#and that’s not like. a good way to explain it outside of my own brain.

[systlin]

So, to explain my little adventure I just got back from, it is necessary to set the scene by explaining a few things.

My dog is a Great Pyraneese. She weighs 90 Pounds. It is mostly muscle.

My neighbors a quarter mile down the road have chickens. They like to let them free range.

Now, this is not a problem at all, EXCEPT for the fact that whenever Tyr sees them something deep in her little livestock guardian breed brain goes "Oh, I am supposed to be Responsible for this Livestock." She will attempt to plonk her 90 pound furry ass down as far towards their yard as her leash will permit and want to sit there and simply stare at the chickens. She is not aggressive towards them, she simply wants to lie down and Keep An Eye On Things, the way a good livestock guardian dog is supposed to. It is the same reason she would love to fight the foxes that live under the falling down farmhouse down the street to the death and is very upset that I will not let her.

The PROBLEM is, well

3. My neighbors also have a miniature poodle. She is convinced, in every cell of her 15 pound body, that No Other Dogs Should Come Anywhere Near Her Fucking Yard. She has no concept that Tyr outweighs her by 75 pounds and is absolutely convinced that she could win this fight.

Normally if she's outside she is out in the fenced backyard and this isn't a problem. I also don't let Tyr wander into other yards, because it's rude to let your dog pee on the neighbor's grass unless they've said they're fine with it and also I live in Fuckass Nowhere. There's plenty of county owned grass on the roadside for Tyr to pee on. Still, even if I'm coaxing her along past the chickens, she will want to slow down and drift over to that side of the road to look at them.

TODAY, however, the mini poodle was NOT in the backyard. She was in the unfenced front yard, and as soon as we walked past she saw another dog not ON her yard, but heading TOWARDS her yard, and she hurled herself into battle with no thought for her own safety.

Now, Tyr is not aggressive towards other dogs. There is an exception to this, though, and it is 'unless an off leash dog comes running full speed in the general direction of one of Her People while snarling and barking'. If this happens, I suddenly have 90 pounds of Great Pyr ready for mortal combat on the end of the leash.

This brings us to item 4

4. I broke my left arm in April and while it is healing and good for light use now, 'Light Use' does not include 'restraining 90 pounds of furious livestock guardian dog convinced her person is about to be attacked by a reactive dog'

This means that I looped up the leash short and controlled her one armed. I did not think about this twice particularly. I know I can do it and just. Did it. I wouldn't walk her if I couldn't control her, after all. Once she figured out that no, the poodle was NOT going to attack me, she calmed down, but was still growling.

But I did this as a panicked neighbor dude came running out to try and get his dog, convinced that his kids were about to watch their beloved pet get turned into Great Pyr chow.

Oh and

5. I did this while wearing a Wonder Woman tshirt

So, long story short, his 4 year old daughter is convinced now that I actually AM Wonder Woman, because "She's Strong Like Wonder Woman!" and my neighbor learned that his poodle dug out from under the fence, how's everyone else's days going.

(All dogs unhurt)

[a-substantial-trash-pile]

hey guess what. it's finally time for my Stardew Valley Loredump. i’m about to ramble about my farmer and yo-yo/yoba and shane in a probably long-ass, disjointed post because i have a problem ok. not expecting anyone to read it all of course—just want to finally write these brainstorming shenanigans down. the loredump will be below the cut below the image 👇 (WARNING: IT'S LONG):

SAMUEL IZAWA:

*samuel is 28 years old, pan, japanese okinawan (no im not self projecting hahaha), and goes by he/they. main thing is that they’re from “our world” where stardew valley is a video game, but he died and ended up in the stardew universe. because i think isekai tropes are fun and silly. as the player, samuel can do things others in the stardew world can’t do, such as: 

summon the in-game HUD that’s only visible to him, so he can see health/energy levels and inventory and all that.

speaking of inventory, it’s essentially a pocket dimension samuel can shove stuff in. the inventory doesn’t really care about size/weight/etc as long as it’s something the system considers an “item.” so like samuel can put a whole ass four poster bed in there but he can’t do that to a person or a whole house. samuel just needs to touch the item to make it disappear into his inventory. he can then summon it back out when he needs it. the game’s inventory limit system remains the same. samuel gets 12 slots on their own, but if they have a bag on them it increases to 36.

can access the player menu you can normally access in game. so like profile, skills, collections, relationships, etc are all there. no options or quit tab though. having the relationship tab is a nightmare for samuel, who has major insecurities about what people think of him. that tab is a quantifiable measure on how much people like him. it a real brain demon for him to know it exists and is right there for him to access anytime. 

can see the “stats” of food and healing items. hp/energy recovery amounts, buffs, etc. 

*funny thing is that samuel has never played SDV himself and only has knowledge based on what he’s heard and seen online secondhand. ironically he was planning on playing the game for the first time before the whole dying thing ruined it. they can’t even remember how they died, but it doesn’t bother them as much as they think it should. they didn’t leave much behind in that life.

*anyway, i’m talking a lot of game terms here, but don’t get it twisted. while samuel has all these game systems going on, the SDV world is very much a real one that doesn’t normally work by that logic. by that i mean time flows normally like in our world and there isn’t just 4 months in a year. things exist outside the valley. there’s a whole planet of places and people. 

*luckily samuel has help in navigating this new world in the form of yo-yo the junimo, who is the first living thing samuel sees when he first wakes up in that joja cubicle. yo-yo helps explain a lot of things and guide samuel around in its own abrasive way. he’s also there to be like, “hey i gave you a second chance at life so you kinda owe me actually. sign this contract.” and samuel, who is a pushover and also confused, is just like, “ok.” (yo-yo sounds like danny devito btw. because i think it’s funny.) 

*i call the contract a “magical girl contract” because that’s essentially what it is. samuel gets access to extra powers/abilities on top the stuff he can already do as a player. in return he fights monsters n shit for yo-yo and generally does things for them that they can’t do easily on their own. the extra benefits include: 

higher pain tolerance. which isn’t always a good thing. especially when you tend to not be great with self-preservation like samuel is. 

can heal most injuries by just eating/drinking stuff to regain hp.

yo-yo can teleport the both of them around as needed, but it’s tiring and it drains a lot of magic. distance matters too.

yo-yo can spawn items but it drains magic as well. the more valuable/rare the item, the more draining it is. spawning items is already a magic-intensive thing in the first place. also yo-yo isn’t creating the item out of nothing. they’re actually randomly taking it from wherever it already exists in the world. for example, say yo-yo “spawns” a jar of pickles. somebody in the world is going to open their fridge and discover their jar of pickles is missing or maybe a grocery store will have a sudden empty spot on its shelf. yo-yo doesn’t have control of where the items are taken from (or so they claim).

samuel and yo-yo’s magic pools became connected so they can both do more than they could do on their own before. this is one of the reasons why yo-yo wanted a contract with samuel, who has a larger magic pool than normal due to being from another world. but it’s possible for one side to use up all the magic for the both of them. 

*samuel’s personality can be summed up as Awkward People-Pleasing Tired Sad Garbage Dork. either he’s dressed like a grandparent in sweaters and turtlenecks or he’s wearing a button up shirt with the collar undone and jeans. they usually have their neck covered in public to hide the mark of yoba embedded there. he has a “resting bitch face” as some may call, but that’s just because his brain is busy over-analyzing 193828 different things. he loves being outside in the grass and dirt, looking at bugs n shit. he’s also a nerd who likes to play video games and ramble about the lore in them (he likes RPGs the most, but if the game’s got a good story and cool world, he’s into it). they like to do things with their hands like model building/painting. in their new stardew life, they get into woodcarving after willy teaches them the basics (he carves shane a little chicken). 

*samuel does NOT know how to say “no.” absolute pushover. their self-worth is based on how much they’re liked by others, which isn’t healthy obviously. he has a fear that the only way he can be liked is by being useful. he’s scared that he is inherently a bad and selfish person, because he can’t say for sure if he’s helping others purely out of kindness or because it just makes him feel better about existing. deep down there’s anger/frustration that’s accumulated over the years, anger towards himself and also others because he’s always doing things for other people—going above and beyond—but it never feels like enough. at the same time though, they hate it when these thoughts come up because they believe that you shouldn’t go into helping somebody expecting that you’ll get something out of it. he hates how much of a hypocrite he is. he hates how he bases so much of his self-worth on the opinions of others, but feels helpless to it. they usually just push these emotions down because samuel feels guilty about them. how can they be a good person if they’re thinking like this? how can they deserve to exist with this mindset? however they get a chance to let out the anger/bitterness/frustration through fighting monsters. kind of disassociating in a way. this also isn’t a good thing because his demeanor is much colder and scarier during combat. having someone who’s felt powerless for so long suddenly gain power is a dangerous thing.

*this mindset when monster fighting shatters when samuel meets krobus and realizes that monsters aren’t just the simple enemy NPCs their brain had been automatically categorizing them as. guilt galore. he gets real depressed about that for a while but yo-yo, krobus, and shane are there to help him. 

*SPEAKING OF SHANE… it’s crush at first sight for samuel because hot damn is shane their type. i mean just look at him. mamma mia. haha anyyyway, they first meet at the stardrop saloon. samuel’s waiting at the bar for his to-go order near where shane is drinking. shane’s looking sad, so samuel gives in and decides they’ll start a convo to maybe distract him from whatever’s bothering him. samuel employs the “crack a dumb joke to hide the fact that i’m nervous because i’m talking to a hot person and then use that opening to introduce myself” strat. shane, being an asshole, is like, “oh so you’re the new farmer. here’s a tip: don’t bother me.” samuel takes 999 damage and their brain immediately goes “THIS IS MY FAULT I FUCKED UP like who wants to be talked to by a stranger when they’re sad goddammit why am i so bad at this?!!” it’s overall not a great first impression. after that, samuel tries to avoid shane out of embarrassment, but circumstances keep making them run into each other. for instance, samuel works a lot with marnie with her being a mentor figure to him in animal husbandry, so he and shane have a lot of opportunity to interact through that (plus marnie is secretly trying to get them closer to each other). through these meetings and shenanigans, samuel and shane get to know each other better until one day they’re friends. then good friends. then best friends. then kiss friends. then marry friends. :)

YOBA (A.K.A. YO-YO): 

*yo-yo is ????? years old and goes by any pronouns but most of the time it's it/they.

*yo-yo is actually THE yoba, but they’re not the completely benevolent creator-of-all-things humans have made them out to be. maybe they were in the past, but now they’re selfish and rude and swear a lot. but they do still care, even if they don’t admit it (tsundere-ass). yoba is currently stuck in the form of a little junimo and is substantially weakened because it gave too much of itself away to the world in the past and got burned for it. because the world kept taking and taking. and now there’s war and pollution and shit and yoba/yo-yo is maybe just a teensy tiny bit angry and bitter now. but it’s ok because now they got this human from another reality to help them reclaim the pieces of itself. and maybe along the way relearn how to love the world again.  

*oh also yoba didn’t create the whole planet like the creation story claims. they’re technically an alien that came across a young planet full of life and decided to stay and help it develop. 

*main reason yo-yo made a contract with samuel is because it needs help finding/reclaiming the pieces of itself. pieces can usually be found in strong monsters empowered by the piece. this isn’t always the case though. sometimes it’s in an ancient artifact. sometimes it’s in a specific place like a temple. sometimes it’s in a person. 

*samuel doesn’t have to deal with having an existential crisis about yo-yo, since he’s from our world where yoba doesn’t even exist as a god. yo-yo claims to be the one responsible for bringing samuel over into the stardew universe, but there are holes in their story. where did yoba even find the power to do such a thing when they’re in such a weakened state? mysterious. 

*the first time yoba reveals itself to shane is kind of chaotic. it’s in the middle of the night when yo-yo suddenly appears in shane’s room, grabs his face with its little stick arms and yells, “WAKE UP!!! YOUR BOYFRIEND IS IN MORTAL PERIL!!!” shane is like, “WHAT THE F–”     it was an act of desperation on yo-yo’s part, because samuel was in trouble and shane was the only one it could think of going to for help. essentially samuel meets something Bad in the deep mines, something that takes him out of commission and puts him in a trance state while draining his lifeforce. y’know, the classic kind of trance state where you need to figure out how to get the person back–how to snap them out of it. yo-yo tried and failed, so that’s where shane comes in. it’s the classic “love-interest-breaks-main-character-out-of-mind-control-with-sheer-power-of-love” trope. except shane does punch samuel during it. lovingly. in the face. hey it works ok.     after the chaos is over and everyone’s safe and gathered together, samuel and yo-yo explain everything to shane (well more like samuel explains everything while yo-yo wishes outloud that they had their memory erasing powers back). shane, who is canonically an atheist, learns that this talking pottymouthed jerkass apple is actually THE yoba and is just like, “yeah. this might as well happen.” and then he remains atheist because what else are you going to do when you learn that god is a talking pottymouthed jerkass apple who calls you a bitch and is also responsible for your partner having to go do dangerous shit. he and yo-yo have a rocky relationship at first to say the least. but once they both realize how much the other cares about samuel, things get a little better. 

*yeah, yoba may be a bitch and they may be angry and they may be bitter, but they really do care, even if they try to convince themselves otherwise. even though so much got taken from it, it still cares about humans and dwarves and shadow people and everything else on the planet. and when it eventually comes down to it, yoba will step up to protect what it loves, even if it means losing everything again. 

SHANE FINCH: 

*this post was technically supposed to just be about my farmer and yo-yo’s lore and stuff, but i gotta give some personal headcanons i have about shane… like for instance his last name is “finch.” because i thought the bird theme was cute. he’s 29 years old, bi, and half asian, half white (in our world that asian half is korean). i’m not being specific because i don’t know if korea even exists in the stardew world, since all we know in the game is that there’s a “ferngill republic” and a “gotoro empire.” i was thinking of just headcanoning that stardew’s planet is essentially the same as earth. so like most of the same countries/nations exist except the history diverged a bit along the way, leading to the ferngill republic and gotoro empire. OK SORRY for the tangent—back on topic.

*so shane is a trans man who started transitioning back in high school. he had two best friends who were very supportive and really helped him on his journey to figure himself out. those two friends were like family to him. it was good that he had this support because his parents were always pretty shitty and shane transitioning just made them act even shittier. the only good family member of shane’s is marnie, who was supportive, but she lived far away, was busy, AND wasn’t on good terms with her sister (shane’s mom), so shane didn’t get to see her much. 

*the moment shane became a legal adult, he got away from his parents, finding a place with his two best friends and moving in together. oh and his friends’ names were rosa and heath. should’ve probably mentioned that earlier oops.     shane, rosa, and heath go to the same college together, suffer student loans, graduate, etc. haven’t thought of what shane would get a degree in yet—most likely something “generic” because he’s unsure of what he wants to do himself (i feel u bby). 

*ok so rosa and heath were dating since high school, but they were so comfortable with shane and vice versa that things never got that awkward living together. however when rosa and heath got married (“yoba, FINALLY,” shane would say), shane felt like it was time to find his own place, much to the devastation of his bffs. the apartment ended up close to where rosa and heath lived of course—the couple made sure of it (“stop backseating my apartment hunting!” “MAKE US”). 

*rosa and heath get pregnant and have a healthy baby girl that they name jasmine. i headcanon jas as black (from heath’s side) and portuguese (rosa’s side). everyone is thrilled about the baby. shane was immediately offered godfather role and he happily accepted. jas was the cutest baby ever and he adored her. he babysat jas all the time. 

*jas was 4 years old when rosa and heath tragically passed away in a car accident. they were coming home from a business dinner when they lost control of their car on some black ice and slid into oncoming traffic. shane was babysitting jas when he got the call. in the span of one cold winter night, shane and jas’s world shattered. 

*rosa and heath didn’t have any reliable relatives either. those relatives only came to take the money and belongings. shane was the only one jas had, so he adopted her. he tried his best to pick up the pieces. he really did. he lasted for a year trying to raise a kid on his own with the salary of a dead-end job, but he knew the situation wasn’t good with the money and how much his mental health was spiraling. he knew he and jas were in dire need of more support (“jas deserves better than this”). so he turned to the one person he had left to rely on: his aunty marnie. and that’s how shane and jas ended up in pelican town.

*shane’s joja jacket was actually originally rosa’s. rosa worked as an accountant for joja and would get free promotional items all the time from the company. the jacket was one of the only things she actually ended up using because “it’s pretty comfy for being joja bs.” she would wear it all the time, much to her more fashion-conscious husband’s chagrin (yet he would patch up any holes she’d get in it anyway). after rosa died, shane kept her jacket. there were a lot of memories in it. 

~~~

ok that’s it for now. if anyone actually read all that, thank you for even wasting your time to process my ramblings. i’m sorry it’s so fucking long like jfc.

*who is mr. qi?

#stardew valley #stardew valley shane #stardew valley farmer #sdv shane #sdv farmer #sdv yoba #ocs #long post #loredump

[emilymk20]

TW: $u!c!d3 $h 4n4

…

…

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This is my note that I’ve had written out for a while 🙃 Fair warning, it is really long. I don’t know, maybe it could help somebody, whether it helps them keep going or just helps them relate. Much love 🫶🏻🖤

This is so cliche, but I feel obligated to leave some kind of explanation. I am absolutely positive there has always been something wrong with me. Normal people don’t want to die at eleven years old. One thing I was always good at was covering it up; I almost wish my struggle was more visible, but I know that people always just want to help and truthfully help is the last thing I want. More reason why there’s probably something wrong because who thinks like that? The one thing that I am losing is empathy. It was always empathy that made me “better.” I didn’t want to make anyone waste their time worrying and I didn’t want to be seen for what I am so I started eating more, I stopped cutting myself, I didn’t take the pills, I didn’t cry, I didn’t let myself feel anything. In a way that made me hold on; the idea that I didn’t want anyone to have to find my body, I didn’t want anybody to mourn me, I didn’t want anyone to think that they could have helped me, and I definitely didn’t want anyone to think that the decision I made was their fault. I don’t expect anyone to understand it, but nothing happened to make me feel this way. Some awful things have happened in the midst of it, but there’s no root cause or trigger; I apply blame to nothing and nobody except myself and the operations of my own brain.

I’m tired. It’s so difficult to explain, but I think I’ve felt so deeply for so long, I have nothing left to feel. I feel like a shell of a person. I’ve noticed a recent trend in the past three years that I’ve never experienced before in the impulsively of my emotional rollercoaster. I’ll spend days, weeks, sometimes months feeling so proud of myself and hopeful, motivated more than ever before to better myself, happy where I am, and then in a matter of minutes it all slips away from me. I push everyone away and I can’t help but stop trying. I won’t eat or I’ll eat until I’m sick from it, I’ll cut myself because that’s the only thing that can make me feel, I won’t sleep at all or I’ll sleep all day, I won’t clean, I won’t shower, I won’t even get up to use the restroom. It’s as if I go completely brain dead, but my thoughts still won’t stop racing. Then, once I can come to terms with it all and maybe find a solution, the mania hits again and it all doesn’t matter anymore because I feel like I’m on top of the world. I don’t eat because it feels good to be hungry or I’ll eat a lot because “I deserve it,” I don’t sleep because that seems like so much valuable time going to waste, or I’ll sleep a lot because it’s a form of self care and if my body is that tired I should let it, and I’ll cut myself still because it’s empowering and I find it almost pretty. Nothing tangible ever changes, just the unbearable fluctuation of my head. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy for me to hide it, because to everyone on the outside, that is my normal.

I constantly feel like I’m watching myself glued to a tightrope. I can pull myself down to my lowest, feeling all that tension, and then suddenly skyrocket to my full potential. Well, I have to fall back down at some point, and I always do. The only thing is that I’m stuck. I’m stuck in my head in that cycle and the only way out is to fall off. Sure, there’s ways to get make it bearable, I mean there has to be some diagnosis for all this to explain it, but would I really want to spend my life maintaining symptoms? Would I really want to spend my whole life fighting? No. I don’t even want to spend the present fighting. I know from the outsider’s perspective I just seem lazy, and trust me, I feel that way too.

I can’t even begin to describe how exhausting it is. What I think about often is how humans are awake during the day, but you can always take a break when nighttime comes to sleep. I’m hyper aware of everything that takes my energy that I don’t have control over. My brain never stops thinking, my blood never stops pumping, my body never stops breathing…I know these are things that regular people don’t think about, but with every breath I take it feels like a loss. I just want nothing more than real rest and peace of mind. I don’t understand why things bother me when everyone else wouldn’t even have these thoughts pass their mind. Why am I so introspective and aware? Ignorance truly is bliss.

It seems really crazy, maybe because I am crazy, but the higher points of my life are more painful than the lows have been. There’s something so comforting about losing my drive, letting myself slow down, watching myself rot away and fall further from reality; it’s almost my ideal, but not quite. I just want true rest. I really wish I had the option to completely start over. I romanticize my childhood so much; bittersweet nostalgia is my biggest downfall. I was so clueless then; so full of joy. I wish that I could put my finger on what happened and when it all went wrong. I don’t know why I long for that life so much now; I love being independent and having the freedom to make my own decisions as an adult, but maybe it’s the immanence of responsibility always pushing me down. I miss the days before it started looming over me. I don’t feel as though I was ready to be on my own, I don’t think I ever learned how to handle that freedom because all I’ve done is abuse it. There are irreparable decisions that I’ve made for the specific purpose of digging myself deeper in a hole because I feel like that’s what I deserve. You can say that’s not true all you want, but it’s a little too late to still be invalidating my feelings so allow me.

My self hatred is so deep rooted, I can feel it in every nerve of my body. I’m embarrassed by myself. Truly, if I was somebody else, I wouldn’t even speak to me. I am undesirable in every aspect; I harbor so much jealousy, I’m a deadbeat, it’s probably been a decade since I’ve made a “good decision,” I’m annoying, I talk way too much, I have a huge ego (which is interesting because obviously I don’t like myself all that much), I have too much baggage, I’m ugly, I’m insecure, I have no room to consider anyone else in life, and I don’t care. To my core, I wish I could be anyone but me. I don’t know how to describe the gravity of me wishing I was dead. It doesn’t even seem like that big of a deal to me anymore because in all honesty I feel like I’ve been slowly slipping away anyways. Death is not a stranger to me; I feel like I’ve been hanging out on the front porch of the end for far too long, and I just can’t wait to step through that door. When I was little, it was always, “I want to die, but I guess I can wait until after _______…” There was still some hope back then. Now it seems that my hope has run out for me and I just don’t care anymore. I am sorry, but I have exhausted every option for me, and I believe that it’s time for me to regain control at least for a final moment.

#mental illness #tw sh related #made of styro #styroblr #sh cvt #s3lf harn #tw sucidal ideation #$h h4rm #$h tumblr #$h #tw 3d vent #3dtumblr #$h tw #$u!c!d3 #$elf h4rm #$hblr #$elf harm #$h vent #$h relapse #i want to cvt #cvtaddict #baby cvts

[chaotic-neutral-knitter]

I have a meeting with my thesis advisor on Monday and I’m going to talk to him about mastering out of my PhD program.

I’m writing it down so that I actually take the initiative to do it, bc change is scary but the status quo has become untenable. And it’s frustrating bc I feel like I could have gotten through, and I could have been good at this, except there’s been a major crisis (personal, professional, or global) every year I’ve been here and at a certain point the resilience well runs empty.

#should probably put together a list of bullet points so that I can actually get through them in the meeting #unfortunately my mental model of why grad school is bad for me involves vector addition #and that’s not like. a good way to explain it outside of my own brain. #also literally two days later I’m going to my undergrad institution to give a talk #and then on Friday I have a thesis committee meeting lmao #but that’s why I need to tell my advisor BEFORE that meeting #I! hate! this!

[crossbackpoke-check]

wait you got me so invested in the stammer & heddy tailor au....

this is my standard disclaimer that i have never posted a fic on ao3* and for however much i say “au” i truly mean that it’s a universe that lives in my head & i am absolutely delighted to tell you all about, all the time <3 if it helps i ALSO got me so invested in the heddy & stammer tailor au

ok now that the author’s note is out of the way here’s some notes about the not!fic heddy & stammer tailor au:

stammer as the tailor from gent’s playbook, very reserved, quiet, with an excellent eye for details (honestly the evidence i have for his style sense is just that he’s best friends with pk subban so it has to be there somewhere if only by proxy irl) is hired by victor hedman, star of the tampa bay lightning who is every other tailor’s nightmare to dress (huge, opinionated, fashionable)

heddy is decently well-known throughout the league for being very well-dressed & becomes quietly well known for also being one of his new tailor’s favorite loyal customers [heddy has the nicest fabrics. he has his suits the first day a new collection drops & e v e r y o n e is jealous]

stammer’s business booms after heddy takes a chance on him as his first big client & promotes him, heddy sees him grow in popularity & get more clients

heddy also moonlights as a model for stammer’s suits on instagram, initially to help him grow his business because then he won’t have to pay for a model and then because he’s over there all the time anyway because they’re dating (that’s why the model’s face is never in the pictures)

there’s not really a plot to this besides the vague idea of a plot where stammer makes heddy his lucky suit that he wins the cup in & sews a special little tag into the lining of his jacket that says i love you

because love sometimes is picking out the perfect right color pocket square to match your husband’s beautiful suit that you fitted like a kiss to the curves of his huge body

& also sometimes love is making your beautiful husband who makes you beautiful clothing enjoy nice things for himself once in a while, like the fancy watch you bought him or the nice suit you custom-ordered for him (from him) just so you could take it off of him

#*i did very much post a zine on ao3 that was part of a really fun exchange that i loved doing (thank you leah for organizing!!!) #& had a fantastic time with however i have not strictly speaking posted a fic. one day i will. eventually. hopefully. pray for me :) #also one time my horoscope told me i was a ‘neutral projector’ & i’ve never felt more called out (‘loves making up things’/‘will not #actually write or plot but will explain every intricate detail of their world & character relationships’/‘hype up every member of the #writing chat & give good advice but never follow it’) like HI CAN U NOT DO THIS TO ME HOROSCOPE THANKS i was read to FILTH #liv in the replies #i do LOOOOOVE me a good one of them plays hockey the other one does not au sometimes they’re so fun to explore dynamics outside/inside sport #at the time i came up with this stammer was out on IR & heddy kept showing up to the playoffs in ridiculously nice suits what was i to do?? #the gent’s playbook tailor will sometimes model his own suits w/o showing his own face which made it look like he had a secret model come in #heddy canonically says his suits make him feel better when he plays esp during playoffs & if he wins in a suit he’ll keep wearing it #oh also the truth of the love is in the pocket square bit? angela price i will never forget. anyway that blue suit i posted in the last ask #with the perfect pink pocket square? that pocket square is a pair of stammer’s boxers heddy took To Me. in my brain #me about the beautiful clothing: this is like daisy crying in gatsby’s silk shirts except it’s baby alpaca fur & also it’s not sad #it’s simply decadent & the inherent intimacy of a fitting mapping the body yada yada yada knowing the ways to flatter someone is a form #of loving them etc etc. love is art love is food love is given love is stored in the custom three-piece suit and tie #is this an enemies to lovers? workplace drama? is the secret plot i only just now invented & added that heddy is ‘difficult to work with’ #but it’s just because he wants to look good & in the words of his own (real) tailor the hardest guy to fit because he’s so big? OHHH HOLD IT #I GOT THE PLOT IN THE TAGS Y’ALL AND IT’S STAMMER TEACHING HEDDY TO LOVE HIS BODY heddy who’s been told what to/not wear & you know. #the commodification of the body in hockey (but we’re not getting that deep) but stammer with a mouth full of pins tightening heddy’s pant #leg down even further as he listens to what heddy wants for once & lets him pick fabrics (this is the daisy shirt moment but it’s heddy #looking at fabric swatches dozens of books of them stammer helps him pick out matching linings &outsides &squares) & stammer compliments him #& they’re in love & idk NEARLY enough abt fashion but there r like codes? messages? to wearing suits i think w/the etiquette so that too #should this have also gone under a readmore? yeah probably. whoops #victor hedman #steven stamkos #tampa bay lightning

[wroteclassicaly]

She’s Trouble

(Eddie Munson x Female Reader)

Summary: Tired of trailing behind, feeling like you don’t matter much, you decide that 86’ isn’t only going to be your bestfriend’s year.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Word count: 16,185

Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of drug usage, blood, NSFW, smut, drinking, Eddie is angry and sad in this, masturbation, slight voyeurism, breeding kink, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, angry sex, creampie, angst, fighting, rough sex, Dom!Eddie, and MORE!

A/N: I started writing this based off the scene of Eddie smirking at the cheerleaders he lets by after his cafeteria speech. And, well… it’s spawned itself a new life and turned into a whole lot more than I planned. But so is the life of an author, am I right? ;) Eddie is a dick in this, Reader is a lot more vocal than I’ve written before. I wanted to do something a bit different and I hope this accomplishes my mission?

I wanna thank @littledemondani for helping me out of my brain fart on which direction to take this! Also, do check out her masterlist, which is pinned at the top of her blog (it won’t let me link it here). She’s an incredible author and a fellow Eddie Munson slut, and one of my longtime best-friends! ♥️

Side note: I’ve also shifted a few things in the timeline of the show, for obvious reasons. The whole Eddie/Chrissy thing doesn’t happen on the same night as in the series. Chrissy and the reader have a good interaction and Eddie is a dickhead, but his reasoning will be explained. Also, while the reader is wearing a bustier top, this is an all inclusive fic, where the reader can be anything you imagine! I believe anyone can wear anything that they choose to—regardless of their size, so don’t let that bit of the story deter your perception, as I’ve left it open-ended! ;)

Enjoy! I’ve got a lot coming up soon! Part twos of multiple fics, prompts, plus other goodies! <3 - Kristen

~*~

You watch the way that he tries to be cute and coy towards them, attempts to impress with a dramatic wave through of his hand. Short skirts, tight little tops, bouncing ponytails, and a shitload of generic gossip on their painted lips—they pass by, everything included but those damned pom poms. Apparently they are giddy at his little show of calling out every group but your own in the cafeteria. Your eyes roll so hard that you feel a protesting sting, ignoring it to stab your fork into whatever creation is wiggling on your lunch tray. All the guys—freshman to seniors, and you—the only girl since founding, and Hellfire Club’s treasurer/manager to Corroded Coffin—make up the outsider table.

This year, however, you’ve felt so fucking off base with this group and their antics that you’re getting exhausted pretending to care about their shit when they don’t respect you or yours. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike are always the sweetest to you, even with Lucas joining a sport, he’s still quick to always give you a smile and a nod whenever you pass him in the halls. They’re young, unlike Eddie and the older guys. You’re finally a senior this year, but still behind your bestfriend by a year in age. All this used to be okay, Eddie multiplying how much he repeats the grade, you trailing behind him like a lost puppy without any brain of her own, but now—it’s unbearably smothering.

And thus, it’s been building. You’re over bringing chips that are from your personal stash and using your gas to go buy smokes with your small work paycheck, or clean equipment for Eddie’s band, or stay up all night just to design campaign posters for Eddie, only for him to be so fucking stoned that he doesn’t even appreciate it, nor remember it.

“Fucking fake losers,” Jeff mutters.

“So fake,” Gareth agrees, both looking towards Eddie as he settles himself back down, wiggling his brows at you.

It’s an unsettling pressure that boils inside you, crackling, and as soon as you look into your best-friend’s brown doe eyes—it all comes apart. “You wanna talk about fake?” Your chest pumps a rush of adrenaline, helping careen the words off your tongue before you can stop them. Everyone’s attention snaps quicker than you’re prepared for, eyes wide and shocked. Sure, you’re vocal and sassy, but never outwardly angry. “The fact that all of you will condemn the basketball players, but would give up any of your seats at our table for one of the bitches in a skirt that they chase, if they popped their gum or batted an eyelash. You’d all be a bunch of drooling, little horndogs.” You can feel your heart racing with each pronunciation of a word, rising from your seat, knuckles white from gripping the edges of your yellow tray so hard.

You hear Dustin whisper a ‘whoa’, but your vocal vomit doesn’t stop.

“Frankly? I’m fucking sick of all this.” You pick the tray up and slam it down for good measure, unwrapping your messenger bag from around your seat, and you leave the table of gaping young men behind you, not even indulging yourself in Eddie’s bugged out, concerned stare.

You don’t even have time to throw your bag across your chest, when Jason Carver shouts out from behind you, “Damn, look at Munson’s slut go!”

It seems your group aren’t the only ones taking an interest in your outburst. Your breath is engorged in jagged pants of pitiful air, a fire coursing through you faster than you can handle, your skin singing, prickling with goosebumps. Your cheeks redden in humiliation, your feet swiveling and carrying you, fast and quick to their table, you throw your bag off, body like some damned slow motion track. Everyone notices Eddie’s antics, but you’ve never garnered any attention. It’s a surreal high.

Your combat boots click across the cement flooring, your hair like a dead weight across your back. Carver and his entire group are expectant, chairs scraping across to get out of your way. It’s all such a blur that you don’t even know your fist has collided with Jason’s face until you feel the pressure bite into your knuckles, a crunch beneath your force. He shrieks, his friends jumping to his aid, your stance shifting, ready to take anyone on. Your ears are bubbling with a murky static, applause in some direction, shouts in others.

Your name is being shouted from two different directions, the one you see stomping angrily towards you belonging to principal Higgins. He’s calling for help, shoving his finger in your face, motioning to your shirt. “This Hellfire Club does nothing but cause trouble!”

You snort, completely coming off your hinges, shaking the ends of your shirt, before stepping back and flinging it over your head, leaving you clad in your jeans and a leather bustier top no one could ever picture you owning. You’ve always kept your shit to a minimum to draw less attention, but you liked the support it provided your breasts with. You spin around, hands in the air, using the shirt as a lasso, tossing it at your old table. You begin to giggle, honestly wondering if you should visit the school nurse, but uncaring. Higgins is literally sputtering, making you snort, waving a hand. “I’m a slut, I’m trouble. Anyone have anything else to add? No? Yes?”

You bend back over to snatch your nap sack up, motioning to Higgins. “Lead the way to your office, Sir! Please fucking do.”

The pep in your step as your principal is angrily leading you from the masses is such a euphoric feeling, you’re sure you’ll never feel again in your life. You can taste the drama on your tongue’s tip. You don’t even spare your friends a glance, not wanting Eddie to have a morsel of satisfaction. This is your moment. Not as Eddie Munson’s best-friend, not as his groupie. As Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.

~*~

Eddie Munson has been clutching your discarded Hellfire shirt, doused in your perfume that is brimming his nostrils full, damn near trembling for the past twenty minutes that finish up lunch. He can’t move, that swelling between his legs keeping him glued to his seat, all the images of your fist soaring into Jason Carver’s face, ripping off your clothing in front of Higgins and the entire damned school. He went from concerned, angry at how you acted, to so fucking turned on that his stomach knotted up, sucking him to where he’s seated, his cock throbbing in his jeans. He’s never seen you like this.

The guys are silent, unsure what to say, how to even go about comprehending the you they just saw, that even Eddie himself has never heard of. He knows one thing for sure—okay—two. He has to find out if you’re okay and what’s going on.

~*~

You roll your eyes at the lovely note, signature of a three day suspension secured by Higgins at the bottom. Crumbling it up, you slide it into your back pocket, rifling through your pin tattered bag for a cigarette. You already know where you’re gonna go, and it sure as hell isn’t home. No one is there and no one is gonna care about your minor indecency. You can forge your mom’s signature, much like you do every good grade you bring home that she’s never around to see, or every comment from a teacher about how your folks are missing out.

It’s quiet at your house, your space. You parents more or less sleep there when they’re not gone on business. Pinching the filter, you cup Eddie’s stolen Zippo, that ashy hiss helping beckon that sweet bitter taste in past your lips. You don’t desire that home front solace right now, craving different scenery.

Maybe I’ll get lost…

You feel like Hawkins is your oyster, and you’re eager to explore on your own terms, by yourself. You’ve got your smokes, your pocket knife, and a pen and paper. That’s enough for you to make a decision.

Skull Rock it is.

~*~

One thing about Indiana is the ever predictable bite of hot weather that March brings. Spring is automatically Summer in the Midwest, and this is no different. Your leather top had stuck to your skin in an uncomfortable crunching press, making you eventually discard it, leaving you topless, your only accessories a chain with your birthstone pendant and a thicker silver chain, with a cheesy little guitar charm (a present from Eddie) nestled between your breasts. Your form is shaped against the rock behind your bare shoulder blades, a cool sensation that has you tilting your head back, stretching your neck, treetops breezing above you—tall and luscious. You smile softly, undoing the flap on your bag and seeking out your Walkman and sunglasses.

In moments your eyelids are fluttering closed, shielded from sun rays, your Walkman clicking in place, readying Heart’s Barracuda to nick your ears, coasting in welcomed caresses. It’s not thick heavy metal, but it’s you. And in the serenity of these woods, another cigarette you allow yourself—you begin to drift off in a galactic solitude that is solely your own. You’d learnt how to count beats, read sheet music, even sing a few notes from Eddie, so getting into your song’s groove isn’t hard for you, your fingers wrapping around your chain, tapping underneath the swell of your breast along with the chorus. You’re off the precipice and gone, demolished to the point you don’t hear the familiar footsteps, the sound of your name, or leaves and dirt crunching beneath white Reeboks, nor do you hear a throat-deep groan at his discovery.

~*~

Eddie and you always share this in synch kinda shit, which creeps a lot of people in your circle out. Eddie, however, welcomes it today. When he couldn’t find you after abandoning his lunch, spent what was left of the day attempting, only for Henderson to tell him he’d heard you’d been suspended for a few days—he made it his personal goal to find you. Your parents are gone so he knows the times you do and don’t like to be at home by yourself. And with the way you lashed out at everyone, you won’t go anywhere he has easy access to.

That leaves one place. Skull Rock.

~*~

The drive feels shorter to Eddie this time, but the walk longer. He has to shed himself of his denim and leather, tossing it over his shoulder and clambering up the path towards finding you, keeping your club tee in his back pocket. The more he walks, the more he wishes he brought a drink or his smokes, which remain on his dash. If he’s wrong and you’re not here, he isn’t sure if this is reality anymore. This day has been one big mindfuck.

Thankfully, as he hears a loud tone droning over the clearing, a soft hum, his heart patters in his chest, nostrils inhaling sharply. He rounds the corner’s pathway, already calling your name, his eyes widening, jaw unhinged, fists clenching at his sides. You’re reclining against the boulder’s curve, black shades perched over your eyes, hair draped across your neck, your boot clad ankle crossed over the other, a cigarette perched into your puckering pair of lips, your layered chains swaying, slumbering against your skin, and fuck—your tits, Eddie winces, gripping himself to adjust—frozen.

He can’t not notice how your nipples are reacting to the air. He can’t not detail your shape, how your waist is formed, zeroing in on the baby bat you’d gotten to match his larger ones, inked into your ribcage, and he certainly isn’t forgetting your jeans that are settled over your hips. His eyes glaze over, heat prodding his flesh, shrouding him a veil of desire and raw ache. You don’t notice him, calls of your name falling on mainstream rock’s ears. He doesn’t think approaching you is smart, like a cat and mouse, your behavior for once—unpredictable.

Has Eddie just not been paying attention to you that much lately?

Suddenly, when he’s debating a cowardly retreat, baiting his internal monologue for an excuse, your audible gasp is heard, his name crushed between your gritted teeth.

Fuck.

~*~

In all of his glory—stands your best-friend. He’s balling and un-balling his fists, eyes darting rapidly, tongue sucking against his teeth, feet ready to carry him far away. And the more he avoids your stare, the angrier you get. So what, you’re not good enough to look at because your breasts are out? Modesty to a back burner, you take your crossed arms off your chest, scraping your smoke out on the rock, pushing your glasses into a perch upon your head, body facing Eddie as you stand.

I dare you.

Your eyes complicate a challenge—craving him in your proximity, and hating his grunge blanketed sight. Eddie’s neck is a really pretty thing when he tenses, his jugular agitated against a harsh gulp of air. He answers you by meeting you in the clearing, palms sweaty, scrubbing over his back pockets. It’s a cool damned drink of water, as if you’ve been without, making thee Eddie Munson squirm. But he’s still your best-friend, and you are half naked.

Covering yourself back up so he will look you in the eye, you tuck your arms into a push beneath your sternum, forearms shielding your nipples. It’ll have to do.

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing here?” You snap before he can voice a concern or a question.

Tethered to deep breathing techniques, Eddie is insulted, and is biting back in his acidic response. “After your own personal talent show antics at school, I was worried about you. Excuse-the-fuck-outta-me, Y/N.”

A bitter laugh comes from you. “Oh, you’re focused enough on my shit to actually be worried about me? How kind of you, Edward Munson.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be worried about you?” Eddie is raising his voice, sizzling in a cautious rage. He’s usually happy-go-lucky with you, but you’re pushing these fucking buttons he isn’t aware he’s been hiding.

“You really need a list of reasons? Wait,” you say, moving to circle him, pinching your thumb between your teeth, “you’re probably, completely oblivious, because I’m just Y/N. I’m not your club, not your band, not one of your groupies that flounce around for an ounce from you, then leave your ass for their jock boyfriends.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Eddie raises a hand, rings clattering together. “When the fuck did all this start, Y/N?”

Your arms fall back at your sides with a loud ‘thump’. The heating has settled, your high wearing off, truth remaining as to why you’ve been upset in the first place. A caverning hurt carves its place into your chest, igniting an anguish that drowns you. You’re defeated. “It started when my best-friend forgot that I’m my own person and not his servant. Or maybe it began when my person was so stoned that he barely acknowledged a test I fucking flunked to stay up and make his campaign posters—which, may I add—he also gave zero fucks about-“

“So all this is because I didn’t kiss the very ground you walk on for some posters that you practically begged me to make, and wow—your A+ average went to an A. Curse me into the deepest depths of hell, please.” His bracelet slides down his wrist as he palms his heart.

Maybe you’re not the only one who is changing. Eddie hasn’t ever disregarded you in such a crude manner. Your tongue is practically salivating in need to layer on biting and cruel words, things you won’t be able to come back from. You remain silent, mulling over what to say, glaring, docked, stinging prickles of tears. It’s an elating elevation when the words do come. “I’m your best-friend, Eddie. Not your little groupie. I’m tired of you preaching about conformity, when all I do is conform to you. You don’t ever let me pick music, you always take for granted I’ll give you and the guys rides when your van isn’t working, despite if I might have something to do that doesn’t involve an all male ensemble. I spend my money to buy you cigarettes and snacks for the meetings. I manage gigs, I clean your band’s equipment.”

Eddie sniffs, looking pointedly at you, doe eyes dark and growing increasingly fed up. “Didn’t know you were keeping a tally, Y/N.”

“That’s… That’s all you’re taking from everything I just said to you, Eddie?” You can’t keep that hurt out of your tone this time.

Eddie shrugs, crossing his arms, coldly spitting out, “Seems to me like you’re sick of me. And that’s not my problem, that’s yours.”

Your head is swimming in turmoil, all your acting out and emotions swirling into a mindfuck. He doesn’t care. You’re standing here finally pouring your entire soul out in heaps and your person is pouring gasoline on the pieces, dangling a match.

“I’ve never kept a tally, Eddie. I do these things because they make you happy, and that makes me happy, but it fucking sucks when you don’t appreciate them or care about anything in my life, either.”

“That’s what you really think, Y/N?” There’s a flatline in how he’s speaking to you.

“No,” you murmur, “it’s what I know.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches, teeth grinding. He kicks at the ground with the toe of his shoe, brows raising. “Breaking Jason Carver’s nose and my cold, dead heart.” He splays a hand across his chest. Those rings, which are always a comfort to you, reflecting off the sunlight, dripping in judgement.

Your trembling wavers, crackling sentence structure falling apart. “Eddie. Don’t.”

“No. Fuck you, Y/N. Seriously, fuck you!” He shouts, snapping a finger in your direction.

Your hands rub up and down your goosebump soaked skin, finalizing what you need to do. Heaving in a deep breath, a sentence escapes your lips. And you pray, pray Eddie will heed this warning and value what you have enough to understand, to work it out. “Maybe it’s time to fess up to the fact that 86’ needs to be a bigger year for us both.”

Mind reader. A power you’ve never wanted more than in this moment as you claw at the cusp of your best-friend’s reaction. Outwardly, Eddie shifts, Adam’s apple bobbing, thumb swiping underneath his nose. Your mouth waters, throat reflexes threatening a fountain of vomit. And Eddie takes your warning, slaying through it, every bit of ground beneath your boots threatening to cave in.

“You’re right. Hell, Carver is right. You do act like my slut. And you have every right to change it, because it’s only holding us both back. And it probably has been for a long time.”

Kicking you would’ve hurt less. You’re unable to see Eddie’s form longer, muddled to a watery silhouette, your brave bravado dissipating. You won’t beg him. You’re nothing to him anymore, he’s just confirmed. You try not to think about the first time he taught you how to dance before your first snowball, or how you both snuck Jim Hopper’s cigarettes when you’d get in trouble at school and be sent to see him for minor misdemeanors, or Eddie’s pride when he managed to get you on stage to sing one song with the band, rubbing circles on your back the whole time you both sang to a trio of drunks, or splitting beers on his van’s roof and nearly breaking limbs when it started raining and you had to climb down, how he taught you to drive in the fancy neighborhood and you knocked over the mayor’s mailbox, when you watched him buy his ‘sweetheart’, tears in his eyes at a possession so gorgeous and all his own, his hands gentle as they held you the nights you cried from one stupid thing that felt massive to you, when he was your person and you were his.

Your wet, quivering breaths are what you hear. Birds chirping, wind rustling, even Eddie’s heavy breathing drowned out. It takes what feels like eternity, before Eddie is slashing the quiet, guarded and stoic. “You need to put a fucking shirt on.”

Your jeans are covered in tear drops from a bowed head, fingers shaking hard enough that your knuckles roll into a crack at the motions. You wipe your tears in time to see Eddie hold out your Hellfire shirt—second edition—his being the first. His reverie breaks briefly, and you think… maybe. It’s gone in those brown eyes that you can no longer read or recognize. Filled with loathing and disgust at you, his last words imprinting on your psyche, a physical recoil.

“On second thought. You won’t be needing this anymore.” Eddie makes his way around you and finds his lighter atop your bag, flicking a flame to life and nudging it at the end of your shirt. It catches quick, burns fast, like every fiber of friendship with Eddie Munson.

Eddie tosses the tattered, charred remains to the forrest floor, pocketing his lighter, walking away from you and out of your life.

~*~

He can’t stay any longer and watch you fall apart, not when he’s running away from his cowardice. And he does, run. He moves and clambers, stumbles until he’s from you and the cries that he hears pour off your lips. His chest is thumping sporadically, pulse in his blurry vision. His five fingers catch a tree, slamming, splintering, a sob breaking free of his tear soaked lips.

Eddie Munson forces himself to remember how unsure you looked in your dress when he held you around your waist, never feeling more himself in his entire life than he did with you— at thirteen—during some cheesy school dance, how you entertained his tunes so he could teach you the counting method he uses for his music to move your feet to the beat, all your encouragement every time he hit a new note, or your midnight phone calls to ask what he’d like on his posters, your body trusting him to keep you safe on those nights when everything became too much for you in your life, but you had tried to hide it, or when you both snuck in to see Carrie when you were pre-teens and you couldn’t sleep without him, so he made a makeshift mattress next to your bed for a month, about that time you were so tired from an all nighter that he had walked into his room and found you curled up in his bed, using his vest as a makeshift pillow, your nagging him to study more, because he’s always capable of anything he sets his mind to, and those cookies—the only thing you can bake without having to call for Hawkins fire department—a container you’d brought for him and his Uncle, still sitting on his kitchen counter.

He was your person and you were his. And now? You’re gone. Eddie runs away. He keeps running, leaving you to your own miserable anguish, drowning in his own, getting himself in his rust bucket and going back to his trailer to get completely fucked outta his not-so-right mind.

~*~

By the time your suspension is over and you can no longer barricade yourself into your room and finish off another bottle from your dad’s liquor cabinet—it’s sheer dread. You’re not only the freak who broke Hawkins Highschool’s Prom King’s nose, but you’re the freak without anyone by your side—a true and thorough outsider. As you stand outside your school, nails pinching into already weakened threads dedicated to your bag’s strap, you’re really regretting those couple of drinks this morning and how you’d poured more vodka into a flask to take your Tylenol with. Hell, it’s not like you can get a fix from the school dealer anymore, is it?

Those damned double doors are louder, a jolt to your already throbbing headache, fluorescent lights sparkling in your retinas through your shades that cover a nursing hangover and distraught, red and puffy eyes from a three day sob fest. Each step your boots make sounds like you’re walking to your death, your outfit—sans any Hellfire related attire—is all yours. Your two chains limited to one, Eddie’s gift waiting in a cardboard box you’d half-assed assembled, and tossed in random shit he’d given you. The deeper you get into every hallway, making simple turns you know like the back of your hand, your nausea grows as to what might be awaiting around each corner. Or who. It’s a short lived relief upon arrival at your locker.

You pinch your shades off, raw eyes protesting the moment fresh tears staple your skin in brushes. In red letters, diagonally capitalized across your door contains what you haven’t wanted to face since it happened.

The freak got dumped

You choke on your salvia, throat wet and enduring a suffocation strong enough to have you gagging on the piece of toast and water you’d forced your famished form to consume this morning. You barely make it into the toilets before double over and expelling everything, diaphragm on fire, bones vibrating through tosses. Hair dangling in your face, plastered to your mouth, you sniffle and tremble, vision blurring. You ponder getting yourself fucking expelled, but you made this whole ordeal about it being your year. If you retreat now, what will that do? Mustering all your strength, your courage, you flush your bile, clean off your mouth and face, pop a mint, take a swig out of your flask, and make your way to your first class.

~*~

By the ever popular lunch time, you have managed to clean your locker and pinpoint the culprit (an ashamed that a girl broke his nose, Jason Carver), but neither of you speak on it. You keep your head down, you focus on your school work, you take your Tylenol, and you sip on your vodka. Enough to keep an edge off, but not enough to send you down a despairing hole filled with regret and torment. You know you’re being stared at as soon as you hit the line to get your tray. It’s fake smiles and refusal to acknowledge it that gets you in search of an aisle, and hopefully out of sight. You aren’t so lucky…

“Hey, Y/N! Over here!” You hear an all too cheery voice belonging to Dustin Henderson. It halts you in your tracks, a wince causing a physical recoil.

It’s not his fault you and Eddie no longer have anything resembling a relationship, and he apparently has not told them, and they’ve not seen Jason Carver’s masterpiece.

Good.

What isn’t good is that Eddie is very much at your old table and you know it’s unavoidable. You wished you had borrowed some concealer for your under eyes, but it’s too late. There’s a grand staircase cloaked in invisibility beneath your feet, your stomach knotting in crushing vices, your cheeks stained with red. You walk to your former friend group, trying like hell not to side eye Eddie Munson. Keeping a steady focal point without blinking against your scratchy lower lids is damn near impossible. And guys are going to be guys—much to your chagrin. Gareth is drawing further attention where nothing needs to be, popping off with a, “Damn, Y/N lookin’ like she went on a bender.”

“A week long bender,” Jeff chimes in.

Biting the inside of your cheek between your teeth, you shrug a shoulder. Better them having knowledge of your binge drinking celebration than knowing about how messed up you are.

Don’t look at Eddie. Is your mantra for today.

He, on the other two hands, is not prioritizing that same aspect.

“So what if I did? I know of about ten girls who can drink your asses under the table, myself included.” You smirk, gripping your tray’s edge.

“Been holding back on us?” Gareth is grinning from ear to ear. It eases your shouldered weight tremendously, breaking tension in your table’s ranks.

“You gonna have a seat or what?” Mike Wheeler interrupts, his hands flipping towards a desired target, one that you wish you could keep pretending you never knew.

Fuck it.

You really crave for some divine intervention to help you, because meeting those chocolate brown eyes that are distraught, angry, and rimmed red—your heart constricts to painful blows, windpipes crushed beyond speaking capabilities. Eddie’s been somewhere off planet earth with that kinda high, you remember seeing his demeanor that way only a handful of times, including this one. Maybe he does care? No, doesn’t matter, don’t go there. It’s over and done.

Still, that idiotic, massively moronic part that Eddie owns of you—it’s billowing hope. Eddie Munson dashes it in seconds flat.

“No.”

You glance away, jaw twitching to control an automatic quiver. Dustin is laughing it off as a joke, someone else asking why. Eddie reclines his legs in your empty chair, loud enough to get your attention back. He wants me to see.

“No traitors.” It’s a simplistic answer, aggressive, no room to argue.

Ever-the-curious-freshmen, Dustin and Mike peg their leader for questions. You halt it, tone breaking apart, fingers tucking into your shirtsleeve as you balance your lunch on one hand and wipe across raw flesh to clean fresh tears from your eyeline. That’s when Eddie does look away.

Coward.

“It’s okay, guys.” Is what you say.

“What’s going on?” Gareth asks.

“I won’t be around meetings or practices anymore, but I’m still here if anyone needs anything, okay? You know where my locker is, and where I live.” You pat yourself on the back for that robotic but truthful statement.

“Unless you’re sick of everyone else too…” His deep voice rumbles.

Like a deer in headlights— you’re frozen, a blinding rage of hurt and red hot anger pouring over you in a storm. You explode. Picking up the first thing in your sight, which happens to be on your plate—a glob of some chocolate goop (possibly a brownie)—it’s slung directly at your former best-friend’s crisp white Hellfire shirt. Your second cafeteria incident that, yet again, everyone notices. Eddie yelps, shouting out your name in brisk spits.

You further it, abandoning your food in a repeat of days ago, floating to his side and shoving him back two steps. Eddie stops his rapid shirt swipes and immediately presses his form into yours, chests smashed, food squishing through your top. His hair is frazzled from the humidity, his toffee colored irises slowly polishing into a thick black gloss of dilated pupils. He sucks his tongue against his teeth, swaying into you, not touching you with those hands, an air about him that is beginning to swarm your initial reaction and bend it over, fucking it into the next decade. He’s taller than you remember, but you latch onto your own, tasting that cigarette soaked breath, lips hovering over his, hot tears matting your lashes.

Whether it’s regarding his inability to respond to your reasoning for this whole situation, his lack of expression, your self-disappointment for something roused inside you at his huffing proximity, you crown him with a title off a jagged voice box, damp in her sorrows, just as Dustin steps between you two, gently prying. “You’re a fucking coward, Eddie Munson.”

Teachers are starting to flock in, and you shake your head, hand over your eyes briefly, before sprinting in strides from the room in search of a place to collapse.

~*~

If you had told yourself at the beginning of the school year that you’d be in a camaraderie with the girl’s bathroom—you would have laughed. And if your mind had convinced you otherwise, you’d have expected Eddie to be right beside you, arm around your shoulders, sharing his lunch, making stupid jokes, coming up with lame ideas to make you feel better, but in that endearing Eddie Munson kinda way. You let out a soft cry, giving up on that stinging beneath your lids. You’re a hot mess and the whole building probably knows how alone you really are now. When the outcasts cast you out, where else can you go?

Clenching onto the sides of the ceramic sink, bag slipping off your shoulder and onto the floor, you keep your head bowed between your shoulder blades, not noticing someone come in and approach you, a gentle set of fingers laying upon your shoulder. Through foggy vision you can make out the green colors of her uniform and her perfectly straight ponytail, her face seemingly concerned. Your laugh is exhaustion on steroids, expression bombarded with emotion. “Okay, what the fuck is next? A girl craves some independence and the whole school turns against her. Let me guess, your boyfriend sent you to get even? Why don’t I make it easy for you and you can call your friends in here, and… and—“

Great.

Your lungs start to burn, your ribcage pounding with an erratic heartbeat, throat feeling like it’s been dusted with a thick blanket of ash. You’re panicking in front of Chrissy Cunningham. That alone has you feeling more pathetic than ever before in your life, and it worsens your heaving sobs—broken and unguarded. Chrissy’s eyes are drinking you in, irises glossing over with tears of her own. She grasps your other shoulder and squeezes, not releasing her hold on you, her soft voice strong when she speaks, but gentle enough between the expanse of your shared airspace.

“One, two, three, four. Okay, now deep breath in, and release it for me, Y/N.” She’s actually calming you, keeping you steady on your feet, which feel as if they’re sinking into the flooring below like led weights.

“Chrissy…” You aren’t sure how to articulate, still alarmed and attempting to breathe with her.

“I’m right here. Just keep breathing and counting with me.” And you do. And that’s when it hits you.

She has experience with this mind numbing panic too. That otherworldly anxiety. You feel a connective pull towards the cheerleader—seeing—not this persona you’d imagined, but her calming features, her easy going manner towards you, how she lets you find your lifeline, but also lends you her own in case you need it. When your breathing slows, she gives you a look, a silent communication of question. You may be able to breathe a little easier now, but it doesn’t stop the weight of your situation from crashing down and demolishing what’s left of you.

“Can I… I’m gonna hug you, is that okay?” At this point, if she’s going to put a sign on your back you don’t care. You need the human connection, the comfort. You agree and your schoolmate takes you into a light grip, but folds her arms around you and lets you bury your cheek against her perfumed sweater.

You both stand in the embrace, no trace of awkwardness, a sense of kinship and knowing. It’s when you pull back that hint of a questionable concern with her, wiping your sore eyes with a hiss. She notices.

“Are you here because of Jason? I just need to know.”

“Jason was a dick, Y/N.” Her language shocks you, having only heard her be proper before.

You laugh, your first genuine giggle in days. It’s contagious, as she joins in, hip jutting against the sink. “No, I’m here on my own terms. I promise. I saw what happened with your friends…”

“Yeah, I can imagine how everyone must be amused right now.” You bite your lip, facing away.

Chrissy gives you a saddened smile, but attempts to reassure. “I know this is gonna sound incredibly lame coming from me, but you’re stronger than all this, Y/N. The way you’ve stood up for yourself these past several days… I admire it.”

You frown deeply, wondering if this is a trick, because no way is Chrissy Cunningham admiring someone like you.

“You admire a loser that can’t even manage her own newfound independence?”

“No,” she says with a pause, looking down at her French tip manicure, before facing your curious gaze once more. “I admire your ability to stand up for yourself, despite what everyone is saying or doing to you. It’s a good quality to have, one that many of us are afraid of, you know?”

There’s this hollow pain in her eyes and your continued recognition has you pulling her in for another hug—this time for her benefit, rather than yours.

“Looks like we’ve fallen into the cliché trap, Cunningham.” You grin, pulling back.

Chrissy tilts her head, curious. “What do you mean?”

“A freak and a cheerleader thinking the same as what their peers think, and getting each other totally wrong.”

Her sweet eyes light up, her head nodding. “That’s exactly it.”

You share a knowing smile, a newfound bond forming. Chrissy situates her small shoulder bag, pulling out a compact and tugging you by your sleeve. “C’mhere. Let me fix that.”

She takes a gentle hand, not rushing as she speckles your sore under eyes with her own stash of makeup. After she blends it with soft fingertips, she snaps the lid closed and places it back in her bag, turning you to the bathroom mirror, brushing some of your hair through, giving your back a rub. “Is that any better, Y/N?”

Your circles are mostly covered, puffiness disguised enough where you won’t be embarrassed. You look and feel much better, and you’re overwhelmed with gratitude for the blonde at your side. You incline yourself into a swivel, leaning in her direction. “Chrissy Cunningham, I think you’re one of the sweetest people I now kinda, sort of know.”

Her giggle is infectious, and she gives you another squeeze. You drop down to swoop your messenger bag into your arms, grabbing out a your notebook and a pen, scribbling your home phone on it, hesitating, before handing it over. “If you ever need to talk to someone about all the bullshit, whatever it is, consider me your new confidant.”

She holds the simple sheet paper as if it’s another lifeline and you’ve just given her a treasure. Going back into her own bag, she has a cute little pink embroidered stationary paper that she jots her number on, and uses a smiley face to dot the i in Chrissy. Seconds later, her friends and a group of other girls burst into the bathroom, gossip on their lips. You and Chrissy flash each other a secret smile, and you make another hasty retreat.

~*~

Eddie had to hear a bunch of shit from the guys, overly bearing questions sounded off by Henderson and Wheeler. The eventual revealing by a passerby group of cheerleaders about your specially decorated locker, had surprised him too. As if there’s not already a weighted dagger wedged into his ribcage, one interlocking into his heart muscle—he lost control with his bitter mouth again, and it fueled your temper. But deep down, deeper into those subconscious recesses, you both felt that ignition start, a kind of coercing heat that is waging an internal war in Eddie’s head. His sole reason for blocking you out and refusing to talk about anything with you in the woods.

Eddie Munson is in love with you. Eddie Munson needs to fuck you.

It’s something he’s always done—built walls, got high, stayed drunk, coped with humor, hid behind his guitar or his campaigns. And without his right hand woman, he feels naked, too vulnerable to all the bullshit he’s tried to keep out. And your absence has become a set course for his weakening concentration on anything that isn’t you. His ultimate warrior princess is also his Achilles heel. Your feelings in wanting to branch out, they scare Eddie.

His brain is flipping logic into thinking you are seeing what everyone else sees in him: freak, failure, piece of shit, a nobody, a criminal. He pushed you out before he could pull you back in—easy, abrupt. And it’s not just changing him—no—he could smell your vodka soaked breath across the table, see your eyes swollen and glazed—absent. For the first time in years you weren’t wearing your limited edition shirt (thanks to him), and Eddie isn’t sure why he expected you to still have his chain around your neck. It fucking hurts.

As the room slowly falls back into their daily routine, Eddie loses his appetite and leaves his herd behind, urgent to get the fuck outta this building, out of Hawkins. Hell, maybe even the country. Like you, however, Eddie Munson’s retreat isn’t one that is unscathed. In his urgency, he smacks straight into you, stumbling over his own clumsy ass feet, gripping your forearms to keep you both steady. He’s processed your scent before he even takes in your beautiful features.

Fuck…

You look less like you’ve been partying all weekend, but Eddie knows better. Your pupils are dilated to the bright overhead lights of the hallways, making your sclera more visible. It’s bloodshot red, lower lids swollen and tinged a rough crimson beneath the fresh makeup that Eddie now sees. He swallows and looks away, but he doesn’t let you go. His grip isn’t harsh, it’s simply what it’s always been with you two. Easy and sturdy, safe.

You’re the first to downcast your gaze, focusing more on your shoe wear than on Eddie. It kills him. Even through these notions, this fear, whatever anger you’re both harboring, it’s as if this whole damned school and everyone passing you two are mere bodies, Eddie Munson and Y/N Y/L/N floating, tethered. His stomach churns its lunch contents, teeth clenching tightly. You make a brisk dart off, but Eddie attempts to catch you, instead tugging too hard on your shoulder strap, causing your bag to dump and spread out its contents at his sneaker clad feet.

Eddie’s eyes are quick to see it before you realize. Shining underneath hallway lights, scattered amongst notebooks and pens, is a small flask. His brows perch, he crouches first, scooping it away from your jutting hands. Gareth’s words rewind and play on repeat in his head.

“Damn, Y/N lookin’ like she went on a bender.”

The way his heart rate spikes, hostilely spitting that acid all over his lungs, battering his throat muscles with a pummeling storm. He’s already sure what he’ll smell if he presses the lid to his nostrils, but Eddie has to feed his anxious curiosity, unscrewing the cap with nervous hands, sniffing, shrugging off your grabs. It burns his mouth from its strength, his distraction giving you enough leeway to wrap your hands over his fingers and pull. Eddie locks your digits within his own, second thoughts gone. Against everything inside him he is getting angrier by the second, the anger masking itself, easier than being petrified and scared in front of you.

And Eddie is scared. Is he really so fucking stupid to think you weren’t at all affected by any of this?

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Your fingers sliding through his own, flood him, prickling every vein running beneath his skin, cutting off his blood flow—scorching.

~*~

Having Eddie’s hands on you again, his body so close, despite your shame at his discovery, it’s a feeling that comes more natural than breathing. You avoid his question, feeble grasping docked.

“Why do you have a flask full of fucking vodka?”

“Will you keep your voice down!” You hiss the words, finally breaking off him and retrieving the rest of your items on the scuffed up floor, and securing them back into your bag, Eddie holding back your liquor.

“Did you drive to school drinking this crap? Tell me you didn’t, Y/N, cause’ I swear to god—“

You chortle, a humorless boom smacking across your chest.

“Eddie, this faux best-friend act is getting old. Your on and off switch is enough to drive anyone to drastic measures. But don’t flatter yourself into thinking I’d be an idiot and drive drunk. Not even for you.”

His irises that are glossy with concern, they cave to dilating pupils, an animalistic rage priming them. “Oh, you have got to be the most clueless bitch alive, Y/N.” He steps towards you, frame towering slightly. You’re not afraid, never fearing if he’ll do something, because that is not Eddie, no matter what. But, you are very much dripping with rage at his words.

He pockets your flask in his left back pocket, rings clinking against it as he pats it for good measure. You try to dive around him, beneath his arm, but he swoops in on his own, using that strength for his slender frame, literally scooping you into a half bring-away, only discarding you back onto your feet once you’re both outside. You try to shove at him, palms resting on his stained club shirt. The bell has rang to signal your free period, but you don’t give two fucks, giving up and being the one to leave.

“Who’s the coward now, huh? You’re gonna walk away from me when I call you on your shit, Y/N?”

You spin on your heel, dirt and gravel specks crunched beneath your step. “I thought I was a clueless bitch, Eddie? A traitor? Or, your slut.” You scoff, crossing your arms.

Guilt briefly flickers across his features, but he shuts it down tenfold. “Just because we’re fighting doesn’t mean I want you to destroy your fucking liver or your life. Jesus Christ, you really think I’m that big of an asshole?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore!” You fling your hands into the air. “One minute we’re at each other’s throats, the next you’re up my ass. I don’t know what to do here, Eddie.”

“Thought you craved some individuality and independence.” Though there’s meant to be flare behind the words, Eddie’s tone has splintered across each word, voice breaking apart. Your guts sink into your ass, as does a particularly pointed swallow that stabs at your jugular.

“Didn’t say I wanted to be completely independent from my best-friend.” Your own response is gentle, voice soaked with impending emotion.

Fuck. Stupid fucking tears burning again. Not right now.

Eddie’s attention snaps back on you, proximity closing in. His jaw clenches, he moves it from side to side with a closed mouth, sniffing, whistling air through a wet breath. “Feels like you’re leavin’ me and I can’t do anything to stop it…”

It makes sense suddenly. A catapult of truth slamming right into your chest, spreading throughout your body.

He thinks I’m leaving him. That I want to leave him.

As if the last seventy two hours haven’t happened, better yet, as if they haven’t mattered in the grand scheme of things—you’re the one that meets Eddie, reaching to push that curly hair from his eyes, his head downcast and posture sullen. His brown eyes are brimmed with tears that spill over his lash line, a permanent frown creased between his brows, mouth red and spit slick. Those freckles on his nose are suddenly very prominent to you. You’ve never seen Eddie Munson this vulnerable. Your heart shatters, the ache so physically strong that you have to remain close to him to hold on and find that strength again.

How could you have gotten this so monumentally wrong? Maybe if you’d have expressed what you meant more instead of feeding off Eddie’s anger. His communication and yours both need nurturing, but your sudden shift in mood must’ve made him feel like you wanted to abandon him, not just do things for yourself. He may not realize that yet, but you do. And it fucking sucks.

“Eddie. I’m sorry.” It’s all you can say in the seconds that your heart heaves into your throat.

He shakes that shaggy mane. “Don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me, especially you.” He backs away from you and you see his entire expression crumble, tears spilling onto his cheeks.

That pain drowns your throat, seeing him cry because of your lack of explanation and mutual avoidance. You chase after him, running around to block his view, unable to let him go, gripping onto his waist beneath his jacket to keep him planted. Another familiarity. He tenses beneath your touch before relaxing.

“Eddie, will you please listen to me? I think I know what’s going on now.”

“And look who is the one flipping her emotions this time.”

“Because, I… Eddie, I—“

“What lame ass line do you want me to buy, Y/N? You think I’m not used to worthless promises or idiotic reassurances? Yeah, good.” His sentence is fragmented, voice rough and breaking apart on each word. “You know I still care about you, but I don’t need you to lie to me, you don’t owe me a damn thing, I promise you—“

You press a finger to his quivering lips, halting him. There’s a shift in the atmosphere, a pause in the universe, your legs heavy, fingertip stroking along the plumpness of your best-friend’s full, lower lip. Eddie’s chest is moving up and down swiftly, tongue against his teeth, that warning look. You fail to heed it and Eddie’s hands tremble at his sides before he gives up and cups the sides of your face, bringing your foreheads together. His lips part to speak, your finger still on them. “Think we’re in trouble here.”

You can do nothing but nod as his declaring statement, inclining your head further, nose nudging his own. It doesn’t feel as if you’re standing any longer, every mean thing that Eddie has said, every disproportionate attempt of yours to communicate—obliterate, shrouding you both in the process. His breath is hot as his mouth opens and he sucks your finger inside, tongue licking its tip, biting the digit between those milky white teeth. It sends that throbbing nudge, snapping between your thighs, making you arch into your best-friend. You whisper his name and his fingers move along your jaw, across your ear, sliding through your hair and rubbing a pathway to your necks’ nape, sending an army of goosebumps across your flesh, the coolness of his rings stimulating your skin.

“Yeah, you feelin’ it too?” Your lids flutter closed, Eddie using his thumb pad to brush the corners of your lashes, signally for you to open them. “Didn’t say you could stop looking at me, did I, sweetheart?”

You grind against him, unable to stop. Your last several days, everything between you both is on hold, these buried urges able to finally win out. This dominant side of Eddie Munson has you an inward and outwardly quickening pile of mush and hormones, of fucking need. Eddie about loses his cool when you obey him, pupils blown, mouth looking parched and in need of his kisses. He leans, walls starting to slip, resolve crumbling, his pouting mood long gone.

Years of built up tension and confusion, being rightfully by one another’s sides, it all comes apart, the seams, begging to be repaired into what it has to be now.

You envelop his hold on you, hands sliding into slips beneath his jacket, around his waist, tracing over his back, before dipping under his armpits and grasping his shoulders, knuckles pushed down by his leather jacket. One more step and he’ll kiss you. He’s closing a gap, no more breaches, you tapping his shoulders right down to the blades in encouragement. It’s parted mouths hovering over one another, cigarettes and vodka, school lunch and weed, it’s—

“Hey, guys! Higgins is so pissed off right now… After that shit went down in the caf, he’s ready to expel you, Y/N! Pretty fuckin’ sure.” You hear Gareth approach, and just like, Eddie releases you.

You have to steady yourself, want simmering into a slumber in your belly, not yet gone, but still reminding you where it lives. Your glare is directed at your mutual friend. Eddie, feeling as if he’s been doused with ice cold water, and the moment is shattered, you see those walls rebuilding rapidly, and she shrugs off your hand, leaving you and Gareth, and that slickness that has collected in your panties.

~*~

You aren’t sure just exactly what Eddie is feeling, but you’re very aware of what you are. So driving to his place once you know Wayne has left for the night shift—it’s a no brainer. You’d debated bringing Eddie your box of treasures, even your necklace, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Maybe, maybe your best-friend doesn’t want you to…?

Want.

A dynamic shift in your relationship, or what it used to be. You can barely sit still as you wrack your brain through all the levels of hazy blurs. So much has happened in three days, but… today, with Eddie nearly kissing you on the mouth, and you nearly grinding against him in the Hawkins High parking lot—yeah, you two have to talk about all of this. As you squirm in your seat, hands tightening around the wheel, that approaching trailer park sign signals your arrival to his residence. You can’t stop the way your heartbeat feels as if it’s ping ponging around in your throat, or that anxious twitch of your mouth’s corner—forget even attempting to deny your cascading memories of the way his chocolate irises wore an expression unlike anything you’ve ever seen on Eddie Munson.

His trailer comes into your sights, that tickle swooping your guts and holding them hostage. You swallow a thick ball of anxiety, parking next to his van, cutting your engine. The lights are all on and you’ve got no excuse to chicken out. It’s your year too, right? Fucking fuck it.

With your keys clutched in your palm, you make your way to Eddie’s trailer, rasping on his door lightly. You don’t hear his music blaring, so he might be reading, planning a campaign, writing some music he’d mentioned wanting to practice with the guys soon, get a feel for its sound—just last week. You have given about three octaves of knocks and are about to give up, head pressed the door, thinking he was just lost in lust earlier, and maybe you’d fucked up on your end beyond repair. Exhausted by the stampeding pain that brings your insides, you flip the Munson’s spare key off your key ring and unlock the door. A bold move—albeit—a very stupid one.

That familiar scent of Eddie and Wayne’s shared carton of cigarettes hits your nose, along with the leftovers from dinner you see sitting out on the stove. Your cookies, which have been devoured, are missing their note. You panic, briefly thinking Eddie probably trashed it, only to come back from that brink seconds later. It’s not what you’re here for. You glance at the couch and it’s empty, not even Eddie’s usual indent on the cushion is there.

Swinging your keys from your pointer finger, you peek down the small hallway to Eddie’s closed door, light spilling out underneath. He could be sleeping, possibly ignoring you, or he snuck out the back door…

Your feet make an echoing squeak across the trailer’s flooring structure, your fingers twisting the knob and pushing, pausing, deciding to go ahead. If he wants you to leave then you’ll go, if he’s asleep, you’ll go, if he left… You can’t fathom that thought, another ignorance that you partake in. You aren’t sure exactly what you expected, but seeing your best-friend’s tallish frame, with his back facing you, lean leg propped atop his mattress, right arm bent at a very clear angle, his left propped on one of his many amps he’d apparently moved since you’d been here last—is sure as hell NOT it. Eddie’s curly hair ruffles and is jostled across his shoulders with each movement his arm makes, his delicious ass clenching as his body thrusts into his rhythm, the outline of his chain on his perspired neck and damp strands of dark hair—clear. You don’t have to hear the thick, slick and wet stroking to know what he’s doing to himself.

You cross an ankle over the other, squeezing your legs together tightly, trying to bounce on the balls of your heels to get relief. Your fingers white knuckle his banged up door handle, your mouth parting. Whether it’s that bond you two share, or your very visible labored breathing, Eddie’s shoulder blades pinch together, his motions abruptly cut. He turns as if caught doing something he shouldn’t be—definitely something you aren’t prepared to handle. It’s like your mouth is speaking for you, eyes in a trance, enslaved to your lustful abiding.

Fucked out, blown up pupils shave off the color of your irises, your tongue gliding across your teeth, that take a turn to sink into your bottom lip, your toes curling in your shoes. You feel hot, body battered in melting flames that won’t cease, won’t let you get in a normal burst of air flow. You know without having to fix your posture that you’ve made a mess between your legs, panties soaked to hell—completely ruined. You’re honest to fuck not sure if you can make it out of here in an upright position, that painfully strong ache tackling your cunt, breaking off your common sense, leaving you Eddie-drunk. Helping yourself to a swiping look between his legs, he’s still got a ring clad hand wrapped around a very generous girth—shiny—a length that leaves saliva pooling on your tongue’s tip.

His chest is slick with sweat, tattoos glossed beneath, nipples hard from the cool air let into his bedroom. Which, you note, is really fucking hot, and the window is steamed up. Your eyelids flutter in rapid blinks to help you reign yourself in, but all you see are glimpses of Eddie’s fist around himself, that creamy and swollen head, full balls on either side, trimmed curls at the base of his shaft. You want to die. And oh, what a sweet and sinful death that would be.

“Mhm… fuck.” You say through the gap between your panting mouth, words take the opportunity to bust free, joining a high pitched whimper.

Eddie’s chocolate eyes are completely black, leaving no room for anything else but purely raw desire. They widen, a sharp heave in his inhaling chest, abdomen flexing as he holds himself tightly. When you don’t move Eddie takes the initiative, slowly approaching, a softness there beneath the want and knowing. He reaches your space, still giving you enough, but you’re able to still feel that radiating body heat. Neither of you speak, because what is there to say right now?

You’d be a pleading mess of profanities, apologizes, and begging to be taken and used.

Thankfully, Eddie makes another move before you. His spare hand joins your own on the door knob, fingers brushing your knuckles, encouraging, giving you one more opportunity if you’re in distress or uncomfortable. You hook onto his offer and you surprise you both by finding something to say after all, throat parched, yet still damp with wanton rasp. “Start touching yourself again, Eddie. Please?” Fuck, well there’s a beg.

Eddie, assuming you want a show, nerves being dipped in lava and left to forever sizzle and smoke—gives in, both of you shutting his door and closing the two of you off from the outside world. He doesn’t wait for you to back away, pushing his hips to a rise, his cock gliding through his closed fist. You let him lean over you, frame against his door, watching his legs spread to widen his stance, obeying your plea. He almost asks, but assumes it would be too hopeful if you would want to touch yourself in front of him too. You’re out of your mind, common sense obliterated for all eternity, watching your bestfriend practically pin you to the door and fuck himself in front of you.

Those sounds you’ve imagined, pictured, they’re even more pronounced in person. Some low enough that it’s a stifling whimper, a needy sobbing. If you don’t do something about the gnawing throbbing between your thighs, it’ll be total combustion. There’s an empowerment that winds itself around a pulsating set of nerves in one’s decision to masturbate in front of their best-friend. That coolness works itself in your palms, your fingers tossing your keys over and onto Eddie’s dresser, toeing off your shoes, his eyes steamy in their grasp on your every move.

You’d wished you had brought your camera to photograph his expression when you walk over to where he stood in front of his bed, turning to face him, your fingers undoing your jeans and the zipper, a resounding echo in the room, Eddie’s tongue poking out on his upper lip, he holds himself around the base, the urgency to fuck his hand as you take your seat on his mattress and scoot with your back to the wall, hips lifting to help you pull off your jeans and panties. You struggle momentarily, but neither of you are saying a word, gazes steady and unwavering.

Discarding your clothing with a soft thump onto his floor, you’re heartbeat thumps in your throat, ribcage taking an unsteady hammering of its resounding drumming. You heed Eddie’s silent command to continue, agreeing to this turning point between you two. Your thighs fall open and that sticky want strings to your swollen folds, glistening in the creases of your thighs, your cunt sopping wet. You’re dripping, and Eddie isn’t missing it when your arousal finally does drizzle from your neglected pussy and onto his bedsheets. You shift to get comfortable, hand cupping yourself, immediately smothered in your own juices, legs falling into a drop, toes finally able to curl without the barrier of your shoes, bunching Eddie’s sheets.

Eddie watches you from where he can see, still eager to be closer, but unable to stop himself from stroking along his length, teasing that vein that runs alongside his cock. You do it again, rubbing your palm up and down your lips, a crude squelch causing Eddie to almost black out, and you shiver. He releases himself, heavy and hot between slim thighs, and he’s moving. He puffs out a gravelly hiss from pursed lips, stalking towards you and giving a cat like crawl across his own bed, planting himself shoulder to shoulder with you to your left. He must be feeling the overwhelming change that is occurring, as he reaches for your hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

You gravitate towards your hand, fingers slipping through your slickness, your head bowing in embarrassment. Eddie grips your chin and tilts you his way, shaking his head, that same hand dropping to your thigh and lifting to pull up and to the side. And he looks. He fucking memorizes you between your legs with these little mewling coos of appreciation that cement themselves into your subconscious. You do the same, helping yourself to an up close and personal view of what he’s been hiding.

Eddie leans forward and cups the nap of your neck, his other hand taking your wrist and removing it from your self-touches, shushing your protesting whine. He brings it up to his mouth, which is hovering close to yours, your own fingers pressed against your lips, and he licks a straight stripe up your creamy covered palm, humming underneath his breath as he does so. You want to slap him and ride him on every available surface in this trailer. You’re the one to speak, having to.

“Eddie…” It’s a meek little trail-off.

Eddie lets go of your wrist and uses that hand to pull his cock off his stomach, a wet patch left behind in his happy trail. He still doesn’t let your neck go, his fingertips tapping an invisible beat, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He’s laughing, tufts of air settling across your mouth. You narrow your gaze, moving to shut your legs, Eddie’s hand quickly preventing the action, stroking the meat of your inner thigh. “Only fair if I’m exposed, sweetheart.”

“But… you’re laughing.” And it hits you then, why he’s really chuckling in that Eddie Munson way. It’s an incredulous and mind boggling turn of events. Best-friends that broke up when they were never together, now side by side and in a very compromising situation.

You grin and falter into his embrace, your hand working its way into a wind around his neck, taking sweaty strands in scoops between your fingers, his pick chain draped across your knuckles. Eddie licks across his bottom lip, tapping your hips as he moves, your hands falling, and sprawls his legs into a propped spread, cock neglected and flushed, much like the rest of his skin, that you’ll die if you don’t put your marks on. He’s motioning for you to turn in a slow facing position in front of him, and that’s how you end up—vulnerable, so fucking vulnerable. He’s muttering words, huddled and unintelligible, reaching out and tugging you to him by your ankles, stopping, resting, eyes dark as they do a once over to gauge your mental stability. When you don’t protest, palms splaying out to keep yourself upright behind you, Eddie lets his legs flatten against his sheets, a smirk pattering his lips, indenting its knowing presses beside his mouth.

His exhale catches on a ragged breath, a passionate declaration signing off on what’s about to occur, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he pulls you close, your ass resting on his hairy thighs, waiting, held, his arm wrapping around your lower back and lifting you completely into that ink splattered, silk-slick chest, his skin sticking to your long sleeved t-shirt, ruining it with sex-soaked perspiration. You think that there’s nothing—no—you know that in this entire world, no matter what, that whatever will happen to you is never going to compare to the moment when Eddie’s maneuvering hands glide your wet cunt over his cock, using your drenching heat as his own personal lubricant. Your ankles lock around his waist, no choice from the close band that your best-friend has re-tethered you to him with, leaving no room or space where you’re not touching or breathing in the other. Your arms curl around Eddie’s neck, hands draped down his back as you help yourself to pinching and clawing the flesh beneath, relishing every little grumble and groan off his pretty lips. Your face takes solace in his neck, nosing your way through his curly hair, nose bumping his chain to lift so that your mouth can claim him.

“Fuck.” His throat constricts around a swallow, your teeth sinking into a piece of Eddie’s flesh and biting, releasing, lips closing over that angry spot to soothe, tongue tasting salt, licking it off, indulging.

He lets your have your way with his neck, a particularly harsh slap landing on your ass in following of your mouth on his jugular, letting your tongue following that curvature into his jawline. You don’t stop his wandering hands, you don’t dare fight off his vice grip on the globes of your ass, his kneading, using as them leverage to place you right where he wants you. You let him take control, an unspoken agreement, a having to have. Your head falls back as Eddie rolls his hips beneath, rocking his lap, solid presses that drag his fat cock over your embarrassingly wet pussy, scattering your thick arousal and smearing it across his happy trail, getting caught in that patch of curls at the base of his shaft. You’re dripping all over him, quite literally. Caught on a trapped hum, hung in its hisses between your clenched teeth, you croon into Eddie’s neck, your stomach tightening, that velvety drag of his dick through your swollen folds making your lids flutter closed, colors dotting in their dances—translucent.

You aren’t sure where to move your hands, comfortable with having them shred Eddie’s back and empty out the past few days of frustration and desperation. Eddie encourages, palming handfuls of your ass, creating a cresting twist, a thigh trembling rub of sopping wet desire. He’s merely whimpering, appreciating, not overly vocal until his swollen head catches your neglected clit, and his head drops back, fingers pinching so tightly into your skin that it burns.

“Oh, shit. Dammit, baby.”

You’re simpering on a series of whimpers, agreeable and speechless. Eddie is feeding off it. “Yeah? You needing this too? Little clit feels so good rubbing on my dick, sweetheart. You want me to do it again?”

When you’re not immediately able to be vocal, Eddie pulls back a little, shoving his hand between your thighs and drags his rings directly through your arousal, coating them in a glittering shine. His first real touch where you need him the most. You both inhale sharply. It’s the pain from the cool metal of his jewelry that makes it feel so fucking good. He curses, telling you how messy you’re being, flinging his hand in your sights, dragging you in a pry off of his neck, holding your jaw and flashing his knuckles.

“See what you did, messy little angel. You gotta clean em’ now for me.”

His eyes are so fucking demolished, brown crushed beneath a midnight sea of black and insatiable attraction. You’re mewling, tongue lolling out, licking that metallic onto your tongue, sloppily sloping around his knuckles, lips suckling what your tongue can’t catch, your own taste fresh off your mouth. That’s when Eddie brushes a calloused thumb across your bottom lip, tugging it down to expose your teeth, and he brings your lips to his, a feral groan stealing your breath, sharing your juices in your first kiss. It’s a shift in the energy you share, a no going back, no running away, a fate sealed. Eddie loses all control and flips you off his lap, pinning you beneath him, kissing you with such feverish vigor that your hand tangles into his messy curls, and you pull, hard.

His tongue licks your lips open, greedily removing what’s left of your taste that remains. It’s noisy and nasty in the expanse of his small bedroom—diabolically sinful. One hand caresses your throat’s expanse, the other dropping down with a snapped wrist between your thighs, palm smacking your cunt, a guttural groan vibrating from his mouth into your own. Saliva strings on the break away, Eddie’s gaze switching to watch the hand on your cunt, out of it.

“Your pussy always this wet, baby? Or is it just for your best-friend?”

“Only for you, Eddie. Always you.”

Fallen into the depths of satisfaction, Eddie permits a slender digit to drag down your slit, taking that thick honey with it, a squelch echoing in the room when his finger wiggles its way inside of you. You clamp around him, chest heaving with shaky breaths.

“Jesus Christ. You’re gonna drown my dick when you let me fuck you, aren’t you?”

You’re incoherently babbling, tapping the hand that’s on your throat, hungry for it. “Tighter.”

Eddie’s brow raise is comical, a surprise coating his features. “So miss Y/N likes it rough? Never woulda guessed.”

You gulp a pump of air that vibrates across his hold, trying to gain more depth from his finger. It’s moving in exploration of your softly wet walls, an excess of arousal being pressed out upon that squish. Eddie tightens his hold on your throat, before he taps his fingers to your jugular and releases, hand toppling down your side and caressing, bringing. “Fuck, my best-friend’s got such a perfect little pussy. S’ made to be destroyed and used.”

You’re nodding so hard that the motion causes a cracking pop in your neck, Eddie laughing that noise under a cute breath. He’s thick with it, wiggling in a second finger and causing you drop your hands back behind you and push into the sensation, chasing, hunting it.

“Desperate to get away from me all week, now look at you. What a whore.”

Eddie has a mouth on him, something you’d always wondered about in your daily daydreams and nightly fantasies. As vocal as when he’s singing with his band. He’s saying words to you, snapping your attention, you’re whining as his fingers leave your cunt, and he’s pulling you into him so hard your lips split apart, cushioning his cock, cradling him in that overwhelming slick. He must not have meant for that action to cause it, as he jumps when you do, this feral look flickering behind those heated orbs. You know… it’s time.

Eddie is barely able to stand, clumsily bringing you with him by a laced grip in your hands. He gets you upright and you’re dizzy, his hands taking purchase on your shirt (the only remaining piece of clothing on you), and rips it with gritting teeth and anger, as if he’s pissed it’s not the club shirt, or sickened with himself for destroying yours—you’re not sure. Spit pools at the corners of your mouth as you let him tear off your tattered tee and yank your bra down, impatiently yanking the clasp apart and discarding it, helping himself to your tits, closing those plush lips over a nipple. Your hand wraps around his throbbing cock, fingers barely touching around the width, squeezing him—tugging. His hips stutter and he whines against your breast, teeth biting the flesh with a harsh precision.

Your other hand works its way through his wet curls and massages his scalp, tenderly altering in beckoning strokes, ones that switch off into root tugging pulls. Eddie’s hands keep your breast cupped, switching off to the other, whilst you dip lower and fondle his balls, letting your pinky drop off and scratch into his inner thigh. He’s doing that humming thing underneath his fucked out tone again, and you’re focusing your attention on his cock, thumb pad stroking that weeping slit, spreading it around and over that vein, enchanted with how it causes a thin bright shine over him, your own cream matted into the curls at the base of him, pathed up his stomach. His mouth leaves your chest and those big hands grip your cheeks, both of you watching as you jack him with a sticky tug.

Fuck me.

“Who’s the whore for his bestfriend now, Eds? You gonna admit that half the shit I’ve done this week has gotten your dick so hard you can’t decide what you’ve hated me for more,” You say, pausing to twist your grip, making him fold into your holding hand, “my smart mouth or how much you need this.”

Your powering dominance is short lived, hand falling off his erection, with Eddie kneeing you into a shove until your back collides with his desk, his arm reaching around to push most of its contents off and onto the floor, not caring where any of it goes. He nudges your thighs apart and slots his lean frame between, thumb catching the corner of your mouth, his instruction clear, yet awaiting your consent to cross this no back-stepping boundary. “M’ gonna fuck you right here, and you’re goin’ to watch me take you, Y/N.”

You’re pretty sure you’re gonna pass out at any given moment.

“I’m gonna watch you, Eddie.” You agree, zoning out and sprinting after your pleasure.

“Good girl.” Eddie breaks briefly, mouth on your shoulder, hand winding your hair around his fist and tugging it back so hard that the ache inside of you becomes an inferno. He finds the underside of your chin, voice honey-hot. “Because you’re not leaving this room until there’s a puddle of me running back out of your cunt.”

You launch forward so fast that Eddie falls into you, chest smashing against your breasts, your lips crashing into his for a brutally intimate kiss. You sink your teeth into his bottom lip and tug, biting down so hard you taste copper—licking it up and making Eddie’s cock jump. His ring covered hand attaches itself to your throat and he drags you off your prop against the desk, spinning you around and securing you to it, those hairy thighs pressing into you, wet cock so close to where you need him the most. His hand wraps around your hair again and lifts your gaze to that small opening in the mirror where posters and his most prized possession hangs. You’re flushed and soaked with sweat, mouth swollen and streaked with red from biting into Eddie’s plump lip, your pussy dripping thick strings of your creamy essence, slowly slithering in dangles from your pussy and onto the floor.

“You’re so fucking messy, Y/N. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, baby?” Eddie is like the devil on your shoulder, and you, you’re his angel of eternal damnation.

You’re about to beg, but Eddie saves you the trouble, his fingers tapping in tips down your spine, caressing, stroking, before they spread your lips apart and dip inside, palm flat. “Should fuckin’ split you open, do it raw. Cum so deep inside that you end up pregnant with my baby and have no choice but to always think of me, be around me.”

Though there’s a tease behind his passionate words, there’s this primal exclamation that overtakes you and you clamp down on his fingers. A series of fast paced images are vivid in your mind. Your tummy swollen and breasts heavy, Eddie having you bent over like this—one hand on your belly, the other on your throat, feeling your pulse galavant beneath his touch.

“Y/N… Fuck, sweetheart.” He’s so fucked in his descending tone that the depth is gruff and tipping off his diaphragm, you imagine. He presses his cheek against your own, chin resting on your shoulder as you drink each other in, in the mirror’s expanse, Eddie’s tone weak. “You really willing to carry my kid?”

You meet his eyes in the cluttered mirror, nodding, a softness carving out permanent residence in your features. It’s a topic you’d never shared with anyone else, never banked too much on thinking about, but beyond the idea of how hot this all is, you can’t imagine a scenario like this that doesn’t involve Eddie Munson. Vulnerable and barely above a brisk whisper, you’re answering him with, “Yeah, Eds. Want a family with you.”

At your admission, he lets his hand go in languid thrusts. You groan and let your head shift, but Eddie is jerking you back to stare into the glass, both of you panting and on the cusp of an out of body experience. It causes you to grin, licking your lips as your best-friend pumps those experienced digits to cause a purposeful squelch, his rings clinking together. His hard cock is pressed between his own stomach and your back, that pre-cum pooling onto your lower back and smearing in streaks down your ass. You’ve had more than enough teasing and you’re well aware that Eddie has too.

His look briefly falters, turning to mouth at your chin, a silent question. It’s you who uses your words, or rather, trembles in your feeble attempt. “Eddie, just put your cock inside me, or I swear I’ll—“

He’s smirking wildly at your slack-jawed expression when his fingers slide out of you and stick together with your cum, to which he helps himself to and coats his cock, then lines himself up and presses the thick head into your opening, leaning down to bite at your shoulder and leave an exposed imprint. Your legs feel like jello and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. He’s going to ask you to beg, and you’re an all in willing participant. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t. He inhales sharply, you hold your breath, and both of you watch him sink into your slick and soft cunt, inch by inch, until his balls rest against the globes of your cheeks.

You’re still holding your breath, releasing it when you feel him sigh, grip on your hair loosening a little, too caught up in the fact that he’s where he belongs, after so much time doing without this. Your legs are about to buckle, jerking, toes curling against the carpeted floor, overwhelmed by everything that’s happened, and by your best-friend’s cock throbbing in your aching pussy. “E-Eds…?” It’s a pathetic cry of a question.

Eddie’s brows pinch together, sweat beaded between. He grips your jaw and his fingertips tap you back to meet his mouth, hovering over your lips. “S’ okay, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” He briefly drops the playful gimmick, reassuring you that he’s right here with you.

It’s more than enough to have you arching back into him, a brash pummeling of his hips that sends you into the dresser, having to reach out and catch yourself. Eddie is quick witted, gripping your wrists with one hand and pinning them behind your back, stepping with you in toe, elongating his arm to snatch those handcuffs on his wall, that cold metal biting into your wrist, that dull noise presenting itself as the cuffs lock you into place, Eddie gripping onto the chains’ excess expanse, using it as a leverage. A sliver of a chalky moan trickles off your kiss-swollen lips, appreciative. The way Eddie is manhandling you has you so fucking euphoric that you’re sure you’ll be in a comatose state before either of you can cum. Your best-friend’s large hand finds purchase in your hair again, drawing his hips back, the other on the chain of the cuffs—steadying himself into a rhythm, riding you like all that matters is your destruction and his ultimate ownership.

Eddie Munson has owned you since the very moment that you two met.

The way he’s executing such precise and rough thrusts, making sure you’re high on the bring up, toes pressing into the carpet, that you’re stuffed full of his fat cock until it hurts, twitching in overstimulation, sore and fluttering walls eager to be soaked in everything he has to give you, that you are taking in every inch, catching every ridge, leaving you a shambled, panting mess, in pieces only being put back together again when Eddie will allow your release. His hair is tickling your shoulder blades, his fingers leaving the cuffs to press into your mouth and curl over your tongue, relishing in how you gag around the digits. You’re weak, so fucking weak for him, and he knows it.

“Can’t wait to hear you gag on my cock, Y/N. If you have trouble with these bad boys?” He puts an emphasis, wiggling his fingers against your tongue, giving them a secondary push to over extend your gag reflexes, his dick twitching inside you.

You bite down on his fingers, sucking them in, accepting his challenge, willing it to happen. His balls slap into your ass, heavy and hot, every movement causing the metal to rut into the skin of your wrists. He’s got a steady tempo going, alternating it by dipping his hips to bring you with him, letting you nearly collide with your chest flush to his desk. He reaches up and shoves that poster back by peeling tape, revealing more of your fucked out forms. Your eyes widen at your disheveled and unrecognizable appearance, Eddie using your cuffed hands as reigns. Riding you so hard that you can’t breathe anything but his hot air curling around the shell of your ear.

“Dammit, you are such a good girl for me, Y/N. Always pictured you takin’ my cock, but you’re not even crying yet, just taking what I give you.”

Yet… Fuck me running.

Your scalp is tingling with a prickling crowd of flames from his harsh grip, his other hand reaching to smack your ass, using some mechanism on the cuffs—albeit—struggling with his spit soaked fingers that were just in your mouth, to unlatch them and discard them at your feet, and he watches the flesh of your ass cheek redden and jiggle beneath his biting palm. You fist your fingers into a strewn pair of his blue denim jeans left on the desk top, dipping your forehead down and arching your back, trying to look between your own legs from this new angle to see Eddie’s cock cradled in your puffy lips. He tuts at your unsuccessful action, forcing you back into watching him doing his hard work—the hardest he’s worked at anything (sans his band or the campaigns, if he’s being honest with himself)—to make this unforgettable for you. He hits that spot located inside, the one you have to strain an arm to barely graze, and you lose all coherent capabilities.

“Eddie… that’s, oh my god, oh FUCK. Right there!”

Eddie’s throat crumbles under a weak pant, which ends up coming out as a whimper. He remains firm, however, still using your hair to keep you right where he wants you, his other hand reaching around to pet his own shaft as he slides out just enough to make you wetter.

“Yeah, baby? That spot gonna make somethin’ happen for you?”

You don’t answer, mumbles and babbling gibberish. He shakes that precious head of his, curls tickling your back and shoulders, a sigh breaking free. “Sorry, sweetheart. Can’t believe we’re doin’ this in front of you. Both my girls right here with me, one of them at my fuckin’ mercy.” Your attentions snap over your shoulder and you see Eddie looking at his fucking guitar, that is one of the only things remaining on the mirror. You gape, but aren’t surprised in the slightest.

He continues on, pretending he doesn’t see your partial seethe. “Makin’ a mess all over me, but I bet you like to see it too, don’t you?” He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, still talking to the inanimate object. “Both my sweethearts are such sluts for their owner.”

You can’t help that rattle that clamps around your bones and slices through your spinal cord, seizing your abdomen, right down into your cunt. Owner? You have zero time to warn him, ask if you can, alarms unprepared, skin slapping on skin, his taste on your mouth, his breath on your flesh, that slippery glide that has cum running down your thighs, and it’s a sudden wave crashing over your insides and drowning them in your painfully interstellar-esque orgasm. Your eyes burn with tears as you watch your best-friend feel what’s happening, realizing. He’s covered in your release, and instead of being mad, he is influencing you like the little devil that he can be, plump lip pressing to your ear lobe with one continuous command. “That’s it. C’mon, Y/N. Drench my dick.”

You wish you could bottle the feeling of your first orgasm with Eddie Munson, your best-friend—forever. Finding yourself growing into that vulnerability that comes with the high, you seek to find solace in Eddie’s arms, whimpering at the overstimulation of his thick cock. With that connection still in tact, Eddie is spinning you around, dick sliding out with a messy mixture of arousals covering you both—his member completely doused in your cream, painting the trimmed curls at the base of his shaft with even more of you, slicking back some more of that happy trail. You want to be embarrassed, but as he’s red faced and struggling to breathe, you know that there’s no need to be. He steers you back onto the bed, falling easily between your spread thighs, drawing them up and around his waist.

He presses his forehead into your own, kissing each corner of your mouth, rings circling in dusting sweeps on the apex of your thighs. His voice is a shivered whisper. “Fuck, baby. You okay?”

There’s words on your tongue, Eddie’s taste on your mouth, things you’ve known for years, but are unsure if Eddie has, or if this is something he needs because he’s afraid you’ll abandon him, but that he doesn’t feel what you do. Your head is spinning and Eddie brushes sweaty strands of hair off your forehead, taking his cock through your swollen folds, pressing that spongey head into your clit—both of you crying out. “Y/N, m’ right here. Care to join me?”

And god help you, the way that you look at him. Really allow yourself to see him this way—unabashed—it stirs all those feelings Eddie has bottled down since forever. You press your thumb into his mouth, your other hand sliding down to grip onto him, gliding your hand back and forth, relishing in how his abdomen tenses, muscles flexing, body gravitating towards whatever you’re willing to bestow. He doesn’t let you touch him much longer, taking what your hand isn’t around and guiding it back into your cunt, that scrumptious burn brimming you, making your thighs drop open, back arch, only to tighten your ankles around him, digging your heels into his ass. He suckles your fingertip into his mouth, licking the digit in until it’s down to the knuckle.

Your head presses sideways, cheek on his pillow, inhaling his shaving cream and that spicy scent. He pauses his movements, making you frown in displeasure. He lets go of your spit tainted finger, gripping your chin, a possessive fire overcoming him. His irises remain completely black, putting you deeper into that comatose trance of agonizing sin. “I want you to fucking say it, Y/N.”

You start a beginning questionnaire, Eddie shaking his head and pressing in harder on your chin, fingers splaying across your jaw, rings pinching your chin in the most delightfully painful of ways. “Say you want me, tell me you fucking need me. That you’re not tired of me, and that you’re proud to be the freak’s slut.”

Your hands wind around his back and you sink your nails in as hard as you can, bearing down on him, sucking him in deeper, both of you in a state of no return. His hand tickles down from your face and grips your neck. “Still sick of me, baby?” He situates your gaze, lifting his hips to a raise so that you can see where you’re connected. You’re inconsolable, that fire already blazing your gut, turning every sense into nothingness.

When Eddie starts back up again, he slams himself into you so hard that your vision goes dark and you shred your own bottom lip open, body moving closer to his wall due to the force. He’s licking beneath your jugular, words sensual and filthy, making your entire body spike in a sudden electricity. “Gonna cum in every hole you’ve got, so you remember that they’re mine.”

This time you’re more than ready to give him a warning, body beginning to shake beyond your control, breaths stuttering in your chest. Eddie reaches down between you, calloused thumb flicking your clit. Everything is so fucking wet and the way it sounds in the expanse of Eddie’s small room, it has you opening your mouth, out of control and greedily begging for more.

“Eds, harder. Please? Almost…”

He’s grinning in that special way that weakens you—heart and soul, body and mind. “So much more than a slut.” His thrusts become choppy, his own babbling tone turning into Eddie-speak. “You are way more than you know, Y/N.”

You fondle his pick chain and bring him into your immediate airspace, mouths hovering. He’s nearing his end, cock getting fuller inside you. “Need you to tell me how much you love me.”

You both completely go slack. Eddie stops himself all together, body trembling, head bowing. Your heart rate increases, feeling as if you’ve skipped a staircase thousands of feet in the air and you’re now free falling.

Love… You don’t have to think twice.

Your hands move to cup his face, holding on, your eyes shining with tears at all overloaded emotions and senses. “I love you so fucking much, Eddie.”

At your admission, those beautiful eyes—dark with remains of passion—they fill, and he gives you his all, driving his cock into you in calculated presses, trying like hell to get you to cum first. When he speaks, his voice cracks apart. “Let me know that you’re right here with me, Y/N.”

“I’ve always been here, Eddie.” Is what you manage, thumping your hand against his wrist and helping him bring his fingers back to your clit.

He doesn’t let you look away, noses smashed together, sticky foreheads pressing, hair curtaining the apples of pink, sex stained cheeks. Your eyes widen as that knot begins to tighten in your stomach, unraveling so violently that Eddie has to grip your quivering thigh in one hand, the other keeping steady on your clit. You dig into his back, other hand tugging on his hair, and Eddie is giving a throaty seduction. “That’s it, be my good girl and cum again for me.”

And you’re coming apart at your very core, every cell exploding and rebuilding, gluing yourself to Eddie to seize the ache that scrambles your insides and leaves you breathless. He’s cursing, keeping his finger on your clit to help you coast over the high, immediately following you with the lowest, sweetest, whimpering moan that you’ve ever heard. Both of your eyes still drinking in the other’s pleasure, tears spilling over your lash line as Eddie’s hips cease and he holds, his cock swelling and that soft, creamy warmth coating your sore walls in spurts. He collapses onto your chest and you hold him there in a vice hug, his hand still trapped between your exhausted bodies. He gently eases it out, groaning around the wetness that he’s all too eager to sample until the layer of shine is off his fingers.

Holy shit and fuck me…

Your legs fall to the side, unable to stay upright any longer, Eddie keeping a hovering hand to soothe your shaking. He kisses your neck with a plush mouth, his chain dangling between your breasts. You’re petting his hair—which is so soaked it’s as if he’s been in the rain or come from the shower—off his forehead, wincing as he slides out and keeps himself by your side. You gasp and he joins, fascinated by your cum and his own seed pouring from your cunt. He raises up a little. “Mhm. Let me see?”

He props your thigh, sliding his fingers back and forth, zoned in on his bedsheets being ruined from the literal puddle of your shared cum that runs from you. Seconds pass and he grins widely, plopping onto his back, his fingertips caressing your shoulder, down to your arm. It’s a comfortable quiet, even with the intense meaning of the words that were spoken, until Eddie starts with a, “So..?”

And you cut him off, trying to get your uncomfortably hot body closer. “So I love you. And I have never stopped needing you, or wanting you, Eddie. I just hope all this wasn’t because we were fighting and you got scared I would leave, and —“

He doesn’t let you finish this time, that chocolate-ly brown ring swinging back around his pupil in a brisk develop, showcasing the moisture in his eyes. “I was scared because I love you so damn much that I would charge headfirst into Mordor, or some alternate dimension without any weapon or any shield, just for you. You gotta know that, Y/N.”

His softness, that glittering fragility, it makes you seal your mouth to his, kissing him full of your feelings. He cups the nape of your neck, drawing in closer, thumb coaxing a shiver from you as it passes over a certain spot behind your ear. On a wet break away, you’re nodding your head. “Guess we spent all week fighting when we should’ve been fucking and talking about our feelings.”

Eddie smirks, then is serious. “Be that as it may, I’m sorry I’ve been shit at showing you I appreciate all that you do for the guys and me. And for forgetting that you are your own person too. S’ not like I meant to, I swear. I just get so fucking caught up and I shouldn’t take for granted anything that has to do with you or with us.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re my best-friend, Eddie Munson?”

While it’s still true, you’re wondering when the words leave your lips. Eddie just fucked you so hard you probably won’t be able to sit down for a week or walk upright for hours, so friendship isn’t exactly the most appropriate term anymore, is it?

Eddie taps his fingertips to your temple, drawing your dazed expression, clinging to the cosmic connection once more. “M’ yours, Y/N.”

“Oh yeah, Munson?” You’re so high that you could fly out of here right now and make rounds around the whole globe. Your chest is aching with a tempo that promises new hope and ease.

Eddie is giddy too, that wide set smile, cheesing. “Just gotta get you a new shirt.”

The memory of your old club attire being one with the forest floor seems like so long ago. Eddie knuckle grazes your cheek, apologetic. You shush him. “I ruined yours, so we’re even.”

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes and he’s tackling you beneath him, pinning your hands in a lace above your head. “Nah, we are just getting started on bein’ even, baby.”

~*~

Tagging: @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @gothbitchshit @thisishellfire @ethereal27cereal @likedovesinthewnd

-I really need to form a bigger tag list! I’m sorry :/-

Lemme know if you want on my general tag list, please! :)

#kristenwrites #eddie munson #my work #my writing #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things 4 #stranger things #stranger things 4 fanfiction #stranger things 4 fic #stranger things smut

[flamingpudding]

Sorry but I have returned with a part 3 of Klarion is Dan

So Danny is still having you know conversations with the entire RedRobin Young Justice team

When Tim sneaks away to go talk to the Justice League outside he's holding a few kryptonite cookies in his pockets then starts explaining to the Main Justice League on how yeah Klarion bought our trust with gifts so we can pretend to be his friend so he could make his mom happy Klarion's Mom he's is the nice creepy person I have ever meet so can y'all just got to play along

Clues the main Justice League playing along with Klarion being their sidekicks friend after a while Danny finds a way to pull up his scrapbook too also Danny and Clark have started speaking country to each other it's hilarious amazing

Batman in the end like a party pooper reveal that is Klarion is one of the enemy of the Young Justice it makes Young Justice along with Klarion sad for two different reasons for the Young Justice because Klarion's mom is really cool and Klarion cuz he feels like he is disappointing his mom

Danny after a while had a feeling that Klarion made friends like himself back when he was a teenager

A bit late but I finally had the time to write this down, without work stress or a migraine / headache torturing my brain! Hope i didn't make you wait to long! Either way I love this, sooo lets go! Part 3! Here we come!

Also thanks so much for the ask! This was inspiring since I have been struggling with writing the past weeks.

---------------

Danny was really enjoying his time an conversations with the children. He liked them, even if one of them was a speedster. And he could see that they were good for Dan, now Klarion. Danny had always been worried about his time clone / son. Klarion had no longer been as connected to Sam and Tucker as Danny was. Sure Jazz, Ellie and him, as well as Vlad had been there for him. But Danny knew himself and through that he also knew Dan in a way only Vlad could understand. They had been worried. But when Dan got deaged and choose to go by Klarion Danny's worries had become lighter. Especially when Klarion started to tell stories from the Dimension he had chosen to live in when he wasn't at home. One that was unlike their own home dimension but still similar enough so he wouldn't have troubles adjusting.

Danny smiled like any proud mother would as he watched the four heroes interact with his son. He could see it, Klarion had recreated friendships for himself outside of who he used to be in a different timeline. That alone lifted so many of Danny's worries for the boy. A chuckle escaped him as he once again watched Klarion snatch a green glowing cookie from Red Robin, glaring daggers before he jumped across the table in an attempt to tackle Impulse who was now also reaching for the green cookies. The speedster as expected easily dodged him.

He knew something was going on. Klarion has created a barrier right as Impulse had returned earlier from his 'bathroom break' and he could feel presence outside of his son's front door. One of them feeling funnily similar to one of many the soul contracts that had been laying on his desk for months now, ignored on purpose. But Danny choose to ignore it for the moment. If the kids were up to something than he was the least adult to stop them. So instead he when he saw his boy so distracted, Danny smiled towards Wonder Girl, reaching into a quickly opened portal next to him. "So about the picture you wanted to see earlier."

Danny smiled mischievously like any parent would at a chance to embarrass their child. But also noticing how Red Robin used the chance of Klarion chasing after Impulse and the Kryptonite Cookies in his hands to stuff a couple of the green cookies into his own pockets as well as one into his mouth. Danny suppressed a laugh, as he kept conversation with Wonder Girl flowing.

Superboy was right by Red Robins side as the boy pounded his fist against his own chest in surprise, but also refused to spit the cookie out. Once he swallowed the kid stuck out his tongue a look of wonder. "Have you ever tasted something that felt like sugar coated in love and care sprinkled with calming emotions but had a weird but not bad after taste of sewer water?! I will never be able to look at the Lazarus Pits the same anymore!" the caped teenage hero whined towards his Kryptonian friend and Danny couldn't help it any longer as he burst out laughing.

"That's a Description I have never heard before! Sam likes to say their taste like actual Rainbow puke and Tucker is still trying to convince me that they taste like he was dared to lick a motherboard but one was coated in the finest meats!" Klarion instantly froze in his chase after Impulse and pointed glaring at Red Robin as both Wonder Girl and Impulse now appeared very tempted to actually try the Kryptonite cookies too. "You didn't!"

"I did." Red Robin grinned fearless, the way Tucker used to when he had hacked into the GIWs servers when they were kids.

"DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?!" Red Robin yelped as Klarion jumped at him over the couch table to wrestle with the other boy as if to make him spit out any green glowing cookie reminds that could be there. "You mortals are idiots!"

Danny blinked and laughed as a little Chaos (Ha! His sons favorite past time) broke out with Wonder Girl, Superboy and Impulse trying to help Red Robin against Klarion only for them to get pulled into the little wrestling match too. With Klarion occupied with the other three as well as trying to stop Impulse from also shoving a green glowing cookie into his mouth he noticed from the corner of his eyes how Red Robin snuck away.

Batman looked ready to strangle John Constantine as he glared at the Justice League Dark member currently working on removing the barrier. This was taking to long in his opinion. Their kids were in there with a highly dangerous being and one of their enemies. This wasn't a situation to take lightly. He growled and Superman patted his shoulder trying to calm him down.

"We will get in there Batman. Just calm down for now. I am sure they are doing all they can to remove the barrier." The Kryptonian said in a calming tone sharing a look with Wonder Woman and the Flash, who by now had rounded the apartment three times to see if there was a possible entry way not covered by a barrier. Batman only grunted again as the door to the appartement suddenly opened, their heads snapped instantly towards it to see Red Robin standing behind the barrier.

"Red Robin Report!" Batman instantly snapped marching forward but frowned as the barrier was blocking him from reaching the teen.

"Klarion's mother is a multidimensional being under the impression that Klarion is working with the Heroes in this impression and not against them. He is also known as the Ghost King ruler of the Infinite Reams. I am sure you are already updated on what the Infinite Realms are." The teen stated in a reporting tone the adult heroes were familiar with. "So far The Ghost King has not shown any hostility towards us or our dimension unprompted. He is rather nice and a good parent by all means. To not disappoint his mother Klarion abducted us so we could pretend to be his friends, in other words Klarion is in need of our help to keep his mother under the belief that he is working and friends with us."

Batman nodded, letting the information sink in. "Anything else?"

"Well, I would suggest to not become hostile ourselves and to play along for the time being." Red Robin offered his solution hoping that with his report their mentors were more willing to play along than with the way Impulse probably slammed the door in their faces. For one, they would get to have a longer time of a break and two, as long as they don't piss off Klarions mom they won't have to face an eldritch being probably ready to tear them appear to protect his child.

"You believe that to be the best course of action? What about the others?" Superman asked instead and the teens head turned a little to look at the Kryptonian. "We are all in agreement. We are also additionally in a position with this to fish for more information about Klarion."

He could see their mentors thinking as they were exchanging looks weighing the pros and cons of his suggestion.

"Constantine? You said that the Ghost King is a dangerous being that could destroy our dimension, correct?" Wonder Woman spoke up turning towards the magician.

"A Bloody fucking Tyrann that can rip us all a new one, mate." the Brite muttered annoyed with the situation.

"Then I guess keeping the Ghost King happy by humouring Klarion should be the best and most peaceful option we have at the moment." Flash added crossing his arms as he looked at the other JL members as they came to a silent agreement.

Hocked, Lined and Sinker. Red Robin thought for a brief moment with relief as the adults agreed to his suggestion. "That means no using spells behind our backs against the Ghost King too." The teen hero added though as he narrowed his eyes under his mask on John Constantine that was cursing under his breath but nodded.

"Great then I can tell Klarion-"

"Red Robin what are you doing out here?" Batman stiffened as white gloved hands rested on the teen hero's shoulders and they saw a white haired man, wearing a royal cape and a floating crown on his head, appearing by the door behind the teen.

"Oh I was just greeting our mentors, they came to check on us." Red Robin lied easily, not even flinching as the man had appeared out of seemingly nowhere. Batman had narrowed his eyes as he exchanged looks with Superman. They hadn't even noticed the man's approach.

"I see, please come in instead of standing out here." John Constantin gabbed as with the flick of his finger the man removed the magic barrier as if it was nothing and they heard a loud whine from inside the apartment of. "MOM IT FEELS WEIRD WHEN YOU DO THAT!"

"Sorry Klarion, baby!"

At that moment the adults realized that the man before them was the Ghost King.

The man lead them inside introducing himself as Danny as he guided Red Robin by his shoulders back to the couch to join the other teens again. The adult heroes where greeted by the image of Wonder Girl sitting on Impulse who was monopolising a photo book and Klarion being lifted into the air lion king style by Superboy flailing around. The teens and mentors blinked at each other several times before the teens continued like they weren't there, Red Robin joining them wanting in on getting to see the photo book that apparently contained 'baby' photos of Klarion.

"How about we leave the kids to themselves and have some coffee and cake by the dinner table?" The Ghost King, Danny, suggested and the adults mutely followed. They blinked as Danny opened a portal, Batman grunted as seeing similarities to something else in it, and reached into it. Danny heard his sisters distinctive "HEY!" Through it when he pulled out a cake from it to place on the table. The heroes couldn't help but sweat dropped, the cake was clearly not finished, it was only half way coated in cream and decorated.

"It's nice to meet the mentors of the friends my boy made in this dimension." Danny started to make small talk serving them coffee and each of them a slice of cake. "It's also nice to finally meet the guy that has sold his soul into so many pieces that I have an entire stack of paper work on my desk."

Constantine flinched, as he refused to make eye contact with the Ghost King who only chuckled. "Relax, I don't care about all these contracts. Most of them were even made before I took over as the King and the previous Ghost King... well lets just say he slept through all of his paperwork."

"Wait previous King?" The magician looked up now. "Mate are you telling me you aren't the bloody fucking Tyrann Ghost King?"

They watched as Danny rubbed his neck embarrassed. "Oh looks like the news didn't get to your Dimension yet, yea I dethroned that guy on accident and took over once I became an adult. Pops did say that it might take some time for all Dimensions to get updated on these kinda news..."

The four heroes looked stunned as they heard the Brite groan loudly thumping his head against the table muttering a "I need a whiskey."

"Oh its also nice to sort of meet my... Cousin or Niece from this Dimension whatever you would prefer more." Danny said to change the subject, looking towards Wonder Woman who blinked at him. "Cousin or Niece?"

"Yes I was Ghost Adopted by Clockwork, also known as Cronus, and Pandora. They speak a lot of praises about you, well every version of you." Danny smiled. There was an awkward moment of silence that Flash broke looking stunned at Wonder Woman. "You never told us you were related to the literal King of all Dimensions!"

"I didn't know!" / "Not all Dimensions."

Both Wonder Woman and Danny spoke at the same time. This finally seemed to break the eyes among the adults as most of them started to chat idly while the teens were fighting over a photo book in the back ground. Well all but one Batman sat among them listening to the other Heroes talk with the Ghost King, grunting every now and then to signal that he was listening. His eye twitch a little as both Superman and Danny suddenly started to talk in a weirdly with niceties filled way of talking.

Of course everything good and nice couldn't last forever and when a triumphant shout in the background from Red Robin resounded who was holding up the photo book with Klarion pinned to the ground by Impulse and Superboy, Batman had to be the one to finally put his foot in his mouth causing everyone to freeze. The bite of cake Superman was about to eat dropped back onto the plate and resounded like a pin needle dropping by the silence caused by one simple, in Batman's mind, question.

"As his mother, are you aware of your son's villainous actions against us heroes?"

A dramatic "No!" Resounded from the teens mostly caused by Impulse dramatically falling to his knees in a pleading motion towards the adults. Klarion on the other hand looked like his entire world was just shattered as he sat up on the ground from his previously pinned position, his eyes glued to his mother. Both Wonder Woman and Superman eyes looked to and fro between Batman and the Ghost King with worry while Flash, apparently decided to get himself another slice of cake as quick as possible before the Ghost King would inevitably kick them all out because of Batman.

Danny stared at the dark knight for a long moment not reacting until he let out a sigh. "Figured as much."

There was another kind of silence, a stunned one, as they all blinked at the Ghost King who was starting to chuckle a little at the faces they were making.

"Mom?"

"Oh please Klarion." Danny waved his son off. "We both know that neither you nor I ever made friends the normal way. Of course you would make friends by being a little shit, just like I did with all my rogues when I was a teen and are now part of the council. It was unavaidable for you to do the same. Ancients even Vlad made friends like this or did you forget how many times he tried to kill my dad, Jack?"

There was silence for a third time, this time it got broken my Wonder Girl bumping her shoulder into Klarions.

"What kind of crazy family do you have?!"

"You have no idea.... you haven't even met my older sister yet...."

#question and answer #thanks for the ask! #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #crossover #dan phantom #klarion the witch boy #tim drake #conner kent #bart allan #cassandra sandsmark #young justice #Dan is Klarion #Danny is Dan's mom #mom danny #ghost king danny #Part 3 #The mentors join the party #while the teens fight over a photo album #Tim gets to taste the green cookies #and Batman puts his foot in his mouth #no beta we die like danny #unedited

[aloesarchives]

(18+)Brain Rot Dump: Toji Fushiguro

Pairing: Toji x Fem AFAB! Reader

Okay okay okay So this idea has been plaguing my mind for the past mf 3 days. I don't want to write a whole fic/piece for it but at the same time I needed to get this out of my brain. I need this brain rot out of my system.

Based on these pics: 1 2

Warnings: 18+, Sexual Explicit Content, mentions of choking, unprotected sex, creampies, Hand/Muscle kink and Fetish, Toji teasing Reader, the Inner Horny Demon took over, Megumi cockblocks Toji only once

[18+ Sexual Content!! Below the cutoff. Read at Your own Discretion]

On hot summer days, you would bring some watermelons from a local vendor to you home so you and your family would enjoy it together.

As you and your children sit on the porch, Toji brings the watermelon outside and gently places it in the kiddy pool. As Toji rolls up his sleeves on his already short-sleeve shirt, you can't help but admit how good he fucking looks. It just a fucking t-shirt but the way it hugs his torso and shoulders in all the right way. Him rolling them up doesn't help your case because it reveals his whole arms.

You blanked for a bit because you can't help but fawn over the way they looked bare. How his muscles flexed, the slight protruding veins on his forearms, prominent knuckles, HIS NICE BIG GENTLE HANDS. If you didn't catch yourself at that moment, you would have actually drooled.

Megumi and Tsumiki were trying to get your attention for the past minute during your little day dreaming. When you snapped out of it, they were telling you that Toji was going to cut the watermelon. You glanced at your husband, who grins at you, before looking back at the ground. There was no knife to cut the fruit.

"Toji, aren't you going to get a knife? How are you going to cut the watermelon without it?"

"Don't worry, Honey. I don't need a knife for this."

Your brows furrowed together as you shot your husband a confused look. Toji picks up the watermelon with both of his STRONG and POWERFUL HANDS, spins it to dry it off, and places it on the cutting board. He straighten his hand out and swiftly brings it down on the thick fruit. And just like that, the watermelon was split into two halves. Megumi and Tsumiki were in awe, sparkles in their eyes at Toji's ability to cut the watermelon with ease.

You, on the other hand, felt your pussy throbbing. You couldn't explain why though. Are you now discovering you have a muscle fetish? Possible hand kink? Toji being a whole DILF? Or was your husband so hot and good-looking that anything and everything he does made your hormones act up?

The answer is all the above as you see Toji break the watermelon halves into smaller wedges with his BARE HANDS. He made 8 pieces so everyone had two pieces. You were too distracted by your own hormones and husband's hotness to notice that your children were bringing a plate each of the watermelon slices. Your face and entire body felt hot all other, and it wasn't just the hot to blame for it. Your kids were calling out to you but you didn't respond. Worried, Tsumiki and Megumi ran to the fridge to get the Brita pitcher you always used. Tsumiki grabbed the pitcher while Megumi grabbed a red plastic drinking cup with ice. The kids came back to the porch and Tsumiki poured water into Megumi's cup that was for you.

You snapped out of it when the red cup appeared right in front of your face. You blinked for a bit before you see the faces of your concerned children. You smiled and thanked them for getting you water. Your kids were concerned because they thought you were over-heating, which was luckily not the case. You comforted your children, saying you were alright.

Megumi and Tsumiki smiled happily, sitting down next to you to enjoy their watermelons. You, however, have lost track of Toji as he appears besides you. Face close behind your ear as he blows on it gently. You gasp, flinching at the action, prompting you to cover your ear and spun your body around to face him. You would have reprimanded him for what he did if he still had his shirt on.

Which he doesn't have on. He took it off while the kids went to get you water. You were just staring off into space, nothing in that little head of your's but Toji's nice torso, arms, and hands. The sun's rays was beating down on him, meaning as the day goes on the hotter it would get. It didn't help him that his shirt was black too. So he takes it off, only clad in his black loose cotton shorts you bought for him.

Anyhow, Toji pulls you in by your waist and gets up close to your face. He eyes you up and notices your flustered expression. Your chest slowly going up and down, breathing becoming a little labored, and the look you gave Toji through your heavy eyelids tells him everything. He wanted to kiss you but Megumi interrupted and asked if you two were going to eat your watermelons. So Toji decides to pull you into his lap as he grabs one of the plates. You and him grab a piece and eat it along with your children, who already have made a dent in theirs. As the day passed, Toji was eating his watermelon slice with one hand while slowly caressing your waist up and down with the other.

At some point, he would squeezed your waist when he would reach for another slice. He would say, "Excuse me, I'm just trying to get another slice."

You were so hot and bothered by your husband that you decided to give your other slice to him. As you slowly eat your watermelon, you can't help but get distracted by the way his hand looked. The juice from the fruit slice trickled down his hand to his forearm, highlighting how toned it was with the added sunlight. He then would lick the juice from his forearm before it would drip down to his shorts. He knows you're watch him, eyeing him like he's a piece of meat. Which he doesn't mind.

You genuinely believed that your vagina was your second heart because its beating and throbing that you can feel it in your ears.

As you clean up, Toji gets Megumi and Tsumiki for bed. Once done with the dishes, you braced yourself on the sink to try to calm yourself down before your brain is fried from simping over your husband. Then a low whistle comes from behind and it's none other then your husband, shirtless and in his grey sweatpants. The man stalks over to you, and you have never felt so small in his presences. He looks down at you before caging you in between his nice arms. You weren't saying anything, too entranced with his physique. He always muscular with a heavy build. You thought he would lose it once he had a family, to which you never concerned over it. But you guess that he maintained his physique after becoming a father to two kids.

So with a strong build and the added Dad strength, it made your husband more desirable in your eyes.

No peep came out of you and Toji got a bit concerned when you were not saying anything. But when you gripped both of his biceps and your eyes glistened at him with "the look", Toji got the signal. He picks you up and taking you to your shared bedroom to satiate both your needs.

Toji just straights up manhandles you. As he thrusts into you, he will place his hand on your neck to make sure you can feel his cock straight up sliding in and out of your gummy walls. If you ask him to choke you, oh he'll do what his pretty wife asks of him.

Toji then proceeds to break your back by slamming himself hard that the slickness you two made and the contact of your skins echoed throughout the bedroom. While he's rawdogging you from behind, he presses his chest to you back. He shifts his weight so he's pressing down on you, wrapping an arm around the front of your shoulder and collarbone so that your neck would snuggly be between his forearm and bicep. He just loses and surrenders himself to you and your womanhood. Knowing that he'll never get the same feeling out of anyone else.

You, on the other hand, were cock-drunk for Toji. The only thing you were thinking about was Toji fucking you hard and good. You were moaning and panting, gripping at the bedsheets or Toji for some sort of support in bracing his brutal thrusts. He felt so good, the only words that kept falling from your lovely lips was "Toji! Toji! TOJI!". God, he loved the way you were thinking about him and only him. He would've teased you about your gawking at his body. But he was too into fucking you raw that he forgot to do that to you.

He changed position again to where you back was on the bed and Toji was right on top of you. He was going to town on you, never stopping to take a break. But you didn't mind as you gripped and clutched at Toji's bicep and back to combat your overriding pleasure.

His thrusts became more brutal as the feeling of cumming was building up. You were feeling his muscular body, memorizing and tracing over the hard muscles and veins that rippled throughout his skin. It made you even more turned on them before, causing you to clenched down on him like a vice grip. He sped up with his thrusts and both of you cummed at the same time.

After coming down from his post-nut clarity glow, he cleaned you up and put you in one of his shirts. You were too fucked out to realized he was already in bed with you with his boxers on.

"What's got you all horny for me, Doll? You're usually never get that flustered or shy around me before?"

"It's. . .your. . . your arms. . . They're. . . hot. . . Toji. . ." mumbling into his chest as you hid your embarrassed face.

At first, he didn't know what you were talking about. But then he remembers when he split the watermelon earlier with his bare hands and rolled up his sleeves, putting his arms on full display. He starts laughing and teasing you about it. Saying that he should be shirtless and do it more often. You slapped his chest, feeling your body aflame. He catches your hand and kisses your knuckles before you can retracted it back. He pulls you close to his chest as he places his head on top of your.

"I'm willing to put a show for you if it always gets you to be like this, Beautiful~~." He says with a deep chuckle that you can feel rumbles through his nice strong chest.

Needless to say, this wouldn't be the last time he would do this now finding out you have a thing for his muscles and muscular body.

This is my first time writing 18+, this was hella rushed because I was just typing this out without stopping. This was meant to be a brain rot dumping of Toji because this man has plagued my mind for the past week and it's not stopping. Thanks for reading this brain rot dump for Toji!💙❤️

#x reader #dad!toji #fem reader #reader insert #jjk megumi #jjk toji #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #megumi fushiguro #x female reader #jjk smut #smut #female reader #dad!toji x reader #fushiguro tsumiki #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #brainrot dump #writing dump #18+ content #18+ only

[aestheticaltcow]

High School

Carmy didn't like high school, but he liked you. When you asked him to speak to this year's graduating class about being a chef, how could he not say yes?

Carmy was quiet and shy; he didn’t do great in school but managed. If it weren’t for Mikey, he wouldn’t have left the house much. On the other hand, you were the classic popular girl- beauty, brains, prom queen, student council president, and, of course, way out of his league. 

He couldn't believe it when you’d asked him to speak at your high school career fair. It had been years since he’d been in Chicago, but Carmy assumed you’d moved on to bigger ponds by now, so to hear you were president of the alum board was a surprise. 

“Okay, next up, we have Carmen Berzatto, part of our 2009 graduating class. He is one of the youngest chefs to win a James Beard Award, owns two restaurants here in Chicago, and is a three Michelin star chef. Everyone welcome Carmen!” you happily introduced. Carmy swallowed, feeling awkward with so much attention on him. As the two of you passed by each other, you couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was. As you sat down, another alumni board member whispered, “He got so cute…” to you. You bit your lip to suppress the giggles. Tight white t-shirt, patchwork tattoos, and disheveled curls… you’d always thought Carmy was cute in a ‘shy guy’ way, but wow… 33 looked good on him.

Carmy answered a few student questions, trying his best to avoid stuttering in front of everyone. You lost track of time as you listened to his velvety smooth voice as he explained some of the roles you’d see in a typical fine dining restaurant; you glanced at the time on your phone and realized he’d gone over his allotted time. You got up and stumbled slightly before getting up to the stage. Carmy noticed and said ‘thank you’ before handing off the mic.  “Okay, everyone, it's time to head out to the quad. Vice Principal Shore will be out there to direct you to our variety of college and vocational school booths, and if there are any alumni you’d like to speak to more, we’ll be out there too.”

You watched Carmy sneak out of the multipurpose room, “Hey, you guys, go ahead. I have to call Wolf’s dad.” you said to another alumni board member and watched as students exited the building. You walked outside and quickly picked up on the smell of cigarette smoke. “Carmy,” you giggled before following the scent behind the building. 

“Still smokin’ ciggies behind the mpr Berzatto?” Carmy shook his head as he let out a puff of smoke in the opposite direction of you, “You here to bust me?” he asked, leaning against the fence. Your heart fluttered. Did he know how cool and sexy he looked in that moment?  You shook your head. “Thanks for coming, Carmy. It was nice seeing you.”. Carmy grinned. “You-uh, you wanna get a coffee sometime?” he swallowed, hoping not to come off as a loser. “You’re very handsome and successful, Carmy; you don’t want to date me.” “Why’s that?” Carmy asked as he ashed his cigarette before throwing it in the trash can. You stood there with your hands on your hips, awkwardly rolling on your heels, “Well, I have a kid and uh… an ex-husband. I’m a workaholic, and I spend a lot of time worrying about my kid.” Carmy nodded “I like kids, no ex-wife, also a workaholic…Let me take you out on one date?”

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto one shot #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto fan fic #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto fan fiction #carmy berzatto imagine

[krahk]

Blood for Ruin

Part One

Masterlist

Thank you all so much for the love and support for Part One, it is always so scary sharing brain children. You are all amazing.

Part Two

(Or, Alastor Proves he Makes a Shit Hotel Host by Bullying a Murder Victim)

By the time you opened your eyes, you had been moved to a bed, a comfy bed, in a warm lit room that was modestly decorated. And you were alone, thank god. Sitting up on the edge of the bed and kicking the sheets off as you straightened up. You stretched in a vain attempt to bring yourself some comfort, at least in body if not the mind. Doing this however, resulted in an immediate eye opening panic, because the sides of your arms brushing against either side of your head caught onto nothing.

Y’no, nothing. Nothing where ears should be. Looking around frantically, there was a cracked door heading into what was possibly a bathroom- please god, please be a bathroom. You body checked the frame as you ran in, muttering a whiny ‘ow’ before flicking a switch that turned on the overhead lights by the sink. Door open, lights on aaaand yep. Yep, yep yep. Ears missing. Hyperventilating now, you stumbled to the vanity and braced yourself on the ledge, staring into your own reflection as the panic began to set in.

Hell took your ears!? This was fucking ridiculous. Could one bitch to the devil? But also…how…how were you hearing? Because you definitely could hear. In fact you could hear better than before, like the wind outside rattling against something and a creak from the walls possibly 2 rooms over. Your brain might have been empty of explanation but your ears more than made up for it in what you heard. You leaned towards the mirror, turning your head back and forth trying to figure out what had happened to you. Then you felt it, a twitch, a little itch, at the very top of your head. Eyes drifted upwards to the pair of soft brown ears (?) That didn't quite point straight up, instead pointing more in a 45 degree angle. The left one was flicking of its own accord. The scream that left your mouth was instinctual, and loud.

Almost immediately you heard a knocking at the door and Charlie waltzed in, breathing hard, indicating the speed in which she came to your need. You spun around to meet her eyes, hands whipping to the very soft - so soft - ears utop your crown, breath shaking as you tried to get control over yourself.

“Ooohhh, yes, yes you’ve discovered your adorable new features! Thank goodness, I was so worried!” Charlie said, hands waving in front of her before clasping them together on her chest. “Everyone who comes to hell as a sinner takes on a delightful new appearance that reflects the way they lived and died! It’s a great way for you to meet new people and uh…learn to live a better life in spite of them! Many people take on animal appearances, my dad thinks it’s because every soul transcends the image of a human body.”

Still taking large breaths to keep yourself from screaming, your stuttering proof of your inability to form basic words, Charlie continued.

“Angel Dust is a spider, we think because he was involved in a ‘web of crime’ with his exciting mafia family - Husk…well okay Husk is interesting because I’m pretty sure cats in the overworld don’t have wings but he was a gambler before death so maybe he was just lucky to get wings too! You know, cards fell in his favour ha-haaa…” She trailed off awkwardly, face scrunching in a manner that you understood as her realising maybe she wasn’t explaining any part of this new discovery very well. She rubbed the back of her head with one hand, the other one placing itself on her hip. “Alastor is a deer demon, and it looks like you could be one too! I mean, you’ve got similar ears, although yours are much cuter because they are kind of floppy. And your nose is so cute! Like a baby doe! You’re pretty adorable honestly.”

You glanced at the mirror again, hands finally falling to your face to rest on your chin with your fingers covering your mouth lightly, spaced apart to allow your haggard breathing to come in and out. She was right, you did have a cute nose, it was similar to Charlie’s in appearance, and your ears did closely resemble the ears of a hooved forest animal. They reminded you of a mule deer's ears, the only deers you ever saw in Oregon (where your home was). Looking closer at yourself without the same level of panic your eyes moved back and forth rapidly taking in the new details of your person. Your skin all around was a sort of fawn colour, if fawn the colour could look dead. It was as if Bambi had died and his fur turned an ashier colour devoid of the warmth of active blood. That was you! Your ears were a dark blonde peppered with black, complimenting the soft blondish brown of your hair. Fingertips and nails were black, the black creeping up your arms before ending below the sleeve of your short sleeved pyjama top. You looked down and poked your foot out a bit to see if your lower limbs matched and hooray…they did.

In another world, maybe one where this was a costume, you would admit that you were cute out loud. However denial was still the leading emotion so you just slightly nodded at yourself before slowly turning around to face your gracious host once more.

“So. I’m a deer, so that’s a fun new fact…will I stay this way while I’m…here?” You winced at your admission of hell being your new place of residency.

“Yup!” Charlie replied in a chipper voice.

”And if I manage to get to heaven…will I change into something new?”

Charlie paused, the hand that was on her head had shifted to her chin, finger now tapping in pensive thought. “Hmm, I’m not sure? But from what my dad has said, humans who go up to heaven also take on forms that reflect their earthly life. Soooo you would probably stay a deer.”

”How would your dad know? Can we talk to the people in heaven?” This casual conversation was helping hasten the subsiding panic.

“Uh no. Heaven and Hell are pretty much separated all the time, except for the extermination BUT we’re working on that…My dad is Lucifer. Like the archangel!”

Your face was in obvious shock. Jaw dropped lightly and your hands came to your sternum, and you gaped at Charlie with wide eyes. “Lucifer? Like…the Devil? Satan himself?” What the actual fuck, why was your luck so cursed?

Charlie rocked back and forth on her heels, slightly grimacing from your comments before answering. “Yes, my dad is the Devil - but Satan is his own person, lots of people get them confused, much to dad’s chagrin. Lucifer Morningstar is my dad, the Devil, the King of Hell, fallen angel, and Satan is just the Lord of Wrath. It’s all very simple once you’ve been here a while.” Charlie had come to your side and wrapped her arm around your shoulders to walk you out of the bathroom. ”You should really join us downstairs for a proper tour, breakfast was over a while ago but we might be able to find some lunch in case you’re hungry.”

Your stomach rumbled at the thought of food. Was Hell just like Earth, but scarier? And redder? Would you need to get a job? Pay taxes? Oh good god, was Hell was just the worst part of living on monotonous repeat? Brutal. And certainly great punishment.

“We can work on getting you some more personal clothing later, but you are Vaggie look to be around the same size so she’s dropped off a few pieces just to get you in gear for redemption! I should probably go tell the others that you’re fine. I can’t wait for you to join us!” Charlie was so sickly sweet it was crazy to think she was the daughter of the Devil. She was too cheerful for a normal person, never mind a demon. She waved to you and said bye before closing the door as she exited.

Picking up the first couple of pieces in the donated pile, you dressed yourself in a shorter dress with a billowing skirt oh my god you have a tail ignore it ignore it ignore it and thicker grey socks that went all the way up to the middle of your thighs, covering up your black skin meeting up with the length of the dress. The dress was a softer white colour, not as bright as a crisp, new piece, this was a well loved item. No complaints, it was broken in and you were grateful for the gift. The only questionable features were the X’s that were placed directly over the nipples of the top. That was…quite the fashion statement. No time to be picky, something would be better than the pyjamas you died in. No shoes were provided so you simply walked out of the room into the hallway without.

The hallway appeared neverending from both sides, the detailed wallpaper and carpet going for visual miles. Which way was the right way? Good thing you were unconscious when you were brought up here, makes it much easier to retrace your steps. You were grateful for your giant new ears because it seemed like you could follow the sound of chatter down a hall.

Frowning, you let instinct take over and you went to the right. You were passing a door on your left and you felt the hair on your body begin to rise, a staticky sensation passing over your skin. It was a similar feeling to when you would take a giant fleece blanket out of the dryer when it was still warm. You shuddered and made an audible noise of discomfort. Thankfully it appeared that you chose the right path however, since you found yourself at a set of stairs that appeared to curve to the lower floor. You could hear the chatter clearer- “She screamed at the mirror? She’s adorable! She coulda been a worm or a giant slug or-” You shook your head, attempting to ignore the conversation you were accidentally eavesdropping on. A click was heard behind you and you whipped around to face the creature that resulted in your uncomfortable welcome to the hotel in the first place.

Alastor.

Now that he wasn’t talking and simply staring at you, analysing your being, you could really take in his face. Large, red eyes with a frightening depth to them were framed by darker red skin on his lids, his nose somehow sharp but similar to your own, his was more nose-like however. His smile was the worst part though. You were unsure of what could possibly make him smile so wide. His teeth were very large, and clean despite their colour. Strange for a person framed after a prey animal to have such sharp teeth, and you instinctively ran your tongue over your own behind your lips to discover sharper canines only, nothing comparable to the man in front of you.

In the silence his eyes narrowed and focused on you, making his face far more intimidating. Again, an unintentional shiver ran down your back and you shuddered under his gaze. You were a startled deer, caught in his frightening gaze. You were so unsure and uncomfortable with the situation that you had completely missed that he said something to you. You closed your eyes and shook your head to get out of your thoughts.

”Pardon? I’m sorry, I missed what you said there.” You admitted with crossed fingers that he would accept the apology.

”Yes, clearly. I merely asked you if you slept well! You took quite a nasty fall to the floor! Generally people know my history before I can make them faint from fear so I will accept the compliment. It appears as if my sabbatical has had very little effect on my presence.” He bowed slightly in a polite manner, arm crossing over his stomach as he did so, the other arm holding a microphone that was promptly used as a cane once he came up from his polite gesture. You had done a small curtsy in return, awkwardly grabbing the side of the small skirt to fulfil the action. He appeared to nod in acknowledgment, hopefully appreciating the polite return.

Your arms dropped back to your side as you processed what the man had said. Things were only going to continue to confuse you. This was all a nightmare, honestly.

“Now, on to a more serious matter,” He snapped his fingers, and the both of you were in a different room. Two chairs to your left were angled around a small table, the little radio featured on top of it. God damn it that fucking thing again. Farther behind one of the chairs however, the room opened into a bayou swamp environment - dark, marshy and foggy, the eerie sounds coming from it promised danger of an unknown kind. What kind of place was this? You could feel your ears flick from the ambient sounds coming from the strange forest as Alastor continued his interrogation. Walking to the antique, he asked “What were you doing with my radio, my dear?” Gesturing with his free hand to the little machine.

You essentially vomited out the story behind it, where you found it, why you were there, the reason you took it home with you. He listened intently, glancing at it once you finished your very brief history with the item. It truly wasn't a scandalous thing that you pilfered from some ritzy location, you salvaged it from a hoarder's house after it was put there by a woman with an obsession with Antiques Roadshow.

“If it is yours, why did it come here with me? Charlie said that possessions don’t follow souls into hell, but this did?” You inquired, hoping perhaps he held the answer.

Alastor became pensive “Hmmm. It is quite peculiar that it came with you. What were you doing with it? Please do not miss a single detail my dear, I am curious about our situation.

You frowned. What else other than grabbing the cord as you fell back? You listed out your actions on your fingers, reciting out loud the steps you took before your death. When you landed on the finger you paired with ‘took the back panel off-‘ he shouted a sharp ha-Hah! Confused and with a frown you continued, ending with cutting your hand on it before putting everything back together and heading to bed. Well, then dying. The actual ending.

“Are you sure that was all you did? Do not leave a single detail out, or you might regret it.” A sound attune with a record scratch sound from nowhere as you stared at the demon. Took radio home, took radio apart, bled on the radio, cleaned blood off the radio - your eyes went wide. And you silently checked off a step you missed in your story. You had cleaned blood off the symbols in the radio, the ones that looked like they themselves had been written in blood. Alastors gaze sharpened at your realisation.

“On the panel, inside the radio…” You started, “There were these symbols inside of it, I didn’t really get a good look at them before cutting my hand open,” You absentmindedly looked at your palm only to see a bright white scar where the long cut once was. Already? A Scar in hell? Alastor had stalked towards you and grabbed your hand to look at it. The air around the two of you was suffocating. It was difficult to think straight with him in front of you. And you were suddenly hyper aware of yourself, and him. Holding your hand was almost too much to handle and you tried to pull it back only for him to grip harder, nails pressing into your hand painfully. He raised his other hand palm up and held it beside yours. A matching scar was present. He frowned, though his smile was still prominent.

Dropping your hand he returned to the radio and black shadow tendrils rose from the floor and grabbed it, taking pieces off and placing the back panel of it in his hands. In silence he looked at the mess before entering into a low laugh, one that increased with each breath before he was near hysteria. His figure increased in size, antlers growing in size from his head, limbs lengthening - he swung his head to face yours as his figure started to loom over yours.

“Well my dear, we seem to have a problem” he said in a strange, distorted voice, his figure still looming. “You have compromised some old runes within my radio…it could possibly explain how you ended up here, with us, looking as you do.” Halfway through his terrifying statement he had returned to his ‘normal’ form and fluffed out the lapel of his coat as he did so. Eyes returning to yours the room became darker, and green symbols similar to the ones in the radio appeared on the floor, some appearing to raise up and float around the two of you.

“You will not mention any part of this radio or what you know of it, including where it was found or how you came into possession with it. You will not let others know of how your scar came on your person, and you certainly will not mention any of the runes you saw.” He wasn’t making a request, he was clearly demanding it. It felt as if wind was billowing his hair and coat as his eyes took on a much brighter look. ”If you do, I promise you will regret having ever come here and I will devour your soul only after a long and painful torture, am I clear?” You nodded in acknowledgement, knowing that the only reason you had not thrown up yet was the complete lack of food in your system, though the bile was resting at the back of your throat from fear.

He raised his hand to yours in a handshake motion, beckoning you with the outreached hand to join yours with his. You grabbed his hand with your own, both scars meeting in the middle, and they began to glow before he said only one word - “Deal?”

Well really, was there any other option? You nodded before he tsk-tsked your action, “I need vocal consent my dear, it is required.” The last word turning dark with static.

“Deal.” You barked out, and as soon as you responded, the room reverted back to its original state immediately. Alastor took his hand back and wiped it on the opposite sleeve. ”Excellent. You may leave now, the stairs will direct you right into the lobby. Please tell Ms. Morningstar that my afternoon has changed and I am unable to join her.” The door swung open on its own accord and black tangible tendrils of shadow had all but shoved you across the room and out the door before slamming the door shut so hard you swore the wood splintered slightly.

You paused to catch your breath, staring at the door, which you now knew led to Alastors Room. On the other side you could tell he must have been pacing back and forth, his heels clacking on the hard floors as he did so. Soon after however, it sounded as if a wild animal was throwing furniture and ripping fabric, loud screaming as it did so. Not about to stick around, you sprinted to the stairs and nearly slipped from the lack of shoes trying to place distance between you and the Demon upstairs. You kept up the pace on the main floor until you ran past an open door and caught sight of Charlie sitting on a sofa. You entered the room, out of breath and slightly sweaty from the encounter upstairs. She waved excitedly before patting the open seat beside her for you to sit as she held up an apple in her other hand. You sat, accepted the apple and took a bite before looking at the Television and promptly choking as you watched a news anchor discuss something called an ‘Extermination’, didn’t Charlie mention that upstairs?

Thankfully, once things had settled down in your head, you found yourself swept up in trust exercises, oh goody. Thankfully this spiralled into chaos and you were glad everyone had simply accepted your presence without hesitation, there were far more exciting things happening. It was especially comforting that Alastor would be keeping his promise and leaving on an outing for the day.

****

I will add here, this will be a semi-slow burn. Alastor is aroace pre-reader, but with time things change. Time, magic, and forced proximity.

#alastor smut #Alastor Hazbin #Alastor x reader #Alastor slow burn #Alastor Hazbin Hotel #Alastor x OFC #Hazbin Hotel #alastorxreader #alastor x you

[midnightarcheress]

Simon takes you to the museum.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: implied ptsd. 4 | gold rush masterlist.

the timid yellows creeping up the tree leaves announce the beginning of autumn, crisp air filling their lungs as they walk through the Tuileries Garden. Simon tries his best to act calm, focusing on how you make your way on the footpath around the octagonal lake, but the city’s sounds and the bustling crowd in the park keep him on edge, fingers rhythmically touching the dense fabric of his jeans for a faint sense of safety in the present.

despite his anxiety levels spiking, he still manages to appreciate the view. the remaining flowers from warmer days paint the grass with vivid colours and, on the horizon, he catches a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower on the other side of the river. the sun shines brightly in the sky, almost casting a golden halo over your head, the tender heat warming his brittle heart in a brief moment of peace.

“the museum is that way,” you look back at him, pointing to your left. ever since Daniel complied with your request for time off, you’ve been researching the perfect spot to spend your free afternoon, ultimately landing on the Orangery Museum. at least a museum is supposed to be a quiet place, Simon thinks.

“did you know that this building was actually a greenhouse?” you ask, walking through the entrance, “it was created to store the citrus trees from the garden, that’s why this side has so many windows.” your head tilts to the riverside facade and he silently hums, acknowledging you.

his lips involuntarily curve at your enthusiasm. the two of you don’t talk much on the daily, but it was endearing to see how happy you were for being surrounded by art, and he didn’t mind hearing you babble about the paintings. or about anything, honestly. the sound of your voice was soothing, pacifying the nerves that had been eating his insides since he stepped out of bed. 

“oh, those are my favourite!” you tug on his forearm, pulling him into an oval room with huge panels, the tiny inscriptions on the side reading ‘Claude Monet’, “those are water lilies, y’know, the flower? he did two-hundred-and-something paintings based on a pond in his property, can you imagine that?” 

“they’re pretty,” he mumbles, observing the thin brushstrokes. art is far from his strong suit, but he liked how the paintings captured the fickles of light and how they lacked the usual restrained aspect seen in other pieces – they seemed relaxed, floaty, free. so different from your life. maybe that’s why you loved it so much.

you drag him through the whole exhibit, explaining little details of the museum, the garden, the techniques, and he listens closely, his attention never leaving your mouth, completely entranced by your words. he didn’t feel the weight of the duty nor the need to protect you there, it was a different world. your own little bubble, and you allowed him inside. 

his hand brushes on your shoulder while exiting the building, guiding you through the door. he’s not keen on being outside again, sirens already buzzing in his brain with the idea of potential threats lurking in the shadows.

trying not to let the perpetual concern flood his mind, he clears his throat and sparks up conversation, ignoring the rules pairing over his head. no talking, no touching. “so, how did you learn so much about... all that?” he gestures back to the museum.

“oh, uhm, i used to paint,” you start, hiding the smile sneaking up your lips at his unexpected interest, “took a course in art history too.”

his eyebrows raise. “used to?” 

“yeah, when i had more time to myself,” he notices your sigh, studying the sudden solemn expression that outlines your face. your beautiful face, “but i wasn’t very good at it.” you chuckle, downsizing your abilities, and he snorts, not fully believing you. it’s the first time you’ve seen him showing any sort of emotion besides indifference, and he prides himself on the surprise gracing your features. 

it was nice, walking with you. not behind you. did he enjoy the view? yes, but this – him by your side, arms swinging together, matching steps – was real. genuine. it almost felt like a date, not that he would ever dare to say it out loud. everything was perfect.

until it wasn’t.

it happened so fast. a loud blast on the street made Simon wrap an arm around your waist and pull you to the nearest alley, one hand firmly pressing you against his chest and another holding your head, broad shoulders covering your body as the intense blood pump on his ears muffle the deafening ringing rattle. he stays in the position for a while, blown-out pupils frantically darting around and searching for any indication of danger. 

he takes a deep breath and his head dips down to you. for a minute, the only thing he sees is the gash on your forehead and your bleeding eye. you’re paralysed, partially because you’re brain is still catching up on what’s going on, and partially because his tight grip doesn’t admit any movement. 

“Ghost? what’s wrong?” the scared tone of your whisper readjusts his vision to what really is in front of him – you. safe, without a single scratch, tucked in his arms with a strength he hadn’t used to this extent in a long time. and he feels bad, pathetic even, because nothing happened. the blaring sound was a car crash in the avenue, not a grenade destroying everything in sight.

“it’s nothing” he pulls back, averting your eyes like the plague, “i'm sorry.” stupid. 

you frown, overlooking his avoidance with utter sympathy, “are you alright?” he grunts, unintelligibly, reverting to his cold stance and nodding. you don’t buy his half-answer, but decide that it’s better not to pry.

he knew it was coming, the uneasiness brewing in his gut was only waiting for the right trigger to crawl up his oesophagus and spill all over you. 

the rest of the walk is quiet, with him returning to his position a few steps back. never should’ve left. you sneak glances at him, checking, but his gaze seems too far gone. next thing he knows, you’re both on the jet, Daniel snoring in the front seat, him looking out the window, lost in thought. of course i'd fuck up. 

he barely hears when you approach him, trembling fingers handing him a card. the card. you’re trusting him. he glares at you for a second, hazel irises shifting between your spooked appearance and the paper. ‘don’t like you travelling without me, darling. i’ll be waiting for my souvenir  – your prince.’

i've never been to france lol. and yeah i had a monet phase when I was fifteen.

little fun fact - the painting in the fic masterlist is part of his water lilies series.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #f!reader #fem!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost imagine #ghost fanfiction #bodyguard!ghost #bodyguard!simon #actress!reader #bodyguard au #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #gold rush #bodyguard!ghost ☾ #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[pathetichimbos]

guys... I gotta talk about this. bear with me, it's gonna be a rollercoaster.

<nsfw under cut f!reader implied but not outright stated I guess>

---

Thomas having sex for the first time.

Oh boy. Oh boy. So many thoughts.

I don't care what anyone says. Thomas is a 30+ year old virgin. We stan him. We love him. We're gonna ruin him.

But first, let's talk about all the stuff in his life building up to it.

So, as I've stated many, many times before, Thomas was primarily isolated from kids his age when he was 13-14, so he didn't really have an outlet to explore anything in a safe manner with anyone. (Not that it would have been all that safe in the first place... these kids wildin')

And we also know that he grew up in a pretty conservative household (a.ka. patriotic god fearing americans), so we all know that he was most likely too embarrased and ashamed by his own attraction to explore anything by himself either. (whoo boy been there buddy)

And we know that as an older, proud, southern woman, Luda Mae most likely did not have any sort of sex talk with Thomas other than telling him it was for grown, married folks only.

But, you know what we didn't know?

Charlie wasn't around to have the talk with him either.

I was rewatching The Beginning (oh wow, really? what a surprising turn of events) and something I've heard dozens of times before caught my eye.

1952. Sergeant Major 'Hoyt' was a POW in the Korean war.

August, 1939. Luda Mae finds a discarded newborn in the dumpster outside the slaughterhouse.

1939-1952.

Depending on the month (but we can assume it was many, many months), Thomas was 12 or 13 when Charlie served in the Army.

So, while Thomas is dropping out of school and isolating himself from his family and peers, the only sense of a father figure is serving / being held captive by enemy soldiers.

And personally, I don't believe Thomas and Monty are that close. Monty doesn't seem to take any sort of interest in Thomas, and Thomas was a little too willing to chop his legs off. So I sincerely doubt he was any sort of help.

So, really, I wouldn't be all that surprised if Thomas doesn't really know what sex is. He has a general idea of the meaning and that it's reserved for marriage, but other than crude, most likely misogynistic comments from the older men in his life, he doesn't really know anything about it.

So, when he actually does meet someone (and tie the knot) and all of those feelings come rushing in, he's more than overwhelmed. It takes a long time before he can actually handle going all the way.

For the first part of your intimacy, it's a lot of soft talks and encouragement, and explaining everything to him. He has no idea how to make you feel good, so it's up to you to show him literally everything.

You have to build up to the actual sex, and even after you do it for the first time, he's going to need you to keep hold of the lead until he's familiar and comfortable with it all.

He's a mess when you finally do it. He's clinging to you, trying so hard not to hold you too tightly, a whining mess in your ear, burying his face in your neck and panting wildly. It's awkward, and bumpy, and he finishes way too fast (and you don't even get the chance) but the way he melts into your touch with that blissed out look in his eyes makes it worth it.

And trust me, he gets better. He's a quick learner, and as long as you tell him exactly what to do, he goes from a fumbling mess to making your toes curl in no time.

He spends an ungodly amount of time watching and learning what gets you going. The sounds, the sights, the movements, everything.

He could spend hours on you, but he's still new to this, so he gets distracted really easily.

He lives off praise, the more you give him the more fuzzy his brain gets until he's a whining mess. (He makes a LOT of noises). He loves when you leave scratches. (Nothing too deep or scarring, but the feeling drives him crazy). He likes when you tug his hair to make him look at you. (He's big on eye contact, specifically when you're more 'making love' than 'we've got five minutes before someone walks into the kitchen').

....Now this next thing I'm gonna say is going to upset plenty of people, but hear me out.

Realistically, I don't think Thomas enjoys going down.

I know, I know, it's a SUPER unpopular opinion as pretty much every headcanons him as being super into giving head, BUT, I have my reasonings.

It's not that he dislikes the act itself, and in fact, I'm sure he actually loves it, but we do have to remember that he has a rather severe skin condition mostly centered around his face.

This means his skin is super sensitive to certain things like strong chemicals, intense fragrances, hot water, and anything with a high acidity.

And going down with absolutely cause an irritable flare up that will hurt. A lot.

So, no, realistically, I don't think he'd do it, just for that reason.

Do I think he'd enjoy doing it if he could? Yea, absolutely, I just don't think he can.

Anyways. I don't know what this was. But it would not leave my brain, so. I guess this is my introductory to the smut I want to start writing. Who knows. We'll see.

#thomas hewitt #slasher fandom #slashers #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x s/o #thomas hewitt x y/n #slasher x reader #thomas hewitt x you #slasher x you

[hexofvex]

Jealousy headcanons with my Anemo favs ft. Gender Neutral!Reader

Characters: Wanderer, Xiao and Kazuha

CW: jealous behaviour (especially worse in Scara's), a bit of swearing

Total WC: 1348 words

A/N: Switching it up a bit until I get a good one-shot idea. I'm kind of using the idea of the nations having their own languages plus a common language in Kazuha's. Also I'm sorry Kazuha's is shorter I hope you enjoy it tho <3 and as always feedback is appreaciated!

Kazuha

Kazuha is the least jealous out of these three

He's rarely ever jealous if anything

He's very confident in the stability of your relationship

However, when he gets jealous, it's directed at the outsider, he's more annoyed than anything

Would probably just intrerrupt the conversation to place a kiss on your cheek (yk to show the person in question that they don't have a chance)

You'd obviously notice his that his atitude is a bit more cheeky than usual tho

And you'd be a tad bit surprised, because you didn't really expect something like this out of him

Kazuha was not the type to get irritated easily.

But as he watches the owner of dango stall flirt with you (shamelessly, I might add), he feels his jaw tensing up. Honestly, why were they dragging this out so much? He'd been so excited to show you around Inazuma City, and for the last fifteen minutes you were stuck at the dango stall.

Of course, you had no way of knowing what the seller was saying because of the specific expressions they were using, but he understood all too well. You were nodding your head politely, with a smile that looked more pained by each minute that passed.

When he's had enough, he walks over to the stall. "My love?"

You turn to face him, and he leans over to place a soft kiss on your cheek. "We need to leave."

You try to hide the wave of relief that washes over your face, as Kazuha explains something to the vendor. When they realise the context of your relationship, their attitude changes as embarrassment blooms in their expression, and Kazuha can't deny the exquisite satisfaction he feels at the sight.

"What did you tell them?" you ask, as the two of you continue your walk through the city.

"That we are two travelers that need to get back to Ritou, to catch our ship."

Not exactly a lie. Maybe except for the fact that the Alcor leaves in three days.

"Thanks for the save." Your lips curl up into a smirk. "Was kissing me a core part of the plan?"

Kazuha smiles, the kind of radiant smile that is more than enough to give you butterflies.

"Sorry, my dear. But if you knew the things they said to you...I just couldn't help myself."

Xiao

Very jealous, but tries his best to hide it

He thinks it's embaressing, how can an adeptus feel things such as jealousy

He also feels guilty and criticizes himself for not trusting you through and through

He knows, at a rational level, that you love him, so why is it that he feels like this?

(Un)fortunately for him, he can't hide shit from you emotion wise

Xiao felt like his head was underwater, barely registering what you were saying.

You had just returned from a comission which you had taken together with another adventurer. You were just telling him how glad you were that you ended up with a partner that could carry their own.

Someone that feels like an actual partner.

That's what you said, and although he knew it wasn't that kind of partner, he couldn't stop the thoughts from flooding into his brain. Would you need him anymore? He was so complicated and hard to handle, especially when karmic debt was taking a toll on him, it wouldn't be hard for you to find someone less exhausting-

"Xiao?"

The adeptus returns to the present, broken out by your voice. You're standing in front of him, puzzled look on your face.

"Did you zone out?"

Xiao swallows. "No. I was listening."

You frown. "What was I saying?"

"You were talking about the stone slates."

"I was, five minutes ago." You face softens as you take a few steps closer to him. "Xiao? Love, are you sure you're alright? Did something happen while I was gone? Is it the karmic debt? I'll go to the harbour right away to bring more medicine if you need it-"

"No. You don't need to worry, this is no matter. Continue your story...about...your friend." He curses himself for the way his voice cracks on the word friend. And of course, you notice, and your expression shifts to a lesser degree of worry.

"Are you jealous?"

"That is beaneath adepti-"

"It's fine if you are, you know. I mean, not fine for you, but, you don't need to feel embaressed about it. It's just how feelings are sometimes. You know I'd never actually...you know..."

His eyes widen. "No, of course not! I- Forgive me." He takes a deep breath. "I do not know what to do about it, you know this is all very new to me."

"Well,I guess I just have to show you until we crush every shadow of doubt." You cup his face and slowly press your lips to his. It's a simple kiss, but you make sure it communicates your feelings.

"A little better?" You ask after you pull away.

"Yes," he replies and pulls you in again.

Wanderer

Literally unbearable

Y'all know that meme that goes "You're the most jealous man I've ever known." "You know other men?"

Yeah that's him, but he does that with everyone

His abandonment issues are big as hell, it was kind of to be expected.

Unlike Xiao, he doesn't even try to hide his jealousy

The type of person to wake you up in the middle of the night to ask if you really love him

The fact that you're with his insufferable ass should be proof enough

You're sitting in your room, enjoying a book, drinking your tea, until you feel a disturbance in the force, when you hear the door to your house getting slammed.

And before you even get to process what's going on, said disturbance walks in your room.

"Who was that turnip head that was flirting with you earlier today?"

You close your book, put down your cup and lean back in your chair, crossing your hands.

"What?"

"About 10 A.M., in front of the Akademiya."

"Ah. That was a colleague. And they're taken, in case that helps ease your mind."

"Good."

"You know, have you ever considered that perhaps I'm not looking to cheat on you at every corner?"

Noticing the hurt tone of your voice, he backs off and the anger fades from his face.

"I might have acted too brashly."

"You think?" You leave your book and cup of tea abandoned on the table as you head towards the door. You stop and turn your head to face him. "I won't betray you, Kunikuzushi. You should know I wouldn't do that."

"I know that."

"Then what's the problem!?"

He sighs and avoids your gaze.

"I am. The more time I spend in your presence the deeper I fall. It is only natural that I wish to preserve this partnership of ours. Does that make sense to you, [Name]?"

Although you're familiar with his straightforwardness, such an admission still delivers a bit of shock.

"It does. Because I want the same thing."

You step closer to him and turn his head so he's facing you.

"You don't need to do all this. I love you, that's the whole reason why I'm with you. If you'd see things from my perspective, you'd never have these thoughts again."

He's silent for a moment, until he grabs your hand and squeezes it.

"I will make attempts to get rid of this. Because I want to believe in your love. Are you willing to believe in mine?"

You laugh. "What kind of question is that? Of course I am. Why do you think I'm still here?"

"It might not go perfectly on the first try, you know."

"I'm alright with that. Just try. You can do that for me."

He lets go of your hand and goes to cup your face, bringing it so close to his that your noses are touching, and you can see the swirls of fiery determination in his eyes.

"I cannot know the results, but I could attempt anything for you."

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #xiao x reader #kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader

[nunalastor]

Okay, more Aus and general wholesomeness to help combat the cursed inbox content (TBH, I feel like I should start signing these with an emoji. I’ve sent you like pauses to scroll through your blog and count the anon I know I sent, 20-ish!?!? Ugh, I didn’t think I had the brain rot that bad. Guess not. Any emojis that are free?

AU: For whatever reason, Alastor’s mum comes to visit. Whether its as an angel or time travel shenanigans is unclear. But everyone basically jumps at the chance to explain just how horrible Alastor is. All except Lucifer, who pulls her aside and tells her that while her son isn’t prefect, he isn’t heartless. He’s saved my daughter, multiple times. He’s the one who called be out on being an absent parent. He supported her when I wouldn’t. He respects women so much it’s a defining part of his characterization. He treats Nifty well, even when most people don’t and are creped out by her. He doesn’t lash out at Angle for his suggestive comments (much) because he knows that’s just what Angle is use to. He’s working on a way to own Angle’s soul instead of the man who’ll keep abusing him. And yes he picks fights and embarrasses Vox, but he never starts them. He’s dragged Lucifer out of depressive states and dealt with him at his worse that he won’t let even Charlie see. Alastor’s mum leaves knowing that while her son isn’t prefect, he is doing what he thinks is best, and he is loved.

AU, ft. Helluva Boss: Rather than run IMP, Blitzo works as Lucifer’s bodyguard. How did he end up in that position? Well, he met Alastor and while they do not get along, Alastor respects that he tries to be a good father. The imp soon becomes a part of their small missed matched family, and is the only one who tell RadioApple to their face that they were not, in fact, just friends. He also likes to tell them that they don’t pay him enough to deal with their drama. RadioApple catches word of Blitz messy love life and decide its only far to meddle like he did. They are both, really really bad at it though.

AU, Human: Lucifer is a teacher. The class knows he was married and divorced, and they have reason to suspect that he’s seeing someone again based on what his daughter Charlie has said. They don’t know for  sure until they have to switch to Zoom because of the plague. Unforatnely for them, their teachers partner is very good at not being caught on camera. The only thing they’ve seen of him is a flash of a red coat and a charming voice.

General HCs: Alastor and Lucifer can see each other from their rooms, if they stand at the right angle. They make a game out of trying to communicate with each other from across the hotel with hand gestures or magic. It’s pretty hit or miss most of the time. They also send paper airplanes to each other from across the roof.

Lucifer manages to sneak a rubber duck onto Alastor’s person. Where he hides it I’m not quite sure, but it is hidden. Alastor himself doesn’t know about it, but his Shadow does. It doesn’t tell him. The duck is a means of protection and when Alastor is ambushed by the Vees while healing from his wound from the final, he explodes with magic and knocks them all out, does serve damage to the road and building around it and teleports the deer demon back to the hotel. Alastor tells him to never do it again. He is ignored, and the defense ducks are regularly placed on him.

Alastor can melt with his shadow, but what people don’t know is that he can also blend in with other people’s shadows. It's easiest if they know and consent to him being there though. Lucifer has no problem with this, and Alastor takes great delight in scaring people by popping out of the king’s shadow. It also allows him to leave the pride ring, though he can’t leave the shadow, and he can’t stay in the shadow for very long if outside.

so many!! def sign with an emoji - or even submit as yourself or post to your blog with a link i can reblog so people can follow you!

#hazbin hotel #radioapple #alastor #appleradio #radio apple #apple radio #lucifer #headcanon #nunalastor asks

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Dark! Tangerine » Scenario #1: Jealousy

Pairing: Dark Tangerine x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: Jealous Tangerine thoughts.

WARNING: Toxic/Abusive Relationship; Manipulation. 

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

Also this gif is perfect for this scenario, isn't it?

--

If you think that Tangerine isn’t a jealous man, then you’re living in a fantasy world. 

He is fueled by jealousy. 

Your boyfriend feels - nope, he knows - that more than half of the male population in the world is after you and that’s why he must keep you away from those pricks. 

Tangerine will openly forbid you from going out on your own, no matter how much you argue or beg. He’s inflexible when it comes to it and you also might as well forget about your job. He needs to know that you’re safely tucked in the comfort of his house, far away from any danger (aka any male specimen). 

Otherwise Tangerine won’t be able to concentrate on anything else, practically bursting a brain vein from overthinking. His mind making up the worst scenarios of creepy men flirting with you, trying to swoon you or even worse, to hurt you. Lemon does try his best to reason with his brother, but it’s a failed attempt as Tangerine is quite the stubborn man. 

If you try to escape the house to go somewhere, he’ll be so quick to find out where you are as your phone location is always available for him (you don’t know about this).

Chances are that you’ll be enjoying yourself at a coffee shop with some friends, assuming that your boyfriend is busy with a job outside the country meaning you won’t have to worry about rushing back home when suddenly a very angry Tangerine shows up, with ripped off clothes with blood stains all over and very little patience as he asks whether you want to come home willingly or should he drag you back. Your choice, of course.

You barely speak to him on your way home, bursting in tears of annoyance and shame the moment you get inside his car. Lemon tries his best to serve as a mediator and to calm you down but Tangerine’s rage is too big to be controlled as he shouts at you of how irresponsible you were. 

He’s not shy explaining and detailing all the possible scenarios that could happen to you. You do know that he has dangerous enemies, right? Enemies that won’t bat an eye before cutting you into tiny pieces to get revenge at him. Enemies that wouldn’t hesitate as they would fuck you like animals over and over till they left you broken.

Did you know that? Yeah, he didn’t think so either. Basically it’s a huge guilt-tripping session until you feel like - maybe - it’s actually your fault. Maybe Tangerine is right. He’s your boyfriend after all, right?

He only wants what’s best for you. Those are the words he repeats that night as he apologizes for yelling at you as he kisses your head, pulling you into a bear hug. 

He’d lose his mind if he ever lost you and that’s something you need to take into consideration. So promise him that you’ll be a good girl from now on and he might just let you out into the garden. 

“I care about you, ya know that, right? I’m so fuckin’ sorry I yelled at you, sweetheart, but you seriously’ scared the shit out of me. I swear that if anything happened to you…I’d just fuckin’ kill myself. You’re my life and that’s all I care about.” 

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #yandere x reader #bullet train #dark tangerine #dark!tangerine #dark!tangerine x reader #yandere tangerine #yandere tangerine x reader #yandere!tangerine #tangerine x reader #dark!fic #dark fic #tw: toxic relationships #dark tangerine x reader

[icallhimjoey]

Reinvent Love

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 

Summary: You and Joe are treading new waters. You’re no longer flatmates, but still close. More than friends, but nothing defined. Nothing labeled. Determined to not lose what you have, though. But, can you?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, fluff, season 3 of my flatmate!joe

Author’s note: we're getting closer and closer to jealous!joe making some weird and questionable choices, best be prepared - and, again, you don’t need to have read define close or explain us, but it’ll obviously give you backstory, which might help!

Wordcount: 3.1K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe jolted awake at the sudden loud vibrations of his phone on his bedside table. The loud abrasive sound of it felt almost offensive to the silence of the rest of his flat. Joe twisted his head towards the sound too quickly and hurt his neck in the process. It was pitch black dark in his bedroom still, and Joe instinctively knew he’d not been asleep for that long.

He answered his phone without looking.

“Hey,” Joe whispered, already turning over the other way, squinting open one eye to press the speaker button.

“Hi,” you croaked back, and from the rustling of covers on your end of the line, Joe knew you weren’t outside his flat, waiting to be let in.

That happened sometimes. Where you called Joe just to tell him to buzz you up. He’d open the door with small squinty eyes and would silently shake his head at how silly you were for taking an Uber in the middle of the night, just to get a few hours of sleep in his bed with him.

This happened sometimes, too. Middle of the night phonecalls from bed.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Mmno, my pillow is hurting my ear and giving me a headache.”

It was a weak excuse to call him, and also, a fat lie. You weren’t kept up by a painful ear or a headache. You were kept up by your own brain, thinking of all things stressful in your life, and it was rude how Joe wasn’t there so you’d have other things to focus on. Like his heartbeat. Or his breathing.

You heard how Joe inhaled deeply. Not quite a yawn, but it served the same purpose. The sound instantly made you feel better.

“You’ve got like...” Joe fell silent a second as he rubbed a hand over his face, and you knew it took him longer to think straight just because he was half asleep still. “...eight pillows.”

“Four.” You sighed, eyes closing to Joe’s low gruff voice, and you felt how your shoulders relaxed into your mattress more. It was unfair how you hadn’t even been aware of how tensed up they were. Unfair how the baritone of someone speaking just above a whisper had your muscles relaxing like that.

“Four pillows.” Joe corrected himself.

There were a lot of pillows, was his point, and he was right. And all were very soft, too. The one you were lying on probably just needed a little fluffing, Joe thought.

You remained silent, just wanting to hear Joe breathe. It was the reason why you’d called him in the first place. Something to focus on besides your own thoughts inside your own head.

“Hmm? Grab a different one.” Joe was still on the painful ear fix. “Get comfy. And get another one to hug.”

That was actually good advice.

Joe listened as he heard swishing of fabric again, the sound of your skin over your duvet cover and soft linen against the cotton of your sheets, muffling sounds loud against the microphone. It took you some actual effort to wrestle one of your pillows underneath your covers, your arms far too tired to get it sorted in one swift move.

“Yea? That better?” Joe asked once he heard you’d settled.

“Mmhm.”

“Good girl. Now stop thinking about bad things.”

Joe knew you hadn’t called because of issues with the fucking bedding. It was always something else that kept you up. That had made you sad. That had you worried. It was why he always answered, no matter the time. Why he always let you in when you had already made your way over, never complaining at your cold body warming itself up to his. Joe was a good sport and would always pull you close, tuck you right into him, your face either pushed into his neck or laid gently onto his chest so you could fall asleep to his heartbeat.

You could always sleep just fine if you just stopped thinking for a second.

“Okay.” You answered, and pretended that it was easy to just follow the order.

And then for a while, it was just quiet.

Joe was falling back asleep, his mind already drifting off when he suddenly got pulled back into his consciousness by you softly requesting for him to move his phone closer to his face.

“Can barely hear you...”

“This better?” Joe said after scooting down his pillow a little.

You listened to check.

“Yea, tha’s better.” You hummed, happy to hear Joe’s steady breathing a little clearer, tightening your arms around the pillow in your grasp. The slow and steady in and out helped tremendously. “Don’t hang up, okay? I’ll hang up.”

“Hmm. Go to sleep.” Joe instructed in whispers.

“Can’t.” you murmured, the because you’re not here remaining unsaid, but you already sounded like you were barely even awake still. “My room’s not right.”

Joe couldn’t even begin to try to process that in the moment.

“I got you.” he promised, every word taking more and more effort to make its way out of his mouth. “Won’t hang up.”

“Okay.”

Hours later Joe woke up to his alarm and a stupidly low phone battery. He quickly hung up, praying that his alarm hadn’t traveled down the line to wake you.

He ran both his hands down his face, rubbing and pulling his skin in all directions before deciding he was going to have to figure out how to fix this nightly-phonecall thing.

You didn’t call him every night, but it was enough for it to not be normal. And if that wasn’t everything he was going for lately... normal.

Normal was difficult. Hard. But ultimately worth it, he knew.

He sort of loved it, these needy phonecalls, Joe couldn’t deny. He liked you vulnerable. He liked taking care of you when you felt small. But he’d rather you’d get some actual normal sleep. That you didn’t need to go lay down the minute you’d get home from work only to struggle with it when you were meant to get a long stretch of hours in at night. Not that he didn’t love watching you curl up onto his sofa, knees pulled all the way up into your chest, as he worked on the other side of the room. But sorting out a normal sleeping schedule for you seemed healthy. Healthier than whatever you had going now, anyway.

And you agreed.

It was why you were right in the middle of hauling all of your bedroom furniture across the hall when Joe came over late afternoon the next day.

“What’s going on here?” Joe asked after letting himself in, the key to your flat still on his keyring. You’d started this bit of having Joe hand over the key every time he used it, but you’d slip it right back into his coat pocket when he wasn’t looking.

You popped up from behind a chest of drawers, hair all over the place, eyes sort of manic.

“I’m moving!” you smiled widely and walked around to push the dresser into its new spot.

“You’re– .... into my bedroom?” Joe questioned as he stepped aside to let you get past him.

“Correction,” you said, disappearing into the room that still held most of your things. “Into my bedroom.”

Joe turned his head from your old bedroom to your new one and frowned a little.

“You’re giving up the ensuite?”

Joe vaguely remembered you telling him your room not being right, but this... this was a choice he wouldn’t have made. Advice he wouldn’t have given. His old bedroom was smaller and had south-facing windows, which was fine in winter, but also meant you always had a couple of sweating-on-top-of-the-covers weeks in summer.

“I know - ahh, she’s gone mad!” you said in a high pitched funny voice, huffing a laugh straight after. “Will you help me with the bed?”

No further explanation was given, and Joe dared not ask. You were moving bedrooms, your new future flatmate was going to be getting the bigger bedroom with the ensuite, and that was that.

“Sure.”

Joe took his coat off and pushed the long sleeves of his T-shirt up his forearms. You seemed excited over the prospect of change, sort of enthusiastically eager, all giddy, which was new to Joe. When he’d moved out, you’d hidden yourself away in your bedroom the whole time, and he remembered how terrible he’d felt. Guilt would’ve eaten him alive that day if he hadn’t had been so busy with the actual move then.

This was definitely better, but this also felt like a spur of the moment thing that maybe you’d regret later.

Joe hoped the regret would come before a new flatmate would, so at least you would be given the time and space to right the wrongs.

But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t help now. He could let you learn from your own mistakes. And, you know, maybe this would also help the general sleep issues you had going.

“Ready?” he asked, squatting down right next to you, hands on the frame.

You smiled at him a second, and he smiled right back. You had to bite at the insides of your cheeks for it to ease.

“Ready.”

About forty-five minutes later, you stepped into what used to be your bedroom and took a jog around the empty space.

“So empty! Look at all this room– it’s, wait…. echo! No. There’s carpet here.”

You laughed at yourself.

Silly.

“Of course that doesn’t work. But look!”

You kicked a leg high up in the air and swung your arms around widely.

“I could like… I don’t know, do aerobics in here!”

You kicked and punched the air some more and turned your moves into a strange dance as you took big steps around the room.

“I don’t know how to do aerobics.”

But clearly, that didn’t stop you.

Joe watched you from his spot, leant in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and a stupid grin spread across his face that he couldn’t even try to hide.

God. You were really fucking cute.

Look at you.

His chest could barely handle it, he felt like he was about to burst.

“You know aerobics? Sounds like robots. Aerobots. Air robots.”

Your movements turned into robotic dance moves, the classic stiff arms that you turned into plane wings as you spun around. Joe laughed, no longer able to contain his joy, head thrown back, mouth wide open, and you used the sound as raw fuel for your own giggles.

You spun until you were dizzy, and you felt like a child.

When your vision start swimming and the room kept spinning even after you’d stopped, you let yourself fall onto the dusty carpet, flopping down right in the middle of the room.

Joe watched you come down for a moment, and he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip as you stared up at the ceiling, slowly steadying your breathing.

When you turned your head to look at him, practically beaming still, it provoked him to launch himself onto the carpet right next to you. Joe pretended he was going to dive right on top of you, making you squeal and brace for impact, but he only bumped into your side as he laid down.

And then, for a short while, you just laid there, side by side, staring up at the ceiling. Eventually you turned your heads to look at each other.

“You’re cute.” Joe smiled, his hand finding yours to intertwine his fingers with, and it made you scrunch up your nose.

“I’m being weird.” You corrected him, curling your fingers to dig your nails into his skin.

“Tomayto, tomahto.” Joe meant, same thing, and used his other hand over yours, pushing to flatten your finger tips and you laughed as his face contorted from the effort.

“Potayto, potahto.” You parrotted, trying your best to mimic Joe’s deeper voice, making him chuckle once more.

You were winning the weird hand-battle you had going, and Joe ended up pulling both hands away when you started trying to move them towards your mouth, teeth already bared.

“Yea, all right. Just weird.” Joe prodded a finger into your side when you sat up, making you yelp and prod him right back in his thigh.

“Do you think I can charge my new flatmate more rent for giving them the larger room with the ensuite?” you asked, looking around once more.

“Um... you’ve never paid more for it.”

“That’s not what I asked.” you said pointedly. “I asked, do you think I can?” you looked at him over your shoulder and your eyes twinkled with a mischief Joe hadn’t seen from you in a while.

“Well...” Joe sucked air through his teeth. “Maybe find a new flatmate first before you–”

“I did!”

Joe slowly blinked at you.

“You did?”

“Yea. Josh.”

Joe felt it then. A little twang inside of his chest. Something small, but definitely painful. Like someone had a teeny tiny guitar in there and pulled the thickest snare, the heavy plunk of vibrations slowly fading out, but never completely going.

Just a small little something that said, no, and it lingered.

And you were so nonchalant about it. Yea. Josh. Like it hadn’t just unearthed something disgustingly ugly inside of Joe. Like it hadn’t just bitten off and swallowed up a huge chunk of his joy. Like it wasn’t even a big deal at all.

Josh.

You shrugged up one shoulder, turning on the spot as you criss crossed your legs, explaining that one of your friends had given him your number to contact you about the flatshare. And yea, you’d been a little apprehensive, because a friend of a friend moving in and turning out to be a bad flatmate had every potential to ruin said friendship. But he’d stopped by that morning, and he seemed sort of normal. He also wasn’t 19 and hadn’t tried to get a sweet deal on his rent, which was refreshing.

“He’s moving in next week.”

Joe’s mind went all sorts of places then, but he managed to keep a straight face as he reached up to pull some dust from your hair.

“If you want to charge him more, maybe you should hoover first.” Joe held the fluffy piece of grey in between two fingers to show you.

“We can do that later.” You slapped one of Joe’s legs and used it to push yourself up onto your feet.

“We? Excuse me, I know I look extremely muscular–” that made you snort, which Joe skillfully ignored, “–but I came over for pizza and a film, not for hard manual labour! I’ve already done too much!”

Joe was not going to hoover Josh’s new bedroom for him.

He also thought you shouldn’t do that.

Josh could take care of that himself.

He was a big boy, surely.

Josh.

“Okay.” you smiled, holding out a hand to help Joe up. “Pizza and a film, then.”

And Joe immediately felt silly. He was going to spend the evening in his favourite spot, on the corner of your sofa, doing his favourite activity, sharing a pizza with you, and, you know, maybe Josh was actually really kind. You were a good judge of character, of course Josh was going to be kind. Joe had no business having an opinion of the man before even having met him.

He had moved out, hadn’t he?

That had been his choice.

His decision.

Rational thought was enough to will the uneasy feeling away. Rational thought dampened it enough to where he could no longer feel where exactly it sat within him, and he was able to swallow the sour taste it had left in his mouth.

But then Joe made sure to let you choose a pizza, let you get one with toppings that you really liked. Made sure to let you choose a film, something he’d never turn on had he been by himself.

Joe let you sit right in the corner of the L-shaped sofa, let you have the best spot.

Joe made sure it was a little more obvious that he thought of you first, and that he let himself be just an afterthought.

You happily accepted every sweet gesture and when you slung a leg over Joe’s lap after wrapping both your arms around one of his, Josh was no longer on his mind.

Just you.

How warm you felt. How soft you were. How much he loved this.

Loved you.

You hugged his bicep and watched the film Joe didn’t like, but the evening was perfect, because he got to press his nose into your hair as he held your thigh in place with both his hands. He hoped you’d fall asleep soon, just so he could stare at your soft features for however long he wanted without making you feel weird about it.

He was meant to home and sleep in his own bed tonight, another early morning for which his alarm had already been set.

But, fuck it.

If he was going to fall asleep on your sofa tonight, he was just going to fall asleep on your sofa tonight.

And if he was going to wake up hours later with a sore neck and painful knees from overstretching for too long, he was just going to have a sore neck and painful knees for a bit.

And then, if he would decide to pick you up from the sofa and carry you over to bed, he would just pick you up from the sofa and carry you to bed.

Slip right in there with you.

Why not?

Just for tonight. Because somehow, leaving you to sleep all alone, all by yourself in that big empty bed of yours, felt impossible right now.

If he wanted to pretend, just for a little while, that all your stuff was still in your bedroom and that all his stuff was still in his, he was just going to pretend. Just for a little while.

Joe had made his bed, had moved out and forced you to get a new flatmate, and now he was forced to go and lie in it.

But not tonight.

Tonight he could lie in your bed and pretend it was his own. His old bed in his old room that you had snuck into when he was already asleep.

Just for a little while.

Just for tonight.

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr, @munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

#Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #icallhimjoey #define close #explain us #reinvent love