than you fake it

“Lost in a purple hill, shake these zipper blues? Hey, Nancy, do you think—”

A shoulder bumps you, too hard to be taken as an accident. Your notebook falls to the ground, ball pen tight in your hand as you let out a startled gasp. You look at the boy first, whose eyes widen in embarrassment as they flicker between the journal on the floor and to your agape mouth. 

You should have expected it. The halls were crowded and there were very eager students to enter the cafeteria and take tables before someone else would. But still, you’re taken aback by the sudden impact, even after almost squeezing yourself against the lockers just so you would avoid this kind of incident.

“Shit, dude, I’m sorry,” 

You give him a tight smile. “‘S alright,” he apologizes through a useless smile before he’s being dragged away by his friends. Nancy spins around at the upheaval, and follows the direction of your eyesight before she frowns in disdain.

Asshole didn’t even bother to pick it up for you. Or ask if you were alright.

“What a prick,” she clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth. You ignore the slight throb on your shoulder, bending down to pick up your notebook and wipe whatever dirt it's picked up from the ground. “Is it ruined?”

Shaking your head, you close it shut and hug it close to your chest. “No. It’s alright. I’m just lucky the floor doesn’t have any piss or something. Or else I would have…punched that guy,”

Nancy chuckles, shaking her head. She turns back around, clutching your wrist to go through the sweaty sea of rushing students. “I doubt that—ow, hey!”

Your face hits Nancy’s permed coils, nose meeting the Fabergé glory of her shampoo. You grimace, moving away to see your friend rubbing her shoulder before you see Patrick McKinney furrow his eyebrows in worry at his mistake. 

“Sorry. You alright, Wheeler?” he reaches out to rub her shoulder chastely, but Nancy shrugs it off, nodding. Patrick’s eyes relax, taking a glance at you before he realizes he doesn’t know who you are before he pats her shoulder carefully. “Alright. Sorry, again.”

It was difficult to hide the frown that paints itself on your face when Nancy simply grabs your wrist, guiding you around the crowd once more. And there’s this annoying itch in your head that keeps on reminding you how unlucky you’d been that you bumped into an apathetic guy who hadn’t even bothered to ask if you were alright whereas Nancy got sympathetic eyes and genuine concern. 

And you thought, well that’s because they knew her. Having to date Steve Harrington when he was still here, who’d been part of the basketball team himself, of course they knew her. You? The guy looked at you like some random crayon found on the ground. So you tell yourself to get over it; they don’t care and neither do you. It was a simple bump. Your friends would have asked if you were okay.

Nancy didn’t.

Well, she was distracted.

No, she wasn’t.

Shut up.

The cafeteria doors are left open with the people that surges through. Nancy stands on her tiptoes, searching for the boy with glasses that made his eyes larger and took up half his face — Fred, you remember; you practically sink onto her shoulder in fear of accidentally bumping into someone again. And fuck, how muscly was that guy for your shoulder to hurt?

When she spots him, Nancy’s quick to drag you to her side and sit you down beside her in front of Fred, who’d immediately chatted about this thing he’s seen somewhere you don't bother understanding. But when his eyes land on you, his talking stops. Lips snapping shut and he’s staring at you with those wide eyes of his, the scar on his cheek bending when he smiles cheekily at you, his forearms resting side by side on the table as he leans closer.

“I heard a rumor that you were with Eddie Munson yesterday,” he narrows his eyes playfully. Nancy whips her head at you, astounded with the new gossip she’s heard, especially now that it included you.  

Nervous with the attention diverted to you, you move back, fingers fidgeting on your lap. “What? Where’d you hear that?”

“Andy saw you.”

“Who’s Andy?”

“That guy who kinda looks like Arnold Schwarze-something.”

Nancy snorts. “He does not look like him.”

Frowning, you lean closer. “What was he doing there yesterday?”

Beside you, Nancy opens a pack of pudding pie that she quietly offers to you. You shake your head politely, offering her a short smile before Fred asks for your attention with a simple tap on your elbow. “He left something by the locker room. Then he said he caught Eddie Munson sitting beside you on a small chair inside the music room being…shit, Nance, what’d he say?”

She shrugs, mouthful. “Dunno. Cute? Or, weird?”

“Somewhere along those lines, but we’re sugarcoating it for you,” he leans closer. “You do know who Eddie Munson is, right? Like, what people say?”

Nancy reaches behind you to take the Hi-C juice box in your bag and puts the straw in for you, shoving it in front of you that you gladly take and quietly thank her for as you say, “That he’s a freak? Just because he dresses out of the trend doesn’t mean he’s a freak, y’know?”

“Steve used to think he was,” Nancy raises her eyebrows at you. “I mean, I don’t think he’s a freak. He does have an influence on my brother though. He’s growing his hair out. Like a mullet, or something.”

“Well he’s not a freak,” you bring the small plastic straw to your lips, the sweet orange-y flavor of the mechanized juice filling your taste buds. “He’s nice. He said I had a…nice voice.”

No one’s said that to me before.

“That’s sweet,” Fred pouts. “Don’t know. Maybe he’s planning on luring you in as a sacrifice.”

Eddie? Cult leader luring you in for some sacrifice? The same person who’d smiled kindly, watched you play the piano like he was actually interested in your performance and applauded you like he’d been watching a breathtaking opera at the same time, invited you to watch his band at some dingy restaurant and thought ghosts might have been haunting him?

His style might say otherwise—with all those brutish rings he’d harbored so proudly and his disheveled mullet-ish hair. But with those wide, curious eyes that watched you like the most interesting flower blooming from the iced frozen ground, a voice so benign and placid who’d praised you in a way anybody else wouldn’t? No. He’s not a cult leader. Or a freak.

And you’d only known him from the mystifying, blurry memories and the couple minutes you’d spent with him yesterday. 

That same Eddie who you found with a small frown that lifts into a charming smile when his eyes find you. Briefly does he stop talking with his friends from across the room when your eyes link with his. And Eddie presents you a smile so pretty it makes you dizzy; with his style different, that same leather jacket with a red flannel beneath and a band shirt you don’t recognize, but he had the same fondness in his look that makes your heart flutter wildly like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon. 

You feel a spark of electricity ignite in the tendrils of your veins; the sound of your heart beating in your ears as everything else muffles and the spotlight goes onto him — like the sun beaming through the window to show you what you’d been looking for. 

Yeah sure, he’s a cult leader.

(A cult leader who made you feel noticed in a town with 15,000 ignorant, judgy people despite being with him in less than thirty minutes.)

“What’s she smiling at— oh,” with her laced fingers, Nancy places them beneath her chin and tilts her head sideways to take a glimpse of Eddie, who’s still looking at you. “That’s cute,”

“You really shouldn’t believe rumors,” You turn to her, nudging your juice box with her hand. “I mean, I’ve been here for three months. I barely know him and I think he’s just…being himself. It’s like this town hates people who are comfortable being themselves.”

The corners of Fred’s lips tug down. “Ouch,”

“What? It’s true,” 

“Y’know, we had a yard sale last year,” Nancy tells Fred. “Eddie was there lurking.”

“And?”

“Seemed like he didn't caused any trouble. Just roamed around, gave this kid a stuffed animal when he couldn't reach it. He seems nice, Fred.”

And you almost tell them that five years ago, Eddie Munson followed you backstage when he saw you crying; That he’d asked you if you were okay, that he said you’d do great and you did, and in between those hazy flashes of cut memories, you almost tell them that he wore a Bauhaus shirt too large for him, that his hair was buzzed and he made you laugh until you’d—quite literally—forgotten the reason why you cried in the first place.

—

“Hey there, Mandy,”

You yell, clutching the notebook closer to your chest and the pen tight in your hand that it might pop the ink out. Eddie’s hands raise in defense, eyes widening in shock as you both stop walking, the leaves crunching beneath your worn-out shoes and his white sneakers, the birds flying away from the disruption. 

“Jesus Christ,”

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” familiar, but the memory’s lost in your worry-filled mind. You laugh disbelievingly at him, closing your notebook and tucking the pen behind your ear. “What?”

“Nothing!” you scratch the dents on your notebook, shying away from Eddie’s intensive look. “Mandy? ‘S not my name.”

“I know. But it’s a cool nickname. And you know,” he tilts his head sideways. “The song.”

You smile when his head lulls back, chuckling shortly when you both begin walking again. Eddie has his hands behind his back, his hair wild from the harsh winds of August’s warm breeze. Which he fixes with quick pats to the hair covering half his forehead, his eyes never leaving you.

“Why are you walking home?” you see him bring his hands in front, toying with his rings, pushing them in and out of his fingers. 

When you look up at him, your right eye squints from the brightness of the sun until he steps over it. “I wanted to walk home. And, um, I don’t have a car,” you flush beneath his piercing gaze. “What about you?”

“Because I saw you walking home,” he grins. “You were writing while you were walking so I thought maybe I should come join you in case you accidentally trip,” 

The sun draws a halo above his head, painting over the devil horns drawn onto him. It gives him a sacrilegious glow, intriguing you to just push his hair behind his ears and ask him all the things that made him smile just so you could see him smile once more. Yet, you don’t; your hands stay around your notebook, your mouth parts but never says anything, and you merely try to say those words through your eyes.

Cult leader, my ass.

“What, so you…left your car in school so you could walk with me?”

He shrugs. “I guess so. It’s still there when I come back, anyway. After I walk you home,” Eddie swallows. “...after I walk you home as a friend.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Eddie’s lips purse. “So…” he makes a noise, like a random music note. “I didn’t see you in history today,”

History was (unfortunately) the only class you shared with Eddie. Where in the first three months, you’d kept on asking yourself where you’d seen him over and over again as you stared at the back of his head. (Wishing he’d turn around and ask for your name, if he’d seen you before, and notice you like he’d notice every random fuzz he’d find on his table.)

And he noticed you today. Even when you weren’t there, the thought of him thinking about you and wondering where you were sets a comfortable flame in your cold chest. 

“I was at the clinic,” you smile a little. “Some guy bumped into me earlier and I don’t know what he’s made of. It really hurt,”

His eyes darken into a gloom of concern, his eyebrows meeting like a broken bridge. “Are you alright? You okay now? Does it, uh, still hurt?”

“A bit,” you roll the injured shoulder. “Still kinda sore. ‘S like I played football, or something.”

Eddie’s teeth join behind his lips that remain separated, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout you can’t fathom the meaning behind. Then he’s biting it, his hands clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to make the hardest decision of his life before he’s pointing his thumb behind him. 

“Do you wanna go back to my van?” he asks quickly. “I’ve got something cold in there and I could help you. And I can drive you home, too,” his voice is eager and almost excited with a lace of hope. “But only if you want to,”

You’re unheistant when you say, “Yes,” take me with you. Aid me. Ask me how I am and I’d tell you. 

The walk back to school was quicker with his urgent feet that you had difficulty catching up with. You spot his car parked behind the school, befuddled with the amount of dents and the way his van leans sideways more than evenly. Eddie has a hand hovering behind you as he guides you, the other hurling the backdoors open that tricks you into thinking it’s gonna be thrown aside.

The back of his van was messy — with four empty beer cartons stashed aside, a Bauhaus poster that matched Eddie’s shirt with its sides ripped, white ridges seen in that black paper, a red cooler behind the cartons, and a blanket that you assumed used to be white but has been left unwashed for who knows how long. 

But despite the messy appearance, you sit on top of the blanket when he asks you to. And he sits beside you, 

a heavy hop that makes the van shake slightly and a creak underneath. He shoots you an embarrassed smile, a hand behind him to prop himself up as he twists his torso and pulls on the cooler until it slides near him.

When Eddie opens it, it’s nothing but almost melted ice and four bottles of Boston Lager with one of them being half-empty. You peer over the red box, watching as his hand dives through the cold mess before he hands you an unopened beer bottle.

Out of curiosity, you bring it up to your nose and take a whiff just because.

Eddie chortles. “What’s it smell like?”

You frown. “Like water.”

He stops you from putting the bottle right at your shoulder, looking for something behind him before he sighs scornly, reaching out behind him to pull out a black bandana decorated with large, intimidating skulls. “Here just—wrap it around so it won't wet your shirt too much,”

Eddie gently takes the bottle from you, half of his fingertips covering yours. Half a touch and it already makes you feel like someone had thrown a rope down the hole you’d been stuck in and pulled you out; in that slight formidable tactility does your skin tingle, a warmth that feels like you’re hovering your hands over the flawless dance of a flame. A caress that barely lasts ten seconds, but was a lifetime of gratifyingly dizzy touches. 

The coldness of the bottle doesn’t scathe you anymore now with his handkerchief wrapped around it. It seems like Eddie felt the same way, with how his neck reddens, and abruptly places his hands on his lap, watching you from the corner of his eye as you place the bottle on your shoulder. 

But the silence is comfortable, with the howl of the wind and the rustling of the trees. You dab the bottle on your shoulder, the bandana itself smelling of cigarettes and a boyish aroma you can’t comprehend, but you had a feeling it smelt just like him. The white skull turns gray, the cloth dampens and turns cold, and you turn to see Eddie with his nose wrinkled into a quick sniff before he looks around him and settles on your notebook.

“So what were you writing?” He gently takes the purple notebook into his hand, tracing its ridges and checking its black spine, flipping it around where he sees your name written on the upper left corner in small cursives.

“Um, just…things,” you pinch your nose with a vacant hand. “Just lyrics, I guess.”

“You? Lyricist?” Removing the hand from your nose, you reach over to flip the journal open, thumb skimming across the thick pages. “Just when I thought you were cool with the whole piano thing,” your face heats, smiling sheepishly at him.

“I wouldn’t say I’m great at this whole thing, though,” your thumb stops on a page you’d been writing on. Eddie diverts his attention on the half-filled page, head tilting down as he brings the notebook closer to his face.

You fear his judgment; not because you don’t trust him, but it leans more into what you’d gone through. That his criticism will be cruel, unkind and harsh like others had been, taking out all their negativity into the words you’d poured your mind onto, leaving without an apology or at least a clement admonition. 

There’s doubt that spreads across your mind. You watch as Eddie pokes his tongue out to graze his teeth, his thumbs drumming on your notebook, his own eyes flitting between your unaligned writing. But the smile that breaks across his charming face calms the dread down. Eddie looks at you, the crinkles on the corner of his eyes so endearing. 

“Lost in a purple hill, shake these zipper blues,” he reads out loud. “I like it. It’s very…savvy,”

“Savvy?”

“Savvy. Innovative. Creative,” you beam at him, your lips starting to ache from the bright smile you hold as Eddie’s head flips between your creative words and your contagious joy. “What? It’s amazing. Literally, all the words you can find in a dictionary that’s a synonym for creative. It’s—it’s that. W-what?”

His eyebrows join in a confused hill as the smile remains on his face, shaking his head at the shock that amalgamates with your glee. “Nothing,” you look away, feeling your entire body heating with the new sensation of appreciation. “I just thought it was kinda stupid. Like, maybe no one would understand it, y’know?”

Eddie’s thumb rubs his bottom lip. “Well, tell me what it means—hey, please?” he pouts playfully at you. “Tell me what it means, come on. I like it, I might as well know the meaning behind it, right?”

You shake your head in disbelief, placing the bottle on your shoulder to the space beside the two of you.  “Alright. Um, well, a hill right? You get up this hill and you feel disconnected from the world in…a good way. You- lose all toxicity and burden this place gives you. And I chose purple because, well, I like the color purple,” you laugh nervously. “And, zipper blues. It’s this depressed feeling you get from moving around too much. So you get lost up this hill, you get rid of that sorrow, and just disconnect all your problems. And, I don’t know if it makes any sense but—I’m rambling too much. I’m sorry—”

“No!” Eddie reaches out to place his hand on top of yours, quick and urgent to touch you again and the way his hand softens on you feels like he’d been substantially relieved to do something Eddie’s stopping himself from doing. Like water to a slowly dying flower, your heart blooms at the touch you’ve wanted to sense since earlier as he stops you from your ranting. “It’s okay. I- I get what you mean. And it’s…”

You feel him squeeze your hand gently. “It’s…?”

“I’m thinking of other cool words,”

You laugh bashfully, a laugh he copies. A laugh that reaches his eyes, went from deep into something high like a giggle until a small snort comes from him. You feel elated to make him laugh this way despite saying nothing. 

“It’s amazing, (y/n),” he doesn’t say Mandy, but it mantles your insides nonetheless. “You have other songs you’ve written?”

Toying with the neck of the beer, you nod. “I’ve got a couple of papers back in my place but, uh, I’m not exactly allowed to invite boys in my place yet.” he moues playfully. “But I could um, talk to you over it on the phone? Or give it to you tomorrow? I should just give it to you tomorrow, you don’t have to give me your number—”

Eddie squeezes your hand again. “Hey,” he chuckles at you. “Relax, Mandy. I’ll give you my number and we can talk, yeah?”

You feel like you’re waiting for an ice cream cone to be offered to you when Eddie plucks the pen behind your ear and writes his number down on the bottom of the page that he’s read. His writing is scrawny, unaligned like yours, capitalized when he leaves a note beneath the digits that you can’t read. He tells you not to read it yet after he offers to drive you home. 

The drive to your home was filled with small talk and music from the stack of cassettes on the back of his car. Ranging from Metallica to Judas Priest as said from the cases you gave him. And despite his attempt at his careful driving, the van sways against the uneven asphalt of the town streets. 

Eddie, with a hand on the steering wheel, has a hand hovering behind you as you twist your torso and lean towards the backseat to search for more cassette tapes. 

“What are you even looking for?” he asks, carefully turning left. You pick through the mountain of unarranged music, placing them next to each other when you see something you’re not looking for. “Careful. You might fall forward and I’ll just laugh at you.”

“I found it—turn right!” The wheels of his car screech at the sudden pivot, makes you clutch the grab handle and his arm, feet lifting off the clutch and onto the brakes where he presses lightly. “Fuck,”

“Sorry,” he pushes his hair out of his face, glancing at the cassette in your hand. “Oh, I didn’t know I have that,”

The black case of Reggatta De Blanc is clutched tightly in your hold. “I didn’t know you listened to The Police,” you flip it, scanning the back. “They’re my favorite band.”

“I didn’t know you listened to rock,” he’s still pressing lightly on the brakes to slow the van down, the smoke leaving the hood grows both your concerns. “I used to listen to them. Well, when I used to drive my Uncle to work when his car broke down for a while. Refused to listen to any of my tapes. Misfits? No. Iron Maiden? Still no. I mean, I get that he’s old, or something, but he has to try new things out!”

You open his player and withdraw Sisters of Mercy, prompting him to express his displeasure with a half-joking gasp and a short 'hey!' across the cut music. But you swiftly insert the tape to stop him. Eddie's fists clench over the peeling leather steering wheel, his gaze fixed on you.

“The Police, huh,” he grins at you. You swallow the upbeat tempo of Message in a Bottle, bopping your head to the introduction riff. Eddie’s head turns between the road and you. “Thought you’d be more Kate Bush, or something. Billy Joel. Madonna, maybe. Queen. Elton John. The Cure…”

With a twisted smile, you run your nails through the polyester filament yarn of your seatbelt. “I do. I don’t have a specific genre, Munson,” you turn to him. “I can like anything. Hell, I like W.A.S.P. And Joan Jett”

He gasps, turning right. “& The Blackhearts?”

“Fuck yeah,”

Eddie’s tongue clicks with the roof of his mouth, shaking his head. “What a potty mouth, Mandy.” his nose wrinkles when he laughs. Angelic, you think. A laugh a cult leader wouldn’t have; something Eddie would have. 

“Well, people usually don’t believe me,” you laugh timidly. “‘S like people need to like just one genre and make it their whole personality. Like, what if I like metal and pop at the same time?” his eyebrows raise a bit. “Sorry. N-no offense. It’s just…annoying, at times.”

You remember being twelve, recently having left Hawkins with a deep frown on your face. But you had a girl invited to your room in search of a new friend. With a borrowed boombox, you showed her Blue Öyster Cult after going through countless tapes of pop artists. And when she found out that the band had a different type of music, way different than the ones you’d just listened to, she’d told you: listening to different types of music makes you unbalanced. You need to stick to the one that makes you you. Or else people wouldn’t know who you are.

Wise words for a pretentious girl, you thought back then. Nevertheless, you believed her. 

For five years. 

But when you returned to Hawkins, you need reinvention. Because girls were only ever interesting when they’d reinvent themselves every once in a while to keep people hooked on. And you were tired of being unseen, invalidated; so you went back to your older self. Someone who played the piano but enjoys metal as much as Eddie Munson did, from what you’ve seen. You want to show him that side of you, in hopes for affirmation.

“None taken,” he breathes. “But, you’re right. No need to apologize.” your stomach buzzes with his accordance. “Metal’s just…me, though,” unlike earlier, Eddie turns the hazard before he turns. “So, I hope you don’t mind a man with a shag who’s a high school repeat’s driving you home, sweets,”

Sweets. Your whole body burns in the best way, biting back a smile. “No. I don’t mind. I like that.”

“I like that for you, though,” he gesticulates to you. “Being unashamedly yourself. Without aaany judgment whatsoever. And, uh, that’s amazing,” Eddie, although with his words genuine, smiles weakly and sweetly at you; harbors something that he wants to say but stops himself from doing so. “I should be like you more often.”

“I think you’re already being yourself,” your eyes trace the scratches on the windows, the slight blur on the corner of his windscreen; what once was a far distance of a motion blur of modern homes turns slower when Eddie’s foot lifts slowly from the accelerator. “I should be like you.”

“Trust me. You-...” when he looks at you, he visibly softens at your countenance. His adam's apple bobs in what seems to be rich poignance with the way his pupils slightly shrink when he flits his eyes away from you, only to dilate and almost take over his brown irises when they look back at you a mere second later. Eddie chuckles dryly, can't help but smile earnestly at you. “I like you as yourself, (y/n),”

Your hand compels you to reach for his. Like magnets forced to meet. But the console which separates you both hinders you from doing so. But maybe it was your fear; your lack of courage. A film reel in your mind that slides through its mid-tone dull colors of a possible incident — he’ll hold your hand tighter with the gentle caress of his calloused thumb that alleviates the rigorous pounding of your heart and smiles brighter than the ultraviolet sun. 

Or his face would twist in disgust and shove your hand back on your lap, lips curled into revulsion and he’d ask you what was wrong with you, reject any excuse that would come out of your mouth like they always did before he’d drop you home and ignore you like you didn’t exist.

Keep it together.

“Thanks,” you mumble, the pads of your thumbs come across the linear scars on your fingers. You see Eddie balk in his seat, lips pursed to make small incomprehensible sounds while he bobs his head to Message in a Bottle. Your house emerges, curtains drawn and run down car missing. Disappointedly, you press on the red button of the seat belt buckle. “Right here, Eddie.”

The van halts to a stop, passenger door right in front of the pathway to your small home. The radio lowers, the seat belt snapping back in place tickles your arm, and dismay wooshes with his loud ac. 

But Eddie leaves unexpectedly before you do, the unlocking sound of his car door disappears quicker than the door slamming shut. You watch as he crosses over with squinted eyes, until he reaches to open your door, bowing lightly with an arm stretched towards your house; a smile that reaches up his eyes and a dimple that comes with.

“M’lady,” he nods his head at you. You can’t help but laugh, picking the bag up from between your legs and slinging it over your shoulder, the heat adding an unfortunate ache on your eyes that shoots up to your head and almost burns any skin that’s exposed. Eddie notices. “‘S hot, isn’t it?”

“Unusually hot,” you shake your head. Eddie closes the door, walking on the unmowed grass on your small lawn until you both end up beneath the porch, in the shade that soothes you.

His eyes desecrate the components of your door, tracing the doorbell button, lips making small psh sh sounds before Eddie finally looks down at you. “Can I have your number?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “But I already have yours.”

“So I can call you anytime, Mandy,” he laughs heartily. “I can’t exactly save phone numbers, can I?”

You flush in embarrassment. “Right. Sorry,” you take the pen from behind your ear, reaching out. “Can I have your arm, please?”

Eddie smiles. “Lovely manners.”

He shows you his arm, a small, almost unnoticeable butterfly tattooed on his wrist where you write your number above it. “Nice tat,” you smile up at him, your own blue ink that’s botched to almost unusable decorates his pale skin.

“Yeah, I don’t really know how I got that,” his eye shuts, nose wrinkling, watches your eleven digits appear on his wrist along the veins. “Nice,” he sings. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to get going,” Eddie tugs on his bracelet, his feet lifting off the porch. “See you ‘round, Mandy. Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari for me, won’t you?”

You bid him goodbye with a sad wave, but you cover it with a smile.

Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari. Huh.

Morphine city slippin' dues

Down to see

That we don't even care

As restless as we are

It was a battle between who was gonna call first.

That day when Eddie drove back to the trailer, quietly as Wayne took a nap on the fold-up bed in the living room, he went inside his bedroom and locked the door. Barely was it night. Barely. Yet there he was, sitting on his bed clad in nothing but a random shirt and boxers as he waited for your call.

Nothing.

So he sat and played and thought and dreamed. 

Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari? What the fuck does that even mean?

The first ring on his phone, it hadn’t come from you. Mike Wheeler asked if he’d used any kind of shampoo on his hair, and what brand it had been. Eddie answered that it was three-in-one, no specific brand. Just anything he could afford. The second had come from Dustin, who’d asked about something DnD related that Eddie had already forgotten. 

And then the third was from Reefer Rick, who was put on probation and asked how he was and honestly, the phone call lasted for two hours. A conversation that barely included any drug talk whatsoever and simply what had happened in their lives.

So obviously, Eddie couldn’t help but mention you. Minus your name for safety reasons.

“Shit, dude. She’s… she’s nice. She’s smart and she writes songs like I do and she plays the piano. And I actually met her before! ‘S just that I don’t exactly-... remember it, y’know?”

“Don’t tell me you’re fallin’ in love, kid.”

“I’m not!”

“You know about love and how dangerous it is, don’t you?”

He did. 

Like a dangerous game of Dungeons and Dragons.

Yet there he was, the sun gone and the skies Stygian, painted with scattered specks of the burning stars and the crescent moon. Eddie’s patience had slowly been wilting, his knee bounced on the floor and his ass was sore from sitting too long on his lumpy mattress. A notebook in hand with his own clusterfuck of rhyming words with deep elucidations in hopes you’d be talking about songwriting. 

And when the phone rang, he stood up faster than the speed of light and he took the handset off the wall and pressed it up to his tingling ears. 

“Hello?”

A huff of a laugh. “Hey, Eds.”

Eds. Eds Eds Eds Eds. 

His heart palpitated; a ruthless attack of the Cupid’s red piercing arrow shot through his heart. Eddie Munson rested his hand against the wall and the other tight on the phone receiver as his knees liquified from your giggle. 

“Hey there, Mandy.”

“I took your lyric, by the way,” he could only imagine what you looked like that night—pajamas, sleep shorts, a crop top, or a random band shirt he thinks you’d totally have, you’d still be pretty nonetheless. “Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari. It’s very impressive. Kinda making me not want to give you credit here,”

Eddie shook his head in playful disbelief and turned over to rest his back on the wall with a silly smile and a belly full of butterflies. “I’d very much appreciate the credit. At least then the world would know who I was.”

A playful sound of consideration kisses his eardrums. “Maybe. Yeah, sure. I’ll give you credit.”

Since then, phone calls had been filled with exchanged conceptualizations and words written with a botched ballpen onto crumpled pieces of papers; Eddie would see you in school, too. Passing each other shy smiles, listening to music in his van as he offers to drive you home, his hand discreetly turning back to you to pass notes during History. He no longer found the random fuzz on his table interesting and thought that the girl who answered his notes that ended each message with a smiley face was way more interesting than anything else in the world.

Maybe DnD and metal, too. But you came in first.

And every night, after a campaign or band practice, after his uncle would wish him farewell before heading off to work, the usual jejune midnights had turned into cavorting twilight nights. Before he knows it, he’s already brushing his teeth at six pm, like you’d smell his breath through the phone, and bounces his knee in anticipation in front of the phone. 

One night, when Wayne stayed home to get some proper rest, he'd noticed how Eddie had barely left the room to watch the tv with him, or how he hasn't played a guitar in weeks, or suddenly rush out a farewell to meet his friends.

He took a peek in the crack of his bedroom door, saw how his nephew had a lovesick smile as he laid on the floor with the phone on his ear babbling about things that has happened on his day or something about his past.

"You've been hogging up the phone, Eddie. I've got someone to call too, you know?"

Poor Eddie yelped, almost dropping the phone to the ground. Wayne chuckles, walking over to him which made Eddie clutch the phone to his chest. Wayne claps his shoulder.

"Yeah like who? That recently divorced mom beside Kapinsky's trailer?"

He jested to his uncle, who barks out a laugh. "Probably. I'm not the only one trying to woo girls here, son,"

"I- I'm not trying to woo him, man! I'm just-... trying to be her friend."

Wayne huffs with a smile and a light shake of his head.

It went on for weeks; countless calls that he didn't realize months had passed. Every day, every night, you’d become his friend; conversations started turning into somewhat remedial talks other than songwriting, telling each other the stories in your lives that none had experienced, talking shit of the judgementals and the great pretenders, and gave each other keys to your hearts for safekeeping.  

“What ever happened to Benny’s Burgers?”

“Heard some Russian kid got him killed, or something. Jason’s using it for his orgies now. Like ritualistic sacrifices are way more important than teenagers having sex all together. The children of god hath given into their temptations! Those gents might not but repent their sins for foul fornication!” 

“Eddie, I don’t care if you sell drugs. Half the kids in my old school in Queens sold them. Would almost kill each other for ‘stealing’ their clients. Hell, even half of the NYPD sold drugs.”

“In all honesty, it’s weird how you’re so normal about this.”

“My mom died when I was a baby. The orphanage had different answers on how I ended up there, though. My dad died, he was in jail, he dumped me there. But it doesn’t matter — I’ve got a new family now, anyway.”

“My old man’s in prison. Haven’t talked to him in years. My mom died too, so at least we have that in common, eh?”

“Sometimes I wish people cared. Like-... sometimes I wish they’d see me; stop treating me like a ghost and ask ‘hey, what songs can you play on the piano?’ and all that shit. ‘Hey, are you okay? What’d you feel about getting left at an orphanage? Sorry, I hit you on the shoulder.’ And all that stuff.”

“‘M kinda tired of being seen as a freak. I know everybody has their own thing. But sometimes I… wish I liked the same thing everybody else did. But that’s the thing about society and their codependency on approval — you like something that people think is far from normal, or something that people say isn’t- trendy, you’re a freak. I mean, sorry I like playing a fantasy game than Monopoly. Or- that I like Eddie Van Halen than Olivia Newton-John.”

“Hey, you love Olivia Newton-John!”

Laying in his bed of lumps and stains, Eddie imagined he’s in a field. The tall grass stroking his inked skin, the clouds that hover over him, all his devotion laid upon the clouds that mutate into your silhouette, which beguiles him more. And even when his visual morphs the sky gray and lets its sickening tears drip down onto him, he stares up at this cloud indentation of you that looks back at him. Until it’s blown away and he finally sees your spellbinding beauty. 

“Hey,” your voice startled him. “Still there, or you’re asleep?”

“No. This is Eddie’s soul speaking. He’s very asleep,” his jest was followed by an obnoxious snore that made you laugh brightly. He smiles. “Yeah, no. I’m still here. Sorry,”

“It’s okay,” you softly said. “Hey, um, my neck’s aching.”

He frowned. “Oh. Do you wanna continue this tomorrow?” Eddie twirls the cord around his finger, trapping the phone between his neck and ear.

“No,” you sighed. “Keep talking, please?”

“Okay,” Eddie cleared his throat. “Band practice went well. We, uh, learned a new song. Something that’s not metal. Gareth was kind of a bitch about it but hey, there’s no harm in trying something new.”

“Really?” he nodded, remembering you were not there before he said ‘yes’. “What song is it?”

Eddie turned to his side, facing his Blue Öyster Cult poster. “It’s a surprise, Mandy,” his scoff etched a smile on his frivolous face. “You’ll hear it when you come to Hideout.”

“Shame,” he thought you’d been pouting. Playfully, with your pink lip jutted out. “What should I wear when I watch, though?”

“Anything you want,” it made him panic a little; he didn’t have an outfit for the show. Eddie sat up, his foot knocking over an empty bottle that fell down on his floor that thankfully did not break but was loud enough to disrupt you.

“What was that?” you had asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he clutched his ankle, face crumbling in pain. “Yeah, babe, I’m alright,”

Shit.

He sensed it then. When your breathing went silent, when his heart stopped beating for a millisecond, the way your mind registered what he said the same time he did. Eddie’s body had loosened in panic.

“Okay,” you finally said, quiet and gentle. “Um, careful.”

“Thanks,” he almost said it again, getting himself distracted. “Thanks, (y/n),”

A pregnant pause. Eddie was massaging his ankle with a look that berated him for his idiotic freudian slip. He scolded himself by bumping the sore spot against the foot of his bed, hard enough that another loud thump was heard and tears brimmed the edge of his eyes.

“Okay, seriously, what is going on in there?” you chuckled incredulously. 

“Nothing!”

“You know what? You should come here before you accidentally trip on a knife.”

Eddie’s head dipped. “I thought you weren’t allowed to invite boys in your home?”

“I can rebel, you know,” he felt an eye roll. “Besides, my parents aren’t home and- I’m bored. And my neck hurts and everything’s better when you’re here.”

He deceived himself into thinking you meant nothing in the last part. Eddie felt the warmth rise to his cheeks then, something he’d grown familiar to seeing as it only happens when he’s with you. 

“Sure,” he picked up a random pair of shoes beneath his bed and opened his drawer to pull out the finest pair of jeans he owned. “Be there in a couple of minutes.”

That night, he parked his van a few houses from yours, and he immediately spotted the purple curtain of your windows. The light dimmed with the yellow warmth of your lamp, your silhouette moving across with something rectangular in your hand that he can only assume was your notebook. He felt slightly eccentric.

Eddie, ever the man who loves to put on a good show, decided to climb up the side of your home using the uneven ridges of the brick wall and your pipes. His palms had lightly scratched against the rough surface of the bricks, where he used all his strength to lift himself up until his head peeks through your window.

When his forearms rested on the stool of your window, he propped himself on one arm and used his left hand to knock rhythmically on the glass. Eddie saw your silhouette stop pacing, your shadow growing as you near your window and pulled the curtains back.

He’d smiled, bigger when he saw your shocked, wide-eyed gaze. Eddie knows you’re berating him when he hears your muffled rambling. You unlatched the window and pulled it up, your hands clutching his bare elbows.

“You idiot!” you hissed. “I told you my parents are gone. And you come up through the window? Are you insane? You could break your back or stab yourself with the bushes!”

Eddie fell face down, his cheek meeting your carpeted floor. He pressed his palms on the ground, pulling his entire body in until he flopped on your floor. And when he finally fixed himself and rids of the leaves and dirt that stuck to him, he stood up. And you slap his arm.

He gawped at you. “Ow!” he pouts, massaging his arm. “You wound me.”

“Relax,” Eddie took his shoes off. “It was just a slap, you drama queen.”

Eddie’s eyes wandered across your body. You were wearing a band shirt: Dead or Alive. He didn’t know who they were. But he didn’t care because then he’s got his eyes on your exposed legs, black sleep shorts that barely come across half your thighs and it made him swallow thickly, his blood flowing everywhere and god forbid had he popped a boner right in the middle of your room, he would have jumped out your window and broke his neck instead.

“Y-you know me,” his voice cracked the slightest. “Always a queen. Which is why I love the Queen. Not the Queen of England. The band, I mean. Well, I listen to them occasionally.”

You sat on your bed, kicking his shin. “I know, dummy.”

That had been a couple of nights ago.

Now he’s sitting bored, fourth row in the second lane, his chin on his palm, right hand drawing a small bat on the corner of his notebook. Along with some other words until he quietly rips the page off, folds it, and takes it in his hand before he moves it behind him.

Eddie feels the paper slip off his fingers. He thinks of your smile, whether it be a toothy grin, a closed lip or the one that made your teeth shine prettily. His body shivers from head to toe, cheeks tingling while his knee bounces in anticipation.

A light graze on his bare elbow startles him, the heel of his foot knocking against the metal leg of his seat. He takes the paper from the corner of his table, silently unfolding it.

I think that’s a bad idea.

Offended, he writes. I just said hi >:(

He gets a quick reply after he gives it to you. I can smell you thinking. I’m like a vampire. And I’m already telling you that filling someone’s locker with shaving cream is boring and a bad idea.

You snicker when he takes a quick glance at you with a silent gasp. Then what do you suggest we do?

Fill it with shaving cream and stick someone’s hair in it. It’s grosser.

It’s followed by a brief drawing of two stick people, one with a small triangular skirt and one with a guitar in it’s hand, in front of a crooked rectangle which he assumes is the locker, the door opened and curved drawings oozing out. And some small, clustered lines that represent the hair you’d told him about.

Eddie smiles brightly, folding it and shoving it in his pocket before he shoots you a silly smile. 

The bell rings, obnoxious and almost deafening. Eddie stands from his seat, watching you meticulously gather your stuff together, hands gently pushing your items inside your bag. He sits on his table, waiting.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Mandy,” He tucks his book on his torso, watching you sling your bag over your shoulder and narrow your eyes at him. “It’s a great idea,”

“I’m not one for bullying, but I think, even though I contributed to your prank knavery, it’s pretty tame and shit,” 

Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you, slapping the top of the door as he passes through. “Oh yeah? Give me something better, do tell.”

“I say fill the locker with water, but then it’ll just slip out,” he towers over you. Sometimes he likes to take advantage of the fact that people would move out of his way merely because they didn’t want to be touched or grazed by him like some disease; he can move faster. “Or we can get your little shrimps to make some machine type of thing that could explode in their locker.”

“Who? Dustin?” Eddie bumps his shoulder with yours. “I mean, yeah could be. And we can just blame it on him,”

“Great idea,” your face wrinkles in confusion. “Wait, who’s locker are you destroying, anyways?”

“Gareth’s,”

Your nose wrinkles. “What did Gareth ever do to you?”

“Breathing,” he sighs. “Anyway, are you doing something later?”

Even in a clustered hallway, Eddie finds it in himself to get the wind knocked out of him when you look up with pensive eyes. Your mouth parts, the ends of your front teeth peeking just a bit from beneath your top lip. You blink and your eyebrows widen.

“Nothing. Homework, maybe. Or just writing again,” his heart pangs at the sad sigh you let out. “Wanna come over?”

He brightens.

-

Eddie lays on your thick mattress, hands clasped together on top of the notebook that lays open on his chest. Eddie scans every saxe glory of your blue walls, smelling the citrus fragrance of your new white sheets. It’s soft, maybe softer than the field up weathertop, and comforting. You sit on the edge of the bed, W.A.S.P. playing out loud but not loud enough for a complaint. 

He turns his head to you, sees how your back is hunched with your notebook on your lap and your fingers drumming on the sides with your pen wedged in between your lips. Eddie leans up, peering over your shoulder.

I put my heart on a piece of paper and you throw it away(?) my heart’s on a string around my neck and

Half the page is scribbled words and annotations with doodles of flowers on the corners. The annoyance radiates off the inelegance of your structure, the bite marks that deepen on the plastic cap of your black pen, and your eyebrows that meet in the middle. Eddie wants to kiss your worry lines away, taking your face in his hands and wonder how, despite the agitated expression, could someone still look so pretty?

Taking his pen from beneath the notebook, he takes the cap off with his teeth. Eddie props himself up on one hand, crosses his arm over yours and presses the black tip on your lined page.

Hi. Notice me pls :(

You laugh cordially, snapping your head to him with your chin on your shoulder and his chin on your bicep, his bottom lip jutting out from the lack of attention. 

“What’s up, Mands, huh?” his chin nudges your arm. You soften. “Writer’s block?”

“Writer’s block are for authors,” you say in a small voice.

“Writers. Songwriters. Semantics,” Eddie purses his lips. “Do you wanna turn the radio off? It’s what usually ruins the whole thinking thing, sometimes.”

“No,” you pout. “Maybe I just need a break. I don’t even know why I’m so upset about this. ‘S so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Eddie readjusts himself, his upper body being propped up by his arm with his legs spread on your mattress, knocking your arm with his temple. “Tell me why you’re upset. Come on.” 

You ruminate, staring deep into his eyes. “God, I don’t know, Eddie. It’s like my mind’s all hazy these days. It won’t work. Everytime I try to finish this stupid song, I- my mind just stops. It’s like I’ve forgotten the English dictionary, or something. I feel so illiterate. A freakin- a fucking ten year old could make a christmas jingle faster than I can finish this stupid stanza.” you slam your pen in the middle, closing your eyes in a deep sigh. “It’s tiring— I’m sorry. I talk too much.”

Eddie wants to draw this out. Close the space that’s almost not even there and take you into his arms as he heeds the words you avow with the silk petal of your voice that burrs when you tiptoe the edge of a breakdown. But you’re already looking away from him with a visible wobble of your bottom lip.

“Hey, hey,” he finally sits, ignoring the ache on his arm when he limits himself by touching your shoulder rather than grasping your chin; there’s still the lingering hesitation of crossing boundaries when it comes to physical contact, and he doesn’t want to drive you away. “You don’t talk too much. I love listening to you talk,”

A shimmer in your eyes from the tears that coat your irises. You blink rapidly and smile weakly. “Thanks. That’s- that’s nice.”

“You know what,” he plops to his stomach, reaching over to the ground where his open bag laid and took out two cans of Budweiser, warm with dents on the silver tin. “Let’s drink— just one! Have you ever tried?”

“I told you I used to live in New York. The only things I haven’t tried are coke and marijuana,” you take the can from him. “My dad gave me beer when I was fifteen. Not exactly great parenting but, we were alone and he didn’t know what to feed me.”

He opens the can and drinks the bitter alcohol with ease, letting it leave a burning sensation on his tongue as he watches you do the same. Eddie chortles when your face rumples in distaste, a frown replacing your woeful pout. 

“You alright there, Mands?” He raises a brow. “Sure your daddy didn’t give you apple juice?”

“Jesus christ,” you clear your throat. “I’m starting to think he did.” Eddie gently takes the can from you when you give it to him, gently placing it on your bedside table. “You know, Fred Benson has a party a couple blocks from here.”

Eddie takes another athirst sip. “Who?”

“Fred. The guy with glasses who’s with Nancy? I sat with him during lunch?”

“Oh right!” He sets his beer beside yours. “He’s nice. He put Hellfire Club in the student yearbook.”

“We should loosen up a bit,” you stand up, stretching your limbs and wince at the ache on your back. Your Beatles shirt, cut up to a midriff, exposes your stomach, a small scar just on the side of your hip and it makes Eddie flustered. He looks down at his hands. “We should go to the party.”

Eddie hops off your bed with the twist of his legs. “You can’t just leave. What about your parents?”

“I can rebel,” you repeat playfully. “And since when do you care about all that stuff, guy-who-got-arrested-once-when-he-sold-weed-to-an-undercover-cop?"

“I care when it comes to you,” he says softly, and he thinks you must have been pretending not to hear what he said. “Gonna call them or leave a note?”

“Gonna tell them I’ll sleep at Nancy’s,” you pull your drawer open and take a yellow sticky note out, scribbling down. Eddie takes his shoes from beside your bedroom door, frowning at the smudged dirt on the heel of his right shoe before he slips them on. “Can you wait outside? I’m gonna change.”

-

You looked breathtaking.

Embellished in a simple dress that stopped just above your knees, a pair of high-cut canvas sneakers that needed a bit of washing; a jubilant vogue that beguiles him, lifting him off his jittery fee. Your adroit hands accoutred in rings with lilliputian gems, warped around your dexterous fingers in delicate silver wires. And your hair, free from all its restraint, flowing down your shoulders. 

Driving to Fred’s house, you looked like a bright star found in the darkness of Eddie’s van. Sat on his seat, listening to all his metal mixtapes and headbanging to the songs you found endearing. His heart quivers whenever you awe at mixtapes you find in the back of his car. 

You were beautiful.

Covet reigns his cynical heart; he yearns to touch you. Wrapping his arm around your waist, holding your hand, or taking your face into his palms and telling you all the things that’ll make you smile. He wants to fortify you from all the savage things that ought to hurt you; Eddie yearns to proclaim his devotion into a dulcet whisper until he feels the rapidness of your heartbeat that thumps against his. 

But confusion regnants. He doesn’t know why he feels this way for a friend who simply knocked the wind out of him by wearing a simple dress. Then again, he thinks if it were any other person, they’d feel the same way. It’s you. You and your kind, shy, delicate heart that he wants to keep.

You, that he’s also lost.

It has been an hour since you guys have arrived. Maybe more than an hour. Eddie doesn’t know, but when he glances at his watch, it’d already been eleven in the evening. He wasn’t fond of parties but when it came to you and anything related to your happiness, he’d tolerate it. And for the first time in his life, in a house full of alcohol, he’s still sober. For your sake.

You told him you’d go to the bathroom, and he waited at some couch, stuck between two very drunk people who made out and completely forgot that they’re sitting right next to Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson. But, in all honesty, it felt nice not having someone run away as soon as they saw him. 

But when twenty minutes pass, where he debates on fetching you in case something happened, or thought maybe you were taking a shit, he ultimately decides to search for you. 

Foreigner guides him between the sweaty limbs of drunk teens and students who’ve already graduated high school but remained in Hawkins (aka Steve Harrington. He saw a glimpse of his voluptuous hair towering over the crowd). 

“I wanna know where (y/n) is,” he sings subconsciously. “I want you to show me,”

And then, he sees you. In a situation that proves his nagging thoughts right.

Standing against the wall is a drunk you. And lo and behold, Steve Harrington peers over you with a flushed face that spreads up to his neck, shirt unbuttoned like he’s seducing you with the jungle on his chest. Eddie feels the bottom of his stomach twist uncomfortably, a twinge of jealousy floating within the acids inside. 

He pushes the people away, as gently as he could, making his way toward you. 

“I know— Eddie!” you gasp, pushing away from the wall. You open your arms and fall against him, wrapping your limbs around his torso tightly so that it makes him just as shocked as Steve was. “Where have you been?”

“I was waiting,” a hand massages your forearm, the other resting cautiously on your back. “You said that I stay there.”

“Have you met Steve?” Eddie smiles tightly at him. He tries to hide his disappointment when you uncurl an arm from him. 

“Yeah, I met him,” he says softly. “Dustin kept on talking about him.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise in bewilderment. “Uh- yeah. Nice seeing you again, man.” he nods his head at him. “Haven’t seen you since I left highschool,”

“Kinda surprised you’re still here,”

He narrows his eyes at Eddie. “I could say the same,” Steve runs his hand through his hair, shifting all his weight on his left leg. “Didn’t you repeat high school?”

You gasp beneath Eddie, turning your head at him. “You repeated high school?”

“Didn’t I tell you that?”

“Yeah but I forgot,” you rub your nose with the side of your finger. “I’m sorry. That must have sucked.”

It used to. Until you came back. 

Eddie’s mouth parts, but all that could come out was. “Wanna go back home?”

“I haven’t peed yet,”

“You’ve been talking to Steve for twenty minutes?” he exclaims his disdain over this fact, tightening his arm around you without even realizing it. “Alright, I’m taking you up to the bathroom,”

“Hey hey hey,” Steve reaches out to grasp Eddie’s elbow, clumsily but tight as he can see the drunken gloss in his eyes. “Where’d you think you’re going?”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said?”

“Oh I heard it loud and clear,” he scoffs. “You’re not taking a drunk girl to the toilet, Munson.”

Eddie turns, hiding you behind him and lets you pick on the loose thread of his vest. “And what do you expect me to do? Let her piss herself in here?” he wonders wherever Steve found the nerve to act all protective over you. “Sending her up there alone is more dangerous, Harrington.”

“And you think I’ll let you take her up there?”

“Hey, excuse me,” with your hands around Eddie’s torso, you spin, your cheek right on the DIO print of his vest. “If you’re thinking that Eddie would take advantage of me, h’wont. You don’t know him. He- he won’t do what you’re thinking,” you narrow your eyes at him. “You know, if you people would just take the time to get to know him, you’d know that he’s not a freak. Or that he’d sacrifice me to the devil, or some shit. He’s a really nice person and you’re just—judgemental morons. And I really need to fucking pee.”

Your sweet mien is stripped off. An austere look makes Steve stumble back, face flushed in embarrassment than inebriation. He sputters out an apology, his eyes sobering in genuity. But surprisingly, he apologizes to Eddie. “I’m just drunk. I know it’s not an excuse but… she’s my friend.”

Still, with your words that left his heart unveiling and pounding like a fast drum bass, Eddie nods his head at him in slight forgiveness. “I get it, man. No hard feelings.”

(But he still is jealous that Henderson liked him more.)

Eddie takes you into his arms, smiles reassuringly at you as he pushes your hair out of your face, and leads you up to the nearest bathroom.

Lamented and assured

To the lights and towns below

Faster than the speed of sound

Faster than we thought we'd go

Beneath the sound of hope

Eddie Munson had only been in love once.

But maybe he’s wrong.

You sit patiently in the passenger seat, swaying to a Barry Manilow mixtape you found in Fred’s house that Eddie didn’t stop you from taking. He watches you from inside the convenience store, the beep of the scanner faint as well as the jingle of coins.

He bids a quiet goodbye to the cashier and pockets his change, holding two water bottles in his hand, sauntering to his vibrating van, and hopping in with ease.

Your eyes snap open, wide in its demiurgic inebriation. Eddie shuts the car door, placing his bottle on the cup holder in front of the gear shift so he could open yours to save you the struggle before he hands it to you. “Sober up, princess,”

Although half-drunk, you manage to swallow his sobriquet and flush. Princess. Babe. Mandy. What’s next? Love of my life?

God, I kinda hope so.

Eddie’s got his eyes on you, searching for any signs of struggle as you open the bottle with a small grunt before you bring the plastic up to your lips, swallowing heavily. Your eyes flutter shut, eyelashes caressing the gentle skin of your cheeks as you moan.

“Shit,” you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “What’s in the water?”

“Special K,” he jokes, opening his own. “You sober yet?”

“I can physically feel it-” you gesture your hands to yourself, waving it in a downward motion as you swallow the thick saliva on the edge of your tongue. “-disappear. I can feel it go down to my bladder.”

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head as he faces the steering wheel and twists the key in the ignition. “Just make sure you don’t have to pee yet. I’m gonna take you somewhere,”

You screw the cap back on, tugging on the ends of your dress as solemn curiosity makes you look up at him through your eyelashes. “Ooh. Where ya takin’ me, Eds?”

“It’s a surprise,” he pulls out of the parking lot, watching carefully from the rearview mirror with his eyes squinted. “I take Dustin up there every morning to talk to his girlfriend. But there’s a special spot I’m taking you.”

“Dustin has a girlfriend?” you gasp. “I always thought he made that up,”

“Oh, but she’s very real,” 

Tucking the bottle beneath your chin, you wriggle your brows at him with a skittish look. It enamors him, and it can’t stop him from turning his head at you and smiling softly. He wishes this would last — a fortuitous moment of abundant reposefulness, in his shitty van with your presence gracing the darkness of his world. 

Your face reappears in the darkness whenever a streetlight passes by. And every spark, you grow even more beautiful despite the intoxication that drops a barbell onto your eyelids. Eddie watches the buildings disappear, replaced by old trees, huddled together beside the road that swishes and collides with the passing breeze. 

With the doo-wop music pleasing to your ears, you hum beneath your breath, hand reaching out to roll the windows down and peak your head out. The wind strokes your skin headily, but the attempt to sober you is in vain. At least, with the alcohol that’s left in your system; you're clearheaded enough to register the lyrics from the radio and Eddie’s words of carefulness. 

Unable to detach his eyes from the lengthy road, Eddie filches every moment he’d glance at you out of worry you’d get your head decapitated off a pole or anything that passes by. 

But the sight of you with your back arched against the open window, hands in the air and your hair across your tipsy face was enough to relieve his worry. Were his eyes cameras, he’d taken every picture at every blink he took and kept in his mind. Just in case he’d never see such an unfathomable sight again.

“Hey, Mandy,” he yells slightly. “Having fun there, girl?”

“Totally,” you sigh, teeth gleaming. “Are we there yet, Munson? The inside of my mouth’s getting all dry here.”

“Get back inside, then,” he glouts playfully. “We’re almost there, babe.”

He’s getting really fucking comfortable with those petnames, now. 

You slither yourself back inside, slumping on his chair, your dress ridden up to your thighs. Eddie blushes from his face to his chest, snapping his eyes back on the road as you squirm on your seat, tugging on the ends until you’ve settled properly and rose the window up halfway. 

He tugs on the collar of his Paranoid shirt, a stark contrast to his exposed, opalescent skin. “You had fun poking your head out the window?” he cocks a brow. “Or do you still wanna go chase the cars that pass by thinkin’ they’re treats?”

“Dick,” you kick his shin, dirt smudging on his blue jeans. 

Eddie stops beside a broken fence, the vibration of his van coming to a halt when he twists the keys from the ignition and pulls it off. You blindly open the car door much to his dismay, and hop off with bleary feet. He does the same, shuts the door the same time you did and watches you cross over the van until you stand in front of him.

But you look at the hills, high and dark; its luscious green grass unseen by the darkness. He watches your jaw relax and your blinks decelerate. 

“We’re gonna walk up there?” you say smally, fiddling with your rings. 

“You don’t wanna?” his left eye narrows, a small pout coming up to draw itself on his face. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna. I can try to drive my car up the hill. Unless you also don’t wanna climb up the hill then I can just take you wherever you wanna go.”

You shake your head, tugging on his leather bracelet, hooking your finger around the ornament and crossing the shattered fence. “I can do it. I’m—I’m sober enough. I think I just have to remove my shoes. Hold on,”

He crosses the fence first, planting his feet on the ground as you use him as leverage. You balance yourself on one foot, pulling on the laces of your shoes and pulling it until he sees your socks—blue covered in black bats. Eddie takes your shoe as you do the same to the other, until he’s got your high-cuts in one hand, and the other being pulled by you.

Everything was untroubled. Laughs shared when he trips and scrapes his bare knee on the uncut grass; your socks darkened by the damp soil, his white Reeboks the same. And Eddie matches your heavy huffs, the remaining energy on his body on his legs that continue to lift him up the hill.

When you reach the top, you half-yell in relief, bending with your hands on your knees. Eddie sets your shoes down, letting himself fall on his ass. Once you’ve obtained your spent breath, you plop down beside him. 

“Holy shit,” you press your hands on the earth below, shifting to rest on your knees. “Eds, we can see Hawkins from here,”

You see the lights that brighten up the town. The miniscule homes of the village from across,  the burnt Starcourt mall, the sirens that lead its way to the Hospital and the variegated radiance from the arcade. You gawp silently.

“Exactly why I took you up here,” he tugs down on your dress when the wind blows it up, keeping his eyes at your face. “And if you look very closely, or if you have the eyes of an owl, you can see the trailer park.”

He laughs amusingly when you squint your eyes. Eddie knows if he can’t see it, so can’t you. But you try, nonetheless. 

“I don’t see it,” you lament, sitting back down beside him. Eddie tries to ignore the weight you rest on his arm; the pinky that grazes his behind your backs for anchor, and how your bare legs graze his jeans but despite the covering, he can feel the heat radiating off your body. 

“You’ll see it better when the sun’s up,” he leans on his right arm, shoulder bumping yours when he reaches for his Lucky Strike pack. Eddie flips it open, his small lighter lodged to the side of his cigarettes. You peer over, chin on his shoulder. He pulls out one, sticking it between his middle and index before he uses his thumb to pull his lighter out. 

Then he looks at you, nose beside yours with the minimal proximity. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“No,” you say. “My dad smokes. The dad who adopted me, I mean.”

“I know,” he smiles before he sticks the cigarette between his lips. He shoves his pack back on his pocket, sitting back down. “Do you smoke?”

The question was muffled through a lisp, but was still understandable. “Haven’t tried,” you answer. “But I almost did. It was weed, actually, that shit you sell? When I came back during summer, Steve picked me up and he asked me if I wanted to get high,”

“Really?” The cigar bobs when he speaks, the hand that cups over lowers slightly, his thumb stopping on the sparkwheel. “How long have you and Harrington been friends?”

He finally lights it up, the white paper burning into a crisp orange until smoke begins to vent. “Since middle school. Met him after my parents adopted me from my foster care. They took me to Hawkins, our house was near his, and we were invited to dinner by Steve’s parents when they were still present in his life.”

A burning jealousy on the pit of his stomach, ignited not by the lighter. “Were you good friends?”

“I’d like to think we were,” you tilt your head back and look at him. Eddie feels your pinky tap his, which he taps back. “When his parents started going on business trips, and mine were…well, working in Hawkins, Steve and I hung out in either his bedroom or mine,” you smile at him. “But, we rarely talked when I left for New York. It was a phone call every three months. And then he picked us up at the airport,” 

He lets the smoke leave the corner of his lips, on the other side where you weren’t. “Did he, uh, tell you all that shit about Henderson and Wheeler?”

“Through the phone. It’s kind of crazy,” his heart flutters at your light smile. “You know, I’m not sure if I should tell you this shit or not, but he told me about this whole thing about- monsters, and all that crap. Demogorgons, demodogs, the Upside Down. The Mind Flayer-”

“What, like DnD?” Eddie snorts. “Maybe the little shrimp talked to him about it, who knows,”

“I mean, he was half-drunk when he told me,” your lips purse. “Either he played DnD, or he dreamt about it. I mean, I asked Nancy about the Starcourt fire but she wouldn’t tell me anything!”

Eddie takes another puff, a long one that reaches his lungs. “‘M pretty sure he was just stoned,”

“What about you?” he sees you observe the cigarette, but he’s sure you’d been looking at his hands first and his dimly lit rings. “How’d you know him?”

He taps his finger on the rod, chunks falling down on the grass on the minimal space between your legs. “High school,” his lips twist into a frown. “I had my first senior year with him. And- uh, he was a douchebag. King Steve,” Eddie nods his head, a sardonic smile offered to you. “And when Henderson came and said that he was awesome, kept on insisting, actually, it was hard to believe.”

“Did he ever, uh,”

“Call me a freak?” he finishes. “Once. Twice. Dunno. We crossed paths but never really met, I guess. We knew we existed in each other’s lives but we never really acknowledged. He was too gung ho on Nancy Wheeler,”

You chortle, a plain snort leaving you that renders him amused. “Oh, God. Nancy. D’you know Steve wouldn’t stop talking about her whenever he called me.”

“You ever get jealous?”

He hopes you say no. Never did. He’s my friend. Only ever liked him as a friend. I don’t like his hair, I don’t like his smug smile. Eddie doesn’t care if it deems him jealous. But there’s nothing bad in hoping, right?

“No,” you ponder for a bit. “Maybe,”

His heart sinks.

“Only because I wished someone talked about me the way he did to Nancy,” a pensive gloss covers your irises, lit by the vibrant colors of the town upon your grazing knees and swaying feet. “He sounded so in love. And I always thought about how she would feel if she knew someone talked about her like that.”

He sighs. “You never know,”

You think he’s in thought, with the way his shoulder presses against yours absentmindedly and the silence that’s drawn out from his peart mien. 

“I had this dream when I was a kid,” you whisper. “That I was the greatest pianist in the world. I was singing with Billy Joel and—everybody knew who I was,” Eddie smiles. “And, ever since that dream, I’ve taught myself how to be one of the greatest pianists in the World,”

You exert amenity towards him when he laughs bemusingly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” your eyebrows furrow for a split second. 

A sudden memory climbs its way to his head. “Do you remember back in middle school? We, uh, hung out a lot after the talent show. And- and all we did was play music,” He says it with slight uncertainty; he himself can barely remember all those times yet he based on a single memory. “We played this one song all the time.”

“Does Everyone Stare,” you answer. “The Police.”

“That one,” he nods his head. “Because it was the only song we knew how to play that had guitars and pianos.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you nod. “I can’t believe we forgot each other,”

“But I do remember some parts,” he takes a short hit. “You said that you wanted to marry Billy Joel, and then you kept on bragging to me how you could play Die Young like, fifty times,”

“Only the Good Die Young!” you correct him. “God, yes! I played that even when I was in Queens. My grandma loved that song.”

“I always wondered why you had a huge crush on him. He was old,”

“He was not!” you gasp.

Eddie shrugs, lips curling in amusement when a huff leaves his nose. “Yes he was! And it was a good reason for me to get jealous, too,”

Shit.

If he could, he’d ululate his stupidity into the sky and embarrass himself further because it’s already out now, isn’t it? But confirming your jealousy didn’t mean he’d harbored feelings for you, right? He could be jealous for other reasons like…

He doesn’t remember.

“Jealous?” you repeat. “You were jealous of Billy Joel because I liked him?”

“We were kids. Hell, I got jealous when Tommy H. brought his Nintendo to school. Or when Barb Holland—may she rest in peace—won class president. I get jealous all the time,” he snickers. “Don't let it get into your big head, Mandy.”

Double crossed between his lies and what you truly perceive, you shake your head mirthly. “Yeah. Okay, Munson.” you roll your eyes at him. “God I… whenever I played that song, I always imagined I was in a concert. With this… huge grand piano. I’d play for those snobby rich people, then I’d get roses thrown at me. I’d play so hard my fingers would bleed and they’d give me a standing ovation,”

Eddie smiles. “What a dream,” he looks away, chin on his neck when he looks down on his lap. “I’d be your first ever watcher. Then I’ll throw tomatoes at you and boo you off the stage,”

He looks back at you and you laugh jovially. 

The muddle of alcohol in your head almost makes you miss how his jaw clenches and his eyes soften. A solemn twinkle in his button eyes, nostrils flaring as he stares at you with the smoke on his cigarette flowing between the tangled strands of his hair. 

Suddenly nervous with his intense stare, you nod at his cigarette. “Can I-uh, try?”

Eddie blinks. “Yeah, sure.”

He offers it to you with a balk stutter on his hand. You lean over, your hand almost on his thigh as you wrap your lips around, lipstick staining the orange filter that leaves a pink coruscating shine. Brazen do you inhale, cheeks sucked in, gray smoke filling your lungs until you cough abruptly and push it away.

Smoke puffs when you cough and he laughs jubilantly. “Mandy!”

“Fuck,” your hand grasps his shoulder, the other covering your mouth. “Christ. No wonder why my dad says I shouldn’t smoke. Oh- shit. Ah.”

He pats around beside him. “We left our water in the car,”  

“Screw it. I’ll try again,” you wrap your hand around his wrist and take the cigarette in your mouth, sucking like your life had depended on it until Eddie himself has to pull it away. It’s a bit calmer this time, no coughs and only smoke. 

His palm meets the side of his hand to a mock applause. “Bravo.”

“Who taught you this?”

Eddie takes a short puff. “My old man,”

Your smile falls. “Oh, shit, sorry,”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “My…mom got mad when she found out. I was eight,” he licks his lips. “And, you know, I told myself I wouldn’t do it again. But highschool happened and before I knew it, I have a metal lunchbox full of packs and weed,”

You feel his pink shyly tap yours. “My mom used to take me up here,” Eddie continues. “Way before Dustin did and- we used to go up before the sunrise so we could watch it. When he was dead asleep,” he swallows thickly. “She’d make these sandwiches, chocolate and peanut butter, and we’d eat them while we watched the sun rise; and she’d point out all these butterflies,” he shows you his wrist where the insect lays. “And she said ‘Eddie, you must always cherish the beginning of a new day,’”

He mimics the voice of his mother in a high-pitched voice and a tone that lilts to a posh border. Eddie knows it’s not exactly her voice, but he loves a good impression.

“She sounds like an amazing person,” you whisper.

“She was,” Eddie muses, a melancholy wave that crashes on him as he lays on the undertow, helpless. “She always had this bubble of hope, even if my dad always popped it. She just kept on blowing, and smiling, and loving even though she was struggling and honestly,” he looks at you with a sad smile, “she’s one of the strongest women I’ve ever met,”

Your heart breaks the slightest. But he looks at you like the brightest star he's ever found.

“She always had a bubbly personality even when everything was tough,” he sighs. “And I haven’t done this. Watching the sunrise since she, y’know, because I always slept in,”

His chuckle makes you smile breathlessly. But it had been more wistful. There’s a mosaic of maudlin rings over your eyes, on the verge of shattering. “Is that why you took me up here?”

“Kind of,” he drops his head sideways. “There’s no sunrise, though. So I hope this will suffice,” 

“I’ll take anything you give me, Munson,” you smile softly. “It makes me happy, either way,”

Finally, your pinkies hook behind you. His finger is warm, bigger than yours but bears a whit of gracious familiarity. They hook, as thick as thieves; Eddie gifts you a smile so warm and loving that makes you lean close.

“Even if my van’s all run down and loud and on the verge of burning?” his eyebrow raises. “Or I stain your reputation?”

“I don’t even have a reputation,” you laugh. “But yes. Even if you van smells like marijuana and you, like, listen to Orgasmatron for god knows how many times. I’ll accept anything,” 

I’ll accept anything.

Eddie leans close, tobacco breaths exchanged, nose bumping with yours; his eyes are low and hooded, his eyelashes that tickle his cheeks when he blinks rapidly, fearing that once he opens his eyes you’re a mist within the gray smoke. And fuck, you’re pretty.

Prettier than the barely there stars above you, prettier than the morphing clouds that entice him at seven in the morning, prettier than Sweetheart (his beloved guitar, yes); prettier than everything else, you being the center of attention, the only attraction in his terrifying world. His heart pounds like he’s fallen down the rollercoaster, and it feels gratifyingly amazing.

Your pinky clutches his tightly in a silent promise. And he vows to keep it, whatever it may be.

“Just where our bones will rest,”

Befuddled, he pulls back slightly. “What?”

“I thought of a lyric,” although disappointed, Eddie finds it in himself to smile lightly. “My heart's on a string around my neck and I stare just where our bones will rest.” you say. “Shit, Eddie, do you have a ballpen?”

“Lucky for you, I do,” he reaches for his pocket again and pulls out a blue pen with the cap covered in small indentation of bites. You frown. “Sorry. I get nervous a lot.”

“It’s okay,” you unscrew the cap. “Um, fuck,”

You unlace your pinky from his, pulling your left forearm out so you’d write the lyric just above your inner elbow, small across the skin of your forearm. 

“I could get this tattooed,” you mutter. And then you look up at him with a proud, bright smile. 

“I could do it,” his shoulders raise to a shrug. “I mean, I mostly do my own tattoos,” Eddie shows you his arms—the butterfly on his wrist, the bats on his forearm, before he pulls on the collar of his shirt and shows you The Devil. “Either I use my machine or the stick and needle,”

“Didn’t know you knew how to do tattoos,” you narrow your eyes at him. “What’s next? You can fix cars,”

He almost says yes.

You reach to touch the tattoo on his forearm in awe, delicate finger grazing his inked skin, petting the hairs on his arm. “Seriously. I’ll do it, (y/n),” he chuckles. “Just gotta tell me when,”

With your eyes gilded in delirium, you nod. And he smiles.

Eddie Munson had only been in love once. 

But he had no idea he could fall in love twice. 

-

You could remember how delicate he’d been.

Eddie had taken you back to his home. The place dark and desolate with the missing presence of his beloved uncle. He’d sat you down on his couch, apologized for how messy the place had been and that you’re getting your first tattoo at some dingy trailer. And you remember how your words succored the insecurity out of him; how he visibly deflated in relief and knelt in front of you.

Although covered in latex, his hands were warm against your arm, but it was incomparable to the spark you felt when you looped your pinky around his. 

His words had saged the pain from the stabbing needles. Constant praises that made your stomach flip; ballyhoos that made your cheeks burn as your mind swallowed them in a way that you shouldn’t— “You’re doing a great job, babe” “Taking it so well, aren’t you, Mandy?” “I know it hurts, but it’ll feel good soon,” “Good girl.”

Good girl had been the last straw. 

Eddie was doing it on purpose, right? Or your mind was just too deep into the gutter?

He’d traced the words you wrote on your inner elbow in vigilant precision. Eddie was fruitless of failure, nothing amiss in the Stygian tattoo. Which left you in awe given that he’d used a stick and needle rather than the machine hidden somewhere beneath the depths of his dusted bed. 

When he was done, he lathered your arm with ointment before covering it with plastic—cling wrap. And he drove you home with smiles painting both the canvases of your faces; the inside of his van filled with nothing but twitching hands that yearn for reconciliation, and knowing looks exchanged between the music of The Police.

You had laid on your bed with the lingering feeling of his latex touch and his bona fide scrutiny that night. A silly smile on your face when you think of Eddie Munson; the boy who’d disappeared in your life who you miraculously found again.

special thanks to: @vendettaparker, @munsonquinns, @familyvideostevie, @applcrumbl for proofreading :3

PART TWO

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED 💕

#eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munsonx y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things one shot #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things smut #stranger things angst #stranger things fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction

[gh0ulixs]

Dating the Sinclair Brothers

ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ

Bo Sinclair

♡ The absent attachment type. He seems distant, emotionally and sometimes physically. It's the one way he knows best to show he cares about you.

♡ Likes it when you spend time with him at the service station. He'll sometimes play music on the old radio of his, going about his duties as you sit comfortably on the counter. "Almost like a pretty little trophy" as he claims.

♡ As hot-headed as he can be, he will instantly apologize big he even dares raise his voice at you. You're the only one in the house that can cool him off.

♡ Doesn't like you near Vincent or the Basement. He wants you to himself and also not dead, so he will always find ways to keep you occupied or away from both of those things.

♡ Will flirt with any man or woman to get them turned to sculptures, but God forbid you try flirting with someone else. He'll be pissed, and will make sure to show you who you really belong to afterwards.

♡ Calls you things like Darlin', Sugar, Doll, etc.

♡ Likes it when you cook for him. He'll always get seconds of whatever you make, no matter how simple or complex it is.

Vincent Sinclair

♡ Slightly codependent on you. He's always attached to the hip with you, never wanting you to leave for too long or be out of sight. If you're going out on the town, he's going too. No questions asked.

♡ Very insecure about his face. It takes a long while for him to fully trust you enough to take his mask off. Once he does, shower him with praise- he'll absolutely melt.

♡ He overworks himself often. He'll spend hours, even days at a time working on sculptures. You have to remind him to eat and take breaks, and even that takes a little bit of coaxing.

♡ He's very jealous. He hates it when you spend a little too much time with either of his brothers; worrying that they'll manage to steal you away from him. He will never out right say it, just sulk and give you the cold shoulder until you figure out what's wrong.

♡ Calls you thinks like Sugar, My Muse, Love, etc.

♡ Doesn't like it when you watch him work. He'll always try and shoo you out of the basement so you don't get scarred from what goes on down there. Even if you insist you're okay, he keeps his ground firm.

♡ Makes you little things out of Wax.

Lester Sinclair

♡ The sweetest man alive. He always helps you with anything you need- Need help with dinner? He's suddenly an experienced chef. Car troubles? He'll take a look and get Bo to help if he can't figure it out. He loves showing you he cares by lending you a hand.

♡ Brings you back bones from the animals he finds. It makes him so giddy to watch your eyes light up as he hands you the newest trinket he found.

♡ Jonesy loves you. He makes jokes about her loving you more than him, and takes you with him when he walks her.

♡ Doesn't get jealous very easily, although he's a tad insecure that you find his brother more attractive. Just shower him with love and assure him it's okay.

♡ Calls you things like Pumpkin, Angel, Sweetie, etc

#lester sinclair #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #house of wax #slashers #lester sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader

[lovelytsunoda]

this call is coming from inside the house // zhou guanyu

summary: y/n shows zhou one of her favourite small town fall traditions. it’s a shame that they can’t find their way out.

pairing: zhou guanyu x female! reader

warnings: getting lost in a corn maze, reader tells a story about how she failed her driving test the first time (but she passed the second time! that is what matters), brief talk about past regrets

i once fell in love, and it was gas…soon found out I had a heart of glass

she hummed along to the blondie song playing in the radio, pandora charms clinking into each other as she tapped on the steering wheel, her lovers hand resting gently on her thigh as they drove down the old country laneway.

“and there’s where I failed my driving test the first time. i still can’t park for shit.”

zhou laughed, gently rubbing his thumb in circles on her thigh. “babe, i hate to break this to you, but you still can’t park.”

“oh, fuck you.” she feigned offence, turning down a side street. “i have a backup camera now, my reverse parking has gotten so much better.”

she never thought she’d be here; showing the love of her life around the town where she grew up, introducing him to her parents. she’d come a long way from the shy, timid seventeen year old she was, grown into an outgoing, lively twenty-two year old.

and zhou was everything she could have ever asked for. he treated her like a queen every minute of every day, made her feel like she was alive, truly alive. he was her safe haven.

all it had taken for the two to meet was a chance trip to miami. y/n and her friends couldn’t get tickets to the gp, so they’d impulsively signed up to volunteer on race day. zhou had been in her car for the drivers parade, and he asked her out after the race that night. they had never looked back.

she pulled off the street and into the parking lot, indicator ticking in the background as she circled the parking lot, looking for somewhere to park the car.

“love, you might need to parallel park here.” zhou frowned, looking around for spaces. “the lot is packed.”

y/n cursed, lining up her car to parallel park into the only opening in the gravel lot. “god, please don’t watch this shitshow.”

with a laugh, her boyfriend covered his eyes, allowing his girlfriend to painstakingly put the car in reverse and back into a spot, eyes roving between the backup camera and the blind spot mirrors. her shitty parallel parking had been one of the reasons she’d failed her test in the first place.

finally parked, the couple stepped out of the red jetta, holding hands as they walked towards the farm entrance. they passed under a large orange sign proclaiming the farms official name, groups of excited children running back and forth over the grass, paper cups of apple cider in their hands.

she had worked there for three summers, and two falls, setting up the u-pick orchards and picking berries for the farmers market. and in the fall, she had the best task of all: helping plot the course for the corn maze.

the maze's path had barely changed in all the time that y/n had lived there, and there was something so quintessentially small town about it that reminded her just how different her upbringing was from zhou's

"babe, you've gotta be five pumpkins tall to go in the maze without an adult." zhou joked, pointing at the handpainted height sign: five cartoon pumpkins stacked on top of each other.

"you're lucky i love you." she laughs, putting her arms around her lower back and resting her cheek on his shoulder.

"i love you, too." he hummed, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead before wrapping his arm around her shoulders and venturing into the maze.

there was something magical about corn mazes, almost as if they existed in liminal space. the soft fall breeze carried with it the smell of grass, the odors from the petting zoo nearby and the apple cider stand by the entrance. her heart swelled with love as zhou took her hand in his, softly guiding her through the first corner of the maze.

"it's usually a left here." she hummed, pointing a black fingernail towards a bend in the path. "many things about this maze have changed over the years, but never this corner."

"it's no fun if you already know the way." he laughed, following y/n down the bend. "where's the guess work?"

"um, i'd rather leave the maze in one piece."

zhou squeezed her hand reassuringly as they turned left, boots crunching over the leaves underfoot as they walked, jacket sleeves pulled over their hands. "walk on the wild side with me, babe. i'm not going to let you die in a corn maze."

"fine." she sighed, slowing her walk as they approached another fork in the path. "three paths, i'll let you choose."

she knew that this portion used to go straight through the middle, but that it had been changed to the right hand pathway. and of course, her lovely boyfriend had picked the left hand path, and she had to bite her lip to stop the protest bubbling in her throat.

she was supposed to be having fun, not worrying about dying in the maze with no food or water. there was cell signal, so she could always call her brother if worst came to worst.

the passage was narrow, only wide enough for one person to walk comfortably, so she drifted behind zhou, still holding his hand. the wind ruffled his dark hair, and he looked back at her with a fond smile. she blew him a kiss, gripping his hand and wrist as they exited the passageway.

when there was enough space for them to stand side by side again, she moved to stand next to him, placing one hand on his smooth, soft skin and angling his head towards hers before she leaned in to kiss him softly.

"thank you for sharing this with me. i know coming back here wasn't easy for you." zhou said softly, wrapping his arms around her.

"it's not that it wasn't easy, i do love it here, with my parents, and with my brother . . . but i don't really have much left here, all of my good friends are out in the city, and i met them in college. it brings back some memories that i'm not so proud of."

zhou rubbed his thumbs along her sides, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "i know, sweetheart. i know."

she kissed him again, sighing into his kiss. "i love you."

"love you more."

there was a rustle behind them, followed by voices as another group of tourists pushed through the maze. zhou tugged on her arm, pulling her around another, more secluded corner. it was a dead end, but that didn't matter when zhou pulled her in for another kiss.

"what'd you do that for?" she chuckled, looping her arms around his neck.

"wanted to kiss you some more."

public displays of affection had never been zhou's thing. he was so calm and reserved and shy, and the idea of being so vulnerable where other people could see it made his skin itch. things like hand holding, and an arm around the shoulders, a gentle kiss on the forehead were normal, but he was very shy about kissing in public.

she kissed him back, lips curving up into a smile. his lips were soft and warm against her cold skin, his hands cradling her body.

he made her feel so goddamn loved.

"zhou, sweetie?" she hummed, giggling as he kissed her hairline. "i think you got us lost."

"no i didn't. i know exactly how we ended up here." zhou frowned, looking around the dead end space. "it was just through here." he dropped her hand, walking back the way they came. "but i'm not sure where to go from here."

"is that not what i just said?' y/n laughed, coming up beside him and looping her arm around his. "you should have listened to me."

"we should have dropped breadcrumbs."

"come on, i think i know how to get us out of here." she giggled, grabbing his hand. "maybe it's time you let me take the lead."

zhou followed her, a lovestruck look on his face as he watched y/n pick her way back the way that they came, and then down the cetner path.

when that path eventually got them turned around as well, all zhou could do was laugh.

"you were saying?"

"shut up. do you remember how we got here?"

it was a sheer miracle that they found their way out before sundown, but they managed, the sun low in the sky as they emerged triumphantly from the mouth of the maze, y/n's arms pumping up and down in triumph. zhou reached for her hand, pulling her in for a quick kiss when he was certain that nobody could see them.

"you're a genuis, babe." he gushed, draping his jacket over her shoulders. "now, do you want the petting zoo or the apple cider?"

"why not both? we have all night before the maze changes over to the haunted house experience."

"you mean we have to go through that thing again? but this time with animatronics and men in costumes?"

"um, of course! but we know the way through this time!"

he laughed as he squeezed her shoulder.

"you're lucky i love you."

BONUS

yourusername I would follow you into the dark (as long as you could get us out of it)

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @diorleclerc @lorarri @cartierre @oconso @thatsdemko @scuderiamh @sidcrosbyspuck @clemswrld @httpiastri @love4lando

#zhou guanyu #zhou guanyu x reader #the cozy collection 2023 #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #zhou guanyu x y/n #Spotify

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Hunting Monsters | Spencer Reid

Add yourself to my taglist! | Here’s my masterlist!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff!!!

Requested: Yes!

Hi! Could you do a f!reader x Spencer where it's Halloween and reader brings their kid to the office, kind of like that scene with Henry dressed as spencer. I just think it would be so much cuter if it was reader and his kid instead

Words: 2.289

Halloween. My favorite time of year, a close second to Christmas. I’ve always thought it to be the most comforting and calming time of year. The fall tastes of fresh, crisp new beginnings, and with it comes the fun holiday with the dressing up and the horror movies. 

Although, ever since having a kid four years ago, the way I went about the holiday changed drastically. Not that many horror movies were being watched and instead of going all out in dressing up, I went all-out dressing up my darling Poppy. 

Now that Poppy is four years old, it means she’s old enough to go trick-or-treating. 

It means I get to live vicariously through her. 

“Mama!” Poppy exclaims as she runs up to me when I pick her up from school. 

Smiling, I lift her up into my arms and pepper her chubby cheeks with kisses. “Had a fun day at school, Pop?” She nods her head vigorously, her blonde curls that mirrored her father’s bounce on her shoulders. “Wanna do something fun today?” I ask when I put her down again and guide her towards the car. 

“What, Mommy?” 

I buckle her in her seat and kiss her forehead. “We can go get some pumpkins and carve them? And maybe we can look through the fun costumes and pick out yours for trick-or-treating?” 

“Yes!” she claps her hands excitedly, bouncing in her seat. 

I let out a laugh before getting into the driver’s seat and driving us to the nearest Target with ABBA softly playing over the radio. Every once in a while, I catch Poppy singing along to her favorite songs, though it often sounds more like a mutter of phonetic sounds, but it melts my heart nonetheless. 

“Mommy,” Poppy starts when we have our pumpkin and are browsing through the Halloween costumes. 

“Yeah, Pumpkin?” 

“I don’t wanna go trick-or-treating,” she pouts, her bottom lip jutting out. 

I furrow my brows, slightly disappointed that my own daughter doesn’t share my joy for the holiday. “Why’s that?” 

“Jack tells me it’s the night all the monsters come out… I’m scared of monsters, mama.” 

A chuckle rolls off my lips. Of course Jack would’ve told her that during their last play date. He does enjoy scaring Poppy and Henry a little too much, no matter how innocent he may seem. I can’t force my daughter to go out on Halloween if she’s too scared to, even if it makes me sad.

“Okay, Pumpkin, if you really don’t wanna go, then you don’t have to. We can stay inside and watch our favorite Halloween movies, how’s that?” I suggest, hoping she might warm up to that idea and eventually, maybe, hopefully, feel brave enough to go trick-or-treating after all. 

“Yes! But then we need new pajamas,” she mumbles and I can’t help but laugh. 

She truly is my daughter. 

After procuring matching Halloween pajamas for all three of us and paying for everything, I take Poppy home where we carve out the pumpkin and decorate the house and porch together – or at least she helps for five minutes, then gets bored and leaves me to finish the rest. 

“All right, Pops, what do you think?” I ask her as I step back and inspect the decorated living room. 

Poppy grins. “I like it,” she says before getting distracted by her toys again. 

My smile mirrors hers as my phone dings, signaling a text coming through. I fish the device out of my back pocket to see who needs me. 

Hubby Spence ❤️: Just landed! Come pick me up? 

“Honey Pops, daddy just landed. Shall we go pick him up?” Her bright honey-colored eyes widen in excitement as she gets up on her chubby legs and rushes towards the door where she had left her shoes earlier. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” I mumble before following her out. 

The two of us make it to Quantico where the security guard lets us inside, already knowing who we are – though not without the usual showing of ID and Poppy’s favorite part; the beep-beep-machine. With our guest-badges pinned on, we make our way to the sixth floor. 

“Auntie Pen!” Poppy shrieks when the colorful blonde walks into the hallway just as the elevator doors open. 

Penelope, my best friend, gasped before crouching down and opening her arms for the four-year-old to run into. She wraps her chubby arms around Penelope’s neck in the squishiest hug she could possibly give. 

“Ooh, Honey Pops, have I missed you!” Penelope coos, smacking her lips on Poppy’s chubby cheek. My favorite sound in the whole wide world fills the BAU Headquarters hallway; my daughter’s giggles. 

As Penelope tickles the little girl, causing the giggles to get louder, the elevator dings and the doors open. Out comes the group of people I have come to love, one of which I have loved for over seven years now. 

“Daddy!” Poppy squeals as her eyes land on her dad. Letting go of the little girl, Penelope joins my side to watch the four-year-old rush over towards the tall thirty-five-year-old. Spencer swiftly scoops up his daughter and peppers her face with kisses. 

“Hi Popsicle,” he greets excitedly before greeting me with a chaste kiss. “What have you two been up to today?” he then asks her, the rest of his co-workers saying hi to me and Poppy. 

Poppy places her tiny index-finger on her chin as though she has to think about it. “Uhmmm, we went to the shop! And we bought a pupkin and made a face in it!” she explains cutely. “And mommy decorated the house!” 

Chuckling, Spencer and his co-workers glance over to me as I start to speak. “She also told me she doesn’t wanna go trick-or-treating,” I say before turning to Aaron Hotchner, the son’s father who scared her out of it. “Jack told her the monsters come out that night and now she’s scared.” 

Hotch lets out a soft laugh. “Maybe I should have some words with my son,” he says jokingly. 

“Popsicle, you don’t wanna go trick-or-treating?” Spencer asks, surprised. Poppy shakes her head, her blonde curls bouncing off her shoulders once again. “Because of the monsters?” She nods her head in response. 

JJ tucks a strand of blonde hair behind Poppy’s ear. “Your daddy fights monsters too, Poppy, don’t you wanna fight and catch the monsters too?” 

Furrowing her eyebrows, Poppy glances from JJ to her daddy and back. It’s like the gears behind her eyes are working overtime as she tries to think of an answer. I know she’s going to think about JJ’s words for a while, though I don’t think it would change her tiny little mind. 

“Okay, how about you say goodbye to everyone for now, Honey Pops,” I tell her. “We need to show daddy what else we got from Target.” Spencer glances over at me with a mix of surprise and confusion in his eyes. 

Spencer holds the girl out to everyone like an airplane, allowing her to do their usual ritual where she throws kisses at everyone whilst hovering in front of them on her father’s hand. The team let out a soft laugh and either blew kisses back or gave the little girl a wave as their goodbye. 

After Spencer and I say our goodbyes to the team as well, the three of us head back home. I can’t help but feel a sudden rush of bliss run through me as Spencer reaches over and grabs my hand from his spot in the passenger’s seat. It’s been days since we were last together before he left for the next case. Having him back home with us feels like the last puzzle piece falls into place, making our family complete again. 

“Daddy! Come look!” Poppy exclaims as soon as we walk into our house. 

As Spencer and I approach our daughter, she’s holding up the Halloween pajamas we’d bought earlier. Spencer lets out an overly excited gasp. “These are so cool!” he says, his smile reaching up to his ears. 

“These are for when we watch Halloween movies together!” Poppy explains before sitting down on the sofa. “Can I wear them tonight already, mommy?” 

I boop her nose before reaching for the bright orange set. “Sure thing, Honey Pops.” 

As I get Poppy ready for bed, Spencer empties his go-bag and gets it ready for the next case. Hearing him buzz around the house makes everything seem right. My heart is as happy as it should be around Halloween. 

“Mama,” Poppy starts when I tuck her into bed. 

“Yeah, Honey Pops?” 

She snuggles her face into her pillow. “Can I think about going trick-or-treating?” 

“Sure, honey, what makes you wanna change your mind?” I ask, wiping her blonde curls away from her face. 

Poppy shrugs. “Auntie Jay told me daddy catches monsters… I wanna catch monsters, too, mommy. I-I can do it on Halloween!” The grin on her face widens at the thought. 

A chuckle rolls off my lips. “Yes, you can!” The idea pops into my head and I lean in close to her ear to whisper it like a secret. “I might have the best idea for a costume, too.” Poppy lets out a gasp, her eyes glistening with curiosity and eagerness. 

On Halloween night, I get Poppy ready to go trick-or-treating. She’s jumping around, bouncing off the walls with excitement. After having talked about how fun trick-or-treating could be and coming up with a plan to catch all the monsters on her path, she’s finally agreed to go. 

“Shall we go show Daddy and the team?” I ask her as I put the pair of fake glasses on her nose. 

Poppy nods her head vigorously before grabbing my hand and basically dragging me out the door. Once we arrive at the BAU, Poppy skips through the hallways in her adorable little outfit. 

“Honey Pops, why don’t you wait here, give you a big entrance, huh?” She nods her head and hides behind the wall, allowing me to enter the bullpen through the glass doors where I find my husband and all his co-workers, talking about a local case they’d just returned from. 

Spencer’s face lights up when he sees me. “Hi, sweetheart,” he greets and kisses my cheek. “Where’s Pops?” 

“Remember how she was scared to go trick-or-treating?” Everyone nods their heads in response. “Well, her favorite auntie Jay managed to change her cute little genius brain as long as she could go as her all-time favorite profiler in the world…” 

Poppy shrieks as she runs into the room, showing off her combination of tiny dress pants, white button-down and sweater vest. The team’s eyes widen as do their smiles. Compliments and excited exclaims bounce off the walls. 

“Popsicle!” Spencer says excitedly as he crouches down in front of his daughter. “Who are you supposed to be?!” 

“You, daddy!” she giggles. 

“Like father, like daughter,” Morgan chuckles. 

While Spencer clips on his badge on her sweater vest, Poppy’s giggles fill up the room. I watch the two of them, allowing my insides to melt at the sight. Poppy is the spitting image of her father, though her nose is the only feature of mine that she inherited. 

JJ and Penelope crouch down in front of Poppy to fawn over her as Spencer stands up straight again and turns to me instead. His smile is captivating. “She’s quite the character, isn’t she?” 

“Like father, like daughter,” I repeat Morgan’s words. 

Spencer’s head tilts a little as he frowned, though the smile doesn’t vanish. “Her being excited about Halloween, that's all you, baby,” he points out. 

“Sure, but her interest in catching monsters? That's all you,” I retort. 

An excited squeal brings the both of us back to the room, tearing us away from our moment where it was just the two of us. Poppy was being thrown into the air by Morgan, her excited giggles turning into shrieks. 

“All right, let’s go, Honey Pops,” I order sweetly, grinning up at the flying child in the room. 

Morgan gently places her back on her feet. “Can daddy’s team come too?” she asks, glancing up at the adults surrounding her.

“No, honey,” I chuckle. “You have your own team with Henry and Jack.” 

Pouting, Poppy turns to her dad. “Will you be coming, daddy?” 

“You betcha,” Spencer grins and grabs her hand before guiding her towards the doors. 

My smile only widens as I watch my husband and daughter walk off, chatting about God-knows-what. Anything Spencer and Poppy do together is going to warm my heart. They’re my favorite people in the world and I want nothing more than to have them with me wherever I go. 

“Thanks for changing her mind, Jayj,” I say to JJ, who comes to stand beside me. 

The blonde chuckles. “She looks adorable. Like an actual miniature Spence.” 

“I know, it’s uncanny how alike they are.” 

“MOMMY!” Both Spencer and Poppy shout at the same time, capturing my attention from where they are at the door. I look up to find them impatiently waiting for me, ready to go trick-or-treating. 

“Duty calls,” I whisper to JJ and after having said goodbye to everyone, I join my husband and daughter out the door with JJ and Aaron, who were joining us on our trip. 

It’s safe to say Halloween became even more my favorite holiday, especially when I get to watch Spencer and Poppy go from house to house together with Henry and Jack, while I hang back with Will, JJ and Aaron.

This is just the start of many new traditions and I can’t wait to spend more holidays like this with my loving husband and our hyper, adorable little Poppy seed. Halloween will forever be my favorite holiday. 

Everything taglist: @calamitykaty @littlemissaddict @n0wornever @wanniiieeee @unnowhatthisistbh

#spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds

[autopumpkin]

How to use apple carplay and Android auto on car stereo https://ift.tt/fvdFTsV

#IFTTT #Blogger #android 5.1 car dvd #android car radio #pumpkin car radio #android car stereo #andro

[64yrsold]

ACHES 5. sunshower

18+ (please see masterlist for cw) aches masterlist previous (4)

“You live close to the bar,” he noticed, hands tight on the steering wheel. I wished he’d reach over, hold one hand to the inside of my thigh. 

“Yeah,” I clasped my hands together, “Convenient, I suppose.”

“Sure,” he nodded, his hand opening on the wheel as he turned right. “You go there a lot?”

“I guess,” I uncrossed my ankles, and crossed them again. “Not a concerning amount.”

“‘Course not.”

I listened to the low hum of his car. He kept the radio off, which made me focus on the sound of my breathing. 

“Do you live in the city?” I asked, since he asked about where I lived. And I didn’t want to admit that I did go to the bar a concerning amount.

“No, I’m just visiting for a bit.” He looked over his shoulder as he changed lanes. All his stops and starts were smooth, and he never went too fast around corners. The way he drove nearly lulled me to sleep.

“You have family here?” 

“No,” he laughed, then cleared his throat, “No.” He flicked on the heating, adjusting the vent to wash over my stiff hands.

“So you’re gonna disappear on me in a few days?” I joked, hoping he understood my sarcasm.

“This car turns into a pumpkin at midnight,” he shrugged. Then, more seriously, “I’m here a week longer.”

“Well,” I patted his shoulder, “Thanks for giving me one of your evenings.”

“Two,” he corrected, with a shiny smile. 

“That was more of a night, I think,” I returned his smile with a bigger one, squeezing my interlocked fingers back together so I wouldn't reach out for him again.

“Sure was,” he looked at me, winking. My heart rolled over.

We had slept together.

I swallowed, not unhappy, but feeling embarrassed. This was a new fucking low, completely blacking out and sleeping with a stranger in a random hotel room. I could’ve been killed. I could feel all the excitement of the evening seep from my pores, leaving an adrenaline-like emptiness. My pulse battered its way up my neck.

“We’re here,” he parked the car, “Ready?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“So, at that point, I wasn’t even really listening to her,” he rambled, chin resting neatly on his open palm. His fingers tapped his cheek steadily, a metronome which I watched closely, waiting for the seconds to dissipate. “I mean, who says something like that? So I told her–”

“Matty,” I interjected timidly, setting my fork on the pristine napkin, “I think I should go.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he sat up straight, picking up his cup of wine, “Let me take you home.”

“Thank you, but,” I grimaced, clearing my throat. I smoothed the white tablecloth in front of me. “I think… I don’t think it’s working.”

His glass paused on his lips, “You don’t think it’s working?” He blinked slowly, voice distorted from the cup.

“You’re really lovely,” I smiled, and he set his glass down quickly. I sighed, “I just don’t think I’m the girl for you.”

His eyes looked down at his thumbs, which traced the edge of each other slowly. “Why not?” he was quiet, mumbling.

“Listen, I’m really sorry,” I urged, standing from the table, “It was great getting to know you.”

“Yeah,” he stood, reaching out, then tucking his hand behind his neck, “Yeah, you too.”

“I’m sorry,” I squeaked for a final time, letting my eyes linger on his furrowed brow. My lips formed a goodbye, but I couldn’t manage to speak it aloud. I turned, leaving him in the restaurant alone. My heart was thudding painfully in my chest.

“Wait!” I heard him call, and I stopped on the sidewalk. I didn’t look back, frozen as I heard him run up behind me. “I didn’t sleep with you.”

I turned to face him, his eyes wide with panic.

“Oh.”

“No,” he shook his head forcefully, knocking a few curls loose onto his forehead. “You were drunk. I… I would never.”

“I thought you were drunk too,” I picked at the corner of my thumb, ripping the skin into jagged pieces. “You were drunk when we left the bar.”

“I, um,” he was frantically scraping his hands through his neatly gelled hair, “I just sober up quickly, to be honest.”

“Okay,” I tried to find some sort of courage to tell him I had completely blacked out.

“I don’t know why I fucking winked at you,” he laughed, without humour. “I’m so fucking nervous, I’m trying not to fuck this up.”

“I don’t want to either,” I assured him, noticing his shoulders relax as I spoke. He thumbed at the corner of his mouth, pursing his lips. His hands were busy without a cigarette occupying them.

“I really like you,” he took a careful step forward, slipping a hand behind my elbow. He held it there gingerly, like a hummingbird over a flower. “I got you something.”

“What?” I frowned, “You don’t need to buy me anything.”

He smiled, “Just let me show you first.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket– which I was still wearing– pulling out a small jewelry case. It was sleek and expensive. He looked at me with a star in his iris. “Marry me?”

“Um,” I sputtered, my mouth opening and closing stupidly.

He laughed quietly, “Kidding.” 

“Oh, fuck you,” I sighed, then fell silent as he opened the case. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet, simple with small diamond stars dangling at even intervals. “I can’t take that.”

“It might be a bit big,” he fussed, taking the bracelet out of the case, “Give me your arm, sweetheart.”

“I can’t have that,” I traced my fingers over my wrist, shaking my head. The bracelet sparkled like sunshower between his fingers. 

“The diamonds are fake,” he reached for my hand, clasping the bracelet around my cold wrist easily. “Fits perfect.”

“Promise they’re fake.”

“They’re fake.”

“Because if–”

“I want you to have it, please. To remember our first night.” His eyebrows tucked into each other, pleading. 

I didn’t remember our first night. “Okay.”

His hands were still on my wrist, his thumb pressed to the inside of it.

“I can take you home now.”

“Okay.”

His palm moved to cover mine, holding my hand firmly. He pulled me to his car, opening the door for me. When I fastened my seatbelt, he stared down at me, leaning against the roof of the car. I looked up at him, watching his mouth twitch and threaten to speak. He just let his pupils fill his irises, licking his bottom smiling lip. He closed the door.

-> next (6)

#matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty

[firefly-in-darkness]

Hopelessly Devoted

Pairing → Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary → You visited the Harvest Festival and your boyfriend, James 'Bucky' Barnes surprised you.

Word Count → 1.3k words

Warnings → none, fluffy lovey dovey stuff.

Beta → none.

Prompts/Bingo Cards

AFG Square Fill → Grease AU - @anyfandomgoesbingo

AF Fluff Square Fill → Carving initials in a tree - @anyfandomfluffbingo

Sebastian Stan Square Fill → Blindfold - @sebastianstanbingo

Writer's Note → Well, it's been a while since I wrote anything, let alone shared it on here. This was something I had written last year and just gone over it briefly so hope you enjoy it.

Summer was fading; the sun was setting earlier, and the cool breeze was picking up. Bright greens, blues, and yellows disappeared and replaced with oranges, reds, and browns. Fall was fast approaching, and you didn’t mind one bit. Cozy cardigans, knitted stockings, roaring fires, and hot chocolate were calling your name.

The town’s Harvest Festival was in full swing; pumpkin patches, hayrides, corn mazes, and even hosted a fairground with a Ferris wheel and arcade games. Everyone from town was there, including you and your cousin, Danny. Who had conveniently just left you to show off his bowling skills to his girlfriend, Sandy.

"Hey Doll," the low timbre sent a wave of giddiness through your body.

"Hey yourself," you turned to James and returned his lopsided grin.

James was wearing all black and the trademark T-bird leather jacket. His hair wasn’t as slicked back as earlier. It was a little fluffier, and you prefered it that way too.

He presented a small stuffed teddy bear, "Told you I’d win something for you before night fell."

"And how much did that cost you? I bet the amount you spent would have bought three of these from the store!" You wrapped the bear in your arms as you teased your boyfriend.

"Where’s the fun in that?" He puffed out his chest in faux machoness, "Gotta prove my worth to a Zuko."

You giggled as he exaggerated and flexed his biceps. He turned his head to the side, and you kissed his cheek.

"Thank you, I love it."

His eyes sparkled with mischief, "Let's get out of here."

"What are you planning, mister?" Your eyes narrowed at him in jest.

“Follow me.”

Your gingham skirt and petticoat fluttered out and around you with each step as you skipped to keep up with James' longer strides. You bypassed the bright and colorful fairground. The laughter and joyful screams echoed with each stand and ride you left behind.

James didn’t stop at the coconut shy to show off his throwing skills or the Ferris wheel to charm you with whispered sweet nothings and to kiss you at the top. Instead, he diverted you to the exit and straight to his car.

James held the door open for you as you gathered your skirts and climbed into the car. He raced around the front with a massive grin, slid inside, and handed you the soft blue tie he had worn to prom last year. You'd only been on a couple of dates by the time prom had come around, but he'd made your heart swoon at the gesture of matching the color of your dress.

"It’s a blindfold. I want this all to be a surprise,” the quick explanation eased your confusion.

You nodded and placed the material over your eyes. It wasn’t thick enough to block out the light but obscured your vision enough to not see much in front of you. You tried to tie it but fumbled. James’ hands covered yours and took over.

“Are you going to tell me anything?”

"No, Doll. It will spoil it, but we'll be there in about 10 minutes."

Butterflies erupted in your belly, excited for what lies ahead. You thought of all the places that could be nearby and what the surprise could be. Maybe you were going to have one of those giant sundaes at Frosty Palace, or you were going to see a movie at the drive-in.

The engine started, and you released a small yelp. James laughed as you tried to regain your composure. The familiar sounds of the crackling radio filled the car. You relaxed against the leather bench and enjoyed the sounds of Bill Haley and His Comets.

The absence of Bucky's touch was brief as he held your hand while he drove. You're sure he could hear the race of your heartbeat, but you didn’t care. 

The car pulled to a stop, and you heard Bucky open and close the car door before opening yours.  A cool breeze wrapped around your exposed calves, and a shiver ran down your spine. It wasn’t long before Bucky's warm hand took yours. You climbed out of the car as gracefully as possible. A slight snigger from Bucky had you doubting how well you achieved that.

You focused on your other senses and tried to work out where you were. The soft ground under your pumps meant you weren’t on the sidewalk. Birds chirped above, the slight rustle underfoot and the sweet scent of flowers wafted around. You almost screamed at the feel of something tickling your legs. You managed to choke it down but earned another snigger from James.

"Barnes, you're cruisin'." You mustered up a stern voice.

You lost James’ touch without a word. Your heart dropped as you reached out to find nothing.

"James?"

"I'm here. Gimme a sec, doll."

Your heartbeat returned to normal, and the fear of being left alone was gone as quickly as it had entered your mind. 

"Okay, I'm going to come up behind you now."

You felt the warmth before his torso pressed into your back. His body encircled, and a not-so-unfamiliar feeling ignited in your belly as he whispered in your ear.

"Hope you like this doll. You deserve the best."

James removed the blindfold, and it took a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the fading sunlight. Slowly, you looked out over the golden meadow. The blanket, a wicker basket at one, and James’ leather boots on the other, at the foot of the oak tree made your smile widen.

You turned to James with your hands on his chest, "A picnic? For me? Oh, you shouldn't have."

He smirked and lightly kissed your forehead, "I definitely should have.”

Your head rested on Bucky's lap, his arm draped across your waist underneath the makeshift blanket of his leather jacket. Stomachs full from sandwiches and treats. The peace of being close to one another brought unbreakable smiles to your faces.

"Y'know what, doll, I'm so glad Ma moved out of Brooklyn last year. I miss home. But I’d never have met you if I hadn't come here."

You grinned up at him and caressed his cheek, enjoying the scratch from the stubble on his jaw. James leaned into your palm and peppered a kiss there.

His face contorted away from adoration to neutral in a flash. You might have missed the shift if you didn’t know him as well as you did.

“What you thinkin’ about stud?”

“Nothing, it's silly,” his cheeks tinged pink, and he looked away.

Gently, you turned his face towards your line of sight, “This is silly.”

You pulled a ridiculous face with your eyes crossed and tongue sticking out while rocking your head from side to side. James chuckled, and the crinkle of his eyes warmed your heart.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips.

“I’m hopelessly devoted to you,” He whispered back and kissed you once more.

After you enjoyed the last moments of the sunset, Bucky helped you to stand up. You brushed your skirt down and draped his jacket over your shoulders. Then you heard the sound of clicking and scraping.

You followed the noise to find James braced against the tree trunk. You unashamedly gazed at how his muscular arms and back shifted under his top. The propped foot at the roots gave an enticing shape to his behind in the already tight black denim. You almost missed him calling out your name.

Bucky moved away from the tree, closing and pocketing the pen knife to reveal his handiwork.

Yours and his name inside a heart, etched into the bark, for all eternity.

Tag List - it's been a while so please letme know if you would like to be removed from this.

@aeo10fan @capsgrl @charmedbysarge @coffeebooksandfandom @eclipses-and-moondust @emmabarnes @escapingthoughtsandsecrets @foxyjwls007 @gooddaykate @guera31 @ihatecats123 @im-squished @impala1967dwinchester @justagirlinafandomworld @justanotherblonde23 @justile @kalesrebellion @leyannrae @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @nekoannie-chan @queenoftheunderdark @quinjetboi @redbarn1995 @selen-o-phile @starryeyeseunbyul @stuckonjbbarnes @stuckysavedmylive @suchababie @supraveng @valsworldofcreativity @vicmc624 @vintagepigeon @weird-mumbling @wiccanmetallicrose @writerwrites @doasyoudesireandlive @princessmisery666 @rainbowkisses31 @little-diable @ajaviary @pottahishotasf @itsamarvelfan-writes

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#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes Fic #Bucky Barnes x Female Reader #Bucky Barnes Fluff #Bucky Barnes Fanfic #Bucky Barnes Fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #James Bucky Barnes

[joelswritingmistress]

Last Halloween: Chapter 18

Summary: After a tragedy involving Joel happened on Halloween one year prior, the town now shuns him while ignoring the details of the now closed case. You are seemingly the only one to offer empathy to a man the town is making out to be a monster.

Warning: Violence, angst

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

The man in the skeleton mask held you firmly in place upon helping you back to your feet. Your hands were held behind your back and each time you tried to wriggle free it left an ache in your wrists.

"Let her go!" Joel shouted from his position on the ground as he struggled against the other assailant. When he got in one good swing, connecting with the witch mask, the third man ran in to join his buddy.

You watched in horror as the two of them took turns landing punched on Joel's body and face. No matter how loud you shrieked, begging for them to stop, they continued on.

Joel managed to fight back at first but the two of them wore him down, double-teaming the beating with ease. The man holding you back laughed wickedly in your ear as you cried.

"Stop it!" You hollered so shrill that your voice cracked and squeaked. You did everything you could to get out of the stranger's grasps but his strength was too great, even when you got in a backwards head-butt to his mouth.

"That's enough, Vic," the witch muffled through the mask, staring down at Joel on the ground.

"What the fuck is the matter with you!" Vic rushed up to him, putting the face his mask against his friend's. "Don't use my fuckin' name."

"I'm sorry." The man put his hands up. "Let's go. Let's get out of here."

The both looked down at Joel on the ground from behind their masks.

"No, we ain't done yet," Vic said.

"You're gonna kill him," the witch chimed in.

"Leave him alone!" You screamed again. Your eyes burned with tears. Seeing Joel bloody and battered on the ground was too much for you to take.

"She called the cops," the skeleton shouted over your shoulder. "Let's just get out of here."

Vic, a menacing shape behind his pumpkin mask, stood over Joel, contemplating what to do next. When he heard sirens in the distance, his posture changed from confident to anxiously alert.

"Let's get out of here," the witch said again, prompting a grunt from behind the pumpkin mask.

Vic then slowly walked up to you, making you turn your head as the foamy texture of the mask grazed your face. You closed your eyes and more tears rolled down you face.

"If you tell the cops about this fuckin' idiot saying my name, I'll fuckin' kill you. I got no problem with that."

You kept your eyes shut and face looking away to not give him the satisfaction.

"You hear me?" He asked, and then shouted in your face to make you jump. "Do you hear me!?"

Your lips were trembling but your red-rimmed eyes stared back into the triangular, black pits on the outside of the mask. Despite the position you were in you didn't bow down to him.

"Fuck you," you whispered, which somehow felt more powerful than a yell. You added, "Vic," to the end of the sentence and it immediately caused him to raise his hand and make you flinch, though his palm didn't come down across your face.

A rumble of laughter came through his chest, satisfied by your reaction and he edged backwards, signaling for his friends to follow him. When the skeleton released you, you rushed up to Joel who laid in the fetal position in the grass.

"Joel," you got down on the ground beside him and touched his already-swollen face. "Joel, talk to me if you can. Joel!"

He raised a hand to touch yours with his eyes closed and coughed, spitting blood everywhere as he did.

When the police cars finally flew down the driveway you couldn't reel in the hysterics you were in. Trying to give a statement was nearly impossible as you choked on your words and tears continued to stream the length of your face.

Steve rushed up to where you were with another office, who radioed for an ambulance. When he hugged you, you let him.

"Tell me what happened," he begged, "Please."

You pulled back, still sobbing and tried to calm yourself enough to speak clearly. "Vic." You sniffed in. "It was him. Him and two other guys in masks. They tried to kill him, Steve. Vic would have killed him."

You dropped back to the ground beside Joel despite being asked to stand back.

"Joel, I'm sorry," you cried, touching his face again. "I'm sorry. I love you, I really do. I'm sorry."

You held his hand and only backed away when the paramedics arrived to load him into the ambulance.

"We're going to arrest him for this," Steve told you as you rushed into the back of the ambulance to be with Joel.

With your hair hanging down on both sides of you face, you looked down toward your feet as an EMT put a blanket around your shoulders.

"I'll believe that when it happens."

"We're following you to the hospital to get a statement," Steve told you. "We've been out looking for Champagne all afternoon. No one could find him after the incident at the junkyard."

You lifted your eyes to meet Steve's and then the door closed to secure the ambulance shut. He continued to look at you through the glass before the vehicle drove away with the sirens blaring.

Joel laid on a stretcher beside you with his eyes closed, though he managed to link his first two fingers with your hand.

"Is he going to be okay?" You asked.

The man tending to his injuries glanced over at you. "We're getting him to the hospital as fast as we can. I don't know if there is internal bleeding." His eyes met yours from over the top of his medical mask, "We're going to get there as fast as we can."

...

Sitting in the waiting room was torture to your heart and soul. The medical staff had practically forced you to be away from Joel, and you finally complied when they told you his health depended on them getting him the proper care he needed.

As promised, Steve and, thankfully, Officer Tate were made aware of your location and came to get more details of what happened.

"A brick crashed though the front window," you began, reiterating every detail you could remember. "There were three of them, they all had masks on. One was a pumpkin mask, the other a witch and a skeleton."

"Did they take the masks off?" Steve asked, beginning to scribble in a small notepad from his shirt pocket.

"No."

"How are certain it was Vic?"

You looked him directly in the eyes. "Because one of the guys addressed him as Vic. And he got really pissed off and told his friend not to address him by name. And he also told me if I gave you that information that he would kill me." You added, "And I know the sound of his voice."

"We have the whole 9-1-1 call on file," Officer Tate informed you. "So we're going to revisit the audio."

"Tell me this asshole isn't going to get away with this," you begged in a shaky, quiet voice. "Because he had some bullshit mask on."

"He's not going to walk. We have a task force out there looking for him right now," Steve informed you.

"Oh do you?" You asked in a cold tone, "Because in my experience in this town, they'll locate him and let him go. Maybe give him a medal for being Joel half to death." Your anger morphed into an overwhelming sadness that brought you to tears again.

Officer Tate put a hand on your back as you put a hand over your eyes.

"This sucks when you can't even get the protection you need from the police."

"We're on your side," Officer Tate assured you.

"I know you are," you said, lifting your eyes to meet hers. "It's the rest of them that I don't trust." You looked back to Steve now who you half-expected to be staring at you with a glare in his eyes. He wasn't.

Steve squatted down to be level with your eyes in the chair where you says. "Look. I've been a jerk in the past and I know I've been bitter since you broke up with me." He briefly eyed Officer Tate but quickly looked back to you. "But I'm a good cop. I took this job to make our community better; safer. I will do everything to get this guy and bring him down."

You sniffed in and dried your eyes. "Yeah? Prove it."

CLICK HERE FOR CHAPTER 19

@untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @grogusmum @ghostwritesthings @strawbunnyx @ayamenimthiriel @noisynightmarepoetry @jiminstinypinky @tuquoquebrute @pedr0swh0r3 @runningmom94 @mellymbee

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #joel miller x oc #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller fanart #protective joel #joel x y/n #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x ofc

[peqchsoup]

Pumpkin | dbf!Joel Miller x Reader headcanons

a/n: I haven't written anything in a hot minute and I really want to write a chaptered fic but I don't wanna pressure myself so I'm starting with headcanons and then building up from there

This is set in a 'no outbreak' setting because life's better when you pretend things never happened :)

This is a sfw version, but I'll probs do a nsfw version too!

Pet names - Joel has always called his daughter Sarah "babygirl", so it goes unnoticed by your parents when Joel begins to call you Pumpkin and Sweetpea. He tags it onto the end of his sentences, whether he's getting you something or asking you a favour, he's always got an endearing term to add on the end.

Joel's lying under his truck with his toolbox sitting open beside his knee. You're sitting on a cushion next to him, radio playing quietly and a can of soda in your hand. Suddenly you see his hand appear from under the car, "could you pass me the wrench, princess." You blush and pluck the wrench from his toolbox, making sure your hand grazes his when you place it in his palm, "thanks, Pumpkin."

Movie night - Every Friday night, Sarah stays at a friends house for a movie night and sleepover. So, you and Joel made Friday night your own movie night too. You would slip over the road from your house, avoiding your parents' house (which was situated next door to Joel's) as much as possible. Joel always supplied the beers from his beer fridge in the kitchen, but you took turns in supplying the popcorn and choosing the movie. On the weeks you brought the popcorn, Joel would often pick a cheesy Spaghetti Western that you would talk over. On the weeks he supplied the popcorn, you made him watch romcoms, even though you knew he wasn't watching them. What you didn't know was that he wasn't watching them because he couldn't take his eyes off of you; especially the smile on your face when the characters finally got together.

Your eyes lit up when Natalie and the Prime Minister kissed on your third watch of Love Actually in 6 months. Joel smiled softly and thought about all of the times he kissed you. He needed to kiss you more. He needed to show you just how far he was falling in love with you. His heart ached in his chest when you turned his way, eyes tearing up at the on-screen kiss, and lay your head on his chest so you could cuddle up to him.

Music - When the house across the street from your parents' and Joel's houses went up for sale, you were quick to get a deposit down, thanking yourself for all of the saving you did while you were in college and then living with your parents for the last couple of years. Joel knew you worked from home on Wednesdays so he would make sure he didn't work those days in order to come over and sit on the sofa in your home office, plucking away at his guitar and serenading you while you were trying to write reports.

Joel let himself in through the French Doors of your home office. You were typing furiously, a long email showing on your screen, so he placed your breakfast bagel on the desk and planted a kiss on your head. You smiled to acknowledge his presence, and he took that as his cue to manouver to your sofa. He pulled out his guitar and started playing "Here Comes The Sun". It was the first thing he played every week, without fail. When you asked him why one day, he replied with "it's the first thing that came to my mind the day I fell in love with you."

#the last of us #pedro pascal #dbf!joel miller #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #reader insert #sfw #joels a big softie

[ghostofskywalker]

i am so tired right now and accidentally deleted the ask instead of clicking "answer", so this ficlet is for an anon who requested "can our goal be not to die today" - "that seems like a lot to ask" with harley quinn! i hope you enjoy it :)

words: 818

What a Night

summary: you should have known what you were getting into when you began hanging out with her, but of course sometimes love is truly blind.

harley quinn masterlist || request a winter ficlet!

“Hey Harley!” you yelled from the passenger seat of the car. 

She didn’t listen, and you didn’t really have a way to confirm this from where you were sitting, but you had a feeling that the gas pedal of the car you were riding in was practically resting on the floor of the car, and she had no intention of changing that any time soon. 

“What’s up pumpkin?” How she had the confidence to look over and shoot you a smile while the car was weaving in and out of Gotham traffic at full speed was beyond your comprehension, and you certainly didn’t feel safer for it. 

“Can our goal be not to die today?” 

Something (you thought it might have been a whole watermelon, but you honestly weren’t too sure) came flying off the truck in front of you, and Harley swerved just before it made contact with the windshield. “I don’t know!” she called out, as even though the windows were closed the radio was turned up inexplicably loud. “That seems like a lot to ask!” 

“I don’t feel like it is!” 

The sound of gunshots joined the cacophony of Gotham’s night noises, and you were sure that they had to be raining down all around the car. You should have really expected some kind of chaos to start when you hang around Harley, and maybe you should have said no to tonight, but you couldn’t help it. Even now, with a manic glint in her eye as she played fast and loose with the traffic rules of Gotham (and your lives), you could see something special about her, and it wasn’t just the crazy color combinations she wore. 

Maybe falling in love was admitting when you’re too doomed to ignore it, and there was no questioning that anymore. You thought that your friendship with the exuberant ex-criminal was right at the point where it could shift to be something more, and you couldn’t help the way you hoped that something would happen to trigger that change in the near future. You would have never guessed that you would be speeding through the streets of Gotham with her, but you supposed this probably wasn’t the craziest thing she’s ever done. 

Thankfully, it felt like the stakes of the evening took a momentary pause when Harley pulled into an alley and opened the driver’s door of the car. “What are you doing?” you called, just finally beginning to gather your bearings about what was going on. 

“No time to explain!” she called, right as she took off running. “Follow me!”

With what you felt like was no other choice, you obeyed, and the two of you finally ended up in an abandoned warehouse. Old building materials, shattered window shards, and forgotten furniture laid beneath a thick blanket of dust, and you were just thankful to finally be granted a moment this evening in which you weren’t in active danger of dying. 

“Who were those people?” you asked between heaving pants, wishing that you had access to water (or something else to quench your thirst). 

Harley shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said, with a tone that was way too nonchalant for your liking. “I can hardly ever keep track of who wants to kill me these days.”

“Can we leave this place?” 

Again, she shrugged, the smile on her face only growing. “Why would you want to?” 

Your eyebrows shot up. “Have you seen this place? I don’t think it’s been in use since before Batman was born.”

She just laughed, reaching down to take your hand. “Fine grumpy. I can take you home now, how’s that?” 

“Are we actually going to make it there, or are we going to die two blocks away?” 

“I don’t know!” She giggled as she began to pull you back towards the car. “And isn’t that the fun part of all this?” 

“I think you and I have different definitions of fun Harley.” 

“Oh?” she stopped in her tracks. “And what would you consider fun?” 

“I don’t know, maybe dinner out somewhere? Anywhere where I’m not in mortal peril, really.” 

You hadn’t even realized what you said until you watched her expression shift. “Is this your way of asking me out?” 

Maybe it was the insane car chase you had just experienced, a side effect of the adrenaline that was so obviously pumping through your body right now, but you didn’t shy away. “And what if it is? Would you say yes?” 

Harley answered your question by leaning in to steal a kiss from you, just before she turned and sprinted away from you, gleeful laughter escaping her mouth as she shouted something about racing her back to the car. 

And with the potential of another kiss (and one even better than that) suddenly on the table, you took off running after her, this time a little less worried about your life.

- the end -

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#winterficlets23 #harley quinn #harley quinn x reader #harley quinn x you #harley quinn fanfiction #dc x reader