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azsazz · 4 months

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Midnight Muse (Part 6)

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: Not edited lol

Word Count: 2,891

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Masterlist]

Notes: Of course the first fic post of 2024 has to be MM 💙

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“So, you just think you’re free to do so as you please, where you please?” Your grating voice startles Azriel from the work he’s doing. The oil drain plug slips from his fingers as he winces, falling into the pan below.

His bike had needed some servicing, nothing he wasn’t able to take care of himself, though Cassian was supposed to meet up with him after the only class he had today and he hasn’t shown yet. His roommate was pretty handy, had to be, with how old and how often his rustic Bronco is. He’d offered to help Az, or at least sit outside and pester him, whatever he was feeling.

Apparently, he wasn’t feeling much like showing up at all, which was fine because Azriel knew exactly what needed to be done and enjoyed listening to the sounds of the world while he worked; birds chirping as they chased each other from tree to tree, other students happily talking as they walk down the block, and the occasional car driving up the street. It’s easy to focus on something like this, and he’s feeling a lot looser than he has been as of late, though he doesn’t expect that to last very long.

He wishes Cassian were here to be a buffer right now.

What Azriel doesn’t understand is what you’re doing here. Obviously, he knows very well that you live here, but after the harsh few meetings the two of you have shared, he’s not entirely sure why you’re approaching him, of all people.

Grimacing, he slips his glove-covered hand into the dark oil pan, feeling through the thick, slick liquid for the plug. He needs it, and he hadn’t really wanted to get this dirty, but at least he has boxes and boxes of gloves to use at his disposal.

He eyes you, squinting from the sun haloing around your head. You look just as you had the day you moved in—a frown tugging the corners of your mouth down, pretty eyes glaring down instead of up at him through your lashes. Your arms are crossed over your chest too, and even though it’s been a few days since he’s last seen you, he isn’t surprised about the scowl you wear.

It hadn’t been enough to avoid you, it seemed. You were going to run into each other no matter what. But he’d avoided you this long, even kept his music down to a lower volume. Okay, so, one click lower hadn’t quite made you back off of him, still pounding on the walls late at night, but he’s been trying to be nicer about it, actually listening to those knocks, lowering his music or stuffing his earbuds into his ears.

Seems like it hasn’t made you any happier, his trying.

“Am I disturbing your afternoon, all the way out here, princess?” He asks, tacking on the little nickname he knows you hate because it will get under your smooth skin.

Your foot taps with your annoyance, rhythmically. It kind of sounds like the bass line to one of his favorite songs. He realizes now that you’re not wearing any shoes. His brows furrow and his eyes slide back to yours, watching your lips purse. He can’t hide the smirk spreading across his mouth so he turns his head back to his work, watching the oil filling the pan.

“I told you not to call me that,” you growl, and he glances up, enjoying the way your nose scrunches up. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be doing this in the middle of the parking lot.”

“That’s funny,” he snipes, because why won’t you just leave him alone? “I didn’t ask you.”

Your cheeks go red. Azriel brushes it off, grabbing a few paper towels from the roll he’s brought out and wiping the oil plug clean. He’s meticulous with it, making sure all of the threads are clean before he sets it aside to wipe his gloves off. He grabs the new filter and removes the packaging, awaiting your snarky response.

You sigh, sitting down on the curb. “Look, I locked myself out and my phone is inside. Can you maybe text Cassian and have him let Feyre know the situation? He has her number.”

He cuts you a glance before his hazel eyes flicker away. Since when did Cassian have either of your numbers? Since when did he talk to you?

“He should be here in a little while,” Azriel answers, removing the old filter. He tosses it in the pan with the used oil and wipes his gloves again, cleaning them before he reaches for the new filter to replace. It slides in easily, and he caps the drain. “You can ask him then.”

You huff like it’s the most inconvenient answer in the world, but he doesn’t want to get oil on his phone, and he doesn’t want to take his gloves off right now. Not ever, but certainly not in front of you of all people. “Please, can you not be a prick right now? I’d rather let her know as soon as possible so I don’t have to be around you.”

Not exactly the response he was thinking you’d give, but it sparks his irritation anyway.

“I’m not being a prick. I’m working on something and you’re interrupting me because you’ve made the mistake of locking yourself out. Maybe you should take your phone the next time you go to the office to complain.”

Your face flushes and your mouth drops open in a gape.

Yeah, he heard all about that.

Azriel glares, unscrewing the fresh bottle of oil with a little more force than is necessary. But he’s annoyed now and he just wants to finish this so he can go on a nice long drive, far away from you.

You swallow harshly. “You’re right, I’m so—”

“Now here’s a sight I never thought I’d see,” Cassian’s voice echoes around the parking lot, startling the both of you. Azriel wills the oil into the hole faster, because he can’t bear seeing Cassian being all buddy-buddy with you. “What are you doing out here with no shoes on?”

Azriel glances at you from the corner of his eye. Your gaze flickers away as soon as his eyes land on you, turning your attention to Cassian, but you look a little defeated, shoulders curled in on yourself as if trying to hide from him.

“I uh, got locked out of my apartment and my phone is inside. I was just asking Azriel if I could borrow his phone to text you, but here you are.”

Azriel notes the way that his name rolls off of your tongue.

“Here I am, saving damsels all day long,” Cassian jokes, and you laugh.

The bottle in his hand slips, oil dripping down the paint of his bike as Azriel quickly fixes the spout back into place.

Neither you nor Cassian seem to notice, thankfully.

“Still need help, Az?” His roommate asks, but Azriel shakes his head.

“All good, man.”

“Great. (Y/N), why don’t you come on inside and I’ll wait with you until Feyre gets home. Maybe we can pick up where we left off in class.” Cassian slings an arm over your shoulder and grunts dramatically at the shove you give him. Azriel doesn’t like how friendly you’re being with each other, fingers tightening around the nearly empty bottle of oil.

And you have a class with Cassian too? He doesn’t like that either.

Not. One. Bit.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It’s not right.

Nothing is ever fucking right.

The tattoo gun in his hand shakes and the line squiggles, array, just like his thoughts.

It’s well into the night and yet he can’t find sleep again. Azriel had tried, he really, truly, had. He’d been tired, lied down and shoved his headphones into his ears, praying that the music would keep the thoughts at bay. Flashes of memories shattered the songs, menacing words slipping between lyrics, slicing into his brain like spears no matter how loud he turned the music.

He’d tossed, turned, done anything he could to fight away the nasty thoughts, but nothing had worked.

It had been another long day in an endless string of them. Working on both his portfolio and practicing on any willing participant he could find. Usually, his roommates. Cassian had begged him for the stupidest tattoo he’s ever been asked for—even worse than a tiny little pink unicorn tramp stamp. Even though Azriel had needed the practice badly, there was no way he’d tattoo the words ‘in case I forget later:thank you’ across Cassian’s hips.

He wouldn’t be a good friend for allowing Cass to get that, and it wouldn’t look good in his portfolio anyway.

After having a pizza dinner with his roommates, who were all too lazy to want to cook on the first night of classes, Azriel included, he’d gone straight to his room for his sketchpad, ignoring Rhysand calling after him, asking if he wanted to watch a movie with them. A part of Azriel did. He wants to be able to forget everything in his stupid brain and give his full attention to a movie, but tonight isn’t the night for that. Not with all of the dark ink splashing through his mind.

So, he’d stuffed his headphones in his ears so as not to disturb his roommate's movie night, and pulled down one of the many sketchbooks he has neatly stacked upon the shelf above his desk.

It’s black cover stared at him, the void of it much like the dark matter in his mind. The leather bound journal is thick, more so than any of his other sketchbooks, as if he can shove all of the bad thoughts into it and bind it shut so they can never escape.

It had been his therapist’s idea, the sketchbook. He’d always liked art and had drawn from a young age, but the thoughts in his brain didn’t always equate to something positive. He’d struggled with it alone for the longest time, but the incident with his step-brothers had forced him to seek therapy, encouraged by both of his roommates.

Azriel had found that therapy was not for him within the first twenty minutes of the session. He didn’t like the woman trying to pick his brain. He didn’t like her fake niceties and recounting the accident he’d been trying so hard to block from his memory. He didn’t like that his hands shook the entire time, no matter how hard he’d curled them into fists. They’d shook for the rest of the week, and it had made him angrier than ever, felt like retelling what had happened only made the memories so much clearer, giving them permission to stick to his brain.

He hated it.

But she had suggested journaling, or drawing in a sketchbook. So, despite not signing up for another session with her, he drove down to the local art supply, and bought the thickest, darkest sketchbook he could find. Azriel drove to his favorite spot in town, sat there for hours and hours, pouring every little emotion he could into the drawings until he could barely uncurl his fingers from his pencil.

He stared at the drawings and they stared right back, taunting him with their dark, shaky lines and sharp-fanged smiles. His chest constricted, breath caught thickly in his throat, and he’d slammed the sketchbook shut, binding it with the leather cord and knotting it so tightly he didn’t know if his fucked up fingers would be able to unwork it. But he’d trapped them inside of the book, and they hadn’t been able to get out. For a few days, anyway.

Azriel had considered throwing it off of a cliff. Had considered burning it, tossing it into the lake, digging a hole at the state lines and burying it. He hadn’t done any of those things, though. Once his breathing had calmed and his hands stopped shaking so badly he’d tucked it into his bag and shoved it up on the shelf with the rest of his sketch pads. No one would notice. Cassian and Rhysand didn’t enter his room if he wasn’t around, and no one else was allowed in there. Most of his other sketch books were black as well, so this one was hidden well in the midst of the others.

It brings him to now. He’d pulled the dusty sketchbook from his shelf, opening it with once again shaky hands. The thoughts had been harder to dispel lately, sleep more difficult to find. It had been easy to attempt drawing out the demons with the loudest music he could find, but even he could admit, that after letting those harrowing memories from their cage and onto the paper where he could shut the cover and trap them, he felt a little better.

Better enough to attempt to work on his tattooing skills.

But the gun in his hand still shakes.

“Fuck,” he curses, tossing the gun onto his desk. The clatter cuts through his earbuds and slides, skidding to a stop once it’s knocked into the cup of pencils and sticks of charcoal. A plume of black puffs from the chalk falling from the rim and Azriel glares. “Fuck this!”

He swipes at the jagged lines of the mountain he’d been inking above his kneecap with a paper towel, scowling at the bite of uncomfort that follows the motion. The jaggedness of his lines can be passed off as the snow lining the mountain, but he’s still pissed off. If he can’t straighten out his lines, there’s no hope for an apprenticeship at all. Of course, he can fall back on his charcoal drawings, but he’s never wanted anything more than this. He’s dreamed of becoming a tattoo artist, loves everything about it, and he doesn’t want to give everything he’s worked towards up.

Azriel slumps in his seat, ripping the black latex gloves suctioned to his hands off. Running his fingers through his hair he squeezes his eyes shut tight, swallows the lump in his throat, and breathes deeply. In. Out. In. Out again.

The music is no longer helping. He tears the buds from his ears, replacing them in their charging case with shaking hands. He grits his teeth as he stares down at the marred flesh, willing them to stop trembling.

They don’t.

Before he can do something he might regret—like smash all of his things to bits, a noise draws his attention.

It’s not coming from the living room where Rhysand and Cassian are watching some action movie. He can hear the sounds of reckless driving and explosions creeping from beneath his door. This sound, however, has something zipping up his spine, his ears perking as he listens for more.

There’s a low moan, muffled by the thin wall connecting your room from his. It sounds soft and sweet, has Azriel’s spine going tight as he sits straight in his chair, cheeks getting hotter when he realizes it’s you, and the moan is a sensual one.

You must not think he’s home because he’s not blasting music, or you don’t care if he is, or maybe this is your way of getting back at him for all of the times he’s been rude to you since you moved in.

A low curse emits from your mouth, and Azriel might think that you were in pain if he didn’t recognize the lust lining the noises you’re making, the way you seem to be begging for it, calling out to the God of Pleasure.

He can’t sit here, can’t listen to this. He can’t humanize you or listen to the sweet sounds you’re making through the wall. It’s too perverted. As much as it makes his cheeks heat it feels wrong to be listening to you pleasure yourself through his wall. His body is coiled tighter than it had been with his harrowed thoughts, and he doesn’t realize that his hands have finally stopped quivering.

Azriel springs from his chair, slipping out of his room like his ass is on fire, although there’s a warmth beneath his skin that isn’t one of hatred.

“Took you long enough,” Cassian complains when he plants himself on the couch beside him, tugging a pillow onto his lap. He needs something to hold onto, is all. His friend shoves a bowl of popcorn his way, and Azriel takes a handful, stuffing the buttery goodness into his suddenly dry mouth. “You’ve missed all the good parts, but we’re watching the second one next. Rhys will fill you in.”

“No, I won’t,” Rhys adds, completely engrossed in the car chase that’s happening. “He didn’t want to watch it when we asked, so it’s his loss.”

It’s fine, really, because the movie is the furthest thing from his mind.

Azriel can barely focus on what they’re saying, on the brightness of the movie that makes him squint, so different from that of the soft lighting in his room while he worked. He refuses to look at anything but the screen but his eyes are unfocused as his mind wanders, and then his eyes are following until he’s staring straight at the door to his room as if he can see past it and through the wall inside.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Midnight Muse Taglist: @going-through-shit @honeycriess @natashachelsea @thisisew @kennedy-brooke @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @magical-mischief-makers @reiincarnatiion @ccucumbers @secret-ly-here @throneofsmut @cami26cami @torchbearerkyle @a-frog-with-a-laptop @sevikas-whore @endless-worldss @vellichor01 @bangtans-jagiya @kalulakunundrum @pinksmellslikelove @sakurafrost3-blog @imxnotxhere @bookishbroadwaybish @justdreamstars @i-am-infinite @whichwitchisthebitch @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @sia-r @acourtofbatboydreams @hannzoaks @judig92 @ilikefictionalmen @harrystylesfan2686 @dr4g0ngirl @vellichor01 @hirah-yummar @girl-who-writes-stuff @lees-chaotic-brain @konaanaria13 @emiler-love @yourdorkiness @azrielsstarlight @saltedcoffeescotch @badpvn @prongslena

#azriel #azriel x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel/reader #midnight muse #art school au #tattoo arstist!azriel

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yellowcabdriver · 7 months

Text

desperate

pairing: yuuji itadori x f!reader

genre: fluff

a/n: i quit my old soul-crushing job and i’m desperately trying to finish off all wips before i start my new job svdndjsj please enjoy 🙏🏻 live laugh lovesick yuuji 🫡💕 very shamelessly got inspired by this post

nobara said yuuji shouldn’t call you.

“you don’t want her to think that you’re desperate, right?”

yeah, maybe.

but here’s a thing that a considerate friend that is nobara didn’t take into account.

yuuji is crazy about you and he is indeed very desperate for you and your attention. he is filled with joy and excitement whenever he hears your voice – it’s almost pavlovian, very embarrassing. or at least could be, if yuuji cared enough. his pride is a small price to pay to have a wonder that is you in his life.

but yuuji has to admit, maybe nobara is right. at the end of the day you two are not dating (yet, as yuuji very much hopes). you two are not even very close friends (yet, again, as yuuji hopes).

yuuji’s finger lingers over a call button under your name embezzled with a variety of heart emojis.

“at least text her before calling, you know, it’s kind of a new etiquette these days, not to call someone unannounced,” yuuji remembers nobara’s chastising. it makes yuuji hesitate. of course, he doesn’t want to seem like an ignorant bumpkin who isn’t aware of social cues. what if you’re busy? which you probably are because you are so smart and cool. and you are definitely a great texter (even if you weren’t, yuuji wouldn’t know any better because he is that much in love).

with a sigh, yuuji slides over to messages and starts typing rather pathetically “hiiii how are you???” while fighting the urge to add like a gazillion emojis to express himself better. nobara is really getting into his head, yuuji sighs. this is hard considering he is not exactly an overthinker (that would require having more than one thought and his only singular thought right now is you). a text is better than nothing, sure, but yuuji really really really needs to hear your voice. so he rushes back to his contacts and gathers every ounce of willpower to press on your name.

after almost painful eleven seconds you pick up. yuuji’s breathing hitches a little when he hears your sleepy “hello?”

he wants to throw himself from a window.

he forgot it’s almost 3 am.

“hi, um, hey. sorry, you’re asleep.”

what an absolute mess.

“well, not anymore,” you softly laugh. yuuji, though embarrassed, is so happy to hear your laughter.

“sorry.”

“it’s okay, yuuji. did something happen?”

well, kinda. obviously, yuuji’s not going to tell you that he’s just so down bad for you that he called you up in the middle of the night for no reason.

“no, nothing, i- i’m sorry, it’s nothing urgent, i better call you tomorrow.”

“are you sure? i mean, it’s…” he hears you scramble. “three in the morning. it has got to be an emergency.”

it is, just not a conventional one. yuuji violently shakes his head and then remembers that you can’t see him (why is he such a fool when it comes to you?)

“no, no, i’m sorry, i screwed up. i forgot that not everyone stays up late like me. go to sleep. sorry.”

“stop apologising, it’s all fine. okay, i’ll believe that there’s no emergency. but you better call me tomorrow to confirm that you’re okay.”

yuuji’s cheeks are burning.

“yeah, of course. sorry again.”

you laughed.

“good night, yuuji.”

“good night.”

yuuji’s fingers shake when he types the first message.

“sorry, i actually didn’t mean to call you.”

delivered.

yuuji’s eyes are not leaving the screen beaming brightly into his face.

read.

his palms are suddenly cold.

dot, dot, dot.

“it’s okay,” followed by a smiley emoji and a thumbs up. such a you thing to send. for a minute he contemplates going to sleep and maybe die from embarrassment in his sleep but something takes him over. before he can register it, his fingers start typing.

“fuck it”

delivered, read.

“i did mean to call”

delivered, read.

“i wanted to talk to you”

delivered, read.

“to hear your voice and your laugh”

delivered, read.

yuuji can physically feel the blood rushing away from his limbs when he sees three dancing dots.

“i want to hear your voice, too.”

yuuji’s head is spinning as he fights the urge to jump around the room while smiling at his phone like a madman. megumi and nobara for sure would be disgusted at this sight. he is so ecstatic that he almost misses the next message.

“ft?”

his long calloused fingers dance across the screen to quickly type “i’ll call you”.

he rushes to facetime.

you pick up almost instantly.

yuuji looks at your face, traces of sleep still present in your expression but he can see – and it makes his heart flutter – that you are genuinely happy to see him, too.

you both spent a few intimate moments staring at each other’s badly lit faces, glowing under the dim lights of your screens in the dark, until yuuji finally finds the courage to break the silence.

“so… did you sleep well?”

you quietly laugh and yuuji falls in love even harder though he thought it wasn’t possible. he can’t wait to tell the gang that being desperate pays off, and oh so well.

and what does nobara know anyway.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk itadori #itadori x reader #itadori yuuji #itadori yuji x reader #itadori yuji x you #itadori x you #itadori yuuji x reader #yuji itadori #itadori fluff #jujutsu itadori #my fic

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lovebugism · 1 year

Note

i am so sorry but reader talking about robin right before making out with eddie is like absolutely the best thing i’ve ever read i’m obsessed i genuinely can’t wait for anything else in that universe that you do

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | god help the girl

summary: in which you come to terms with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with eddie munson. pairing: virgin!eddie munson x reader word count: 13k warning: phone sex, more discussions of shitty boyfriends, j*son c*rver name drop, talks of unhealthy eating practices, smut 18+ mdni! a/n: this ask has been sitting in my inbox for ages now, but i wanted to save it until robin made an appearance in the series! thank you, anon, for being so sweet! and for the few of you who've been waiting on me to finally post <3 hope you enjoy! xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

They only met once, but it changed their lives forever.

That’s what the movie cover reads at least, but the words have long blurred into a jumbled mess at your tunnel vision. John Bender stares you in the face, but all you see is Eddie — boyish and brazen and scowling because he thinks it makes him look intimidating, but nowhere near as cruel as he seems.

He’s certainly got the hair for it, much longer and curls far wilder than Judd Nelson’s measly set of brushed-back locks. He’s got the terribly animated personality down pat, too; the one that either makes you laugh uncontrollably or squirm in discomfort when it’s pointed your way. And the style’s a pretty fine match also, though you’d argue that no one sports a leather jacket quite like Eddie Munson does.

Wallowing in your boredom at the empty Family Video store on Main Street — where your best friends slave over mundane work with aching backs and a lingering sense of gratefulness that no customer has been in in well over an hour — you find yourself analyzing each character pictured on the front cover of The Breakfast Club.

Robin would surely be Allison, you conclude rather quickly, because their deadpanned glowers are eerily identical. They’ve also got this sort of atypical aura to them, too, like a dark storm cloud or the promise of a long night. But strangely it sparkles — strikes of lightning or a sky full of stars. It draws everyone’s attention to them; even when they’re desperately trying to hide in the very back of a room.

And Steve would be Andrew, not particularly because of his affections for this Allison-Reynolds-Robin-Buckley hybrid you’ve concocted, but because "popular guy with daddy issues" is a trope that fits him far too well. He’s way more likely to get detention for trying to look cool in front of his assholes friends than for anything actually malicious of heart. But that would’ve been years ago now. He’s not that kind of guy anymore.

He’s soft and sweet — a Brian Johnson sort of soft and sweet, if you will. If Brian wasn’t the brains, but the sweetest dumbass anyone’s ever met.

You realize then, that Jim Hopper would make a mean Richard Vernon. He’s impatient to a fault, almost too stern at times, but never enough to make you genuinely fearful of him. You’ve found that it’s virtually impossible for you to take him seriously when he’s so cartoonishly angry. It’s a match made in heaven, you find, though Jim might take offense to the comparison.

And if Eddie is Bender, then that’d make you the Claire Standish of the bunch.

She’s dreadfully stylish, a bit stuck-up at times, and perhaps a little bit more spoiled than the average person; but it’s not like she ever claimed to be perfect. And you wouldn’t either.

You’ll take more pride in your wardrobe filled with pretty pleated skirts and flouncy dresses than your somewhat glacial disposition. And you might not be drowning in daddy’s money, but you’re certainly spoiled in other ways — if only in the employee discount at Enzo’s that got you wine for cheap and your connections at Family Video that meant free movie nights whenever you wanted.

The bad boy and the princess was a tale as old as time itself. It’s a fairytale you wouldn’t mind living in if it ended how it did in the movies — with a kiss on the cheek and an exchanged diamond earring in the calloused palm of another. A soft pink smile and a celebratory fist in the air.

But you’ve met your fair share of John Bender’s and none of them had been particularly kind to you, let alone had fallen in love with you.

Maybe that’s because you were no Claire Standish. Never pretty enough, never mousy enough, never pure enough. You try and dissect why you’ve never been successfully loved, and all the signs point to you, you, you.

You hope Eddie’s different. You need Eddie to be different.

“Something’s wrong with me,” you blurt out of nowhere.

Well, it’s not totally out of the blue for you. You’d been stewing over that thought since you got there — since you left the woods with damp underwear and the scent of you on Eddie’s fingers.

But to Steve and Robin, who’d stayed relatively silent and locked eyes only once after they noticed how abnormally hushed you’d gone, it catches them quite off guard.

Steve lifts his heavy head from where he mans the counter. His tired eyes leave the computerized catalog for the first time in forty minutes, and he has to rub at them with the bottom of his palms to see you properly. Meanwhile, Robin crouches at your side, taking returned tapes from the bin sitting next to her and placing them back upon the shelf you lean against.

She blinks up at you, deep ocean eyes swimming with apprehension, like she can sense the spiral you’ve just about twisted yourself into.

“What do you mean?” she wonders, ever the supportive best friend, as she plucks Heather’s, Pretty in Pink, and Weird Science from the bin and sets them onto their assigned rows in the Teen Drama section.

“Eddie won’t fuck me.”

Neither of them is particularly stunned by the unabashed nature of your admission.

Not only have they both fucked you at one point or another, but they’re your best friends — no one’s ever going to know you quite the way they do. It leaves little left unsaid between the three of you, with secrets you’ve all sworn to take to your graves. Steve once stuck a finger in his ass to see if he liked it (he did) and Robin sometimes gets off on her childhood teddy bear (rather ironically named Mr. Snuggles).

So this? This was nothing. Especially in comparison to all the other shit you’ve confessed to them because god knows the whore of Hawkins has a plethora of stories to tell.

Steve is more shocked by the name that leaves your mouth than anything else. “Eddie Munson?” he repeats with furrowed brows, like he had to have heard you wrong.

You bring your chin to your right shoulder to look at him, then nod.

“Eddie… The Freak… Munson?”

You nod again, slower for him this time.

“You wanna fuck… Eddie Munson?” Steve reiterates once more, as though the idea was too appalling to be true. “Eddie Munson — The Freak?”

“Yes, Steve,” you huff in irritation.

His face contorts into a puppy-like confusion. A frown settles between his bushy brows and he cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching and his lip quirking slightly. He couldn’t look more disgusted if he tried.

“…Why?”

You groan and tilt your head back dramatically. “That’s not what’s important here, Steve. The better question is why won’t he fuck me?”

The boy’s lack of any actual assistance doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest — his dumbfounded gaze and innate confusion are actually pretty on brand. It just puts all the burden on her, to help you wriggle out of the mess you’d tangled yourself into.

It’s not like she isn’t used to it, though, nor does she mind doing it for you. She walks you through your emotions like a professional, squashing out all the burning orange embers for you before they have the chance to burst into flames.

“Well, what do you mean he won’t fuck you? Like… did he actually say that or does he just wanna, you know, take things slow?”

The latter would’ve been way too easy. Eddie’s always been nice enough to you. It’d make sense for him to want to stay unhurried and gentle with you, but those words weren’t exactly in your vocabulary.

The first time you were alone with him, you were getting yourself off on his thigh after making him come in his jeans. The next time you saw him, after four days of him clinging to your consciousness, there wasn’t as much small talk so much as there were two of his fingers stuffed knuckle-deep inside of you.

You don’t know Eddie’s birthday, but you know how he likes to be touched — squeezed and not rubbed. You don’t know his middle name or how he likes his eggs in the morning or what his relationship with his mother is like, but he’s already made you come. Twice.

You are completely, utterly, and totally incapable of taking things slow. So it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. So it had to be the other thing. The very scary, terrifying, boogeyman of a thing.

“I mean, I offered to give him a blowjob and he completely turned me down,” you lament in reply.

Robin and Steve wince. Like, physically wince. Their faces scrunch and their heads flinch from something invisible. Audible ooh’s fall from their mouths without them even realizing it, because you don’t get rejected. Ever. Especially not after offering to pleasure someone without much of anything in return.

They don’t mean to react the way they do. The visible shock that coats their features is involuntary more than it is anything, and it only adds to your fears.

“Exactly!” you exclaim.

“I hate to say it, but I think hell might be freezing over as we speak,” Steve half-jokes.

“Well, he was working, right?” Robin asks with raised brows. “Maybe he was just busy.”

“Sorry, Rob, but no guy’s too busy for a blowjob.”

“Real charming, Stevie.”

“Maybe he just has a small dick,” the boy concludes with a shrug.

“I felt his dick,” you shake your head almost immediately. The feeling of Eddie’s hard cock through his denim jeans, all rough and warm against your palm, hasn’t yet left you. “It’s not small.”

“Well, maybe he can’t get it up—”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem either.��

Eddie was rock hard when you left him, throbbing and aching and obviously needing some kind of relief. That’s partly why you’d been so ardent to return the favor, though the other half of it was purely selfish — you haven’t seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie Munson getting off. To deprive yourself of that masterpiece made you feel like you were starving.

You have a hard time imagining the raging hard-on just… dissipating after you’d left him. That means he probably jerked off in the back of his van and you missed it. And if he came, right after he promised everything was okay, that means he just didn’t want you to do it… right?

Steve seems to be caught in the same inner turmoil you’re currently stuck in; and for good reason. In all the years he’s known you, he can count on one hand how many times he’s had to turn you down. And every time, it was because he’d gotten back together with Nancy. It was never because of you. Not once. And sometimes he felt like it hurt him as much as it did you.

As far as Steve’s concerned, you’re so out of Eddie Munson’s league that you’re not even in his fucking orbit — so the freak show, turning you down, doesn’t make whole lot of sense to him.

“Huh…”

“It’s me. It’s definitely me,” you conclude with the shake of your head. A bitter, almost hysterical laugh spills from your lips. “He thinks I’m fucking ugly or disgusting or something. It’s totally fucking me—”

Robin completely abandons her basket of tapes then. She rises to stand in front of you, looking timid as she does so. Her raised brows form wrinkles on her freckled forehead and her blue eyes widen to reveal more of the whites of them. She looks like she’s approaching a wild animal. A bomb that’s about to explode.

“Okay… You’re starting to spiral, alright? So let’s just try and take a few deep breaths—”

You don’t listen to her.

Actually, you do quite the opposite, as you begin to blurt every fleeting thought that crosses your mind.

“I’ve made out with nearly everyone in this stupid town— I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked almost half— and you’d think Eddie would wanna take advantage of that, the way everyone makes him out to be some sort of freak, right? But he hasn’t and at this rate, he won’t, and I just don’t understand why,” you ramble without taking in a single breath. “Usually being a slut is a huge turn-on for guys, you know? But what if Eddie thinks it’s gross? I mean, it is gross— I’m gross—”

You only stop for air when Robin takes your shoulders in both hands. She looks less apprehensive and more stern, as she forces you to look at her.

“Look. I love you, but you need to get a hold of yourself, alright? I know you’re not used to being told no, and I know how much it sucks, but shit happens. I’m willing to bet all the money I’ve ever seen that whatever is going on with Eddie has nothing to do with you, okay? And if it’s making you this upset, maybe you should just talk to him.”

“But I don’t wanna seem like I’m too eager, that’s gross—”

“Then find someone else to fuck,” she offers with her signature Robin Buckley half-smile. “I’m sure it would take you less than five minutes to find a willing participant.”

“Yeah, right here,” Steve jokes from the counter with the pathetic wave of his hand and a dumb grin on his lips.

You don’t hear him over the voices in your head — half calling you crazy for letting a boy drive you this mad over nothing, and the other half bitterly affirming each of your deep-rooted insecurities.

Your face screws up, like the thought of being with anyone other than Eddie upsets you — it does upset you.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Then what do you want?” Robin yells in your face, shaking you by your shoulders.

“I want Eddie!” you shout back without thinking. The words seem to spill out of nowhere. It takes you of all people by surprise. No one in this rat trap town would ever expect the whore of Hawkins to want to settle down, least of all the harlot herself. It’s strange; it’s riveting; it’s really fucking scary. “…Fuck.”

The brunette smirks, proud of herself. “Well. There’s your answer.”

“I hate when you’re right,” you mumble to yourself, pouting as she crouches back down again.

“I know.”

It was a terrifying thought, to know that you were head over heels for someone else. You try to come to terms with what that means.

Sometimes you think you fall in love with a new person every day. A cute guy holds the door open for you, a pretty girl compliments your outfit — they never think about you again, but they’re on your mind for days. It was so easy to develop such meaningless infatuations, especially when you were bored.

But Eddie was different.

He was a nice guy. A nice guy that was sweet to you just for the sake of being sweet to you; not because he secretly wanted something in return. That made you fall for him at first, but then you just… kept on falling. Eddie Munson was an infinite void you couldn’t crawl your way out of even if you wanted to, even if you tried.

And that’s what frightened you the most.

Because if you really thought about it, you’ve only truly been in love a handful of times. And, sure, it didn’t work out — that was normal — but some of them fucking ruined you.

You’re still trying to figure out who you are without all of the people that have broken your heart. You’re still fighting like hell every day to recognize the person you see in the mirror, while Billy Hargrove fucks off with a new girl every other week like he didn’t totally destroy you.

But, even still, Eddie was completely different. No one’s ever made you feel the way he makes you feel. And it’s more than the stupid heavy petting — it’s more than anything. It’s never been like this before; not even with the blonde mulleted asshole who ripped your heart to shreds.

And you’re scared that if you get hurt again, you’ll never be able to come back from it.

“Steve, do you have another copy of Fast Times in the back?” you suddenly ask the boy, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

It’s your last ditch effort to rid yourself of the ponderous, gray doom and gloom surrounding you like some storm cloud. Your comfort movie solves all of your problems — or, at the very least, Phoebe Cates does — but it seems everyone else in town has developed a similar fondness for minute fifty-three of the film and got all the tapes off the shelf before you could get your hands on one.

“You know I keep on in stock for you,” he answers quietly.

He reaches below the counter to pull out a spare copy for you, and your heart swells with the rays of a thousand rising suns and the songs of every morning bird.

Steve told you some time ago that he could change. And back then, all it did was piss you off, because he didn’t want to change for the town slut — for the girl he put through the goddamn ringer. He wanted to change for Nancy. The princess bruised his brittle ego a little, and then he realized what an asshole he’d been to everyone, to you.

But as angry as it made you, you never believed him. “Once the King of Hawkins High, always the King of Hawkins High,” you remarked bitterly.

You wouldn’t say it to his face, for the sake of keeping his ego from inflating all over again, but you could tell he was really changing.

He was kinder, he was softer. He stopped caring about what everyone thought about him, about what not caring would do to his reputation, and started giving a fuck about the people worth giving a fuck about.

Apparently, you were one of them.

“…Really?”

He nods with a subtle shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for you — keeping your favorite movie on hand so you’ll always have a spare, knowing that it’s the only thing that gets you out of a deep, dark funk sometimes.

“Stevie… You’re gonna make me blush,” you lilt with a grin as you saunter over to him, hands innocently laced behind your back. “You need to be careful, Harrington. I’m gonna start to think you actually like me.”

He scoffs. “I do like you.”

“Yeah, when it’s convenient.”

It’s obvious your joke hits him where it hurts. It serves as a bitter reminder of the asshole he used to be, the douchebag he’s trying like hell to grow out of. He looks up at you with a sheepish, honey-tinted gaze before ducking away again.

A year or more ago it would’ve made you feel good, to know that you hurt him just a fraction of the way he hurt you. But you know that that isn’t the same man standing in front of you now, that he’d rather die than make hurt your feelings, and it makes you feel like shit for saying it in the first place.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a scrunched nose. The palms of your hands dig into the edges of the counter as you lean against it. Your shrug. “It just kinda came out…”

The barcode scanner in his hand beeps as he passes the thing over the back of the tape — never charging you, just getting the movie out of the database.

“So, uh…” he starts before clearing his throat. He focuses his gaze on the computer and types on the bulky keyboard with the tip of his pointer finger. “You really like this Eddie guy, huh?”

“Maybe. I think so.”

“And he’s not, like… a total freak or anything?”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to look out for you or if he just wants intel on what it’s like trying (and failing) to bang the local weirdo. Either way, it makes a smile tug slow at your lips as you joke: “Not in the way everyone thinks.”

“Jesus,” he winces at the obscenity of your words.

“Sorry,” you apologize again, though the laugh that bubbles from your lips after cancels out any hint of actual sincerity. “You don’t need to give me the talk or anything, Steve. I can take care of myself.”

“…Can you?” he half-jokes.

It makes you falter. “Well… With you and Robin and Hopper constantly on my ass, then yeah.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve finally admits, soft and suddenly shy as he hands the VHS over to you.

“That’s rich coming from you—”

He jerks back the tape before you can take it from him, leaving your hand reaching for thin air. His cinnamon eyes glimmer with a foreign seriousness, not completely unkind, but lacking their usual blithe. “That’s why I’m saying it. I just… I want you to be okay.”

Steve is one of the rare ones, you conclude right then in there — in the liminal emptiness of Family Video, beneath fluorescent lights that cast sharp shadows upon his already chiseled features. He was a mythical creature of a man, one who breaks your heart and does everything in his power to mend it again.

He hasn’t forgotten about what he did to you, not like Billy did, and he won’t. Not ever. He saw what he did to you and he never moved on from it, just matured enough to make sure it never happened again. And he won’t let another unworthy douchebag hurt you like he did. Not if he can help it, at least.

And he did try to warn you about Hargrove, to be fair. You were just the dumbass that didn’t listen.

“Well, me and my Phoebe Cates wet dream are golden, Pony Boy,” you promise. He hands you the tape again and lets you snatch it from his grip this time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie.”

Steve Harrington was right.

The fleeting thought flashes across your mind for half a second, and you quickly realize that those words have never been uttered in the same sentence before now. But he wasn’t wrong in what he’d said about you, just before you left — you were completely, totally, absolutely, and implicitly unable to take care of yourself.

You nearly passed out in the bathroom after taking the hottest shower of your life, feeling too woozy to slap on anything other than moisturizer because you failed to remember to actually eat something that day. It wasn’t totally your fault, though; if anything, it was because of Eddie and all the butterflies he’d given you that made food the very last thing on your mind.

You half-heartedly dry yourself off, keeping your hair in a towel, while you slip on a cotton set of underwear you’ve had for way longer than what's likely acceptable. Damp and half-naked, you prance into the kitchen to fix Bowie her bowl of dinner before you feed yourself.

You fork a can of wet food onto a flower-shaped plate and let her eat on the counter — because you’re an adult now, and you can do that sort of thing.

The calico purrs while she feasts, but your stomach thunders with negligence. You peek into your mostly bare refrigerator and make a mental note to go grocery shopping when you get paid next week.

With a lack of food and an even lesser will to cook something, you settle for the half-eaten chocolate bar you keep stashed in the very back of the fridge; kept only for the most special of occasions — when you’re reveling in your loneliness and trying to convince yourself that you can make it on your own.

It was practically the size of your forearm when you first bought the thing at some too expensive candy store in the city. Now it’s no bigger than your hand.

You eat the thing in bed, even though you know you’ll get crumbs everywhere and that it’ll make sleep agonizing for you — if you get any, that is. You’re bound to feel like a total zombie by the time the sun rises and the late-night sweet will likely make its appearance on your skin by then, in a red and raging blemish of a consequence.

You’ll feel empty and starved and surly, a snapping grouch instead of an actual person, until you get some actual food in your system.

And you’re more than aware of all of these things, but you don’t do a single damn thing about them.

You’re nothing but a sulking lump upon an unmade bed, lying in a pitch-black darkness that’s evaded only by the static-y television across your room, trying your best to pretend like you aren’t waiting for Eddie’s phone call. It’s hard to remember to forget him, though, when the movie you’re watching is practically a feature film of him and all the ways he makes you feel.

Spicoli and his terribly inebriated friends slur as they chorus “No shoes, no shirt, no diiiice” and you swear you can feel Eddie’s shoulder bump softly against yours as he laughs, hear every sound of his melodic chuckle in your ear that made you giggle right along with him. The low bass of Moving in Stereo plays in the otherwise empty silence of your bedroom, and every beat feels like the rhythm of your thrusts against his thigh.

Eddie Munson is all-consuming.

Even the thought of him feels physical.

Phoebe Cates all but undresses herself in front of you, but you’re stuck thinking about some guy who lives in a trailer park across town, deals drugs for a living, and can’t graduate high school. You’re a total fucking goner.

Your eyes flutter shut, and instead of the backs of your eyelids, you see Eddie’s trailer. Your lips start to tingle as they kiss his for the first time — hungry, yearning, needing. His thigh is pressed snugly into your cunt, denim jeans rough against your soft cotton panties, and you have to bite back a moan when he tenses every time you squeeze his hard, covered cock.

You can feel it, all of him, like he were here with you now.

You wish that he were.

His fingers would feel far better, leave far more sparks of electricity in your belly, than the ones as you sneak through the hem of your underwear.

You try and take things slow with yourself, to be as gentle as he had been with you earlier in the woods, but it feels strange to treat yourself with so much tenderness. To touch your pussy like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched. Like it’s a beautiful thing you need to be sweet to.

Maybe you find it so foreign to be careful with yourself because no one has ever been careful with you.

No one, except for Eddie.

Your touch doesn’t rival his. It doesn’t even come close.

No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how hard you try to pretend that they’re his fingers inside of you, you can’t make yourself feel as good as he did.

Your fingers aren’t as rough as his guitar-string-scarred ones and they don’t caress your clit with the same methodical care. They don’t fill you quite the same either, nowhere near as satisfying as his much thicker ones.

And you’re no stranger to masturbation, not by any means. Sometimes it’s the only way you can guarantee an orgasm for yourself when you’ve got a partner who cares so little about your own pleasure. But Eddie was different. Eddie cared — so much so, that he’s gotten more orgasms out of you than you’ve gotten from him, which is something you’ve never said about anyone else you’ve been with.

It’s rare and unfamiliar, a bouquet of all things refreshing and terrifying and strange, tied together with a pretty little ribbon.

You know that you can make yourself come. It’ll just take way too long to actually be worthwhile and won’t be nearly as mind-blowing as you need it to be. You won’t be left with trembling thighs and nearly numb legs — just a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that you could get from any one of your exes with half as much work.

What you need is Eddie.

And you hate that. You hate how much you need him and you’re terrified of what that means.

As far as precedent goes, right when you start needing someone is usually when they start to leave. It’s like fucking clockwork most of the time — like everyone knows that you’re a ticking time bomb and eventually it gets too risky to stand too close to you.

You’ll just have to keep Eddie at arm's distance. So he won’t see the grenade that you are.

You pull your fingers out of your wanting cunt, still slick and throbbing with a need that you can’t give it, when the phone rings.

The high-pitched shrill in the quiet makes you tense like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard the damn thing. Your breath catches in your throat, first out of fright and then at the inclination of who waits for you on the other line.

Suddenly, you’re scrambling to collect yourself. As though there was any possibility that Eddie might be able to see you through the phone line.

You wipe your wet fingers haphazardly on the cotton of your underwear and sit up straighter from your ungracefully lazed position. Then you count to five — one mississippi… two mississippi… three — so Eddie won’t think you’re some kind of crazy person who doesn’t have anything better to do than wait for his call.

So he won’t know that’s exactly what you are.

You lift the ruby red rotary from its hook at your bedside table and stretch the corkscrew cord to press it to your ear. “…Hello?”

“Yeah, hi. I’d like to order a pizza. Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.”

You roll your eyes at his dumb joke, even though the familiarity of his voice makes you smile. It warms you like a home-cooked meal, like you were high-pitched and starving before and now you’re on the soothing comedown of finally being satiated.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re closed.”

“Then why’d you pick up the phone, huh?” he teases back. You swear you can hear the grin in his voice. You didn’t know a smile could be so audible. It makes you wonder if he can hear yours — if you’re doing a real shit job at pretending. You anxiously twirl the cord with the pointer finger of your free hand.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to call me all night, dummy.”

Your answer is more honest than either of you were expecting.

Eddie’s sigh crackles through the shoddy reception. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I’ve been working all night. I only got home, like, five minutes ago.”

You can hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice. “Rough day?”

“Kinda,” he answers with a shrug. You can hear the grating squeak of his mattress as he plops down onto his bed. “I dealt to one of Jason’s goons today… They always give me a hard time.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to answer.

Eddie’s been the brunt of every joke since seventh grade — people made fun of too big clothes, his too wild hair, his too loud music. But he took it all in stride, laughing with everyone else before volleying a harsher joke back in response. You almost started to think that he liked it. That, somewhere deep down, he was fond of all the attention he got from people who supposedly couldn’t stand him.

But it hurts to know that it hurts him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you did anything,” he assures with a soft laugh. He makes the bold decision to be honest then, too. “You, uh… You made my day a whole lot better, actually.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about the brief fling in the woods or the phone call you’re sharing now or if you particularly care either way. Your heart flutters like it’s been kissed by the wings of a butterfly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… I don’t know— I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know. And, knowing that I was gonna get to talk to you again kinda got me through the day, I guess… And, yes, I am fully aware of how lame that sounds, but—”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his excuse, of why what he just told you totally isn’t lame, because you’re covering the receiver with your palm and turning to squeal into your pillow. A far more pathetic sight, in your humble opinion.

There hasn’t been a more fulfilling feeling than this one, to know that he’s been feeling the same way you’ve been feeling about him this whole time. It’s better than all the orgasms he could give you combined, to be loved so wholly.

“…You okay?” you hear his muffled voice ask after you’ve gone suddenly AWOL.

You press the phone back to your ear and nod like he can see you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. The phone… fell— you said you just got home?”

“Uh, yeah. I met with Hellfire for a bit at school. We’re almost at the end of the Cult of Vecna, so they’re kinda on my ass about it. The little shits are obsessed.”

“Well, they should be. It’s a really good campaign, Eds.”

“Thanks to you,” he mutters. You can almost picture the glimmer in his button eyes and the shaky half-smirk he always looks at you with when he gets all shy.

“That was all you, Eddie Spaghetti,” you retort. “I still have no idea how you did it.”

“Did what?” he wonders, chuckling a bit at the nickname.

“Make something so beautiful out of thin air.”

Lying in the depths of his bedroom, blanketed by the darkness and bathing in streams of moonlight, Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat.

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a joke to spew out on the spot. He’s speechless, just for a moment, a quick blink of a second, with nothing to say. Because, if he really thinks about it, that’s sort of what happened with you.

You were just his customer and he was just your dealer.

You were a loyal client and then a girl way out of his league that he developed a too big a crush on. Then you made him come in his underwear and washed the sticky stains out of the denim for him. Now you’re on the phone with him. You let him tell you all about his shitty day and apologize like you weren’t the only good thing about it — like you aren’t the only good thing, period.

It’s not the most cliche love story, nor is it the most beautiful, but it has his cynical little heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.

Then, when all the mushy mess fades like fog, he finally thinks of something to say.

“It’s the witchcraft, sweetheart,” he shrugs to himself. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a devil-worshipping freak.”

“You know that’s not it, Eds,” you retort with the roll of your eyes.

You know that it’s hard, to be a metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks in the eighties — at the height of the Satanic Panic and all the delusional craze. That shit’s followed him since freshman year. Even still, it nips at his ankles like rabid dogs.

Maybe you were never naive or bored enough to believe all the rumors, but Eddie Munson was always more than that to you.

“No?”

“You can blame it on being a freak show all you want, but I know it’s because you’re one of the funniest, smartest, most creative guys I’ve ever met—”

“You must not know a ton of guys then, sweetheart,” he interjects playfully, like he couldn’t stand to hear you compliment him any longer. You’d give anything to see his blushing cheeks just now.

“…You’re kidding right?” you giggle in response.

“Sorry— that’s— I didn’t mean it like— It was— I was joking,” he stammers, frightened that he might’ve offended you in some way.

It only makes you laugh harder. Both of you know you lost count of all the guys you ‘know’ a long, long time ago. You do imagine it’s somewhere near ‘a ton’, though.

“I know, Eds,” you assure with a contented sigh. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh.”

“The slut and the freak… Who would’ve thought?” you wonder all dreamily, like it’s a fairytale as old as time itself. That’s what it feels like, sometimes.

Eddie isn’t sure what you mean — who would’ve thought you’d be friends? Two people caught in that in-between stage of platonic and romance that’s complete agony and total, total bliss? A couple of kids falling in love—

“It’s sort of kismet, huh?” he answers.

“I think so.”

“So, uh… What are you up to?” Eddie wonders then, equal parts curious and eager to keep the discussion going. He’s frightened any lapse in conversation is going to lead to saying goodbye.

He wants to stay on for hours, until both of you are fighting to stay awake, and then listen to the sound of your heavy breathing when you inevitably lose — like that isn’t the creepiest thing anyone’s ever wanted. He’ll fight Wayne about the bill if it comes to that, he doesn’t care, he just never wants to stop being this close to you.

“Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”

“Uh… Both?”

“Well, I’d say I was doing something super productive with my night, you know, catching up on all the boring adult shit, but then I’d be lying. And I don’t wanna lie to you, Eds,” you tell him with a teasing lilt playing at the edge of your voice.

Eddie swallows thickly, fearing he’d somehow been caught in his own lie — or rather, his half-truth. He moves on quickly, though not exactly full of grace. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

“Honest answer is, that the only productive thing I’ve done tonight is shower, and now I’m in bed watching Fast Times and eating all the chocolate in my house, because I can’t cook for shit and I have nothing else better to do with my night,” you admit to him, picking at the thread of your comforter.

“Oh, don’t tell me I missed the ‘Moving in Stereo’ bit,” he agonizes.

“Just.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but it sounds like you’re having loads of fun tonight.”

“I’m having a lot more fun now,” you assure him.

“Glad I can be around to make you laugh,” he retorts like he’s not all too happy to do it.

“You’re a total comedian, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“If I’m the jester, you’re the queen, sweetheart,” he promises, a grin evident in his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat something fierce; you’re almost worried that he’s heard it. His words pierce your heart, a stroke of lightning or a blade of steel. He’s joking, but it’s so strangely profound, the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you and it’s dripping in sarcasm.

It’s sort of Eddie’s love language, you’ve come to understand, to say something so sweet but coated in venom to make it sour again. It makes you feel special, loved, almost.

A fire builds behind your rib cage, sharp and distant and all-consuming.

“Are you alone, Eds?” you ask him suddenly.

The sudden curve ball in the conversation takes him by surprise. “Uh, yeah, Wayne’s at work right now… Why?”

“Because I want you to talk to me…”

“Oh?” is all he can say because isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?

“And I want you to say things that… maybe other people shouldn’t hear,” you explain slowly to him.

“…Oh.”

He’s heard about this only once before, the whole phone sex thing.

It was from Andy in the back of Ms. O’Donnell’s class a year or more ago, though Eddie never called him by that name. Andy, in all actuality, was Jason Carver’s right-hand man, and he meant that in every sense of the phrase. Eddie was more than convinced that the guy was so obsessed with the blonde haired, blue eyed douchebag that he was giving him handjobs on the regular.

But it seemed the dick brigade couldn’t function properly without their leader and Eddie had the misfortune of hearing all the mindless bullshit they were spewing behind him — basketball, parties, girls; in true white bread fashion.

His friends gathered around him like he was telling some sort of secret, though it was loud enough for anyone in a three foot radius to hear. Eddie, caught directly in the line of fire, heard all about Chrissy’s older sister, Wendy, who was two years older and off at college.

He’d gotten her number from some party he’d crashed. At least that’s how he told it, right before telling everyone that she swore like a sailor when she came and that she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him while she did.

“It was like her hand was on my dick, dude, I’m serious. That shit was crazy, bro,” he’d laughed after retelling the whole conversation in excruciating detail.

Eddie rolled his eyes to himself then, inwardly jealous that he’d never get to meet Wendy — or any other girl that would be willing to have phone sex with him, for that matter. His phone only ever rang for telemarketers or a rogue Dustin Henderson calling to annoy him.

But, here you are now, the most wanted girl in Hawkins, offering it to him on a silver platter. He wonders if you’ve done this before, surely you have — oh god, he thinks to himself, what if you’ve done this with Andy?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him after his unusually long silence. “I know you’re probably busy and tired and everything—”

“No! No, yeah, I— I want to. I totally want to.”

“Okay,” you nod. Petals of a flower begin to bloom in your chest as you lie back in bed, settling further into the mattress. The movie, already long forgotten, serves only as light and background noise. “So… What are you wearing, Eds?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” he laughs.

On the other side of Hawkins, in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, Eddie rises from where he’d originally flopped back onto his bed with the notion that it was going to be a semi-normal night. He props himself against his headboard. His fingers twitch at his thigh.

“Beat ya to it, Munson.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that it is very sexy, sweetheart. I’m wearing the same Hellfire shirt you saw me in, I don’t know, five hours ago — except now it’s got a rip in it because I totally ate ass on the way back to the van.”

He tells you this to make you laugh — it works — but he prays you don’t ask any questions. Because he got it while hurrying back to his van mere minutes after you’d left him, so hard he thought he was going to burst, with no more than seven minutes until his next client arrived.

Thankfully, he only needed three.

“I love that shirt,” you respond in place of saying what you really want to — ‘I love how that shirt looks on you’ — how it clings to his lean torso and reveals his midriff whenever he stretches his arms over his head.

“She’s a lit-tle worse for wear now, sweetheart,” he lilts.

“I’ll stitch it up for you.”

“And I’ve got on a pair of boxers that are so old they’re practically see through because I’m pretty sure they used to be Wayne’s back in… I don’t know… the eighteen-hundreds.”

Eddie was right. It was sexy, though, for the exact reason they weren’t supposed to be.

There was something so domestic about it all. You can picture him lying in his bed, in the most comfortable clothes he owns, in the one place he can feel at peace. Like a renaissance painting, something familiar and comforting and beautiful — fuck, you’d give anything to be next to him.

“…I think that means it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” he teases.

“Is it?” you mock in return.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’ over here.”

“It’s nothing, special,” you assure. Your eye flits down to peer at your own body — nothing special, indeed, you think to yourself. The lilac cotton set came from the grocery store downtown on the clearance rack you so often frequent. “I just have my underwear on. It’s very boring, I’m afraid.”

It’s not boring. Not to Eddie — the boy who prides himself on his insanely active imagination. He might not be able to pass english with his brain, but he can certainly create worlds with it, and it’s too easy for him to picture you. He imagines you, freshly showered, and smelling of the warm lavender-vanilla scent you always smell like, mostly bare and lazing upon a fluffy comforter.

He swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s— that’s really, uh— that’s really sexy.”

His thankful that you don’t seem to mind his poor excuse for dirty talk.

“It’s only because I was too lazy to get into actual pajamas.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you press, smiling to yourself and caging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Eds?” you wonder, made brave enough by his own admission.

“‘Course you can.”

“Before you called…”

“…Uh-huh?” he eggs on, intrigued at the way you trailed off, sounding suddenly shy.

“I was…” The thought of telling him what you were doing mere seconds before he called makes you nervous. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of touching yourself or anything, nor is the art of dirty talking lost on you, but something about Eddie makes you timid.

“You were… what, sweetheart?” he wonders gently, with a too audible grin.

“I was touching myself.”

That’s all you tell him. The words linger and hang in the air of your separate bedrooms and you cling to the silence — almost mortified and anticipating his reply. Eddie, meanwhile, feels like his tongue has swelled in his mouth and all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“Oh...” he tries to respond without the breath to accurately do so. “…Yeah?”

“You know what Phoebe Cates does to me,” you try to joke.

His laughter crackles through the receiver. “Yeah. I kinda have her to thank for the other night, don’t I?”

“Give yourself some credit, Eds. The hottest guy in Hawkins was sitting right next to me, what was I supposed to do?”

“No way you think I’m the hottest guy in town,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for pretty boys.”

“Pretty boys?” you echo with a giggle.

“Uh-huh. The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington type, you know?”

“Well, I think you’re a hundred times prettier than he is.”

“Really?” he scoffs cynically, obviously not believing you.

“He wasn’t the one I was thinking about with my hand shoved down my panties,” you admit, immediately quelling his self-doubt. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and then stammers, “I— I guess so— yeah.”

“Are you hard, Eds?” you ask in a breathy whisper.

And he just nods to himself at first, too stupid to answer audibly. He can feel himself stiffening in his boxers, only halfway hard now, but getting firmer by the second. Soon, he’ll be aching.

“Yeah…”

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

Eddie would rather take a bullet to the chest than say no to you — at least, he figures that’d probably hurt less — so he slips his fidgeting fingers through the band of his boxers and takes his warm, stiffening cock in his hand. He squeezes himself just enough to make his stomach tighten.

“Want you to touch yourself, too,” he admits, neither asking or demanding it, just telling you.

“Yeah?” you tease.

“Well, I think it’s only fair, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but notice how breathy he’s gotten — how it shakes on the inhale and hitches on the out. He’s got his hand shoved down his underwear and you’re jealous of the fingers that get to wrap themselves around his cock. You wish they were yours. Both of you will have to settle, it seems.

“Whatever you want, Eds,” you answer playfully.

You obediently slide your hand back into the warmth of your panties. Your fingers slot between your lips and collect the slick that had gathered there since before you’d even answered the phone. You bring it up to your clit, circling the pads of your fingers there until you twitch, then dragging them down to press into your opening. They slip in with ease.

Both of you have turned into lovesick idiots, separated by so many miles, and missing the other most ardently. Lying in the depths of your bedrooms, basking in a velvet loneliness, building with a mutual pleasure with nothing but yearning hands and longing sighs.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut at the sounds of your low moans and fragile whimpers that crackle through the static — beautiful still, but certainly no match to the ones you were breathing in his ear just hours ago.

His lashes dance across his cheeks as he tries to remember how you’d felt against his fingers, soft like velvet and delicate like silk, weeping and pulsating with need.

He drags his hand from his boxers and lets the band snap against his pelvis. He spits into his palm and wets his cock with it, sighing as he tugs at himself without much friction.

“Are you wet, sweetheart?” he asks, though the words threaten to get stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” you whisper back like it’s some kind of secret.

You work yourself open with your middle finger and slip your pointer in next to it without much trouble. Your walls flutter around them while you fight to find the spot the makes you keen. You’re only able to tease it, fingers not quite long enough to caress it completely. Your thumb keeps working at your clit, though, to make up for the lost pleasure.

“I’ve been wet since I left you,” you admit through labored breaths. “Haven’t been able to… to stop thinking about you, Eds.”

“Glad I’m not the only one whipped over here, sweetheart,” he manages a laugh.

“No one’s ever made me come that hard before. Not just with their fingers,” you tell him mindlessly, dumb on pleasure, as you feel yourself climbing that peak.

“Really?”

“Never,” you promise, then whine. “Doesn’t even feel as good now… Can’t get as deep as you can—”

Eddie hangs on your every word as he works his palm up and down his stiff cock, squeezing at the base and swiping his thumb over the head with an expert hand. His face scrunches as his stomach starts to tighten, he’s close to coming — too close for his liking. He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly.

“You’ve ruined every other guy for me, Eddie Munson,” you confess, more than pleased to hear how it makes him whine. It sounds like it comes from the depths of his chest, the way it crackles low and needy through the receiver.

“Good,” he grumbles through his pants after he’s gathered himself all over again. “Don’t want anyone else to have you, sweetheart.”

This time you’re the one letting out the most pathetic of whines. It makes a smile flicker at the corners of his lips.

“You like that?”

It sounds so dirty, but you can tell by the sincerity of his tone that it’s genuine. So you answer with a longing truthfulness, a delicate “yes”entwined with a yearning moan.

“You just wanna belong to me, don’t ya?”

Now, this is dirty talk. The teasing lilt of his tone — it’s almost degrading — and makes you clench around your fingers. “Yes, please,” you whine, all but pleading for him now.

Eddie’s close, so dreadfully close, with a pleasure so tangible he could taste it. Your words make his cock twitch in his hold as the fire builds in his belly.

Through your whole-hearted promises and wanting moans, he can hear the sound of your slick through the receiver. The static reception doesn’t do it justice, but the wet click of your fingers working you open was unmistakable.

A moan grumbles in his throat as he digs the crown of his head back into his pillow. “Holy fuck— I can hear you, baby.”

“I’m so wet for you, Eds,” you tell him through fragile slurs, like it wasn’t inherently obvious.

You were wrong before, about wanting to hide from him. You couldn’t conceal your need for Eddie if you tried. The honey you drip, all sweet and just for him, wouldn’t let you keep it a secret.

“I know, baby, I know,” he nearly coos. “Are you— fuck, please tell me you’re close?”

“Yes,” you promise in a whine. Your thumb presses harder into your clit. It makes your thighs tense until they’re shaking.

“You rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart?” he asks like he knows. “I know that’s what you like.”

You whimper, working at the spongy spot within you as your hips buck off the bed. “Yeah.”

“Keep rubbing yourself like that for me, okay? Want you to keep going until you come for me.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, it’ll come a lot quicker than he’s prepared for.

It’s too soft to be much of a demand, but you listen obediently anyway, rubbing at yourself though your sensitivity keeps building. It grows like a morning tide, rising and flowing like white waves on an ocean, stirring something fierce in the depths of your stomach.

“Eddie,” you sigh out his name, broken through staggered pants.

You hear his stuttering breaths, too. “Y—Yeah?”

“I’m about to come,” you promise through a whine when the familiar crescendo sends a shock through your body.

“O… Okay,” he responds, pathetically, then whines, even more so.

“Want you to come with me… Please…”

“Fuck— okay. Shit, sweetheart, I’m almost there.”

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

“Your pussy,” he answers without thinking — he’s not doing a whole lot of that anymore. “Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier. Wanna feel you… fuck… Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

“Holy shit, Eds,” you moan at his words, at the vivid picture they paint in your head.

“And you get so… God, you get so fucking wet. Just want you to drench me, baby.”

It feels good, to be complimented for something boys used to make fun of you for, to realize for the first time that’s it’s sexy — that you’re sexy — and that Eddie is more than happy to drown in you. The feeling almost rivals the impending orgasm that’s bound to hit you like a tidal wave.

“I’m thinking about how I coulda took you on that bench… Just, fucking, get on my knees for you. Shove my head between your legs. Hold your— shit, baby— hold your thighs open, keep you exactly where I want you,” he rambles but then cuts himself off to moan at his own words. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

The moan you let out is pitiful. It leaves your mouth in the most delicate cry.

No picture has ever been clearer than the one of Eddie between your thighs, your hands knotted in his hair to move him to exactly where you need him most and forcing him there. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips, his rings pressed against your burning skin, and the way your legs tremble on either side of his head.

“Yeah. Keep— Keep doing that. Keep moaning for me,” Eddie tells you. “I’m about to… holy fuck, I’m about to come.”

“Wanna feel your tongue in me so bad, Eds,” you whimper, egged on by the moan he lets out. “Want your cock even more.”

That’s what does him in, the assurance — the promise — that you want him just as bad as he wants you.

He tightens his fist around his cock, achingly hard and raging a crimson at the tip, trying to imitate the way you’d feel around him. It’s not all that close, not nearly as wet as the honey you’d be dripping for him, but his imagination does the rest of the work for him.

All at once, you’re on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, your pussy threatening to swallow him whole. You’ve drenched him, just like he’d begged for, and that wet schlick noise still echoing from the receiver is the evidence of each of your assured thrusts over top of him.

You’re still pleading for him anyway — for more, for his tongue, for his cock — and he wants so desperately to give everything to you.

“Oh god, baby—” he sputters. He grips the phone in a white-knuckled, fist trembling. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

“Please, Eddie. Please come for me,” you plead over the low sounds of the forgotten film playing across the room and all the dirty wet sounds your pussy makes against your fingers. You sound like you need it, like you want his orgasm more than your own.

“Want you to come with me… Can you— Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Please?” It’s not dirty talk anymore. He’s actually fucking begging you and doesn’t feel the least bit ashamed to do so.

He wants to hear all the pretty noises you make when you come — that initial cry that stems from the depths of your soul, the high-pitched whimpers that come when the sensitivity builds, and the whines that leave you when it ebbs.

He wants to hear it over and over and over again, like a worn cassette, and play it until the tape spins out.

“Yes…” you promise through a set of stuttering breaths.

There’s no talking when either of you come. Eddie’s long forgotten to talk you through it, but you would barely hear him if he had. The phone slips out of your hand when your grip slackens and it falls to the pillow beside your head.

You chase your orgasm full throttle, working through the crescendo and the strikes of lightning, focusing only on his muffled moaning and the pretty sounds he makes as he comes.

The breath of your name whimpered through a tight throat is what does it for you. Your body has hardly any time to warn you before you’re gushing all over your fingers, twitching every time the pad of your thumb rubs over clit.

That cry, the one you always let out as you come — all wet and full of need — makes Eddie orgasm right alongside you.

He swipes his thumb over his head again, collecting the pearls of precum gathering there and sliding them down the base to squeeze himself there like he’d been doing this whole time. He clutches harder this time, imagines it's your cunt locking him in a vice-like grip, and whines in his throat when he comes.

Several loads of it spill onto his cotton boxers, most of it gathering along the side of his hand and dripping down his knuckles. His breath staggers as he works himself through his high, praising you through the phone like you’re the one who brought him to it.

“Fuck, baby… You’re so good… So fucking good.”

You’ve long settled from your own orgasm, still tingly and numb in some places, but not as gone as you had been just moments before. You still float on a cloud, getting lost as you stare through your window at the half-hidden stars sprinkling the night sky and feeling as though you could reach out and touch them.

You can feel the satin moonlight bathing you, and the jittery static of the neon of the television screen. You can feel everything and somehow nothing at all.

“I don’t know how you do it, Eds,” you confess, hardly thinking about the words spilling from your mouth when you lazily bring the phone to your ear again.

“Do what, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know… You always make me feel good. Even when you’re not here… Even when we’re not getting each other off.”

“I feel the same way,” he promises you, all mushy, even though he feels like a slob for wiping his hand off on his discarded jeans on his bed. “Just… wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there, too… Wish I could clean you up.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight as his head tilts back to his pillow at the thought. “Fuck… You’re gonna make me hard again, sweetheart.”

You perk up suddenly as an idea sprouts like a flower in your head. A smile blooms on your lips, and you rise up onto your elbows, glowing with an unanticipated excitement. “How long would it take you to get ready?”

“…Get ready?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” is all you say.

“I mean, I— I don’t know. I figure if I put on some new underwear and a fresh pair of pants, I’ll be good as new... Why?”

“You wanna do something?”

“Yeah. Sure. Anything,” he answers clumsily in place of saying, ‘Anything to not have to be without you.’

“I wanna go to Skull Rock.”

“Skull Rock?” he repeats.

Legend has it, you and Steve made that place a local landmark. People have always said that Hopper caught the both of you one too many times up at Lover’s Lake and the Quarry, that you needed a more hidden place to fuck. So you’d stumbled around in the middle of the woods until you found a place the chief wouldn’t think to look for you.

You’d certainly found it. Then every other horny high schooler did too.

It’s the place you go to fuck, the most private place in all of Hawkins — hell, maybe even Indiana entirely for teenagers who can’t get the house to themselves. And as appealing as it sounds, to take you beneath a sky of twinkling stars, Eddie doesn’t want his first time with you to be on dirt or in the middle of the woods. That’s how all the horror movies start, don’t they?

So, needless to say, your answer takes him by surprise.

“Yeah! You can see all the stars really good from there. It’s too hard to see them so close to town.”

Eddie’s heart swells all at once at how sweet you are, like sugar poured directly onto his tongue. You’re not eager to be without him either, it seems, and that thought is as gratifying as it is thrilling.

You’re an adventure he’s about to go on, without a map or a way out, a journey he’s happy to go into blind as long as you’re holding his hand the entire way through it.

It breaks his heart to hang up the phone. He practically begs you to do it for him, and it makes you laugh — a kind giggle entwined with a tease ‘you’re such a baby.’ It rings in his ears long after the receiver clicks.

Most of all, he hates all the stoplights that separate your place from his. He hadn’t known where you lived before now, not until you uttered it over the phone. He makes a mental note to figure out a quicker way, somewhere through the winding back roads that his old van can speed through to make the distance less daunting.

He pulls into your apartment complex, a quaint two-story thing on the quieter side of town, where the woods are plentiful and the street lamps far fewer. He turns his radio down out of respect for all your neighbors that he’s sure he’ll never meet and spies you through the neon orange porch lights. You shut and lock your door in quick succession, then scurry across the way to meet him.

Eddie leans over to unlock the passenger side door for you, already beaming, and finds you’re smiling too when you climb in next to him. The grin you shoot his way outshines the night sky and makes a bright yellow sun of the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

“Hi,” you’d greeted him, all shy like you didn’t just make him come all over his hand thirty minutes ago.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he volleys back like he always does, with that big ol’ smirk and teasing lilt as he cock his head to the side — using his playfulness to cover up the bashful mess you so easily reduce him too.

Neither of you had gotten particularly dressed up to see each other. All he did was put on fresh under and pajama pants. You succumbed to a smilier laziness it seems, haphazardly brushing through your half-damp hair, throwing on a too big t-shirt, and calling it a day.

The cotton hangs low at your chest, stretched out and obviously well-loved. It falls well past your thigh, though you spend much of the drive anxiously tugging it down.

It makes him wonder what you’re wearing beneath it. If you’ve tugged on a pair of shorts or if you’re in the bra and (undoubtedly wet) underwear you’d told him you were wearing over the phone.

Eddie winds himself up all over again while you sift through the flimsy case of endless cassettes he keeps tucked in the glove compartment that never quite shuts all the way.

“How do you now have any ABBA tapes?” you wonder like it’s baffling, with an Iron Maiden tape in one hand and Cinderella in the other. Metallica plays lowly, nearly inaudibly, from the stereo.

Eddie laughs and darts his eyes from the darkened back roads to look at you, all smiley and bathed in moonlight, before turning back to the road again. “Uh, because I’m not a thirty-year-old woman. That’s the shit moms listen to.”

“Moms and hot girls,” you retort jokingly.

“Right, moms and hot girls listen to ABBA — of which, I am neither, sweetheart. Sorry to be the one to break it to you… Besides, it’s not like you walk around listening to, fucking, I don’t know— Van Halen or whatever.”

“Hey. I listen to Van Halen,” you shoot back.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s got what it takes!” you sing suddenly, not quite catching the rhythm of the song, but smiling anyway as you reach for his forearm resting on the center console. “So tell me why can’t this be love!”

“Oh, my god— that’s literally their worst song,” Eddie chuckles through the widest grin you’ve ever seen from him.

It makes you smile big too, looking like an idiot who’s totally head over heels for the boy next to her. And of that, you’re happily guilty of.

“Not true,” you shake your head defiantly. “I love that song.”

“So that means it has to be good, right?” he retorts playfully, shooting you a teasing look, though his beam is more than sincere.

“Obviously,” you answer with a scoff that makes Eddie roll his eyes.

He knows he’s going to start to love it, though, if only because it’s the only Van Halen song you halfway know.

He’s going to hear that song on the radio and he’s going to want to turn it, but he’s going to remember this moment now — the one with you reaching for him while you sing the lyrics to a song he can’t stand, sitting pretty in his passenger seat, while the moonlight blanches your smile and the bare skin of your thighs.

Eddie Munson is going to love that goddamn song for the rest of his life.

He parks as close as he can to Skull Rock, knowing his van can’t work its way that far into the woods. The two of you are forced to walk the rest of the way, not exactly minding it, though Eddie’s incessantly worried you’re going to get cold.

He’s already forced his jacket upon you, which you took with little fight. It warmed you almost immediately — with his cozy heat and musky cologne.

You make mindless conversation the entire way there, about music and then about his band and then what animal you’d want to be in your band if that were the least bit possible. Eddie chooses a sheep without any hesitation, though you’re confident that a penguin would be far cooler.

You keep a careful distance between you, at first, like both of you are too scared to initiate the first move. That is, until you trip over a raised branch and nearly eat ass on the forest floor. Then Eddie’s holding your hand the entire way, keeping you close.

“If you wanted me to hold your hand, you coulda just said so, you know?” he jokes. “Didn’t have to go through all the dramatics, sweetheart.”

You try and yank your hand out of his grip in protest then, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he pulls you closer and twirls you into a bear hug that you happily relax into.

He feels your sigh fan against his collarbone as you rest your head at the nape of his neck, his arms wrap around your shoulders as yours settle at his waist. He rocks you back in forth, in a moment that’s too almost sweet to make fun of.

Eddie finds a way, of course, “See?” he singsongs. “I’ll hug you like this all the time, if you want. You don’t have to almost kill yourself to get my attention, babe.”

“All I did was trip,” you laugh at his theatrics.

“Death by tree root… What a gnarly way to go.”

He holds your hand the entire way to Skull Rock.

He doesn’t let you go once, not until you’re ascending the large boulders to plant yourselves at the very peak of them. He’s grabbing you again once you settle, though, and the two of you just sit there, for several long moments, just gaping at the stars that dance with life above you. They sprinkle an infinite void with enough light that manages to touch you, trillions of miles away.

There’s a subtle beauty in that Eddie never would’ve appreciated before now.

“Shit, babe,” he breathes through a whimsical existential dread. “You were right. The stars are really fucking pretty out here.”

You love how much he loves this, to come to Skull Rock with you and count the stars. Any other guy would’ve had their tongue down your throat by now, stuffing your hand down their unbuttoned jeans.

But not Eddie.

He just holds your hand because he likes the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, grasping tightly onto you while he gazes at an infinite universe — like you might float off right along with it.

His neck is stretched to gape at the night sky. You catch his adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallows. You want so desperately to kiss his milky white skin and sprinkle blotchy red bruises there.

His curly locks fall over his shoulders. He shakes his head to get his bangs out of his eyes while the chocolate buttons of them dart around the endless void.

He’s more beautiful than every star in the sky combined. You can’t be sure of how many that is, of course, but it’s a whole bunch if you had to guess. It makes sense, though, for the prettiest boy in the whole damn galaxy.

“Told ya,” you answer with a smile, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. “You come out here often?”

You’re asking if he takes girls here and he knows it, but it’s not like you’re being inconspicuous about the whole thing. Eddie gauges it almost immediately, the subtle jealousy hinting at your tone — something no one else would’ve caught — and he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

He shakes his head. “No… Never.”

“Never?” you press with raised brows, like his answer shocks you.

“Ever. It’s not really my scene, I guess… But what about you, sweetheart? Never seen you around these parts before.”

You knock his shoulder again, harder this time. “Shut up. You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah…” he nods to himself, eyes darting back and forth as he reminisces on something. “You and Harrington, you and Hargrove. Hell, I think I heard about you and Jason one time—”

“That was a long time ago,” you argue. “Before I even knew you, okay?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs in defense. “You totally have a thing for pretty boys, sweetheart.”

“I never said I didn’t, Eds. Just that you were pretty, too.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes like he isn’t glowing red beneath the moonlight.

“You’re better than all three of them, Eds,” you confess with a sudden softness that catches his attention almost immediately. He turns his attention from the sky to look at you properly again. His breath catches at you sad you look — all beautiful and coated in shades of blue.

“…Yeah?”

You nod and drag his hand into your lap to fidget with his fingers. You trace the skeleton heart on his middle finger, subverting all your attention there because it’s easier than having to look at him now. “Better than all of them combined— not even just them, you know? Out of everyone. No one’s ever been this nice to be before.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he confesses with a morose grin. “The freak of Hawkins High attracts a lot of assholes, believe it or not.”

“Is it bad?” you wonder cautiously, like you’re scared to hear the answer. In some ways, you are.

You hadn’t known him in high school, not really. For obvious reasons, you ran in very different circles. You never even had classes together. There was never any excuse to be close to each other before now, never a reason to become friends. So you didn’t.

You grew to know him as a freak, and he knew you as the town slut. Then somewhere down the line, he became your dealer and now… here you were.

But you’ve graduated now and he’s still army crawling towards a diploma. You couldn’t save him from the hell of Hawkins High even if you wanted to.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugs. “Jason and the dick brigade just wanna make my life hell, that’s all.”

“I hope they aren’t,” you respond shyly.

Eddie scoffs then shoots you a smile. “Oh, of course not. Look at me. I’m at Skull Rock with the most wanted girl in Hawkins. I’m living the dream, sweetheart.”

“So you don’t care?” you wonder, peering at him through your lashes, as you twist the silver cross around his finger.

“Care about what?”

“That I’m a slut,” you laugh like it’s obvious.

Eddie doesn’t think it’s all that funny. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s not like it isn’t true, Eds,” you retort with a trembling smile. “I mean, that’s literally what people call me — most people don’t even care to call me by my real name anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t give a shit about what people say about you. If everyone cared about what everyone said about everyone, neither of us would be here right now… Because you’d think I was some devil-worshipping freak and I’d think you were too busy getting it on with Chief Hopper.”

You screw your face up immediately at the thought. The mere idea was repulsive. The asshole was practically your father these days. Jim Hopper was in that small bunch of available people you would never fuck, and happily so.

“I’d never stoop that low,” you joke.

“I like you, how you are, right now,” Eddie promises. “Don’t want you to change a damn thing.”

His brown eyes twinkle with a sincerity that rivals the stars above you. All of a sudden, you don’t care about a bunch of heavenly bodies light years away from you — you care about this man, the one sitting beside you now, holding your hand even though your palms have gone all sweaty.

It’s too good to be true — the way you looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you. You’re scared that it’s a dream, that you’ll wake up and find that none of this was ever real. Or worse, that he was, and that he just didn’t care about you the way you cared about him.

It’s almost irrational. Almost.

But it’s happened before.

And it’s left you a scarred and mangled mess.

You shake your head to yourself and scrunch your face as you turn to look him. “Have you ever done this before, Eddie?”

“Don’t what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “Any of this? With anyone else?”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to lie. Or tell some clumsy half-truth for the sake of saving his own skin. He realizes tonight is perhaps the most honest he’s ever been with you, baring his pale soul beneath a silver moonlight.

“Never,” he answers, unwavering, with a firm shake of his head.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods, then swallows thickly at a gut-wrenching realization. “I’ve never felt his way about anyone else before.’

“Me neither,” you promise.

It’s a tad more meaningful coming from you than from a boy who’s never had someone to love and to love him back.

You’re experienced, you’ve found what you like and what you don’t like. You’ve been with guys who have given you the world and guys that have ended yours altogether. And out of all of them — all of the assholes in Hawkins you could’ve picked — you’ve chosen the freak.

You want him.

You want Eddie.

The revelation makes him grin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, Eddie Spaghetti.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #virgin!eddie munson x reader #virgin!eddie munson

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dovesndecay · 1 year

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Hey! I saw your post on diet culture and fast food and wanted to know what you mean about "diet culture would rather us starve than admit fast food is an accessible food resource"? Could you elaborate? (sorry for the paraphrase, I'm on mobile.) Thanks!

So, I'm disabled in a number of ways. I struggle really hard with executive function, appetite, sensory issues, and pain/fatigue/brainfog that makes deciding on food, and then following the process of making that food very difficult on a good day.

I've always had food issues -- I've snuck whole mouthfuls of food I could not physically make myself eat into the bathroom to spit it out in the toilet because I'd been told I had to eat it. I've puked from the texture of food. And I've gone hungry because food that was prepared is food I could not eat, for a number of reasons.

I'm also really fucking poor. I cannot work a regular job anymore. Groceries have actively skyrocketed to the point where our household is spending less than HALF of what we should be for the number of people. The difference between buying a bunch of groceries that we may or may not eat before they expire or our tastes for them die and simply purchasing a meal from a fast food joint is literally just the cost of labor -- saving us from expending spoons on deciding, buying ingredients, preparing, cooking, and then eating that food, which I will again stress that we might not actually eat.

There's only so many times you can have Walmart brand chicken nuggets before you physically cannot choke it down again.

Diet culture has a huge focus on eating the "right" kind of foods as well as this weird "self-sufficiency" fetish for cooking that can be fine but has a bad habit of edging into ableism. If you physically cannot cook on a regular basis, for any reason, and you have a lot of fast food meals, you get judged a lot for it. It's labeled "unhealthy" and "lazy". I am often told that I just "haven't found the right recipes" or "cooking hacks". No, man, I'm just fucking disabled.

Personally, I'd label starving as more unhealthy than eating fast food, but people don't like hearing that you aren't willing to swallow whatever gruel society thinks people in poverty deserve to have.

For me, fast food is predictable, safe, filling, often less expensive, convenient, spoons-saving, and it means I will eat. I also just genuinely think a lot of fast food tastes good. Sure, it's not fresh veggies and fruits, but I'm not getting those anyway. When I buy groceries, it's the cheapest items possible which means a lot of frozen foods, packaged pastas, and cereals.

And this isn't even looking at food deserts where grocery stores are few and far between, but fast food chains are everywhere. Even my Louisiana hometown, boasting a population of 10,659 people as of 2020, has a Burger King, McDonald's, Hardee's, Wendy's, Taco Bell, Popeyes, and numerous pizza delivery places. Y'know what closed down though? The Piggly Wiggly, one of the more affordable grocery stores -- my grandmother actually worked there during my childhood -- and I don't think the Winn-Dixie is even open there anymore either. So all they've got is a Walmart.

Fast food is an accessible food resource, and diet culture would rather see us starve than acknowledge that.

#original post #diet culture #askbox

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msallurea · 3 months

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It's Okay to Feel Okay

Ok so recently, specifically a few days ago I had deleted tumblr for a bit to get my mind together. I had wanted to manifest my dream life because I'll be taking senior pics on the 31st and honestly I was fed up with myself with not genuinely applying knowing that I wanted to live a certain way. There was a post that I had seen I can't remember the name right now but I did reblog it, it was "how to make everything sugar spice and everything nice" or something like that. One particular post caught my attention and it the "what if I don't persist" post and it DEFINITELY gave me a reality check, I feel like those who know pretty much everything there is to know about manifestation but aren't genuinely applying it should for sure read that because it definitely knocked sense into me. I had also been reading a lot of posts from @etherealkissed88 also i highly recommended reading her stuff if you ever want a rundown of the law that's quick and straight to the point. Something I noticed I continuously did which is what caused me to always have anxiety when manifesting was focusing on the 3d/my desire being in the 3d on time. So I decided to actually change my perspective and just tell myself since it's done in the 4d I don't have to worry about it not being in the 3d because itll reflect anyway..I've also been adopting the mindset of simply knowing it's finished IN IMAGINATION ONLY!! ...Now, since doing this, for maybe the past few days I haven't felt the need to affirm or visualize or anything, I mean I'd daydream here and there but it's kinda just like "eh I have it anyway so whatever" and let me tell you..as someone who constantly stressed on whether or not I was doing something right and worrying about when it will come and everything else this is the CALMEST and most NONCHALANT I've ever been about manifestation before. Like even now, when I would've tried sabatoging myself saying I HAVE to affirm especially because I do know I am a bit anxious about manifesting my dream life because I definitely want it before my big day which btw I feel like is perfectly fine to acknowledge. But honestly I just don't want to. I don't want to affirm. I don't want to visualize constantly. Because the entire point is that if I say it's already done in imagination and I see that I'm living my dream life in imagination truly there's nothing else for me to do but continuously choose that I'm living my dream life already. Something else that's had me feeling this way is when @etherealkissed88 mentioned that we aren't trying to convince ourselves we have it in the 3d..to be that way is being delusional, we're only accepting that it's already done in IMAGINATION aka the 4d. Since taking this into consideration I've been scarily calm,normally I would've been stressed and spiraling and even now when I "waver" when I see myself in the mirror it's just like a "eh whatever..nothing I do in the 3d affects my manifestation anyway so it doesn't matter" kind of feeling. And I just want anyone who is also experiencing this feeling where you feel as though you just don't want to do anything for your desire and it's just like a "eh whatever I have it in imagination anyway" kind of feeling IT. IS. OK and you are doing just fine. The whole point is the first place is making your desire feel NATURAL to you and if you feeling natural is you not really feeling anything and it's just a "oh it's done" then you are doing just fine if you have the feeling as if you "don't want your desire anymore" that's also fine, I can guarantee if your desire was fulfilled would you still feel like you wanted it or be stressed? I doubt it..just as the example is, I have a phone, I know I have a phone. Even if my phone wasn't in my hand right now I still know I have a phone. That is the feeling, that is the acceptance. Even if it isn't right there in front of you, you already have it because you accepted that you do.

#msallurea #law of assumption #manifestation #my blog #manifesting

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chloecherrysip · 1 year

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it has been days and i haven't seen ANYONE mention this so fine, FINE, i will be the one to do it

"We'll see how tough this Mario is when he watches me KILL HIS BROTHER!"

THIS LINE ALL BY ITSELF FELT VERY SCARY AND I FULLY UNDERSTAND WHY THERE WAS NEVER A MOMENT WHERE BOWSER COULD ACTUALLY TRY TO MAKE GOOD ON THIS THREAT, THAT'D BE TOO INTENSE FOR THE TONE THEY WERE GOING FOR, BUT...

WHAT IF...

(look, all i'm saying is the angst gremlin inside of me came ALIVE for a hot second and started imagining scenes playing out in different ways where Bowser DOES have this opportunity with both brothers together before the final battle and it is extremely heartwrenching stuff, OKAY)

I was originally gonna end this post here but welp, now I brainstormed a whole alternative scene under the cut

Imagine this: we're on the Rainbow Road. The blue shell hits! DK does still fall into the ocean (maybe yelling "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAUUUUULT" at Mario as he goes down) but Mario is thrown back by the explosion onto the side of Rainbow Road with Cranky Kong and the other Kongs (he is definitely injured, though) and lands there as they freak out about DK. Peach and Toad are still safely on the other side.

Mario is thus captured with all the other Kongs and taken to Bowser's airship (Peach and Mario call out to each other worriedly but there's nothing she can do and the flying Koopas are coming after her too so Mario yells for her to run and her and Toad have to flee, waaah)

(This would also let Bowser and Mario actually get to meet before the end, which I think would have been nice! Not absolutely necessary, I think the movie works fine without it, but it would have really driven home the threat/stakes a little harder and created a stronger Darkest Moment, I think)

Bowser, seeing that Mario is captured, is just FILLED with hateful glee and wants to break this little man down so badly after he DARED to get close to HIS princess, and he asks Kamek to bring out Luigi from the prison

Mario, now in the airship and restrained, gets to actually SEE Bowser and register how big/menacing he is and they have some banter where Bowser is FURIOUS and Mario is honestly just kind of confused, like, "dude, what is your problem with me??? I just came to this world two days ago???" (He's scared, of course, he's never seen anyone quite like Bowser before, but he also knows his type right away - he's a bully, and Mario's dealt with his fair share of bullies, that's for sure)

But then of course the conversation comes around to "WHERE IS MY BROTHER, LET MY BROTHER GO" and then Luigi is brought in, hands bound, and the brothers can't help but have big, teary smiles and call out happily for each other

But that happiness ends QUICKLY because Bowser advances on Luigi and Mario realizes all at once what's going to happen and he tries to run at him but Kamek drags him back with the magic

And like...I am not one for anything TOO excessive here, I wouldn't want it to be TOO far outside what a movie like this would include, but Bowser does start to hurt Luigi - picking him up and throwing him down, kicking him, scratching him up, and Mario is just in AGONY and desperately struggling to pull free from the magic and begging Bowser to stop, please, if he's mad at someone, hurt HIM, beat HIM up, whatever he wants, but please, don't take it out on his brother, PLEASE, he'll do ANYTHING

But of course, that just makes Bowser taunt Mario more, because he CAN'T do anything. He wants to see Mario broken down and a pathetic mess and begging HIM, the great Koopa King, for mercy because the princess would never be attracted to someone like THAT, how could she, how shameful! Bowser will be sure to tell her ALL about it when he proposes, he is delighted

(oh man, Bowser could even say something like that "whatever happens to him is YOUR fault, you brought your dear brother down with you when you dared to meddle in my fairytale wedding!!!" And it's a ~*~THEMATIC CALLBACK~*~ to Mario's dad, waaaah)

And finally, it looks like Bowser is going to strike a BIG blow but Kamek gets distracted or Mario just becomes desperate enough to pull free of the magic's influence with the power of BROTHERLY LOVE and he gets a punch in on Bowser that knocks him back!!!

And then Mario is helping Luigi up, holding his bruised face sweetly and reassuring him that it's gonna be okay, they're gonna get out of here and go home, and they try to run but they get dragged apart by guards/Kamek/etc again

Bowser is EXTREMELY MAD but manages to calm down and says that he actually appreciates Mario interrupting him with his pathetic little punch because he almost acted too rashly. After all, if he kills Luigi now, he'll be one prisoner short for his ritualistic sacrifice for him and Peach's wedding! Can't have that! Too bad Mario's gonna miss it! And then he grabs Mario and carries him out while Luigi is being carried/dragged back to prison and they're both horrified and crying out each other's names desperately as they're separated AGAIN

Mario gets thrown off the airship by Bowser into the ocean and left for dead (Mario probably gets one more defiant line where he swears he's gonna stop Bowser and Bowser tells Mario that'll never happen but not to worry, him and Peach are going to be very happy together and Mario and his brother will be reunited soon enough - in DEATH [evil laughter])

And then Mario gets swallowed by the eel and DK is already there and things start to play out the same way as the movie from there EXCEPT that when him and DK snipe at each other, Mario starts to break down a little and the line "Well, at least your brother's not gonna die because of you!" has a LOT more emotional weight to it and it's just a longer, more heartwrenching Darkest Moment scene in general, sob)

(and you could also have a scene with Luigi back in prison where he is obviously extremely shaken up and hurt and not knowing what happened to Mario, what did Bowser do with him, is his brother even still ALIVE, why was he so WEAK and unable to do anything, unable to even protect himself or help Mario, etc etc and that helps him have a character beat that maybeeeee makes his surprise rescue of Mario at the end feel more earned????? HMM)

I'M SORRY, I LOVE ANGST (that eventually ends happily) AND IT COMPELS ME

i'm gonna have to write this as an actual, full-fledged fic, aren't I, lolol

#mario movie spoilers #super mario bros movie spoilers #mario movie #super mario bros movie #you all already know from my previous speculative fic that bowser directly targeting luigi as mario's weakest point makes me WEAK #and that line in the movie just made the worst impulses in me flare up I'M SORRY I CAN'T HELP IT #cherrysip hc's & rambling

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chronicbeans · 1 year

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Human Illustrator Wally x Reader (part 4)

Howdy's Place! Howdy's Place! Howdy's Place!

TW: Mentions of Varying Mental Illnesses and Medication, Hallucinations

🐻 You hum, looking at the question list you made up as you sit in the cafe area of Howdy's Place. It kind of reminds you of how the bookstore nearby has a cafe, too. You look around, waiting for Me. Darling. You made it here early, much like the last time you went somewhere to meet him. You don't want to make a poor second impression. After all, the first one you made with your staring? Must've been awful.

🐻 To your surprise, Howdy casually strolls up to you. He usually never leaves his cash register, so it is a surprise to see him not only leave his post, but single out YOU. Does he know you are here to see Mr. Darling?

🐻"Morning, (Y/N)!" You giggle, pointing to the clock "It is afternoon, Howdy. But, I appreciate the thought. Afternoon, Howdy. Do you need something?" Howdy chuckles, placing his hands on his hips "This is my store, and I say it isn't afternoon until it hits 12 on the dot. It's only 11:30. Anyways, I gotta talk to you about something."

🐻 He sits across from you, looking out the window as he asks "You work with a lot of kids, yeah? How many of them have what can be considered mental illnesses. I am not asking for me, or for any specific names. I just want to know for a friend. They are thinking of bringing their kid there, but couldn't find anything on the websites or flyers." You tilt your head, thinking, before saying "A lot of them, actually. A few have what could be considered childhood depression, for a variety of reasons. A lot of them have some sort of anxiety, these days. Is there anything in particular they want to know about?"

🐻Howdy looks back to you, then down at the table, as if thinking on how to word his question. Then, he speaks again, in a very quiet voice "Well... I already know that you have cared for children on the autism spectrum. It's just that... Umm... My friend's kid has hallucinations, too. They don't know why, yet. They want to know if they would be in a safe, nonjudgmental place at the daycare."

🐻 Oh... OH. You got it, now. You smile, shrugging "Well, we have had kids with hallucinations, before. It was caused by a head injury, so if your friend's kid went through that, I also have direct experience with their case. Do they have any medications?" Howdy shakes his head. "Nope. They took some for a bit, but they said that they didn't like the side effects. They tried a few more, only to decide to try talk therapy on its own for a bit. They have been doing better, now, but it still gets to them from time to time. They are good at hiding when it does." You nod again, thinking for a bit. "There have been some cases where children went without medication because the ones they tried didn't work and the remaining options were restricted to a higher age. Your friend's kid should be fine."

🐻 Howdy nods, looking outside the window again. He gets up as he sees a specific car pull into the parking lot. You grab his sleeve to get his attention. "Let your friend know that, even if there are a few problems along the way, I will be by their kid's side to help them through. I believe that every child should be given a chance to succeed." Howdy smiles, nodding. "Thanks. I'll let them know. They are just outside." With that, he quickly leaves.

🐻 You sit back, looking at the clock. It is about... 11:55? You have never been the best at reading analog clocks, even though you know how. You look back to your list of questions, trying to think of which one you should ask, first. Time and date sounds the most important, yes, but it would be a relatively quick thing to figure out compared to activities. So it could be asked at the end. Then there's the question if-

🐻"Hello." You look up, seeing Mr. Darling. He looks a bit tired, but his grin is still there. He also seems to be wearing a... Disguise of some sort? He's let his blue hair down from its normal style, allowing it to fall down into a waterfall of slightly curly, coarse strands. He is also wearing a dark sweater, with a hood over his head. You grin, waving "Hello! You look nice, today?"

🐻 "Yeah..." His face turns a slight pink as he says that, before he sits down. "You don't look so bad, yourself... Um... What should we talk about, first?" You look down at your papers, before looking at the bottom of the list. That should be relatively quick, right? "Well... Before the main stuff, I was just wondering how you knew my name, yesterday? I don't remember telling you it." He chuckles, letting out a very odd, but charming sounding laugh. He grins lazily as he says "I asked Frank, the library owner. He is a good friend of mine! He saw you running out, so he walked over to me and asked if I had anything to do with it. That's when I asked. Sorry if it scared you."

🐻 Giggling, you shake your head "Not at all. You could never scare me. You seem too nice to do anything bad." He taps his fingers against the table. "Really...?" You nod slowly, before picking another question to ask.

🐻 After that conversation with Howdy, you find yourself noticing the odd little things about Mr. Darling that make you go "hmmm". His odd way of looking at you for long periods, before suddenly looking to the side or making a strange expression for a moment is one thing. Then, when he takes out a few items to show you ideas for activities, he stares at a sketchbook for a few moments, as if something is wrong with it, before placing it with the other items. You had noticed these before, at the book signing, but didn't think anything of it.

🐻"Ah, this one is easy. I live a few hours away from here. About two, I think." Your eyes widen. You ask, just to be sure "Like... You live a few hours away from here permanently? Or is it a summer home, or...?" He lets out that laugh, again. "Permanently. I don't need to live somewhere fancy or anything. This small town is great for atmosphere and I'd rather just live with my best friend and help him get his comedy club off the ground." You write it down, saying "Wow! That, alongside the other stuff, makes you pretty available at all times! This is great!"

🐻 You smile, getting to the last question "So... I was wondering, what really made you interested in illustration and art? This one is just something I put in for fun." He looks around, growing quiet. "Well... um... I just always liked it. I got a lot of inspiration from things people said and the um... scenery around me. You know?" You place your papers down and your chin in the palm of your hand, leaning against the table as you look at him.

🐻 "Look... if you aren't going to be honest with that, it is fine. You don't have to tell me. You don't seem like the type of person to lie, though. Are you okay? You have been acting a bit off." He waves his hands, quickly saying "No- I mean... I just... I have been thinking about what you said earlier. To Howdy, you know? It was so sweet, I-" His eyes then widen, before he places a hand over his mouth.

🐻 You get it now... "You're Howdy's friend that has that kid, aren't you?" You ask, pointing at him. He shakes his head, sighing, before pointing to himself. "Nope! Guess I just can't hide it. No use in doing so, either. It is probably pretty obvious. I am that kid. Like... I hallucinate." You sit up straight, as you notice him tense up.

🐻"Well, why didn't you say so? Actually, I probably know why, considering Howdy's questions... Scratch that." You clear your throat, starting again "I hope nothing I said gave off the impression I would judge you for it. Were you up all night worrying about it? Is that why you are so tired looking?" He lets out a tiny "ugh", before saying "Yeah... Is it that obvious? I tried to cover it up with makeup." You nod, smiling as you point over to the cafe's ordering station.

🐻"Let's go get something to drink. You said the milk tea was good, right? We can try it out while we talk about how this all might affect your visit. Don't worry, I am sure it will be fine. We'll do our best to accommodate you!"

#welcome home #welcome home arg #welcome home au #wally darling #wally darling x reader

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mbslost · 2 months

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Another yapping session with MB yipeee!

nah in all seriousness i would like to talk about some things, now that my temper is gone.

we still remember the post on twt made by @/renhanasgf about Gato not being more inclusive, oorrrr that her poc character are ignored. (i wont talk about the real stuff from discord in this post since proofs are still gathered.)

well here i am! (sadly)

1.How many poc characters?

7 well known (or maybe more). who are those? well we'll start with Raven(tinr) or known as Selin as well, Chet Ichpujani(tinr/tpof), Strade(btd/tpof), Thomas(tpof), Jaqueline(tpof), Machete(tpof) and fucking Derek(tpof)

some of them dont have a full name (besides an alias) either because story wise it didnt mattered or because of their lore (Strade and Machete are criminals, doubt they would want a victim that escaped to expose their identity, no?) Also another detail, even some white characters do not have a last name,such as Sid(tinr), Dragon/Jace(tpof), Komodo/Mike(tpof), Chamomile(tpof), Richard(tpof) and probably some from 'Facility'.

their ethnicities are indeed unknown, either because it wouldnt really affect their story or it was avoided in case it could cause a conflict. dunno. about this i cant really talk a lot since her blogs are gone, thus i cannot dig into this matter anymore. although i believe having a hc on them is fine. ''- It is 100% okay to have ANY headcanons about my character!''-her website)

Raven was one of the well know character from Gato that is poc. her nationality is unknown due to the story (which i would recommend you to read tinr, pretty cool tbh). since her story goes deeper i would suggest you to also read her wiki (fanmade). sadly lots of stuff are now gone about her. still a lover character.

Strade. Strade is Strade. (kind of forgot what she said in the answer about his name but the wiki says ''Strade is not his actual birth name. It's similar to a placeholder name like John Doe. His birth name is unknown." still you can check out more here)

Chet Ichpujani is another character involved in tinr, a manager (i believe) at a semi-restaurant thing? in the end he offers to help Farz with his problem. pretty cool guy since he and Anthony Shore re-appeared in tpof. (picture below)

Machete, ''Machete is the newest member of the desert group. He had to prove himself worthy by performing various criminal tasks to be allowed in. Despite his recent acceptance, the rest of the group remain wary of him. His quiet demeanor and decisive actions tend to unsettle the other members. He regrets everything he's done to be admitted into the group, but he chose to stop at nothing to get revenge for his sister. He feels as though he's completely lost his identity and humanity to his "purpose"." -wiki (also a small detail, he did everything to revenge his sister)

Tom/Thomas, ''Tom is a college student, taking a media development course centered around sound design. He took a few years off high school, kind of meandering through life without an aim for a while. However, he eventually found a passion for making music. Despite tons of research and hard work, he was never really able to get his brand off the ground, so he decided to head to college to get some formal education on the subject. Late one night, as he was about to head home, he was abducted by Komodo and Dragon.'' -wiki

Jaqueline, "Jaqueline is a young trades worker learning to paint houses. She takes pride in her work and also frequently goes to the gym. Her mother pesters her to get a higher education, but she loves her current career path. Due to the friction with her family over her job, she tends to choose to spend time with friends instead. She was violently abducted by Jack in broad daylight, unlucky to have no witnesses." -wiki

therefore, there's plenty of information, plus that lost from her blogs.

2.Model minority

must agree, her work from 2016 looked alike yet, in the last years she actually showed more bodies (like types)

here are some examples:

also Strade's new model as well:

quite diverse, is it not? i am aware i didnt show others as well but if you wish to (and i actually encourage to) you can view the rest here! Lawrence, Ren, Celia (or on pinterest!)

3. Conclusion

i still believe everyone can create whatever they wish, whatever character. the details are on their part. now i could understand Gato for being upset when someone doesnt draw their character as they are (such as changing the body type, skin colour, etc) but also cant blame those who feel like being ignored (trust me, had to survive the genshin fandom).

so the characters exist, thus i dont see the problem of not being inclusive (also, as she often said, you can hc her characters, thus i believe their ethnicities are free to chose for yourself)

that's it. as for the real deal (the discord stuff) i believe it's the best more proofs come. rn i dont see her as a racist artist, but that comment in spanish does sound in fact xenophobic... well, until more context is posted, we'll see

stay safe!

#gatobob #btd #btd2 #tpof #boyfriend to death #tinr #augh kinda getting tired of this all of this tbh might draw Law tho my pretty princess

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comradekatara · 3 months

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sorry if someone’s asked this before (i tried looking thru previous posts but didn’t see anything), but in modern au atla what clubs and/or sports would everyone join? i feel like sokka and suki would both do soccer (and thus sokka’s sexism storyline plays out) and sokka would also do like robotics or something. katara’s maybe in some environmentalist club and i get the feeling that she and azula would run against each other for student body president. zuko’s a theater kid and mai does tech or stage crew. toph does wrestling and aang’s probably in basketball and/or one of those peer leader things where he volunteers to help out in classrooms

okay some of this will be rehashing old stuff so if you’re as intimately familiar with my modern au as i am (which. how. that’s literally impossible) then this will be old news to you but just try to suck it up kthx

also, quick disclaimer that i do not think sokka would be sexist (not like, notably so anyway, obv everyone raised in a patriarchal society internalizes sexist notions, but he wouldn’t be like “girls can’t play soccer!!!” lmfao) in a modern au. like, if sokka grew up socialized around kids his own age that simply would not be an issue for him. the closest he gets to ever pissing katara off thru misogyny (he still pisses her off in a lot of other ways, of course) is when katara is like “can you believe this ‘male loneliness epidemic’ bs???” and sokka (terminally offline) is just like “well isn’t there kind of some truth in that…” and katara’s like “sokka. this isn’t about guys whose girlfriends have DIED, this is about guys whose vibes are so rancid that they cannot get a gf in the first place.” and sokka just like “oh. well then i guess they deserve to be lonely.” and that’s that.

katara is the queen of after school activities. she plays soccer, hockey, basketball (she’s not actually tall enough but she’s got enough spirit!), is on the swim team, she does it all. she’s the captain of the hockey team, but suki is the captain of the soccer team. azula is also on the soccer team and suki is constantly having to separate them bc they’re always getting into very violent fights in the dirt before the game even starts. katara prides herself on being the most athletic girl in school (aside from suki), and pushes herself so hard to be the best at every single sport. (for no reason in particular…)

when toph wants to start a wrestling club, katara is the one who starts a petition after the administration says it’s “too dangerous.” because aang asks nicely, they finally get enough signatures that the administration is just like “fine, whatever,” and gives them a room. for the first few meets, it’s just katara and toph wrestling each other with aang and suki sitting in the stands and that’s it, but eventually more people show up and it becomes a whole big thing. no one is as good as katara and toph, though. especially not when they fight each other (bc for them, it’s personal).

when azula runs for student body president, katara gets so pissed off that she also runs for student body president. toph’s just like “uhh.. no one will vote for you. everyone finds you abrasive.” and katara’s like “wow. that’s rich coming from you.” but toph’s like “no they hate me too, that’s how i know.” which, okay, fair enough. katara does actually win in a landslide though, because azula’s platform is bonkers. her campaign promises are all about improving test scores and gpas in somewhat violatory and terrifying ways, whereas katara’s platform is to abolish homework, abolish grades, make gym class a triple period, abolish math, and put a composting bin in the cafeteria. only one of those things actually happens once she gets elected, but at least the other kids can rest easy knowing that their president is a girl of the people.

katara is in a bunch of activist clubs that she started herself, and the only reason anyone ever shows up is because aang always shows up and everyone loves aang. toph shows up to katara’s indigenous students alliance and katara’s just like “uhhh…. i thought you were chinese??” toph’s like “oh. i am. but sokka promised he’d do all my homework for a week if i agreed to take his place at this thing.”

aang kind of just shows up to whatever katara is up in arms about this week. he can’t be bothered to join after school activities of his own because he’s too busy being a cool and popular kid (a very time consuming profession fyi), but he always shows up to every one of katara’s games (of which there is at least one a week), and all her little clubs and fundraisers for the poor (aang is almost always tactful enough to never say “um. aren’t you poor?”) and whatever else she needs him around for. every time aang is sick or otherwise indisposed, whenever katara attempts to organize anything, no one ever shows up. aang doesn’t even do anything in particular, he kind of just hovers near her, but his presence is like a magnet. people flock to him. katara, not so much.

sokka is actually on the baseball team. he joined after accidentally watching a full game of baseball on tv once in a doctor’s waiting room and realizing that baseball is actually just physics. he’s their star player, because he can score a home run with his eyes closed. if any of his friends ever actually showed up to his games, they’d be wildly impressed. but because katara’s propaganda, that baseball is the most boring of all the sports and who would wanna waste their time watching it, is so effective (because she’s right), no one who actually matters to sokka is in any way aware of his gift. he doesn’t really care, because he thinks sports are frivolous anyway, but it means a lot to katara that no one ever find out that he secretly has athletic talent. he already has ALL of academics, he doesn’t need to encroach on her thing!!! her ONE thing!!!!!

sokka is also in go club, chess club, robotics club, debate club, and mathletes. he also works multiple jobs after school and tutors other kids. no one knows how he has time for all his shit, especially considering he’s also never handed in an assignment late and has a perfect gpa, but whenever he shows them his color coded schedule timed down to the second they immediately regret they ever asked. (his secret is that if he doesn’t exhaust himself both physically and mentally with one million activities per day, he will succumb to his depression and never get out of bed again and possibly kill himself. so whenever anyone’s like “aren’t you tired!!” sokka lies and says “nope!” in truth, he’s exhausted. he just knows it’s wayyy better than the alternative.)

toph first meets sokka as her tutor. she had previously driven 11 other, much more qualified tutors away by being too smart for their bullshit. poppy is desperate by the point she agrees to hire sokka. she basically just needs someone to transcribe toph’s homework for her (and not fall into the trap of simply writing it for her, which she’s very effective at tricking people into doing), but sokka and toph quickly become actual friends. it doesn’t take long, they both just start shit talking her parents and realize that they already have so much in common. sokka still demands to get paid all throughout highschool, but toph knows it’s not personal and never feels like their friendship is transactional. sometimes she does ask sokka to teach her things, though, which he always happily obliges. although, on occasion, she’ll ask him about a subject he doesn’t already know about, at which point he’ll be like “that’s a good question. let me think on it, and i’ll prepare some materials for a lesson plan tomorrow!” at which point he goes to a library, gets a massive textbook on whatever topic toph was interested in, stays up all night reading it, and then comes back the next day and recites the entire book to her from memory. toph usually gets bored after like five minutes of this, but knows she’s in too deep to just say “forget i asked,” and politely waits out his lecture.

besides wrestling club, toph also tries to play soccer (it’s the closest she can get to actually joining the football team, which is her ultimate dream), but the administration forces suki to ban her from the team “for her own safety.” it makes suki furious, because toph is actually an excellent goalie and they’d know that if they ever saw her play, but they assume that because she’s tiny and blind there’s simply no way in hell she’s ever blocking a single goal. but katara is this close to threatening that they burn down the entire school to teach them a lesson, so instead suki’s just like “what if you guys started a wrestling club?? that could be fun.” and thus the highlight of toph (and katara’s) entire life is born.

suki is widely regarded as being one of the most popular girls in school, because she’s incredibly athletic, but also has a very cool, carefree, laidback attitude that doesn’t make her seem intimidating to guys (unlike. uh. some people). every single girl in school, gay or straight, either deeply admires her or straight up has a crush on her. this is why she ever has enough people agreeing to join her roller derby team. sokka comes to a game to support her and is just like “uhhh….. this should be illegal???”

suki also does martial arts after school, although not in any way affiliated with the school. however, they may as well be, because all the girls who are into her will show up to her dojo knowing that she’ll offer to train them in a hands on, personal session. to be clear, she’s fully aware of what she’s doing. it’s basically is her go-to move. when she first develops feelings for sokka she tries to do the same thing, but sokka just assumes that suki is looking to humiliate him as retribution for him knowing how bad at physics she is, and politely declines.

zuko IS a theater kid but throughout all of high school (this changes in college) he’s terrified of ever even glancing at a stage. he’s like “if i join any sort of theatrical project everyone will think im gay……………….which would be BAD because im NOT.” it’s very obvious that he’s an aspiring thespian/dramaturg, though, because every time the school puts on any kind of play all his friends are subjected to merciless critiques of how they’ll inevitably butcher the source material in such and such ways, as they always do. suki finds these diatribes particularly amusing. she’s just like “uh huh. sure honey.”

at one point zuko gets it into his head that if he did mathletes like azula maybe ozai would like him more and thus treat him better, so he asks sokka to teach him to be good at math so that he can be good at mathletes. sokka is like “shouldn’t your first goal be to get better at math so that you can stop getting C’s on all your math tests?” zuko is very stubborn about it, though, so sokka just shows zuko the kind of problems he works on for fun and zuko is immediately like “nvm. maybe i’ll do a sport instead.” sokka’s like “yeah! you could join the baseball team it would be really fun!” but zuko’s like “okay nvm AGAIN. why are all your hobbies boring and evil.”

mai doesn’t do clubs. mai doesn’t play sports. she is a loner, not a joiner. she’s like “maybe if there was a club for cool girls who play niche indie games and read dostoevsky….” but this all changes when sokka forces her to join his robotics club meeting. mai is just like “holy shit? you made this???” and after that day she is the number one robotics girlie and becomes obsessed with those robot death matches. she and sokka waste so much time building the most useless little robots. mai is really good at coding and sokka is really good at engineering, so their robots are actually quite impressive. katara thinks it’s the lamest shit ever, and wishes they’d stop bringing giant pieces of scrap metal into her house.

ty lee does ballet quite intensely and gymnastics fairly competitively outside of school. everyone sort of assumes she’d be a cheerleader if their school had a cheer team, so she gets the reputation of one without having to actually do any of those dangerous stunts. she’s also in go club and chess club. sometimes she and sokka are the only two people who actually show up and they just play one continuous game that lasts for hours. she also joins the roller derby team and suki’s dojo, for no particular reason.

finally, azula does everything. literally everything. even clubs she despises, because her number one goal at all times is someday getting into harvard (and then graduating harvard top of her class and then going to harvard law and then making partner within her first year at a big firm and then becoming queen of all totality). her number two goal is showing up sokka. she plays every sport the school offers, joins every club, volunteers, interns, tutors pro bono (only because she knows that sokka charges, and she wants to rub in his face that she doesn’t need money), takes every language their school offers at once, and demands extra credit homework even though her gpa is already perfect. she’s part of the young republicans but will also canvas for local democratic candidates because she knows that it looks good on an application. besides mai and ty lee, who have known her for long enough that they simply find her antics amusing, no one likes her. many are genuinely terrified of her. sokka, however, does not find her scary at all, a fact which infuriates her to no end. in his mind, she is just zuko’s little sister, that girl katara hates, or, the most annoying girl on the debate team. she fantasizes about murdering him every night before going to bed. it helps her fall asleep.

#okay NOW i had to put it under the cut #bc i truly wrote so much #the gaang and #modern au #my vision for my modern au at this point is such a rich detailed tapestry

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lainiespicewrites · 5 months

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Hi friends!

So I’m tagging everyone that’s on the tag list for Coach Sy in this! Just because I’m not sure who all my mutuals are yet. Or how else to get this out there to the people I think are actually wanting to read my Walter story 😂🥲 Anyway! I just wanted to get some feedback! You totally don’t have to answer or say anything or interact at all obviously. Because you’re human and you all have free will! But …I’m rambling because I’m nervous …wow I really am turning into my self insert characters …or I write myself well…and I’m deflecting

Okay getting to my point! I’ve started my Walter story (literally have not even introduced him yet and I’m already panicking and doubting myself) but what I’ve realized is that because Walter is a comfort character to me. Because he is a police officer. And how his whole job is safety, I’ve been using this story as like a form of therapy? And started to recount my own Sexual assault and have been sort of trauma dumping into this story. Which has been a great release.

Night hunter the movie is super heavy. We all made a conscious choice to watch it. Some of us just because Henry is in it though. And might not like heavy triggering content like that. Others like myself. Might oddly find comfort in intense films like that. What I’m trying to say or ask is. Is this a theme you guys are okay with reading? It’s a lot different from coach Sy obviously which is healing in a different way because it’s so soft and sweet and comforting. And Walt will be too but. I just have to get the trauma out. Either way I think I’m gonna finish the story. But what I’m asking is do you guys want me to post it …or rework something else for Walter?

I’m not gonna be offended! I understand it! I’m totally okay with putting that out there because it helps me. And I know that if it helps me it’s very likely someone could connect with it and help others. I just didn’t realize that I was ready to pretty much tell the exact situation in a story. Sorry this is such a heavy subject guys. I love writing and I love that it brings us together and that we all can connect over someone that we love and brings us joy and comfort!

That’s kinda how I stumbled so hard into Henry! I knew of him but I hadn’t seen much of his stuff. But I saw him in Enola Holmes and (well first of all he looked damn good) but he was so big and something about him felt safe and protective. I’ve kind of hidden in that for a while.

Wow didn’t mean to get all emotional! But that’s tumblr! Thank you guys for all the love! Again you don’t have to say anything! If I don’t get too many responses I’ll probably just post it and see what the response is! I honestly love the little fan club i feel like I’ve gained here! You guys are awesome!!! ❤️🥰

Leave a comment, or reblog that’s totally fine, or if you’re more comfortable messaging me my dms always open! I just wanna make sure we’re all comfortable and safe here obviously I’d use tigger warnings and stuff but I also don’t want to post it if the majority of people won’t be comfortable. 💕

Tumblr tag list

@summersong69 @carrie80reads @identity2212 @caramariehurst @redheadrouge @warriormirkwood @gummydummy19 @deandoesthingstome @shellyshellshell @mary-ann84 @starfirewildheart @foxyjwls007

#captain syverson #henry cavill #fanfic writing #henry cavill smut #captain syverson smut #fanfiction #captain syverson x ofc #walter marshall fanfiction #henry cavil x reader #walter marshall fluff #august walker fanfiction #august walker #walter marshall smut #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall #night hunter

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fbfh · 2 years

Text

rodrick heffley dating hcs

wc: 2.3k

pairing: rodrick heffley x gn reader

warnings: rodrick has really low self esteem, he also has adhd and dyslexia and general bad mental health, mentions of rsd, his parents are pretty shitty so yikes, brief mentions of parties/hookups/making out, barely proof read

song recs: teenage dirtbag - wheatus, cupid's chokehold/breakfast in america - gym class heroes

a/n: I can't get hyperfixated on diary of a wimpy kid again I can't watch all the movies just for rodrick I can't want to pounce on this man every time I see him.... and yet....

also this is exactly 6 pages in google docs what am i on

(aged up to 18+ for brief mention of hookups, otherwise sfw)

tags: @dustyinkpages @yesv01

First of all

Rodrick is a scorpio

So that makes a lot of sense right off the bat

If we look at how he’s portrayed

Which is through Greg’s perspective aka the most unreliable narrator of all time

We see an angry, angsty, aggressive rebellious teenager

He’s viewed as lazy, selfish, and manipulative, while being simultaneously “dumb” and smarter than he lets on

I saw a post that said maturing is realizing Rodrick wasn’t a villain, he has shitty mental health and a lot of issues he’s not getting help for

And yeah

Yeah that’s what’s actually going on

First of all I think we can all agree he’s dyslexic

Sweaty??? Loded diper???? D-o-r-e?????

Hello

Dyslexia has entered the chat

I think it’s also pretty safe to assume he has adhd

Maybe I am just projecting shut up

But I know for a fact this boy has had a monster energy dependency since he was Greg’s age

We know at this point that people with adhd and dyslexia (separately and together) often times have low self esteem for a variety of reasons

And my god there is no one with worse self esteem than Rodrick Heffley

He knows his parents think he’s dumb

They’re not good at hiding it

They might not have said it to his face but he knows

I get the sense that Rodrick isn’t really aware that all of his struggles are both diagnosable and treatable

So until he learns that many years later

He does actually think he’s kind of dumb

At least in terms of academics

But he can say at least he’s pretty clever

He definitely favors street smarts over book smarts yk

And that’s something that he relies on a lot

He’s taken the classic undiagnosed adhd + learning disorder rout of convincing himself school is stupid and doesn’t mean anything

Even though he actually gets really bad rsd

Especially through academic invalidation

So by the time he was around Greg’s age he’d already convinced himself that school is stupid and doesn’t matter

That no one else gets him

And what better way to back up that belief than fixating on rock and pop punk music???

In his eyes, all the greats had an up and coming early days “no one believed in our vision but us” era

That’s what Rodrick finds himself in now

So when his mom calls his hours and hours of drum practice noise and racket

And when his dad says all that rock and roll is melting his brain (even more than it is, is the implied rest of the sentence)

And when Greg refers to him as his “talentless brother”

It’s fine

Because the more people don’t believe him

The better his success will be

The further back he’s pulled, the further forward he’ll fly

Honest to god, green day’s discography is the reason he’s functional at all

If he can’t listen to american idiot or dookie or nimrod while doing it

He’s not going to do it

Pop punk and hot girls are the only sources of serotonin he’s been able to cling onto

That’s what’s keeping him going right now

A few more years he reminds himself

A few more years until he’ll have left and signed a recording contract and will finally get what he deserves

I think he’s actually kind of scared of someone liking him

Like, actually liking him

The same way where he expects people to be disappointed in him but it’s okay because no one sees his creative vision like he does

He’s convinced himself that the girls in plainview probably aren’t going to get him

So besides his stint with Lyndsey

Which hurt way more than it was supposed to

(remember all that rsd???)

And a fling with that girl from Isla de Corales that burnt out as hot and fast and ugly as he expected it to

He hasn’t really had any actual relationships

Besides the occasional hook up or make out session at a party

He doesn’t want to admit to himself that he knows if a girl actually liked him enough to really get to know him they’d see past the punk boy persona to how fucked up he is

And they’d get scared off

Because who wouldn’t be???

(remember that low self esteem???????)

On a similar note

His band mates may or may not be aware of this

But he’s kind of hiding all his good songs???

He keeps telling himself that it’s fine to just perform fluff and filler songs at first

Because once they get an audience

Once they get practice and a following

Once he knows the right people will hear him

Then he’ll drop the songs with substance

The ones where he really actually has something to say

Because if he posts diper overlode online and it gets 5 views, who cares

But if he posts a song that’s all his innermost thoughts to the hardest drum beats and guitar riffs and bass solos he can possibly come up with

And it gets 3 views and a comment that says it’s shit

It would kill him

Nothing can make him stop making music

Except maybe that

So once he gets into a more accepting, less harshly critical environment

It will be way easier for him to start dropping better and better songs

A little positive reinforcement goes a very long way with him

So by the time that you finally stumble into his life

However that happens

Maybe you saw him at Heather’s sweet sixteen and actually thought he was really good

You hunted him down a while later to tell him

And ask when their next performance will be

Or you heard him blasting his band’s cd at the pool for about 12 seconds before he had to shut it off

And you marched right over to buy one

And he fell in love right there

Or maybe you’re auditioning to be loded diper’s new guitarist or something

And he takes one look at you absolutely shredding

And his stomach drops and his heart starts pounding

Or some other meet cute

Or meet uncute knowing him

Goddamn you give him so much serotonin right off the bat

You figure out pretty quick that the way to his heart is making him laugh, quality time, and very gentle encouragement

And making out

But more on that later

He’s kind of obsessed with you

Okay not kind of

Super

Really super obsessed

Really fast

But like he’s going to play it cool

In spite of how down bad he is for you

Even though he’s not very good at it

He’ll try to play it cool as much as he possibly can

He’ll definitely flirt

He’ll try all his lines and moves

“I’m in a band ;)”

“We play so loud we make people’s ears bleed ;)”

“I can comp you some tickets to our next show ;)”

“Oh yeah I’m a drummer btw ;)”

“A drummer in a band ;)”

Yeah that’s pretty much all he’s got

But unless you want to jump into making out

He really has no idea what to do after that

(Plankton voice) I don’t know I never thought I’d get this far

So if you really like him

Which you do

Actually dating him might be a little tricky

I feel like what would probably happen is you two would just start by being friends who make out sometimes

Like a lot

And then

Eventually after a while

Making out with you will stop scratching that itch

He’ll want more

He’ll want you more

And he’ll start calling himself your boyfriend

Mostly because he really starts to hate it when other people flirt with you

Or stare at you too much

He knows he’s got it bad when he starts getting snippy and annoyed at his bandmates for trying to impress you

That’s when he’s like oh shit

Oh no I actually really like you

And I’m pretty sure you like me too

And if he said that to you

And you said “yeah, yeah I like you a whole lot” and pulled him in by his necklace to kiss him

Everything is solidified in that moment

He’s yours now

Also if you really, really want to make his heart go boom boom

And get him really in love and obsessed with you

Which why wouldn’t you

Tell him he looks like billie joe armstrong with his messy black hair and eyeliner

Oh my god

His heart is 100% yours

Even more than it was before

God he will kiss you right then and there

He really has no idea how he managed to catch you

Or like

Why you like him

(remember that low self esteem?????????????)

He really never thought he’d be a good boyfriend

But once it kind of clicked that being your boyfriend just means doing what he’s already doing with you

Plus a few extra things he already wants to do with you but wasn’t sure he could

He was like wait

It’s that quick easy and free??????? Fuck yeah

He’s so excited

Like really excited

And in spite of what he thinks

He is a good ass boyfriend in a really chill way

Like a lot of the stuff he does is under a very thinly veiled guise of like

Pfft it’s no big deal this is totally chill and casual

I just love kissing you and making out with you at every opportunity cause you’re super hot totally not cause I’m kind of in love with you

I like struggling through homework together cause you’re hot not cause looking at you kind of makes me believe in myself a little and makes really shitty things easier to get through

I try to keep you away from my family because they’re so annoying and you’re so hot not because I know my parents have historically sabotage everything that makes me genuinely happy (which used to just be rock but now is you and rock) and I don’t want them to say something to upset you

Or try to come between us because I’m not going to say this and I want to avoid this situation at all costs but I know if it came to an ultimatum most likely from my mom that I’d pick you

All of this is really just him trying not to jinx anything

Because look at you

Look at how great you are

The only two things he wants are a music career

Any kind of music career

And you

And he’s not going to do anything to jeopardize that

On the surface his feelings towards both you and his band might seem casual

But don’t test him

Cause he will do anything to protect those

Also the fact that you genuinely support him

You actually like the music his band makes

It’s almost unfathomable to him

Like he thought it was going to be a long time before he found someone like you

He’s still in the early life section of his future wikipedia page as a rock legend

And god he’s so excited he found you this soon

He’s just so excited

Being around you

Even just thinking about you is like someone slapped some jumper cables on him and revved the engine

He’ll almost definitely act like what you two have is super casual and barely anything worth noting for a while

Mostly around his family

That way you can avoid a formal Meet The Parents moment

He’s not going to subject either of you to that

After enough time passes his family is just kind of used to seeing you around

Rides to and from school

Hanging out during band rehearsals

Doing homework together

Once you’ve reached I’m with the band status

He doesn’t worry as much

They just sort of mentally put you in part of his friend group/inner circle yk

Which is great because now you can basically come over and spend as much time together as you want without any questions

It’s a pretty good way to gently fold you into his life

The way you’d tenderly fold whipped egg whites into pastry dough

I do have some unfortunate news

Which is if you’re dating Rodrick

Greg will probably get a weird awkward crush on you too

It sort of comes with the territory

Thankfully you have about one interaction with him every six months or so

All of which are by coincidence or accident

So it’s not really an issue

Unless you’re a babysitter or tutor or something

That’s when things can get messy

But hopefully that won’t be an issue

For now at least

Cause for now he just wants to spend time with you

He just wants to listen to music with you and drive around in his van and kiss your beautiful face

He knows shit won’t always be this easy

So he’s holding onto these good old days while he can

Because he knows these moments with you right now

These early morning texts about weekend plans and homework answers

Afternoons practicing the drums and trying unsuccessfully not to be distracted by how pretty you are when you watch him

Nights driving around in his van, going nowhere in particular

Just so you can be together a little longer

Just so you don’t have to go home yet

So he can savor the feeling of your hand in his for a few more minutes

For one more song

These are the good old days

And there will be even better days ahead

And he wants them with you

#rodrick heffley #rodrick x reader #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick #diary of a wimpy kid #doawk rodrick #diary of a wimpy kid x reader #doawk x reader

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thesoftestpunk · 2 years

Text

Taste of Whiskey

Summary: friends to lovers where you and Bucky go for a night of drinking with friends and it ends in the most unexpected way

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 4080

A/N: I’ve had this in my drafts for ages. If there’s a paragraph you recognize, I took it from this and put it in co-a because I never expected to post this. Also not beta read so, sorry for any mistakes. And if my sibling sees this, I am so so so so sorry 😬

Warnings: smut so minors dni!! Alcohol consumption, slight sub!bucky, cheesy smut, piv sex, oral (f receiving)

You’re tipsy. So tipsy, in fact, you think you might be drunk, but so is everyone else in the room. It feels like the last time you went out drinking was the night you met Bucky through your best friend. Maybe it was true, but it was a while ago. Sure, you’ve had a few drinks here and there at functions or alone with him in either his or your apartment. You both haven’t gone out for the sake of going out and getting drunk, though. Not for months. A thought popped into your mind around your second drink while you observed people. Bucky was being exceptionally gentlemanly tonight. That or you were imagining things with your inhibited mind. You’re watching him across the bar, chatting idly with another coworker of Kates. Kate, who was flirting heavily with a man next to her.

Somehow, his eyes land right on you, and suddenly squirm at the action. Playing it off, you wave politely and he lifts his drink in response. Fuck, you think as you take a large sip of whiskey, which you forgot was whiskey, when did he start looking at me like that? It wasn’t the normal amusement. It was as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, and what you were thinking was you wanted him to push you against a wall and—

“You want another?” The guy's friend Kate is flirting with asks you.

“Oh,” you look down to your glass, the only thing left being the singular ice cube. “Uh, I don’t know. Might go back to something lighter.”

“One more couldn’t hurt.” He’s charming, you’ll give him that, but he wasn’t Bucky.

“Sure,” you slide your glass to him with a polite smile. “One more.”

While he goes back to the bar, you glance over at Bucky. He’s watching from the side of his eyes, trying to not be obvious about it. It makes you laugh and drop her head a little, knowing you wouldn’t be seen too much.

“What’s so funny?” The modelesque man is back, whiskey held out for you.

“That was fast,” you comment as you take it, not taking a sip yet. “I, um, I was laughing at a friend across the room.” Gesturing vaguely, you don’t want his eyes landing on Bucky, who is still subtly watching. “Thanks for the drink.”

“No problem,” he holds up his own glass and clinks it against yours.

Quickly, you find out he’s funny, despite looking so perfectly handsome. It actually almost seems fake how symmetrical his face is. Still, he makes you laugh. Genuine ones as well, not the polite kind where you want to run away from the conversation and are just waiting until he gets bored. As you let out a hearty laugh, your hand lands on his shoulder and he moves in. You realize he’s trying to make a move and curse your drunk flirty self. It wasn’t your intention, but you don't see yourself going home with the guy. Getting another laugh out of you, he puts an arm around your shoulders while you’re distracted. You lean in, not thinking about it at all. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s standing suddenly and going back to the bar.

From the corner of your eye, someone walks up to you. You didn’t think you’d be this popular tonight, but then you realize it’s Bucky.

“Need any saving?” He had one hand shoved in his front pocket and the other holding his bottle of beer.

“What makes you say that?” Placing your chin on your hand, you try to not act too flirty.

“You looked a little… I don’t know. When he put his arm around you.” Trailing off, he feels like an idiot for even asking. Wait… was he jealous?

“No, I’m- I'm fine.” Watching his face drop a little, you can’t help but feel oddly victorious. You were making him jealous, something you didn’t think was possible. For courage, you finish off your whiskey once more. “Saw you flirting with someone.”

He rolls his eyes, the corners of his lips just barely turning up. “I wasn’t—“

“You two know each other?” The model looking guy asks and you realize you either never asked for his name, or he said it and you forgot it because you were staring at Bucky the whole time.

“We’re friends,” You explain, taking the third glass of whiskey he offers you.

“Just saying goodnight.” Bucky gives a pained smile. “I should head home, so…”

“What? No!” You pout. “It’s barely midnight!”

“Nah, I should,” he points to the exit.

“Well, I need a walk home.” You gather up your purse, ignoring the fact that you were trapped in the booth by the model guy. “I’ll join you.”

“I- I could walk you home,” the guy offers, turning pink in embarrassment.

“Thank you for the drinks.” Grabbing your glass, you take it all in one sip, trying to not show how badly it burned. “And lovely meeting you, but I should go with him. Make sure he gets home alright.” Before either can argue, you’re waving the guy out of the booth and stand beside Bucky. “Kate, we’re leaving!”

“Don’t wait up,” she says over her shoulder, clearly intending on going home with whoever she was flirting with.

As the two of you walk out of the building, you realize just how much you had to drink in a short amount of time. It makes you a little wobbly, and wearing heels definitely doesn’t help. Bucky’s hand falls on your lower back, keeping you steady until you’re outside. A jolt runs through your spine at the feeling. You convince yourself it’s from all the shots you took so quickly. Outside, it’s still chilly, but not as cold as that first night. You don’t need a coat on your bare shoulders, but every time, Bucky places his there.

“So, you did need to be saved.” Now that you’re outside, Bucky can speak in his normal, softer voice. Another jolt runs down your spine.

“Well,” you hold tight to your clutch, hoping to not give yourself away. “He wasn’t my type so I didn’t want to lead him on, you know.”

“Ah.” He pretends it’s some sort of huge revelation, but he knew that fact about you already.

It’s silent for a while, the only noise between the two of you being your heels clicking against the sidewalk. You feel a little silly. It’s like you’re in high school all over again crushing on some cute boy. It always left you stupidly speechless, which rarely ever happened. Glancing at him from the side of your eyes, you notice it’s a little obvious to him that something is up. He keeps expecting you to speak.

“Everything okay?” He finally asks when you’re about a block or so from your apartment. “You’re unusually quiet.”

“You prefer it that way,” you shrug lightly. “I figured after all that noise, you would want some quiet.”

Bucky studies your face, knowing you’re lying but he just can’t figure out why. Instead of calling you out on it, he just nods once and looks to his feet. Well, shit. He probably thinks you're hiding something bad from him. Or worse, but you can’t think of what that would be. Your footsteps fall together as you near your apartment faster than you wanted. The best times with him were when they were walking.

You only take one step up on the stoop before realizing Bucky wasn’t going to follow. Turning, you find him just watching you. “Oh.” You realize you’re still wearing his jacket and hand it back over.

He clutches the leather tightly, almost as tight as you had been holding your clutch. Opening his mouth to say something, he decides against it and closes it, chewing on his bottom lip as he looks to the side confused. You can’t help but love the way his eyebrows scrunch together. Reaching out, you run your thumb between them, smoothing out his skin. He looks up at you, innocence written all over his features. Just as he opens his mouth to say something again, you capture his bottom lip between yours. With the advantage of wearing heels and being a step taller than him, he has to lean up into you. A soft sigh warms your lips as he kisses you back, noting that you taste of whiskey. It’s then he pulls back, looking worried once more.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“So have you.” You work on the line between his eyebrows with your thumb once more.

“But you’re drunk. I’m not going to use that as some sort of advantage.”

“And you won’t,” you place a kiss on his forehead, making him close his eyes. Softly, you kiss his eyelids, listening to him sigh as his long lashes tickle your skin.

“Doll…” he pulls away, shaking his head. He won’t lie when he says he misses your touch immediately. “I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.”

“Bucky,” you lift his head up by his chin, his scruff scratching your fingers. “I won’t regret a thing. Unless…” your heart skips a beat from worry. “Unless you would?”

Placing his hand on yours, he pulls it away from his chin and you expect him to leave, but he kisses the palm of your hand. It steals the breath from your lungs, making you feel lightheaded.

“Of course I wouldn’t. I was actually hoping to take you out on a date before even thinking of kissing you.”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, your chests nearly pressed against each other. “Doesn’t tonight count?”

“I never asked.” Tilting his head up, their noses bump together before he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Can’t we just pretend you did?” You whisper.

“I’m a pretty old fashioned guy.”

“So that’s a no on coming upstairs with me.” You move your hands to the back of his neck, playing with the baby hairs. It almost makes him say yes immediately.

“I really don’t know how to say no.” He places a quick kiss on your lips, leaving you wanting more.

“Then say yes.” You whisper this in his ear, hot breath tickling his skin. If you said anything else in that tone of voice, he was sure he was going to combust on the spot.

He can’t even speak, just nodding vigorously until you’re dragging him up the steps. In the elevator, he tries to be respectful in case it stops for another floor, but the moment the doors close, he takes you by the hips and presses you against the wall. The railing digs into your lower back, but you don’t care as he moves his hands to cup your face and deepen the kiss. It’s slow, your tongues gliding against each other’s. His hips press you further back, eliciting a gaspy moan from you. It was sort of the last thing you were expecting. As he’s just about to grind further into you, the elevator stops and dings to let him know they can get off.

You grab his hand loosely, dragging him to your front door. You try getting your keys one handed, but it’s difficult. What makes it even more so is Bucky standing closely behind you, placing slow, tender kisses along your neck. Practically burrowing into the crook of your jaw, and his hands wrap around your middle, freeing one of yours. You’re sure your hands are trembling so bad, you won’t be able to open it but you finally do and pull him inside, still attached to you. It makes you laugh and move away to close the door quietly and turn back to him.

Bucky pulls you in close, his mouth moving from your lips to your cheek and down your neck. You gasp when he takes some of your skin in between his teeth. He doesn’t bite hard, just enough to get a rise out of you. It wasn’t that he didn’t play rough, but a lot of people took him to be a very vanilla guy. Every kiss is hot instead of sweet, which is what you had expected. Deciding they needed to move elsewhere, he walks backwards, pulling you along until the back of his shins hit the couch. He doesn’t quite sit down yet, just taking you in, hair slightly a mess and lips swollen.

“What?” You laugh nervously.

Oh, god, he’s suddenly realized he likes making you nervous.

“Nothing,” he glides the back of his fingers over your shoulder, following the curve. It actually makes you shiver, which makes him even harder. He’s not sure how much his jeans can take at this point. “You sit.”

Without even questioning him, you do so. If he asked you to lick the floor right now, you would without complaint. Looking up, you let him cup your face in his hands. His stomach is lined right up to your face and you’re sure what he wants you to do. So, you begin to unbuckle his belt, but his hands suddenly stop you. Confused, you look back up to him for an answer.

“I wanna focus on you.” Swiftly, he gets on his knees in front of you, hands running up your thighs until they reach the bottom of your dress. Grabbing the fabric he pulls it up and you spread your legs for him. As he pulls at your underwear, that is definitely not hot or sexy, you lift your hips to help get them off. He kisses your knee, his scruff scratching against the skin. It’s sensitive, making you suck in a breath. Trailing kisses up along your leg, dragging his chin along and making it burn, he focuses on your inner thighs. You’re a squirming mess, waiting for him to move further. Before you can begin to think of begging, he pulls your hips forward to get you more comfortable.

It’s heaven when his tongue finds your center. He works slowly at first, listening to every gasp and whine that comes out of your mouth. He’s anything but rough down there, taking the time to figure out what gets you worked up. What makes you grab his hair tightly, or the leg you have swung over his shoulder dig into his back to push him farther forward. You’re practically riding his face at this point and he’s just there for support. But then for a long moment, you’re quiet and still, just taking in the feeling of his tongue on you which makes him look up through his lashes.

“You okay?” He says between kisses to your thigh.

“Of course,” you’re breathless.

“Good. Can't have you passing out on me.” He slowly inserts a finger, which in turn makes you tug on his hair.

“God,” you whine out, the heat in your stomach building faster and faster. “You’re so nice and- and-“ you lose sense of words when he adds another finger and curls them. “Thoughtful. Fuck, I’m close.” Feeling you tightening around his fingers, he focuses back on you until you’re climaxing all over him. As you ride it out, and even as you try catching your breath, he kisses your thighs until you can breathe normally again.

“Y/N?” He leans back a bit, a curious smile on his face. All you give is a hum in response, eyes still closed. “Did you just cum at the thought of how ‘nice and thoughtful’ I am?”

“How about instead of answering that question, I make you cum this time.” You pull him up to sit on the couch and crawl onto his lap.

“I’d really like the answer.” His hands run up your sides, stopping at the thin straps of your dress. Pushing them down, he lets the shiny fabric fall around your waist to expose your breasts.

“You know the answer.” Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you lean in for a kiss but he moves his head back. Either way, you still end up pressing your chest against his, the cool air having hardened your nipples which he feels right through his shirt.

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.” He places kisses along your cheeks, feeling your smile and laughing softly.

“You’re such a cocky ass sometimes.” Leaning back, you look him in the eye, but tug on the hem of his shirt instead. “Only if you get more naked. Even the playing field.”

“Deal.” Anything to hear those words from you. He watches you take him in, knowing this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him without a shirt, but it is the first time you get to admire him. When you place a hand softly on his abdomen, he can’t help but laugh a little.

“Ticklish huh?” You tease but don't continue to do so, instead rolling your eyes at what you have to say. “Okay. You, James Bucky Barnes have made me Y/N, I refuse to give you my middle name, L/N cum at the idea of how nice and thoughtful you are. Along with some other nice things you were doing of course. I was basically already there.”

“How romantic,” he laughs, pulling you in for a kiss. He tastes like you, which you kind of forgot about, but you don't hate it. You move up a little on your knees, forcing his head to tilt back and deepen the kiss, a groan coming deep from his chest. It makes you fall back down onto his lap, thrusting your hips into his and grinding against his hardened dick. Instead of a groan, Bucky practically whines out your name, breath picking up at the sensation. You didn’t know you could do that to him. It felt pretty fucking good.

“You want me?” You whisper against his lips and move your hips up against him again, the roughness of his jeans against your already sensitive bud making you gasp. Bucky just hums, pulling you in by the back of her neck for a sloppy kiss. “Say it.” You grind down roughly, eliciting another whine from him. It makes your cheeks flush with heat and your stomach twist. “Say you want me, Buck.”

He knows you won’t kiss him until he does, your lips hovering near his, sharing his breath, but you fight against the hand on the back of your neck. “Fuck, sweetheart. I want you.”

Not wanting to torture him any more than you already have, you reach down and work on getting his pants off. You’re both in such a rush that he just gets them halfway down his thighs. You wrap a hand around him, giving a few good strokes, watching as his head falls back against the couch. The length of his neck is exposed, leaving it for your lips to graze over it, biting softly here and there. Lining yourself up, you lower yourself on him, whimpering as he stretches you out and at the low groan rumbling in his chest.

“What?” He asks when you just stare at him with hooded eyelids. “Are you okay?” Reaching up, he holds your face softly with his right hand.

“Yes,” you can’t help but laugh at the fact that he’s still checking up on you. “You don’t have to ask.”

“I want you to be comfortable and most of all, conscious.”

“Bucky,” you take his face in both of your hands, well aware that you’re just sitting there with him inside of you and neither of you make a single move. “Even if we did shit so gross, and disturbing that you couldn’t even look me in the eye after? I’d still be comfortable then. Fuck, I’d let you do whatever you wanted. Even if it was illegal.”

Bucky chuckles, hands falling to your lower back and looks up at you through his eyelashes. Fuck, how did he have such long eyelashes? It wasn’t fair. “Right now,” he forces your hips to move, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. “I just want you. Nothin fancy or wild. Just you.”

You connect your lips again, both moving slow, opposite of the heated kisses you’ve shared so far. Bucky's grip on your waist tightens so much you think he might leave bruises and forces your hips to continue moving. It doesn’t take long for you to comply, loving the feeling of him stretching you out with each move. Bucky moves from your lips to your neck, biting your collarbone roughly. You were supposed to be the one making him feel good, not the other way around. He had already done that for you and you wanted to return the favor. Pushing him back against the couch, you try to look stern, but when he bites his bottom lip, you nearly melt.

“It’s my turn to focus on you,” your voice sounds stern at least. “Make you feel good.” Your hands glide through his chin length hair, stopping at the nap of his neck and pulling as you place soft kisses over and around his Adam’s-apple.

“You do,” he gasps out. Despite what you said, his hands grip tighter, making you move against him faster. “Fuck,” he whines again. “Fuck, you feel good.”

You hum against his neck, smiling at the noises he’s making. “Keep whining like that, James, and I can make you feel even better.”

The use of his first name has him picking you up and tossing you onto you back on the couch, and climbing over you. He re-inserts himself roughly making you cry out from both pleasure and pain. If it didn’t feel so good, you’d probably feel guilty for your elderly neighbor possibly having to hear that.

“You like when I call you that?” You have a smirk on your face and you bring up a hand to run over his lightly persperated chest, your fingers tangling with the chain of his dog tags. “Hm, James?” Now you’re just teasing him but instead of answering, he just slams his hips back into you, getting another soft cry.

“I actually do,” he mumbles, a slight blush on his cheeks. He also likes the sight of his dog tags as they drag back and forth between your breasts, the cold metal shocking you at first. Or how you pull the hair at his neck anytime he hits a spot that makes you moan. Honestly, he loves every inch of you, addicted to the feeling, the sound. He growls into your neck, feeling the pressure build up to the point of exploding.

“Go ahead,” you coo, fingers softly scratching his scalp instead of being rough. “Don’t worry about me.”

“What? Don’t think you could do it again?” He leans back to look you in the eye, determined to watch you as you fall over the edge again. Last time he didn’t have the best angle, but he still got a glimpse.

“Is that a challenge, Barnes?”

Damn, he’d hoped for a James.

“Maybe.” His thumb moves over to your clit, rubbing circles. It was mostly a challenge for himself, but he didn’t have the words to say that out loud. He was getting too close, and you tightening around him was very much helping. Gasped curses and ‘ah James’s falls past your lips, egging him on, until his hips stutter as he cums inside of you. It isn’t too long until his fingers have you climaxing again.

You’re slightly drowsy from all the alcohol and physical activity so when Bucky stands suddenly, your eyes snap open in curiosity. He picks you up bridal style and takes you to your bedroom, laying you down before turning away. You grab his hand before he can leave.

“Stay.”

“I am, don’t worry baby.” Leaning down he gives your forehead a kiss. “Gotta get you cleaned up.”

It feels like forever until he returns with a warm rag, and cleans the mess between your legs. You look up at him affectionately, and if you weren’t so tired, you’d suggest a third round because you’re beginning to realize you’re falling madly in love with him.

“The feeling’s mutual.” Bucky leans down for another kiss to your forehead and you realize you’ve just said that out loud. You don’t have any time to be embarrassed before he’s climbing into bed behind you. Pulling you close, he leaves a trail of kisses along your neck, whispering sweet compliments until you’re dozing off to sleep.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing

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