#homecoming predictions

[pnuk-r0ck]

Me and the squad pulling up to the function only to stand against the wall the whole time

#Homecoming 2023 predictions #Victor Speaks

[bryceslahela]

finished murder at homecoming and the ‘plot twist’?? saw it coming frfr

#soooo predictable lets be real #playchoices #pixelberry #murder at homecoming choices #murder at homecoming

[bunnyhoney111]

hot and bothered.

♡ eddie munson x fem!reader

desc.: you smoke with eddie every night, but tonight’s different when eddie asks to play a game.

warnings: mutual masturbation, fingering, handjob, squirting, uhh i mention pubes like a lot because there’s something wrong with me, established friendship, admission of love.

request: ‘hi, i want to request some smut with Eddie Munson. They're friends, just laying in bed together, smoking weed and talking, when he asks the reader to tell him a secret, something no one else knows. So reader confesses she thinks about him when she masturbates, especially about his fingers and rings. I'm literally on my knees for this man.’

a/n: i was high when i got this request and got the sudden urge to write, please reblog and comment or ill pee on your bed and have it looking like eddies (with love). you can tell i started sobering up as the writing gets progressively worse bc i write better high for some reason. reader is 18, duh.

“i’m dying man,” eddie says, closing the door to his room behind him as he trails behind you. you slumped onto his bed, immediately nuzzling into the filthy yet comforting sheets where you’d spent most of your free time. “’s fuckin’ hot.”

“yeah, too bad you pushed your window unit right out into the grass.” you rolled on your side to face him at the door.

“shut up,” he chuckles, going to his dresser and rummaging through the drawer to find his own personal stash of flower. when he turns to you, his shoulders slumped and he let out a breathy laugh upon finding the glass jar and your favorite of his bowls, a beautiful hand-blown one with soft green and deep purples swirled through it resembling fluorite, already ready on his night stand.

“what can i say? you’re predictable.” you fixed yourself against his head board crossing your hands over your chest.

“i would hope after, what, 15 years? of friendship you’d learn my mannerisms. however, i think you’re just a stoner trying to project on me so you cant be ashamed.”

“shut up,” you giggled. he grabbed the grinder from the dresser and plopped himself next to you on the edge if the bed. he plucked a few buds from the jar and began to grind them, “new ‘shipment’ i think you’ll enjoy your mind getting absolutely fucked in a few minutes.”

he packed a nice big bowl to split between the two of you, offering you the first hit and the blue transparent lighter he kept in his pocket at all times.

you took it from his hands swiftly, thumbing the hole and taking a hefty hit. holding the smoke for a few seconds, you let it roll from your lips up to the ceiling. you hit it once more before handing it to eddie.

“thanks for saving me some, sweetheart,” he hits it, a big one just like yours, and smiles as he blows it directly into your face.

“asshole.”

your roll your eyes and wait patiently for him to pass it back to you. when he does, he speaks, “how’d your date with whats his name go?”

“mm shit,” you say while blowing the smoke out. “terrible conversation to be honest, he only spoke about sports and some game friday.”

“the homecoming game, you going?” he asked, his eyes droopy and pink as he fidgets with his fingers.

you shook your head, mumbling something offhand about it being packed and sweaty even in the fall air.

“plus, why root for a team of douche bags at a school i’m only a few months from finally escaping.”

“mm yeah, i see.”

there was a comfortable silence as eddie finished the bowl and set it aside. both of you beginning to feel the effects of the high. eddies face was flushed, yours warm to the touch, and you were becoming antsy for entertainment.

“wanna play a game?”

you turned to face him, smiling at his childish antics, but you were interested.

“sure, what did you have in mind?”

he turned his head and smiled, “let’s tell our deepest darkest secrets?”

“okay, you’ve humored me, but you first.”

he thought for a moment, “when i was young, about twelve or thirteen, i used to steal my uncles liquor and replace it with flat diet coke.”

you snorted, remembering one of the times wayne had took a swig of his jack and spewed it saying it must be bad, not even remembering to suspect eddie in his state.

“he’d kill you if he knew,” you giggled again.

“okay, you’re turn little lady. what’s your deepest, darkest, most shameful secret?” he looked at you expectantly, his eyes were piercing but soft and tired looking in the yellow lamp-lighting. his jaw was baby smooth, not a trace of stubble but still looking manly as ever. his cheeks looked doughy and pliant in the soft expression he wore, his face relaxed.

“you’re pretty,” you exhaled, continuing to absent-mindedly observe his features.

“that’s not a secret, sweetheart.” you felt your thighs clench at the nickname, arousal sopping out of you into your underwear. this was some good fuckin’ weed. the room was sweaty and your skin was sticky.

“seriously, tell me your secrets, i’ll guard them with my life.” he placed his hand on his chest dramatically making you smile.

you could blame it on the weed, but your ability to lie had suddenly left your body as you too became pliant to his questioning under the effects of the ‘mind-fuck’ inducing weed and also his pondering gaze.

“at night, when im alone,” you pause, shifting in your seat and looking directly into his eyes. as if you’re anticipating a reaction or indication of something on his face before you even reveal the secret.

“when nobody’s home, and i’m in my room. i think about you,” you pause again to let out a breath but not long enough for him to speak, “i think about you and i touch myself.”

his mouth closes, and he seems surprised, as much as he can in his state of tranquility and euphoria making his eyes close slightly.

“huh,” you expect anything but that to come from his mouth.

“what did you say? like, did i hear you right?” he asks scanning your face now, looking for a hint of a joke, sarcasm, lightheartedness, anything to disprove what he’d thought he heard.

“i- uh, i think about you, like, doing stuff to me. but not always that,” you move your eyes down to his hands rested on his midsection, fiddling with the rings on his long fingers, alluring and thick with blunt fingernails coated with chipped black nail polish.

“sometimes its just your hands, and it’s enough to have me,” another pause as you gulp, “soaked.”

he squeezed his eyes shut, neck rolling back to face forward as he groaned.

“are you fucking with me? cause if you’re fucking with me, i’m like really high right now and i get horny when i’m high and you fucking with me isn’t helping.” his mouth ran and ran til he was out of breath and looking back towards you, now looking back into his eyes.

“i’m not fucking with you, i don’t know what’s in this weed but, fuck, me too eddie. can’t stop thinking about your hands- y’fingers inside me. it’s driving me crazy. seriously is there truth serum in this shit? i should stop talking-“

another loud grunt cuts you off, you’re eyes drop to the throbbing hard-on he had in his jeans. “please don’t stop talking.”

he slides a hand down to grope himself through the denim. his eyes closed again, “i guess it’s my turn.”

“i have a question, actually.” you paused, tracing one of the fresher looking stains, small and near the top of the bed, only washed out maybe a day ago from the looks of it.

“what, exactly are the stains on your bed,” you laughed, breaking some of the palpable tension in the room.

“mostly bong water, maybe piss from when im drunk, but uh-“ he shifts again trying to get some relief from his aching erection.

“some of them, are from nights i spent thinking about my fingers in you, working you til you drop dead on the mattress in sheer pleasure.”

his words ripped a whimper from your throat, where did he get this grammar? then you’d thought maybe he’d gotten his knee weakening vocabulary from his eccentric dnd campaigns, overly wordy and dramatic to set the medieval mood.

“god please, fuck- uh can you,” he paused, almost looking nervous for what he was about to say, “can you show me?”

you choked on your breath, did he mean what you think?

he noticed your shock and immediately went into defensive ramble mode, “i just wanted to see, to see you touch yourself. i wanna see you, up close, i’ve been dreaming about this for years.” he briefly remembers the sleepless nights as a teen, fisting his cock to the thought of your body under him, until he was in tears from cumming over and over and over…

“you’re just so fucking sexy, shit, seeing you in a swimsuit all summer killed me. i just wanna see that pretty pussy, so so bad.” why did he have to look so hot, begging to see you all spread out for him, his ringed hand gripping himself through his jeans.

“shit, okay,” you moved to rest further down on his pillows, shaking hands slowly moving to take off your jeans. your head was so fuzzy, your body warm and slick with sweat from the delicious combination of the high and your arousal. your underwear had an embarrassingly sopping patch on the front.

“fuuuuck, okay that’s hot,” he said, unbuttoning his own jeans. he slipped his hand below the waistband of his boxers, anticipating your next move, watching you closely.

you slid your hand inside and swiped a finger through the arousal before remembering the whole point of this was for him to see. you grip the hem of your underwear, tugging it down to your calves, legs falling open and allowing him a front row seat to the show.

he rested his hand on your inner thigh, splaying his fingers out and further opening your legs. he had a curious look on his face as his rings left cold, branding, dents in your thigh, urging you to continue.

you returned your hand to your throbbing cunt, fingers running through the coarse hair and spreading your puffy lips to show the slick leaking out of you. his fingers gripped harder and his nostrils flared as a heavy sight left him. he licked his lips and with his left hand, began to pump himself in his boxers.

you trailed one finger down to your hole, coating it and bringing it back up to rub small, slow circles on your clit. a whimper tugged at your lips as you finally gave your body what it craved, your eyes training to where he was rubbing himself under his pants.

“i wanna see,” you almost whispered, voice soft and small, filled with fear of rejection.

you pulled your hand from yourself and reached over to grab his wrist, leaving wet finger prints there, making him moan softly. what a perv, you thought, getting excited from just the feeling of your arousal on his forearm.

“yeah, ‘s only fair hm?” he questioned offhandedly, pulling his jeans and boxers down to rest around his thighs, his cock softly springing up and resting on his clothed lower stomach. he was big, but not too big, on the thinner side but long and uncut with unruly curls at the base, climbing up to meet his happy trail.

your mouth was watering watching him grasp it in his left hand and returning his right to your thigh, nodding as a signal for you to continue.

your fingers went back to work, switching between rubbing slow circles on your clit and circling the hole you’d left untouched. the sick sounds of his grunts and slick hand rubbing his dick spurring you to move faster, urging you closer to the cusp of your orgasm.

“fuck, eddie,” you whined out, eyes shutting tight and your head falling back. he moaned softly and you heard him shift, but didn’t open your eyes, chasing the brink of relief.

when you felt his hand push your own away and, with no hesitation, replace it wish his, you could have swore you’d felt your eyes bulge out of your head. you turned your head swiftly to him, his hips desperately fucking into his hand and his other is on you.

his eyes are heavy and looking deeply into yours as his mouth opened again to release a moan, much louder than before.

but that was nothing in comparison to the feeling of his middle finger finally breaching your soaked hole, curling to reach that spot and briefly touching it. your head was spinning, his finger sliding out and slipping right back in, his cold ring resting against the brink of your tight hole, soothing some of the heat as he curled his finger again.

“this is, literally, my wet dream,” he spoke through grunts and sighs. his dick was throbbing in his hand, trying to hold out for you, the head of it painfully red and weeping precum that he messily smeared over his length with each stroke.

you decided to be merciful and return the favor, your hand already dripping from touching yourself, you reach over and grip him at the base. his hand stilling at the tip and pulling away to grip the sheets.

you do an experimental squeeze before stroking all the way to his cloaked tip and then pulling back down to reveal the leaking head. tears are welling in his eyes from the intense pressure of holding back his release. you dip your hands down to fondle his balls, making him curse and cry your name.

he continued to thrust his finger in and out, curling occasionally, before adding a second. the palm of his hand ground down on your clit as you lifted your hips to his rhythm, fucking yourself onto his hand. you could feel yourself getting close, and you knew he could too as he sped his fingers up and began fucking into your fist at a slightly faster pace.

“i’ve been wanting you, ever since i was old enough to know how. one year you went to summer camp and came back in august with tits, thats when i knew it was over for me. i don’t think i’ve been able to sleep without thinking about fucking you into oblivion since.” he was rambling yet again, babbling on to distract himself from the burning in his stomach as it sucked in and became concave, he was extremely close. in fact, he was there, but he was determined to have you cum first.

“you can cum eddie, ‘m so close. just let go,” you encouraged him but he shakes his head earnestly.

“fuck, fuck- no, i can hold off just hurry,” you chuckled but the laugh was cut off with a gasp as he plunged his fingers faster and harder, hitting that spot every time. there were stars in your eyes, head thrown back and you let out an impossibly loud, pitchy moan. you felt a gush between your legs, becoming lightheaded and unintentionally gripping eddie harder.

“shit- ah, i’m gonna-“ hot spurts of his ejaculate hit his shirt-clad chest, and runs down your fingers as you stroke him one last time, milking him for every drop. your hand fell against him, resting on his pubic bone as your fingers absent-mindedly played with the hair.

god, you were fucked out from his fingers alone. he gently pulled them from you, the sound making you cringe but the feeling of emptiness making your walls flutter around nothing. you watched him bring his fingers to his mouth, sucking them obscenely with a quiet grunt.

he leaned over towards you and you flinched away, still reeling from the orgasm wrecking your body. he stopped and looked down, nervous again as if he wasn’t just finger fucking you within an inch of your life.

“sorry, i didn’t mean- well i guess i just thought that i could, i don’t know, maybe kiss you but if that’s too intimate i understand-“ but you cut him off with a giddy laugh, you were clearly still stoned out of your mind as your head swayed side to side and giggles erupted from your throat.

“no, no eddie ‘s alright i promise, just thought you were gonna touch me again and im out of commission,” this time he laughed too, taking note of your shaking legs and the new stain drying into his sheets. he did good, he thought to himself.

“you can kiss me,” you rest your cheek against the pillow and smile at him, eyes finally opening and taking in his form. his hair slicked to his forehead, face flushed, and the pearly cum drying to his shirt.

he leaned back in, slowly, and then dipped his head to kiss your neck. he left small, wet, kisses; trailing from your collarbone to your jaw. he placed a kiss to your forehead, and then finally placed a kiss to your waiting lips. it was soft, almost chaste and void of any sexual intentions, just full of love and desperation for your own love.

you kissed back, bringing a hand to rest on his jaw as he finally pulled away and looked into your eyes.

“i think i’m in love with you,” his voice held no sign of humor as he eagerly anticipated your response.

“i think i’ve always been in love with you, munson,” you kiss his lips one more time before pulling away and fully removing your underwear, using them to carefully clean yourself up and then flinging them to the floor. eddie removed his jeans, pulling his boxers back up and tucking his now soft length away. he pulled the messy shirt over his head, disposing of it in his hamper, and turned to fully face you as he pulled his comforter over your bodies.

you now donned only an old band shirt, and eddie his red and black flannel boxers as you slinked your arm under his and wrapped it around his midsection. he wrapped his over your shoulder and placed a kiss on your temple, whispering soft slurs of ‘i love you’ and other precious sweet nothings.

“so, for the last 15 years of friendship, i’ve been nuzzling into piss, spunk, and bong water?” you asked, causing him to let out a hardy laugh, shaking your body along with his.

“mm, yeah i guess,” he chuckled, then upon shifting his leg and feeling a slight damp spot near the middle of his bed, “add ‘super hot girls squirt’ to the list and you’ve got it down pat.” you shot him a look.

“i squirted?” you asked in disbelief, one round had never had you cumming that hard on your own. eddies skills on the guitar really paid off when it came to fingering, you guessed.

“fuck yeah, and it was the hottest shit i’ve ever seen. never told me you were a squirter,” he sounded proud of himself, his smile gleaming as he looked down at you humorously.

feeling the need to knock him down a peg, you mocked his giddy tone, “you never told me you’ve never seen a razor, or even scissors. jesus eddie, i think my hand’s got rug burn.”

his ears got hot and he covered his face with his hand, “shut up.”

“kidding eds, i think its hot. totally fits the whole rocker thing you’ve got going on up here.” your reached a hand up to coil one of the soft tendrils of hair around your pointer finger.

he removed his hand and smiled down at you again, “you think my pubes are hot, fuckin’ freak.”

he kisses your head again, before leaning over to turn the table lamp off and pulling you even closer to him.

“goodnight, sweetheart.”

#bunny fics ! #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #stranger things season four #eddie munson smut #st season 4 #stranger things season 4

[divine-donna]

lovin' me

part 01

a continuation of my previous set of headcanons. i wanted to write something more romantic. less pining. maybe a bit more...steamy. i got inspired after showing my friend the movie.

yes i am continuing the fifty fifty vincent renzi interpretation. he's sooooo fifty fifty coded. he's just like me fr

character: vincent renzi

for vibes: "lovin' me" by fifty fifty

"you have not changed. not a bit."

"stop." you can't help but laugh. you know it's...predictable of you. to get the same order you got every time you guys came to this cafe. but familiarity called to you.

habits were hard to break.

vincent leans back, placing a cigarette between his lips. he pulls his lighter out and tries to light it. it fails after a minute of trying. he must be out of fuel.

"you got a lighter?"

"always." you pull it out and place it in his hand.

his hand is soft and slightly cool. your fingers linger, trying to warm his hand with your own. he pulls away too quickly. you wanted your fingers to linger against each other just a bit longer.

he looks at the lighter. it was decorated. he recognizes the little line of pearls, going up and down with roses at the points the arches meet. he did it himself. and then he had given you the lighter as a gift. you laughed, brushing off the blush dusting his cheeks. you thought it was the wine.

the lighter you decorated at the time was a little more crude. less pattern like. it was chaotic, with a variety of charms that you thought represented him. he remembers how you cursed when the cross charm moved. it was crooked and you were too frustrated to try to fix it.

all while your friends' laughter filled the room and more wine was being poured into your glasses.

"you still kept this?" vincent lights his cigarette with the lighter. he takes a drag and blows the smoke away from you. it comes out as a steady stream.

his jawline. the way his hair framed his face. his turtleneck. his laxed posture. he was charming, your vincent.

charming and attractive.

"why wouldn't i?" you take your lighter back to light your own cigarette.

"i just...i would have expected all the pearls and roses to have fallen off by now."

"you were...generous with the modge podge."

he laughs. "i was, yes."

"what about you? just decided to throw the one i made for you away or...?"

vincent shakes his head. "no. i've...in truth, i've never used it. it's locked up in my desk drawer."

part of you felt a little offended. you place a hand over your heart, feigning offense. "vincent! how could you!"

"it's not like that! i swear! you put so much stuff on it that it...is kind of unusable!"

"it is not!"

"well...it isn't. i've used it. once." he puts up his index finger. "one of the moon charms came off. and i didn't want to spoil the art piece you had made for me. so it sits in my drawer. because i don't want it to be destroyed."

you watch him take another drag and blow away from you. your heart beats faster and you feel your cheeks warm.

he was sure he had the right address.

was this too much?

bringing flowers to you? properly prepared, put in a vase already. a balance between the vibrant colors of the flowers and the greens.

you seem to sense that he's there, because he raises his hand to knock and the door opens.

you're holding a wine glass and dressed casually in some loungewear.

"you're early! and with flowers!"

he looks down at them. "think of them as...a homecoming gift?"

you smile widely. "just come in!"

you had made dinner. a simple steak and frites. nothing special. vincent reminisces about how often you made this for him while you guys were in university. while on a budget, of course.

the meal is delicious. and then you introduce the big thing you invited him over for: baking and cake decorating.

"we always joked that we could do better than the people on cooking shows."

"can we?" he rolls his sleeves up. "do we even know how to...start?" he had a vague idea. baking wasn't exactly his specialty. he preferred to cook.

the last time he baked was in university. and you were there to help him clean his oven, which took over three hours to do.

"if we follow a recipe, we should be fine."

except it wasn't that simple.

there was flour and cocoa powder everywhere. you were pretty sure you had gotten some in vincent's hair, making it look whiter than it was.

he looks so cute though with flour on his nose.

the wine kept coming as you guys pushed the cake pans into the oven. in your drunken stupor, you both forget a timer. he's paying more attention to you, following you into the living room. he sets his wine glass down, half full with red.

you pull a record out of its sleeve and set it down on the player. it rotates as you drop the needle and music begins to play.

he raises his eyebrows. "you still listen to this song?"

"hey. it's great. and totally american." you giggle, taking another sip of your red.

you move towards him. drunken but effortless. there was a purpose in your movements as you walk towards him. you put your hand out.

vincent smiles and takes your invitation. he puts his hand in yours, feeling its warmth. your warmth. you pull him over and dance.

i think we're alone now. there doesn't seem to be anyone around. i think we're alone now. the beating of our hearts is the only sound.

somehow, you don't spill your wine. you finish it and set the glass down. you spin in his arms. they wrap around you, like a warm blanket.

he smells good too. coffee, pear, and white florals.

his sweater is soft. his touch is gentle. he looks at you with those big, puppy dog eyes of his.

and then you fall.

you bring him down with you.

the plush carpet holds your head. you look up at him. he looks into your eyes and you see your face reflected in his pupils. your cheeks are flushed red.

there's something unspoken between you two and you pick your head up, trying to meet him.

vincent meets you halfway, his lips soft. he tastes sweet, like honey.

his hands cup your face as you move in sync. he's in tune with your rhythm, letting you take the lead and guide him on what to do.

your fingers play with the ends of his hair, wrapping it around one of them. you press your hand against the middle of his back, pulling his body closer.

a small moan escapes you when he moves his hips. he grinds softly, your crotches rubbing against each other through your clothes.

you kiss him harder, deeper, sliding your tongue past his lips to caress his own. vincent moans into your mouth, one of his hands resting on the carpet and digging his fingers into it. he could feel himself beginning to slip and lose control.

and then, the smell of something burning reaches your nose.

you pull away, face flushed. his face was completely red. and not from the wine either.

"fuck the cake!"

vincent's brief feeling of happiness dissipates as he smells the cake burning. his lips curl upwards into a smirk. "leave it." he goes back in, pressing a small kiss against your lips. "we'll try again."

you kiss him back, giving into the bliss. "i think we fucked up the measurements anyways."

he laughs.

it feels like home.

#anatomy of a fall #vincent renzi #swann arlaud #vincent renzi x reader #vincent renzi fanfiction #anatomy of a fall fanfiction #x reader #male reader #female reader #gender neutral reader #romantic #headcanons

[dyhayc]

A Polaroid Is Worth A Thousand Words

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader (Fluff, Humour, Smut)

Summary: It’s summer break! You, your boyfriend, and your friends go on a road trip to meet with the Byers in California. Chaos ensues

Word Count: 7.9k

Warnings: Self-esteem issues/previous negative body image, MDNI 18+, explicit consent, protected sex, innocence kink, corruption kink, praise kink, a little dumbification, a little hand kink, a little oral fixation, a hint of temperature play, a hint of a choking kink, fingering, piv penetration, semi-public sex, virgin!reader, blatant misuse of a popsicle

A/N: I was inspired to write this because I had to pack for my vacation to a beach area. I know this is pretty divergent from my regular stuff. I try to write fluff only (and honestly this is my first time writing anything nsfw) but I’ve been thinking about this specific scenario a lot and I had a long plane ride so… yea. The intrusive horny thoughts won today

Also most of this was written pre-part 2 so I’m just gonna ignore cannon lmao. I actually haven’t watched it yet (I made the mistake of opening Tumblr because I forgot it was July 1st and instantly saw a spoiler, so I’m aware of… things). This can be considered an AU because I know that it doesn’t match up with s4 pt2 at all

The last sentence is a gift for all the people who miss Eddie

Light wash or dark wash? A dilemma that has taken twenty precious minutes from your life. Space in your luggage is limited, and you’re too indecisive to make a choice. Which pair of jeans to bring isn’t the first tough fashion decision you’ve had to make tonight. Over half of your closet is scattered around you. Clothes on hangers struggle to grip onto every ledge available in your room.

Typically, you’d pick the most comfortable clothes from your closet and call it a day, but you and Eddie made a deal. He’d told you that if ‘86 was his year, it would be yours too. At first, you pretended not to know what he was talking about, but he’d just raised his eyebrow, and you knew he knew.

High school had caused a lot of insecurities about your body, mainly because of your “friends” who were catty at best and downright rude at worst. Every day, they’d rate each other’s outfits. However, when it came to you, they always commented about your body rather than your clothes. There had never been a day where you’d felt comfortable in your skin. Getting together with Eddie was one of the best things to happen to you. He helped you to gain your confidence back after years of suppression. He’d always gone out of his way to help you; it was how you’d met.

It was dark that night. The grey storm clouds looming over Hawkins threatened to release a torrent of rain at a moment's notice. They’d been around for days, intimidating but never actually storming. Unfortunately, luck was not on your side. The rain was predicted to pour the night of your graduation.

Even though graduating is a momentous occasion, the ceremony was boring beyond belief. The school had been too cheap to rent a venue, so the entire class of ‘85 and the accompanying families were squeezed into the gym. The speeches were shallow, it smelled like homecoming, Tammy Thompson performed a horrendous rendition of your class song, and to top it all off: you didn’t even get your diploma, just the holder. Everyone had to return with an ID the next day to get the real thing.

Afterward, you were dying to get home, but your friends wanted to attend some grad party. And by “grad party,” they meant going to an abandoned barn and getting shitfaced with half the class. Parties had never been your thing, much less one where everyone would be so fucked up. Maybe you were naive and wanted to believe your friends cared about you, but you didn’t expect them to be so upset that you didn’t want to go.

Thinking you would be hanging out with your friends, your family had left. To make matters worse, it was sprinkling meaning the storm had finally started. If you walked home, the rain would only fall harder, meaning you would get soaked. You asked your friends to drop you off at home, but they said, “The only place we’re going is the party. You’re either coming with, or you’re walking.”

You walked.

Down the jagged streets, you trekked for a few blocks. It was miserable. Your heels hurt your feet, but there was no way you’d walk through the muck and debris barefooted. Your robes were massive, inconvenient, and so thin the wind blew right through you. You were right about the rain. Effectively soaked, you were sure you’d be sick the next day. The disappointment got to you. What was supposed to be a happy day felt impossibly terrible. Sniffling, you weren’t sure if the water on your face was tears or raindrops.

A pair of headlights blinded you, so you raised your arm over your eyes to block the brightness. Brakes screech as the vehicle comes to a stop. Lowering your arm, you see the driver’s side window roll down. Inside is someone you never expected: Eddie Munson.

He seems as confused as you but leans out the window to shout over the wind, “Need a ride?” Considering your options, walk home and potentially get frostbite or ride in a van safe from the rain, you chose the van. Thinking back, it was stupid to trust a man in a van offering to drive you home in the middle of the night, but in the moment, the thought that he may be dangerous hadn’t even crossed your mind.

Running across the street, you open the door and put your soaked cap and holder into the van. Thank goodness they hadn’t given you your actual diploma; it would’ve been ruined in the storm. You unzip the gown, shimmy out of the thin, itchy fabric, and then sit in his passenger seat and shut the door. Embarrassed about the massive wet spot you’re going to leave, you mutter shyly, “Sorry about your seats, Eddie.”

You realize too late you’ve used his name, despite never talking to him before, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he was distracted by the beautiful and, quite frankly, fancy dress you wore underneath your gown. So distracted, he took a second too long to respond, “It’s fine. This van has seen worse.” Unsure of what he means, you don’t reply and buckle your seat belt. He continues, “So, where are you headed? The party is the other way, y’know.”

You wrinkle your nose as tears gather in your eyes again. Vigorously shaking your head, you declare, “I wanna go home.” His eyes soften when you tack on a weak “please,” to your request.

He nods, “Of course. Where do you live?” You notice how his tone becomes gentler, his energy lowering to match your mood. He accommodates you effortlessly, but the thought only hurts your heart, knowing your friends would never do that for you. Hearing your address, he pulls a u-turn and drives toward your house.

You’re both silent, but he keeps glancing at you. Finally, he voices the words he’d been holding back, “Are you okay?” There’s hesitance in his voice as if he doesn’t know whether or not the question will break the relatively calm air of the ride. You genuinely consider ignoring him for a moment before deciding that would be incredibly rude.

Fidgeting with your fingers, you attempt to summarize your night, “I just- Well, after graduating, my friends wanted to go to the party, but I didn’t. I don’t know why they got mad. I guess they didn’t want to drive over to my house cause it’s out of the way. I live far from school, so I kinda get it, I guess.” You couldn’t help but make excuses for them. You didn’t know any better.

Though you couldn’t, Eddie recognized how toxic your friends were and pointed it out, “Sounds like you have shitty friends. A real friend would’ve driven you anywhere you wanted.” You stare at your feet. Deep down, you’ve always known your friends weren’t good for you, but they were comfortable, familiar. He just voices the thoughts you’ve been too scared to acknowledge yourself.

Internally, you rewatch every moment they’d treated you poorly, every time they’d disregarded your feelings, every time they’d been… shitty. “You’re right,” you say softly before laughing in disbelief and repeating louder, “you’re right. They are shitty friends. I can’t believe I didn’t know.” Turning to look at him, you smile, “Thank you.”

He seems baffled at your sudden realization, unsure if you’re being serious, but he still smiles back. “Y’know,” he offers, “Since you’re now friendless, you’re gonna need new friends.” Your eyes widen in alarm. How could you forget? Seeing your panic, he quickly adds, “Maybe I could be your friend?”

Insecurities bubble in your chest, and you question, “But what if you don’t like me? Like, when you get to know me?” Right as you voice your concerns, he pulls up to your house. Parking in front of your home, he unbuckles his seatbelt and turns in his seat.

“Why don’t we get to know each other right now? I have nowhere else to be.” Almost six months later, you’d found out that he had somewhere else to be: the party. He was planning on making bank from the drunk graduates who wanted to party hard. The funds he could’ve gotten probably would’ve paid for two or three months’ rent.

You agreed to chat, excited he wanted to talk to you. Both of you had stayed up for hours talking about anything and everything. You’d only left because you got so tired your eyelids wouldn’t stay open. For the next few months, you saw Eddie around a lot. You also met your new best friends, Steve and Robin, during that time. Working at Scoops-Ahoy was a fun, positive experience. It was even more exciting when Eddie would visit you, though Steve and Robin teased you endlessly for it. At least, it was fun until the “mall fire,” when you experienced the horrors of the Upside Down for the first time.

When news spread about the disaster, Eddie spent hours searching for you. When you’d finally been reunited, he’d confessed that the experience made him realize he couldn’t deal with the idea of losing you. At first, you were confused and thought he was trying to break off your friendship, but he realized you didn’t understand and told you point-blank he wanted to be your boyfriend. You were ecstatic and rushed to let your friends know about your new relationship. They had been excited for you, though Robin and Steve told Eddie privately that if he hurt you, he’d be in deep shit.

Your first date had been perfect. He took you to a park for a picnic. His cooking skills were… subpar, but it’s the thought that counts, and he had obviously tried very hard to please you. And, if that wasn’t enough, he gave you a polaroid camera. He said it was because he wanted to capture every beautiful moment with you. Your teasing about his cheesiness was to cover the way your heart swooned at how sweet he was.

Smiling at the memory, you search through your things to get the camera. Finding it in your dresser drawer, you grab a bunch of extra film and some colourful markers to shove in your backpack. Even though you’ve successfully packed a few items, there’s still the wardrobe dilemma left. With a groan, you return to your jeans and begin the internal debate again.

It takes a few hours of sorting and a break to eat dinner, but you’ve finally chosen all the clothes you want to bring. Now, all that’s left is your swimsuits. You grab a one-piece to be conservative, though it’s not your style. Going back in, you pull out a few mismatched high-waisted bottoms and bikini tops. Putting those away, you move to shut your drawer but hesitate.

Last summer, you were heading to work when you saw the cutest bikini set in the window of a store. It had a strawberry print and frilly detailing with ties on the top and bottom to adjust the size. That swimsuit haunted your thoughts your entire shift, so when you headed home for the day, you bought it. You were at the peak of your negative self-image then, so you never wore the bikini out. It was pretty, but it drew attention to insecurities you hadn’t felt comfortable showing in public.

You’re still not sure if you have the confidence to wear it, but your promise to Eddie makes you bring it anyway. If this is supposed to be your year, you want to wear your favourite bikini. And, if you have doubts, you can probably ask Robin what she thinks? She wouldn’t lie to you.

Content with everything in your luggage, you head to bed and mentally prepare to be stuck in a car with Dustin for hours. You love him like a little brother, but he does not do well when he can’t move around.

You slept in a little that morning, getting up at ten. Sitting in a car is oddly tiring, so you’ll definitely need that extra rest. Gathering up your luggage, you move it to your door. Everyone agreed to meet at your house, so you can chill in the kitchen until noon. You know they’re not going to arrive when they said they would.

Though you love him, Eddie is a hot mess who arrives at least fifteen minutes late to every event. He calls it “fashionably late,” and you agree, but for different reasons: he can’t decide what accessories to wear, so he’s never on time. Steve always wakes up late but still insists on doing his perfect hairstyle. Robin is just a disaster who can’t stick to a schedule to save her life. You adore your friends, but you also tell them to come an hour before you expect them to arrive. That way, they’re on time even if they’re running behind (and all of them always are). It doesn’t help that they’re picking up people today, which adds even more time to their arrivals.

It’s 12:26 when you hear Eddie’s favourite band faintly through your walls. Walking to the door to greet him, you lean against the pillar on your porch to watch his van pull up. You can hear Eddie bickering with Lucas and Max from your spot fifteen feet away. The second the van stops, Mike jumps out and walks towards you. “Hey,” you greet, “Fighting already?”

He rolls his eyes and replies ‘yea’ in an annoyed tone but doesn’t elaborate on the issue further. He makes a beeline for your kitchen, leaving you outside alone. Eddie is the next to go, and you watch him slam the car door aggressively before lighting up when he notices you on the porch. He throws his arms up into the air and exclaims, “My angel!” as he comes closer. He moves his outstretched hands to cup your face and whispers, “How did I get so lucky?”

You giggle, flustered, and mumble, “I think I’m the lucky one.”

He shakes his head and responds, “Wrong!” Before you can refute him, he leans in to kiss you. You reciprocate the kiss and wrap your arms around his waist to draw him closer. Both of you are too preoccupied to notice the other two kids, Lucas and Max, getting out of the van too.

Max passes you both without a word, but Lucas wrinkles his nose and makes it a point to comment, “Gross. Get a room,” as he goes into your home.

Eddie pulls away and yells after Lucas, “Be careful what you wish for. She lives here y’know!” Lucas groans, and you can hear him complaining to Mike and Max in your kitchen. You’ve never had sex before, mainly because you wanted to feel more confident in your body before doing something so intimate, but regardless, the threat is meaningless. Though, Lucas doesn’t know that. You laugh at your boyfriend, and he looks at you with his pretty doe eyes, currently filled with mischief, “What?”

Amused, you just shake your head and slip out of his grasp. Walking inside, you remember your luggage and turn around. Moving it all to the doorway, you clasp your hands and give him a little pout, “Will you help me?”

He laughs at your antics and starts grabbing your bags, “You didn’t have to pout to get my help, baby.”

Kissing his cheek, you thank him with a grin. While he’s stuffing your things in the back of his van, Steve pulls up. Robin rolls down the side window when you walk up. You greet them and get a chorus of hellos in return. Leaning your forearms on the car door, you tell Dustin the others are inside, so he runs off to talk to his friends. “Hi, Nance! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Moving her head so she can see you, she smiles and replies, “Yea, it has been a while.” In high school, you ran in parallel social circles. Occasionally, you’d talk, but it wasn’t typical. After everything that happened with the Upside Down, you got closer. Last night, she’d slept over at Robin’s place, where you would’ve been too if you hadn’t procrastinated on packing.

Robin points out, “You’ll be stuck in a car together for a few hours. There’s plenty of time to catch up.”

Dramatically, you sigh and pout, “I wish you could be with us too, Rob.” Reaching into the car, you rest your hand on her shoulder and give Steve puppy eyes.

He cuts in, unamused, “No. I am not gonna be stuck babysitting again.” He points his finger at you, “If you wanna talk to Robin, you’ll have to sit in my car.”

Though you knew he was gonna say that, you still sigh and pat Robin’s shoulder, “Sorry, best friend.” Moving out of their way, they all get out of Steve’s car and disperse. You watch them go inside as Eddie comes up next to you. Grabbing his hand, you tug him towards your house, “C’mon, we gotta call Ms. Byers.”

When planning your trip, you agreed to call Joyce before you left. She wanted to make sure she’d have space ready for all of you to sleep. You’d tried to tell her you’d get rooms at a motel or hotel, but she’d insisted on letting you stay. She’d said it would be too expensive, and, honestly? She was right.

Everyone is in the kitchen area hanging out and chatting, so you go straight to the phone and call your friends in California. Jonathan picks up the line and slurs, “Uh, hello?” It’s obvious he had been asleep moments before. You tell him it’s you, and he responds, “Are you guys heading out now?”

You’re about to reply when Dustin comes up and asks to say something. You tell him it’s not Will on the phone, but all the teens have crowded around, expecting to speak to him. Relinquishing control, you let them do whatever it is they do. You learned early on that it’s best to just get out of the way.

Checking in with the rest of the group, you offer snacks and water if they forgot to pack anything. Everyone seems to be content with their things, though, so you just get water for yourself and Eddie. You know he’ll forget them if you put them on the counter, so you hand him both bottles. He radiates warmth that draws you in, you can’t resist leaning against his side. Glancing up, you see him softly smiling down at you, so you return it in kind.

Mike hangs up the receiver loudly, getting everyone’s attention. “They know we’re coming,” he announces, “We should leave now.” Desperation bleeds through his voice, obviously eager to get to El. You agree and usher everyone out of your kitchen. Heading out to the cars, the group splits into two. Going with Eddie is you, Dustin, and Nancy. Following Steve is Robin, Mike, Lucas, and Max. Ironically, Steve is taking more people even though he has the smaller car, but it had taken a long fight to get to these positions in the first place.

There had been quite a few rules put in place that limited the placements of people:

1. You’re riding with Eddie (that was non-negotiable)

2. Nancy didn’t want to be in the same car as Mike

3. Dustin insisted he be put with you and Eddie

4. Steve threatened not to come if he was put in a car with only younger teens

5. Lucas and Max requested to sit next to each other

The battle had been brutal, taking over two hours. Luckily, you’d been able to make seating arrangements that pleased everyone. People disperse to their respective rides as you slide into Eddie’s passenger seat, putting your backpack between your feet on the floor. The second he turns on the van, you lower the volume. Dustin leans forward with his walkie in hand, “We’re Eagle One. Steve’s car is Eagle Two.”

“When did we decide that?” you ask, confused.

He responds, “In the kitchen,” before turning on the walkie to talk to the other car, “Eagle Two, this is Eagle One, come in.”

Mike’s filtered voice comes through, sounding agitated, “No way. We’re Eagle One, you’re Eagle Two.”

Recognizing the beginning of a fight, you snatch the walkie out of his hand to break it up, “Dustin used Eagle One first, we call dibs.” You turn down the volume and toss it back to Dustin, who leans back in his seat and listens to what Lucas and Mike are saying.

Eddie glances over and chuckles, “Didn’t expect you to side with Henderson, babe.”

You stick your tongue out at him and jokingly say, “I have to throw him a bone sometimes, Eds.” Dustin exclaims indignantly in the background, but you ignore him. Nancy finally makes her way to the van, so you ask, “Everybody here? Are we ready to go?”

Eddie does a head count, though you only have four people, while Dustin calls over to the other car to check they have all their passengers. Confident you won’t leave anyone behind, Eddie pulls out, and Steve follows. Earlier in the week, your friends gathered any relevant maps they had for the trip. You volunteered to be the navigator, so they were all given to you. The route is pretty simple, though. The hardest part of your trip will be finding places to sleep.

The Hawkins scenery passes by for the first fifteen minutes until you merge onto I-80 West. From there, just follow the highway until you arrive in California. The drive should take about 35 hours, split into three to four days, depending on how much driving is done each day.

Watching grass and trees out your window gets old quickly, so you catch up with Nancy. She rests her elbows on the center console while you’re turned in your seat so you can talk closer together. After a while, you’re both gossiping instead, giggling at stupid rumours about Steve. Eddie seems to enjoy them and says he’ll remember to tease Steve about them later.

Both cars need gas, so you take a pit stop. Hopping out, you walk in circles to stretch your legs. Robin joins you and complains about Steve’s music choices. Teasing her, you laugh, “You’re in the loser car. What did you expect?” She glares and jokingly pushes you out of the way to walk inside the store.

Trailing behind Robin, you beg her to buy you an Icee. To your surprise, she does. You thank her endlessly, excited to drink it. Taking it back to the van, you show the slushie off and tell Eddie that Robin bought it for you. He jokes, “Is Robin your sugar mommy now?”

You stick your Icee-stained tongue out at him, and he takes a picture. You’re thrown off for a moment. You didn’t know he took the polaroid camera out of your bag. Huffing, you set down your Icee and try to steal the photo from his hands. He has much longer arms than you, so it doesn’t work out. Sitting back, you whine, “Why do you even want it, Eddie? I brought my camera to take exciting pictures.”

He laughs at your desperation to get the polaroid back and hits your forehead with it, “Every moment with you is exciting, sweetheart.”

The moment is ruined abruptly. “Why are you two being so lovey-dovey?” Mike questions as he settles in where Nancy had been sitting.

You counter, “Why are you being so dumb?” as you snatch the polaroid from Eddie’s hands. The developed picture turned out surprisingly well, so you decide to keep it.

“You’re not the Wheeler I expected,” Eddie comments dryly, also annoyed at the ruined atmosphere. Mike explains that Nancy asked to switch until the next pit stop; you all leave it at that. The last one to arrive, Dustin hops in with a bag of chips, and you’re on the road again.

Instead of listening to Eddie’s mixtapes, you turn on the radio this time. Flipping through channels, you settle on a random choice. There isn’t much of a selection out in rural Indiana. It gets warm in the car, but the breeze feels fantastic when you lower the windows. You all sit in silence as the smell of dry grass and humidity fills your lungs. The wind is so loud it drowns out the radio, but you don’t mind.

A new song starts, and from what you can hear, it sounds familiar. Turning it up, you realize it’s Mamma Mia, and you crank the volume higher. Laughing in delight, you sing along loudly to the lyrics. To your surprise, Eddie sings too. Dustin says something, but you can’t hear it, and you're definitely not gonna stop singing just to hear his most-likely cynical remark.

He gives up trying to convey what he was saying, instead turning up the volume on the walkie. To your surprise, you can hear Robin and Nancy singing along with you from the other car. The song is over, but everyone’s energy is still high. Rolling up your window, you listen to the group singing along with the radio, occasionally joining in when you recognize a song.

The time passes quickly with the new distraction, and soon enough, you’re at the second pit stop. Steve needed to go to the bathroom, so you found the nearest rest stop. Even though it’s going to be quick, you ask Eddie to photograph you underneath a huge tree. He gets one polaroid before Nancy notices and asks if you want her to take a photo of you both. Posing together, she snaps a picture of you and hands back the camera.

When Steve comes out of the restroom, you get an idea and have Eddie ask a stranger to take a photo of your entire group together. Corralling everyone together is a difficult task, only matched by trying to get them to pose for the camera. The end result is worth it, though, the picture is cute, and everyone looks great.

When you return to the cars, Dustin and Mike switch out for Robin and Nancy. Dustin makes it a point for you to be cautious with his walkie as he passes it, claiming, “with great power comes great responsibility.” You promise him you’ll keep it safe as you take it.

Steve is pissed that he’s “stuck babysitting” even though he threatened to ditch if that happened, but Eddie reminds him he’s too far to go back. Aggravated, Steve hisses at the teens to get in the car as he grumbles under his breath. Part of you feels bad, but another part is happy to finally hang out with Robin.

The ensuing conversation is chaotic. Most of your time is spent arguing about stupid things that don’t matter, but you’re grateful because they fill the time. Robin tried to walkie Steve once, wanting to include him in the conversation, but he was still mad, so he ghosted her.

It’s around 9:30 when you stop at a motel for the night. Anyone who has an income helps to pay for the two rooms. Sorting out luggage, Eddie takes both of yours to the room. You two get a bed, Nancy and Robin get the second, and Steve gets the couch. There’s a line for the shower, so you check up on the younger teens. They’re just watching some stupid horror movie, sprawled out randomly on the two beds. Deciding they’re fine, you tease them, “Don’t get nightmares,” before returning to your room.

The water is freezing, so you shower and brush your teeth quickly. You dress in your typical pajamas, one of Eddie’s t-shirts and a pair of shorts. Your movements are sluggish, the tiredness hitting you suddenly. Reaching your bed, you flop down onto the mattress. Eddie’s the last to shower, so you warn him the water’s cold as he walks away. The alarm clock next to the bed glares 10:13 in bright red lettering.

Huffing, you sit up and crawl under the sheets to try and get comfortable. Steve and Robin are already knocked out, but Nancy is still awake. She has the lamp on as she reads a book, but you’re glad for the light. After everything in Hawkins, you have to admit you’re afraid of the dark.

Eddie finishes his shower fast, dumping his towel in a random spot on the floor. You struggle to keep your eyes open as he lies down on his back next to you. Wiggling around, you find a comfortable position resting your face in the crook of his neck. He smells like the cheap bar soap the motel provides, but you still detect a hint of his usual scent underneath. He kisses the side of your head and mumbles, “Good night, sleepyhead,” into your hair. You fumble some words out that vaguely sound like ‘g’night.’

The following two days go relatively the same. The seating arrangements shuffle around slightly, you drive for about three hours, stop at a rest stop, sight-seeing spot, or gas station, take a few pictures, then repeat. When you get bored, you label and decorate your polaroids. You bought a photo album a few weeks ago to hold all the polaroids from the trip.

On the fourth day, you finally make it to the Byers house. It’s almost three am, so everyone just sleeps and agrees to talk tomorrow. You’re the first to wake up, apart from Joyce. The smell of pancakes leads you to the kitchen, where she���s making breakfast. “Good morning,” you say, rubbing your eyes.

She jumps, not realizing you were there, “Oh! Good morning.” Embarrassed, you apologize before asking if there’s anything you can help with. Food is scattered around the counters, and she appears to be having trouble making a meal for so many people. She motions to a cupboard full of pots and pans, “Can you cook some bacon, please? Thank you so much.”

Together, you make bacon, fried eggs, scrambled eggs, pancakes, Eggo waffles (for El), toast, and apple slices. While cooking, the topic of conversation is grim. You’re both recounting your experiences with the Upside Down and all the other terrible shit that happens in Hawkins. You’re grateful for her insight. She has a lot more experience with murderous monsters than you.

The more people that come in, the more chaotic the kitchen becomes. People snatch items from plates and fight to get food first. You’re surprised, but Joyce looks resigned, like she expected it. When El comes down, you give her the dish of Eggos made specifically for her, and she smiles at you. Observing the scramble for food, you decide to wait until everyone’s done before getting some yourself.

“So, what are you guys planning to do today?” Joyce asks, eating some toast. She has to work since it’s Friday, but tomorrow she’ll be able to hang out with you guys too.

“We’re gonna go to the beach for a few hours,” Jonathan informs her.

Lucas admits he’s never been to the beach before, and Max says, “It’s nothing special. Just sand, water, and trash.” That statement sparks an argument about beaches that you’re desperate to get away from. Pulling Robin out of her chair, you bring her to the spare bedroom where everyone’s luggage is. You pull out the bikini, change into it, and ask her if it’s too much.

She laughs in shock and says, “Too much? It’s perfect. Eddie will love it.” Then, she mischievously nudges your side and adds, “It’s sexy. He’ll love it. If you know what I mean.” She raises her eyebrows to emphasize her point and you push her out the door. Her words still give you confidence, so you put a sundress over your bikini and leave the room.

Once everyone gets dressed, you all head to the beach. For convenience, you park next to each other and open the trunks. Grabbing canopies, towels, bags, and coolers, each person brings something down to the sand. You help Steve set up an umbrella so Robin and Eddie can sit with you.

The sun is burning hot on your back so you peel off the sundress and leave it in your bag. Though you don’t notice, Eddie’s eyes are glued to you. His breath hitches at the view of your ass when you bend down. He’s never seen you wear such a revealing bikini before. The simple sight of your exposed skin makes his heart pound.

Jonathan has a cooler of drinks and popsicles that he’s offering to the kids. You ask for a coconut popsicle, and Lucas tosses one to you. Right after you start to eat it, you realize you left your sunscreen in the van. Letting Robin and Steve know where you’re going, you head towards the parking lot.

Eddie showed you a trick to open his van’s door without the key. There’s a dent in the door that will release the lock if hit hard enough. You’re about to attempt it when two hands rest on your hips. Scared, you jump and whip around, only to find Eddie behind you. He laughs as you angrily glare at him. “Sorry baby,” he says softly, kissing your cheek. His hair tickles your nose and you giggle, accepting his apology.

He holds up his keys and opens the door for you. Or at least, that’s what you assumed he was doing. Instead, he reaches inside, himself, and grabs the camera. You know he’s going to ask for a photo, so you whine, “I need my sunscreen, Eddie!” Still, he smoothly talks his way into just one picture.

Resigned, you pose for the camera, holding your popsicle out in front of you. There’s drops of melted ice cream gathering at the bottom, near your hands, but you wait until the camera clicks to do anything about it. Cupping your tongue, you gather the liquid then lick a long stripe up the entire length of the popsicle.

Eddie groans, “Jesus fucking christ,” before placing his free hand on your chest and pushing until your back hits the van. He crowds your space, hand remaining firm on you. His eyes are hooded as he looks into your wide, confused gaze. You hold your popsicle in front of his face and remind him, “it’s gonna melt.”

He pushes the popsicle away using the hand holding your camera. With the other hand, he can feel your heart racing underneath his palm. Your breath comes out in shaky pants as he slowly inches his hand upwards to rest on your neck. Leaning forward, he whispers in your ear, “God, you have no fuckin’ idea, do you?” An involuntary whine slips out, but it’s quickly silenced by a light squeeze to your neck.

“So innocent you can’t even see that I want you, huh? My sweet angel, so good you can’t recognize you’re being bad.” The way he speaks about you is reverant, like he worships the ground under feet. His big brown eyes shine with love and lust. You stare into them until your lips meet, then your eyelids flutter shut.

The kiss is intense, like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. He takes the lead and you let him, unsure of what to do. The tip of his tongue runs against the seam of your lips and you gasp, unintentionally letting him in. He explores until you have to part to breathe. A string of saliva connects your lips as you both gasp for air. He grabs your free hand and tugs you into the back of the van.

Shutting the door and setting the camera to the side, he grips your hips and pulls you onto his lap, your back fit snugly to his front. You feel his lips kissing the crook of your neck. “Do you want to continue?” The words are spoken into your skin. You nod, but he doesn’t move, “No, use your words. I need to hear it.”

“Yes, I wanna continue,” you speak quickly, adding, “please.” You can feel his smile on your skin, apparently pleased with your words. He presses wet open-mouthed kisses down your neck, starting behind your ear. Sliding his hands up from your hips, he slips them underneath the sides of your bikini cups. He massages your flesh before pinching your nipples. The sudden action makes you jolt. He chuckles at your surprise and moves his hands lower.

Fiddling around with the strings on your bottoms, a harsh tug pulls the ties undone. The light taps on your thigh signal you to lift your hips, and he throws the piece to the side. His right hand splays across your stomach and slowly heads downward. Leading with his middle finger, he continues until his entire hand cups you. His finger swirls around your hole, gathering the wetness there. The movement makes his palm lightly brush against your clit, but any stimulation is enough to send you reeling.

You’ve completely forgotten about your popsicle until he reminds you, “Don’t want it to melt, do you?” Stopping all movement, he waits for you to act. Shakily, you bring it to your lips and take a lick. Pleased, he slides his middle finger inside you with one fluid stroke. Forgetting all about your popsicle again, you let out a loud whine and focus on the feeling of his finger against your walls. He thrusts a few times, before deciding you can handle a second.

He runs the pads of his fingers up and down trying to find the spongy spot that’s guaranteed to make your toes curl. You gasp when his fingers brush against it, so he massages that area, purposefully rubbing the heel of his palm into your clit. You try to breathe, but you can’t. It feels like all the air has left your body, like your lungs have decided to stop working.

The popsicle stick is sliding out of your hand and you don’t even notice it, but Eddie does. Snatching it up with his left hand, he coos, “Do you need help, baby?” Unsure of what he’s gonna do, you nod cautiously. Bringing the popsicle to your lips, he tells you to open up. You obey, and he slowly presses it in until you can feel the freezing tip against the back of your throat. Pulling the popsicle stick back, you whimper at the loss. Confident you can handle it, he pushes it in and out matching the tempo of his hand.

The cold constantly grabs your attention as he thrusts it in all the way, every time. Now in the wet heat of your mouth, the popsicle is melting at an alarming rate. You’re trying to swallow it all, but there’s so much it drips down your chin and spills onto your chest. “So messy,” he teases, but you barely hear him, the pleasure from both ends is entirely too distracting. Attempting to ground yourself, you grip onto his right arm with both hands.

You’re getting close when he pauses to pull the popsicle out of your mouth. There’s only a little left on each side of the stick, so he eats it and throws the wood away. He praises you for being so obedient, “Good girl, you did so well for me.” You clench hard at his words and he mentally notes your response before moving his fingers again. You don’t know how he knows, but he asks, “Does my angel need to cum?”

Nodding, you squeeze your eyes shut, hard. Shaking his head, he continues, “You can, if you ask nicely.”

“Eddie!” you whine when he pushes particularly hard with his palm, “Can I please cum?” He hums in thought, pretending to consider your request. Meanwhile, his fingers are moving even faster than before, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your grip is like iron, now, fingernails digging into his skin.

He concedes, “Well, how can I say no when you ask so nicely? Go ahead.” You see stars behind your closed eyes, leaning your head back onto his shoulder. He presses soothing kisses to your neck and continues his hand motions until you try and squirm away, overstimulated.

You accidentally push back hard against his bulge and you both groan. Helping you off his lap, he gently lays you on your back. Brushing sweat-slicked hair off your forehead, he takes in all the mess on your chest. He licks all the white residue from the popsicle off of you, and you hope silently that he can’t hear your heart pounding hard under his tongue.

“Do you still wanna continue?” he inquires, chin resting on your sternum. You say yes, so he rucks up the top of your bikini. Mischievously, he sucks small marks on the sides of your breasts where the bikini will cover. He notices you watching with impatient eyes and shimmies out of his boxers, sitting on his knees. Lifting up your hips, he rests them over his thighs and gently runs his hands up and down your bare skin.

For a second he appears to be thinking, before he leans over and reaches under one of the seats. You watch, perplexed as he blindly searches, before pulling out a condom. In disbelief, you ask, “Really?”

He shrugs, “You never know when you’re gonna get laid in the back of a van.” You gawk at him, but say nothing more. Watching him put it on is mesmerizing, his hands are so nimble and big. You’re still fascinated as he grips the base of his dick and runs the tip through your folds. “I’m not gonna lie, it might hurt,” he admits, “I’ll go slow, okay?”

You just nod, the anticipation makes you feel afraid to say anything, in fear he’ll turn around and realize this isn’t what he wants. He pushes in entirely in one long movement, kissing your neck because he knows it will help distract you. The stretch burns, you scrunch your eyes at the feeling. Focusing on the crook of your neck, he bites down and sucks to make a mark.

You moan out and clench hard around him. Knowing he’s marking you is so indescribably hot that you can’t control yourself. The rational part of your brain takes over for a few seconds, and you complain, “you’re gonna leave a mark, everyone’s gonna see.”

Eddie laughs, “Well, it feels like you enjoyed it, sweetheart.” Effortlessly, he calls you out on your lie. Flustered, you stutter some lame excuse, but he continues to laugh at you.

Deciding to test the waters, he pulls out partially and pushes back in slowly. When you respond positively, he begins to speed up. The pleasure builds up and you cry out, digging into his shoulders with your nails. “Be a good girl and be quiet for me. Someone might hear you, angel,” he commands, reminding you that you’re in a beach parking lot.

“‘M sorry, I’ll try, promise,” you whimper, wanting to please him. All your energy is dedicated to keeping quiet, but it doesn’t work. With each thrust, you get louder and louder. It’s almost embarrassing how fast your second orgasm builds up, but he just feels so good.

His knuckles brush against your cheek as he coos, “Do you need more help?” You make a noise of agreement, so he slides two fingers into your mouth. They taste slightly like you. Moaning around them, you suck, which makes him groan. He rolls his hips harder, knowing you won’t be able to make noise. Every single time he hits the right spot to make you see stars. Dropping his other hand down, he rubs your clit in tight circles, increasing your bliss. It’s too hard to keep your eyes open now, so you allow them to flutter shut. The loss of sight only adds to the pleasure and you can feel your second orgasm rapidly approaching.

Eddie can feel the way your walls flutter around him. He demands your attention by pushing roughly on your tongue. Your eyes shoot open, and you look at him, vision blurred by tears. “Are you close?” he asks, his tone indicating that he’s expecting something from you. Knowing what he wants, you beg for your release around his fingers. Grinning widely, he commands, “Cum around my cock, I know you can do it. Be a good girl, cum for me.” He says more, but you can’t hear it, all senses consumed by your release. Your orgasm triggers his, and he finishes inside the condom.

Pulling out, he takes off the condom and ties the end, throwing it in the direction of the popsicle stick. You’d chastise him for being so gross if your mind wasn’t so hazy. In a daze, you watch him pick up the camera and take a photo. He takes the nearest marker, a neon pink one, and writes in shaky letters “my angel,” adding a heart to the right.

Finished, he pours some water from a bottle onto his beach towel and wipes the mess off your legs. You flinch when he presses too hard on a sensitive spot. He apologizes, cleaning you with a gentler touch. Eddie pulls your top to its proper place before finding your bikini bottoms and tying them for you. He slips on his swim trunks and nudges your leg, “C’mon, you need to rinse off.” You try to stay on the floor, but he forces you up and takes you to the beach showers outside.

With shaky legs, you struggle to stand so you opt to lean on Eddie, who wraps his arm around your waist. He turns on the water and helps wash the sticky coconut residue off your face and torso. His touch is soothing, and you lean into his hand, closing your eyes. You realize that you’re going to have to go back to the beach, so you mutter, “I don’t think I can walk.��

Turning off the water, he offers a piggyback ride. You perk up, “Really?”

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, “Yes, really.” Kneeling down, he lets you climb onto his back. Before going back to the beach, he stops by the car and hands you his leather jacket, “For the mark,” he says, tapping his neck to show you where your hickey is. You slip it on and wrap your hands around his neck, squeezing tighter and begging him not to drop you when he begins to run. “Special delivery!” he exclaims, setting you down between Steve and Robin.

You instantly drop back, “I’ve never been so glad to be on solid ground.” Dustin calls Eddie away, leaving just the three of you.

Steve has a stupid smirk on his face, which makes you squint at him. After a tense second, he asks, “Yea? You’re not glad about other things?” Realizing he’s pointing to the hickey, you pull the jacket higher on your neck, embarrassed.

Steve laughs, but Robin defends you, “Leave her alone, you knew they were gonna go make out.” She turns to you, “Next time you two are gonna run off somewhere, think of better excuses. Sunscreen and the bathroom are too generic.” You completely forgot about your sunscreen! You groan and drop your head back, covering your face with your hands. At least they think you were only making out.

Continuing the conversation, Steve starts bragging about the craziest places he’s made out. You tune out the conversation in favour of watching Eddie. He looks so genuinely happy here, with his friends, having fun. He catches your eyes and smiles wide. You grin back, content to watch him living happy and healthy.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie smut #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #fluff #humour #humor #smut #my writing

[kitorin]

journal.

in which, itoshi rin's midnight writing exposes what he's kept concealed from you.

contents. itoshi rin x reader, 2.878 k words, fluff, angst (in the past), itoshi backstory spoilers (mixed with a few headcanons), 1st person rin pov for a bit (journal entry), regular highschool au

a/n. is this my best? no. but is it the best i have for today? yes. happy birthday to rin <3 after assignments are done i'll definitely rewrite this (i gave up on proofreading)

10 / 09 / 2023 : SUNDAY, 12:04 am - 3:21 am

Solitude has never been a foreigner.

In fact, he's quite a familiar individual, an old companion that never seems to leave.

Even before Nii chan left for Spain, solitude was still there for me. During class I wouldn't utter a word to anyone else unless necessary, and contrariwise for said classmates. People still spoke to me; just not to the extent that they'd know what my favourite foods were, or what I liked to watch in my free time, not even bothering with it. I've never been invited to hang out with anyone after school, or been to someone else's house (not that I particularly cared, I was just sure that I was the only one).

But I was okay with it. I didn't want, or need anyone else when Nii chan bought me ice blocks, giving me the bigger piece as we'd watch the sun's warm hues bleed into the sky; the saccharine iciness contrasting how warm is was to be swallowed by sunlight together. Dad took us fishing a lot, he's always been well acquainted with the sea, taking us to locations well populated by bream; my favourite. On our way home we'd harvest kelp (Nii chan likes it in rice, salted) and take photos together on our yacht, admiring how the sun greets the world farewell, sinking into the aquamarine. Mum makes amazing food, I'm constantly astonished at how she manages to memorise every preference, from my love for ochazuke to being able to pour the perfect amount of tea; the rice never becomes too soggy (even I can't pour the exact amount I like). Solitude was close to me, but my family were closer.

There's a lot I could say about them, they've done more than remember what I love and ensuring I was happy; I'm thankful they've delivered the right for me to be comforted, to have a shoulder to cry on, to be able to freely ramble on about whatever fascinated me.

I've always been happy, even if I'm alone outside of the walls I call home. Because whether I laughed my heart out or sobbed to the point I couldn't form a coherent sentence, I'd always come home running to my family. Nothing can beat dinner; where we all relish mum's food, ask each other about our days' and offer solace or advice when necessary.

I miss that. Terribly, to the point my heart aches.

I knew that Nii chan's departure to Europe (Spain, to be exact) would change a lot. I'd have to score without his guidance, walk home alone and buy my own popsicles. Dinner time would have one less soul to laugh with, and home would have one less to embrace.

I just never expected it to be painful change. I never predicted that his return would result in losing us entirely. I didn't think his homecoming would cause my immortal resentment towards the snow, or how my eyes prickle a bit at the mere thought of an ice block. I'd say it was the worst thing that had ever happened to me, separation from him following it on the list of my worst experiences.

Solitude avoided me at home, but wasn't enough.

One time on the way home, I was overhearing the team's conversations (nothing particularly new really) and it was a discussion about the future. It was honestly surprising to find out only some of us intended to become soccer players; Nagi would rather stream or compete in professional gaming, Kurona wants to study marine biology in uni, and Yukimiya wants to give acting a go along with his modelling career. Even Isagi has a plan for if professional soccer isn't an option. He said he wanted to help others achieve their dreams if he fails to do so himself.

I remained silent as always, but had a lot more thoughts racing through my mind. Retreating to my room immediately that night, my first thought was to lie in bed, to neglect the clips I planned to analyse, to ignore muscle training for today and to slack off a bit. That's when I realized how sad the life I was living. I was sad because I was reminded of my reality.

I'm a mere myriad of distinguished achievements, though a hideous attempt of replicating genius Itoshi Sae. I'm a collection of formidable accomplishments, basking in the spotlight of glory and honour. The trophies and awards adorning my room prove it, standing tall with pride and flaunting my hard work.

That didn't mean anything. I had remained in a constant cycle of training, eating, and sleeping. My teammates were just as ambitious yet still worked hard on other things; Yukimiya enjoys modelling and Reo has a passion for economics, That must've been where I was lacking.

That's how I ended up writing again. It was an attempt to break out of this cyclical torture of constant training and sports.

I don't know how I remembered it, but I found my notebook from primary, all the stories messily scrawled yet legible. Scarlet adorned narratives birthed from child-like imagination, eulogising the prose, even though I almost flinched out of embarrassment.

Flipping through the pages, I had found the paragraph my teacher left me, insisting that I keep writing. Obviously, I never did. After getting into soccer I ignored everything school related, and would've found words on a page foolish anyways.

Many years later, I finally followed that advice.

The end result wasn't pretty. I paused a lot, struggled a lot, and almost gave up, a lot. It may have been hideous, but it was mine. A piece birthed from curiosity and memories from the past turned into another attempt. Another attempt morphed into extensive reading, I wanted to observe what was considered worthwhile or meaningless.

Writing rewove the early nights into late night reading, fully immersed in the author's thoughts translated into prose. Reading was the push to giving academics a go. Academics pulled me out of the endless cycle of soccer, there was more to life than training and diet regulation.

Books I can read. Words I can write. Exams I can study for and sports I can practice. Weights I can lift and competitions I can train for.

But to be loved, is so difficult.

It's not like an exam that you can study for and simply memorise the answers to. Or a match that has the security of a referee and reinforced rules. It's not something that can be guaranteed with a mentor.

People treat Isagi to his favourite whenever he has a bad day (he likes kintsuba). People advocate their favourite novels to Yukimiya and Chigiri, even going as far as memorising their preferences to curate their recommendations flawlessly. It must be nice, for someone to invest that sort of effort in you, even if it's simply remembering a hobby.

As my peers savoured the allure of love, estrangement and desolation constantly haunted me; a pest habituating the sleepless nights where I try to escape with a cup of coffee that's long gone cold.

It's lukewarm, praying for another's attention, care and love, to be hungry for one's time. I pathetically plead whoever manipulating my fate to provide me some sort of human connection. I shouldn't be so hopeful of others, yet I find myself dying of curiosity; what would it be like for someone to remember my birthday? Or tell me about the horror movie they adored?

I despise solitude's clinginess. But I hate how it makes me sob endlessly when no one watches.

I have myself. I have my thoughts which I've transcribed to oeuvre. I have the pile of books resting on my bedside table which sleep alongside with me. I have the trophies and awards I've won, I'll always appreciate my own talent and diligence, even if playing soccer brought me so much pain.

I think I'm somewhat pretty. I find my prominent eyelashes special to me, it's something unique to both me and Nii chan. My physique isn't too bad, either. I like the way my legs look, and my shoulders as I dry my hair.

I've always been proud of myself. I've always been enough and I always will be. Just not for others.

That's why I never expected my bond with solitude to be severed so easily. Especially because of y/n out of all people.

I still don't get how it happened. The oblivion to their presence became a peculiar first impression. An odd first meeting turned into abrupt yet regular greetings amidst hallways. Soon, I was sitting with them in every class, passing notes during tedious lessons and discussing our favourite media on the bus ride home.

Before I knew it, passionate rambles about books turned into watching movies together in my room. Whenever they greeted me their friendly wave was replaced with a tight hug, passing notes in class were accompanied with subtle kisses on the cheek.

Our relationship as friends was reimagined to lovers.

Something must've possessed me to blurt out the stupid crush I had on them, and I thank whatever drove me to do that. As awkward as I was it doesn't compare to the skip of my heartbeat when they accepted my feelings.

It's been almost a year since I met them, yet I still feel hot whenever they hold my hand, and flush red at every compliment they whisper. I still find myself stuttering sometimes whenever they're showing me a new outfit they've styled.

I love the way they smile, the creases of joy that adorn the outer corner of their eyes, and how they squint with glee and the sweet, melodious laughter that accompanies it; how breathless they sound whilst laughing. The expression they wear when deep in thought fascinates me, even if it's midway through an exam or them simply observing a video Bachira sent them. I adore their late night thoughts they text me at 3 am, the fatigue itching my eyes seem to evaporate when I notice their name on the notification. I treasure the notes we've scrawled on spare sheets of paper, they're still in between the pages of my books.

Even now, they're sleeping soundly in my bed, arms wrapped around the plush I bought them; I keep getting distracted by the sight of them so relaxed, chest rising up and down with each breath.

I would die for them. Because now I don't need to pretend to be invested on my phone to look less lonely. Now, I don't need to put my bag on the seat next to me to make it look like I sit alone by choice. I don't have to persuade the teacher to let me do group projects alone, or have to observe others with jealousy. Someone defends me from disparaging comments.

Because now, I'm not alone.

7:15 am

THE ENTRY COMES TO AN END, AND EMBARASSMENT DUSTS Rin's face a faint tint of pink. His eyes avoid contact with yours— as he waits for your input his latest piece.

"Well? What do you think?"

You're not sure where to start. You've always known about his strained relationship with his older brother, and how his friendship with his teammates wasn't the same in the beginning. But he never explained it in detail; you wouldn't've guessed that he had some sort of chionophobia, or even cried because he felt so secluded from others. The thought of him concealing his tears and pain from the rest of the world made your eyes prickle and sends your heart racing miserably.

"Doesn't matter—" He reaches for the notebook, closing it and tossing it onto his desk. "Forget it, you didn't see anything." He plops backwards again, head hitting the pillow and groaning as he covers his face with his forearm. "It was shit anyways, I'll rip it out and toss it later."

"It wasn't."

Rin stays silent.

You lie down, mimicking his current position and cup his cheeks with your hand. "You'll never be alone again—, I promise you that." Your voice falters ever so slightly, the thought of his pain makes you feel weak in the knees and sick to the stomach. "You're more than enough, you always have and always will be. You don't need anyone's validation to be beautiful, you never did."

Rin sighs, "I'm only like that because of you." Yet something seems to throb in his heart, the small but overpowering part of him that insists he requires another's approval to be important— someone finally proving that wrong.

"That's not true."

"Yes it is, our classmates still loathe me, so do people who barely see or speak to me." There was no lie in that; but it wasn't Rin's fault. "Yoichi and the others only spend time with me because of you."

"I was only the push for them to speak to you, you know they've always cared, they were just too nervous to speak to you. As competitive as he gets, Yoichi really admires you, to the point he gets so heated and ends up rambling about your skills." That's a secret that was supposed to remain in your private messages, but Yoichi doesn't need to know.

Satisfaction momentarily appears on Rin's face at the thought of his rival's great respect, though it doesn't last very long.

"He's my teammate so it's expected... everyone I speak to at school seems to have something against me, even our English teacher." The mistreatment at school is undeniable, it's not exactly bullying but there's no respect or human decency in how people behave towards him.

"Rin, love, you've done nothing wrong, hate isn't always rational. There will always be people who can't stand seeing others more successful, and that's not your fault."

"Really?" His eyes light up; despite having a sophisticated and cold demeanour all the time, he looks like a child again, hope dances in his wide eyes.

"Really." Your fingers take advantage of the opportunity and pinch his cheeks gently. "Don't listen to all those stupid rumours and assumptions, idiot. I'd fight anyone who tries to hurt you and win every time."

When your fingers let go he immediately kisses you, and it leaves you breathless; the way he pulls you in flexes his well toned biceps and his hand supports your head.

"Thank you." Rin whispers, pulling away a bit. "Thank you for appreciating me. Thank you for everything." It's a rare occurrence for him to sound so frail, same goes for the tremble of his bottom lip.

"Of course, I love you more than anything."

"I love you too." It's escorted by a peck on your nose, and a soft expression sculpted on his face.

Before Rin can throw a blanket over the two of you again, you interrupt.

"You shouldn't throw that entry away." You still haven't forgotten his initial intention with it. "I don't get why you think it's shit."

"It's rushed. And it's just me waffling on about my feelings and the past. There's no proofreading, and it's rushed. It's not even complete either."

"That's the whole point of writing, no? It's the expression of our words and thoughts." You reach towards his desk to pick up the notebook. "Not everything has to be written in one sitting, too."

Rin doesn't bother stopping you from looking through the notebook at this point. "It's still stupid. It's just that I had the urge and motivation to write in the dead of night."

"Well. I like it."

Rin's stoic expression crumbles, revealing the bashful side he keeps concealed from the world. "Then that's good enough for me." The red on his cheeks tell you that you've won the argument.

You turn back to the entry page, impressed with his barely legible yet pretty handwriting. "You should've slept instead."

"I don't get tired anyways." He's quickly betrayed by the yawn clawing out of his throat.

"Liar. Why would you stay up writing so late... your sleep is important you know?"

"Because you are love itself. I won't get a wink of sleep if it means I can think and write about you instead." Rin's pulls you in again, tossing his notebook elsewhere as he leans in. "I promise I'll finish that entry, no— I'll write a book about you one day."

"Writing this, writing that, sleep first dumbass." A smile tugs at your lips as you pull Rin back into the position you were cuddling in a few hours ago. Even though you were the one who slept a lot more, fatigue itched your eyes, and a yawn spilled out too.

In response, Rin tosses a blanket over the two of you, whispering good night as you begin to nod off a bit. He should rest too, he has training tomorrow and has to go to the gym as well.

The Itoshi Rin from before would've slept immediately. In fact, he wouldn't've stayed up in the first place, let alone date someone. But the Itoshi Rin now instead stares at you, admiring each and every feature of yours. You're his savior, the luminescent moon irradiating his world, guiding him away from the grasps of solitude and embracing him with love instead.

Tagging: @yuzurins (yumi you inspired this fic btw lol)

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk #fluff #itoshi rin #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi rin x y/n #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi #rin #blue lock manga #blue lock rin itoshi #blue lock rin

[meidui]

steve/established pepperony 💏

Keeping Steve by @copperbadge

The gifts from Tony and Pepper are nice, and Steve secretly likes showing off signs that he belongs to them -- until some offhanded teasing from Clint makes him wonder if they're gifts from his lovers or payment for services rendered.

flying (just far enough) from the sun by @sunspill

After the events of the film, Steve follows Tony home instead of Bruce. Steve/Pepper/Tony.

Come At Me by Closer

Steve gets a lesson in pop psychology, drives a roadster, fends off an aspiring killer robot, conquers Tetris, wins a quarter, buys pants, battles the undead, and falls hard for Tony Stark and Pepper Potts.

Just your average superhero stuff.

Safety Net by Instigator

Tony and Pepper aren't the type to stand idly by when they want something. As it turns out, what they want is Steve.

Make It A Triple by @51st

Tony’s lips are on his again, surprisingly soft and warm and his beard isn’t scratchy at all, but pleasant, and his mouth tastes faintly of scotch, and that’s Pepper’s other hand on his shoulder, between them, tightening there.

Steve pulls his head back, slightly. “Sorry,” he says, and he’s not sure which of them he’s addressing, but he’s had Long Island iced teas and Adios, Motherfuckers and he can maybe pretend later that he didn’t know any better.

Good Teachers by @impalachick

Wherein Steve learns that he doesn't have anything appropriate to wear to a dinner at Stark tower, Pepper is an extremely capable planner, Tony doesn't hate him, and date nights don't have to be between only two people.

Glamour Girl by @stickthisbig

This is Steve's indulgence.

Call me home by Cubicrot

“You need to stop feeling guilty, live a little.” Tony says carefully. “And I missed you.”

Steve’s heart beats like he’s in the middle of a leap and throwing his shield.

Tony coughs. “Also, Pep’s got a crush.”

Nowhere to Hide by @archwrites

In the wake of the Battle of New York, Steve dreams of caves and portals and a world he doesn't understand. Then he meets up with Tony and Pepper in California and discovers he's not the only one living someone else's life in his dreams.

Croquis by @saathi1013

In which the Avengers Tower is rebuilt, Tony attempts matchmaking, Natasha is scary, and Pepper may have ulterior motives. Also, there is Asgardian mead, which might be a problem.

Magnetic by @boombangbing

Tony and Pepper are in a committed relationship, everyone knows that. Tony still flirts relentlessly with Steve, though, and Steve doesn't know what to make of it. Then he starts having weird feelings about Pepper too, and he really, really doesn't know what to make of that.

Holding Pattern by @boombangbing

The first couple of weeks of Steve's relationship with Tony and Pepper leave him in a strange in-between state. Which consequently leaves him increasingly frustrated.

Living in the Present by EllyAvon

Steve has adjusted as well as can be expected to the 21st century, but he still can't predict things like this.

There's lots more kissing in the future than he thought there would be-- or maybe it's kissing in the present.

You and Me and Steve by Chaerring

The problem wasn't Steve, exactly, just that he was always around.

Vector by @setissma

"It's a great idea," Tony said.

"Fabulous," Pepper said. "I'll file it with all your other recent great ideas, like stealing cars from the Stark Formula One team and buying me a strawberry farm for my birthday."

'Til the Daylight Comes by GotTheSilver

As he turns to leave he hears Tony calling after him, and he ignores it, uncomfortable with—well. With Tony. Not because of what he’d been saying, but because he liked it. Because something about knowing that Tony notices him stirred something inside Steve.

But Tony’s with Pepper.

And that’s.

That’s fine.

Homecoming by amobisan

Pepper opened the door to her bedroom and found Steve sitting on their bed. He looked up at her, blushing and shirtless, and said "Tony told me you liked this?"

Middleman by @justanotherstonyfan

Pepper and Tony introduce Steve to restraints.

Taken by @musicalluna

Tony gets back from a business trip and finds out Steve is gone.

Three's Company by @serenailith

Did Pepper and Tony really ask him that? Or is this just some vivid dream?

Or the one where Pepper decides her curiosity has reached high enough, so she asks Tony to bring Steve into the relationship.

Surprise by @serenailith

For the past five months, Steve has been in an amazing relationship (of sorts) with Tony and Pepper. One night, he receives a text from Tony while the genius is at a charity event with Pepper, and Steve sets his mind to surprising the two of them with a better night when they get home.

a dusting of pink (makes you glow from within) by @bedtimestoriesformywife

Steve is pretty sure he’s got a hang of this future thing. Talking to women though? That he still needs to work on.

#the steve discord enables my self indulgence 😌 #stony #stevetony #pepperony #stevetonypepper #fic rec #*

[not-so-rosyyy]

so I put on Prom Pact (2023) while preparing lunch earlier as background noise initially, but it turned out to be really cute and fun and I know I'm a full-grown adult saying this but I can't lie—I really liked it. sure, it's predictable and all because it follows the usual John Hughes teen movie formula but it was done very well so it feels like a proper homage to those films. there's the smart and very judgy girl on her way to Harvard, the jock (pardon, he prefers the term 'athlete') who's actually more than what the girl thinks of him, the really sweet and pretty class president-slash-homecoming queen, and the cute loser who gets tongue tied when he's around her. so yeah, it has all the classics. but more importantly, the cast has great chemistry and what more could you want from a teen romcom than that?

it truly might be the best one I've watched of the genre since the first To All The Boys I've Loved Before movie. also, that kid Milo Manheim is going places. he's what Noah Centenio thinks he is actually lol 🤧

#prom pact #film

[whatiswritteninthestars]

TWD: Daryl Dixon “Paris sera toujours Paris” Review

☕️Beware of Spoilers☕️

Last week we finally learned how Laurent was brought into the world and we now reach the third leg of the journey for Daryl Dixon and the location this time is Paris. Before Isabelle and Daryl reach the city they come across the town of Angers to one of Isabelle’s allies who has a radio, or so she leads Daryl to believe. Sylvie and Laurent stay behind armed and ready. I’m not sure if this was the brightest move on their part leaving them out in the open but Daryl and Isabelle venture into the theater to her contact and he’s one strange musician.

Of course, we reach the never-ending saga of French radios that do not work, which is becoming way too predictable at this point. Daryl remains more than irritated that the radio has been used for nothing more than to feed this man’s musical obsession. Instead of trying to help, the man leads them to his stage of zombies in an orchestra. The bodyless head playing the strings was a nice touch but this was undoubtedly one of the strangest scenes in The Walking Dead and one giant waste of time as the crazed man was no help at all. And just as predicted the kids got in over their heads with walkers coming their way. Daryl must save the day and he has had enough of Isabelle’s leadership. It’s time to do things his way now. Though I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing given his track record so far in France.

Soon the group reaches Paris and it’s a homecoming for Isabelle. From afar Laurent admires the Eiffel Tower for the first time, much like Daryl did upon his arrival. But Paris brings back a lot of memories Isabelle would rather not relive. It’s the very reason why she spent the last decade avoiding it.

As they march on Isabelle shows Laurent some of her mother’s old stomping grounds. It’s not quite clear if Laurent knows Isabelle is his aunt. She has been lying about so much already so that wouldn’t be surprising. She then tells Daryl about the “pourvoir” movement. During the outbreak in desperate times, people think to order..”Yeah or God.” Daryl remarks back. That line makes it evident that Daryl doesn’t believe in either side of the fight in France. It makes it really hard to fight for something you don’t believe in.

The group stumbles upon the grave of American Rock star Jim Morrison after Laurent tells another story that nobody asked for about the fortitude of a weary woodsman. How death came for him and he had a change of heart. It is nice to know Laurent has so much “useful information” but I’m not sure that it adds any value to the story. Laurent assures Daryl that he will not face the same Morrison fate and die in France. Unclear if he thinks he’s a psychic or trying to ease Daryl’s fear but I think we all know Daryl Dixon is untouchable and not going to perish anytime soon.

Another ally comes along just in time, Fallou. He has heard the story of Laurent but not seen it with his own eyes and he is mesmerized by the child as are all his people. They’d been waiting a long time to meet the miracle boy. It is a small community of 64 members and Sylvie quickly catches the eyes of a young man.

And on come the homing pigeons. They are used for messaging because they always find their way back home. Daryl thinks this idea is crazy and to get a message to America, it would just take too long. What came next was the most interesting part of the show. Carol is alluded to throughout this episode but this was the moment that screamed her name. While the trainer is holding one of the pigeons to be released he looks at the small creature and says “Maybe he has a girlfriend..we all have a person who waits for us somewhere.” And as Daryl listens he drops his head in both sadness and guilt. He’s dying to get to a radio to send word back and the further they keep going the more walls he is running into. I do however think the girlfriend line is very interesting. They didn’t have to throw that line in if they were trying to stick to the platonic soulmate trope.

Another fun fact is when pigeons mate they mate for life. Which is how Norman Reedus always saw the character of Daryl. No matter where they go they can always find their way back home to their mate.

At this point, Daryl is over the games. These people are no use to him if they aren’t living up to their end of the deal. Daryl knows that Fallou can get them to The Nest the rest of the way and if there is no radio then she can’t help him. Fallou lets him know there are people in Paris that trade for all kinds of things but he will need currency. He’s ready to steal so he can make a trade to get back home but Isabelle said she will get what he needs. After all, it is the least she could do after the amount of times Daryl has saved them.

Now here lies two major problems in this spinoff:

1. The lying to Laurent, these are supposed to be people of God and Laurent's life is nothing but one big lie. I felt for the kid last week in “Aloutte” when he told children all the lies he’d been told about his past. They only knew him for 5 seconds and knew it was fabricated. They are putting a lot of hope and pressure on Laurent when he doesn’t even know he’s the face of humanity in France. Daryl thinks they should be honest with him. Laurent has strong empathic abilities to read people but I don’t think he’s a miracle child by any means. Everyone is given a gift.

2. Isabelle believes Daryl was sent to her by God to deliver Laurent to revive humanity. However, she seems pretty capable of handling bad people on her own. She’s been out there a long time growing the Union of Hope. The “killer nuns” know how to defend themselves so I don’t see why they needed to use Daryl as a man who can escort them. It seems very outdated. On the other hand, Isabelle does a horrendous job at fighting walkers even if she can kill humans like it’s nobody’s business. At this stage of the game she should be experienced in that area.

Codron is still after Daryl and he’s not going to rest until revenge is served. He comes to Genet with information and Genet hires him to find the American. Strange experiments are going on with walkers/burners and I get the vibe these are not being done to free the world of tyranny. I believe there is a dark purpose behind it all. If you look back on the burner walkers that is not something that just naturally happens.

Now we have reached the infamous Demimonde underground nightclub club which Quinn of all people owns. There are acrobats, a drag queen, and performers of all kinds. A lounge-type singer named Anna has a miraculous voice and seems to be somewhat of an item to Quinn.

Eventually, they get to Isabelle’s to gather some things to trade. There is a line from Isabelle that just clarifies how much Isabelle doesn’t know Daryl..” you seem like someone who’s always thinking” She is glad the two of them crossed paths she tells him but he refuses to share the same sentiment. He isn’t happy to be there but in the same turn, he doesn’t hate her for it. She’s not the reason he ended up here. He must play nice for now to garner a ticket back home.

Isabelle is admiring some artwork on the wall. A piece by Monet called “The Water Lilies.” She tells Daryl she used to go visit the museum every weekend and admire it. It was like a port in the storm for her. “It kind of reminds me of home,” Daryl replied to her. Upon those words, Isabelle looks like him with a hint of remorse for even pointing it out to him. There’s a tinge of jealousy every time Daryl talks about going home. But there are two very interesting things regarding this scene that are written subtly in the script. “A port in the storm.” We know that Daryl and Carol are each other’s safe harbor. Carol has always anchored Daryl. “The Water Lilies” also reflects home making him think back to Carol and the Cherokee roses by the water. She is his home and just as Isabelle walks away to speak to Quinn Daryl takes one last look back at the painting missing the happiness he was so close to having.

Quinn lets Daryl know it’s not impossible to get to America. He’s heard things and they travel to his office to talk about it in a deeper capacity. He offers champagne to which they decline. Quinn starts to lay into Isabelle that she should have told him about Lily and the baby. Isabelle is not sure why she would because he didn’t even want to help Lily back in the day. Then it is revealed that Quinn is the father of Laurent leaving Isabelle in an alarmingly shocked state. It was Quinn who saved Isabelle’s life before when she tried to take it and Quinn never lets her forget it. Daryl doesn’t like the way this is heading and tells her he doesn’t need a boat from them this badly. He can find another way. She is irritated with Daryl at this point because she’d come all this way to help him to help him keep his promise. “That’s all you care about isn’t it?” She asks him and Daryl doesn’t deny it. Well of course not his plans are not going to be changed over a group of strangers he just met. Isabelle’s constant annoyance with Daryl wanting to get back to his family and fulfill a promise is very peculiar. What else would she expect? “Oh since you said so I must be a messenger of god and I’ll stay with you forever and do everything you ask?” Come on now.

On a side note I don’t think it’s a huge deal Daryl was not prepared to have Isabelle go through pain to get a boat. Daryl has always been a good judge of character. There’s nothing shippy about him not wanting to be a jerk to get what he wants. Isabelle doesn’t exactly exude the same energy though.

Just as Daryl is about to leave for the second time this episode he tells Isabelle she should stop lying to Laurent. Quinn being his father will just be added to the mountain of lies. I love seeing the old Daryl shine in this episode especially when he tells her Laurent deserves to know who he is. Maybe that’s something she needs to believe, that he’s a gift from God. He can still be a miracle and not be the messiah he tells hers just as hell broke loose. Laurent overhears them and gets furious with them both while Codron has tracked him down regardless of the deal Genet and Quinn had to steer clear of each other's territory. Daryl goes on the run and it becomes another glorious beta vs. Daryl battle before he falls through the floor in a cliffhanger. My favorite part of this scene was Daryl dropping his knife that resembles Carol’s. The camera really panned in on it which purposeful symbolism.

My takeaways:

Too much inconsistency with Daryl. He’s a hero one minute then seems incompetent on his own at other times. The amount of times he says “I’m better off on my own” and it’s proven otherwise is countless.

Isabelle is often the same, she comes across as a strong and capable woman but then acts as if she needs a man to get her from point A to point B. I don’t think she needs Daryl at all so it does beg the question as to why is she trying to hold onto him and control him? However, I do understand the script had to be written a certain way to prolong Daryl’s stay in France to give Carol time to arrive. It would be devastating if he left when Carol arrived.

There is no chemistry between Isabelle and Daryl. I know that’s what some of you are worried about. With any Daryl/Norman Reedus ship they are going to try and point fans in that direction for drama and attention but I just don’t see it. Especially not with Carol returning. This is not Daryl’s happy ending…a happy ending is not something that you have to be forced or guilted into. A happy ending is not an obligation because you get stuck in a place you don’t belong. I think deep down it feels good for Daryl to help people but he wants to carry on paying it forward. He’s not looking for a place to hang up his hat just yet. Though we all do wish he would hang up that scarf.

We have not seen the last of Quinn. He still has feelings for Isabelle. Isabelle has shut that part of herself off. But I do think it’s a little hypocritical of her to judge Quinn’s lifestyle when she used to be the same. She was the one who wanted to give Daryl the benefit of the doubt and compassion even if he didn’t believe in God. It is pretty clear she’s a master manipulator and does exactly what she needs to get her way. Whether that is towards Daryl to get him to babysit them all across France or to her ex, Quinn to get what’s needed to secure a boat. For me, it all looks like a game to Isabelle. I’m not sure how much she wants to get a boat for Daryl but as a Christian, it is her duty to be a woman of her word.

Now call me crazy but I thought Nuns were supposed to be as honest as possible. Isabelle lies to Daryl from the start to manipulate him into helping them get to The Nest(and you will see how in a later episode.)She has not only lied to Laurent about who he is and where he came from but also created stories about a pseudo-father. Laurent doesn’t know she’s his aunt or that he is going to revive all of the humanity of France. All she tells him is that he’s special. Meanwhile, everyone they cross looks at Laurent like the angels are singing when he walks.

Fallou did say the radio hasn’t worked in a long time. That had to be information Isabelle was privy to. Much like how she led Daryl on at the Abbey about their radio only to tell him it doesn’t work. I don’t think Isabelle is a villain but she does too many selfish acts for me to like her. It doesn’t matter if she’s a nun now it’s like this selfish manipulative side was something engrained in her from before that’s never gone away, not even with the cloth.

The best takeaway from this episode is Daryl’s heart and his willingness to get word back home. He can only imagine what is going through Carol’s mind right now. Daryl always checks in with her and he does seem frantic about getting to a radio. Every hurdle he jumps over to get radio access comes to a screeching halt so now his best bet is to find a boat to travel back home. From there he can radio out to her.

“SAY HER NAME”

The Carol writing is all over the wall but it’s not definitive enough for my liking. Anybody who knows how to follow a narrative is going to know the safe harbor, home, the promise, and sadness that washes over him is because of Carol. And just as The Walking Dead usually does with the most popular ship of the show they don’t make it obvious enough. There is always that wiggle room. I do understand the poeticness of it but we need both Carol and Daryl to lay their hearts on the line once and for all. But I do however love all the symbolism. Famous french paintings that remind him of Carol, the pigeons, the girlfriend call back, and the knife.

I hope you enjoyed the Caryl hints in this episode. I know I did. There’s a scene coming up in Episode 4 that will completely warm your heart and I believe is another nod to Caryl and their future! Feel free to ask me questions to dive in deeper. Xoxo

#caryl #caryl is endgame #soulmates #twd caryl #daryl dixon #twd daryl dixon #carol peletier #the walking dead #review #twd family #thoughts #mcreedus #twd spoilers #caryl positivity

[freezerbrldes]

A Long, Unfortunate while

PAIRING. Lucy Gray Baird x Coriolanus Snow

WARNINGS. Mentions of abuse and SA (not too in-depth but its still there)

AUTHOR'S NOTE. This is my first time writing and using Tumblr so please bear with me lol. This series is based on the album Preacher's Daughter by Ethel Cain. If you're unfamiliar with that album I highly recommend listening to it because it is honestly one of the greatest albums in the last decade. I changed some of the story up so it's not so predictable for people who know the lore behind the album. Also, I made Lucy Gray 18 years old and Coryo 20 years old for the sake of this story because it gets pretty dark towards the end (iykyk).

credit to @cafekitsune for dividers

now on ao3

Chapter One: American Teenager

I stand before the mirror, amazed at how the rainbow dress paired with the cream-colored corset and subtle makeup transformed my features. I’m not one to dress up, but since I’m attending the homecoming dance with Billy Taupe, I need to wear something other than my usual oversized t-shirts and baggy jeans. 

Never in a million years did I think he’d ever ask me out, let alone as his homecoming date. Billy and I grew up together in Shady Grove, a very small town in rural Alabama. We’ve never been close friends in school, but I always had a huge crush on him. He is the star player on the football team and is by far the most sought-after guy in school. 

Billy had been dating Arachne Crane, the captain of the cheer squad and the local bitch of Shady Grove High. He caught her making out with Fetus Creed under the bleachers after a game a few months ago, he broke up with her right on the spot. Since then he has talked to me more than he ever has. I didn’t think much of it until one day after chemistry class he stopped me in the hallway and asked me to homecoming. I was shocked but accepted anyway, hoping it would eventually lead us into a relationship.

I walked down the steps where my mother was ready with her Polaroid camera. 

“Oh my” she exclaimed, “You look beautiful.” She began snapping picture after picture, my eyes closed in almost every single one from how blinding the flash was. She grabbed my arms and tried to position me into a pose, taking even more pictures. After about 10 more photos, I had enough.

“Okay Mama, you got more than enough pictures, I need to go,” I say as I hear Billy pull into the driveway, honking the horn to let me know he’s here. 

“Let me go outside and say hi to the boy, I haven’t seen him in so long,” She says as she tries to open the door and walk outside. I immediately shut the door and blocked it with my body. 

“Please no, mama, he’s in a hurry and we gotta leave right now.” I began cracking open the door and inching my way through before my mother could get outside., not wanting her to embarrass men in front of Billy. 

Billy hops out of the truck and opens the passenger side door for me. 

“Wow, Lucy Gray, you look... stunning,” He says with a laugh as he looks me up and down. I blush at his words, not used to receiving compliments. 

“Thank you, Billy, you look great too” I replied. 

“Oh, Thanks,” Billy said. “It's the same suit I wore to your dad’s funeral.”

My heart sinks at his response.

My father passed away four years ago. He was the preacher at Shady Grove Baptist church for over 25 years. He was well respected around town. Everyone loved him and the services he led every Sunday. If only they knew what a monster that man was when he was not leading the congregation.

He and Mama did a good job of acting like they were happy together whenever they were at church or neighborhood cookouts, but no one could see the bruises that he would leave on my and Mama's bodies sometimes.

I shake myself out of my memories as Billy helps me into his truck and heads towards the school. The drive was mostly quiet. Every now and then he'll ask me about church or tell me about his recent football games, which I pretend to care about.

He parks the truck in the parking lot as I watch all the girls dressed in lavish ball gowns enter the school, they all make mine look insignificant in comparison. Billy helps me out of the truck and into the gymnasium. 

The room was filled to the brim with people, the DJ playing terrible remixes of various pop songs as people danced. I’m not a party girl, never even been to one other than birthday parties as a kid. The thought of the loud music mixed with sweaty bodies grinding against each other was enough to steer me far away from that lifestyle.

“I’m going to get us some punch, I’ll be right back,” Billy says as he maneuvers through the sea of people. 

I find an empty table in the corner away from all the commotion and make my way over to it. I take a seat and watch the crowd as everyone dances along to the music. Billy emerges from the crowd holding two glasses of red punch. 

“Thanks,” I say as I take the drink from him and have a sip. We sit in silence as the opening notes of Time After Time play. Billy looks over at me and places a hand over mine.

“Would you like to dance?” I look down at our hands and then look back at him. 

“Uh, sure, but I’ve never danced before,” I reply, my eyes avoiding his in embarrassment as I finish the last of my punch.

“That’s fine, I’ll teach ya” Billy stands from the table, his hand now holding mine, as he leads us to an empty spot on the dance floor. He places my hands on his shoulders before placing his on my hips. 

Billy began to sway us back and forth with the music and for a moment it felt like we were the only two people in the room. My confidence began to grow as I rested my head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart instead of the music.

His grip on my waist got tighter as he pulled me closer to his body., my chest now flush against his. He begins kissing up the side of my neck as his hands move further down my waist and he grips my ass. I feel him snake a hand up my thigh and under my dress.

“Billy, what are you doing?” I muttered, trying to push his hands off of me, but his grip was too strong. At the same time, I began to feel a little dizzy, Did he put something in my punch?

"Just relax, baby," He whispers into my ear. He then grinds his crotch into my thigh as his hands search for the waistband of my panties.

"Billy, stop, let me go," I beg quietly, but he ignores my pleas.

Before he could get any further, a shrill voice spoke, causing Billy and I to both jump.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Lucy Gray Baird, what a surprise! I wasn’t expecting Billy to bring you to homecoming. I see he’s almost won the bet.” Arachne laughed, and her cheerleader friends giggled along with her. “Arachne, leave her alone,” Billy muttered, getting in between her and me. 

“Bet? What bet?” I questioned. “Billy, what is she talking about?” 

“I-It’s nothing Lucy Gray really-” 

“Billy made a bet with Festus that he could get laid by the preacher’s daughter,” Arachne interrupted, grinning widely. 

My face heated up as I felt tears well up in my eyes. This was all part of a bet? I thought to myself. I glared at Billy as he desperately tried to talk his way out of this.

“I-I wasn’t being serious, We were just joking around, I would never try to pressure you into anything I swear.” He stutters, his hand scratching the back of his neck.

“Did you really think Billy would ever go for you willingly?” Arachne snickered, “You look like a circus clown in that dress, and besides, the only reason he came here tonight with you is to get a quick 50 bucks”

“That’s not true, I came here with you because I-” Billy is cut off by Arachne’s giggling once again.

“Oh my god Billy, you like her?”

“N-no, I didn’t say that-” Billy adds, before he finished his sentence I turned away and headed towards the door. Before I could get to the door, Arachne cut me off and threw her punch all over my dress, staining it a dark scarlet red. I felt all eyes on me as she began to laugh. Soon it sounded like everyone in the room was laughing at me.

I pushed my way through the crowd and ran out the door and through the parking lot, walking down the empty, dark road. The sound of cicadas chirping in the trees surrounded me as I made my way down the street.

I had no clue if it was whatever Billy slipped into my punch, but all I wanted to do was run into the forest and let the wildlife consume me alive. Anything at this point would be better than facing everyone in class on Monday, especially Billy and Acrachne, but the thought of leaving Mama all alone, not knowing what happened to me quickly sucked me right out of that thought.

About 30 minutes into my walk, Headlights illuminate the road as they head towards me. An old beat-up pickup truck pulls over on the side of the road a few feet in front of me. As I walk past the window is rolled down to reveal a young man with long blond hair behind the wheel.

“You know, it's not safe to walk on the side of the road when it's this dark,” he says with a friendly smile,  “Do you need a ride?” 

I took a moment to think. I hear a lot of horror stories about women getting kidnapped from hitchhiking like this, but this guy looks very nice and he seems to be worried about my safety. There’s no a way crazed serial killer would ever be in a town this small anyway. 

“Yeah, I’d love that,” I answered as I approached the truck, getting into the passenger seat. I got in and gave him directions to my house, which was about 25 minutes away from the school. 

“My name’s Coriolanus, what’s yours?” He asks, I notice his accent is a lot different from anyone around here, he must be from out of town. 

“Lucy Gray,” I replied as he began to drive.

“Lucy Gray.. That’s a pretty name,” He smiles at me. 

“You don’t sound like you’re from here, where are you from?” I asked, looking over at his large collection of cassette tapes on the dashboard. From the looks of it, he must really like Metallica.

“I’m from Florida, I’m just passing through here on my way to California.” He answers as he lights a cigarette. 

“You’re driving from Florida to California? Isn’t that like a 40-hour drive?” I inquired, this man has to be insane or something to wanna do that all by himself.

“Yes, it's a very long drive,” he laughed. “My father was a truck driver and would always come home talking about how therapeutic driving all across America was, I’m hoping I’ll find it just as therapeutic as he did,” Coriolanus mutters, he looked almost sad for a second but quickly snapped out of it. "And there are so many more opportunities for me out there than there are back home."

I could almost sense the sadness in the air as he spoke about his father, he must have lost his father too. Almost like he knew I was going to question him about his father, he spoke again.

“May I ask what you are dressed up for?” He asks, glancing at my dress.

“I was at the homecoming dance tonight at school, my date was a dick so I left,” I said, playing with my hands in my lap as I spoke.

“God, that sucks,” Coriolanus replied, “well, he’s missing out big time, you are a very beautiful girl” he looks over at me and smiles sweetly. “What’s all that red on your dress?”

“My date’s ex-girlfriend decided to throw her drink at me before I left, I guess she was jealous that I went to the dance with him instead of her,” I said as I laughed slightly, feeling comfortable around Coriolanus as I spoke about my humiliating experience.

“Yeah, I imagine,” He says as he looks over my dress once more.

I watched Coriolanus as he continued to drive down the dark highway. He notices and quickly looks over, his eyes meet mine for the first time. I’m taken aback by his blue eyes are, they're almost as blue as a clear sunny sky. He smiles as I blush and look back down at my lap nervously.

“I’ve always dreamed of leaving Shady Grove, starting a new life in a big city somewhere,” I confessed. 

Coriolanus looked at me as I stared out the window.

“I know we don’t know each other at all,” he started, “but if you were up for it, you could join me on my trip.”

I looked over at him again, my eyes lit up. 

“You want me to stay?” I asked, a smile forming on my lips.

“I won’t force you into anything of course, but I could really use the company,” Coriolanus smiled, “I feel like I might go insane driving all by myself,” He laughs as he waits for me to answer.

Living in a small town, you’re not really taught to not talk to strangers. Everyone knows everyone, a little too much sometimes. Coriolanus seems like a genuinely good person, and he’s offering me a chance to escape, one that may never come again. I know my Mama would miss me, but once I get to California I’ll be sure to write her to let her know I’m okay. This is my one shot at leaving the town, and I'm not about to pass it up.

“I’d love to join you, Coriolanus,” I replied, grinning at him once again.

He looks at me, returning a smile.

“Well then, let’s get out of here, Lucy Gray.”

#snowbaird #a ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x coriolanus #tbosbas #coriolanus smut #coryo snow #coryo smut #ethel cain #preachers daughter #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow smut #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus fluff

[hitlikehammers]

The Sex Really, It's Just Feelings and Sex Calm Before The Storm (Steddie Pirate AU)

(because nothing BAD could POSSIBLY HAPPEN to them in the REMAINING THREE CHAPTERS OR ANYTHING 👀)

🌊Under the Water (Our Hearts Will Dream Again)🌊

Chapter Five: The Heart of the Ocean

ONE // TWO // THREE // FOUR // Chapter Six on 3 April 🌊

also on ao3

It isn’t even a gradual shift, exactly. Not all of it, at least.

One wildly successful raid that funds the warming of the beds of the crew come next dock? That alone earns Steve and Eddie appreciation: Eddie’s called Munson without a single modifier on the name for the first time…ever on this ship. Steve gains a certain…deference. It’s probably the lack of any lingering suspicion toward him matched with respect but…it feels a little biblical-parting-of-the-Sea, if Eddie’s honest. Not that he’s complaining. It has its perks.

Not least among them an understood avoidance of the overhang near the bow after full-dark. Because there are no dunes to hide in on a ship and…well.

Once Eddie’s had Steve, like this? Like hell he intends to stop.

And if Eddie’s of such a mind? Steve is…intent near-beyond human reason. He is insatiable, but at the same time the most tender, most attentive, most intuitive partner—no. Most giving and generous and talented and staggeringly skillful lover, that Eddie’s ever had the privilege to touch, to feel, to take inside himself like he’s made to be there only and always.

And it takes only one near-brush with their nightly routine, the first sunset after that first raid—the boy Emerson being canny enough to take the hint of Eddie’s admittedly unrestrained moans, because restraining any reaction to Steve’s ministrations would be unfathomable as a universal rule, how he stretches Eddie like he’s delicate and still resilient, like he is known wholly in solidity, none of the weaknesses and faults he’s been highlighted for his entire life: Steve’s lips and Steve’s hands erase them entirely as his deft fingers quirk in angles more perfect, almost incomprehensible as they seem to swell, the rise of a tide almost within Eddie’s body to fill him better than he’s ever known, to nip at the most sensitive of his flesh like Scylla and suck at the tender rim of him like godsdamned Charybdis, and it’s impossible, Eddie is certain that it’s impossible to slip one’s tongue across the nub of pure abandon inside of him but sometimes Steve will place lips to the puckered center at the cleft between his cheeks and somehow slide the rush of pure sensation, the rightness Eddie’s chased his whole entire life—

Well. Eddie challenges anyone not to tremble, not to be dismantled, not to come wholly undone cry to the heavens and beg to the Sea below—and, in fairness.

Emerson was sharp enough to turn heel before he laid eyes on them, and ran his gob predictably to warn off the rest because the crew is depraved, but voyeurs among their own?

They’d prefer not.

Regardless: it’s a shift in esteem, really, that first time the ship’s laden with loot, after weeks of full bellies and pockets for trading the rest of their catch. And Eddie doesn’t mind it one bit—most significantly for how it allows him to…not merely indulge the glory of falling into Steve, of sinking wholly into his presence and power everywhere surrounding Eddie, pumping into him like he pumps Eddie’s blood, conducting his heartstrings like a song; more than.

It's rightness, and homecoming, pure belonging and release and above that, encompassing that: a beauty in it that thrums in Eddie’s veins so much like the tide, in and out, in and out: promising endlessness, somehow—more impossibilities.

But still without question.

So then, when it happens again—two ports, two hauls in a row: unprecedented luck, to be sure. But hell if Steve’s not offered a berth, which Eddie’s never seen a single member of the crew offered, ever—was not even aware they had those and Steve seems hesitant, aware he’s cutting corners somehow that the crew seems mostly too in awe of the gold on top of all the fish of late to wholly protest; Steve’s hesitant, until his eyes rake up and down Eddie’s frame, top to toe, and accepts the offer, graciously despite the catcalling of the men who noticed his not-at-all-discrete appraisal.

Eddie’d blushed, and dared to fear reprisals from the crew for the favoritism but there was…a shift, in Steve, as soon as he offered his hand to Eddie and didn’t lead him, walked at his side like an equal into modest but private quarters.

Eddie’s heart had leapt when Steve had fucked him in the open air, still, hands twined tight, before making love to him in their quarters—theirs, unquestioned—and perhaps they never use the word, and perhaps Steve only touches him with the feeling, and doesn’t feel it in his own chest, but Eddie feels it in every motion, every brush of skin, every breath and word and through the bones of his body, with certainty.

And that holds weight either way.

By the time their fortunes on land fill coffers and slake lists a full three times in a row, though? Eddie, Steve, or both together might have had a good case for mutiny, just for the lock on a door in the Captain’s Quarters—and would have had a strong shot to gain it in full, too; they’d grown close to revered.

Steve rationalized it all easily: middling ports attract many ships in distress, there are often coves with hidden bounty never retrieved, for every time the distress proved just too great—Eddie’s never heard of such a thing but perhaps there was sense in it. Certainly proof in his hands, all their hands for Steve’s cunning. Plus, as Steve argued: piracy upon the pirates, it actually seemed quite neutral from an ethical perspective, for Eddie’s benefit. And he leaned into Eddie when he said it, every time, and Eddie’s heart swelled so often as a result he feared for the integrity of his ribs, but also.

He welcomes the way this feeling will overcome his own skeleton one day. He relishes knowing his bones will be found some day hence by pirates of another age to ask why his, unlike his comrades, were blasted outward from within.

What a privilege that would be. Will be.

For Eddie’s part, though: he doesn’t question it. Any of it, really. He’d kept a firm stance on the question of looking gift-washed-up-on-his-metaphorical-shore in the mouth from the beginning. He had no desire or intention of looking this gift-born-miracle-lain-wonder-of-wonder-at-Eddie’s-own-feet as anything less than a boon, and a miracle, and the most precious thing Eddie’s ever beheld with his gaze, let alone held in his own hands.

And Eddie has spent his life beholding his beloved Sea.

So part of Eddie is uncomprehending, though it is a small inconsequential part. The other part, that knew his love would need to comprehend his heart was with the Sea—that other, larger part wonders if the Sea would share. He does not wish to take his heart back whole and yet—

Steve must have it just as much. Whether Steve wishes to give in kind is immaterial. Steve has as much right to his heart, now, as the water‘s lain claim to it, always.

Anyway.

It’s how they lie now, bare and entangled, salt of exertion matching salt on the wind; thoroughly sated and smiling to the stars, and truly: all the better that the crew’s mostly just taken to deferring to them in their odd little ways; that Steve finds it baffling, and Eddie finds it hilarious.

This way, they can hold these moments sacred. His thighs astride Steve’s hips until they burn. Steve’s body, and how it moves against Eddie’s and never ceases, never serves to be any less a revelation, even as it remains incomprehensible for it. The way he moves that’s not even againstEddie, really, no: it’s a glide, a give, a flow around and into every part of Eddie he didn’t know within himself had been waiting not merely to be touched, but to be found, awoken almost inhuman, beyond the moral coil and something transcendent. Steve’s hands idly cupping him long after he’s spent, cleaning him pristine like he cannot bear to leave a drop of Eddie to the cool night, greedy and adoring all at once, and it never mattered that the touch was never coaxing, never expectant, more a soft way to just hold onto more of Eddie—it taught Eddie’s heart to pound in a whole new way: contented beyond measure, but wildly overfull, only able to beat with all that it has.

It’s like that, here; now.

It’s magical.

And then Steve’s free hand twines with his, Steve’s lips come to Eddie’s as their fingers fold between each other’s: and Steve has this ineffable flavor, salt but not like food, or even just like waves but closer—it’s like what Eddie imagines salt strikes on an elemental level, pure and addictive, sweet underneath and savory everywhere, an indulgence that’s offered to Eddie without limits so that he can be greedy and adoring, too; and then now, he tastes himself under Steve’s tongue and that’s, that’s—

That tangles with the heady pulse of him and ramps it up a little bit extra. Just because; just as he kisses all the deeper.

They pull apart only when they’re gasping, smiling in the parting so wide, so overcome as Steve traces Eddie’s lips, his jaw, his cheekbones; as Eddie admires the splay of Steve’s lashes, diaphanous like sea foam—the freckling on his neck so like constellations guiding his eyes home, his hands true.

And Eddie thinks he might fall asleep despite the thrumming of his heartbeat, he is so impossibly…happy but then—

“Listen,” Steve’s mouth is at his ear, the word mostly breath. All Eddie hears are the waves—agitated. Or, no. No: just stirred to motion. They’re not angry. They’re…

“Now feel,” and Steve brings their still-laced hands together and presses them to Eddie’s chest where he can feel the heavy beat and it skips—the water sloshes below—and Eddie feels, and listens, and is breathless, and listens: the waves undulate too fierce, no reason, save that they match—

“Yours truly is the heart of the Ocean,” Steve kisses along his jaw, presses tighter to his chest until his mouth makes its way there, kisses Eddie’s pounding heart: “through and through.”

It’s an impossibility. It’s nonsensical. But…Eddie is in love; his heart is in that water as much as in Steve’s chest.

Maybe some impossibilities are a given.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme

divider credits here & here & here & here

🌊ao3 link here

#steddie #steddie fic #fluff #angst #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #pining #flirting #HEAVY on the pining and flirting #meet cute #(on the OCEAN) #casanova-esque!steve #fail!pirate eddie #finally earning its rating! congrats #secrets secrets (are so fun) #pirate au #seafaring au #oceanic mythology #drama and sacrifice! #happy endings only #stranger things #strbb #stranger things reverse big bang #hammers writes #hitlikehammers v words

[naturallyadventured]

atlasflow

I pray this life is a forever homecoming. A journey that brings me back to myself step by step, again and again. I pray my eyes may see the world, and that my feet walk lightly. That my hands heal and my voice is soft and strong. I pray for many moments, naked in nature, eating the fruits of the earth. I pray for life changing conversations, and the kind of love you couldn’t possibly put into words but try your best to anyway. I pray to stay in touch with both celebration and grief. To feel all the emotions that move through my bones. To acknowledge and release and stay in tune with my process. I pray to feel free, and brave, and honest. I pray that I believe in myself, my dreams, my life. I pray that I keep dancing, singing, breathing deeply. I pray because it reminds me of the sacred. Of not knowing who I pray to, and allowing the mystery itself to feel divine. I pray because I believe in the power of my intentions and desires, and my voice. And often, my prayers find me in ways I never predicted or expected. Often, my prayers walk me home. Thank you for capturing one of my favorite moments of the year @elluminescent_embers (I’m glad it was w you)

[slowlysointernet]

FF7 Remake part 3 prediction:

Sephiroth's end or death if you like, is going to echo Kadaj's and i suspect he will reunite with his mother Lucrecia.

It's going to be a full circle sort of thing with Sephiroth looking for his mother in Ever Crisis and him finally finding her in part 3 and and its going to be a homecoming but that also results in both their deaths. And that also means Jenvoa's final defeat somehow?

So yes, he's going to find his place in the world for a brief moment then finally accept his death.

#Final Fantasy VII #Final Fantasy 7 #FFVII #FF7 #FF7 Ever Crisis #FFVII Ever Crisis #Sephiroth #Lucrecia Crescent #Kadaj #Advent Children #Jenova #FF7 Remake #FF7 Rebirth

[viroman]

Fanfic idea

Au: without Leila (it doesn't matter if there is a system and siyeon)

A year before returning to the capital, Callisto meets a fortune teller who predicted his mother's death from unrequited love. The fortune teller invites him to “see” any day with any of his subordinates. The prince without hesitation chooses Cedric as his closest friend.

He drinks a potion (he was so broken over the memories of his mother that he completely forgot about his own safety) which briefly puts him to sleep.

Cedric's day begins with him waking up at his desk, all rumpled and with an ink mark on his forehead. From Porter’s conversation with Sir Marty, Callisto learns that Cedric’s wife and children are on vacation, and in general he is “abandoned” here to deal with all the rubble alone, while the emperor left for a week for the wedding of King Ryan (judging by the insults addressed to the emperor, it was Callisto himself).

Then the crown prince sees Cedric walking next to a very angry woman he doesn’t know. She calls herself "the godmother of his children" and expresses her indignation that he spoke so late about what happened, and then turns and arrogantly asks:

– Sir Porter, do you remember my old nicknames?

– Oh, yes, but...

– Now you will personally find out why I was nicknamed Mad Bitch Eckhart.

Immediately she bursts into the reception hall.

– Prince Henry, Princess Zoe, how am I supposed to understand this?

The scandal with threats and a fight greatly impressed Callisto. The reason turned out to be interesting for him: Prince Henry had long been in love with Lady Eckhart and wanted to marry her, despite the fact that he was already married.

Princess Zoe was not against a “marriage for three” and in a letter addressed to Penelope (he also learned her name at the time of the fight), she wrote about the hope that Henry’s future second wife would give birth to a child with the same beautiful hair. In response to the letters, Eckhart sent them a reminder of her engagement to the emperor and her extremely conservative views regarding the family.

However, the Prince and Princess Kanta clearly did not understand the word “no” and decided to take advantage of Callisto’s absence to take Penelope by force and announce to the nobles that the wedding with the emperor was cancelled.

Lady Eckhart was furious, and Kanta's representatives had to flee the capital.

The rest of the day was filled with the usual tasks. Closer to night, Cedric sat down in the library with wine, and Penelope Eckhart dozed off on the next sofa, surrounded by a dozen books. Porter smiled modestly, looking at the princess, whispered something like “with her every day is like war” and closed his eyes.

By the time Callisto woke up, the fortune teller had already disappeared. The thought of a strange woman with crimson hair could not leave his head, so he smiled like a fool for a long time.

A year later, Callisto will meet Penelope Eckhart at the homecoming banquet. And of course, he definitely won’t miss the chance to impress her.

#villains are destined to die #death is the only ending for a villainess #death is the only ending for the villain #death is the only ending for the villainess #vadd #vadtd #единственный конец злодейки смерть #единственный исход злодейки смерть #calliope #callisto regulus #penelope eckhart #cedric potter #fanfic ideas

[qqueenofhades]

Hi Hilary. I want you to know how much your writing is brightening a sad Christmas for me. If you're still taking requests I'd love to see Ivan and Fedyor coming back together after being parted for a long time.

Doesn't have to be the 'big' parting, just anything for a significant length of time. I miss the husbands, and I'm rereading all my fave old fics.

It has been almost a month on the road, slogging through the frozen wastes of Tsibeya after an especially ill-advised invasion attempt of eastern Fjerda ended in predictable failure, and Ivan is gaunt, cold, filthy, sporting an especially scruffy beard that he loathes with the fire of a thousand splendid suns, and otherwise more than ready for the comforts of home, in more ways than one. He's normally impervious to whatever discomforts the field can throw at him, but they're more bearable when he's with Fedyor, and they've spent almost all of the last year apart -- Ivan directing the northern theater against the Fjerdans and Fedyor tied up with operations against Shu Han in the south -- and since the tsar's never-ending war is going even more stupidly than usual and they have very little to show for it, Ivan is therefore most displeased at this enforced separation.

As the dispirited caravan creaks and clanks through the gates of Os Alta, Ivan and Kirigan riding side by side at the head of the column and trying to look like this is a triumphal homecoming instead of a humiliating defeat, Ivan turns his head in all directions. The southern campaign broke off several weeks ago at least, according to the spies, and they were also obliged to beat a retreat northward to the capital. Not that this is an outcome to cover themselves in glory either, but at least it means Fedyor might be home.

Ivan swings down from his saddle, issues a few terse replies to the assorted underlings who swan up with assorted idiotic questions (his purpose is to deflect them from Kirigan, but he sorely needs a hench-henchman whose purpose is to deflect idiotic questions from him) and looks around again as if his head is on a pivot, barely listening to anyone or able to offer any explanations or strategic advisements. Fedyor is here, right? The fucking Shu didn't pull some funny trick at the last moment and either delay their return or -- Saints forbid -- even worse? Bad enough to be returning from the imbroglio in Fjerda with nothing to show for it, but if something happened to Fedyor --

Just as Ivan is about to properly spiral off the handle, he senses a familiar warm presence in the alcove nearby, waiting for him to finish his duties and come to meet him, and flatly ignores the First Army lieutenant pressing for a detailed status update. Ivan shoves past him, then breaks into a run, ducking under the eaves. "Fedyor!"

Fedyor grins at him, dark eyes dancing and dimples doing that stupid thing they do that causes Ivan's heart to perform all number of absurd calisthenics. "About time, don't you -- "

Whatever else he's going to say is cut off as Ivan grabs him into a rough, hungry kiss, dragging Fedyor off his feet, whirling him around, and pushing him up against the back wall of the cloisters. He almost doesn't care if anyone sees them (besides, they're all too terrified to ever say a word), and takes his time about kissing Fedyor slow and thoroughly, until he is good and properly ready to stop (or rather, pause for breath). Then he growls, "Yes, I would damn well say it is."

They have had one too many close calls with nearly being caught by Kirigan and/or some other officious underling walking in on them when they didn't bother to get all the way to to their room first, so they do, though it's a terrible strain to keep their hands off each other that long. Then they slam the door, shed their keftas, and get around to reuniting properly. There is that one upside to being separated for so long, Ivan thinks dizzily. It does make the reunion especially sweet.

Afterward, they lie in bed curled up in a tangle of limbs, Fedyor's head resting on Ivan's chest and his fingers lightly stroking and Healing away the worst of Ivan's new crop of scars. He doesn't bother to ask how Ivan got them, but Ivan can sense his consternation in the particular ferocity of his touch. "It's all right," he murmurs. "I'm fine."

"You always say that." Fedyor sighs. "You are, I hope, at least back until spring?"

Ivan shrugs. It's a week until the Winter Fete, when combat operations are technically forbidden by the Faith and when everyone just wants to huddle up by a warm fire and drink hot kvas, but there's no way to say for sure. Still, he doesn't want to spoil their reunion with such talk. So he just rolls them over, puts Fedyor on his back, and takes his time about reminding him that they are here, now, together, alive, real. And that -- as ever, as always -- is all that truly matters.

#anonymous #ask #fivan #fivan ff #heartrender husbands #sab ff #winter prompts #and boo for sad christmas! nobody likes that! #sending you extra chocolate and/or hugs as you prefer

[skelavender]

Mulder is, miraculously, asleep on his couch. He’s been sleeping even worse than she has, he always does, but she’d hoped he wouldn’t be awake when she arrived. As quietly as possible, Scully settles onto the floor next to him, leaning her shoulder against the couch and crunching her knees into the coffee table. Mulder lays on his side, facing the room, and when she shuffles in closer, he rouses. His eyes blink open slowly and take her in. “Scully? Wa’s wrong?” “Nothing,” she smiles at him, “Go back to sleep, Mulder.”

read chapter one of shelter on ao3, or below the cut!

Dear friend,

I felt it shelter to speak to you.

— Emily Dickinson, Letter 533

***

November 1995

He’s in a forest, alone. Wandering. He has been for a while. It’s getting boring. 

A branch creaks above him, and when he looks up, he sees her. Scully, in a long, flowing, white dress. She’s glowing, ethereal.

“Hey, Mulder,” she says as she floats down from her tree branch. 

“Hi, Scully. Where are we?”

Scully waves her hand dismissively, “It doesn’t matter.” 

“What’s with the getup?”

Scully cocks her head in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“The whole fantasy princess-slash-warrior look. Did you pick up a LARPing hobby you neglected to tell me about? I’m offended, I would’ve sent you to my costume guy.”

“Mulder you’re…”

“I’m what?”

“Wildly confusing sometimes.”

They fall into step, continuing along the path Mulder had been following. 

“Will you at least tell me what’s in the pouch?”

“Hm?” She pays the leather drawstring pouch dangling from the belt at her waist, “Oh those are just The Cards, you know that.”

“The Cards?”

“Mhmm. Do you want a reading?”

Instead of thinking too hard, Mulder just nods and accepts the offer. They sit across from each other on a log, with enough space between them to lay the cards out. 

Scully shuffles the well-loved tarot deck with practiced hands. Two cards pop out onto the log between them. One depicts two people stood across from each other, holding cups with a weird bird thing in the sky between them. The other has a rainbow with goblets on it, and people below celebrating the occurrence. 

“Interesting.” Scully all but purrs.

“What?”

“Two of cups. It signifies a union. A deep bond or partnership.” Her fingers brush along the rainbow on the other card. “And the ten of cups, representing happiness. Bliss.”

Scully runs her hand along the deck and carefully selects another. She flips it to reveal a card depicting two people approaching a building in the distance. 

Scully smiles. “Four of wands. Homecoming, and joy. Something… blooming.”

“Blooming?” He asks, “What does that mean?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

She selects the last card. 

The world is slipping away. 

Mulder?

It’s fading. He wants to see the card.

Mulder, wake up.

She places it on the log between them. He catches a glance of the image of two figures, both nude, with another figure in the sky between them before —

Mulder shoots up straight. “Wassit mean, Scully?”

“What?”

Mulder blinks sleepily, and Scully comes into focus. He’s at his desk in the office, with Scully standing over him, one hand on his shoulder where she’s been shaking him to rouse him from his slumber. 

“I was— you were— I had a dream.”

“You had a dream about me?”

“You had magic powers. And you read tarot cards for me.”

“Oh yeah? And did I predict a good future for you, Mulder?” Her lips are cocked in a teasing manner. 

“Something about… blooming? You wouldn’t tell me what it meant.”

“How horribly vague of me.” She finally leans out of his space and takes her seat at the chair across from him. “Did you stay here last night?”

“Haven’t been sleeping well. Got here around 3, thought I might as well review my report.”

“Worse than usual?” Scully tries to avoid concern from flooding her voice, but Mulder can hear it. 

“Yeah. I think I’ve gotten… six hours this week? maybe closer to seven now.”

“God, Mulder, how are you even upright?”

“We should open an X-file on that. Maybe it’s aliens.” 

She rolls her eyes. Mulder taps a file on the desk, which he had fallen asleep on top of. “No, seriously. Aliens. Thoughts? I don’t have a slide show yet, but I’m sure I can whip one up.”

As the beginnings of their days go, this one is relatively normal. 

***

Weekend movies are not a usual occurrence for them, but when Scully calls him around noon on a Sunday asking if he’s busy, he can’t say no to her. Not when he has the opportunity to see her relaxing on his couch and soak up her attention like a sponge.

When Mulder swings the open door at her knock, she wiggles the VHS in her hand, a film they had discussed a mutual interest in at the office earlier in the week, and slithers past him into the apartment without a word. 

“Do I have to worry about whatever I’m about to take out of the tape player, Mulder?” is the first thing she says, while she’s crouching in front of his TV. 

“Don’t worry, Scully, all the truly horrifying stuff is hidden away.” He offers a lopsided smile and she rolls her eyes fondly before pressing the tape she brought into the player and joining him on the couch, scant inches between their thighs.

Over the course of the film, those inches shrink, and by the second act Scully finds herself laid out on the couch with her knees on Mulder’s lap. His fingers trace the skin above her knee where her skirt has ridden up. The light graze of his fingers across her bare skin is electrifying, so much so that she’s losing track of the plot of the movie. 

Shapes, she realizes, he’s drawing some kind of shapes. In a pattern. She can’t place it, but the action repeats on a loop over and over, soothing her further into slumber. 

She’s asleep before the movie finishes, red hair splayed across the arm of the couch. 

***

December 1995

Scully slips her key into the lock, and swings the door open tentatively. It squeaks if it goes too far too fast, and she doesn’t need to wake anyone up at this time of night. 

She avoids the squeak, and steps inside on light feet before locking the door behind her. Avoids the spot on the floor by the table that also squeaks, and sets her jacket over the back of a chair before approaching the living room. 

Mulder is, miraculously, asleep on his couch. He’s been sleeping even worse than she has, he always does, but she’d hoped he wouldn’t be awake when she arrived. 

As quietly as possible, Scully settles onto the floor next to him, leaning her shoulder against the couch and crunching her knees into the coffee table. Mulder lays on his side, facing the room, and when she shuffles in closer, he rouses. 

His eyes blink open slowly and take her in. “Scully? Wa’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she smiles at him, “Go back to sleep, Mulder.” She rests her head on the couch, face less than a foot from his, and closes her eyes. When she feels Mulder’s hand tangle itself in her hair to scratch at her scalp, she sighs. They both drift off within minutes. 

***

Scully’s asleep in the office, her head resting on her arms where they’re folding next to her microscope. She has been for about an hour, since Mulder heard a thunk from Scully’s corner and his head snapped up to make sure nothing had happened. When he noticed she had just fallen asleep, he decided to just let her rest. It’s not like they were in the middle of anything important anyway. The lull between cases had been much needed. 

He’d noticed Scully’s tiredness before she had shown up at his apartment a couple weeks ago, but since then the signs had appeared far more frequently. Heavy makeup under her eyes can only cover the dark circles so much. 

A knock sounds at the door, and it swings open to reveal Skinner before Mulder can respond. He steps inside the office.

“Mulder, I have questions about–”

“ Shhh !” Mulder gestures towards Scully’s, thankfully still sleeping, form. He rises from his desk chair and ushers Skinner into the hallway, closing the door gently behind them.

“Is Agent Scully okay?” Skinner asks.

“I think she’s been, uh, having trouble sleeping. I decided it would be best to let her nap.”

“Do you know why?”

“She hasn’t mentioned anything.” And when she fell asleep on my floor at 3AM, she left before I woke up, so I didn’t exactly get a chance to ask her then , he doesn’t add. 

Mulder answers Skinner’s questions about his recent report and returns to his desk and sleeping partner. 

***

January 1996

Scully is held upright mostly by the cart in front of her. She’s not even entirely sure what on her list has actually made it into said cart, but she’s hoping it’s enough to feed her, and Mulder on the days he shows up, for the week. 

She hasn’t slept well since they returned from a case in New England a couple days previously. Really, that just meant she hadn’t slept well since Mulder was sleeping under the same roof as her. 

That’s the pattern. She’s known since she had snuck into his apartment on a particularly draining sleepless night and fallen asleep in a blink when he was touching her. She’s tried teas and sleep aids, but Mulder’s presence has been the most effective. 

“I like your sweatshirt.”

An unfamiliar voice brings Scully back to the present, where she’s been staring at the back of a box of Triscuits for too long, not processing any of the numbers in front of her. She blinks the person’s face into focus. It’s no one she recognizes. 

“Did you go to Oxford?” He asks, nodding down to her chest. She looks at what she’s wearing, and whaddya know, it says Oxford right there on her front. It’s Mulder’s sweatshirt, one that he usually sleeps in but had somehow made it into Scully’s luggage a couple of cases ago. It’s well loved and comfortable, which is why she had thrown it on after getting home from work and before running to the store. 

“No,” Scully finally replies, “It’s my husband’s. He went.”

The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. The truth – or this truth, at least – is instinctual. 

She throws the box in her hand into her cart and shuffles out of the aisle, not having the energy to reflect on the interaction.

***

Scully is shoulder deep in her closet, plucking through dresses and suits she hasn’t had the opportunity to wear in months to years. She’s dead set on wearing her maroon suit today but can’t find it. It’s not at the cleaners, it hasn’t fallen to the bottom of the closet, and it’s not in the pressed stack on the chair in the corner that is waiting to go to the cleaners. And, clearly, it’s not on a hanger. 

She tries thinking back to the last time she wore it. A couple weeks ago, in the office, she hadn’t had an autopsy so she wouldn’t have any reason to take it off, but she was ready for a nap and hadn’t wanted to stop at home to change before going to– 

Oh. Mulder’s. 

She’s surprised she hasn’t run into this problem yet. Half her clothes are at Mudler’s at this point, waiting for a morning where she’s getting ready there. In exchange, half of his are at her place, tucked into the drawer she’s cleared for him and hung neatly by her hand, pushing the dresses she doesn’t get to wear further into the back of her closet. 

“Damn,” she tells the wardrobe, pushing her wedding dress back into place next to one she wore on a first date four years ago and never since. Mudler pops his head out of the bathroom across the hall. 

“Whaf wong?” He asks through a mouth full of toothpaste.

“The suit I want to wear is at your apartment, and we won’t have time to stop by on the way to the office.”

“Which wom?” He leans back into the bathroom to spit.

“The red one.”

Mulder saunters into the bedroom and leans past Scully to point to one of the hangers. “What about this one?”

“That’s brown, Mulder.”

“Well yeah, but the shirt you usually wear it with is a similar color, right?” Scully looks up at him, a little in awe. “What, is it actually green? I was so sure of that one, damn.”

“No, it’s the same color. I’m just surprised you pay that close attention to what I wear.”

Mulder taps his temple, “Photographic memory, remember?”

Uh huh. 

It’s true. She knows he pays attention, he always has. Their dynamic has shifted in the last few months, a phony marriage will do that to people, but it had been true before then as well. For the past three years, they’ve been growing to fill the other’s gaps. Recently, these changes have been to make room for the other in their life. To allow for their flaws, and love one another including them. 

They have little habits that their partner would never have noticed before they started — in the most literal use of the term — sleeping together. For example, Mulder drools in his sleep. Scully endures this, and buys another set of pillowcases to rotate out as needed. Scully takes up an absurd amount of space in the bathroom. By the second night she stayed over, Mulder had jewelry and soaps and creams he didn't even know the purpose of sprawling across his bathroom. He installed another shelf next to the sink, and moved his own stuff to the higher one so she can actually reach it. He even put a small dish on the counter meant for her earrings and necklaces, though she rarely takes the latter off, even to sleep. Often, when they’re home and in only each other’s company, she’ll even wear the ring proudly, atop her shirt for the walls of the apartment to see. In private is the only place it’s safe for her to do so. 

So yes, Scully knows that they’ve changed each other. But she hadn’t known that he had paid such close attention to her. 

She puts on the brown suit with the red shirt, and they pile into the car. 

next chapter ->

#the x files #LTWrites #LTW: shelter #fall into place series #.txt #fics