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mappingthesky · 2 days

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“why am I always your second choice?" + planymphia 🤭

i am SO glad you asked for this anon, bc i've had something along these lines in the works for a while now.. this isn't exactly that, but here's something very close and very angsty:

There's so, so much that Nymphia loves about Jane, but right now, as Jane is storming through the apartment, there are a few things that Nymphia hates.

Nymphia hates that Jane is hurting. She hates that she's so angry she doesn't want to be touched or spoken to, that something has her shutting the door and turning on the shower and standing under the hot water until it runs runs cold. What Nymphia really hates more than anything is that she doesn't know what's wrong. That Jane has twisted her mind into tight, angry knots, and won't let Nymphia close enough to untangle them.

Nymphia sits in bed, sort of nauseated by the whole thing. There's something that unsettles her about seeing Jane, bold and unabashed and fearless Jane, so distressed. She feels helpless against it, like she's watching a storm cloud darken the sky and doesn't know the right words to quell the rain.

When Jane finally shuffles into the room she's wet-haired and puffy-eyed and silent. Nymphia's heart sinks. She knows what's going to happen next: Jane will be quiet. She'll keep her back turned while she pulls the t-shirt over her head, towels her hair, chews on her cheek. The conversation goes exactly like she thinks it will: Nymphia says something like 'baby', and it sounds like a plea, even though she hasn't asked anything yet. Jane doesn't respond, and Nymphia tries again, because she's never ready to give up on Jane.

"Hey," Nymphia crawls to the end of the bed, "what's wrong?"

"I'm okay, Nymph." Jane's voice is thin and flat and wholly unconvincing.

"No you're not." Nymphia's voice is tender and dripping with worry. "Talk to me."

Jane finally turns, not meeting Nymphia's eyes. "It's fine, babe. I don't want to talk about it."

Not with me, Nymphia thinks, because she knows what will happen when she presses. Jane's going to say something like-

"I'm good, I promise. I think I'm gonna call Saph, or Morphine, or something, and then-. "

"Jane," Nymphia hears her own voice, desperate and hardened, interjecting. And then she doesn't know what's going to happen next, because this hasn't happened before. "Can't you talk to me about this?"

Nymphia keeps trying, "I'm here, I'm listening," but Jane's already shaking her head and starting, "Nymph-".

"No," the words that have been collecting in a hard lump at the back of Nymphia's throat suddenly shift free, coming out hard and firm and desperate. "Don't shut me out on this, Jane. Please."

Jane's mouth twists and she catches her tongue between her teeth, looking like she's desperate to escape. "Just give me a few minutes with them, okay? I'll be off the phone in ten minutes and then we can just-"

"Why can't you tell me what's going on? No really, Jane. Why?" Nymphia's voice is strained, and then she feels sort of terrible because she's supposed to be comforting Jane, but her own eyes are prickling with tears when she says, "don't you trust me?"

Jane's sigh is the sound of heartbreak, and then she crosses the room to sit on the edge of the bed. Her hand finds Nymphia's shoulder and her eyes search for Nymphia's face, but she's turned away and twisting her face to hold back her tears.

"Baby," Jane smooths her hair, tucking a long, dark strand behind Nymphia's ear. "Of course I trust you, you know I do."

Nymphia sniffles. "So why can't you just talk to me about this? Why is it always someone else? Why am I always your second choice?"

"Hey. Look at me." Jane's hand moves to the small of Nymphia's back, eyes pointed with guilt when she finally faces Jane with downturned, watery eyes. "You're never my second choice, alright? Never. I never want to hear you say that again."

Nymphia chews on the inside of her cheek. She knows, and still she doesn't. Jane's expression is heavy with concern and sharpened with guilt and after a while she can't look at Nymphia anymore, because it hurts that she's the reason Nymphia thought, even for a second, that there was anyone Jane could ever put above her. The feeling slices through her, cutting deep enough to expose what she's really thinking.

"It's hard for me. To talk about this stuff," Jane says. Its a start.

Nymphia peers over, thinking for a while. "It's hard for me too," she offers quietly. "You know that. But I tell you everything, Jane."

"I know." One corner of Jane's mouth lifts into the hint of a smile, a break in the clouds. "I envy that about you, y'know. How you can just say how you're feeling."

"It's not so hard with you," Nymphia sniffles and picks at her cuticles. "Not for me."

"I'm glad, baby. You can always tell me how you're feeling." Jane says. It's a bit ironic, almost a cop out. The question Nymphia doesn't ask hangs heavy in the air. She doesn't have to say anything, Jane knows.

"I don't know," Jane says after a while, a bit tentative, her hand softening on Nymphia's shoulder. "Saph, she's gotten me through a lot. Seen the worst of it, I guess, and... well, you know how she is."

Nymphia nods, because she does know, but it's not enough. "I just want you to be able to talk to me like that. You know you can, don't you? I would never judge you."

"Yeah, I know," Jane nods, eyes unfocused and somewhere far off. "I guess.. I just get so angry sometimes. I don't know why. I don't want you to see that." There's something more ghosting behind her lips, and Nymphia doesn't think she's going to let it out. And then, Jane surprises her. "I don't want to scare you," Jane splits herself open, her voice almost a whisper.

Jane sounds so small, so vulnerable when she says it that Nymphia can't stop her bottom lip from curling into a pout. Its true, what Nymphia says when she reaches out to touch Jane's face, when Jane's eyes meet her own:

"I'm not afraid."

Jane looks back reverently. In her eyes, still red and puffy, there's a hint of a glimmer. A ray of light piercing through the darkened sky. "You promise?"

"Promise," Nymphia holds out her pinky, kissing her thumb when Jane links her own little finger and does the same. "I hate to tell you this, but you're not as scary as you think. Can you tell me what's wrong now?"

Jane sighs and flops back on the bed. And Nymphia's there - watching, coaxing, waiting. Nymphia's always going to be there. Knowing this, Jane finally lets it happen - the surrender of her entire self, the soft parts, the ugly. It happens, and when she's done talking about it and there are tears staining her cheeks and she's starting to feel just a little bit lighter, she looks over. Nymphia is still there, still loving her, and looking at her with an unexpected smile that says something like you can't scare me off so easily.

#she writes #planymphia #it would be nice if i could write something casually and not turn it into a novel but alas #prompt

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soulinkpoetry · 1 month

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When his love enters my soul…

Music by Glorybox -Portishead ( Live at Roseland 1998)

#souls entwined #love #romance #soulinkpoetry #poetry #thoughts #feelings #making music together #she writes #poets on tumblr #poets corner #writers and poets #poetrycommunity

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nookisms · 1 year

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A love poem for the Last Universal Common Ancestor, the last of its kind and the first of our own at the beginning of the world.

#LUCA #Last Universal Common Ancestor #wikipedia poetry #wikipedia poem #poetry #she speks #she speks originale #she writes #my poetry

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kookygranger · 5 months

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Fairytale of Hawkins: Part One

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

A cheesy hallmark Christmas fic inspired by @bettyfrommars's tow truck!Eddie and prompts #1 & #6 from Betty and @allthingsjoeq's Holiday Prompt Party

Summary: You're spending Christmas in your best friend Robin's hometown this year, after spending far too many alone in the city. She can't wait to introduce you to the gang and all the wholesome festive activities they get up to, but you may have already made a not-so-good first (and second) impression on a certain metalhead in the first few days of your visit.

Warnings: mention of car crashing into snowbank (no damage), reader gets drunk (happy holidays!), reader doesn't have family, reader and Eddie are in their late 20s/early 30s, swearing

Word count: 4.4k

Author's note: I've spent far too long agonising over this when it's supposed to be silly and fun and not perfect, so please just have this first part and ignore me screaming into a pillow in the corner.

Part Two

6 Days 'Til Christmas

You really weren’t feeling the holiday spirit this year.

Not that you normally did.

Christmas for you, meant taking advantage of a quiet city, spending the hours alone walking the empty streets and having nothing but smoked salmon and champagne for dinner without feeling guilty. Sometimes (every Christmas), you’d let a corny Hallmark movie play on your TV and cringe and laugh at the predictableness of it all. Maybe, you’d be a bit quieter when the lovesick couple inevitably kissed at the end, maybe you’d pour yourself a little more champagne.

The aesthetic of the holiday season itself, you didn’t mind so much. The pretty twinkling lights, spiced hot drinks, and cookies you could take. But the frenzied crowds, all the talk of “goodwill” and “Christmas cheer”, when all you had to do was spend an hour in a department store to witness the real ugliness of humanity – hard pass. And let’s not forget Christmas day itself, either people would be spending it stuck with family, passive-aggressive comments and secrets coming out after the first few rounds of spiked punch, or they’d be forcefully and painfully reminded of just how lonely they were in this world.

The snow was nice. You secretly enjoyed the quiet and stillness a fresh blanket of snow could bring to the city. But out here in the sticks? Snow was your worst enemy.

Once your heart had settled back to a normal pace, you got out of the car to assess the damage. There was no smoke coming from places it shouldn’t, no visible scratches or dents that you could see – but there was also no way in hell that you were getting this car out of the snowbank you’d crashed into. At least the deer you swerved to avoid was probably off in the trees to your left with its family, living to frolic another day.

“Shit.”

You had no idea where you were. Already lost on the horrible directions your best friend Robin had given you before that damn deer came out of nowhere. The snow was coming down faster than the street plows could keep up with, your hair drenched in a few minutes as another shiver ran through your whole body.

Hawkins was cold. Like, freezing. You always thought winter was winter, but they really took it to another level here in the Midwest.

The day still had a little light left in it, but darkness was fast approaching. You decided the smart thing to do was wait in the car and hope that somebody driving by would be able to help. Or pretend to help before murdering you. Well, you didn’t think walking on a fairly deserted road in the middle of a snowstorm when you had no idea which direction to go would produce better results. So, you waited.

And waited.

Oh god, you were gonna die here all alone. You never should’ve let Robin talk you into coming home with her for Christmas. You could be happily wrapped up in blankets in your climate-controlled apartment with a warm mug of eggnog right now.

Wait! The rum you bought for making eggnog with Robin.

You scramble to reach over the car’s middle console, hands rummaging through the paper bags on the floor in the back until you find the smooth glass neck of a bottle.

The rum burns your throat on the way down with the first swig, but the edge is taken off soon after with a couple more swallows – the familiar warmth settling into your skin once you’ve polished off about a quarter of the bottle. You curl up into your seat, tucking your legs into your coat and holding the bottle of rum close to your chest.

Distracted by the fuzzy feeling seeping into your head and thoughts of which picture of you they’d use to announce your death on the local news, you don’t notice the sound of a truck approaching or its headlights shining across the back of your car.

Maybe Robin will give them a good one of you on vacation together in The Bahamas last year. God, you wish you’d gone somewhere warm instead.

You almost jump out of your skin, letting out an involuntary squeak when someone knocks on your window. Barely making out the shape of a man with wild hair through the condensation that had fogged up the glass.

“You alright in there?”

Please don’t be a murderer, please don’t be a murderer, please don’t be a murderer.

You open the car door and step out on shaky legs, almost stacking it when your feet are swallowed by a much thicker blanket of snow than you were expecting. The man reaches out to steady you, his hands engulfing your forearms as you look up at your rescuer. Or potential downfall. A black beanie covers the top of his head but does little to protect the rest of his wild curls that fall across his shoulders from the still falling snow. You briefly take note of the blue coveralls with a name sewn in red thread across his heart, before you’re sucked in by the worried look in his brown doe eyes.

“Are you alright?”

You nod, stuttering when you try and speak, gesturing to the car behind you and then to the road. “I–the car, there was a–and then, the ice just sort of…”

The stranger straightens up, the warmth from his hands leaving you as he eyes you wearily, “You been drink driving?”

“What? No! God, no…I–I,” you take a deep breath, trying to compose the thoughts that were tumbling too fast out of your mouth. God, he was pretty. “After I realised I wasn’t going anywhere,” you point to the front of the car, barely visible from the snow piled around it, “I may have opened a bottle of rum to keep warm.”

He scoffs a little meanly, “You realise that’s not how it works right? You actually lose heat faster when you’re drunk.”

A tingling warmth crawls up your neck at his scolding and you shrug, “Well, I thought if I was gonna die I might as well do it with a good buzz.”

He squints at you, his stare stony and you can’t tell what you’ve done to warrant this level of offence from a total stranger. Was he helping you or not? “You’re not from around here are you?”

You straighten up reflexively, shoulders going back in defence, “What makes you say that?”

He gestures vaguely to all of you, “Well, apart from the fact that you ooze city girl,” you frown, “it’s a small town. I woulda remembered you if you grew up here.”

He didn’t say it with a smirk or a sly look at your body. You knew it wasn’t meant as a compliment. Not a ‘you’re so pretty I would’ve remembered you’ but a ‘you stand out in all the wrong ways’.

“Okay, um,” you look around and notice his truck parked behind him, disbelief painting your face when you turn back to him and take in the ‘Munson Motors’ patch on the other side of his name. “Would you be able to help me?”

He answers with a frown as if the question itself is offensive. He has a tow truck and you're stranded on the side of the road in below-zero conditions. Of course, he’s going to help you.

Eddie, goes straight to work hooking up your car to the back of his truck, pulling it out of the snowbank and parking off to the side of the road again as you stand out of the way and watch, shivering now that the freezing outside air has begun to sober you up.

When he jumps back out of the truck to check your car is secure, he clears his throat, speaking to you like he's continuing a conversation, “How long you been out here?”

Your breath catches in a cloud of condensation as you exhale. “What’s the time?”

He pulls back the blue fabric of his left sleeve to check his watch, “Quarter past six.”

“Oh, um…a couple of hours I think.” It had been 45 minutes.

He nods as he gives a chain one final tug. “Guess no one’s come past ‘cause it’d be dumb to drive around in these conditions.”

You had to hold back from reflexively rolling your eyes. Here comes the mansplain.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be driving without chains on your tires.”

You huff, “Well, it’s not my car and I was only popping out to the store to get some groceries…an–and I got lost and then a deer just–” You wave your hand across the road stumbling over your words as the stupidly pretty tow truck driver turns to you and raises his eyebrows. “Forget it.” You sighed, “Is the car gonna be alright?”

Eddie licks his bottom lip, his intense gaze starting to heat you up again as he slowly nods. “The car will be fine. I can drop you and it off if you’ve got an address for me in town.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

***

A sigh leaves you as the warmth of the truck cab engulfs you, the smell of tobacco and the black ice magic tree hanging from the rearview mirror, along with something woodsy surrounding you on the inhale.

“Where to?” Eddie plops himself into the driver’s seat, pulling out onto the road as you give him Robin’s parent's address.

The ride there is mostly quiet, aside from the low hum of a Black Sabbath song coming out of the speakers, and you get the feeling Eddie the tow truck guy doesn’t take well to city girls getting themselves into sticky situations on his roads. You’re starting to feel a little silly yourself as the rum buzz well and truly wears off. This was a little too damsel in distress-y for your liking. You were an independent woman for god sake, the best solution you could come up with was getting drunk before an incredibly well-timed, handsome local had to come to your rescue?

As soon as Eddie pulls up to the curb he’s jumping out of the truck, clearly not wanting to spend another minute in awkward silence. You were never really good at small talk.

It isn’t until the passenger side door slams behind you that you notice the yelling.

“Oh my god! I thought you were for sure dead!”

Robin almost knocks you onto the sidewalk when she slams into you.

“Oh, I was so worried! I kept telling my dad, I think I told her the wrong directions. I told you to turn right on Maple when you should have turned left–“Her arms flail about in the air as she rambles in a panic and you just smile at her.

“Rob, I’m fine. I got to the shops okay in the end, it was getting back that was the problem. Then this deer ran out in front of me and I lost control when I swerved.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I almost killed you. You haven’t even been in town a full day!” She squishes your cheeks in between her hands, and you laugh.

Once she’s satisfied that you’re okay, she turns to Eddie as he walks up to the both of you. “Thanks for bringing my girl back alive Munson.” Robin beams and you notice Eddie’s eyes darting between the both of you, things clicking into place before she tackles him with a hug.

“Nice to see ya Buckley.” You hear Eddie mumble something into Robin’s hair and she laughs.

Figures. He was that Eddie. The metalhead with a heart of gold. Fantasy nerd that you were “going to love.” Obviously, your mind hadn’t immediately associated the grumpy tow truck driver Eddie with the one you’d heard hundreds of stories about, the one that was supposed to be warm and quick to welcome outsiders. Maybe it was just you?

“The car’ll be fine. Might just take a little while to warm up next time you go to start it, but if you have any issues just drop it by the shop.” He speaks directly to Robin as if it were her that he’d just rescued from the side of the road.

She thanked him with an affectionate punch to the shoulder and you tried to catch his eye before he turned away.

“Thanks again, for uh–for your help.”

He just nods, eyes briefly making contact with yours before they flit away again and he walks back to his truck.

“Don’t let her get lost again. It’s only gonna get colder over the next week.” He shouts before he slams his door shut behind him.

You turn to Robin who’s cheerily waving him off.

“Cold-er? It gets cold-er?!”

***

5 Days 'Til Christmas

“This is ridiculous.” Condensation forms around your huffs of breath, Jack Frost nipping at the tip of your nose and cheeks as you pull your coat tighter around you, stumbling slightly on the icy ground.

“The only thing ridiculous is your dress sense.” Robin giggles, pausing to let you catch up with her, arm linking with your own as you cross the car park together.

“This is my favourite coat.” You pout.

She shakes her head, “I know it is. And I know how much it cost, but we need to get you something sturdier and some thermals or something.” Her free hand rubs the thin, expensive material on your shoulder.

“Maybe, we should just stop leaving the house.” You grumble, causing Robin to knock her shoulder against yours.

“C’mon! I know we’re meeting everyone in a couple of days, but when Steve told me Jonathan and Nance we’re going to be at the bar tonight as well I thought it’d be the perfect opportunity for you to meet the grown-ups first.”

“Aren’t the kids at college now?”

You’d learnt a lot about Robin’s chosen family over the years. Having met Steve multiple times when he came to visit her in the city and been regaled by countless stories of the trouble they’d all gotten up to in high school.

“Yeah, but they’re not legal drinking age yet and it’ll be much easier meeting everyone else without them around trust me.”

The Hideout definitely wasn’t anything like the bars you frequented in the city, and you couldn’t help thinking about where you were a week ago – an office Christmas party that involved two-hundred-dollar bottles of champagne and coke in the marbled bathrooms – as your weather inappropriate shoes found the sticky floor and your nose wrinkled involuntarily at the smell, eyes wandering over the small crowd of mostly old men hunched over their half-empty drinks.

“Charming,” you murmur, Robin’s arm tightening its hold on you upon seeing her best friend waving at the both of you across the room.

“Hey dingus,” She ruffles Steve’s hair as you approach the group sitting around a small wooden table.

“Hey numbnut.” He was quick to push his hair back, everything but a lonely strand falling back into perfect place. Robin took an empty chair, while Steve captured you in a much-needed embrace, greeting you warmly and without a childish nickname.

He kept an arm around your shoulder as he introduced you to the three other occupants of the table. You shake Nancy and Jonathan’s hand, smiling at the way they held each other, but when you hold out your hand to their friend Argyle he just laughs and gets up to hug you with a “Come here my lil’ city slicker.” The scent of pineapple and pot clinging to you as you take a seat while Steve heads to the bar to get you and Robin a drink.

“Where’s Eddie?”

The pang that jolts you at Robin’s casual mention of her friend’s name is slightly concerning.

“He’s over there with the guys.” You follow Jonathan’s gesture to a group of boys standing next to a makeshift stage at the far end of the bar. A tousle of brown waves in a leather jacket stands with his back to you with three others dressed much the same, all drinking beer and laughing. You couldn’t see his face, but even from here you notice his shoulders look more relaxed than he was during your encounter yesterday.

Maybe you’d get to see the “warm” Eddie now that he wasn’t having to haul your car out of the snow.

Steve returns to your table with drinks and takes the seat next to you, reaching over your shoulders to pinch Robin when she complains about hers not having enough ice before letting his arm relax around you. Steve had seamlessly fit himself into your life when you first met just as he always did in any situation, and you knew that he could sense your nerves about meeting the rest of the group. You just hoped he didn’t pick up on any nerves about the presence of one in particular.

“Nice of you to join us Buckley.”

You tense as Eddie appears at the table and Steve squeezes your shoulder, smirking into his drink.

Never fucking mind.

“Oh my god, you guys I have to tell you all about Eddie’s hero moment yesterday!”

As Robin captures the attention of the group with a dramatic retelling of yesterday’s events, your eyes wander to your reluctant rescuer. He was yet to acknowledge your existence, only rubbing his neck and blushing when praise was thrown his way. His attention is mostly on Robin’s theatrics before it shifts, and you notice his gaze land on something by your shoulder. You look down at Steve’s hand still resting there and when you look back up your eyes catch shining, dark chocolate ones.

You’re the first to break the spell, eyes quickly landing on the table, unable to hold his intense stare.

When Robin finishes her story you excuse yourself to get another drink, having nervously gulped yours down already and you pass Steve on your way back to the table.

“Hey, can you give these to Eddie? He’s just outside. I need to take a leak, thanks.” He walks away quickly, leaving you with a packet of cigarettes in your hand.

***

Eddie stands with his back to you, leaning against the brick of the bar as you exit the swinging door, a blast of arctic air hitting you as you immediately wrap your arms around yourself.

“Hey.”

He spins around at the sound of your voice.

“Uh, Steve said you needed to borrow a smoke?” You hold up the pack.

He stares at you for a second before he lifts an unlit cigarette in between his fingers.

“I’m all good. Bummed one off Gareth.”

You nod and shove the carton in your coat pocket.

“You smoke?”

“God no, I value my lungs. These are Steve’s.” You shake your head and Eddie raises his eyebrows, pausing in his motion to light the cigarette now pursed between his lips, the yellow flame from his scuffed bic lighter flickering in the chilled breeze.

He releases his thumb from the lighter, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and frowning at it.

“So uh, I didn’t expect you and Buckley to show up tonight.”

You grip your coat tighter around you, it’s far too cold to be out here but you’re pleasantly surprised that he’s initiating conversation with you. “Oh yeah, Robin dragged me out of the house to come see some lame band. Personally, I think it’s too cold to do anything other than drink tea under a pile of blankets but–“

“Robin said they were lame?”

“What?”

“The band playing here tonight, she said they were lame?”

“No, she just mentioned that they’re here every Tuesday,” you look up at the neon signage hanging above the door, missing a ‘d’ with a barely flickering ‘o’ and shrug, “I figured–“

“Hey, Ed!” One of the boys Eddie had been standing with earlier pops his head out of the bar door, giving you a curt nod when you turn around. “You ready? We’re on in two.”

“Yeah, just give us a sec.”

The boy disappears back behind the door and you screw your eyes shut. Of course it was his band.

“Shit, Eddie I’m sor–“

“You always just say things without thinking?” His arms are crossed, eyes squinting at you in that offended disbelief that seemed to be reserved just for you and your big mouth.

You sigh, “Only around you apparently.”

You swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch. “Why’s that city girl?”

The nickname could almost pass as a term of endearment, the way it comes out of him in a drawl if it wasn’t for your terrible first and second impressions preceding you.

You shake your head, “Never mind. I’m gonna–“ You point your thumb behind your shoulder, “Yeah,” and walk back inside before you manage to say anything else idiotic, Eddie grinning after your retreating form.

***

You watch Eddie thrash about on stage under the haze of a couple of shots, needing a little liquid courage before you could throw yourself back into socialising – at least you seemed to be getting along with the rest of the group.

His skin was glowing with sweat under the cheap yellow stage lights, leather jacket abandoned so you could now see the tattoos peaking out from under his tattered old band shirt. One that hugged his biceps as they flexed with the ferocity of his guitar playing. Holy shit.

When he jumps off stage and approaches his friends, you can’t take your eyes off the damp hair that sticks to his neck and forehead.

“You guys were amazing.”

He bows his head at your compliment. The two of you now slightly off to the side of the rest of the group as they figure out whose round it is. “Not lame then?”

“No,” you shake your head, “no, I shouldn’t have–that was shitty of me to judge without hearing you. To judge, full stop. I’m not like that normally. I know you think I’m just some city girl who’s completely out of touch but I’m just–I got a bit nervous about meeting you all and making a good impression for Robin. I’m sorry.”

He rubs the back of his neck, “S’nothin’ to apologise for. Not like we’re playing The Garden or anything.”

“That doesn’t matter.” You frown, “You’re great–I mean the band are great–I can tell that you all love playing up there no matter the audience. That’s what’s important.”

“Thanks.” His soft tone and doe eyes threaten to swallow you whole. You look away, burning up under his attention again.

“You’re welcome.”

“We’re playing pool now, I need you on my team c’mon.” Robin wraps her arms around you and drags you away before Eddie gets the chance to keep you talking.

***

“Wait, Steve! You’re not driving?” You cringe at Robin’s slurred volume as she shouts across the small car park, thankful this isn’t a residential area.

“Pfft no! I’ve had way too many. I’m going in Nance’s car.” She glares at her best friend as he follows Jonathan and Argyle, waving her off.

“How are we getting home?!” She raises her arms in exasperation and turns to you as if you’d be able to offer a solution, the creaking of the bar door opening behind you grabbing both of your attention as Eddie steps out. He stops short, car keys coming to a halt mid-swing when he notices eyes on him.

“Eddieeee.” Robin sing-songs, wrapping her arm around your shoulder. His eyebrow quirks up. “Fancy dropping off two gorgeous young girls and making sure they get home safe?” She leans her head into yours and you giggle.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Yeah whatever, get in.”

Robin turns away abruptly to head towards his van, leaving you to stumble without the support, Eddie’s warm hands brace your arms before you even have time to think.

“You good?”

You nod, “Had a lot to drink.”

He huffs a laugh as you sway, breath stuttering when you look up at him, “Yeah, you did.”

The snow that falls around you two lands softly on your face, melting in your hair and on your eyelashes as you crinkle your nose.

“It’s so cold.”

He licks his bottom lip, “Right, right let’s get you home yeah?”

***

Despite Robin’s clumsy nature she always manages to stay light on her feet when she’s drunk. So, by the time Eddie pulls up to the Buckley residence she’s shooting out of the van, cackling at her own joke while you’re still trying to undo your seatbelt. Eddie tells you to stay still before he jogs to the passenger side and unhooks you, holding onto your arm as you step down onto the ground on wobbly legs.

“Where’s Robin?” You look around, the front yard frosted in snow that’s warmed by yellow fairy lights hanging around the edges of the house, but noticeably void of your charmingly sassy friend.

“She’s already inside. Here, let me get you to the door.”

His hands help steady you, guiding you to safety up the icy path, one stretching over your lower back the other holding your elbow. You hadn’t noticed his rings before now, silver glinting under the lights now directly above you as you walk up to the front porch. These hands adorned in skulls seemed to keep coming to your rescue. But you don’t need some hot tow truck, sexy guitarist guy coming to your rescue. You’re a capable, independent woman.

You feel Eddie’s breath on the back of your neck when he laughs softly.

“You think I’m sexy huh?”

You frown as you stop at the front door, shaking your head “What, why would you think that?”

“’Cause you just said it.”

“Out loud?!”

He snickers as you bury your face in your hands, “I have to stop drinking around you.”

Eddie bites his lip as you slip through the front door mumbling a good night and close it behind you without another glance at his smug face. He’s still smiling as he turns the ignition, the radio on low as Fairytale of New York fills his van with warmth. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head before pulling away from the curb, this fuzzy feeling in his chest not something that’s familiar to him.

“Fuck.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #stranger things au #stranger things fanfiction #towtruck!eddie #steve harrington #robin buckley #promptparty #she writes

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cannivalisms · 1 month

Text

the opening to my dissertation (it is meant to count for 90% of my grade)

#getting a little silly wiv it #original writing #writeblr #the oresteia #mythology #notnow #she writes #<- tags mainly for my reference #the dissertation is structured in two acts: elektra/pylades' wedding night and orestes/hermione's. the order is interchangeable #im. having a good time with her but shes also meant to be 12k words and due next thursday so you know.#the silliness is being strained out of me with associated sweat and tears

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sheawritesstuff · 2 months

Text

Sorry Mama

[Pre-Sam Darlin and Marie Greer - mentioned Quinn]

[Angst - Hurt/Comfort - 1347 words]

[TW: Violence, Brief Thoughts of Death]

It didn't start as anything too out of the ordinary. Tank was upset Quinn wouldn’t let them spend any time with other people. He always claimed their friends were bad news and only stuck around to try and split up their relationship. None of them cared for them like he did. No one else could understand them as he did. And even though they were not allowed to spend any sort of time with people he didn’t approve of, he would be gone for hours at a time doing who knows what with any number of people Tank didn’t even know.

It was a standard argument that followed them out into the park and toward wherever Quinn planned on running off to…Then it escalated.

There was screaming and pushing that led to threats and full-on fighting. Teeth, fists, fangs, claws. They both came out of it pretty beat up, but Quinn played dirtier. When they saw the chance to shove his “lover” head first into the ground and run into the night, he took it.

So Tank laid face-down in the mud, feeling the blood seep into their clothes. They considered just closing their eyes and letting go - letting the pain win and float them down the river of death. They felt their ribs ache as they took a deep breath in. Slowly, they moved their arms up and pushed against the ground. Whole body shaking, they lifted their torso out of the mud and rolled over. Their back hit the ground with a thud, causing another jolt of pain to run up their spine. Staring up at the stars reminded them of everyone waiting for them, the whole pack wondering where they’d gone and when they were coming back.

They pulled their knees up and grabbed at their legs to sit themself up. They winced and clenched their teeth. Once they were upright, they pressed their palms back down in the mud. “Alrighty,” they groaned. “Up we go.”

Their whole body screamed as they pushed upward but after an agonizing minute, they were on their feet. They swayed back and forth uneasily as they reoriented themself. With a deep breath, they shifted into their wolf form and began the slow, painful journey.

The route was so familiar it was practically second nature. Going from Quinn’s place to Marie’s after one of their fights was a disappointingly frequent occurrence so their body almost moved on instinct.

Tank’s muscles burned as they finally approached the quaint little house. Once they reached the porch, they shifted back and forced their way to the door. They rang the doorbell and knocked in the same pattern they’d made up to identify themself years ago. As they waited for an answer, they looked down at their ripped-up clothes. Dirt and blood almost completely covered their body. “God, I’m disgusting.”

The door peeked open a second later as Marie stared out at them. She sighed quietly as she opened it the rest of the way, ushering them into her home. She pulled them into the front room and quickly looked them over.

“Oh, honey, you’re a mess.” Her voice was soaked in concern with a tinge of sadness that they were back in this situation. Tank stared at the floor, refusing to meet her eyes. She carefully pulled at the outermost layers of their clothes and set them on the floor. The silence was almost more painful than the actual wounds.

“Would it make it better if I said not all the blood was mine?” they tried to joke, lip quivering. Marie huffed and held their hands gently in hers. They finally lifted their head and looked at her. She looked at them with kindness and compassion they’d never experienced from anyone else. They didn’t know how to handle it, so they just stared at her.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up, baby.” They walked together to the bathroom. Tank sat on the toilet while Marie set up a little fold-up chair in the shower for them. She slowly helped to undress them and sat them down. Her hands gently roamed over their body, switching back and forth from healing their wounds to washing the grime from their skin.

A warm tingle filled their body as the overwhelming pain melted off their skin. After about half an hour, they were clean and without their more major injuries. Their whole body was still sore and a little bruised, but they were a far cry from death’s front door. Marie gently dried them off and wrapped the towel around their shoulders.

“Thank you,” Tank whimpered. They looked up at her and pulled the towel tighter around themself. She touched the side of their face and pushed some of their hair out of their eyes. She looked sad for just a moment before smiling meekly. She kissed their forehead and helped them up to their feet.

“Let’s get you dressed, alright?” They nodded in response and followed her out to the guest room. She pulled out some of the clothes they’d left there and set them on the bed. Marie took the towel from their shoulders and dried their hair again before laying it on the bed too. She helped them into their clothes, conscious to avoid the bruises. It was slow and tedious, but she didn’t mind. Doing this was better than the alternative. Once they were dressed, she sat them down at the foot of the bed and stood in front of them.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” It was the same question she asked every time this happened. She knew there wouldn’t always be a response - that was ok too. Tank looked down at their newly clothed form and thought about it. They remembered the look in Quinn’s eyes and the things he said. It was the same as it was every time they fought. Did they really want to tell Marie all of that that again? Especially after they kept going back to him again and again?

“Tank, it’s ok if-” she cut herself off. They squeezed her hands and looked up at her through misty eyes. They sniffled and took a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” they mumbled as tears fell down their cheeks. She held their hands tight and smiled the same sad smile she always did. Marie sat down next to them and wiped the tears away. They held tight to her arms and shook as they tried to hold back their tears. She held their head softly and nodded. It was ok. Everything was gonna be ok.

They collapsed in on themself and sobbed. Ragged breaths echoed through the almost empty room as they struggled to keep air in their lungs. She pulled them into a hug as their body shook with sadness, regret, and anger. Marie held them close against her chest and waited. They babbled barely audible apologies as they gripped onto her for dear life.

Eventually, their breathing slowed and evened out and they were able to pull away. Marie wiped away the tears and snot with her sleeve and pushed the hair out of their face again. Tank gazed at her with half-opened eyes and sniffled again. They looked absolutely exhausted.

“You need some sleep, honey. We’ll talk about it in the morning,” she cooed. “You need to tell your family about this too y’know- and probably David.” They knew that. They could pretend it wasn’t a big deal all they liked, but Marie knew when to put her foot down. Most things dealing with Quinn qualified as times to put her foot down.

Tank nodded and took a deep breath. They rubbed their eyes before crawling up into bed and snuggling under the blankets. She kissed their forehead and ran her fingers through their hair.

“You don’t deserve any of his shit, baby,” she whispered. “I wish you could see that.” She pulled away and turned off the light. She went to walk out back to her room and paused in the doorway.

“Good night, Tank. Sweet dreams.” “Good night, Marie.”

#Mama Greer to the rescue #Tank calls Marie mama because their family is shit send tweet #I'm not the best at writing angsty type stuff #but I tried #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted darlin #redacted tank #redacted quinn #redacted marie #redacted marie greer #redacted fanfic #she writes

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lolexjpg · 2 months

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a collection of statistical improbabilities (9k, Logan/Alex, uni/college au, Explicit)

Logan’s two month study abroad is thrown into jeopardy when his housing falls through. Looking for new accommodations last minute, he meets Alex, a grad student behind on rent, with a fold out couch.

#lolex #sargebon #f1 fic #223 #its posted!!!! its out in the world!!!! i can close this chapter in my life #myfic #i rly hope yall like it 🥹#she writes

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shes-nott-me · 2 years

Text

After a long day of work Your boyfriend draws you a nice warm bath

Warnings: minors be gone, Mild smut, fluff

You are outrageous, Austin thinks while watching your interview after not being at the met gala. “Why weren't you at the Met Gala, Y/N?” the interviewer asks.

Your response is simple, “Wasn't invited.”

The interviewer continues to egg you on. “ Why do you think that is” trying to get a reaction out of you

“You tell me?” your voice is flat.

“Why didn’t you go with your boyfriend, Austin Butler?”

Austin remembers what you said when he invited you as his plus one, like it was yesterday “I don’t wanna seem desperate.” you pause, dramatically throwing yourself onto his lap, causing a laugh to escape his lips. “I don’t go where I’m not welcome.” Austin was quite shocked by your maturity, an event like this was practically made for you, it was an excuse for you to “show up and show out.” as you would say.

But your response to the interviewer is different, more arrogant and less mature, one that he initially had expected from you. “Didn’t wanna outdress the invitees.” he watches his tv screen in awe of your boldness. Despite your bold claim you looked bored.

“After seeing everyone’s looks do you still think you would've outdressed them.” Austin could see the narrative the interviewer was trying to create from a mile away, he prayed for you to not take the bait. You remained silent, a playful smirk playing at your lips as you look down at your hands. He could tell you were getting bored of the conversation. You laughed a little to make it seem like a joke, but Austin wouldn’t put it past you, aside from making music, extravagant fashion is what you’re known for, you didn’t believe in overdressing.

“Oh wow.” the interviewer says.

“Please forgive me if this offends you.” you begin and Austin swears, he feels his blood pressure rise. “But, if I wanted to talk about the Met Gala, I would’ve gone to it, why don’t we talk about my album instead.” proud of you, Austin releases a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

“Ah yes, your album.” Austin continues to watch the interview on the tv screen as you return to your usual sweet, bubbly self, ecstatic to talk about your new body of work.

Realizing you would be home soon, Austin decided to prepare you a small snack of cherries and dark chocolate, your favorite. He lays out a satin babydoll for you to sleep in, and starts to run a bubble bath for you. You used to do stuff like this for Austin before he made it abundantly clear that after a long day of work he’d rather skip the aesthetics, and settle for a quick shower and a good blowie.

“Aus.” your voice fills the apartment. He quickly dims the lights in the bathroom, and goes to greet you in the living room.

“Hey Angel.” he says, bringing you into his chest.

“Hi daddy.” your voice is velvet as you bury your head into the crook of his neck. Austin swiftly picks you up and carries you to the bathroom. Austin places you on the counter, and begins to slip your shoes off. “What did you do?” you question your boyfriend, as he begins to unzip your dress.

“Nothing.” he defends, lifting you up, allowing your dress to fall to the floor. You grab your cleansing balm off the counter only for it to be plucked out of your hand. Austin gently places you in your large bathtub, and kisses your lips softly.

You watch your boyfriend open your expensive jar of product and scoop a more than decent amount. “That is way too much.” He brings his finger to your lips and makes a ‘shhh’ sound as he smears the product on your face, massaging it. You close your eyes and try not think about how much product he wasted as he rinses it off.

Your eyes snap open at the sudden absence of your boyfriend's warm hands on your face. He comes back minutes later with a tray of cherries and chocolate and his camera, you pucker your lips and lean over the tub, Austin sets the tray of snacks down and snaps a picture of you . It might be his new favorite, you looked cherubic, blowing kisses in your cloud of bubbles, like an angel.

“Stop, I look bad,” you pout

“You couldn’t look bad if you tried.” Austin says, finally reciprocating your kiss.

“You ate some of my chocolate.” you giggle, tasting the bittersweetness on his lips, successfully melting his heart in the process.

“I would never” He feigns, bringing the tray of food to me. Snapping photos of you here and there, maybe asking for a pose two.

“Stop taking pictures, and get in with me.” He doesn't need to be told twice, he’s already got his shirt off and is working on his sweatpants.

After stealing your last piece of chocolate and removing the tray from the tub, Austin slides in the tub behind you, kissing your wet skin. “I watched your interview today.” He breathes into your skin.

“Did I do good, daddy?” you ask, tilting your head to give the man easier access to your skin.

“Yes you did,” He nips at my neck. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Really?” you turn to look up at him.

“Really.” Austin reassures you. “Even though you had me scared for a moment.”

“How?” you cock your head to the side.

“Well, I know how sharp that tongue of yours can get, but you keep your cool, even when I could see how antsy you were getting.” He praises snaking an arm around your waist. He began to rub circles into your clit. You bite your lip, throwing your head back.

You feel a familiar knot form in your abdomen, but you're quickly pulled from your bliss when you feel Austin pull his hand from you. “The waters getting cold” he says and you can hear the smirk playing at his lips as he climbs out the tub and drains the water before picking you up and placing you back on the counter to dry you off. It’s not long before he carries you to the bedroom to finish what he started.

#shes nott me #elvis #austin!elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #austin butler #austin butler smut #austin butler x reader #elvis the pelvis #elvis smut #austin butler fic #sugar daddy elvis #she writes

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mappingthesky · 1 day

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"just let me take care of you" for ✈️🍌, pleeaaaseeee!!!

Jane is curled up on one end of the couch with a book in her hands. She’s read the same paragraph four or five times now, and would really like to move on to the next one, except she can’t, because-

UUGgghh!

“Oh my god,” Jane’s head hits the arm of the couch when she throws it back in frustration. “What?”

From the other end of the sofa, beyond where their legs are intertwined, Nymphia groans at her laptop screen. She’s uncharacteristically disheveled: her long hair is pulled into a messy, bumpy ponytail, and she’s wearing her glasses, which almost never happens. Not nearly enough for Jane’s liking, anyway. The black frames are thick and rounded and perched perfectly on her button nose, and if she wasn’t being so annoying right now then Jane would find her absolutely, irresistibly delicious.

“It’s all wrong,” Nymphia whines, pushing her stupid, sexy glasses up to nest in her hair while she rubs her eyes with her palms. The laptop, the source of her misery for the last two and a half weeks, rocks in her lap.

“It’s not,” Jane rolls her eyes and rehashes this conversation for what must be the eighty-seventh time. “It’s fine. It’s great, even! It’s probably the best fucking artist statement anyone’s ever read in the entirety of their miserable lives. They should be so lucky!”

Nymphia whines and stretches, a sliver of skin peeking out at the edge of her t shirt when she lifts her arms over her head. Jane momentarily forgets whatever it is she’s supposed to be annoyed about.

“Can you proof it for me?” Nymphia says when she’s tugging her shirt back into place and reaching for her laptop. Jane groans at the request, and definitely not at the lack of exposed skin.

“Ugh, Nymph,” Jane pleads. “Again?”

It’s only days before Nymphia’s final assignment is due - a full collection of garments complete with a written artist’s statement. It’s all they’ve talked about for what feels like weeks on end. Jane hasn’t been nearly as annoyed as she says she is. In Jane’s eyes Nymphia is something like a magician, turning whatever she touches into something miraculous and profound. It’s the reason why she’s let their living room become a war zone, littered with bolts of fabric and stray ribbon and a pincushion that somehow seems to be underfoot no matter how far she hurls the thing. She doesn’t mind that much, not really. It’s only until the end of the semester. Besides, Jane loves having Nymphia around. She’d much rather have her working at home, where she can make sure she eats and sleeps and remembers to wash her face before bed. It’s better than having her cooped up in a studio across town all night, working too hard to remember to take care of herself. Plus, Jane loves to watch Nymphia work - when she loses herself in a sketch or in the draping of fabric and her hair starts to slip from her ponytail, and her glasses are sliding down her nose, and her tongue rests at the corner of her mouth-

“You’re so much better with writing than I am!” Nymphia wails. Her voice is whiny and desperate and Jane’s head is in the fucking gutter.

While Nymphia could produce an entire wardrobe in a matter of days, brilliantly tailored and united under some pristine vision that Jane can’t fathom how her girlfriend ever came up with, the artist statement has thoroughly stumped her. It’s a meager assignment, 500 words maximum describing the inspiration for the collection, and has been the bane of Nymphia’s existence for the past four days. Naturally, it’s become the bane of Jane’s existence too.

“Baby,” Jane begs. She’s enjoyed all this time at home with Nymphia, and she’s proud of her, truly, but she would really like her cheery, horny, reliably unfocused girlfriend back.

Nymphia’s bottom lip curls outwards and her eyes flutter. “Please?”

Jane blinks. Nymphia is a little too good at getting exactly what she wants out of her. The worst part is that she knows it.

“Fine,” Jane concedes through gritted teeth, tossing her book to the floor and sitting forward. Nymphia cheers and claps and leans close to grab Jane’s face, almost succeeding until-

“On one condition,” Jane holds her hand up before Nymphia’s lips can find her cheek.

“Anything,” Nymphia coos, like she expects Jane to go easy on her.

“This is the last of the work you do tonight,” Jane says firmly, watching Nymphia’s mouth twist with anxiety. “I mean it. I can’t fucking hear you whine anymore.”

Nymphia’s anxiety is all too quickly replaced with a devious smile, a practiced sort of coercion, “I thought you loved to hear me wh-“

“That’s beside the point,” Jane doesn’t budge. Nymphia is a tease, a very tempting tease, but a tease nonetheless. Jane knows this well enough, she’s fallen victim to her traps more times than she cares to admit. “Do we have a deal?”

Nymphia falls back to the other end of the couch with a defeated hrmph. “Deal” she pouts.

With that, Jane snatches the laptop. She reads Nymphia’s essay intently, because she really does care, making minor grammatical tweaks here and there. The piece is well written, even without the bit of fluffing Jane’s done over the past few days. Nymphia is absolutely selling herself short. It may not be her preferred medium, but her unique vision shines through her words just the same as it does with her clothing.

“What?” Nymphia asks when a small, proud smile tugs at Jane’s lips. “What is it?”

Jane beams, her eyes lingering on the last few sentences. “It’s perfect.”

Nymphia lights up, “You really think so?”

Mhm, Jane hums, looking over to Nymphia where she’s curled into the corner of the couch, grinning. “I’m proud of you, babe.”

“Okay, because I was thinking I could-“ Nymphia starts to ramble, but Jane has already hit ‘save’ and is slamming the laptop shut. Nymphia’s eyes widen.

“We had a deal, didn’t we?” Jane places the laptop on the floor.

“Yes, but-“

“Uh-uh,” Jane shakes her head, leaning forward. “I think you’re done for the night.”

Nymphia could try to make an escape, but it would be pointless. They both know it. “I am?”

“Yeah, you are.” Jane grabs at Nymphia’s ankles, dragging her closer until she’s lying flat on her back. Her glasses slide down her nose.

Nymphia is still muttering something about picking the right font when Jane silences her with a gentle palm over her mouth.

“You’ve done more than enough,” Jane tells her. “Just let me take care of you. Can you do that?”

Nymphia nods, wide-eyed and suddenly breathless. Jane pulls her hand away from Nymphia’s mouth. “Good girl.”

Her other hand is already sliding beneath Nymphia’s t-shirt, grazing her bare skin. She goes to pull it over her head, and Nymphia reaches for her glasses.

“No,” Jane catches her hand, kissing her knuckles before pinning her wrist above her head. “Those stay on.”

#scREAM I LOVED THIS ONE #we never speak on nymphia’s glasses and its so disrespectful #thank you for this anon!!#planymphia #she writes #prompt

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soulinkpoetry · 4 months

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There will be maybe one or two people who will enter your life and leave their mark on you throughout your lifetime. Those kind of encounters you never forget them.

Music score of Interstellar by Hans Zimmer

#the universe #sends you people #encounters #soulinkpoetry #poetry #thoughts #she writes #feelings #poets on tumblr #poets corner #that’s life #poet community

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nookisms · 2 months

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The GSA arrives, and it is clear that they are not welcome. They also get to see some kids!

#Jecra #garlude #Meta Knight #sir arthur kirby #King Dedede #Kirby #bandana waddle dee #kirby fic #kirby fanfic #Kirby series #Bandana Dee #YIPPEE FANTASY POLITICS!!!#she speks #she speks originale #she writes #corresponding beats

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kookygranger · 2 months

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Fairytale of Hawkins: Valentine's Special

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: The lovebirds return. Robin comes to the conclusion that you and Eddie are in fact perfect for each other when you denounce Valentine's Day and all things Hallmark romance perfect. Eddie softens your edges.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, allusions to sex, swearing, reader and Eddie are in their late 20s/early 30s, fluff baby fluff

Word count: 2.6k

Author's note: A little look into the burgeoning relationship of towtruck!Eddie and you, a cynical city girl, post-Christmas romance.

Masterlist

Valentine's Day

“Fuck sake.”

Your colleague laughs as you swat away the paper hearts hanging in the doorway of the office lunchroom. “Why do I have to be assaulted every time I get coffee? I’m about three seconds away from tearing this shit down.”

“Yikes, somebody’s not feeling the love today.” Joel smirks over his mug, legs crossed at the lunch table and highly amused by your mood.

“I’m not feeling the love every day. Don’t see why there needs to be a stupid holiday to remind me.” You grumble as you reach for the pot of black coffee, filling your Bikini Kill mug almost to the brim.

“Trouble with the boyfriend? I thought it was going well.”

“He’s not my–“ You sigh. Joel was a work friend. One that shared stock in the workplace trauma and loved to gossip over a Manhattan at Friday drinks. And yeah you knew a lot about each other’s personal lives, but you always struggled with bringing down your professional walls and knowing when it was okay to share; to stop compartmentalising your life so much. Inherently mistrusting, even when it was unnecessary.

“It is–I just. I can still hate the holiday even when I’m…”

“In love?”

You make a face and walk back to your desk, Joel cackling behind you. He leans on your unstable cubicle wall as you sit back at your desk.

“So, prince charming not send you anything?”

“Of course not. He probably thinks it’s just as stupid as I do.”

“You didn’t talk about? Make any date plans?”

You shrug, “There’s no point in him coming all the way up here just for that. We’re both busy.”

Joel purses his lips and hums. You give him a sharp side eye and he backs off, hand up in surrender as he walks away. You roll your eyes when he walks past another cubicle and you hear the sass in his voice, “Beautiful roses Sarah! Somebody isn’t afraid to express their love.”

You let out a sharp exhale, rolling your neck to try ease the tension.

You hate that you were a little upset that he didn’t call to tell you he was thinking of you. You hate that this made-up day could make you feel like that when you had talked to him just yesterday, and your relationship was doing just fine thank you very much. Eddie called to tell you he was thinking about you all the time. Eddie sent flowers when he knew you’d had a rough day. Eddie sent you love letters full of poetry and blush-inducing accounts of what his mind wandered to all day when he was driving around town in his tow truck.

So why did it still sting when none of these things happened on the day that they happened to everyone else.

You should be secure in the knowledge that Eddie Munson didn’t need a commercialised day to show his affection towards you, like many other men in this world. Janet from accounts may have been cuddling her “lovebug” plush toy all day with a faraway look on her face but you knew for certain that she’d be grumbling at her husband Greg come tomorrow night when she was left to do the dishes after also cooking his dinner, despite working just as many hours as him.

But still –

Valentine’s Day sucks.

And you hate that the boy you are… incredibly fond of isn’t standing in front of you nodding his head in agreement as you dish out the Chinese takeout for dinner. Waiting with open arms and magic fingers to relieve the tension in your shoulders as you step through the door of your apartment.

You know you don’t have any right to think these things really. You and Eddie had only been dating since Christmas.

Maybe dating was a loose term, but you had been on dates. You were almost inseparable the week between Christmas and New Year's before you had to head home and back to the office and had been calling each other regularly since. Eddie had taken a trip to see you a few times (three, almost four due to bad weather) and you went on dates.

Good dates. Great dates. Dates that always ended with you wrapped in each other’s arms under your bed sheets. And god, you loved every moment spent with him.

Every full-bellied laugh you’d get out of each other, every glance as you walked side-by-side and soft kiss you shared in between conversations. He was always on your mind. Maybe you were even teaming on the edge of infatuation, and maybe this had a little something to do with your foul mood. The pressure of deep-seated denial of your feelings teetering from innocent to something, compounding in your head. Boy, was that headache really digging its heels in.

Robin’s chuckle cuts through the static over the line as she listens to you grumble.

“Wow, you really are the perfect girl for Eddie Munson.”

You stumble, “You think– wait what do you mean by that? Are you coming over to hear me grouch face-to-face or what? I got the strawberry cheesecake Ben & Jerry’s.”

“Actually,” you can picture her face scrunching up as she elongates the confession, “I kinda have a date.”

You squeal, “Excuse me?! Buckley you’ve been holding out on me! Why’d you let me ramble on about my misery when you have a hot date?”

“Because you hate Valentine’s Day.”

“Well yeah, but I love you. I wanna hear all about your cavity-inducing V-Day plans.”

Robin sighs a long-suffering exhale.

You decide to take your bad mood straight to bed and skip calling Eddie. It wasn’t his fault, and you certainly didn’t want to call just to vent and drag him down. You were tired. You missed him. You were worried that might be too much for you to admit over the phone.

***

Valentine’s Day had set the mood for the rest of the week; by Friday you were done. You were dragging your body up the stairs to your apartment, thinking that maybe it was time for you to go to Eddie. Go back to Hawkins if they’d have you. You couldn’t shake this missing him thing, and the fact that you hadn’t heard his voice in days wasn’t helping.

The past couple of nights your calls had gone unanswered. You weren’t worried, just sad. And you were finally coming around to the fact that it could only be fixed by one boy. God, maybe you had more in common with Janet from accounts than you thought. Both of your moods were heavily influenced by men.

When the fuck did this happen?

Your inner pity party clouds your awareness, taking no note of the sounds or smells coming from your kitchen as you push your heavy front door and kick off your uncomfortable business casual shoes as soon as you’re past the threshold.

It’s the loud clatter of a pan and hissed fuck that has you jumping out of your skin.

“Eddie?”

His head whips around, grin spreading across his face as he spots you by the door. A tea towel over his t-shirt clad shoulder and hands busy stirring things over your stove. Things that smell good.

“Hi.”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

His eyebrows raise, lips forming that stupid smirk that has you virtually already on your knees.

“I’m gonna take that as a good what the fuck and not a get the hell out what the fuck.”

You jog the last few steps and crash into him, arms wrapping around his neck. He takes some of your weight as you melt into him.

“Of course it’s a good what the fuck.” You mumble into his chest, feeling his chuckles under your cheek. When you pull back he cups your face and greets you with a deep kiss. “Do I wanna know how you got into my apartment?”

His laugh hits your face in a warm breath. “Robin lent me her key.” He goes in for another peck before he starts rubbing your cheek soothingly with his thumb, taking in your tired face.

“Pretty sure you’re safe from amateur thieving hands with those two deadbolts, sweetheart.”

“Don’t mock Munson, I’m a girl living alone in the city.”

He nods, “You’re right. Maybe I’ll install a chain too. Gotta keep my girl safe.” He places another quick peck on your lips before turning back around to mind the boiling pots of water and simmering sauces.

Goosebumps. Literal goosebumps at the thought of this man calling you his.

“What is all this anyway?”

He scratches his face, still turned away from you when he gestures to the vase full of wildflowers that you’re only just noticing, and the pink box stamped with the logo of your favourite local bakery sitting on your kitchen table.

“Robin told me you hated Valentine’s Day, which I totally agree with by the way, commercialised bullshit – but uh, I thought we could have like a not-Valentine’s Day dinner, and it gave me a good excuse to break into your apartment and see you so…”

You bite your lip, containing the grin threatening to break out on your face even though he’s still not looking at you. You wrap your arms around his middle, leaning your chin on his shoulder as he continues to work.

“So uh, how long on dinner?”

He keeps stirring, “Maybe 20 minutes. You hungry sweet girl?”

“Famished.” Your lips start to trace a line up his neck, doing that thing with his earlobe that makes him blush furiously.

“Oh. Wait, wait, wait–let me just,” he quickly turns off one of the burners and puts a lid on two of the pots, “Okay.” He spins around, beaming at you when you keen into his touch, warm hands cupping your face. “Hi.”

You return a lip biting hi before you practically pounce on each other. All the stress and inner turmoil from the week leave your body as he walks you backwards to your bed on the other side of your studio apartment.

You spend the next 23 minutes getting reacquainted under the large frosted glass windows that frame your bed, lips parting only for short gasps of air, before Eddie hops up, almost tripping in his attempt to put his underwear back on and jogging the short distance to check on dinner. You giggle at him, and you see the flushed pink return to his cheeks as he winks at you over his shoulder.

Dinner is amazing. Apparently, Steve taught Eddie the basics of cooking when they moved in together (Eddie taught Steve all about tater tots and oven food) and he experiments further when he’s got spare time, especially if he’s cooking for someone that he loves…like Dustin or Wayne.

The night ends much the same as it started after you gorge on the pastries from the bakery, which coincidentally all happen to be your favourites.

Eddie’s chocolate brown eyes are far away as he traces patterns along your jaw and bare shoulders.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask softly.

He exhales slowly through his nose, “Just thinking about how much I miss you.”

You smile at him, his eyes dart to your lips, “I’m right here.”

His eyebrows twitch in that frown you’ve learnt to adore. “I know, it’s just–“ he leans in, forehead touching yours, “I think…” you feel his frown deepen against your skin as he pauses.

“Eddie, are you okay?”

“Yeah…and no.” He leans back, head hitting the pillow beside you, his hand coming up to rub his forehead as his eyes scrunch tightly. You let him take another deep breath. You let him take the time to find the courage to spill out his next words. “I’m in love with you.” The hand that was tracing soothing circles in his bicep stops as his head rolls to look at you. “Like, I never really knew what real love felt like until we started doing whatever this is,” he gestures to your bodies curled up under your sheets, “kind of love.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” His face scrunches up again. “And I know, that’s a fucking lot when it’s only been what, a couple of months? And we don’t live in the same city and this is supposed to be fun and casual and you’re a cool city girl with your own life and friends and I drive a tow truck in a small town that thinks rock music is the devil’s music. And trust me,” he shakes his head, hand braced on his chest, “I tried not to. But you make it really fucking hard with your pretty face, and the fact that you look hot as hell in your little corporate outfits but also in my gross Slayer t-shirt, and the whole saying anything that comes to mind sassy without even trying to be thing, and the great taste in music, and the fact that you try to watch all my favourite horror movies even though they give you nightmares and you’re scared that your sleep paralysis demon or whatever you call it is gonna pay you a visit – which by the way is fucked – you know, you don’t make it easy sweetheart.”

He sounds kind of angry. The way his chest heaves after his admission and his brows stay perpetually creased would make anyone who didn’t know him concerned. But you know Eddie Munson.

“I’m in love with you too.”

“What?” His head snaps so quickly you're concerned he might’ve pulled a muscle.

“I didn’t think we were purposefully keeping things casual, I just thought ‘cause of the distance that’s what worked but…I’ve missed you a lot lately and I kind of came to the realisation this week it’s because I’ve fallen for you. Hard, by the way. You know I was gonna call the airline and sus flights to Indy after work. It’s not fair for you to keep having to drive all the way up here. Especially since you end up spending more time on the road than you do here with me.”

He's still frowning, but his eyes are as soft as a puppy’s as your confession sinks in. “Sooo…what do we do now?”

You shrug, moving closer to him as his arm snakes around your back, his hand rubbing soothingly up and down your spine. “I don’t know. But, I do think that I can swing a lot more weekends in Hawkins. Like, at least half the month.”

He beams then, frown lines smooth as his smile, “Really?”

“Yeah. Would that be okay?”

“I think I can handle it.” He places a soft kiss on your lips.

“What about Steve?”

“Fuck Steve.” Another kiss. “Wait, what do you mean?”

You laugh, “I mean, would he be okay with me staying over?”

“Of course he would. If not, I’ll kick his ass.” He shrugs.

“You think you can fight Steve?”

“Ah sweetheart, Steve has never won a fight in his goddamn life. Plus, I got street smarts. All he’s good for is swinging around that damn nail bat.”

“The what?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, smirking before distracting you with another kiss. “You love me, huh?”

You puff your cheeks up and exhale, “Apparently so.”

“You love me.” You giggle as he teases you with sweet kisses along your jaw.

“Don’t get too cocky Munson. You’ve got it bad too. You bought me flowers within the window of Valentine’s Day.”

You feel his smile against your jaw. “Yeah, I’ve got it bad. Real bad, sweet girl.”

Tagging: @storiesbyrhi hi x. And @eddieslooneymoonie, @micheledawn1975, @skrzydlak just in case.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #towtruck!eddie #she writes

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