#weird bc when he was introduced I really did not care about him at all but he grew on me like some weird mushroom and now he's my fave | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

indouloureux · 2 years

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𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 (part two)

summary: she sought for validation; he sought for acceptance. two juveniles who believed they’d spend the rest of their lives playing red guitars and borrowed claviers, (along with the trepidation of isolation), meet in one boring afternoon, and find themselves reveling in caterwaul voices, laying in a field of colossal grass, and writing lyrics with botched ballpens and crumpled papers.

— or: two people bond over emotional trauma, and fall in love through great manifestos

warnings: 1hr reading time, slow burn, friends to lovers, slight teenage angst, jealousy, tooth-rotting fluff, eddie being a sap, weird manifestos, reader being adopted, eddie and reader both having a self discovery whilst falling in love, fem!reader (she/her pronouns), me not knowing how to write both piano and guitar playing properly, deep words (sorry guys open google), lengthy, idiots in love, a love story about two sad teens going through a phase (jk) eddie has a bit of a corruption thing (not kink) bc he introduces reader into new things lol!

explicit warnings (for part two): virgin!reader, virgin!eddie; piv, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, overstimulation, first time, soft, vanilla porn, mentions of blood, handjob, cum eating, biting, marking, missionary, maybe soft!dom eddie bc he watched porn a lot and thinks he "knows his way", sweet but short aftercare

a/n: this is a story of fiction. i do not know the locations in both indiana and illinois. this is written in the way i prefer it to be to fit its story telling, and i am well aware of the things i write in here, and how i write this story. based on the song '1979' by the smashing pumpkins. hope you all enjoy part two!

PART ONE; SERIES MASTERLIST

That we don't even care

To shake these zipper blues

And we don't know

Just where our bones will rest

When you were young, you remember sneaking out of your room from the orphanage to sneak into the living room and watch the television with a low volume, loud enough for you to hear so as to not disturb the Nuns asleep in their rooms.

You thought falling in love was exchanged between lingering stares, a ring of hope and yearning in their eyes; sharing gospels about yourselves that you’d never tell anyone else, compliments coming from Freudian slips. The ‘will they, won’t they,’ the supportive friends. And months, maybe years, of mutual pinings until they end up confessing beneath the rain in the middle of the road as if there’d been no cars passing by. Yelling through the thunderous storm their words of utter devotion and kiss like their lives depended on it.

For years, before you’d been adopted, you watched the same scenario of love stories on a small screen for hours until your eyes ran dry. Boy and girl meet, one fell first and the other fell harder, an almost confession, an almost kiss, a secret that could ruin their relationship and it almost did, a confession spat in a dangerous situation right before everything went to shit, and then they lived happily ever after.

The same one every movie.

But they never really expressed how falling in love truly felt. They just showed it.

Your mother, adoptive mother, had once said that you’d feel this electricity inside you. That sparks fly when you see their smile, or just see them in general. That you’ll feel a thousand butterflies consume you until you feel like you’re floating in the clouds with their hand in yours as you fly into eternity together.

That everything else falls apart and it’s just the two of you. Heartbeats heard in your ears as you get lost in this abyss of abiding love. Or a spotlight would compel you to look at him like a sacred artifact in a museum. That you’ll find yourself wanting to be closer to them no matter how dangerous it has been—like moth to a flame.

Eleven year old you had stared at her with a look that told her you understood. And you did. Kind of. A young mind like yours couldn’t fully understand that feeling.

So you waited.

Up until Eddie Munson came to your life.

Eddie Munson, who’s been hiding something from you the past couple of weeks.

Every time you were together, whether it had been for school purposes, songwriting, or just for the hell of it, he’d be stuck in this small mental corner with his front facing you, the back of his notebook keeping a somewhat barrier to hide whatever he was doing. And whenever you asked, he’d stop writing, tap your nose with the tip of his pen, and say

“A satanic ritual.”

Then he’d go back into writing.

Your curiosity would sometimes almost get the best of you; debating if you should take a quick peek when Eddie leaves the notebook with you (closed) and excuses himself to the bathroom. But it was an invasion of privacy.

And he’s doing it right now.

Walking through the somewhat crowded hallway, you’ve got a hand clutching the sleeve of his unbuttoned black plaid shirt, just right on his elbow as he writes while walking. Just like you’d been all those months ago.

His tongue darts out, his feet stumbling across his own, muttering short apologies to the people he accidentally bumps too. But he lets you guide him through your small tugs.

“Christ, Eddie!” you push him away when one of the students comes running in with their projects, almost smacking him against the locker. “Put that down!”

Eddie laughs a bit before he finally snaps it shut, shoving his pen in his pocket. You drop your hand from his elbow. “Sorry, Mands.”

“You’re gonna trip,” you avoid the judgemental stares. Of gossiping kids speaking behind locker doors; you focus on Eddie. “And honestly, if you did, I’ll just make fun of you and pretend you don’t exist.”

“You wound me, pretty girl,” he slaps his hand to his heart, a sardonic pout coming with. But the pout is gone sooner when he realizes what he’d just said, and he clears his throat. “You gonna sit with us at lunch, or you’re still sticking with Wheeler and her friend?”

“They’re revising for the school paper,” you fiddle with the clasp of your bag. “So, uh, maybe I can sit with you if that’s alright?”

“It’s more than alright,” he smiles. Eddie’s palm slams on the cafeteria doors and pushes it open, letting you in first before he follows, letting the door swing until it hinders and settles closed. He scratches his jaw, looking up at the ceiling. “But, uh, you gotta sit beside me. Or else you’ll be stuck between a sticky mess of Sour Patch Kids and, well, kids.”

You walk between the chairs from his table and the one beside him. Eddie takes an empty chair beside Dustin, dragging it beside him at the head of the table and pulls it out for you to sit on. You smile at him, sitting down.

“Oh, hey, (y/n),” Dustin smiles, braces a different color this week that leaves you endeared. “Hey, Eddie.”

Mike chews on his pudding pie. The same brand as Nancy’s, and he’s got a confused frown on his face that’s almost mistaken as repulsion had you not known him. “What are you doing here?”

“Eddie has stained my reputation. I’m a pariah now.”

“Hey,” Eddie laughs, pulling his ball pen out of his pocket. “I could embarrass you right now,”

“I’m always embarrassed. For you, at least,” you jest.

Gareth opens his small lunchbox, his name written on the side in capital letters. “You ready for tonight?” he asks Eddie.

You whip your head back at the boy beside you, sleeves rolled above his elbows, which reminds you of the one he posited just on your arm. If people didn’t look at you for walking around unabashed beside Eddie Munson, they were looking at the tattoo on your arm. It had caught Principal Higgins’ attention, and you saw him visibly parley to himself if he should punish you for it.

But then his eyes flitted to Eddie and he sighed, sauntering back to his office with a shake of his head and muttering something about blemishing the temple of God with your tattoos.

“Been practicing our asses off for the past few weeks. ‘Course I’m fucking ready,” Eddie scoffs. Then he lifts his head off the notebook and looks at you. “You’re coming, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you smile softly.

He returns the same smile with the same fondness, his eyes twinkling in appreciation. The hand on his lap comes up to twirl his pinky around yours, dimples deepening in glee. You feel your heart pound at the small touch; see how everything behind him blurs. And you flutter your lashes.

Dustin clears his throat that breaks your eye contact. Eddie shoots him an almost murderous glare, unhooking his finger from yours.

The Hideout was dark. With stone walls and chipped wooden tables. The bartender looked like he was nearing his fifties, but looked approachable and kind when he’d greeted you with a rag in his hand as he wiped the glasses when you stepped inside. The lights were dim but bright above the small stage with band equipment—where you saw Gareth’s Corroded Coffin drums.

Eddie had been over exaggerating when he said he had a crowd of five drunks. But they’re not exactly many either. There were people scattered around, preoccupied in conversations you don’t, and couldn’t be bothered to know.

You nervously tug on your dress. A deep shade of red that’s almost black to match him. You walk between tables and old men, sitting on the table second to the front, giving you a clear view of the stage.

Earlier, you’d told Eddie you’d meet him there before he dropped you off at your home despite his protests. He told you to wear something pretty—simple, but pretty. Something that’s you, in his words.

Waiting patiently, you hear the soft clinkings of glass against bottles of alcohol at the bar, the quite boastful laughter of the men in the corner. Your knee bounces, hands clasped in front of you as you trace the rigid strikes of Corroded Coffin’s band poster, and startle yourself when a looming presence hovers over you, casting a shadow over the light.

You yelp, looking up to see a man. His hair gray as his hairline recedes, exposing his forehead. He had a nose that looked a bit like Eddie’s, and his blue eyes shimmer in curiosity as they settle on you; his stare is anything but creepy.

“Are you…Mandy?” he says gruffly, a lilt of uncertainty in his voice, and he sounds as nervous as you are.

“No. I’m (y/n)...” you furrow your eyebrows. “Oh, shit. Are you Eddie’s uncle?”

His hands rub the back panel of his hat, nodding. “Yes ma’am. Wayne Munson. D’you mind if I sit?”

“Not at all,” you gesture to the chair beside you. Wayne pulls the chair out, moves it a bit more to the side to give you an appropriate distance so he wouldn’t make you feel uncomfortable, and he sits down with a grunt. “S-sorry for cursing. I’m Eddie’s friend—”

He says your name. “I know. He can’t stop talking about you,” he chuckles lightly. “I finally get to meet the girl that makes my nephew wake up before his alarm clock.”

“That’s me,” you twiddle your thumbs. “Um, Eddie told me you worked at night.”

Wayne understands what you mean, placing his cap on his lap and rubbing his hand on his knee. “I do. But it’s a holiday and I couldn’t pass on the opportunity to see him play.” he scratches his silver beard. “Do you drink? I could order us some.”

“I’m eighteen, Mr. Munson” you tell him. “I can’t drink yet.”

“Coke it is,” he hollers for a waiter, a man a bit younger than the bartender. He orders a pale ale and two cans of coke before he takes out his pack of cigarettes when the waiter leaves. You notice how he’s got a small lighter wedged to the side of his cigarettes like Eddie’s, and you wonder if he’d caught it from his uncle. “You smoke?”

You look around cautiously when he sticks one in his mouth. “Will they let me?”

“You ain’t gonna go to jail for it,” his eyebrows raise. “I’m not pressuring you, kid. I’m just offering,”

Finally, in an impassive shrug, you take one and you place it in your mouth. When Wayne lights up his own, he offers you his lighter. “Thank you, Mr. Munson,”

You sit in silence for a short beat, the smoke of your cigars mixing in the weak waft of the ac. He wasn’t as menacing as you expected, and you didn’t know why you expected it in the first place. Based on Eddie’s stories, Wayne had never questioned his love for his fantasy game, or complained about his love for metal. He’d been the first person to accept Eddie for who he is, the only family in his life that stayed and cared.

“You know, I-uh-I’d like to thank you,” he turns to you. “You never judged my nephew for who he was. You made him happier and, hell, I haven’t seen him this happy in years. He’s always hogging up the phone talking and laughing with you. I’m not there for him as much as I used to; and I’m glad you gave him back his smile,”

Flushing, you look away and hide your parlously proud smile behind the borrowed cigarette, stained by your fuliginous lipstick. “Nothing to thank me for, Mr. Munson. Glad I could make him happy.”

“Ah, please,” he waves his hand, cigarette in the air. “Call me Wayne. Makes me feel old.” then he waves around his face. “I know my- hair says otherwise. But I’m still in my forties.”

“Copy that,” you take a quick hit. “Wayne.”

Wayne nods his head in acknowledgement, a guttural grunt leaving him. “My nephew hasn’t been this happy in a while. Eddie tends to… hide his emotions. Likes to distract himself with that god-deafening music and his fantasy game. And since you came to his life,” his arm lifts, as if to give your shoulder a pat before he clenches it to a fist and puts it back on his lap.

You chuckle. “You can pat me, Mr. Muns- Wayne.”

“You sure?”

“It’s just a shoulder pat, sir,”

Balky, his hand comes up to clap at your shoulder, shaking it lightly. You smile, placing the cigarette back in your lips and sucking until you couldn’t breathe, and let it all out.

“You helped him… (y/n),” he swallows. “And I thank you for that.”

When your drinks come, footsteps advance the stage. First came Gareth who settled behind the drums, who saw you immediately and gave you an ebullient wave, then Jeff and the other guy who’s name you’ve (sadly) forgotten.

Then Eddie came just when you opened your can. The fizzle of soda coalesce with his eager footsteps. Your hand stops around the ring, eyes trailing up to Eddie’s face.

You try to bite back a gasp.

There’s dark eyeliner beneath his eyes that names him hellaciously unique; the liquid kohl renders his eyes wider—his umber eyes darker, almost voluminously black, although fulgurated with the dim lights and his buzzing excitement. His vogue is eccentric, almost a masquerade that fools, had you not known him. But it’s so him, and at the same time, it isn’t.

But Eddie looks unashamed and proud of his look of ripped sleeves and borrowed eyeliner, his hair asininely wild, curlier like he’d gotten himself a perm. He’s wearing black jeans with more tears, his Dio vest that accentuates his lanky arms, the pudge of his stomach seen through his shirt but he wears it proudly; happy trail peeking underneath when he lifts his hand to pull on the mic.

He taps on the silver mesh head of the mic. Eddie clears his throat. “Uh, hello?”

You see everyone turn their heads, unamused, but forcing themselves to acknowledge his presence. Eddie smiles nervously, before his eyes settle on you and Wayne.

“Good evening gentlemen and lady,” he winks at you. “Uh, yeah, thanks for being here tonight. It means so much to the owner who’s been working his ass off so, give him a round of— ah, screw it no one’s listening,” Eddie tuts with a ridiculous smile, eyes meeting yours in a short apology. He’s not upset, but he finds it amusing. “This first song is, um, Breaking the Law by Judas Priest. Hope you guys enjoy it and if it gets too loud, I suggest you cover your ears.”

He picks up his red Warlock NJ guitar (Sweetheart, he names her) resting on the amplifier beside Gareth’s guitar, slinging it around himself before he pulls on the vermillion pick on his neck. Eddie settles himself up front, lips hovering over the mic. Then he looks back at Gareth, who throws one of the dumstricks into the air but fails to catch it and falls to the ground with an awkward cattle.

Beside you, Wayne smiles at the inconvenience, but doesn’t elicit a laugh out of him. Gareth shoots the both of you a penitent smile, picking up the stick. He taps it together three times to signal preparation, before you’re startled with his sudden slam on the snare.

You’ve never really seen Eddie play the electric guitar. Well, you have. You’ve just unfortunately forgotten the first time you actually did. And you wonder if thirteen year old Eddie was just as great as twenty year old him, playing the guitar with such precision; he was, indeed, a virtuoso with guitars—electric or not.

The sight holds you ransom. Eddie, with his hair unruly, an unforgiving proud smile on his face when he darts his tongue out to glide his dexterous fingers across the bronze strings of Sweetheart, his voice a caterwaul as he recites the almost innocuous lyrics.

“Feel as though nobody cares if I live or die.”

But his eyes were passionate—not of the barely there crowd, but it was obvious he loves what he’s doing. Especially now that you’re here, witnessing this for the first time with his beloved uncle. In that small stage, it stymies all judgment of conservative people, and he lets himself relish in the freedom of doing what he desires.

A gloss of pursuit sybaritism coats his eyes; with a white ring of sheer wanton hedonism just above his dark irises. The rest of the boys mimic the same passion, arms kinetic at their own playing, noses scrunched in glee.

Eddie doesn’t look like an angel tonight. When the lights shine horns on top of his head—the cardinal hue of serpentine antlers usurps the halo over his head. He’s devilishly handsome, wickedly catching your eye through the palls of branded cigarettes that spread across the room.

Beside you, Wayne claps and whistles, showing his everloving support. Eddie smiles brightly, leaning back when he does a riff you’re certain you’ll struggle studying it. When the song ends, scattered claps gift him. Few, but loud to show their support.

He’s sweaty all of a sudden, and he runs his hand through his dampened hair, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Thanks. Thank you- hey, man, you owe me a beer,” he points at the guy sitting in the corner, who raises his bottle and tips his hat. You don’t know him. “This next song is dedicated to this lovely lady up front,”

You feel eyes on you. Suddenly, you want to sink into your chair just to avoid the unwanted eyes, and you tell yourself to forgive Eddie for making you off-guard. But the strangers give you either confused eyes, or looks that say they could care less. But Wayne claps, which makes you hide your flustered smile behind the coca-cola can that you drink from.

“It’s Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic by The Police. I know it’s unusual for us to play something that’s not metal, but I practiced this song just for her. A…token of gratitude. And also for my uncle,” he adjusts his mic. “Um. Hope you guys enjoy,”

You appreciate the fact that he’d practiced a song from one of your favorite bands just for you, despite it being out of his taste. You clap, a silly smile on your face that hurts your cheeks.

He strums, benign in all his dexterity, and shoots you a cheeky wink. You playfully grimace at his action, and you fail to miss the laugh Wayne lets out at the wordless banter.

You gently sway to the indie music, see the way his rings glide across his nylon strings, how the bones of his fingers move through his skin when he plucks, mouth pressing up to the mic to sing clemently. You copy his nods, your own fingers tapping on the tin of your can.

The only thing the song lacked was the piano; you, basically. Eddie started playing with his eyes on you, and suddenly you remember being eight years old in the dark living room of the orphanage you stayed in. Except you hadn’t been the one watching — this time, you’re in the screen of that small box, finally feeling what it’s like to stare at someone so completely enamored with everything they did. With everything Eddie did.

Because everything slows and everything else blurs, a flame igniting across every vein that brings you into a lovelorn haze. You hear your heart beat with the precious song Eddie has dedicated to you right in your ear, and you feel like floating off the chair. The halo comes back to slot itself between his horns, luring you in like a moth to a flame; like a venerated, fallen angel that has you plunging your hand through the clouds and taking his, flying you to his safe haven.

“I resolved to call her up, a thousand times a day. And ask her if she'll marry me, some old-fashioned way,”

His once caterwaul cry of a voice shifts into a soft, canorous sway from baritone to tenor. Eddie smiles at you, a look in his eyes you can’t fathom but makes your heart burst, blood dripping down your chest but you don’t care.

For four minutes and twenty seconds, your eyes never leave Eddie. And neither does he, like he knows he won’t so much as place the wrong finger on the wrong string or fuck up his plucking. Everything’s a scene on a cheesy romcom, a feeling told through a lovesick song, a story told through a galore of rhyming words in a poem.

“Every little thing she does is magic; everything she do just turns me on. Even though my life before was tragic. Now I know my love for her goes on,”

In your mind, you push yourself off the table, chair falling to the ground, coke spilling onto the wooden top, walking yourself up to him and tackle him in a kiss; one of his arms would be around your waist and the other holding the mic stand tightly, your hands cupping his delicate face and mold your lips with his like some puzzle piece waiting to be connected.

That the spotlight settles on the both of you, and you’ll fly up to the skies to spend the rest of your lives loving each other in eternity like everyone else did.

But you stay on your seat with a fluttering heart and an agape mouth. You don’t realize Gareth has sped up his drums for the denouement of the song, and Eddie leaves on last hard strum before the small crowd claps for him, seemingly happy to finally watch someone play a song they knew.

Eddie bows, an abashed smile for gratitude. “T-thank you, everyone—”

“Holy shit. They’re actually clapping for us—”

“Shut up, Jeff,”

“Thanks for coming, uncle Wayne,”

Their hug is tight with claps on the back and prolonged grunts. Wayne breaks away, hands on his nephew’s shoulder, a proud smile on his face.

“No problem,” he nods at him. “Needed a break from work, anyway,”

You stand behind Eddie, fingers joint in front of you. Wayne gives you a kind smile that you return, one that makes Eddie turn to his shoulder to look at you, and you can see the roseate glow that dusts his cheeks. He bats you his eyelashes, eyeliner slightly smudged, before he turns back to his uncle.

“I like this whole… makeup thing,” he points at his eyes.

“Thanks,”

He leans in to whisper something in Eddie’s ear that you can hear, hushed words that are suspicious when Wayne looks at you again and when Eddie laughs nervously and lightly pushes at his uncle’s shoulder with a small whine of uncle Wayne, shut up!

“Nice meeting you, Mandy,” Wayne tips his hat to you. “Drive safe, kids. I’ll see you tomorrow, Eds.” he pats his shoulder, shaking it lightly before he walks away.

Eddie walks you to his van, a hand on the back of your waist with his notebook clutched to his side. It’s quiet, with your shoes crunching with the gravel ground; he opens the door for you, right before he moves to his side. You watch in the side mirror as Wayne gets in his own car and pulls out of the driveway.

Eddie throws his black notebook in the back, key twisting to start the car, and Broken Wings by Mr. Mister plays. It startles you, whipping your head at him.

“Where exactly are you taking me, Munson?” you narrow your eyes in feigned suspicion. He chuckles, buckling in his seat belt. “Well, that’s a first.”

“We’re leaving Hawkins. I can’t go to jail,”

“Oh?” you raise a brow. Eddie laughs, humming along to the song which peaks your interest but you’re more curious about something else when he pulls out the driveway. “So where is it?”

He gives you a quick glance, the corner of his lip twitching up. “Illinois,”

Your smile falls a bit, shifting into something confused when you squirm in your seat and rest your hands on your lap. “Oh,” you purse your lips. “What’s up in Illinois?”

“A surprise,” Eddie chuckles. “I’m not kidnapping you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Noooo ritualistic sacrifice.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” you toy with your fingers, scratching gently at your tattoo. “You do know that when we get there, it’ll be one in the morning,”

He slows the van for a moment, driving with one hand as he reaches blindly behind him. Finally, he pulls out a pillow. It looks new, smells fresh, even, like laundry detergent. Eddie places it on your lap. “Figured. Take a nap, then,”

You don’t. You hug the pillow to your chest, but you rest your head on it after you say a small thanks. Eddie adjusts the volume of the radio, redirecting the acs and when you give him a silent thanks with an abashed smile, he takes this as an opportunity to talk again.

“I’m really glad you came, by the way,” he smiles. “I mean, I know you said you’d come a while ago. And I’m really happy that you came even though our gig kept on being canceled for months.”

“I made a promise,” you lightly slur. “Your uncle’s really nice, by the way. He showed me this picture of you in his wallet when you were a baby. All ass and naked-”

“Shit, really?”

“No. I’m kidding.”

He tsks. “Would have been a nice, PG way to show you my ass but hey, it’s good to know my uncle doesn’t go around showing my butt.”

You laugh, unabashed. “I think I’d prefer grown up ass than baby ass, Eddie,”

Is this… flirting?

Flirting that’s not PG-13? Although, when has flirting been family friendly?

Why is he flirting with you?

Eddie’s smile dwindles. “You also look nice,” then he stammers. “I mean, more than nice. You look good- great- pretty- b-beautiful.” he sighs, the embarrassed pink tinge on his cheeks hidden by the darkness of his van. “You look… beauteous”

A rush of heat convulsing from your head to your toes that makes you squirm on your seat and toy with the ends of your red dress. “Beauteous, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Big word,”

“You know me,” he makes a psh sound, tapping his fingertips on the leather of his steering wheel. “I like it when they’re big…words,”

You turn your head to him. “Are you alright?”

Eddie’s fidgeting on his seat, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed, feeling like he’s been berated for something so small. “Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be? I’m- sorry for, uh, the whole ass thing.”

“It’s just ass, Eddie,” you laugh.

“Yeah, but it’s my ass,” he motions to himself. “Isn’t it weird that I’m talking about my ass as a baby to you- you know what?” Eddie suddenly stops the van, right in the middle of the road, where it was just the two of you in his van in the asphalt ground.

You gawp. “What are you doing?”

He unbuckles his seatbelt, leaning forward to shrug his vest off, leaving him in the extra shirt he brought along after his show—The Van Halen shirt he opted to shoplift one time, but you’d stopped him by buying it which he thanked you with an ice cream. And coincidentally, Runnin’ With the Devil starts playing.

Eddie places his vest on top of you, the entire shoulder length covering your chest; it’s as if he wants to keep you warm. You pout, hugging the pillow with one arm and the other tugging the vest around your right arm.

“Take a nap,” he pats your knee gingerly, giving you a small smile. “We’re gonna have a long night, sweetheart— god fucking damnit,”

You blush at his moniker but laugh at his rabelaisian accident. He sings beneath his breath, gives your bare knee a rub with his thumb before he starts driving again, forgetting to put his seatbelt back on.

“Oh my god, you are so gonna sacrifice me to the Devil,”

“Only bad girls get punished, (y/n)— I’m just gonna shut up now,”

When Eddie said he’d be taking you to Illinois for a surprise, you don’t expect to be brought to some abandoned home in a place you’re an alien to. Upon you stood a house which hangs on rusted nails and broken cement walls. It seemed to be a small historic mansion, built in a hamlet a couple minutes from the suburbs.

You feel like you’re one of the protagonists who idiotically explore a home they shouldn’t be exploring in some horror movie. That behind the bushes hid a man with a burnt face and knives for fingers. The trees rustle, crickets chirp and the wings of birds flap into the night sky. There’s a dog that barks from a distance, cars that speed across the asphalt road to their destination, and Eddie’s labored breathing as he stares at you for any signs of fear or hesitance.

You should be afraid — it’s one in the morning, and Eddie’s brought you to a place that’s hours away from your home. Are you afraid of him? Never.

But are you afraid of ghosts…?

“Is this safe?” you look around, surrounded by low hills and trees from afar that hide the city and the suburb. “Are we gonna get arrested?”

“We’re safe,” his eyebrows raise a little. “No ghosts, I promise. Although I can’t guarantee you there won't be any bugs and weird creepy crawlies in there, but I’ll protect you from them,” Eddie jokes.

You laugh, looking at the broken windows, the shape making it seem like someone had thrown a rock inside. There’s a small graffiti beside the door. Mellon Collie & Infinite Sadness, motherfucker!

“Mands, come on,” Eddie offers his hand, a glint of hope that bejewels his dark eyes. He’s gotten rid of his eyeliner already (sadly), but he looks just as handsome. Shyly, you place your hand on top of his.

His palm is rough; the same goes for his fingertips. But they’re warm and gentle and so welcoming. It’s like your hands are made to hold his, with the way they connect like some padlock. Eddie holds your hand the same way you hold his heart: of reverential attentiveness and utter devotion.

Eddie beams, bearing a smile that reaches his eyes. He tugs you close to him, pocketing his keys. “I got you, ‘kay?”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Copy that, rockstar,”

He blushes.

Slowly, Eddie pushes the door open. An eerie creak emits from the decrepit door, loud that you worry it would be heard from the houses a couple minutes away. He visibly winces at the sound, your hand tightening around his when he tiptoes his way in.

“Fuck, I forgot the door did that,”

You look at him. “You forgot?”

“Well, how’d you think I knew about this place?” he smirks at you. “Gotta impress you, sweetheart. You, as an avid lover of pianos and Billy Joel, need to take you somewhere you’ll love,”

In all honesty, you appreciate the effort. And the thought of Eddie wanting—needing to impress you, makes your heart perform an elegant summersault. “Well, that’s nice of you. I can learn how to love some dingy home.”

Eddie laughs.

There’s a spiral staircase that leads up to the second floor, its balusters broken in half, the risers in the middle having foot-sized holes, the handrails covered in green veins. There’s an arched entrance beside the foyer, leading to a living room with couches covered in a thin white sheet, with a coffee table fallen sideways and a couple of smashed plates on the ground. There’s a window beside the fireplace, too, although what only remains to be the frame itself.

The carpeted floor is covered in mold, and you wonder what its design might have been before it had turned into this disgusting, brown color.

“Don’t worry, there’s a room in here that doesn’t look this… mlegh,” he frowns deeply, wiping his hand on his thigh. “God, that was gross. This way, m’lady,”

He leads you through the spacey hallway, passing by ripped picture frames, a kitchen full of smashed plates and open cabinets filled with moldy and spoiled food; bedrooms with blankets covered in dust and démodé clothes inside unhinged wardrobes. Each item and corner harbor cobwebs from lingering spiders, and you almost ran into one if it weren’t for Eddie warning you to be careful.

Finally, your feet meet the marbled floor of a new room; moldy carpets gone, the darkness gone as this room is lit with the moonlight that sparks through the broken window. But there’s a clean blanket in the middle of the room, a picnic basket and a pack of beer—both fresh and clean.

You look at Eddie with a parted mouth and he says,

“Behold,” his arm stretches, moving behind him to guide your vision. Eddie’s ringed hands unearth his surprise, where your eyes follow his direction. “A piano,”

There’s a primeval grand piano in the middle of the room, the dust wiped off of its existence; its legs had been duct taped, the lid chipped and it’s missing two wheels but it was beautiful nonetheless.

“You said you’ve always imagined playing Billy Joel on a grand piano, so here you go,” he lightly punches a wall. “Now, I know I’m no rich, snobby person, but I would applaud you, sweetheart,”

You near the piano, running your fingertips across the keys, pressing on one of them to see if they’re in tune and they are. You snap your head at Eddie with a slack jaw, tears welling your eyes.

“Gareth and I drove up here, fixed up this room. Luckily, he knew someone here in Illinois who could tune the piano. And as for the blanket, and the beer, and the sandwiches, well, uncle Wayne did me a favor and brought all that shit up here. Now, I know it’s kind of gross in here and it’s like, one in the morning but—oh!”

Eddie’s tackled by your hug, feet knocking him back and almost to the ground. You wrap your arms tightly around his neck, nose digging onto his hair and eyes slammed shut to fight back the overwhelming tears. There’s not a single bone in him that’s hesitant to hug you back, holding you close to his chest, his heart pounding against yours when he presses his lips on top of your head.

“This is amazing,” you say against him. “I can’t believe you-you did this for…me.”

You pull away from him, hands on his biceps when you turn to look back at the grand piano. Eddie’s arms run back and forth on your waist, looking down at you with a triumphant smile before he twists you so that your back’s to his chest.

“Anything for you, Mandy,” he moves his hands up to your arms, rubbing them. “This was all I could do but-”

“I accept anything you give me,” you murmur with a smile, starstruck with the piano and his gift.

“Yeah, I know,” he rests his chin on your head. “Now, you’ve got something to play for me?”

The lively music created by your adroit fingers was enough to make Eddie sway. You lack the guitars, the drums, and the trumpet but it’s robust with buoyancy nonetheless.

You play the same way Eddie did—with a bobbing head, a bewitching voice, and dexterous fingers that know their way to your beloved instrument. He sips his beer, sitting cross-legged on the blanket, watching you with such awe; an exact mirror of you and him in the Hideout.

You keep your eyes riveted on the piano lest of mistakes. But Eddie thinks you’re far from failure, with how nimble your fingers are, and how your voice was as angelic as it had always been.

“You mighta heard I run with a dangerous crowd, we ain't too pretty, we ain't too proud,” your fingers glide, from left to right, pressing on all chords in quick speed, and it makes him holler. “We might be laughing a bit too loud. Aw, but that never hurt no one.”

“YES!” he claps. “You’re amazing! A fuckin’ star!”

Eddie takes a swig of the bitter liquor, headbanging to a song that wasn’t even metal but you could headbang to any song, right?

When you’re done, he pulls out a rose from a basket and throws it at you, falling on top of the piano as he stands up from the blanket, clapping loudly that it ricochets outside the empty, broken halls. You flush, smiling bashfully when you stand up and take the red rose into your hand, bringing it up to your nose and bowing as if you just finished an hour-long concert.

“Felt like I was in church,” Eddie pants, wiping his palms on his jeans. “You’re goddamn amazing, Mands. You really could be the next Billy Joel,”

“Oh, stop,” you wave him off, playing with the stem of the rose. “You’re just-”

“Complementing? Praising you?” he cocks a brow, walking towards you and places his hand on your back. “Okay, now sit. I’ve got a surprise for you, babe,”

“I swear, if you’ve got Billy Joel around, I won’t hesitate to kiss him in front of you,”

“Keep it in your pants, young lady,”

You guffaw. “How could I keep my lips inside my pants?”

“By- shh. I’m trying to show off here,” he stretches his arms, fingers settling over the keys. “Um, Dustin taught me this. Kid’s great with the piano and all that shit. Not as great as you, though. He’s more…superior with his mind than he is with music. But, he was able to help me with this so let’s thank the little shrimp for that.”

Nodding, you bump your shoulder with his. A smile paints your face, having already been surprised that Eddie Munson learned how to play the piano for you. But you wait for the real one, eager to see what he has in store when he positions his fingers on the piano, rings pressing against the ivory.

“Uhhh- oh!”

You peer quietly, watching the way his fingers keep a leisurely pace; an obvious sign that he’s still unsure of which keys to press next. But he knows the words by heart — something you’ve never heard of, and it’s obvious that he’s written this himself. You deem the meaning behind them salient, singing with his voice a dulcet tenor, eyes evident that he’s repeating all the words Dustin said:

Remember the keys. Play gently. Make sure you don’t get pinched by the keys, and you can always go slow. This isn’t some Corroded Coffin show where you start headbangin’ and making those fucking riffs. You play- gently! What did I just say? God, you’re gonna die a virgin.

Eddie looks at you for a split second, nervous, worried with the way your eyebrows furrow and your mouth parted. If he were being honest, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. The minute he sat down on the bench, he'd forgotten half of what Dustin had said, mind almost omitting to remember the lyrics he’d worked hard for for weeks.

And god, you’re staring at his hands and his face with bewilderment. And you’re beautiful. He feels so fucked up (in a good way). He’d probably kill himself if he fucks this one up.

But you regard the lyrics. They’re meaningful and heartwarming, meant just for you when he takes those short glances, but there’s a part that stitches all your wounds together, provided by his dangerously blunt needle.

“You whisper into my heart. And I've never been quite smart, but I heed your words in a tempest; just where our bones will rest,”

Piano played with fidelity, lyrics sang with breathless devotion, fingers genuflect to please you with its core venerated. Eddie Munson plays for the key to your heart even though he’s had it in his palm for a long time; shakedown your mind with a flickering flame in his mind, veins high on morphine.

Suddenly he stops, and Eddie looks at you with a face so wrecked with nervousness you just want to kiss hug him.

“That’s- that’s everything that I remember,” he flops his hands down to his lap with a huff. “It’s actually unfinished. But I couldn’t wait any longer,”

You croon. “Why not?”

“Well, why’d you think I brought you here in the first place?” he whispers. “Other than me wanting to surprise you. I mean, Mands, I wanted to impress you. Think of any other guys who’d bring someone to an abandoned home for anything but a date.”

“A date, huh?” you repeat, slowly smirking. “This is a date?”

Eddie pales. “Well, I mean, if you want it to be… a date...”

You decide to play with him. “I hardly think of this as a date,”

“Why not?”

“I’ve barely eaten,”

He giggles, leaning back with his head lulling back. “Sorry! Sorry I jus’- wanted to see you play.” Boldly he reaches up to push your hair behind your ear, the side of his face glimmering by the bright moon seen from the huge hole on the wall of the room. “I stole your lyric, by the way. Kind of makes me not want to give you some credit,”

Flushing, you look away, mustering up the courage to place your hand on top of his. “I’d really appreciate the credit, Munson,” you murmur. “That way the world would know who I was,”

“But who cares about the world?” he cups your face, thumb resting on top of your cheek. “I’m here, Mandy. I’ll… heed your words. Y’know? I’ve never been smart but I’ll heed your words in- what was the next word?”

“Tempest,”

“Tempest,” Eddie repeats. You giggle, leaning into his touch. “I am…stupid for you. But I’ll understand you. I’ll listen to you, and I’ll take care of you, (y/n). I…”

He’s redolent of piety to genuine amor. Eddie looks at you like you painted the stars on the dark sky, like someone who’d pulled him out of hellfire and thought that all his devilish, leather and metal glory was worthy of your attention and acceptance. He cradles your heart in his hand.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he states. “I didn’t know anyone could fall in love twice but, life is full of possibilities.”

Tears well your eyes, rivulets transferring to your eyelashes. It seems like Eddie has mirrored you, too. You cock your head to the side, letting out a dry chuckle.

“Me too,” you bite your lip. “I really like you. And I think I’m in love with you,”

“Thank fuck. My next option was to sacrifice you to Satan if everything went to shit,”

“Hey!”

“Kidding,” he smiles softly. “Can I kiss you?”

Four words enough to sweetly kill you, only to be resurrected by his yearning stare. You nod. “I don’t know. Can you?”

He doesn’t answer, but yeah, he can kiss you.

It’s tender, it's soft, it's warm, it's free, and it’s loving. It feels like summer in the dead of the night; like sitting in front of the fireplace with hot choco during winter. Eddie kisses you the way a lover would, with megawatts of avidity. And his lips are soft and home and so validating. I see you. I feel you, I understand you.

Eddie fully carries your face in his hand, slanting his mouth against yours when he takes a deep breath. He breaks away for a moment before he tackles you with an open mouthed kiss that you reciprocate, the feeling of his balmy tongue grazing your plump bottom lip.

You feel the heat wave itself from your chest to the space between your legs that makes you subconsciously lean closer to him, thighs bumping. Eddie’s hand crawls from your cheek, to pressing lightly on the dip of your neck, to your plump shoulder, grazing the tattoo he painted on your skin until they land on your thigh, lifting it on top of his.

You moan softly that vibrates across his warm chest. Eddie hums, playing with the ruffles of your red dress, keeping your hot mouth locked against his. But when your hand comes down to grasp at his bicep, moving behind to tangle lightly on his curls, your body searches for friction and uses his thigh as the nearest solution.

“Christ, babe,” he breaks away, the tip of his nose still pressed on your cheek. “You only got panties beneath?”

“You never know,” you pant.

He groans, feeling blood rush down to his cock that immediately hardens. You feel an acute bump beneath your knee, giving Eddie a rubicund glow. You press the back of your knee against it, which makes him squeak. “Y’ really wanna- wanna do this? I mean, I just kissed you.” he swallows thickly. “And I’ve- I’ve never done this before,”

Eddie looks ashamed, like it’s embarrassing to be a virgin in your twenties. Your heart melts for him, face softening, taking his hand into yours and kissing his knuckles.

“Me, too,” you confess. “But I trust you and- and I wanna do this with you. Besides, it’s better than to leave high and dry, right?”

I trust you.

He laughs jovially.

“You’re right,” he gives your mouth quick pecks, too short for your liking but he makes up for it when Eddie readjusts himself so that he’s fully facing you, urging you to do the same so that he’d wrap your legs around his waist. “‘M gonna take care of you, Mands.”

He easily lifts himself off the old bench, carrying you with him. You sway with every step, arms locked around his neck, lips slotted against him with his eyes closed tightly but luckily he knows his way to the thin blanket.

Eddie kneels, almost falling down with your weight. He places a hand to the back of your head and the other on the bottom of your spine when he gently lays you on the light eiderdown.

Immediately, he lays himself on top of you, a forearm on the side of your head with the other palming at your waist. Your dress rides up to your thigh, pooling beneath you when Eddie moves forward to caress his thigh against yours, your knees pressing up at his sides.

“Can I- Can I remove your dress?” he asks gently, eyebrows joint. “Please?”

“Yes, please,”

His hands wander to the buttons in front, removing them with ease until your bra appears. It doesn’t match what’s below you, something you’re slightly embarrassed about, but Eddie goggles at them as soon as he pulls on your strap. “Oh, god, you’re hot.”

He mouths at the top of your breasts, sucking gently as he begins to pull down on your dress until he sees your cotton panties. He drags them down until your body’s free of restraint, where he moves back so he’d remove them off your legs and place them on top of the basket to avoid any dust ruining the fabric.

Then he goes back to kissing your tits, hands cupping them together, bunching the material of your bra in his fists. You moan softly, grasping his shoulders.

“Beautiful,” he says. “Goddess divine,”

Eddie helps you sit up slightly so he could reach behind and clumsily unclasp your bra. His tongue pokes out in determination, makes a happy sound of success once he sees your bra loosen, straps draping down your shoulders that he gladly removes from you.

“Hold on,” he leans back, moving to his knees to remove his vest and shirt. Eddie stuns you with his alabaster skin tainted with black ink. A gnarly demon on his chest beside a black widow, the infamous bats on his outer forearm, the puppet master on the inside and the butterfly on his wrist; the wyvern on his bicep, and there’s a huge, hotly formidable tattoo of a pair of bat wings starting from his v-line, curving around his waist, and a skull beneath his left pec. “There. Now we’re even,”

“You look… christ, I’m not even gonna fucking hold back. You look hot. Very fuckable,”

He laughs with a light shake of his head. “I’m gonna pretend you were looking at my face while you were saying that.”

When he goes back down, his lips attach to your hard nipple. You mewl softly, feeling his hot saliva lather around your tit when he suckles hard like he searches for something in there. You clutch at his hair, head tipping back, hips jolting up to grind against his bulge which makes him groan.

“Do you have to suck on my tits longer or should I start touching myself already?”

Eddie chuckles in disbelief. “Patience, honey. ‘M gonna give you what you want, don’t worry.”

His hand grips at the warm flesh of your thigh, index finger moving up to slip beneath the waistband of your panties, massaging your flesh. And he treats the other breast with the same hunger, doesn’t stop until he’s certain they’re sensitive (they are. They really are.)

Finally, he starts moving down, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses on your belly, down to your navel, until he reaches your dampening underwear. You prop yourself up to your elbows when he stutters in his movements, staring up at the wet spot that reveals the indent of your little cunt.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, a forming billow of insecurity preparing to tackle you the longer he stares at your clothes sex.

“Nothing,” he clears his throat. “Jus’ that I’ve never… eaten a girl out, before. Well, I’ve had practice. Just not at a girl’s p-pussy,”

Curiosity waves insecurity off. “Well, where? At your hand?”

“At a fleshlight,”

Your head feels like burning. “Oh,” you blink. “Well, do your best, I guess. Good luck,”

“Thanks,”

Eddie sniffs at your arousal, biting back an animalistic groan that scratches at his throat when the aroma of nectar fills his nostrils. Eddie leisurely removes your panties, lifting his eyes up to connect with yours. They’re achingly concupiscent, pupils blown in the thick glaze of frisson that makes the hair on his arms raise with anticipation.

Finally, he tugs them down, wiggling them off you. Eddie’s practically edging himself, with the way he slowly reveals your cunt, mouth watering at the shiny gloss at your clit from your slick. He growls lowly, sliding them off faster until he tosses them into nowhere (you make a note to hit him later for that).

His hands push at your knees, spreading your legs apart, making your pussy open and splay out for him to press his tongue against.

Which he does; Eddie’s lips purse, lets a thick glob of his spit cascade down to your clit before leaving a featherlight kiss to it, until he licks a fat stripe from your tiny hole to the bud. You keen, back arching, which makes him link his arms around your legs and press a hand on your navel to keep you down.

It’s a foreign feeling you know you’d relish for the rest of your life, especially when it comes to his tongue. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper.

“You taste- taste fucking amazing,” you do. Like honey; like a pétillant sweet moscato, syrup on pancakes and all other sweet shit he could think of. Eddie repeats his action, which makes your hole flutter around nothing. He suctions his mouth at your clit, sucking all the juices that continue to leak out of your blushing cunt. “Christ on a fucking clutch- oh, god, Mandy.”

There’s an embarrassing sound that seems to be like quiet slurping and the raw music of wetness created by his lips and your arousal. Your toes curl, the tip of his tongue dragging along your folds like some kitten before he returns to taking your clit back in his mouth.

Mewling, your elbows give out and your head falls down to the sheets, eyes squeezing shut. His vacant hand comes down to drag itself along the mess of your hot sex, amalgamated with his saliva and your lubricous dampness, rubbing your clit with his index and middle finger in slow, pressured circles that begins to ignite the flame below your stomach.

“God- Eddie- I-”

“Wanna use your words, babe?” he laps at your hole, nose rubbing at your clit when he shakes his head vigorously. “Tell me how good it feels, come on. Don’t go shy on me.”

You nod, your wrist pressing on your forehead when Eddie parts your slick petals with his fingers, formed into a v to expose more of you. He licks at it, teasing your folds, gawking at you.

“Feels- feels amazing. Felt like I was gonna pee whenever you- fuck- suck at my clit. God, Eds, I want more,” you whine, bucking your hips at his face. “Please. Please please please,”

He laughs against you. “You weren’t gonna pee, sweetheart.”

“How’d you know?”

“Porn,” he furrows his eyebrows. “Eavesdropping works sometimes.”

Eddie licks at his fingers, index and middle stuck together in his mouth as he twirls his tongue around them. He pulls them out with a small pop, eyes wandering up to your bare, heaving chest, and he couldn’t resist a teasing squeeze using the hand pressed on your navel.

Then, he begins to ease one finger, lips apart, breathless as he watches you take in his digit slowly. It’s a strange feeling, with something prodding deep at your entrance, where Eddie doesn’t stop until he’s practically knuckle deep into you, pressing against your viscid walls; an alien sensation that feels good, albeit you still don’t feel full, even so, it’s tingly and blissful.

Your brows furrow, lips disjoined to produce heartily mewls, evoking Eddie of his altruism. He can’t get enough of how you taste, of how heavenly your sounds are despite the deed being so irreverent. He’s thrusting the single digit slowly. So you buck your hips against his face, almost shoving your clit into his mouth.

“M-more,” you whine. “Please. I can take it,”

“Yeah?” he kisses the outside of your cunt, nipping at your thighs. “Gotta stretch you open first, right?”

The tone’s a question, though it careens to remind you of what he’s going to do next. Eddie pulls his finger out, moaning quietly at his scintillating limb. He lifts his middle finger, placing it beside the sticky index before he gingerly impels inside. Your hips raise, your wails turning a bit louder, bursting into pleasured linns of coloratura.

When he brushes that sensitive spot that makes you sob, one that abuts the waves and fluxes delirium on every blood that swims on your insides. Eddie looks up at you, hair in a tangled mess when you keep pulling on them as he picks up his pace and quaffs at your pulpy button, shoulders spreading your legs at an almost uncomfortable distance that puts an ache from your legs to your thighs.

The sounds you make are absolutely empyrean. They reverberate from the torn walls of the hallway just outside, like angels warbling as they play the harmonious harp with their cherubic fingers; like the skies had opened, let out a beam of sunlight surround him in a circle and take him up to heaven where you remain.

And they shouldn’t be taking sinners like him; a devil worshiper as they rudely opine. Yet here he was, listening to an angel cry, her teardrops leaking down his fingers to his gyrating wrist, combing through his hair pruriently.

But now, because of him, he doesn’t think you're an angel anymore. With what’s happening — angels don’t submit to the devil now, do they?

Eddie’s hair is a blazing abradation against your sensitive skin, heightens every part of your senses that explodes your mind. You feel an overwhelming, anomalous twist in the pit of your stomach.

He places gentle kisses on your silky thighs, looking up at you with such vehemence. “You make the prettiest sounds, Mands. Just as pretty as your voice, hm? Wanna sing for me? Gon’ make you sing so loud, baby.”

Fingers fasten. They scissor, and they spread, and they augment on your viscous in your tight canal. An amoral sound produced by his neophyte hands and your needy, swelling cunt that aches for more despite already having been split open by his fingers.

You moan, loud, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit as his arm begins to shake the faster he moves his hand inside you. Eddie begins moving up, fingers still fucking you, kissing his way up to your face. He leaves wet spots on your skin, both of his saliva and your wetness. Your hands leave his hair, eyes scrunched close to weep coarsely, pushing at his hand, urging him to go deeper that his cold rings sting your raw folds.

“I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, stomach flexing, arm grasping at his hastening hand. You clench around his fingers, locking him in place for a split second from how tight it was. “God, Eddie, I’m- you’re making me cu- I’m close,”

“You can cum,” he kisses your cheek, dragging his lips up to kiss the corners of your eyes. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Come on, be a good girl and cum for me,”

You do, with your back bowed, jaw slack with mewls and moans, thighs shaking when he continues to rub your clit even when your cum starts to coat his fingers, dripping down to his rings and wrist. Liquid spurts, a hollow but wet sound when he slows his fingering and fucks your tiny entrance open.

Finally, Eddie pulls them out with a humiliating shlick, cum leaking out of your hole and onto the thin blanket. He shoves his fingers in his mouth, like it’s his libation —god of fingerfucking, as you’d call him in your mind when he sucks all the white sap.

“Felt good?” he pokes your cheekbone with the button of his nose. “Because if it didn’t, I might as well leave you here and go back to Hawkins butt naked.”

You laugh, slapping lightly at his arm. “It felt amazing, Eddie. Don’t worry.”

Your hands fumble with his jeans. But Eddie kisses you, unrestrained with his tongue sweet, a faint bitter taste of the beer he drank earlier. He places his hands on top of yours, placing them on top of your stomach before he goes back to removing his jeans.

The sound of his pants unzipping excites you, eyebrows raising as you kiss him harder, hands coming up to grasp his face gently, thumb on his cheek and the rest of your fingers below his jaw that you caress its emolliency. Eddie raises his hips, tugging them down until he’s clad in nothing but silver rings and checkered boxers.

He nods towards his crotch when you break away from him, eyes leading from his chest, to the fuzzy brown hair of his happy trail, to the bulge that pokes out of his loose underwear. “Wanna see it, babe?”

“Can I?”

Eddie snorts. “Yes you abso-fucking-lutely can. Take it out, sweetheart. You can play with it a little,”

He moves to lay halfway beside you, legs dropped and slightly spread, hands on his back to support himself. You get on your knees, face aflame when Eddie’s eyes watch your every move with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. You wonder how he could be so calm; if he felt the same nervous sensation overwhelm your core, both being neophyte to sex. Nevertheless, you’re not nervous enough that you want to stop.

But when you tug down on the band of his boxers and his cock vaults up, he tries to hide how overwhelmed he is. You ogle, and if you could, you would have foamed at the mouth at the sight of his thick girth, tip swell with precum, how a vein bulges beneath and how his sack hung heavy. A voice in the back of your mind wonders if he could even fit inside you but suddenly you’re starved.

“Pretty,” you breathe out, tongue licking your lips. “Dude, you’re big,”

“Thanks.” he blushes.

Gallantly, you swipe your hand across your slick heat to lubricate your palm. He visibly shudders, eyes glassy, groaning when your fingers enclose around him.

“Fuck,” your wrist gyrates, starts moving up and down on his length. Eddie’s hips buck into your fist, your movement leisurely, like you’re relishing the feeling of his hot cock in your hand. But you lean down, mimicking him earlier by letting a dollop of your spit drizzle down on top of his tip. “Oh- oh god, that felt good,”

You slant down to wrap your lips delicately around his engorged helmet. He moans, breath ruptured when you sink down onto him, taking only what you could and coat the rest with your trembling hand. “Fuck- shit- yeah, baby, your mouth’s amazing,”

He tries not to buck up into your mouth, restraining himself by carding a hand through your hair to cup it on the back of your head. His hearing becomes muffled, nothing but the opaque sound of birds, deluging it with your gurgles, your spit and his fluid that continues to leak from his slit leaking down to his balls.

Eddie had imagined this once- twice- three, he doesn’t know. It had been too many to count and he feels bad thinking about it; what kind of normal person would imagine their friend being on their knees, naked, sucking on their cock?

You look up at him, eyes vast and credulously submissive with enameled innocence, like you’re repenting with his dick in your mouth, as if it had been your god and you beg for forgiveness for all the sins that you’ve caused.

Jesus, Mary, Joseph. Oh…fuck.

Cardinal paints the alabaster marble of his cheeks, brushing over it until it spreads down to his clenching neck and heaving chest as you imbibe his tip, suctioning your cheeks around his length and jerk him off. You look like you know what you’re doing, leading him to wonder if you’d done this before. He should be jealous, let that fraught warp in his mind and spread over his nerves until he stops you and begins to ask. But pleasure besets him, too much, that the question withers away into the carnal haze.

You gag and he almost cums. “Shit, ‘ve been thinking about this for a long time,” Eddie’s voice is rough, sweat dripping down his temples and onto his hair that settles over his shoulders. You break away from his head, moving down to lave your tongue up from the base above his sack to the ridge beneath his tip. “Ohhh- fuck,”

Eddie gently pulls himself off your mouth, his hand coming down to your cheek and raising your head. His cock grazes your upper lip when it pops out and arches to his stomach, leaking down his happy trail. A luster of his precum and your spit smears on your plump lips, mouth parted to take a short gasp of air as he pulls you up to him.

“How’d you learn how to do that?” he wipes the fluid off the corner of your lip, bringing you into a kiss because he misses you, and just because he wants to taste himself.

“Gave a guy head before I left New York,” you murmur against him. “He came all over my face and some of his cum went in my eye. Got pink eye for two weeks,”

He winces. “Ouch,”

Then he gives you a kiss on your eyelids, your laugh that he interrupts with his mouth, cajoling you with kisses as he lays you onto your back beneath him where he slots himself between your legs, his cock grazing your still sensitive folds that makes you whimper in his mouth.

Craving, Eddie’s hand ventures from your waist, squeezing your ample thigh, stopping on your calf to hike your leg up his waist. He grinds down onto you, pressing his hardness against the swell of your cunt.

“Still want to do this?” he questions between wet kisses, your hands venturing the slope of his back. “Just say the word and I’ll stop.”

“Don’t,” your eyebrows furrow in frustration. “I mean, I still want to do this. Christ, please,”

“Okay,” he breaks away, moving across you to check the basket. “Okay okay okay okay- fuck. Gareth forgot the fucking condoms.”

You stammer. “W-you knew we were going to have sex?”

“You never know,” he laughs nervously, copying you. “Um. I could pull out. I mean, I can’t exactly promise you I’d have the- the energy to do so. But I could just eat you out ‘till you’re okay. OH! Sixty-nine! We could do that! That way we’re both satisfied,”

“Eddie,” you reach between to grab his cock, squeezing lightly. His eyes flutter, groaning. “Just- just fuck me, okay? We can figure it out later.”

“Shit, okay,” he leans down to kiss you. “And I’m not gonna fuck you, babe,”

Eddie digs his nose into the crook of your neck, his hand replacing yours, slapping his tip on your bud. His forehead rests on your cheek when he does this, relishing in your small moan. “Why not?”

“‘Cause I’m gonna make love to you,” he lazily kisses your cheek. “‘Y need to stop being vulgar sometimes, sweetheart.”

He jabs at your entrance, before he slowly pushes himself in.

A searing pain threads around your cunt, chiefly at your entrance and your inner walls; though, when the pain spreads across your body, it numbs on your nerves, so the only thing burning was your sex. But Eddie’s taking it slow, agonizingly slow, feeling the tension that radiates. He comforts you through soft strokes against, kissing your cheek at every inch he pushes in.

When you wince once his pelvis pushes against your clit, Eddie lifts his head from your shoulder, his eye twitching lightly from holding back. He massages your thigh, other hand coming up to cup your face and rest his thumb on the corner of your eye when tears begin to form.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, trying not to move, but his tip’s right at your spot. “Do you want me to pull out? Does it hurt too much?”

“It’s supposed to hurt right?”

“Well, I heard it does,” he kisses your nose. “Sometimes it doesn’t for others, though,”

“Okay,” you chuckle lightly, grasping harder at his back.

It took almost a minute for the sting to retire, and he stayed pliant inside you, waiting until he felt your walls relax around him; until your crumbled face slackened and your mouth opened, letting out sacred breaths.

“You can move now,” Eddie smiles, slanting his mouth against yours. His tongue explores your mouth, mouth staying closed around yours as he begins to pull out halfway, before he pushes back in slowly.

Eddie sheathes himself inside you, an omnipotent surge of sybaritism divaricates your senses. He brushes his hair behind your ears, gazing down at you even though your eyes are closed and you stare into a void with your body aflame. And he feels good- amazing, with every stretch that enkindles every nerve.

You look blissed beneath him, every bone submitting to every grind, every time his head hits that very spot that lets you create sensual croons, soft ones that it seems like you’re silently gasping with your parted lips. He places a kiss to where your eyebrows join, sloppy with his hedonistic thrust.

It’s nothing but soft, breathless moans, his grunts and your whimpers when the pain numbs out, his lips moving down until he meets yours with his ever loving tongue brushing your bottom lip from the lax kiss. The tush of hair tickles your skin, his balls slapping gently against your ass, his hand leaving your thigh to push your silky coiffed hair off your shoulder.

He doesn’t hurry, takes his time with you like he’s got every second of your lives, like you both don’t lack sleep. And Eddie can’t stop kissing every inch that he could reach — whether it be the hollow skin of your collarbone, or leaving bites on your neck to mark you, not because he claims your being but because he wants to own your heart. He kisses your cheekbones dampened by your tears, taking your hand from his back, leaning down to kiss the tattoo he stabbed onto your skin.

“You can cry,” Eddie whispers. “I got you. You look so pretty, hm — fuck, my pretty, pretty girl.”

You let your tears fall down to his thumbs, slowly opening your eyes even though it stings to do so with the tears that prod at your eyeballs. Eddie smiles, clasping his hand around yours and kisses every calloused fingertip.

“Ah, Eddie,” your bottom lip juts out, letting the moans flow. “Feels- f-feels so good. Your cock feels amazing,”

“Shit, Mands, don’t say that,” he laughs weakly. “You’re gon’ make me cum faster than I intend to,”

Each thrust builds a bubble inside, until it explodes and floods you in rhapsodic waves. A heavy feeling that tells you that you’d never get sick of feeling him buried deep in your gummy walls, or of hearing his breathless moans, or the love that radiates through every caress of his that brings you comfort.

The lacuna is almost not there, like he wants to melt his skin with yours. His sweat drips down to your bare chest, where his lips venture until he wraps his mouth around your sensitive nipples that had been chafing against his chest. You run your fingers through his hair, your hips lunging up to grind with his.

Eddie’s definitely not fucking you. No, no with his velvet sighs, or with his naughty suckles. He’s making love to you like he said; like he promised.

“You feel me making love to you?” you nod, taking his face down to smush it against yours. “Put your legs around me, sweetheart,”

You do, gently circling your legs around his waist, heel pressing onto the bottom of his spine. You feel yourself split open, suctioning his cock, driving him deeper. It’s when the lewd sounds increase their volume, whenever his heavy sack hits your wet cunt as he picks up the pace of his thrust, pushing in and in and in.

“Fuck,” you cry out, pulling lightly on his hair. When you suck on his collarbone, a claret bruise colors his pearlescent skin, his chest reddening from the amount of sanguine blood that flows through. “You’re so deep,”

“Can you look at me, honey?” your eyes force itself open to stare deep in his doe eyes, roaring with ecstasy, staring right at the windows of your soul. “Hi there, Mandy.”

Eddie gathers both your hands in one hand and pins them above you, which you meekly allow him to while his vacant one slithers itself between your bodies to rub on your clit. The words in your mouth turn into moans, getting drunk at the bliss.

He moves faster, the sounds making it seem like he’s fucking you but you’re too lost to care. Eddie moans, keeps on nudging your nose whenever your eyes begin to flutter shut from lethargy.

“You’re taking me so well, hm?” he nips at your jawline. “Pretty little pussy just taking my cock, yeah?”

It’s just you and Eddie inside that abandoned home, you believe. You feel him carve his skin against yours like a promise, when you exchange your slick sweat and your breathy moans swallowed by his open mouth that hovers yours; his hips folding against yours in corybantic impetus. He refuses to close his eyes as if he’d lose you when he blinks, devotion swelling his waterline.

He drills faster and deeper, the hollow and wet sound of your arousals spurs him on more. There’s a sting on the inside of your cunt, though too faint for it to even dwell in your mind. Then that now familiar feeling of something twisting at the bottom of your stomach comes to surface, burgons over your senses, and so did Eddie’s.

“I’m gonna cum,” you mewl softly. “I’m gonna cum, Eddie.”

“I know, baby,” his grip tightens on your wrists, his thumb on your clit adding pressure and fastens his rubs. Eddie wantonly fucks his cock inside you now, moaning at your small cries when he hits that spot over and over again. “I gotta pull out, okay?”

“No!” you push his chest against yours, locking your feet around him. “Cum- cum in me. Want it in me, please.”

And who was he to resist you?

(Someone who isn’t ready to be a father, technically. But he seriously couldn’t resist you.)

Eddie kisses over your fluttering pulse, his cock snug, pressing himself against your thighs. He continues rubbing your clit, his blunt nails pressing on the sides of your wrist. And he coaxes you through the billow of your orgasm. “That’s it, baby. Good girl- shit- oh, fuck, gonna cum inside this pussy, yeah? Gon’ give you all of me.”

You cum with a gasp, lewd sloshing from your pussy as you gush around him weakly. You feel his cock twitch inside you, right before he tries to muffle his moans by kissing you sloppily, mixing his sultry seed with yours when he slows his thrust, pushing it inside deeper.

He mouths at your chest, licking across the top of your breast before he works up your nipples. Eddie moves his hips again for a couple more times before he slowly pulls out of you.

Your legs fall to your sides. Eddie kisses your knees, massaging your legs, spreading them apart.

Then he pales. “Fuck, (y/n), you’re bleeding-”

“Huh?” your head lifts, seeing the small pink puddle beneath your ass. Eddie wipes his sweat on his thighs, reaching for his shirt that’s been thrown somewhere to wipe it across your cunt hastily. “Babe that’s normal…”

You hide your eyes behind your wrist, panting heavily. The pounding on his heart eases, gently wiping across your cunt. “Really?”

“To some. But I did,”

Eddie reaches for a new bottle of beer from the basket on top of your head, opening it with his teeth before he slots himself back between your legs. You prop yourself up to your elbows, his hand cupping below your mouth when he brings the bottle to your lips.

You drink the bittersweet liquor, swallowing slowly. He smiles at you. “You did a great job, yeah?” He kisses your forehead, and he can’t help but cheekily lather your cunt with his cum when he reaches down to slide his fingers between your semi-bleeding folds.

“Ah-” you squirm away, gripping tightly onto him. “Ouch. Sen- sensitive, c-christ,”

“Sorry, baby,” he plucks his finger inside his mouth, morsel of cum and your blood filling his taste buds. “Couldn’t resist,”

Eddie slants his lips onto yours, letting your pulse relax in the frenzied mist, the afterglow ensnaring your beating hearts. You see that the moon grants his eyes a vermeil glow when he pulls back, skin glistening like stars in the night sky, luring you in for you to lose yourself in them — you do, basking in the comfort of his gaze, pilfering your soul.

Double-cross the vacant and the bored

They’re not sure just what we have in store

In November of 1979, Eddie Munson stood breathless on the stage of the theater room for the Middle School Talent Show, electric guitar in hand, buzzed hair drenched with sweat that dripped down to his Bauhaus black shirt. The aftermath of his oh-so-metal performance of Breaking The Law left the parents clapping scatteredly, and his classmates hollering and yelling from their seats.

He looked back on his then bandmates and little Gareth who sat proudly behind the large drum set. Eddie laughed, clapped with them before he genuflected, ignoring the judgemental stares of conservative parents who watched his every move as he walked down the stage.

“Well, that was a very loud and brazen performance from… Corroded Coffin,” Mr. Clarke smiled brightly at them, holding the card in his hand. “Up next we have a very, very lovely girl named-”

He said a name, which Eddie deemed as the girl who sat in front of him during History, who wrote things on top of her books that he recognized were lyrics he’s unfamiliar to. Eddie ran his hand across his buzzed head, looking around and wondered where that girl may be.

Little Gareth stood beside Eddie, who pointed behind to the backdoors. When he turned, the doors were swinging open, the exit seen through the small window where he saw her running away to Hawkins High.

Eddie patted his friend’s back, deciding to follow that girl in a purple dress and short pigtails that disappeared into the darkness of the school parking lot.

The doors slammed against the walls, twice, and he ran and ran until he reached Hawkins High where she hid. He roamed the unfamiliar walls, knocking against the dents of the lockers, until he heard the gentle sound of piano from the music room nearby.

Like an angel’s cry for help, as he remembered. The tune of that song his uncle sang every morning familiarizes itself in his eardrums. Eddie approached the door, peaked through the small window, and saw

You.

Your back to him, back hunched, purple dress resting down to your knees with your hands idly pressed at the keys with a melancholy mist surrounding you. Eddie listened to you sing, a couple pitches wrong but nevertheless soft and dulcet, even though he heard something restraining your throat with what seemed to be held back sobs.

“Oh Mandy, well you came—”

When he stormed in, the doorknob slamming at the wall, you yelled, high pitched and laced with fear. Eddie’s eyes had widened and closed the door, placing a finger up to his lips to shush you.

“Hey- hey hey hey no, shh, quiet—” he lunged at you, cupping his hand over your mouth. Your screams had died instantly, though your eyes remained wide with distress and tears that stained his hand. You placed your hands on the bench, waiting until Eddie removed his hands from your mouth.

He saw that you had missing teeth like his, both on the same spot when you hissed at him. That you looked like you had been freshly crying (which you were) with your lips pouted and eyes stained red with the tears that priced your eyes.

Once his hand returned to his side, you kicked his shin, hard enough that Eddie knew he’d have a bruise (he did. A big one that lasted for a week). He winced loudly, rubbing the spot “What is wrong with you? Why didn't you knock?”

“Dramatic entrance,” he spread his arms, bowing down to you like he’d just finished a show. “I didn't mean to scare you like that. S-sorry. Are you okay?”

You had surveyed his intimidating demeanor of oversized black Bauhaus tee, ripped jeans, a single skeleton ring with a slick buzzcut that shone from the fluorescent lights of the music room with puffy eyes. Eddie felt that nervousness bubble in his stomach, knowing how well you’re judging him. But your posture remained relaxed and you showed no ounce of fear so he thought that was new.

When you remained silent, he took the opportunity to speak again. “My uncle loves that song,” he sat beside you, making you scoot over. “He sings it almost every morning.”

“Mandy?” you said, fiddling with your fingers, sniffing.

“Yeah,” his tongue prods at the gaps between his teeth, feeling the gums that protected his adult teeth. “Oh, Mandy. Well, you kissed me and stopped me from shaking,”

You smiled weakly, sniffling. “My mom likes it too,”

“Really?” You nodded, tugging on your dress. “I wouldn’t blame her. I like it, too.” Eddie had reached for his pocket, pulling on his skull handkerchief as he spoke again. “Why did you run away? You were next and you ran.”

“I was nervous,” you huffed, tears welled your eyes. “Tammy Thompson said I sounded like a muppet singing so I ran away so I wouldn't embarrass myself,”

Eddie gasped. “She said that?” he furrowed his eyebrows. “She’s the one who sounds like a muppet.”

You gawped. “No she doesn’t!”

“Yes she does!” Eddie pressed his fingers on either side of his nose, before he began singing in a voice shrill and deafening that made you laugh hard. “Yesterday's a dream- oh! I face the morning yeah yeah crying on a breeze woah ooh The pain is calling- aaaaaaa!!”

You laughed beside him, both your small chests aching for the lack of breath that had been wheezed out, cheeks strained and eyes welled with tears. “Okay, maybe she does sound like that,” your smile withered. “But, what if she’s right?”

“She isn’t.”

“You didn't even hear me sing,”

“Yeah, I did,” Eddie scooted closer, bumping his arm with yours. “You sounded cool. You sounded like an angel. A pretty metal angel.”

You remembered that it had been the first time you blushed — thirteen year old Eddie Munson, who still had baby teeth at his age, had been the receiving end of that bashful smile; you remembered that he asked if you could play, and you did, with the ends of your purple dress tickling his knees that exposed from his jeans.

“Metal?” Eddie nodded. “I was playing the piano.”

“Well, anything can be metal,” he pulled out his handkerchief. “Crying is metal. Singing is metal. This chair,” he used his other hand to grasp at the leg of the bench and shook it, making you giggle. “Is metal.”

That night, not only did Eddie Munson offer you his handkerchief for aid (that he wiped beneath your nose himself, unbothered by the thick snot dampening the fabric), but he offered you friendship. He offered you comfort and validation, and you offered him acceptance.

That he proceeded to compliment not just your voice but your hair and your dress. Eddie Munson made you comfortable that night, had kindled something between the two of you that you called a friendship. He watched you play that piano in the music room unabashedly and confidently, him being your first ever audience, and Eddie stood up from the bench, and clapped at you like you’d performed at a concert.

That he sang Don’t Fear The Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult (and gave you a mixtape right before you left) in front of you so you’d get even.

He took your feelings seriously, said that you’d do great and it’s normal to get nervous before a performance; talked to you with his innocent, doe-eyes gaze with his hand on your shoulder for comfort.

And that he watched you, standing in front of the crowd, cheering you on as you sang Mandy with full confidence and carelessness of the judgemental eyes and insults from Tammy Thompson.

You went back home with the thought of that boy with a buzzcut that made you smile brighter than anyone else had. And you had a silly little childish crush on him for god knows how long.

But Eddie had a crush on you until 1982, where he unfortunately started to forget. And you, the same.

Yet he never forgot. He always thought about that girl in the pretty purple dress who had a pretty smile and a cute laugh, who gave him a kiss on the cheek for cheering her on during the talent show.

He thought about her — you — every night before going to bed and he dreamt of you.

And now, here in 1986 where you sat on the passenger seat of his car with a cigarette in your mouth, racing the borrowed time before the sun begins to rise, the open window that blew the hair out of your face as you stared out with a blissed smile, Eddie realizes he’s been playing that dangerous love game since he was thirteen.

That he’s already charged Vecna and his swarm of bats with nothing more than a blunt spear, courage, a dream and a crush that blossomed into love. He’s been there since 1979, having it paused for four years before returning to the Upside Down when you came back.

He’s already played that dangerous game of love and now, he’s killed Vecna with a stake through his heart and won.

Eddie parks his car beside the broken fence of weathertop, the black sky now a bright shade of gray. You smile at him, unbuckling your seatbelt, before you simultaneously open the doors together and exit.

You hold the basket in your hand, the other laced around Eddie’s, climbing up that hill until you reach that spot you both were in weeks ago, with the tall grass tickling your bare ankles, hands tight against each other, a silent promise of protection as he holds you close to him.

Your equilibrium is askew from earlier events, his shirt hangs well over your body that tickles your sensitive skin, and Eddie actually is shirtless, after unfortunately getting too much dust on your dress.

But he feels free, standing on top of the hill with his tattoos and the love of his life holding his hand. When the white clouds start to emerge and levitate above him, its shapeshifting glory; pertinently gifting you with peaceful vapor that flows through the town.

You both sat down, and soon you’ve both got a sandwich and a beer in your hands, sitting side by side, watching as the sun deliberately rises from the earth. You rest your head on his shoulder, munching on the sandwich, bottles balanced between your legs.

“No wonder why your mom’s eager to watch the sunrise,” you smell his musk of faint sex and cigarettes. Eddie presses a kiss on the top of your head. “It’s beautiful,”

He looks at you, the afterglow of sex still dawned on your vogue. You rip a piece of bread off and pop it into your mouth, and Eddie says, “I love you,”

You look up at him, the warm, dandelion smolder of the sun illuminates your face stupendously. He doesn't need to go further into detail how pretty you looked.

But you? — with all the darkness of the world put on pause like some movie, the pastel colors of dawn that crawl up from his chin to the entirety of his face, his tangled mush of curls that frame his picturesque, devilishly handsome face, it heralds safety; love and adoration that you harbor for this man.

“Yeah?” you press your chin on his shoulder. “Didn’t peg you as the type to fall after sex, Munson,”

“Oh, sweetheart, I fell a long time ago,” he rubs his nose against yours. “I just forgot,”

“How romantic,”

Eddie places his sandwich on his lap, just so he could push your hair behind your ear and stare at you. So he could see you, validating you for all your worth.

You both sit there, on the field just where your bones will rest, until it withers into dust and disappear behind those dirt and stone and go one like you both never existed. But death was the least of your concerns, relishing in the moment you have with this person who'd given you validation when you sought for it (and Eddie, who stares at you with such devotion like you'd given him everything he fought for — acceptance).

“But yeah,” you whisper. “Maybe me too,”

He leans down to kiss you. And when the sun rises and coats you with its celestial brilliance, with his kiss chaste and soft and so loving, you break away with a small click created by your wet, plump lips.

“I love you,” you say. And you mean it.

songs played by sequence: unnamed Mötley Crüe song/ Mandy - Barry Manilow/ Your Love - The Outfield/ Third Uncle - Bauhaus/ Marian - Sisters of Mercy/ Message in a Bottle - The Police/ I Wanna Be Somebody - W.A.S.P./ I Want To Know What Love Is - The Foreigner/ Paranoid - Black Sabbath/ Breaking the Law - Judas Priest/ Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic - The Police/ Broken Wings - Mr. Mister/ Runnin' With the Devil - Van Halen/ Only The Good Die Young - Billy Joel/ 1979 - The Smashing Pumpkins (not in the fic)

special thanks to @poppy-metal and her very horny anons who inspired me for the smut i love u

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED 💕

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missusk · 1 year

Text

have you eaten yet? (ArvenxReader)

Summary: You’re everywhere, always, helping everyone all the time because you’re as kind as you are strong. You saved the academy and you saved Paldea and helped him out too, what with those Herba Mystica, so Arven wants to show you how much he loves you give back in the way he does best! Everyone loves homecooked meals, right? So why can’t he spit it out so that’s why the words so often falling from his lips are

“Hey, little buddy! Have you eaten yet?”

Word Count: 6173 Warnings: Game spoilers Author’s Note: this was sprouted from shower thoughts!!! Oughgh I love arven!!!! Just thinking about what your little journey could be like from his perspective AND IF HE WAS FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU .but also has inner conflict bc this guy really needs a hug. please enjoy!! :) - missusk

Read here on Ao3

“Have you eaten yet, Arven?” came a call from the lighthouse.

“No!” the child said enthusiastically, bounding up the dirt hill to his dear father. A Maschiff was hot on his heels, panting alongside the boy after their rigorous game of fetch-and-chase. The sun was beginning to set, with rays of gold glimmering on their toothy smiles.

“Well come on,” Dad chuckled. “Let’s cook together before I have to get back to work.”

“Okay!” Arven replied, giddy with anticipation in what he’d get to cook with his favorite person in the whole wide world. What would it be today? Pasta? Curry? It’s been so long since they last ate together, and now they can cook together too?!

“You didn’t peek at that new book, did you?” Dad asked from the lighthouse. Arven faltered in his run home. Whoops, he didn’t put the storybook away correctly, did he…?

“Uh-“

There came a chuckle, then a tousle of his hair as Arven finally reached the threshold of their small home. Arven clung with sticky fingers to his father’s dress pants in a quick apology.

“Well, that might’ve spoiled it, but let’s read from it together after dinner, shall we?”

“Okay!” Arven said through a now-guiltless grin, kicking off his boots as they walked together into the lab. “Can we have sandwiches?” He hoped that sounded like an innocent, totally random request, and certainly not inspired by a storybook he didn’t steal a glimpse of earlier that day when Dad was busy.

“Of course, my son.”

Those words were so seemingly inconsequential at the time, but as Arven sits drumming his fingers on the doodle-smudged desk, watching the second hand of the clock tick-tick-tick by, he only wished he remembered more of those seemingly inconsequential times. He heaves out a sigh – whatever, those thoughts haven’t gotten him anywhere before, and it’s not like anything would change by thinking about it more today.

“Phones away, please,” came Mr. Saguaro’s voice, interrupting Arven’s hazy sepia-toned memory like a shock of bright blue. “Before we begin class, I’d like to introduce our new transfer student.”

Oh? A new student in this part of the term? That was interesting enough to draw his attention away from missing his dad the hangnail he kept picking at.

Arven glances up, teal gaze meeting that of the new student. He immediately recognizes you as the very same student who took responsibility for that brute back at the lighthouse few days ago. So, you were a student here after all. Perhaps he should be keeping better track of you and Miraidon… but then again, what would that matter? Not like dad would care anything would be traced back to him if a weird looking robot lizard thing was suddenly crawling around Paldea. Lots of weird things happen in Paldea. If anything got back to him, he’d just say, that, like, 80 percent of the ocean was still unexplored, so that’s where it was from. Or something.

Your introduction is normal enough. You like Pokémon, are excited to be here, blah blah blah. Minus the innate talent you had for battling, you seem as average as the next person. Arven did notice your sweet smile, but brushed it off as easily as he would crumbs off his apron.

Well, whatever.

While a new student was seemingly inconsequential to the esteemed Uva Academy, you’d think the hallways had a mass outbreak of Combees with how the students buzzed with rumors about you the next few days.

“I heard she fell off a cliff before coming to the academy.”

“Well I heard she already beat student council president Nemona in a Pokémon battle.”

“I heard she took on Team Star on her first day!”

Even some of the academy’s teachers seemed to be whispering among themselves. While many of the rumors were stupid and mostly untrue from what Arven could tell (as he himself was well acquainted with being the butt of weird rumors) one thing seemed certain – this new student was quite skilled with Pokémon battles. Perhaps his defeat at the lighthouse wasn’t explanatory of his lack of skills, but rather a signifier of yours.

As the days passed and the academy settled into the term, Arven became less aware of the latest gossip and more focused on slowly connecting the numerous sticky notes and push pins scattered on the Paldean map on his dorm room wall. It had taken countless nights of coffee and research and more coffee, all until he was able to identify five locations mentioned in the Violet Book. The only real obstacle would be what the book called ‘Titan Pokémon,’ and with his ace being unable to even open his eyes at this point, he needed some help, fast. Thankfully, while cleaning up in the home ec classroom, another bout of whispers made it to his ears.

“I hear she claimed war against Team Star!”

“What, seriously?!”

Geez, this new girl couldn’t catch a break. He knew the annoyance of having a million rumors about him, so his heart went out to the poor transfer student.

“She transferred in at a weird time, I bet she’s just trying to get people to like her.”

“Oh, that’d make sense. Why else would you do something like that, if not for attention?”

Arven raised an eyebrow. A new, fresh face, wanting attention and affection in a scary new school? In a new country? With no friends and barely any family? Perhaps someone so moldable could help with his own little treasure hunt…

It barely took a day before catching you in the cafeteria. Arven didn’t mean to be so selfish when requesting help, but he also didn’t try to not be selfish when requesting help. He sprinkled in a little flattery, a big smile, and played into your desire to ensure your classmates like you. He spouted some nonsense about loving that picnic life, and more compliments about how you’re such a natural with Pokémon – you’d be perfect to help, so please please please?!

And just as he was hoping, he was able to rope you into helping with those pesky Titan Pokémon.

***

It didn’t take long before you were both in the South Province fighting a Klawf that had no business being that size. You made quick enough work of it, and gloriously enough, the first Herba Mystica was in Arven’s grasp – and soon to be in a delicious sandwich. Step one, done, and it barely took any time! Despite all the prep work he had to do with those news articles and dusty library books to locate it, the actual Titan-beating wasn’t all too bad.

Arven splays out his purple gingham tablecloth, flicks on his lantern, sets out the ingredients, then notices you’re still standing there.

Oh, right, new student girl. You ran all the way out here to find the Titan, and he probably wouldn’t have beaten that giant Klawf with just his Shellder and Squovet, so perhaps some form of payment was due.

“Have you eaten yet?” Arven asks casually, and when you shake your head, he sets his hands on his hips. Alright, easy enough. One five-star sandwich seemed a fair enough trade for your work. “Well, then it’s your lucky day! You’re about to get a taste of my delicious, nutritious, herb-mysticious cooking.”

You smile at that, which for some reason, seems to catch Arven’s gaze for an extra second. Once that second is up, he turns back to his tablecloth filled with sandwich ingredients and gets to work. He slices, he dices, then he hands you a sandwich.

He wonders if you’ll like it.

Then he strikes the thought from his head. Of course you’ll like it! He’s a good cook. Despite that self-reassurance, Arven glances to you a few times, waiting for your reaction to the first bite. Just to see what the Herba Mystica does! Yes, that’s the only reason he’s scanning your features like that. But, despite that herb being the only reason he’s watching you, his brow furrows when that brute of a Pokémon blasts out of its Poké Ball, sniffing away at the sandwich he made for you. His jaw drops when you don’t even hesitate to give it to Miraidon! What the heck?!

“Hey!” Arven bursts out. “I went through all the trouble of making that for you, and you just give it away?! That thing didn’t even taste it, just inhaled it whole!”

You then have the gall to simply shrug. Arven scoffs.

“I hope you realize that’s all there was, so now there’s none left for you.”

“That’s fine,” you say with a smile. There’s that smile again.

“Aw, come on,” Arven sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s fine, he shouldn’t get mad at you. You don’t realize the importance of the ingredients that were in that meal, nor do you know what else Miraidon has stolen from him. “Now you’re making me feel like I’m the selfish jerk here.”

You blink a few times, but when your mouth fumbles for something to say, Arven rips his sandwich in half and holds it out to you.

“Here,” he sighs again. “You can have half of mine. But you’d better savor every last bite.”

You smile again and nod, accepting the sandwich half. He doesn’t bother watching to see if you like it – hmph.

Soon you’re both done with your respective sandwich halves, and he really needs you to get moving so he can do what he really came here for. Maybe if he started to pack up, you’d get the hint. When you motion to help fold the tablecloth, Arven shoos you away. Geez, can’t you be bothered to be selfish for one second? You find the Titan Pokémon, defeat the Titan Pokémon, give away your dinner, and are going to help with the dishes too?!

“Oh, don’t worry about cleaning up, I’ll take care of it,” Arven says. “But I suppose if you want to help, I’d be much obliged if you started looking for the next Herba Mystica.”

And you actually agree.

Arven blinks a few times, returning your wave as you bound off into the night.

Huh.

You’re pretty nice, aren’t you…?

He bites his lip. Maybe you really did just help him out because you’re a good person. He lets out a sigh.

“I really owe you one,” he mutters to himself, as he pulls the Poké Ball out of his bag. Though he knows you’ve already left, he glances around just in case. His thoughts fully turn to what he really came here for. “Okay, the coast is clear. You can come out now.”

***

“Did you get a good look at its face, though? I didn’t expect a Titan to be such a li’l cutie!” Arven says. He wants to call you a li’l cutie, what with how sweet and shiny your little smile was, but he settles for calling you his little buddy instead. He prepares four sandwiches, and when you raise an eyebrow at him, Arven feels a hint of red seep into his cheeks.

“O-one is to-go,” he lies. “And the other one, uh…”

You add a smirk to your raised eyebrow, and his blush deepens despite himself.

“I definitely, absolutely, did not make extra so that brute could have a sandwich, okay?” he huffs. You respond with a sarcastic ‘mmhmm’, which for some reason makes his insides twist.

Miraidon inhales the stupid sandwich whole, again, but at least he got to catch your expression after your first bite this time. You seem to like it. That’s a relief.

“Wow, this is really good Arven!” you enthuse with your shiny little smile and crumbs on your cheeks, and that makes his insides twist even tighter. Usually he’d simply agree and move on with his life, so he’s not sure why time seems to snag when he’s around you.

While he’s searching for something to say, suddenly Arven’s composure cracks when Miraidon goes for the last sandwich.

He can’t have that.

He CANNOT HAVE THAT.

“That’s not for you!” he bursts out, causing you and Miraidon to jump as his shout fades from the cave walls. Miraidon shirks back as Arven quickly snatches the sandwich from the plate. Your eyes are wide, and there’s a small pang of guilt tugging at his gut for being the reason for that fear on your face.

“I, sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled,” Arven says meekly. When you don’t say anything, just nod after a moment, he bites the inside of his cheek.

As the last echo of ‘he can’t have that’ finally fades from his mind, Arven lets out a sigh. He calculates and derives and estimates, but finally thinks that maybe… maybe it would be fine. If you knew.

Arven didn’t have any intention of sharing his deep dark backstory, but he supposes he could share with you. He kind of wants you to know, maybe it would be more bearable to not be the only one holding onto this pain. You deserve to know, now that you’ve helped him out thus far.

So, he lets Mabosstiff out of his Poké Ball. He shares what happened, and you listen intently. He can’t seem to meet your gaze, for some reason. Would you call him stupid? Unimportant? Would you leave him too?

“He’s the only thing that I really care about.”

The words slip so quietly from his lips, as gently and inconsequentially as water melts from a frozen branch when the backdrop is the sun. He isn’t sure what else to say, or why he said so much. He nearly jumps out of his skin when you suddenly pat his arm – a little awkwardly – and say,

“I’ll help.”

He meets your gaze. The intensity in your eyes is as fiery and as bright as cloudless dawn. Now it makes more sense why everyone talks about you, why everyone wants to be around you.

“I’ll help you,” you repeat. “I’ll help you find the rest of the Herba Mystica.”

It’s not that Arven ever bothers to hide who he really is (he’s been called weird and strange many times), and yet that hardened something within him seems to crack when you look at him like that, when you say something like that.

“Thank you,” is all he can manage to reply.

You nod, removing your hand from his sleeve.

Thank you… he repeats in his mind. Thank you. How can he thank you? What does gratitude look like? What does care look like? What does importance look like?

“H-have you eaten?” Arven asks suddenly, eyes flicking between yours.

You smile, eyebrow raised again. Did he say something stupid? Have you ever stood this close before?

“Um, yeah,” you say. Oh. “I just ate your sandwich.”

Oh yeah.

“Oh yeah.”

You blink. Arven blinks. Have you always had those little freckles on your nose?

“R-right!” he finally spits out. “W-well let’s get on it then, yeah? Only three more to go!”

He flashes a shiny smile at you, unsure of why his heart is pounding so fast, nor why his skin seems to tingle where you touched.

***

“Ever since I teamed up with you, good things keep happening!” Arven exclaims, jumping up and down. That makes you laugh – the first time he’s heard it – and now he kind of wants to do everything he can to make you laugh again.

So he jokes and he’s a little more weird than normal and it works. It works, and he smiles because it works, and he smiles because you smile. He smiles and you smile and Mabosstiff is smiling too. It’s weak, and it’s small, but it’s the most uplifting thing he’s seen in a long time. This is the most he’s smiled in such a long time, and a lot of it is thanks to you.

“Thank you,” Arven says, suddenly gripping your hands in his. He can’t help it, he can’t help the joy that’s spilling out of every pore. “So much, thank you!”

“Y-you’re welcome,” you reply bashfully, a bit of red staining your cheeks. He wonders why you’re blushing, and it isn’t until your hands fidget in his that he realizes how close you are. Your hands are so small in his, he wonders how long you’ll let you hold them.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, quickly releasing your hands, yet still reveling in the deep blush in your cheeks.

“That’s okay,” you stutter. “I-I’m glad Mabosstiff is feeling better.”

“Me too,” Arven says. “Only two more to go.”

***

It was just meant to be a brief glance your way to make a silly joke about the Stony Cliff Titan and the Klawf sticks he was putting in this sandwich, but Arven’s breath catches when he sees you in a quiet moment.

You seem so… tired, the way your head so delicately leans against that beast, the way your eyelashes flutter closed in what you think is a private moment of reprieve. Your shoulders slump, and Arven wonders how heavy that backpack is that you’ve been carrying.

His brow furrows when he wonders how heavy your shoulders feel with everything you’re carrying. Tackling the gyms, always battling that psycho student council girl, whatever it was you’re doing with Team Star, then keeping up with your actual studies, all on top of having just moved here…

His hands pause.

And here you are, donating your time and talents to a guy you barely knew.

He chews on his cheek, trying to figure out what to say. How could he help someone like you? Someone so kind and capable and kind of beautiful, he’s just now noticing? You really are just helping him because you’re a good person – what’s in it for you? He shoved off a practically useless Pokémon onto you, and you just took it in stride. At least it can glide now, apparently. Arven drums his fingers on the tablecloth, watching your chest rise and fall with each slow breath. The lamplight catches the color in your eyes, and Arven wonders again if you’ve always been this beautiful.

He's not sure why his cheeks feel warmer, now that you’ve caught him staring.

“Hey, uh,” Arven coughs out, eyes flicking back to his hands. “Have you eaten yet?”

You shake your head, eyes flitting towards the sandwiches on the table.

“Here, this one’s on the house then,” Arven says, smiling and handing you a sandwich.

You take it, smile shining as you chirp out a ‘Thanks!’ like a little bird. It makes him smile too.

“Just don’t give it to that brute,” he added with a grunt.

“No promises,” you say, and that earns you a roll of the eyes.

He’s not sure what else to say, he just knows he wants to keep talking to you. He’s not one to often get tongue-tied, so he’s not sure why it so often happens around you. You barely take a bite of the sandwich before your Rotom phone suddenly rings.

“Hey, Cassiopeia here,” came a tinny voice. “How’s Operation Starfall going?”

“Um,” you reply. Your shoulders are stiff.

“Not that there’s a time limit, but the sooner we can finish off the last three, the better… Since you’ve only gotten through two so far…”

There’s a tense silence for a moment.

“I-I was just on my way to the next base,” you spit out.

“Great to hear, I’ll be in contact when you’re close.”

“Okay,” you say simply, and start gathering your things. “I’ll be there soon.”

“I’m counting on you.”

Arven’s not sure why his heart drops. Maybe it’s how guiltily you set the sandwich back onto its plate. Maybe it’s how rigidly you sling your backpack onto your shoulders. Maybe it’s how stiffly your hands brush off the lackadaisical crumbs from your shirt.

“I should get going,” you say.

And maybe his heart was on his sleeve more than he intended, because his expression makes you pause.

“O-or I could stay?” you say suddenly.

“What?”

“Do you, um,” you stammer. “I could stay? For a little bit longer? You just, um. You seemed sad.”

“No! No, that’s okay, you should get going,” he says. “Well, unless you want to?”

He wished he hadn’t asked, because he doesn’t like the thick pause that comes afterwards.

“O-or, you shou-“

“I should go-“ you say in unison.

Your eyes meet for another moment. Arven clears his throat.

“Just don’t forget about that last Titan!” he says, forcing a smile on his face. “I’m counting on you, little buddy!”

You pause, and something in your expression shifts. You don’t say another word when you hoist your backpack higher on your shoulders, then head out into the desert sand. As soon as you leave, Arven practically deflates, slumping onto the boulder beside Mabosstiff.

He’s heard you mention this operation before, but suddenly his skin prickles in frustration, especially when picturing your expression upon leaving. Why are you the one who has to do everything? Why are you the one that has to take down what’s basically an entire student rebellion? What are the academy’s faculty even bothering to do about Team Star?! Why do you have to leave him because of it?

…But then again, why are you the one that has to tackle the Titans for him? Arven rubs his hands over his face.

“I wonder how often she hears that,” Arven wonders aloud, patting Mabosstiff on the head, who lets out a curious grunt. “’I’m counting on you,’ I mean. People always need her for stuff. She shouldn’t have all of that pressure on her.”

Mabosstiff just grunts again.

He’s so close to the last Herba Mystica, and the herbs really are helping Mabosstiff, so he still needs your help… but…

Arven lets out another thoughtful sigh.

But maybe after that… he could… do something for you? Or something. Just… something to make you smile again. Or smile more. Or just something to help ease that slump in your shoulders.

You are his little buddy, after all.

***

You’re both soaking wet and shivering from the False Dragon Titan, then the other False Dragon Titan, then from the storm outside the cave, but you’re both smiling. It was maybe a little too early to play some hardcore fetch, but Mabosstiff had been romping around the cave for a while. Arven said it was just the rain, but he knew you didn’t believe him when the tears kept pouring.

His tear tracks have since dried, and Mabosstiff and Miraidon are snoozing beside the makeshift fire he started. The storm doesn’t seem like it’ll be letting up anytime soon, but Arven doesn’t really mind since you look really pretty in the light of the fire you both could use a rest after felling the final Titan. You’ll get to the lighthouse lab soon enough, as Dad requested, but right now it was nice to just… sit. Alone with you.

“Are you cold?” he asks, and just as you knew when he was lying about him crying, he knows you’re lying when you shake your head. He rolls his eyes and pulls his winter jacket out of his backpack, draping it over your shoulders. “At least this is dry.”

You mutter out a sheepish ‘thank you’, and Arven nods, smiling lightly at how his coat practically swallows you whole.

“I should be the one thanking you,” he says as you adjust the coat around you. “For your help.”

Maybe it’s the euphoria of his best friend feeling healthy again, or maybe it’s the subdued atmosphere of the cave’s thick air, or maybe it’s some third thing, that Arven lets slip something he would usually keep hidden.

“You mean a lot to me,” he says suddenly. He’s not quite sure what he’s saying, or why he’s saying it. “Thank you, really.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, smile forming on your lips. You’re so cute in his coat. He wonders if you’re any warmer.

You sit in a peaceful silence, save the rain outside and the crackling of the fire. You rustle when you pull his coat tighter around your shoulders.

“If you’re still cold, I-I could, uh,” he stammers, words still spilling from his mouth like melting snow. He could what? His voice catches. “I could…”

I could hold you

I could hold you close to me

I could help keep you warm

“M-make you something else to eat? Something warm?” he finally spits out.

“That spicy Herba Mystica was more than warm enough,” you chuckle. “But thank you, Arven.”

His name sounds so sweet when it slips from your lips like that.

He isn’t able to revel in it long before your Rotom phone sounds its familiar ring.

“Hey! Where are you at now?” came the tinny voice.

“Lake Casseroya,” you say. ‘With Arven’ is what he wants you to add.

“How’s your gym circuit going? You’re so close! You should head to Montenevera next, I’m actually headed that way myself!”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there,” you say, and Arven’s brow furrows.

“Great! I’m counting on you!”

The click of the phone is a click of closure as you shake off Arven’s jacket with a quiet sigh.

You both stand, and you turn, just for Arven to catch your hand.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and your eyes widen at the question. “How have you been faring?”

Your eyes immediately well with tears – an expression that tightens Arven’s chest, that swirls guilt in his gut. The glassiness in your eyes formed their sheen as quickly as the rain hits the lake outside. How long have your tears been barely at bay?

Oh, little buddy… how could he have not even bothered to ask this until now? His brow furrows when you tear your gaze from his to look at a new text on your phone.

“N-Nemona is waiting for me,” you say suddenly. “She wants to be champions together s-so I have to… I want her to be happy. She needs my help. I’ll meet you at the lab afterwards.”

And with that you push his coat into his chest and run out of the cave, and Arven can only watch your retreating silhouette until its melds with the pouring rain.

His fists clench, heat welling within him.

That stupid student council girl, what was her name? It didn’t matter, but what mattered is how his chest tightened when someone’s stolen you away from him yet again. Didn’t she realize the world doesn’t revolve around Pokémon battles?! Did you even want to be a champion, or are you just doing the gym circuit because Nemona said you should? Had she ever even asked?

His heart dropped.

Had he ever even asked…?

Had he ever even asked about what the treasure was that you were looking for? Had he ever asked what was important to you? You’re running errands for everyone in Paldea, and his dad too, apparently, but was any of it anything you even wanted?

He wanted to think of you, of how to help you, but the thought of his father welled an overwhelming wave of anxiety in his chest. He had to be selfish for a little longer, at your expense. He pinches the bridge of his nose, patting Mabosstiff when he rests his head on Arven’s lap. This was supposed to be everything he wanted – his Pokémon was the only thing he cared about. But now with you and with Dad and with Area Zero…

Arven heaves out a deep sigh, as heavy as Lake Casseroya itself.

***

It’s time. He’s collected Nemona and Penny, and now he just needs you before heading to Area Zero. Mabosstiff is barking away, jumping at his phone at the sound of your voice, but it just makes Arven’s chest tight.

***

The student council president and the pipsqueak are snoozing soundly inside while you and Arven forage for snacks. Nemona was trying to secretly nurse an injury, but her suspicious lack of stamina didn’t go unnoticed by him. Penny wasn’t used to the treacherous landscape either, so spending the night in the third base of Area Zero seemed like a wise move. They had an incredibly strong team between the four of them, so there were plenty of Pokémon to keep watch while they slept and while you foraged close by.

“Do you need a break?” you ask.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Arven replies, sighing as he stands straight. His back cracks as he leans backwards far enough to see the sky – or rather, the layer of fog that separated this world from the rest of Paldea.

The air between you has been tense since the final Titan, and Arven knows it’s mostly his fault. Maybe he feels guilty. Maybe he’s scared. Maybe he's had every emotion coursing through his veins and beating through his heart for the past few days. There’s you and his dad and… well, mainly that was it. But there were so many combinations of those two things, of those two people, that made his head feel like radio static the entire time he’s been in this forsaken place.

“Do you want to go back in?” you ask, stepping over to him. Your skin and eyes seem to glow as glitter floats around you. He wishes you weren’t so beautiful.

“No, it smells like mildew in there,” Arven says, snacking on a Sitrus berry he found.

There’s another tense pause between you.

“Arven,” you say suddenly. He feels like when Mabosstiff eats off the counter when he shouldn’t – he can barely look at you, but he does.

He wishes he hadn’t. While you don’t have the bags under your eyes like you used to, the sorrow in your gaze cracks his heart even further.

“Arven are you mad at me?” you ask, so brokenly.

“What?” he breathes out. “No, of course not, why would you think that?”

“You just… you’ve been distant. And distracted, I don’t know,” you say.

“I just have a lot on my mind, it’s not you,” he says. Only one of those things was a lie.

“You’re right, you’re right,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be selfish.”

“You’re not!” Arven blurts out. “You’re not selfish, don’t say that. You’re the least selfish person I know, honest.”

You shrug, and before he can stop himself, Arven is stepping towards you, gripping your shoulders in his hands.

“I mean it,” Arven says. “This has just been…”

The worst few days of my life

My dad loves you more than me

My dad loves Miraidon more than me

I’m scared of seeing my dad.

“I’m scared of seeing my dad,” he says.

He didn’t realize he had said it.

What is it about you that loosens his tongue like this? You’re confusion and clarity all in one.

“Arven,” you say again, and the determination in your voice draws him closer to you like a magnet. “Whatever happens,” you say, emotion catching in your throat. “Whatever happens I’ll be here for you, okay? I won’t leave you. I hope you can make amends with your dad but… but whatever happens I’m here for you.”

His heart can barely beat, as shattered as it is, and yet you try to mold it back together as you wrap your arms around him.

***

“H-hey,” you say, gently closing the door behind you. Mabosstiff bolts off the bed to greet you, which is just enough distraction for Arven to wipe the tears from his face. In his defense, Mabosstiff hasn’t seen you since the events of Area Zero. When you finally manage to push the Pokémon off of you, you make your way to Arven, then gently sit beside him on the bed.

“Hi,” Arven replies thickly, trying to discreetly shove the bundles of tissues beneath his bed.

“How are you doing?” you ask. He wishes you wouldn’t look at him like that, with such genuine care in your eyes. When you so delicately set your hand on his arm, immediately everything comes flooding back – the memories and the feelings and the tears, so overwhelming that all he can do is turn to you, to fall into your arms, to sob into your shoulder as you wrap your arms around him.

Everything. The loneliness, the pain, the betrayal, the abandonment. What was he to his father? What was he to anyone? Was there anyone who cared? If his own mother left when he was born and his father left years ago too, who was he but a lump of rotting meat, just taking up space in a world so hastily moving towards the future?

He isn’t sure how long he’s crying into your shirt, nor how long you’ve been rubbing his back as you sit on his bed. Mabosstiff’s head is resting beside him, and Arven sniffles when he pushes his cold nose under Arven’s hand.

“I’m here for you,” you mumble into his hair, and Arven can barely manage a nod. You don’t seem to mind.

More time has passed, where now you’re cradling him in your arms, leaned against the wall beside his bed. The window is cracked, letting in the cool breeze of dusk. He pushes himself off of you, surprised to see your eyes are red too. You stare at one another, unsure of what to say. He rests his head on top of yours, since now your shoulder is soaked with tears. You sit there, beside one another, until dusk pulls into the night. Arven eye’s flutter open when you clear your throat.

What will you say? ‘Get over it’? ‘You should be proud to have a father like him’? ‘It’s no big deal’? How will you frame your sentence to hide the fact that the world lost his father, rather than the fact that he lost his father?

“Um, h-have you eaten yet?” you ask.

Has.

Has he

Has he eaten yet?

Arven blinks.

Has he…

He shakes his head.

“I brought some sandwiches,” you say. He nods, and you wiggle out from your spot on his bed and over to your bag. “They’re not as good as yours, of course, but I thought I’d try my hand at a new recipe.”

He meets you at the edge of the bed, where you hand off a sandwich. You got one for Mabosstiff, because of course you did, and when you look at him with such kind, hopeful eyes, Arven isn’t quite sure what to say.

“I know you’ve been through so much,” you say. “But you’ve got people who care about you and want to be there for you!”

You smile at him – that small, shiny smile, and Arven’s breath catches in his throat.

Thank you

This means so much to me

I feel so seen

So cared about

You’re so thoughtful

“I love you,” he says.

And something finally clicks.

That’s what this is – love.

You’re attentive and kind and you’re there for him. You’re here. You’re here, right now, holding him, and you have been for hours at this point. For days, for weeks.

You’re here.

You’re here, and, and, and and you help him and you think about him and he doesn’t have to beg for your attention and and… and.

“And you’re everything I’ve needed,” Arven says through a wet sniffle. His words are pouring out like a snowy peak’s river – building strength the further it travels, the further it warms. “I’ve been through a lot and you’ve been through a lot but you’re there for me and you help me and I want to help you and when I’m around you I feel supported and I think you’re so beautiful and-“

Arven keeps listing, and listing, and revealing every thought he’s crossed out in his mind until Mabosstiff lets out a whine, reminding him to breathe. Arven sucks in a breath, closes his mouth, eyes wide, now realizing that while he’s finally realized it to himself, he’s now realized it out loud to you.

“I love you,” he says again. “Sorry – was that? Was that a lot?” he sniffles.

And your smile isn’t like the sunset of a sepia-toned memory, but like the bright clear dawn of home and of comfort and of knowing that you’ll always be there. You lean in and press a gentle kiss to his cheek – it’s a little sloppy, and a little wet, but neither of you seem to mind.

“I love you too,” you say simply. “Now lets eat before the sandwich bread gets any soggier… or before you get any soggier.”

“Gross,” Arven says, smiling a free, warm, genuine smile for the first time in days. In years. As you head towards your bag, he risks another question. “Maybe after dinner, we could read something together? Or watch a movie or something? Just…just be together?”

“I’d love nothing more,” you say with that shiny smile as bright as the dawn. “Than to always be here, together with you.”

280 notes · View notes

half-truths-and-hyperbole-louk · 2 months

Text

Louk's Bad Batch rewatch part 28 omg omg

mid season finale let's go batchersss 🤟

The Bad Batch 2x08

sleepy Wrecker 🤫🤲

Gonky and Echo watching Omega meditate 🥺

Omega asking Echo if he wants to try she was so innocently asking too 🥲

"I don't enjoy solitude" 💔😭

"hey boys" Rex my whole ass heart 🥰💕

lmao gives no details just is like ok meet me on coruscant like it's nbd 💀

how long has it been since they've been there ??

I'm assuming they've been there ?? idk ??

Rex introducing tbb like Cody did 🥲🤲 and Omega's little wave 💕

Echo keeping Omega back from the body, mom

the identifying number being wiped and Tech being the one to comment on not knowing that was a thing.... foreshadowing ? 👀

Echo stepping up immediately to speak in the senate 🥺

Hunter: "the senate won't listen to us, we're deserters" ... who Rampart said died in *his* attack, so the perfect people imo

"a simple data collection" right in the middle of imperial coruscant lololol ily Rex 💕

Chuchi and Omega team up 🥳🙌

they clearly don't think Chuchi is in that much danger bc they let Omega go with her ...

Omega with all her questions 🥺 she's learning everything she can

Omega's face seeing Rampart lmao meeee

he didn't even look at her 🙄

"there's nothing else she can do" HA idiot watch her go actually

Omega's run to look over the edge 🤲

"which one belongs to the clones?" heartbreaking 😫😭

I relate to Chuchi on a personal level, she cares sm about the clones 💕

Bail in dad mode keeping an eye on Omega hehe

Omega's confidence in tbb is so precious 🤲

Senator Burtoni lol blast from the past

the way she looks at Omega makes me uncomfy 👀

she gives zero fks about kamino girlll

"because I'm a clone too... it was my home .... and im angry" YES OMEGA SPEAKING UP FOR HERSELF TO A KAMINOAN I'M SO PROUD 🥳

Wrecker nearly getting zapped 👀

*mission impossible theme plays*

Wreckers saw !! bro I love it !!

Rex helping as many brothers as he can 🥺🤲

mans says he's helped "not enough" brothers... yeah but how many pls

"help's hard to come by these days..." Rex just ask him you know he'll go with you 🥲

"taking a lesson from your squad, we improvise" !!! tcw flashbacks lol I love when they have no plan 💕

knife knife knife 👀

"this is him better" Wrecker you've got this bby !!

lmao Tech controlling the cart from his datapad

Hunter's growl at Tech (again) 👀🤭

sneaky bois shhh 🤫

@anonymous-galager said Tech sounds like Crosshair in this scene hehe

regs: 'ayo someone activated the bridge' tbb + Rex: 'hey boys' they're so unserious while I'm hyperventilating 💀

the clones coming to stop tbb boys !! they're doing it for you !! 😫

Hunter: "new plan. 14, 5, 86" Wrecker: "all of them!?" I will never get tired of their plans 💕 (don't look at me plan 99 I'm not talking about you)

Rex: "we need an exit strategy" Echo: "got one, we're going over them" Rex: 😳 ??

Rex dodging blaster bolts 👌

"this should be interesting" Rex 🤝 Cody saying the same thing about tbb

Tech piloting the escape pod lmao he can literally fly anything

Rampart 🔫😈

lol he really thought he did something 💀

Omega's disguise wearing one of Chuchi's ponchos 🥰💕 Cal Kestis is coming for that poncho 👀

Rex giving Omega the data !! how much they all trust her 🥺

Rampart's whole speech full of rubbish 🙄

Omega catching her breath after running that whole way 🥺 you did good bby 💕

YES CHUCHI PLAY THAT EVIDENCE 🥳

Omega having to relive kamino being destroyed 😭💔

I PANICKED ITS PALPS 🙃

I hate that they twisted the whole thing so bad 😡😡😡

"I was following orders" well well well how the turn tables

the clones taking him away !!! it's like poetry, it rhymes 👌

Chuchi looked so defeated 😭😭😭

Omega hearing the introduction of stormtroopers ... I'm stuck in the foetal position forever 💔😫

Rex hating on palpatine hehe

"the fate of all the clones is now sealed because of us" AND THEY THINK ITS THEIR FAULT I HATE IT HERE 😫😭💔

"I will keep fighting for the clones" me too babes

I thought it was weird tbb just seemed to know Echo would go with Rex but it has taken me this long to realise they probably all discussed it while Omega was taking the data in 🙃😭

each of their lil moments with Echo 🥲

poor Omega probably blames Rex for Echo leaving 💔

"we're a squad" "we need you too" ...when I cry forever 😭

Omega literally jumping into his arms 🥺 and then wiping her tears away *screams into pillow*

the sad clone music I am in spain without the s

"keep an eye on them" ~ mom worrying about the kids

THE CROSSHAIR PARALELLS HELP-

and she's hugging Lula again 💔💔💔💔

I knew it'd be a bad idea to leave it all this close together I am gonna be an absolute wreck watching the s2 finale and going straight into s3 🙃

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crispy-ghee · 5 days

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I did think the show was at it's best when it was pushing the rivalry between bird and johnson, and I think the making him more of an asshole in season 1 would have worked better cause it could be from magic's perspective, then he gets fleshed out in season 2, but even then he still didn't get fleshed out as much as he could have been. Also the way they cut that episode where it goes from him seeing his dead dad, to buss romancing the new girlfriend was such a bad tonal shift. They could have cut that and had his mom appear, instead of holding her until the last episode. You don't introduce her with less than five minutes of screen time and then give her a 10 second big emotional payoff, you don't do that with an audience who isn't familiar with the real life people.

Another major issue for me was how they focused way more on the managerial side than the players, to the point that they would cut out a lot of the playing moments to focus on what buss and his family are doing. We know way more about the managing staff than most of the guys who are actually on the team playing basketball. And I think that's best exemplified by the fact that the final episode doesn't end on magic and the team, but on buss and his daughter.

Another thing I noticed, and I don't know if it was just me, but they seemed to continuously undercut the serious tone of moments if they were for characters that weren't the main focus, like that scene I mentioned with larry, them playing good vibrations over jeff mckinney's accident, which are just the ones that I remember really standing out to me as weird to do for actual real life tragedies.

I just think it was badly written overall.

All that said, I do like rewatching all the larry bird scenes.

I think these are all super valid points, and I agree with basically all of it. I understand them trying to focus on Buss because it was about the building of a dynasty, but that doesn't mean that it was compelling at all and it felt like they were interrupting the more interesting parts of the story. Especially in cases like, yeah, cutting from Larry's father's suicide to Buss and his girlfriend. I definitely felt like I had to sit through almost all of the family and business drama stuff just to get to the stuff I actually wanted to see.

Their approach to Larry's mom was really frustrating to me bc it diminished her role in his life a little bit in exchange for the dramatic punch of his father's death, but the fact that she wasn't seen *at all* during the episode they set aside for his backstory was baffling. I think maybe they were trying to have it be like they were saving seeing Larry's soft side to juxtapose it against when he was at his most "villainous" to the Lakers, but that didn't mean having to cut out his mother completely until that moment. Especially since she got so little screen time even then.

Part of me wonders if it was supposed to be just a taste of seeing her influence before presumably showing her hand in Magic and Larry's eventually friendship in the next season (which is now not happening), like they were trying to foreshadow something, but to be honest, I think it's largely the fact that there was too much shit happening in the second season. Literally too many plot threads. So all this stuff got relegated to only a few minutes.

I do enjoy the times when it actually is about Larry and Magic, because that's the most fleshed out/interesting thing that they had, though I do think that there's some interesting stuff about the politics of the team if only they'd approached it right. But they really wanted to make a show about the business drama first, it feels like, which sucks bc it means that the big charismatic people, the players, are second banana to the team owners and the coaches. Also again, I just...I did not care about the family drama. At all. I'm sure other people loved it, Buss is undoubtedly an interesting man, but I wanted to pull my hair out every time it cut to it.

I think they were trying for something that could've been interesting stylistically/presentation-wise, but also it came across as really messy and half-baked at a lot of points. There were moments where it really shined though, but it didn't always work. It's definitely disappointing.

I'm with you on the writing hahaha a lot of deep sighing and frustration on my part while watching. The pacing was so weird, a lot of moments that were supposed to hit felt entirely unearned or out of place.

And also liking rewatching the Larry Bird scenes. As weird and exaggerated as it was, I think you could tell they were having fun with him. If only they'd gotten better wigs and the actor didn't feel like he had to make his own mouth smaller by pursing his lips all the time ahahaha (I still think about how that was gonna be Bo Burnham and I get sad)

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clambuoyance · 2 years

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I love Kon but one think that really annoys me abt the comics is that they never acknowledged how messed up it was that he was dating older woman (Tana, Knockout) as a 16 year old. Does Kon even know it was wrong? WHERE WERE ALL THE ADULTS IN HIS LIFE WHEN THIS WAS HAPPENING!!

ugh yeah, i know his solo comic is not the only case of this happening, but its why i avoided reading his solo for a while (and why i prefer the latter half of his solo and his yj comics instead). and why im glad thats one thing we left in the 90s. so okay this is about to get into some fucked up things and general ranting about completely unnecessary comics bullshit so tw: grooming, p*dophilia, SA

So yeah, as much as I love him and his comics, i do have a lot of criticism for his solo. (but there are a lot of issues i do like so ill try to make a list of my faves one day)

in his solo comics, kon dates this 23/24 yr old reporter named Tana, and later has this brief fling with a villain named Knockout. And kon's character is obviously meant to be the "cool teen" which i guess in the 90s meant being into older women. That, or the writer is pushing his weird fantasies onto him, which happens quite a lot with comics (Idk comic book romances are usually so weird to me they push for really strange stuff). At the same time though, there was a letter i read from a reader at the time that expressed concern over letting kon date older women, bc they were worried his feelings would get hurt, as well as question why no one has really taken kon under their wing, so there were definitely people in the 90s that thought that shit was weird as fuck. But I also saw a recent comment from a dude that didn't bat an eye at it which says a lot about that guy like come on dude we r in the 2020s :/

Anyways, the thing with Tana frustrates me because it was such a missed opportunity for an interesting female character of Hawaiian ethnicity and they could have easily made her Kon's age and make her like a member of the highschool's newsclub or something, but the writer had to fuck it up and make it weird...Kon can be uncomfortably flirty in this era of comics, but the fact Tana returns it and even acknowledges their age difference and still pushes for it is even more uncomfortable. She even says she feels more like his mom at one point and even reports on his school activities. I mean when Kon is first introduced, she expresses concern that the news outlet is just taking advantage of him bc he doesn't know any better, and her boss says she's doing the same, but then she grows to care more about kon as a person :/ She only breaks up with him after his operation that gets him stuck at 16 for a while, because she doesn't wanna date a dude that will never grow up or mature, which is fucked up to me bc he is 16 of course he's immature T-T

But at the same time, this was never weird to the writer's mind, so he writes Tana as being superboy's guiding figure that sort of helps him learn about morals and about being a person. So she's still very important to him, i just wish it didn't have to be so WEIRD.

(Tangent, and not at all exclusive to superboy comics, but I truly do hate how women in 90s comics, especially those that are not white, are treated as 'exotic' almost, and while Tana was wrong for dating a teen, i also blame the writer in the treatment of her character, even if there were other Hawaiian characters present that I did like like Sam and Hillary)

Of course, the Knockout situation is like 10x more fucked up, because Tana was at least kind and caring to him, but Knockout straight up manipulates him. This one is even more uncomfy so i'd skip over #23-31 (tw for SA) if you wanna avoid it, but it does affect Kon a lot after. I think the writer was trying to lean into the "rebel bad boy" schtick by making Kon get swept up by a hardcore fury. They do have other characters address the situation, but they point out that it's bad to hang with a villain and run from the law rather than point out how he's being taken advantage by someone older than him. In this arc, Mae Kent/Supergirl says he's unworthy of being a Super, and he almost believes it. The ending to this arc is really intense tbh, bc kon slowly realizes how wrong it all is after knockout tries to get him to kill a person. he goes to confront her and she literally attempts to SA him, but instead they have a showdown in which kon attempts to drown the both of them in order to stop her, before saving her instead because he can't kill her (he never kills and shows empathy towards his antagonists). he's clearly shaken up by it, but the comic writes that he's mostly shocked that people could ever act like that, again never explicitly saying that her being older or sexually using him was fucked up, just that her being a villain was fucked up. But this arc did serve to show kon fight for what’s right and show that he is worthy of being a super, and that he’s lost some of his innocence but not his faith in good

anyways, i highly doubt any of this will ever be addressed in canon, bc as time goes on with comics, side characters such as these fade away to the point where they might not even have played a part in a character's life, so who knows. not only that, but this sort of stuff is just casually thrown into comics in general and barely ever addressed again? id like to say its only a 90s thing but ive read some 2000s stuff with other characters have weird shit too.

i think the closest thing you're ever gonna get is this panel of serling, who is kon's age and probably the only love interest i actually kinda liked, telling kon that she understands the feeling of meeting someone who's seen and done it all (like say, an older person) and how exciting that can be for someone like her and kon who have never really experienced real life, only to realize that there's often something far darker underneath. again, not explicitly stated enough imo, but its there and does imply why Kon got so easily taken advantage of and that he does realize on some level that it was wrong . (i could be missing other panels that address it but idk i just remembered this one mostly)

So yeah, sorry for rambling. it's just a very messed up situation. i do think it's weird that none of the adults stepped in and watched out for him more, but at the same time, the writer clearly didnt see the need to.

i don't blame people for ignoring it or leaving it out in their canons, bc you can still explore the "being taken advantage of" from different angles that aren't as uhhhhh gross but yeah that’s that sorry for the rant 😭

At least his appearances in yj comics are much happier ☹️

#superhero comics stop putting ur characters into weird romances challenge #not kon but there are some parts in red robin or robin that also make me similarly uncomfy #kon el #clam answers #dc

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reidsbookclub · 1 year

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hi grecy! i can't stop thinking about work rn, it's so hard to separate and not think about all day (especially when i'm trying to sleep soon) so i've come to bug you

i have a hc/fic idea: spencer learning to love physical affection bc reader/s.o.'s main love language is physical touch. like maybe at first he's hesitant and not the one initiating the touching, deciding that it's best if she seeks him out because he has no clue how to. but eventually he's so touchy. like she can't pass by him without spencer grabbing her by the waist for a spinning kiss or holding hands while walking or thighs touching on the couch. i am also a firm believer that spencer's favorite cuddle position is with his head in her lap and their legs going in the same direction (if that makes sense). and he would love to get his hair played with and just eat up all the attention.

okay sorry for this ramble but i need something else to think about instead of work stress

hiii Rosie!! ok ok bare with me this one is going to be a wild ride. PS: THANK YOU FOR THE DISTRACTION I really needed it.

The minute Spencer saw her walk into the BAU he knew she would be someone that he wanted around for a long time which is why he kicked himself for delivering his classic line the moment she walked up to introduce herself. "The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to kiss." great job idiot now she'll think you are a weird nerd. As time went on it was clear to Spencer that this was one person that he always wanted to be around. Her laugh was a gravitational force that pulled him and he couldn't believe that she never rolled her eyes, or made a face when he was talking about something that interested him. He longed to have her in his arms, longed for the moment she ran his hands through his hair, he would even settle for having their pinkies intertwined during the debriefing of cases. But he knew that if he didn't like touch from other people, she might not either. Being the gentleman he is he silently longed for the day that she approached him with whatever ounce of physical touch she would give him. Even if by some weird happenstance, a rupture in time, a glitch his eidetic memory failed he would forever remember the first time he felt her caring touch. It was after a long, tiring case involving children. One whose lifestyle hit a little too close to home for Spencer, luckily it all resulted in a happy ending for the family but it took a toll on the team, especially on Spencer. Y/N could see the distraught, tired look on his eyes the minute they got on the plane so without a second thought she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the sofa. " sit now" she commanded and Spencer being too wonderstruck by her touch did as he was told. He never expected her to sit next to him but when she did he longed to just lay his head on her lap, even for just a millisecond. "want to talk about it?" she kindly asked, "no, im fine just tired" he replied. Spencer didn't know better but if he did he would've sworn that she whispered, "my sweet baby boy" Spencer could tell she was holding back from saying what she wanted to say so urging her with a nod she took a deep breath and said as she patted her lap, "come on, if anyone needs the sleep its you" So Spencer laid his head on her lap and fell asleep to the soothing rhythm of her breathing and her hand playing with his hair. After that day, rough case or not that became a routine for them. And it quickly let to them realizing that they just couldn't be apart. Every secret knee bump on the debrief room, thigh touching, or pinky intertwining was a silent I love you that they each hoped the other reciprocated. So, when Y/Nr walked into Penelope's kitchen one December afternoon and was greeted by a Spencer Reid wall blocked her way she couldn't help but blush by noticing the mistletoe Penny has strategically placed there. "Well here I thought my chocolate thunder would be kissing me today, yet its the Reids being more annoyingly cute" Confusion crossed both their faces, "the Reids?" they asked in unison. "Well, my sweets if you couldn't realize it by now the team has a bet going on for when you two finally get together so please kiss already." Penelope said laughing. "...so the Reids?" she asked blushing "shush future Mrs. Reid let me kiss you" Spencer said grabbing the sides of her head with both his hands and pulling her to him, adding after, "I knew I would marry you the minute I saw you, Im just glad I can kiss and hold you in public now and knowing you won't pull away." AN: ok idk if this is what you had in mind or not but this is what my brain came up with... now why cant I write my hw as fast as this.

#rosie✨#hiii babe! hope you have a good night #also hope you like this #blurbs/hc are fun to write #idk why I dont do them more.#spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid blurb

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the-phantom-otaku · 2 years

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How would Max, Carl, Sandra, Frank, Natalie, and Ken react to Ben holding a family meeting so he could have the lil chills meet the rest of the family? How would they react to Gwen and Kevin knowing about the lil chills before they did, and them not telling them?

Ooh, this is quite the meaty question 👀

First of all, I feel like it would be Gwen who practically forces him to hold the meeting. I've always thought Ben wouldn't be real keen on talking about the subject. Not bc he doesn't like the Little Chills but bc discussing the fact that you technically are a mother when you're a teenager and a guy at that is just a bit awkward. But, anyway, I think Gwen would eventually get guilty after being reminded of the Little Chills and she'd be the one to suggest they tell the rest of the family, especially Sandra and Carl.

Also, I feel like Max already knows and I’ll explain why. In Above and Beyond, Manny makes reference to Big Chill’s rampage. Now, Kevin could’ve very easily told Manny and the others about the incident at some point. Seems like a very Kevin thing to do. But I was struck with a thought: What if it was actually Grandpa Max who told them? This is like a whole ‘nother headcanon, but my thought was they told Max and he ended up letting it slip to the Plumber’s Helpers by complete accident. I also think Grandpa Max would be the only one Ben would willingly tell without being convinced by Gwen. Max would have an easier time wrapping his head around the concept and all since he’s been dealing with crazy alien stuff for decades at this point, but it would still come as shock. He was thrown into the Null Void for a few months and by the time he comes back, he finds out he’s a great grandfather lmao. And obviously, Max wouldn’t be upset that he wasn’t told immediately. Ben really didn’t have a chance until after he returned from the Null Void.

Anyway, on to the actual question! Let’s start with Sandra and Carl. They’d definitely be shell-shocked by the news. I’m sure neither expected grandkids for a hot minute considering how much of a trainwreck Ben’s love life is. Confusion is also a definite. “How is my teenage son a mother to 14 moth children?” I also really think Sandra would freak a bit. Like, she’d jump to conclusions based on human culture (ie she’d think he knocked some random alien chick up) and just be caught between all sorts of emotions. After the shock and an explanation, they would accept the Little Chills without hesitation. Sandra especially would love them, tho I think she’d be a bit hurt that she didn’t learn about them for so long. Carl doesn’t like it when Ben keeps secrets, but I think he’d be more forgiving this time since he could understand why he’d be hesitant to tell them. They’d both understand that the only reason Gwen and Kevin knew before them was bc they were there for the incident, and I think in the end they’d make a deal with Ben for him to NOT keep anymore alien secrets, even if they are really strange by Earth standards.

Next, Natalie and Frank. Natalie is so done with this weird alien shit LMAO. She doesn’t even bother asking, she just accepts the reality that there are 14 aliens in the family now. Frank is more shocked than his wife by the news, but he comes to understand the situation once the explanation is given. Ken would probably be the most lost on it since he was only recently introduced to extraterrestrial stuff. I think he’d be the one to sort of freak instead of just sitting there utterly dumbfounded. I don’t think any of them would be against the Little Chills. Natalie probably wouldn’t be ecstatic that her family tree is even weirder now. I don’t think they’d really care that they weren’t told for so long. Actually, Ken probably would since it sounds like he was at least sorta close to the two cousins. But at the same time, he’d probably understand since he was away at college and it was alien stuff, something he’s not really involved in.

Aight, I think that’s about all I got for this one! I hope the answer was sufficient! Also, sorry it took so long, I had a lot of thoughts but not enough time to type it all up in one sitting.

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a-azions · 5 months

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Reason She Smiles - Shannon x Fem!Reader

warnings: mentions of homophobia, touch starved!shannon, short!reader (only descriptive detail), this is written very sitcom-y bc it's a sitcom lol

requested?: yes

author's note: i'm so happy i've found a few people who want to read abt dessa and her characters so y'all better eat this and send me requests lmao.

Clem and Nick held hands as they walked out of the elevator. Clem dropped Nick's hand to dig the key out of her purse as they approached the door.

"These heals are killing me." Clem groaned sticking the key into the knob. "Why do they have to be so pretty?" She looked down admiring them.

"They do make your legs look very-" Nick tried following Clem into the apartment, but was roughly pushed back into the hallway. "What?" He questioned noticing the shocked look on Clem's face as she closed the door again. "Did Shannon leave the living room a mess again? I swear I am gonna give that girl a stern talking to." Nick shook his head.

"No! She's in there cuddling with someone on the couch." She whisper-shouted.

"What? Who?" Nick asked intrigued.

"I don't know. I didn't get a good look." Clem shrugged.

"Well, what do we do?" Nick asked.

"We can't just walk in there." Clem said trying to think of a plan.

"Actually, we can because it's our apartment." Nick said trying to walk past Clem, but she grabbed his arm stopping him.

"Shannon has obviously been hiding whoever that is and if we just barge in there she might feel like we're attacking her and she'll stop actually talking to us."

"When has she ever actually talked us? If you think about it, we really don't know anything about that girl. She might not even be your sister." Nick said.

"I'm serious." Clem placed her hands on her hips.

"Fine, at least let me get a look at this before we go in." Nick said. He slowly turned the door knob and quietly opened the door, only a bit, peaking his head into the apartment. His eyes landed on Shannon with her arms wrapped around her guests shoulders and her head leaning on top of theirs.

"Aw, it's kind of cute." Clem whispered, her head appearing below Nick's as they both watched the two.

"Yeah, I've never seen Shannon so affectionate." Nick whispered back.

As if on cue, Shannon's guests sat up and turned to lean towards Shannon pressing a gently kiss to her lips. Nick and Clem's eyes widened and their jaws dropped as they stared at the two. They quietly shuffled back into the hall and closed the door.

"I know that girl!" Clem whispered shocked. "I saw her and Shannon hanging out the other day when I went shopping with your mom."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Nick asked offended Clem didn't tell him the biggest news about Shannon.

"I thought they were friends. They didn't look all couple-y when I saw them." Clem explained. "I can't believe Shannon didn't tell me about this. I mean I know we just reconnected, but still this is big."

"Come on, Clem. It's Shannon." Nick grabbed her hands to attempt to comfort her. "She's not exactly an open book."

"I just wish she felt like she could've told me. I don't want her to hide from us." Clem frowned.

The couple jumped upon hearing the door open. Clem whipped around putting on a smile while Nick did the same.

"Uh, hey guys." Shannon said staring at them curiously. "How was date night?"

"It was great, actually. We had this delicious-" Nick started explaining, but was interrupted by Shannon.

"I was just being polite. I don't care that much." Shannon said making him nodded sarcastically.

"Who's this?" Clem asked looking at the girl next to Shannon holding her hand.

"Um, this is my friend, y/n." Shannon introduced.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you." She smiled kindly.

"I'm Clem," She grinned. "This is my fiancé, Nick. It's so nice to finally meet one of Shannon's...friends."

"Why are you being weird?" Shannon asked.

"I'm not being weird." Clem quickly denied.

"Okay," Shannon trailed off. "I'm gonna walk her downstairs. I'll be right back."

Clem stood in front of Shannon drinking her coffee. Shannon was glued to her phone, too busy texting away to notice Clem staring at her trying to think of the best way to bring up Shannon's "friend" from last night.

"So..." Clem trailed, placing her coffee mug on the counter. "Is y/n a new friend?"

"No." Shannon said simply not even looking up from her phone.

"How long have you known her?" Clem asked.

"Why are you being so nosy?" Shannon looked up from her phone suspiciously.

"I'm just wondering." Clem shrugged. "You've never brought anyone over here."

"She's been my best friend for like three years." Shannon answered. "I met her at school."

"You seem really close." Clem pointed out.

"Yeah, we are." Shannon nodded looking back at her phone in her hands.

"Okay." Clem snatched her phone out her hands making Shannon's eyes grow wide.

"Clem, what the hell?" Shannon reached across the counter trying to grab her phone back.

"I need to ask you something." Clem swatted her hand away. Shannon sat back in her seat with a huff of annoyance. "Please, don't get mad. I'm asking you this because I care about you and want you to feel comfortable here."

"What are you talking about, Clem?" Shannon looked at her utterly confused.

"Is y/n your girlfriend?" Clem asked.

Nick who had just stepped foot into the kitchen froze and turned back around to grab his briefcase. "I'll grab some coffee on the way to work." He said before scurrying out the door.

"Pfft, what?" Shannon laughed, attempting to hide her paled face. "Why are you asking that?"

"I saw you two at the mall together. I didn't think anything of it until last night." Clem admitted.

"You're spying on me?" Shannon raised her voice a little.

"No, of course not! I was shopping with Rose and I saw you two walking around." Clem explained. "Look, Shannon. I just want you to feel like you can be yourself here. You look really happy when you're with her and I hope you know you don't have to hide anything from us."

"y/n is my girlfriend." Shannon said looking at Clem with nervous eyes. "I was planning on telling you, but I got scared that maybe you wouldn't accept me, and we really needed a place to stay."

"We?" Clem questioned.

"Oh, yeah. y/n spends the night a lot. Her mom always has her boyfriends over, so she usually crashes with me." Shannon told her.

"Ok, we're gonna circle back to that later." Clem said shocked.

"y/n's really important to me, Clem." Shannon said. Clem sat up straighter upon hearing the seriousness of her tone. "Before she was my girlfriend she was my best friend. I don't wanna any of our mess of a family to ruin my relationship with her."

"Well, I saw the way you two looked together last night. I've never seen you so happy." Clem rubbed her shoulder giving her a soft smile.

"Thanks, Clem." Shannon smiled back.

tags: @fairy-geek-ackerman

#a-azions #shannon x reader #shannon fam #odessa a'zion x reader #odessa a'zion x female reader #odessa a'zion x fem!reader #odessa a'zion oneshots #odessa a'zion fics #odessa a'zion imagines #odessa a'zion #odessa a'zion one shot #odessa adlon #shannon #odessa adlon x reader #odessa adlon x fem!reader #odessa adlon x female reader

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symphonxx · 7 months

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So, in the midst of scrolling through tiktok nd waiting for kubosai content, i stumbled upon sumn I should’ve watched back during quarantine.

Cherry Magic. ( or Cherry Magic! 30歳まで童貞だと魔法使いになれるらしい )

It never occurred to me that i should watch it until two days ago, when a video a close friend of mine reposted came up. Despite having told myself that i might watch it back in 2020 when it came out, i never actually got to watching it but now that i did, I want to say that, its a fkin masterpiece.

Adachi nd Kurosawa have such a lovely relationship, that doesn’t necessarily revolve around sex ( something that i try to put off from most BL’s ppl around me have introduced ). The side characters are all well written and really memorable despite the little scenes they have with the main protagonists.

My favourites are definitely Adachi, Kurosawa, Rokkaku and Fujisaki! They’re all so sweet to each other nd their dynamic makes it more or less sweeter!! The way they ( Adachi nd Kurosawa ) inspire both Fujisaki and Rokkaku in their own ways. But despite the little ( i mean, does it count as little?? They do have alot of screentime together??? ) scenes they have, they do make their scenes worthwhile to watch and man they are js so adorable everytime they come up 😭😭

Adachi and Kurosawa on the other hand, are rlly rlly cute. Their relationship makes me crumble and fold.

Kurosawa is such a green flag. The way he wants to hold and kiss Adachi but holds back from his urges bcs he cares more abt Adachi than his own urges. Sure its basic human decency but seeing it actually being well-portrayed in a BL show ( not that I rarely see it, its more of most Japanese shows being weird nd stuff ykwim? ) makes it so much more refreshing to watch. Also the way he cares so so much abt Adachi? He could sense if Adachi is more gloomier, picks up on the lil quirks Adachi has, makes sure Adachi is smiling most of the time bcs he enjoys seeing him happy more than he enjoys seeing him being upset etc etc. It’s js so heartwarming and Kurosawa doesnt even have mind reading powers to do that. He supports Adachi all the way, even spending days trying to help Adachi perfect his presentation skills nd stuff nd js ughhhhh-

Adachi, is incredibly cute as well, his little bedhead, the funny monologues he does in his head, his existential crisis’ everytime he hears Kurosawa’s thoughts, the amount of “ Ehs “ he says and the way he thinks so lowly of himself makes his character relatable and endearing. He gets so excited about the thought of being popular or being an inspiration but immediately turns the idea down due to some unforeseen circumstances or js bcs of his thoughts. He sees himself as a normal boring person, doing normal boring things in his life. Hell, even we see that Kurosawa thought of him that way too before he fell for him. Everyday is the same for him etc, at one point when Urabe-san, his senior, suggests dating Fujisaki-san, he instantly turns down the idea. Even after thinking abt it, he turns it down bcs he thinks it would be impossible ( to an extent ).

But despite all that, Kurosawa and the others genuinely think of him as an incredibly hardworking, reliable and kind colleague to have around their work place. Even though he used to pick things up through his mind reading powers, he does show that, even without it, hes still as kind and reliable.

The show is so amazing and im planning to watch the others ( eg. the movie, the manga, the anime?? ) because i just cant get enough of them!!

Also i cant do reviews for the life of me so this would be the longest you get out of me yet. I usually attempt to ramble a whole abt my fav shows or anything but whenever i try, my brain melts or get all woozy at the thought of them bcs I JUST LOVE THEM SO SO MUCHHHH !!!!

Anyways, I’ll do another Kubosai post soon.

#symph rambles #i’ll try to do sum Kubosai things #but if yall ever want me to talk abt Cherry Magic more #i will #i love them a whole ton #this is the most i’ve written for a show #jesus #i love love love them #waaa #cherry magic #30 years of virginity can make you a wizard #please watch it #or moot me if u do watch it #or js msg me #pls #i need more ppl to talk abt it

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unadulterated-syd · 1 year

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a/n —

+ i wrote this for myself bc i just got my license and it really stressed me out.. so its very ooc but i don't want ANY comments about it being ooc bc it was MY outlet.

+ again this is for me so he did in fact say bubs, plus im american so im SORRY theres no cool slang in there my british impression is awful and im not trying

+ lastly i didn't edit this so shhhh,, im tagging normal people if u dont want tags that im unsure of pls just ignore this im in an era plus reader refers to them as boyfriends just read it diff if you want its okay theyre forbidden gay or not

» [rocky horror -> billy cobb] «

0:00 ─〇───── 0:00

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

staying up late, i should go to sleep.

wandering the halls was not unusual to you, practically an everynight occurence by now. being a prefect, they let you get away with it.

having practically been adopted by minevera and poppy— they understood your trouble with sleeping. they understood why, and they understood aimless walking helped.

they'd always stood in and gave a good word, dumbledore couldn't have been bothered to punish you anywho. some nights you'd even wonder drunkly, mumbling to yourself as you let students slip passed you without punishment.

you had a name to uphold— but you far from respected or supported your family. one of blood supremacy and hypocricy, unfortunately the children of families like yours were forced to adult more than those of age.

you were just like that, so much weight on your shoulders that you far from bothered to let your thoughts hurt you. you'd become responsible for ignoring them.

similarly, you'd become familiar with sirius black through this similar ideaology. familiar. you were far from 'friends', though people with similar stories, two who found comfort in one another from afar.

this led you to be familiar with all the marauders, though you'd far from a mustered a word to any of them— they knew you were on their team, when needed. at any word you'd betray your dreaded house.

i should go to sleep, its tuesday but i can't stop— thinking of your skin

there was one exception to your marauders rule, you had spoken to one. more than spoken, you'd held dear on many occasions. whom cared to much fot everyone around him.

you'd been practically forced to a gryffindor party— sirius had insisted on you recieving an invitation, though he was not the messenger.

he'd begged regulus to offer you the invite, even though he hadn't invited his younger brother. eventually, regulus gave in. you felt obligated to go, with how much trouble he went through to get you there, how could you refuse?

however, no one seemed interested in you being there. weird looks from many angles, strange glances your way. with the exception of one individual.

james fleamont potter.

james had practically thrown himself at you, a million questions filling the air before you could even shake his hand. regardless, you answered every question, and he listened to every answer.

when he'd realized you came alone— he vowed to spend the night by your side. introducing you here and there, inviting you to random drinking games.

and at some point something had clicked in the both of you.

you could hardly remember, but it was spin the bottle— or perhaps seven minutes in heaven? it didn't matter what game it was, you just remember you'd kissed and sparks flew.

you were both so drunk you didn't know if james remembered anything either, you just remember him. they way he smelled, the way he smiled at everthing you said, the way he looked at you.

he treated you like the world revolved around you, he was the earth circling around you. but it only lasted that night, because when he'd found you the next day he'd lost the courage to speak to you.

you still had your reputation— more than half the school still saw you as an enemy. you were a cruel and feelingless person to them. so how could james fleamont potter ever justify you wanting to be with him?

i've been known to be a hopeless, no good, nobody. and they're right.

you could sense why he didn't come back, though you'd assigned a much different explaination than he.

you were a bad look on his reputation, an outstanding quidditch player. an outstanding gryffindor, brave and caring. the real question was never why would you want to be with him, but rather why could he want to be with you.

not that it mattered anymore.

you knew you were a hopeless case— sirius had changed, he'd fix his side and found a way out. but you hadn't, and likely you never would.

you had no friends, you spent no time partying, with the exception of sirius' one invitation. you were a nobody. scary to anyone who hadn't heard sirius' tales of you, worthless to anyone in your own house.

you somehow rubbed everyone around you the wrong way— a bloodtraitor to your family, a blood supremesist to people whom you wanted to defend, not enough to all your slytherin peers.

it made sense that he never came back. he must've been ashamed to some extent, he was so much more than you'd ever be.

i know your eyes can see right through me. but believe me, it's my pleasure.

tonight went differently for you, your restlessness brought you near the gryffindor tower.

deep down something within you begged for you to sneak your way in and find james. but your mind would never let you, there was no chance you'd ever have the bravery to do so.

in all ways, you knew even if you had he'd understand too much. he knew your every feeling, even if you kept it hidden.

after one night of gestures you knew he was your perfect second half, he knew you more than you knew yourself. and oddly enough, you returned that.

you knew he drained himself, he was too compassionate for his own good. you knew he could never love you publically because no one knew you.

no one knew your parents hated you, no one knew it was because you'd defended muggleborn peers, no one knew you had plans of running away.

no one knew you'd never get that mark, that you'd never defend it's honor. but he did, and that's why you both stood at a crossroads.

he had a reputation too.

one that no one saw through, everyone believed they knew him. he could do no wrong, and too anyone you two were polar opposites. but too eachother you were practically the same.

you cared too much, just like him. you drained yourself with worry, and he knew how much it'd taken you to get over the fact you'd never be the perfect kid.

you'd never be what your parents wanted, you'd never be cherished like him. unless it was by him.

and something inside you found it comforting, the idea for once you couldn't lie. because he'd never fall for it.

he was the same as you, and he knew you didn't need fixing. you weren't broken, and neither was he. flawed, possibly. and that was the most comforting thing about him.

he didn't need to work for you, and you didn't need to work for him.

i miss the sea, i miss it's sandy beaches, salty breeze. and it reminds me of you.

because it's so sweet, you're so sweet, you're so sweet.

knocking on your head, you'd come to the conclusion you needed to leave. find your way back to your room, and move on.

in a way you felt hollow for having a heart, as if your brain could only be seen as brilliant if your heart stayed cold. because your heart led you to a common room of people who hated you— whilst your brain begged you to forget and regret.

but once again he showed how similar you two were. as if he'd known you'd he at there, he appeared at the portrait. he looked sleepless, suprised that you were there, yet also as if he'd been expecting you.

"y/n?"

he looked like a painting to you, groggily rubbing his eyes, voice the same as always. trying to illude to the idea he'd been sleeping— though you saw right through him.

"james.."

"what're you doing here?" he stepped out, closing the painting behind him.

you took a deep breath, weighing your head and your heart— as if it mattered. he saw right through you, even if you lied right to his face.

"did you need something..?"

"you."

his eyes widened only slightly, he knew why you were there but the clarity was almost frightening. he couldn't lie to himself anymore, because you'd come clean to his face.

"i know i disappeared im sorry, i know you've got a reputation, i know.. i just—" you sighed, fumbling with your words, "nobody knows me like you james, and all it took was a day for you to see me. i mean.. i missed you. us? its cheesey i know but.."

"one moment."

you watched him disappear into the common room, leaving you with your thoughts. your head was spinning, there were butterflies hitting every wall of your stomach, had it been too much for him? had you read him wrong?

he came out a moment later, a jacket wrapped around his shoulders, wand in hand. he stood with a second coat in his other hand, one which he held out to you.

you took it, pulling it on— even if you didn't know his plans, then he held his now free hand out, you took it.

"how about a walk?" he gave you a smile, pulling you along.

you two indulged in a comfortable silence, you just enjoyed holding his hand. even if you weren't sure it'd happen again.

i dont care how you want me to live my life, as long as i'm in yours.

he didn't lead you anywhere in particular, leaving you the silence you needed to grow the courage to open up.

and eventually it worked.

"i'm sorry i came so late, i didn't think you'd even catch me."

"i wasn't sleeping anyway, you can always show up." he looked at you again, raising a brow, "what's wrong, bubs?"

you could feel his thumb rub over your knuckles, it felt endearing. the way he acted, the way he treated you, it was as if the two of you had been dating an eternity. however, you'd never even started dating.

i know how whiney i sound right now, but i can't help myself.

"i think—" you sighed, stopping in your spot, leading him to do the same. you could feel his eyes on you, he couldn't read you anymore, and it scared him. "i think i really like you, james."

"i mean like.. like boyfriends? like i want to get out of my house, finally befriend sirius.. i mean not be whatever the hell everyone thinks i am— i want to be whatever you want i just want to be with you."

he looked at you hesitantly for a moment— he wasn't pondering whether he wanted to be with you or not, rather trying to decide how to proceed.

"i've been waiting to hear that." he turned fully to face you, "but, i like you too. this way, you don't have to be different. just what you want to be."

i know your eyes can see right through me.

james tags -> @nyxxxxxxxx , @innerloverpainter , @carlgrimesslover , @nutellani , @angry-little-frog @loving-and-dreaming

marauders tags -> @withastrangerheart

do NOT critize this one i will CRY.

also the song is rocky horror by billy cobb,, its not every1s cup of tea but i <3 it

#james potter x reader #james potter #james fleamont potter #marauders

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dankovskaya · 10 months

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hiiiiii this is such a silly question but as the premiere kory enjoyer do u have recommended kory readings? i've only read her in some of her team comics (like ntt and outsiders etc) but i was wondering if she had any standout issues. i trust ur opinion most of all

HI ELLAAAA. I know this isn't exactly what you asked for but just for future reference @/princesskoriandr made the definitive Kory reading list right here.

I'm linking this because you are not going to like my answer to this which is that upwards of 90% of the Kory writing worth reading and taking at all seriously happened in NTT 😭 Like I hate to say it but even with all the issues of racism and misogyny irt her character as written by Wolfman, you're basically always losing SOME degree of nuance or interiority (or just overall interest in exploring her as a character) with essentially any other writer.

It's also been too long since I read any of it for me to remember individual issue numbers off of the top of my head 💀 BUT on a quick skim of that reading list (and assuming you've read at least the very beginning of NTT), I will recommend:

NTT v1: #16, #22-25 + Annual 1 (this arc introduces Komand'r and just expands their lore + that of Tamaran, the greater Vega system, etc), #26 (this is like the aftermath + when Dick and Kory officially start dating I believe)

Tales of the NTT v1 #4 (BIIIIIIG Kory backstory lore dump. Very important.)

NTT v2: #6 (This is the beginning of an arc I don't really remember and don't really care about. Just scroll through the issue until you see Kory wearing the "WE LOVE GAR" shirt and then read everything she says bc I love that scene LMAO), #13-19 (this is the dreaded Kory political marriage arc where Dick loses his nasty mind and he is hella racist to her basically the whole time but you do learn a lot about Tamaran and Kory's family etc. Funnily enough this segues directly into tiny Jason's temporary stint on the team cause everyone was having a mental breakdown.), #22-23 (extension + conclusion of that arc), #39 (literally just koryraven yuri. literally.)

Teen Titans Spotlight: #1-2 (Kory has a journey of self discovery after stumbling upon Apartheid South Africa. You could not make this shit up.), #19 (this is an event tie in but it's also like 100% A Day In The Life of Kory <3)

I'm going to recommend from New Titans very sparingly and with caveats as this is when they started running out of ideas and eventually did a backflip into the garbage disposal but: #71 (Titans Hunt arc is not fucking important but I recommend the first issue purely for reflections on dickkory), #97-109 (I KNOW this is big but bear with me. This is dickkory falling apart to marriage to falling apart again era + koryraven yuri part 2. Literally just skim everything until you see Kory. The actual wedding issue is #100 and after Demon Raven crashes it Kory gets like, possessed/impregnated by a piece of her soul or something and you see the psychological repercussions of that in the background of the succeeding issues until she blasts off in 108, and then 109 is KYNASF'RR. The issue that singlehandedly justifies the existence of New Titans for me. If nothing else read that one. You can keep reading/skimming until #114 if you want but not super necessary it gets. Weird. Basically Kory and Dick just mutually separately realize their relationship is inhibiting their growth as people 😭 #114 is their official breakup issue. Or it would be if Kory didn't stand him up when they were supposed to talk about it on account of not really wanting to see him LMAO.), and #127-130 is one of those arcs that is just confusing to read if you haven't been following everything going on with all the characters involved Lmfao BUT it's another Kory/Tamaran arc and the one where Tamaran goes the way of Alderaan so. Relevant. Raven is still inside Kory also during this time LMAO.

I would NOT recommend reading Titans 99 for any character other than Garth Lmfao BUT #47-50 of that book is an arc centered on her that's like... passable.

She's in Teen Titans v3 as a mentor character but I find that book horribly fucking boring so I haven't read most of it but the popular panels of her tending a garden of Tamaranean plants is from #7

Convergence: New Teen Titans #1&2 is good and also basically functions as a recap of why dickkory did not work out even though in this universe ironically it does. Lmfao

Other than that.... yeah. She's in Outsiders and Titans v2 but the sad fact of the matter is that if Kory isn't on the lineup of a team book, she's relegated to essentially a cameo character, and if shes on a team book that isn't from the NTT era, she's unavoidably going to be mischaracterized, sidelined, flattened, possibly character assassinated, or just generally not prioritized for storylines and character development or treated as a nuanced and multidimensional character.

#This is basically the speedrun version of her relevant/focused appearances. In my humble opinion.#Like I'm sure I've missed some random one off issues and annuals etc but basically. Everything important from #the only comic book era that respected her at all😭#AKA. HOW TO GET THROUGH NTT WITHOUT KILLING YOURSELF 👍#dc #kory #ask

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antisociallilbrat · 1 year

Text

The Williams Part Two

Part One

Read on Ao3

Summary: It's their first date! Doesn't start off on the right foot but the night is young so it can still recover...right?

A/N: Yes I am reposting this bc for my last couple writings I was like 'aw shucks my posts sure aren't getting the interactions like they used too' ... it was bc i am an I D I O T who had my privacy settings set to keep my posts hidden in the tags/search results. Anyways.

The bar is too crowded, the music is too loud, and it has an undercurrent smell of fake cheese. Like the kind they'd serve over nachos at The Palace. Back when Will was a kid and videogames were more important than dates.

Now he’s twenty years old, crammed into a booth that has a couple of mysterious stains, and sipping lukewarm beer out of sight of the bartender. They’re probably too busy to notice- or to even care, but he’s always been a little on edge when it comes to breaking the rules.

During the afternoon he spent with Bill at The Bean he was really hoping it would end with Bill asking him out. Luck was on his side; for once.

It’s just that he wasn’t exactly picturing their first date with all of their friends in attendance. Maybe he was a little presumptuous to assume that their first date would be a private affair.

Bill invited him to Richie’s open mic, implying that his friends would be there. It left him feeling a little…put out because maybe Bill only wanted to be his friend. But then Bill told him they could sneak off afterward to go do their own thing, that he had an idea. He followed it up with a wink, one that looked ridiculous yet charming in a weird way that only Bill could pull off.

But things are never simple in Will’s life and he later learned that Richie also invited Mike. Apparently, while they were scheming in his and Bill’s love life. What was surprising was that Mike was going - and was bringing El; at Richie’s instance.

He had a lot of questions but he’s starting to see the answers. Richie isn’t on stage yet, if you could even call that a stage, it’s more like a literal soap box set up by the bar. Some other act is on right now, trying desperately to speak over the music. Mike, El, and Stanley are standing around a table by the stage.

He doesn’t have an opinion on Stanley yet, this is the first night they’ve ever formally spoken but it’s obvious why Richie insisted they bring El. The man with the chocolate neat curls keeps biting back at the poor comedian, getting a rise out of El every time he does. When El laughs, her eyes fleetingly closing, Stan is smiling at her like he’s made a great accomplishment. He’s only poking fun at the comedian to make El laugh. Will wonders if El has noticed…probably not. She never notices when someone’s interested in her.

Along with Stanley and Richie, he’s met Bill’s other four friends. Ben and Beverly, a couple, Eddie- Bill’s first friend as he introduced himself as, and their own Mike. Their Mike is much sweeter than Will’s.

Those four are at the bar. They were sitting in the booth with them but when Bill came back with his and Will’s beers, they each started making excuses to get up. None of them came back and they’re not even trying to hide the fact they’re hanging at the bar. They left him and Bill alone on purpose.

In the booth Bill shifts in his seat next to him, his jeans making that awkward sound when they rub against the plastic of the seat. He looks vaguely uncomfortable and while Will has been sipping on his drink Bill has almost finished his.

Bill is rubbing at the disintegrating label of his beer bottle, an awkward silence filling the void between them. They’ve already run through all the safe questions, ‘did you find this bar okay?’, ‘how were classes yesterday?’, ‘do you like your drink?’.

It’s such a tonal shift from their conversation at The Bean. Bill had had more…confidence if Will had to pin it down to something. They talked about Bill’s writings- he’s a horror writer, and Will had shown him some of his paintings. They had connected so easily then and he doesn’t understand why now is so different. The whole thing has him feeling a little anxious.

Bill swishes his bottle, running empty, “Guess it's time for another,” he says as he stands. He nods towards Will’s bottle, “Do you need another one?”

Will shakes his head and just like that he’s alone. He deflates in his seat when Bill is out of sight, letting his head thud against the back of the booth. Maybe this was a mistake, maybe Bill was better off being ‘The Writer’ that he got to pine over from a distance.

“What’s shaking my second favorite William?” Richie cuts him out of his quickly spiraling thoughts, sliding into the booth across from him.

Richie has cleaned up for tonight- but his definition of ‘clean up’ is far from what the normal person would consider. He’s wearing a silk blue button up with a black vest loosely tied in the front. It’s flattering in a weird way. Light smudges of eyeliner line his eyes behind his magnified lenses and there’s a cigarette tucked behind his ear, almost hidden in his barely tamed curls. At least Will thinks it’s a cigarette.

“It’s fine, nothing much,” he replies, hoping his dejection isn’t showing on his face.

Richie just hums, rapping his knuckles against the table. He just now notices that Richie has freshly painted his nails black. He jerks his chin towards the bottle in Will’s hands, “Didn’t take you as a fan of Bud Light.”

He sets his barely drinked beer on the table, “It’s fine, not my first choice but Bill ordered for us.”

“Makes sense, Bill’s always been fond of his piss water,” he makes a move to stand, “I can get you another drink if you want, we don’t gotta tell Big Bill.”

Will snatches Richie’s wrist before he can fully stand up. Slowly he sits back and down and watches Will with curious eyes. Will starts back peddling, “It’s fine, really. You’re supposed to go on soon right? I’d hate for you to miss your cue because you're stuck at the bar getting me a drink.”

Richie ignores most of his weak statement, “Ya know, for a guy who’s supposed to be on a hot date, you’ve said 'fine’ three times in the last minute.” When he can’t find anything to say, Richie does so for him, “Billiam is being horribly awkward isn’t he?”

He gives, sighing, “Just a little- and I don’t understand. We were having a nice time back at The Bean, I don’t get why this time is different.”

Will is entirely unprepared for what Richie tells him next, “It’s because this is a date and Bill hasn’t been on a date in two years, not since his last, horrible, boyfriend,” He leans forward on the table and it throws Will off a little at how serious he’s being, “Look, Big Bill? He’s good at being charming and swooning with people, but dating? He’s worse at it than I am. He over-thinks it. Sure, he’s a hopeless romantic, but he struggles with new people when they aren’t so new anymore. Been burned a couple of times because of them.”

“I- I see…and I understand that. I don’t date often because new people intimate me,” Will takes another sip of his beer, feeling a little overwhelmed. He doesn’t have any exes, he’s barely gone on dates before.

But then Richie snorts, “So you’re both bad at dating. Great.”

He frowns at him, “You have any advice then?”

Richie raps his knuckles against the table again, in a drum roll manner, “Matter of fact I do. Make him talk- and not about the boring stuff. Ask him when he had his first beer or better yet find out if he’s an actual monster fucker for me if you will? His stories are telling but I need evidence,” Will’s about to inject because he is not asking about that but Richie continues, “Fine leave the monster fucking questions for date two- but I’m serious, ask him about the fun stuff, the important stuff and show you have a genuine interest in him and he’ll be waxing poetics about ya by the end of the night.”

This makes him feel better, gives him a look into Bill- one he wasn’t expecting, and lets him know how to get to know Bill better from his own words…it’s just there’s one anxiety of his lingering. “So it’s not me? I didn’t do anything to make him not interested in me anymore?”

Richie chuckles, “William, my William hasn’t shut up about you since he laid eyes on you. No offense but it was a little insufferable. You could probably spit in his face and he’d still be interested in you…actually, maybe he’d be more interested in you then, I don’t know what he’s into.”

His face suddenly feels hot, “Shut up,” he mumbles, looking down.

Richie just smiles back, “So what are you going to do when Bill comes back?”

“...Ask him about his first time drinking piss water?”

“There ya go!” he shoots finger guns at him, “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go flirt with my date before my show.”

His what- “Are you talking about Mike?”

“My future one true love? Yes absolutely,” he replies without missing a beat.

He looks back at him incredulously, “Does Mike know he’s on a date right now?”

“He will, it’s all part of my master plan. Wait ‘n see.”

Part of him thinks he could do the responsible friend thing and warn Mike of Richie’s intentions, let Mike decide from there- but Mike did dig his own grave when he decided to meddle in his love life. So instead Will says, “You said you were bad at dating too so some advice; Mike likes to play hard to get, and he’s dramatic in the way he likes to be chased.”

Richie’s eyes twinkle, “Well Papa likes a good chase,” he winks at him as he flies out of the booth, not even giving Will enough time to internally cringe at him calling himself ‘Papa’.

He watches Richie join the others at the table in front of the stage. Richie throws a haphazard arm around Mike’s shoulders…who looks annoyed and snaps something at him that Will can’t hear from here but he doesn’t shake Richie off.

“Everything okay over huh-here?”

Will snaps his head towards Bill, he’s standing by the edge of the table, fidgeting on his feet. There's a new bottle in his hand- this one’s label is still intact, and it’s half drunk. He must’ve been waiting for Richie to leave before heading back.

“Yeah, Richie was just seeking my advice,” he white lies, scooting more into the booth in a way that he hopes comes off as inviting, “Stop standing and sit down with me.”

Bill smiles, sliding in, “What advice were you giving him?”

“On how to woo my Mike- speaking of which, did you know Richie was going to trick Mike into going on a date with him?"

He just shrugs his shoulders, “I didn’t but that s-sounds like Rich…did he say anything else?”

“Why? Worried he spilled some of your embarrassing childhood secrets?” Will smirks.

Bill scoffs, “He wouldn’t do that,” Will meets his gaze, eyebrow raised and Bill starts to feel not so sure, “He didn’t do that- right?”

“No he didn’t do that, I’m waiting on you to tell me those.” When Bill smiles Will takes it as a small victory. The tension between them is already lessening and he’s determined to keep it rolling and not let them fall back into awkwardness when this spell has run its course. “Though he did tell me to ask you about the first time you tried beer?”

The tips of Bill’s ears turn red as he ducks his head, “Shit you don’t wanna hear about that.”

“Oh but now I really do,” he leans closer to him. The smell of a woody cologne and lingering cigarette smoke invades his nose and he wonders if it’s possible to miss a smell after only experiencing it once.

He can already see the bravado seep back into Bill as he gives in with a little smile, “It was freshman year and all us Losers thought it would be a cool idea to sneak into Eddie Corcoran’s seniors only party,” his voice has taken on that slow, smooth, tone again and he’s not tripping on as many words as he was, “We were successful too…until Eddie Corcoran confronted us and tried to kick us out…” Will nods for him to go on, “Well let’s just say the moment Corcoran confronted us the beer we had been stealing all night decided to vacate the premises of my stomach…onto his shoes. Got my ass beat that night.”

“And you still drink it?” he teases.

“It was my first love, what c-can I say?” Bill lays an arm across the back of the booth. It’s not on Will’s shoulders but it’s close enough, “Tell me, what was teenage Will like? Any raging parties?”

He snorts, “The only parties I was going to as a teenager were Dnd ones.” He’s not afraid of Bill thinking of him as a nerd, he saw the Battlestar Galactica keychain on his laptop bag. It was cute.

“Like with elves and shit? Were you an elf?”

Will shakes his head, laughing, “No I wasn’t just an elf! I was also the Party’s wizard.”

“A wizard huh?” Bill takes a slow sip of his beer, glancing towards him, “You sure put a spell on me.”

Will’s brain short circuits. Bill just stares back at him, a small blush climbing his neck. He just has to shove Bill in the side with his elbow, “That is the worst pickup line I have ever heard!”

He gives him a mock offended look, “I was trying woo you, William!”

Will’s about to retort when a speaker comes on to announce Richie as the next comedian. Mike, Ben, Bev, and Eddie all rush to cram back into the booth with Will and Bill. Eddie snaps at Bill to scoot in more so that he can sit down.

Bill’s thigh ends up pressed against his- in fact, his whole body would be if Will wasn’t leaning a little bit forward. There’s very little space between them and Will…he’s not mad about it. At this proximity, he feels the heat radiating from Bill, can feel the vibrations of his chest when he laughs, and honestly he just falls more into the encapsulation that is Bill.

The arm Bill had resting on the back of the booth comes down to rest across his shoulders very lightly. Almost as if Bill is asking for permission. Will leans back, securing the arm more around his shoulders in answer. There is so much heat radiating between them he feels like he’s going to combust. He’s never cared so much about a guy liking him before and he thinks Bill does like him like that but also he always carries around a seed of doubt about anything good happening to him.

It makes it hard to focus on Richie’s act as he starts his act, clearly in his element. Will tries to pay attention, he does, but his mind is fogged by the smell of Bill’s cologne and the rumbling of his chest against his side every time he laughs at one of Richie’s jokes.

Stan, El, and Mike (Will’s Mike) opt to stay around the table near the stage. If Stan was heckling the last poor guy, he is absolutely ruthless toward Richie. Who throws it right back his way. It was more amusing than Richie’s jokes. He has a hunch that they were both showing off for Mike and El.

Bill and his friends sitting in the booth aren’t safe from Richie’s terror either. He throws a joke out about Eddie’s mom, one only they laugh at and he pokes fun at Ben. Something about The New Kids On The Block? At this point, Will was too wrapped up in Bill to register it completely. It isn’t until Richie targets him during his act does he get Will’s full attention back.

“Now now, I’m not the only love bird on a date tonight,” he whistles while Mike makes a small protest from the table, “My good friend Big Bill is here tonight on a date. Ironically! With a guy also named William,” he pauses for a dramatic moment, “You see if I was on a date with a man named Richard it would be double the Dick but you see with my friend Bill, he’s the one getting double the Willys tonight.”

There's a modest amount of laughter that he earns from the bar patrons. This is one of his more successful jokes of the night. Beverly is dying in their booth and Ben gives Will an apologetic look but he’s still smiling. Will wants to curl up and disappear before his face turns into a tomato.

“F-fuck you, boy!” Bill yells but he’s barely fighting back a smug smile. He nudges Will with his hand resting on his shoulder, “Just ignore him, he’s a dickwad. We’re about to luh-leave anyway.”

A mixture of excitement and trepidation fills his stomach. On one hand, he has no idea what Bill has planned for them for the rest of the night which is exciting, and on the other, that’s exactly what worries him. Will Byers is a virgin. It’s just…never came up before. Being gay in a small town can do that.

But they just got over their awkward conversation bump, surely Bill isn’t expecting that to magically segway into them having sex? Because if so they’re just going to land right back into an awkward conversation when he has to fess up he’s a virgin and he doesn’t plan on losing it after one lukewarm date and even more lukewarm beer.

Richie’s set comes to an end and everyone starts to part ways. Mike Hanlon, Eddie, Beverly, and Ben were going to another bar on the side of the city, and Mike Wheeler and Richie were going to tag along. Will’s Mike isn’t a bar person so he’s continuing to be surprised tonight by his friend’s decisions. El wants to go home- no surprise there, because she really isn’t a bar person and Stan insists on driving her back. Hopefully, she notices Stan’s obvious flirting on the drive.

Bill asks if he’d like to go with everyone to the next bar and it’s clear that he’s giving Will an out of being alone together. But the thing is- despite his reservations, he wants to see what Bill has planned for them. Bill doesn’t act like a guy who is going to try to pressure him into doing anything he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t seem like his style.

He takes Bill’s hand, acting braver than he feels, “I just wanna hang out with you.”

The smile Bill gives him in response is beautiful.

Bill doesn’t disclose much about where they’re going when they crawl into his silver truck. Will didn’t know he had a vehicle, he never drives to The Bean and when he asks about this, Bill just waves him off, saying that driving in New York is too stressful for his tastes.

On the way over Will tries to get some information out of him about where they’re heading as the excitement builds. Bill appears very sure of himself that this is a place that Will is going to be very happy about. To say he is intrigued would be an understatement.

Curiously it’s some type of office building Bill drives them up to. He jumps out of the car without a word and heads towards the doors, leaving Will no choice but to follow him. The temperature has dropped significantly and even with his large coat, he crowds close to Bill as he unlocks the glass doors.

Bill gets it unlocked and heads inside, turning back to Will when he doesn’t follow him, “You coming?”

He nervously glances at his surroundings, reading the sign “Gray’s Design Company Coming Soon,” painted onto one of the front windows. Trespassing wasn’t something he considered he would be doing tonight.

“Are you sure we should be here?” The last thing he wants is to be is a ‘Nervous Nellie’ as Mike has called him before but…they’re trespassing.

Bill must somehow read his mind, dangling the key he used to get in, “It’s okay, we have per-permission.” He’s still a little nervous but he follows Bill inside.

The inside of the building is gutted, and clearly being renovated. Plastic sheets litter the floor and hang from the ceiling and briefly, Will is reminded of that one episode of Dexter Max had forced him to watch.

Will only glances away from Bill for a second but when he looks back Bill’s gone. Okay, now he’s starting to panic. “Bill?! Where’d you go?!”

A hand on his shoulder startles him, making him yelp. Bill looks down at him with a smile full of mirth, “Keep up, I want you to s-see this.”

“You’re not taking me somewhere to kill me right?” He’s only half joking.

Bill rolls his eyes, and takes his hand, “Come on.”

They push through two more plastic sheets and Will sees why Bill was being impatient to show him. The sight before him takes his breath away.

It’s the first actual room they’ve walked into and it is filled to the brim with art. There are canvases in stacks leaning against the walls, sculptures on pedestals, and tables filled with sketches. The art styles are all different signifying this isn’t the collection of one person. He just has to touch.

The first table he approaches has sketches all done in charcoal. They’re smudged from rubbing against each other but he can make out the sketches of the people. Just strangers that are going about their everyday life, probably unaware of their portrait being created.

On the next table are unframed works of watercolor. All vivid and seeming to leap off the page. Some depict still life while some are settings. Places pulled from the artist’s mind, maybe places that they wish they could visit or just simply places that are not real but still beautiful all the same. These are his favorites.

He swivels on his heel, a watercolor work of a river still in his hand, to look back at Bill. He’s still standing at the entrance, watching him with a small smile. It makes his whole heart flutter.

“What is this place?” he asks, gesturing to the whole room.

Bill comes to stand by him, taking the painting in Will’s hand to examine, “Ben’s boss bought this place for his architecture firm and apparently the basement was filled with this stuff. Whoever owned the building before ap-aparently was an avid art collector.”

“A ‘collector’ is putting it lightly, this is more like a hoarder’s work. This is insane,” He walks over to a sculpture of a woman’s head made from clay, “This stuff belongs in an art show or a museum! I have never seen so much art in one room before!” He pauses for a moment, “What do they plan on doing with all of this?”

“Well Ben’s boss planned on tossing it all since most of it isn’t from any famous artists,” Will’s heart sinks, “But Ben convinced him to donate it to an art school, make the business look good,” he finishes.

“Yes, good publicity in exchange for not throwing away a collection of people’s hard work,” he doesn’t mean to sound bitter but some people will just never understand art. It’s just a thing that takes up space in their new office building.

Bill just hums, “Well I did manage to convince Ben to let you take your pick of the art here before it gets donated.” He hands Will back the painting.

He feels as if he’s a kid in a candy store and his mom just said he could get whatever he wants. “I can take whatever I want? Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent, you have a deep appreciation for art and you’ll actually care about these pieces,” He stands in front of him and Will realizes how close they've gotten. Bill reaches out and tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear, his hand lingering, “I’m really suh-sorry about earlier by the way. You make me nervous.”

“You don’t have to apologize, I don’t date often because most people also make me nervous,” he leans into Bill’s hand, remembering what Richie had said earlier about Bill’s ex and how he has hesitations about people getting to know the real him. He's not going to be one of those people that 'burn' him.

“I’m honored to be your date tonight then,” Bill murmurs.

They’re so close their breaths are mingling and right when Bill’s eyes flutter shut and he leans down to kiss him, Will slyly ducks out from under his arm, “Come on! We got art to go through!”

Bill sighs, amused, “Okay where do you want to start?”

For the next hour, they go through every canvas and every sketch. Will pays no attention to the sculptures as he doesn’t think he’ll have room for them in his dorm.

During this he learns that Bill used to sketch a lot when he was younger before diving into writing and like his writing, he would draw horror. Bill ends up taking home a sketch of a rib cage with flowers blooming through the ribs. He still has a passion for macabre works of art.

Will on the other hand takes home a painting of a lonely cabin scene and two sketches, one of a beautiful man with wings and another of a bed of flowers. Plus he took the watercolor painting of the river that he first grabbed. Honestly he was holding back.

“I can’t believe you didn’t want that painting of the naked chicken,” Bill says as he loads Will's painting into the backseat of his truck.

“It was a featherless chicken, not a naked one,” he corrects, still a little disgusted by how detailed it was. He jumps into the passenger seat as Bill is getting into the driver's seat.

“That st-still counts as naked.”

“Why do you do that? Trip on words sometimes?” He realizes how insensitive that sounds too late, “Wait! You don’t have to answer that! I’m sorry!”

“Hey, it’s okay! You’re a lot nicer about asking about it than s-some people,” Bill reaches over and takes a hold of his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, “I used to have a horrible st-stutter and I’ve almost got it under control, it still comes out I guess.”

Will squeezes his hand back, “I think it’s kinda cute- if that’s okay to say?”

“That’s okay to say,” he raises their entwined hands and kisses the back of Will’s hand. His lips feel soft.

He feels the need to share something intimate about himself. What did Richie say, talk about the deep stuff? Fuck it, he’s going to do that.

“I’m a virgin.” Well, that’s one way to say it, Will.

Bill’s eyebrow furrows, “I wasn’t planning on trying to get into your p-pants if that’s what-”

“No no no,” shit he made Bill get defensive, he honestly could have said that better, “I didn’t think that you were! Just you shared something personal about yourself and I wanted to do that too! Earlier Richie told me to talk about the ‘deep stuff’ with you and- God I don’t know; I feel like I just messed this all up.”

A big hand cups the side of his face, forcing him to meet Bill’s eye, “You didn’t mess anything up,” Bill soothes, “And Richie is an idiot but I’m glad he told you we should talk about the deep stuff. Eventually, we’re going to have to have a conversation about your luh-limits in the bedroom and what you’re comfortable with and you will be the one to set those,” Will positively colors at that but it takes a weight off his chest he hadn’t realized was there, “I’m happy you shared that with me, thank you for trusting me enough to tell me that.”

Will knows that when he loses his virginity, he wants to lose it to Bill but like Bill said, that’s a conversation for another time. Right now all he can focus on is, “You said ‘eventually’ implying you want to see me more?”

Bill smiles at him boyishly, “As if that was a question. I p-plan on annoying you for a long while, hope you’re okay with that.”

His entire being is beaming. The boys Will likes aren’t supposed to return his feelings- especially not boys like Bill Denrbough. “Yeah, I think I’m more than okay with that.”

Neither of them wants to move despite how late it’s getting. Foolishly the romantic side of him is thinking about how he doesn’t want this night to end. Their hands are still linked over the middle console and Bill’s hand is still cupping his cheek, his thumb brushing against the side of his face.

“Can I kiss you?” Bill asks softly.

In lew of words, Will just nods his head. Sure he’s been kissed before. Once in middle school by Sally Mae behind the bleachers, the kiss that solidified that he liked boys, and then once in a game of spin the bottle with Lucas. Both of them were chased and lacked any of the emotion that Bill has when he kisses him. His lips are soft.

He has to remind himself to close his eyes. Bill takes the lead and presses and disconnects their lips a couple of times, pulling back minutely to nudge his nose against his and he gets the hint, he starts to move his lips as well. He can feel Bill smiling. It’s when he’s getting the hang of this that Bill swipes his tongue against his bottom lip. It felt foreign yet good and he gasps when Bill does it again. Bill’s tongue travels into his mouth slowly, licking and mapping it out. Will lets go of his hand and grasps his shoulders, trying to ground himself. He doesn’t have much to compare this to but he thinks Bill is a very good kisser. The noises he’s making he would find a little embarrassing any other time but right now he's not in any capacity to care.

Disappointedly, Bill breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against his, “I really like you, William Byers.”

Will blushes, “I really like you too, William Denbrough.”

A/N: AHA okay you can tell that for some reason I really struggled to find my footing writing this and with the dialogue but,,,this is my second draft of the chapter and I'm still not happy with it and I didn't have it in my to start over.

That being said I am really happy with how the ending turned out. I love soft boys.

This is the last chapter for WillBill as in part three we will be seeing how the rest of Wheelzier and Elstan's night went...that one will definitely be at least rated M bc Wheelzier :0

Thank you for reading! I always appreciate the people that read my rare pair nonsense!

#this sht better show up in the tags so help me #i post rarepairs #i need the advertisement #willbill #wheelzier #elstan #will byers #bill denbrough #mike wheeler #richie tozier #stanley uris #eleven hopper #it 2017 #it 2019 #stranger things #stranger things 4

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