#layouts sweet tooth

[arminsumi]

📂 GOJO さとる [1]

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Satoru's undercut

🔞 Birthday Sex / "'Cause I'm Sagittarius"

Finding out you're pregnant

🔞 Aftercare

🔞 Trivia creampie

🔞 Ooh, you flirtin'?

Call me Satoru

🔞 Ex!Gojo

🔞 Praise n 🐱 eating

🔞 Enemy!Gojo

🔞 Scary Movie Night

Breakfast fluff

🔞 I could do this for hours

When you walk in the room

Blood n' bone

When is daddy coming home ?

Baby came home (comfort for those who suffered chapter 236 lol)

I want to kiss you // m.list

Sakura / Hanahaki

It's the hair

Spicy breathing frame redraw 🥵

Two days is too long

🔞 Car sex

🔞 Morning, birthday boy

Flirting

Sweet tooth / your favorite

Lovesick

🔞 You need me so bad

It meant everything

🔞 Giving you his virginity

🔞 DILF Gojo

I still like you

We're not enemies

Collegeboy!Gojo CRUSHING on you

I'll make you weak

Dad!Gojo

Laying in your lap

Showing you his eyes

Collegeboy!Gojo fluff

Please do not copy this layout.

[indouloureux]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 (part one)

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

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

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

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

a/n: this is a story of fiction. i do not know the locations in both indiana and illinois. this is written in the way i prefer it to be to fit its story telling, and i am well aware of the things i write in here, and how i write this story. based on the song '1979' by the smashing pumpkins. the whole lyrics layout inspired by @/upsidedownwithsteve! 1979 is like one of my fav songs ever and i wanted to write a story about it. sorry it took a while to post :( hope you guys all enjoy.

PART TWO; SERIES MASTERLIST

Shakedown 1979

Cool kids never have the time

On a live wire right up off the street

You and I should meet

In a field miles away from a town that’s cursed him, Eddie lays in the colossal grass with his hands on his chest and his eyes closed, the sun blinding him through the thin skin of his eyelids. Growing weeds tickle his inked skin, dirt stains his leather jacket, and ants cross over his hair; he does not mind one bit.

He daydreams of the sky. How accepting they’d be — how they wouldn't mind his disheveled, long hair, or his punk style and see him as one of them; One of the clouds who form themselves into whatever they want and float freely across the cerulean aether atmosphere. A place where he can be himself, where he can bring his darkness into that white airy cotton, even when it turns grey or when the night begins. Eddie would be himself, and no one would judge.

Ringed fingers touch the grass when he removes one from his chest, soft beneath his fingertips that he massages. Eddie hums, taking in the calming sound of air swishing the trees, the faint sound of passing cars, the optimistic birds, and the sound of Dustin talking to his girlfriend with a sickenly high-pitched and lovey-dovey voice. Which reminds him:

“Hey, Henderson,” he turns around, laying on his stomach. Eddie takes a quick glance at his watch — 7:05 am. “Wrap it up lovebirds. We gotta go to school.”

Dustin nods his head, his cap blocking his eyes. “Yeah hold on. I gotta go, Suzie-poo. I’ll talk to you later, I promise. I miss you already. I love you.”

A giggle. “I love you more, Dusty-bun.”

“I love you more multiplied by all the stars in the galaxy.”

“No, I love you—”

“Alright,” Eddie suddenly takes the microphone from Dustin, shooting him a judging look with a raised brow before he speaks. “Sorry, Suzie-poo. Gotta take Dusty here to school or else you won't be seeing each other and he’s gonna spend the rest of his life running up this hill crying. Bye-bye now.”

He almost laughs at the thought of Suzie’s shocked face when he turns the radio off. And maybe that same laugh comes out when he sees Dustin’s horrified expression when he realized he’d — or Eddie — had just cut her off. He looks back at Eddie, mouth agape, before he playfully punches his shoulder.

“Asshole,” Dustin kicks his shin. “That was my girlfriend, you idiot. She’s gonna be pissed that you cut her off!”

“Nah, she loves you too much,” he stands up, patting the dirt off his knees and his jacket, fixing his hair. “Now come on, Dusty bunny, we gotta go to school.”

“Don’t call me that,” Dustin swats his hand away when Eddie tries to ruffle his hair by slipping it beneath his hand, but the kid smiles anyway. Anything for the affection he gives. “You know, you’ll be like this one day,”

Eddie plays with his keys, walking down the hill in heavy footsteps that threaten to twist their ankles. “What’d you mean?”

Dustin hops over the fence, followed by Eddie who grunts loudly. “Being sweet. Disgusting. In love.”

He scoffs, walking over to the side of his van and opening the door, but not before he looks at Dustin over the hood of his van with a look. “So you admit that you and Suzie are disgusting?”

“From the words of you, Steve, Lucas and Mike — who actually both have girlfriends — yes, I admit that we are disgusting. Disgustingly sweet.” 

They close the doors simultaneously, the keys jingling when Eddie shoves the keys in the ignition. “You know, when I was fifteen, I spent my time playing the guitar and studying songs. My fingertips were bleeding, Henderson,” he shows him his palm, letting Dustin see the faint scar lines on his fingertips. “I never dated a girl. So I highly doubt I’d fall in love.”

“The only reason you never dated was because of your reputation,” Dustin throws his bag behind him. “And you’ll fall in love. I bet you will. You may be cynical and mad, but you’ll find the right person, Eddie,” he smiles at him. “Trust me.”

“Yeah yeah,” he shakes his head, the car shaking into a start and Mötley Crüe starts blasting that startles the poor boy beside him. “We’re gonna take this bet to my grave, then.”

Eddie Munson has only fallen in love once. When his Uncle, Wayne, had come home with a red guitar after his night, tiring shifts at the plant. He remembers clearly the way his eyes lost focus of the world and remained on that guitar, like the center of attention; the only attraction in this terrifying world. Eddie remembers the way his heart pounded like he’d fallen down a roller coaster, and remembered the way his tears had mimicked said coaster when he hugged his Uncle and sobbed out his gratitude.

That had been five years ago. When he was fifteen. And he swears he’ll never fall in love again.

Because love—in his own concept—was a dangerous game. More dangerous than when you decide to go and attack Vecna powerless in Dungeons and Dragons, or taunting a swarm of demobats. It’s a game with unknown intentions and arduous side quests that render you defeated before you even get to love itself. Dangerous and tiring, if you’d shorten it. And no one wants to delve into a love so treacherous if you’ll end up getting hurt anyway. 

It’s what Eddie thinks; understood. How he perceives love and what he thinks love is with his semi-nihilistic mind despite never having to fight for love. It’s a game he refuses to partake in and narrate, and would rather watch people struggle with it from the sidelines (with a beer in hand and a freshly rolled blunt in his mouth, as he’d imagined).

So he prays Dustin would win that game. Despite being miles away from his girlfriend; give him all the makeshift spears and shields made of garbage lids and dull nails. He cares so much for him that he actually hopes their love will succeed, that he’d go out not scathed but covered in grime and a triumphant smile. Even now when Eddie looks beside him to see the lovesick smile on Dustin Henderson’s face who replays every memory he had with Suzie during that one summer.  

He reaches over to give his friend a pat on the shoulder, which gifts him a bright smile before he races off to Hawkins High with eternal dread.

—

His day wasn’t at all dreadful. It felt like a normal day.

Probably because Jason Carver wasn't at school today due to a foot injury, and his little balls-in-laundry-baskets friends had no leader to bark at them around all day. They did nothing but practice and sit quietly at their tables, and so did Eddie.

Albeit the day being normal, he’d still get his usual judging stares and glares. Eddie Munson wearing a Dio shirt today? Freak. Eddie Munson wearing shoes other than his Reeboks? Freak. Eddie Munson trimmed his bangs today? Freak. Eddie Munson’s not wearing his vest? Still a freak.

He kept his head low, eyes on the ballpen that draws on his palm as he walks through the emptying hallway. Dustin had gone with Steve Harrington, and the rest had decided to leave early. Eddie? He’d just gotten out of detention for spacing out during class. Why detention? He'd never know why. Even Ms. O’ Donnel thinks he’s a freak. 

Eddie whistles. Mandy. Something new and unusual, a song he’d heard from Wayne early in the morning that he too whistles as he makes his coffee and smokes outside the porch. He’d woken up to the sound of it for two weeks and he finds himself subconsciously copying his Uncle.

His footsteps echo in the walls of Hawkins High. He jumps and spins and occasionally taps his fingers across the lockers covered in stickers, if not dents from rowdy students. The sight of the exit doors surprises him when he turns right, and a bright smile comes up to his face when he sees them. Eddie pulls his keys out of his back pockets, shoves his pen inside, and continues to whistle like he’s taking a walk on a quiet, sunny day at a park.

Until by the time he’s about two rooms away, he hears the sound of a piano. Soft and ear-pleasing, yet startling since it’s been an hour after school ended and no one, not even the teachers other than Ms. O’ Donnel should be here. Eddie stops his whistling, eyebrows furrowing as he hears the piano play the same tune he’d been whistling.

And then a voice. Far and hushed, like a ghost. Unseen through the walls, floating and yearning to be noticed; so they sing to be noticed instead. Eddie’s heart palpitates a little in panic, wondering if the ghost is singing the same song he’s whistling to get his attention. His hands curl into fists and prepare to run away.

But he thinks of disturbing whoever's in that room. He also thinks he should just go home because it probably could just be a ghost, seeing as half the victims from the Starcourt fire had been students and they’d probably come here for refuge in the afterlife. But Eddie’s curious. Maybe taking a glimpse over the small window on the door and seeing a ghost would cause no harm other than a possible possession, right?

So he tiptoes his way to the door he recognized as the music room. He’d seen this room once when he snuck in here during middle school and he needed a guitar for Gareth or else they would have lost that talent show (they did. No adult would let a child playing quote unquote, Satan’s Music, win).

Carefully, he peeks sideways through the small window, where he sees through the blurry glass; a girl sitting in front of a keyboard. Her back to him, head bobbing slightly at every key she presses, showing merely the tip of her nose and the plump apples of her cheeks when she sways lightly to her gentle playing. Eddie quietly shoves his keys back inside his pockets, pressing his ear against the glass, and watches the grace take upon her fingers. 

“I see a memory. I never realized how happy you made me,” 

A voice so celestial, like an angel he’s never seen but envisaged. Maybe like an angel he’d imagined in the clouds up above; a voice so warm like the summer breeze, soft like silk and the denim of his vest. It’s inviting and it’s hypnotizing, with every perfect lilt. 

Something new from his usual heavy ululating music. Something he might like and never get used to. 

And it’s tempting. So tempting that he finds himself opening the door harshly that the doorknob slams against the thin wall of the room that even startles Eddie.

“Oh Mandy, well you came—”

You scream, hands slamming on the keyboard that makes a distorted sound of unmatched keys. Eddie’s eyes widen and his hands raise in defense, hiding behind them when your own hand comes up to gasp into your palm, horrified by his sudden arrival. His heart pounds against his chest, hands coming down to clasp at his pec. And he’s staring at your petrified look.

“Mother of God,” you whimper. 

“I’m sorry!” he closes the door behind him hastily. “It’s, uh, I heard you. And I thought you sounded… great,” Eddie’s shoulders deflate, sighing when a small smile comes up to your face.

“Really?” you finish for him. “Sorry. I- I thought I was alone.”

“No, it’s okay.” Eddie finds himself smiling with you. More at the way there’s dimples at the bottom of your mouth and your teeth show slightly through your lips. 

He stares at you, longer than he intends to, a sense of familiarity waves down him when he traces the slope of your nose and the thick eyelashes that meet with your cheeks when you blink. Eddie thinks you’re pretty — especially with your small smile that makes his heart feel weird when he realizes he’s the receiving end of it. A faint picture flashes in the back of his head, and he limply points at you. “Hey, uh, I kinda remember you,”

Your eyebrows raise a bit, hands falling to your lap. “You do?”

“Yes! I think…” his eyes narrow. “Middle school.” 

“Yeah,” you tell him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “It was back in middle school.”

Yes, he remembers you. Only that blurry picture in the back of his mind only focusing on the small pigtails of a girl shorter than him, the ends of a borrowed purple dress that tickled his knees, and that similar smile of yours except you’d been missing a tooth on the bottom row of your teeth that matched his. And that voice, still sweet but deeper than it used to be, still entices him like it used to do.

Eddie gawps. “Holy shit,” he says your name with pure shock, the smile on his lips starting to strain his cheeks. But he doesn't care, not when you’re prettily smiling with him. “You— you played that same song! Mandy, right? You played that too?” 

“I did, yeah,” he walks over to you, hands on his lap and slightly bent. Eddie walks until he’s standing beside the bench you’re sitting on, hand grazing the plastic of the borrowed keyboard. “Mandy by Barry Manilow. Yep.”

“I’m Eddie Munson. Although I'm sure you already knew that,” he offers his hand, hoping you won’t notice the trembling and the silent clinking of his rings. You smile at him, taking his hand into yours and he wonders why even the handshaking felt familiar.

And your hand is warm. Soft like the grass he’s touched earlier this morning, feeling the same small scars in the pads of your fingertips when his thumb slyly runs through them. They were light and they were pretty, your own dainty little ring made by a wire that loops around a gemstone was a hard contrast to the abominable ones on his hand. Almost like an angel shaking the devil’s hand. 

Eddie wishes to feel this way again. How a simple touch ignites something new, yet the fire starts within him that he can't find. 

“I know,” you place your hand back on your lap, his own falling disappointedly on his side. “Sat behind you during History.”

He nods his head down on the bench you’re sitting on, asking for permission. You scoot aside, motioning for him to sit beside you; and Eddie, for the first time in his life, shyly does. He sits beside you, thighs almost an inch apart as he nervously watches you toy with the black keys. “How come I remember you a bit in middle school but not…?”

“Your early years of high school?” you press on a key he doesn't know. “I left after middle school. Moved to Queens, for my dad’s work. Came back here because my nana got sick.”

“Oh,” he plays with his rings, pulls them up before he puts them back on, a slight indentation on his fingers. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” 

Eddie exhales, feeling his heart unwind when you begin to play a steady beat, watching as you press down on the plastic keys. “I came inside because I thought you sounded good,” he nods his head to you. “Your voice. It’s nice. And, because I also thought that ghosts might have heard me whistling and decided to play with me. Scare me shitless.” 

“Ghosts?” you repeat, pressing on a key that emits a deep tune. 

He hums. “Hawkins is filled with dead people. Right beneath this school and those roads you walk on,” he points behind him. “‘ve you heard of the mall fire last summer?”

“I think so,” you furrow your eyebrows. “My dad’s friend called him about that.”

“It was horrifying,” his eyebrows meet for a split second when your eyes widen and you look away from him. Eddie smiles a little. “So, piano huh?”

You look at him again. “Well, technically it’s a keyboard but…it makes the sound of a piano,” you slam a finger onto a black key. 

Eddie has gotten to the point where he realizes there’s no future in this conversation if he doesn't make up another question. And he doesn't want this to end. He just met you again, and he’d like to stay here a bit more even though he’s been craving to leave the school an hour ago. Anything to get to know you a bit more before he sees what’s going to happen next.

“Can you play me a song?” he asks quietly, feeling embarrassed by his diffidence. “Only if you want to.”

“Of course,” you smile at him, fists clenching that your index scratches on the cuticles of your thumb. He wants to stop you, but he worries about crossing borders and you’re probably just as nervous as he is as you say, “what song?”

“Mandy,” he deadpans. You blink at his tone, which makes him clear his throat and speak again in a rather forced cheerfulness that means no harm but to correct himself. “Please?” 

You let out a short chuckle, unclenching your fists to spread them out and stretch. “Yeah sure.”

You began with grace, you performed with aplomb, and his ever-curious mind was captivated by how simple it was for you to play and croon at the same time, as if he didn't know how to do it himself. Eddie watches silently, sings in his head with your gentle humming; remembers how he’d caught Wayne swaying to this song once and thinking he looked funny and at peace, wearing his usual red flannel with a cigarette in his mouth and eyes closed. He looked high back then, unperceived that his nephew had been standing there to the side with crossed arms and an amused smile.

Is this what his uncle felt? Finding peace in music other than electric guitars and heavy drums? Lacking all that yowling rasps and instead replaced with a voice that runs through velvet flawlessly like yours. Where he sways and taps his feet, watching your slender hands switch between keys without having the pads of your fingertips stuck in between them despite him noticing the slight shakiness in your hands, dwelling in on the missing memory that scratches on the back of his mind as he watches you play. 

“Caught up in a world of uphill climbing, the tears are in my mind and nothin' is rhyming,” you take a shy glance at him, eyes flitting to the redness of his ears. Eddie smiles to take your attention, making his ears turn redder when you smile back at him. “I…I forgot the next lyrics,”

Eddie chuckles. “So have I,” he lies. He just doesn’t want to sing. Not in front of you, at least. He worries he might crack his voice and he could just jump out that window.

There’s a faint sound of a door slamming shut from outside that makes you jump a bit, which makes Eddie turn around to where the sound was before he completely ignores it.

Trying to hide the disappointment that flows from him when you stop playing, he focuses on the fact that you’re looking at him as you do so. Which twists his heart in a way that’s far from bad, and tries to distract himself by clapping like one of the people he wishes he had after his shows. “That was it, all I could remember,” you motion to the piano, flushing bashfully. “I- stop,”

You laugh, your hand barely touching his wrist but motions for him to settle it down. “Bravo,” he smirks at you, wiggling his eyebrows. “That was amazing. Talented. You could be the next, I don’t know, Billy Joel.”

“I barely finished the song,” you nudge your knee with his. “I actually think I made a few mistakes but, uh, thanks,” Eddie fights the urge to remove the lone lint from your hair. He smiles at you instead, settling his hands on his lap. “What about you? Still playing the guitar?”

Eddie’s shoulder bumps with yours when you sway gently as your right hand presses all five fingers onto the keys. He can't stop looking at you, anywhere but your eyes really, so they mostly stay at your cheeks. Sometimes shyly at the plumpness of your lips chastely, or at the dimples threatening to deepen. “Still do. We play at The Hideout every weekend for some cash. We’ve got a crowd of about five…drunks.”

He feels that unfamiliar sensation of heat blooming in his cheeks when you laugh. It’s as soft and inviting as the piano that your hands rest on. “You should come see us,” Eddie continues, nudging his shoulder with yours. “That way I can tell my uncle we’ve got six people watching us now.”

“Hm,” you remove your hands from the keyboard, copying his slumped posture albeit a bit more poise. “I might think about it. If you play me a song too,” you raise your brow at his grimace. “What? It’s only fair.”

“Fine,” Eddie crosses his legs over the small bench, walking around with his hair twirling over his shoulder as he does so. His eyes never leave you even as he crosses the room to pick up an acoustic guitar. “Damn room doesn’t even have an electric guitar. Amplifier’s at the gym and I hate that place.”

You laugh, watching him take the neck of the brown guitar and grab a monobloc from a stack beside the door. He sets it beside the keyboard, awkwardly sitting down before he sets the guitar on his lap eagerly. Eddie smiles at you, grabbing a part of his hair and hiding his mouth behind it bashfully.

“What song, m’lady?” he peers at you through his eyelashes. Eddie feels triumphant when he makes you laugh again, thinking he could watch you push your hair behind your ear with a demure look any time of the day.

Your shoulders raise into a shrug, the smile on your face falling a bit. “Dunno. Ever heard of The Outfield?” 

“On the radio. When my uncle listens to music early in the morning,” his fingers slide across the strings, pressing randomly on frets. “Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I listen to music other than metal.”

“Shocker,” you gasp dramatically. “You’ve ruined your image for me. I don’t see you as a metalhead anymore. You’re merely a commoner. A pretender.”

“You wound me,” he pouts at you. “Come on, (y/n). Give me a song,”

“Alright,” you rest your elbow on the keyboard, cheek on your fist. “Your Love. The Outfield. Think you know it or you’re just pretending?”

“Think I might have studied this for… other embarrassing purposes. But yes, I know it.” He clears his throat. “Prepare to cover your ears,”

Your Love wasn’t a song that was merely played by a guitar. However, an acoustic wouldn’t hurt. Not when he’s doing it for you. Eddie fears pressing his fingers on the wrong string, or a strain from his voice because that would just be plain humiliating. 

Your observance adds fuel to the fire of his confidence, while it also simultaneously makes him nervous ‘cause you’re watching; not just listening, not judging. You’re watching him like you actually want to see him play. And as far as he could remember, you’re the first girl to actually pay attention to what he’s playing without any cruel thoughts. He wonders if you think he’s great at this, just as much as he thought you were remarkable in the whole piano thing. 

Come on. E, C minor, B, E- no A. A, goddamnit.

When he almost misplaced his finger on the wrong string, he almost cried. But you’re not looking at his face anyway, perhaps too enthralled with the gentle sound of plucking; the deep baritone-like sound that the brass string produces makes you sway similarly like his earlier. 

“I ain't got many friends left to talk to, nowhere to run when I'm in trouble,” he shoots you a nervous glance, and he’s almost thankful that you’re looking at his hands. “You know I'd do anything for you, stay the night but keep it undercover,”

“You’ve got a nice voice,” his fingers slide across the brass string so quickly that it almost burns his fingertips when his voice dies in his throat and he looks up at you. “S-sorry.”

Eddie sets the guitar down, the flat of its back on his lap and knees. “No, it’s alright. Thanks,” you smile warily when he scratches nervously at the guitar. “So um- you gonna come see us in The Hideout? No pressure. Just, so I can show you that I really am into metal.”

Your lips tug downwards into an upside-down smile that teases him. Eddie tips his head back, flashing you a toothy grin as you say. “I’ll see to it, Eddie Munson,” you take a glance at your watch. “U-unfortunately though, I’ve got to go.”

He fights the urge to voice his disdain through a quiet groan of protest when he sees you reach on the other side of the bench to take your bag and sling it over your shoulder before you stand up from your seat. Eddie places the guitar on the ground, nervously fiddling with his fingers. “Um. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Stopping in your movements, your thumb slides between the leather strap of your bag and your shoulders. “Yeah. Sure. If you’ll see me, anyway.”

“I’m sure I will,” he offers you a smile.

He watches you leave with a sad frown. 

But later that night though, when he talks to Dustin on the RT, he remembers telling him that the girl in the purple dress wore ripped jeans now and a yellow blouse covered in pink flowers, her hair down in loose waves over her shoulders that enticed him. Eddie remembers telling him you’d looked mature, prettier, and that maybe you’d come to his show next week.

What he doesn’t tell him, though, is that he remembers every spot on your face that had dimples when you smile. That your voice was like petal silk that pleases his fingertips as he rubs it between them; or that your hands had similar scars like his, only you’ve gotten them for a different reason. How graceful you’d looked playing the keyboard like you’d been the only one in that room. 

A veridical sense of déjà vu makes his mind tingle and his heart twist. In his bed, Eddie has his hands over his stomach, staring up his ceiling with a poster of Tiamat he once saw during a yard sale that he bought. But he thinks of you, the exiguous curiousness grows the longer he remembers that bright smile on your face. And he feels nothing but the want inside him that yearns to see you again.

Justine never knew the rules

Hung down with the freaks and ghouls

No apologies ever need be made

I know you better than you fake it

“Lost in a purple hill, shake these zipper blues? Hey, Nancy, do you think—”

A shoulder bumps you, too hard to be taken as an accident. Your notebook falls to the ground, ball pen tight in your hand as you let out a startled gasp. You look at the boy first, whose eyes widen in embarrassment as they flicker between the journal on the floor and to your agape mouth. 

You should have expected it. The halls were crowded and there were very eager students to enter the cafeteria and take tables before someone else would. But still, you’re taken aback by the sudden impact, even after almost squeezing yourself against the lockers just so you would avoid this kind of incident.

“Shit, dude, I’m sorry,” 

You give him a tight smile. “‘S alright,” he apologizes through a useless smile before he’s being dragged away by his friends. Nancy spins around at the upheaval, and follows the direction of your eyesight before she frowns in disdain.

Asshole didn’t even bother to pick it up for you. Or ask if you were alright.

“What a prick,” she clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth. You ignore the slight throb on your shoulder, bending down to pick up your notebook and wipe whatever dirt it's picked up from the ground. “Is it ruined?”

Shaking your head, you close it shut and hug it close to your chest. “No. It’s alright. I’m just lucky the floor doesn’t have any piss or something. Or else I would have…punched that guy,”

Nancy chuckles, shaking her head. She turns back around, clutching your wrist to go through the sweaty sea of rushing students. “I doubt that—ow, hey!”

Your face hits Nancy’s permed coils, nose meeting the Fabergé glory of her shampoo. You grimace, moving away to see your friend rubbing her shoulder before you see Patrick McKinney furrow his eyebrows in worry at his mistake. 

“Sorry. You alright, Wheeler?” he reaches out to rub her shoulder chastely, but Nancy shrugs it off, nodding. Patrick’s eyes relax, taking a glance at you before he realizes he doesn’t know who you are before he pats her shoulder carefully. “Alright. Sorry, again.”

It was difficult to hide the frown that paints itself on your face when Nancy simply grabs your wrist, guiding you around the crowd once more. And there’s this annoying itch in your head that keeps on reminding you how unlucky you’d been that you bumped into an apathetic guy who hadn’t even bothered to ask if you were alright whereas Nancy got sympathetic eyes and genuine concern. 

And you thought, well that’s because they knew her. Having to date Steve Harrington when he was still here, who’d been part of the basketball team himself, of course they knew her. You? The guy looked at you like some random crayon found on the ground. So you tell yourself to get over it; they don’t care and neither do you. It was a simple bump. Your friends would have asked if you were okay.

Nancy didn’t.

Well, she was distracted.

No, she wasn’t.

Shut up.

The cafeteria doors are left open with the people that surges through. Nancy stands on her tiptoes, searching for the boy with glasses that made his eyes larger and took up half his face — Fred, you remember; you practically sink onto her shoulder in fear of accidentally bumping into someone again. And fuck, how muscly was that guy for your shoulder to hurt?

When she spots him, Nancy’s quick to drag you to her side and sit you down beside her in front of Fred, who’d immediately chatted about this thing he’s seen somewhere you don't bother understanding. But when his eyes land on you, his talking stops. Lips snapping shut and he’s staring at you with those wide eyes of his, the scar on his cheek bending when he smiles cheekily at you, his forearms resting side by side on the table as he leans closer.

“I heard a rumor that you were with Eddie Munson yesterday,” he narrows his eyes playfully. Nancy whips her head at you, astounded with the new gossip she’s heard, especially now that it included you.  

Nervous with the attention diverted to you, you move back, fingers fidgeting on your lap. “What? Where’d you hear that?”

“Andy saw you.”

“Who’s Andy?”

“That guy who kinda looks like Arnold Schwarze-something.”

Nancy snorts. “He does not look like him.”

Frowning, you lean closer. “What was he doing there yesterday?”

Beside you, Nancy opens a pack of pudding pie that she quietly offers to you. You shake your head politely, offering her a short smile before Fred asks for your attention with a simple tap on your elbow. “He left something by the locker room. Then he said he caught Eddie Munson sitting beside you on a small chair inside the music room being…shit, Nance, what’d he say?”

She shrugs, mouthful. “Dunno. Cute? Or, weird?”

“Somewhere along those lines, but we’re sugarcoating it for you,” he leans closer. “You do know who Eddie Munson is, right? Like, what people say?”

Nancy reaches behind you to take the Hi-C juice box in your bag and puts the straw in for you, shoving it in front of you that you gladly take and quietly thank her for as you say, “That he’s a freak? Just because he dresses out of the trend doesn’t mean he’s a freak, y’know?”

“Steve used to think he was,” Nancy raises her eyebrows at you. “I mean, I don’t think he’s a freak. He does have an influence on my brother though. He’s growing his hair out. Like a mullet, or something.”

“Well he’s not a freak,” you bring the small plastic straw to your lips, the sweet orange-y flavor of the mechanized juice filling your taste buds. “He’s nice. He said I had a…nice voice.”

No one’s said that to me before.

“That’s sweet,” Fred pouts. “Don’t know. Maybe he’s planning on luring you in as a sacrifice.”

Eddie? Cult leader luring you in for some sacrifice? The same person who’d smiled kindly, watched you play the piano like he was actually interested in your performance and applauded you like he’d been watching a breathtaking opera at the same time, invited you to watch his band at some dingy restaurant and thought ghosts might have been haunting him?

His style might say otherwise—with all those brutish rings he’d harbored so proudly and his disheveled mullet-ish hair. But with those wide, curious eyes that watched you like the most interesting flower blooming from the iced frozen ground, a voice so benign and placid who’d praised you in a way anybody else wouldn’t? No. He’s not a cult leader. Or a freak.

And you’d only known him from the mystifying, blurry memories and the couple minutes you’d spent with him yesterday. 

That same Eddie who you found with a small frown that lifts into a charming smile when his eyes find you. Briefly does he stop talking with his friends from across the room when your eyes link with his. And Eddie presents you a smile so pretty it makes you dizzy; with his style different, that same leather jacket with a red flannel beneath and a band shirt you don’t recognize, but he had the same fondness in his look that makes your heart flutter wildly like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon. 

You feel a spark of electricity ignite in the tendrils of your veins; the sound of your heart beating in your ears as everything else muffles and the spotlight goes onto him — like the sun beaming through the window to show you what you’d been looking for. 

Yeah sure, he’s a cult leader.

(A cult leader who made you feel noticed in a town with 15,000 ignorant, judgy people despite being with him in less than thirty minutes.)

“What’s she smiling at— oh,” with her laced fingers, Nancy places them beneath her chin and tilts her head sideways to take a glimpse of Eddie, who’s still looking at you. “That’s cute,”

“You really shouldn’t believe rumors,” You turn to her, nudging your juice box with her hand. “I mean, I’ve been here for three months. I barely know him and I think he’s just…being himself. It’s like this town hates people who are comfortable being themselves.”

The corners of Fred’s lips tug down. “Ouch,”

“What? It’s true,” 

“Y’know, we had a yard sale last year,” Nancy tells Fred. “Eddie was there lurking.”

“And?”

“Seemed like he didn't caused any trouble. Just roamed around, gave this kid a stuffed animal when he couldn't reach it. He seems nice, Fred.”

And you almost tell them that five years ago, Eddie Munson followed you backstage when he saw you crying; That he’d asked you if you were okay, that he said you’d do great and you did, and in between those hazy flashes of cut memories, you almost tell them that he wore a Bauhaus shirt too large for him, that his hair was buzzed and he made you laugh until you’d—quite literally—forgotten the reason why you cried in the first place.

—

“Hey there, Mandy,”

You yell, clutching the notebook closer to your chest and the pen tight in your hand that it might pop the ink out. Eddie’s hands raise in defense, eyes widening in shock as you both stop walking, the leaves crunching beneath your worn-out shoes and his white sneakers, the birds flying away from the disruption. 

“Jesus Christ,”

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” familiar, but the memory’s lost in your worry-filled mind. You laugh disbelievingly at him, closing your notebook and tucking the pen behind your ear. “What?”

“Nothing!” you scratch the dents on your notebook, shying away from Eddie’s intensive look. “Mandy? ‘S not my name.”

“I know. But it’s a cool nickname. And you know,” he tilts his head sideways. “The song.”

You smile when his head lulls back, chuckling shortly when you both begin walking again. Eddie has his hands behind his back, his hair wild from the harsh winds of August’s warm breeze. Which he fixes with quick pats to the hair covering half his forehead, his eyes never leaving you.

“Why are you walking home?” you see him bring his hands in front, toying with his rings, pushing them in and out of his fingers. 

When you look up at him, your right eye squints from the brightness of the sun until he steps over it. “I wanted to walk home. And, um, I don’t have a car,” you flush beneath his piercing gaze. “What about you?”

“Because I saw you walking home,” he grins. “You were writing while you were walking so I thought maybe I should come join you in case you accidentally trip,” 

The sun draws a halo above his head, painting over the devil horns drawn onto him. It gives him a sacrilegious glow, intriguing you to just push his hair behind his ears and ask him all the things that made him smile just so you could see him smile once more. Yet, you don’t; your hands stay around your notebook, your mouth parts but never says anything, and you merely try to say those words through your eyes.

Cult leader, my ass.

“What, so you…left your car in school so you could walk with me?”

He shrugs. “I guess so. It’s still there when I come back, anyway. After I walk you home,” Eddie swallows. “...after I walk you home as a friend.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Eddie’s lips purse. “So…” he makes a noise, like a random music note. “I didn’t see you in history today,”

History was (unfortunately) the only class you shared with Eddie. Where in the first three months, you’d kept on asking yourself where you’d seen him over and over again as you stared at the back of his head. (Wishing he’d turn around and ask for your name, if he’d seen you before, and notice you like he’d notice every random fuzz he’d find on his table.)

And he noticed you today. Even when you weren’t there, the thought of him thinking about you and wondering where you were sets a comfortable flame in your cold chest. 

“I was at the clinic,” you smile a little. “Some guy bumped into me earlier and I don’t know what he’s made of. It really hurt,”

His eyes darken into a gloom of concern, his eyebrows meeting like a broken bridge. “Are you alright? You okay now? Does it, uh, still hurt?”

“A bit,” you roll the injured shoulder. “Still kinda sore. ‘S like I played football, or something.”

Eddie’s teeth join behind his lips that remain separated, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout you can’t fathom the meaning behind. Then he’s biting it, his hands clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to make the hardest decision of his life before he’s pointing his thumb behind him. 

“Do you wanna go back to my van?” he asks quickly. “I’ve got something cold in there and I could help you. And I can drive you home, too,” his voice is eager and almost excited with a lace of hope. “But only if you want to,”

You’re unheistant when you say, “Yes,” take me with you. Aid me. Ask me how I am and I’d tell you. 

The walk back to school was quicker with his urgent feet that you had difficulty catching up with. You spot his car parked behind the school, befuddled with the amount of dents and the way his van leans sideways more than evenly. Eddie has a hand hovering behind you as he guides you, the other hurling the backdoors open that tricks you into thinking it’s gonna be thrown aside.

The back of his van was messy — with four empty beer cartons stashed aside, a Bauhaus poster that matched Eddie’s shirt with its sides ripped, white ridges seen in that black paper, a red cooler behind the cartons, and a blanket that you assumed used to be white but has been left unwashed for who knows how long. 

But despite the messy appearance, you sit on top of the blanket when he asks you to. And he sits beside you, 

a heavy hop that makes the van shake slightly and a creak underneath. He shoots you an embarrassed smile, a hand behind him to prop himself up as he twists his torso and pulls on the cooler until it slides near him.

When Eddie opens it, it’s nothing but almost melted ice and four bottles of Boston Lager with one of them being half-empty. You peer over the red box, watching as his hand dives through the cold mess before he hands you an unopened beer bottle.

Out of curiosity, you bring it up to your nose and take a whiff just because.

Eddie chortles. “What’s it smell like?”

You frown. “Like water.”

He stops you from putting the bottle right at your shoulder, looking for something behind him before he sighs scornly, reaching out behind him to pull out a black bandana decorated with large, intimidating skulls. “Here just—wrap it around so it won't wet your shirt too much,”

Eddie gently takes the bottle from you, half of his fingertips covering yours. Half a touch and it already makes you feel like someone had thrown a rope down the hole you’d been stuck in and pulled you out; in that slight formidable tactility does your skin tingle, a warmth that feels like you’re hovering your hands over the flawless dance of a flame. A caress that barely lasts ten seconds, but was a lifetime of gratifyingly dizzy touches. 

The coldness of the bottle doesn’t scathe you anymore now with his handkerchief wrapped around it. It seems like Eddie felt the same way, with how his neck reddens, and abruptly places his hands on his lap, watching you from the corner of his eye as you place the bottle on your shoulder. 

But the silence is comfortable, with the howl of the wind and the rustling of the trees. You dab the bottle on your shoulder, the bandana itself smelling of cigarettes and a boyish aroma you can’t comprehend, but you had a feeling it smelt just like him. The white skull turns gray, the cloth dampens and turns cold, and you turn to see Eddie with his nose wrinkled into a quick sniff before he looks around him and settles on your notebook.

“So what were you writing?” He gently takes the purple notebook into his hand, tracing its ridges and checking its black spine, flipping it around where he sees your name written on the upper left corner in small cursives.

“Um, just…things,” you pinch your nose with a vacant hand. “Just lyrics, I guess.”

“You? Lyricist?” Removing the hand from your nose, you reach over to flip the journal open, thumb skimming across the thick pages. “Just when I thought you were cool with the whole piano thing,” your face heats, smiling sheepishly at him.

“I wouldn’t say I’m great at this whole thing, though,” your thumb stops on a page you’d been writing on. Eddie diverts his attention on the half-filled page, head tilting down as he brings the notebook closer to his face.

You fear his judgment; not because you don’t trust him, but it leans more into what you’d gone through. That his criticism will be cruel, unkind and harsh like others had been, taking out all their negativity into the words you’d poured your mind onto, leaving without an apology or at least a clement admonition. 

There’s doubt that spreads across your mind. You watch as Eddie pokes his tongue out to graze his teeth, his thumbs drumming on your notebook, his own eyes flitting between your unaligned writing. But the smile that breaks across his charming face calms the dread down. Eddie looks at you, the crinkles on the corner of his eyes so endearing. 

“Lost in a purple hill, shake these zipper blues,” he reads out loud. “I like it. It’s very…savvy,”

“Savvy?”

“Savvy. Innovative. Creative,” you beam at him, your lips starting to ache from the bright smile you hold as Eddie’s head flips between your creative words and your contagious joy. “What? It’s amazing. Literally, all the words you can find in a dictionary that’s a synonym for creative. It’s—it’s that. W-what?”

His eyebrows join in a confused hill as the smile remains on his face, shaking his head at the shock that amalgamates with your glee. “Nothing,” you look away, feeling your entire body heating with the new sensation of appreciation. “I just thought it was kinda stupid. Like, maybe no one would understand it, y’know?”

Eddie’s thumb rubs his bottom lip. “Well, tell me what it means—hey, please?” he pouts playfully at you. “Tell me what it means, come on. I like it, I might as well know the meaning behind it, right?”

You shake your head in disbelief, placing the bottle on your shoulder to the space beside the two of you.  “Alright. Um, well, a hill right? You get up this hill and you feel disconnected from the world in…a good way. You- lose all toxicity and burden this place gives you. And I chose purple because, well, I like the color purple,” you laugh nervously. “And, zipper blues. It’s this depressed feeling you get from moving around too much. So you get lost up this hill, you get rid of that sorrow, and just disconnect all your problems. And, I don’t know if it makes any sense but—I’m rambling too much. I’m sorry—”

“No!” Eddie reaches out to place his hand on top of yours, quick and urgent to touch you again and the way his hand softens on you feels like he’d been substantially relieved to do something Eddie’s stopping himself from doing. Like water to a slowly dying flower, your heart blooms at the touch you’ve wanted to sense since earlier as he stops you from your ranting. “It’s okay. I- I get what you mean. And it’s…”

You feel him squeeze your hand gently. “It’s…?”

“I’m thinking of other cool words,”

You laugh bashfully, a laugh he copies. A laugh that reaches his eyes, went from deep into something high like a giggle until a small snort comes from him. You feel elated to make him laugh this way despite saying nothing. 

“It’s amazing, (y/n),” he doesn’t say Mandy, but it mantles your insides nonetheless. “You have other songs you’ve written?”

Toying with the neck of the beer, you nod. “I’ve got a couple of papers back in my place but, uh, I’m not exactly allowed to invite boys in my place yet.” he moues playfully. “But I could um, talk to you over it on the phone? Or give it to you tomorrow? I should just give it to you tomorrow, you don’t have to give me your number—”

Eddie squeezes your hand again. “Hey,” he chuckles at you. “Relax, Mandy. I’ll give you my number and we can talk, yeah?”

You feel like you’re waiting for an ice cream cone to be offered to you when Eddie plucks the pen behind your ear and writes his number down on the bottom of the page that he’s read. His writing is scrawny, unaligned like yours, capitalized when he leaves a note beneath the digits that you can’t read. He tells you not to read it yet after he offers to drive you home. 

The drive to your home was filled with small talk and music from the stack of cassettes on the back of his car. Ranging from Metallica to Judas Priest as said from the cases you gave him. And despite his attempt at his careful driving, the van sways against the uneven asphalt of the town streets. 

Eddie, with a hand on the steering wheel, has a hand hovering behind you as you twist your torso and lean towards the backseat to search for more cassette tapes. 

“What are you even looking for?” he asks, carefully turning left. You pick through the mountain of unarranged music, placing them next to each other when you see something you’re not looking for. “Careful. You might fall forward and I’ll just laugh at you.”

“I found it—turn right!” The wheels of his car screech at the sudden pivot, makes you clutch the grab handle and his arm, feet lifting off the clutch and onto the brakes where he presses lightly. “Fuck,”

“Sorry,” he pushes his hair out of his face, glancing at the cassette in your hand. “Oh, I didn’t know I have that,”

The black case of Reggatta De Blanc is clutched tightly in your hold. “I didn’t know you listened to The Police,” you flip it, scanning the back. “They’re my favorite band.”

“I didn’t know you listened to rock,” he’s still pressing lightly on the brakes to slow the van down, the smoke leaving the hood grows both your concerns. “I used to listen to them. Well, when I used to drive my Uncle to work when his car broke down for a while. Refused to listen to any of my tapes. Misfits? No. Iron Maiden? Still no. I mean, I get that he’s old, or something, but he has to try new things out!”

You open his player and withdraw Sisters of Mercy, prompting him to express his displeasure with a half-joking gasp and a short 'hey!' across the cut music. But you swiftly insert the tape to stop him. Eddie's fists clench over the peeling leather steering wheel, his gaze fixed on you.

“The Police, huh,” he grins at you. You swallow the upbeat tempo of Message in a Bottle, bopping your head to the introduction riff. Eddie’s head turns between the road and you. “Thought you’d be more Kate Bush, or something. Billy Joel. Madonna, maybe. Queen. Elton John. The Cure…”

With a twisted smile, you run your nails through the polyester filament yarn of your seatbelt. “I do. I don’t have a specific genre, Munson,” you turn to him. “I can like anything. Hell, I like W.A.S.P. And Joan Jett”

He gasps, turning right. “& The Blackhearts?”

“Fuck yeah,”

Eddie’s tongue clicks with the roof of his mouth, shaking his head. “What a potty mouth, Mandy.” his nose wrinkles when he laughs. Angelic, you think. A laugh a cult leader wouldn’t have; something Eddie would have. 

“Well, people usually don’t believe me,” you laugh timidly. “‘S like people need to like just one genre and make it their whole personality. Like, what if I like metal and pop at the same time?” his eyebrows raise a bit. “Sorry. N-no offense. It’s just…annoying, at times.”

You remember being twelve, recently having left Hawkins with a deep frown on your face. But you had a girl invited to your room in search of a new friend. With a borrowed boombox, you showed her Blue Öyster Cult after going through countless tapes of pop artists. And when she found out that the band had a different type of music, way different than the ones you’d just listened to, she’d told you: listening to different types of music makes you unbalanced. You need to stick to the one that makes you you. Or else people wouldn’t know who you are.

Wise words for a pretentious girl, you thought back then. Nevertheless, you believed her. 

For five years. 

But when you returned to Hawkins, you need reinvention. Because girls were only ever interesting when they’d reinvent themselves every once in a while to keep people hooked on. And you were tired of being unseen, invalidated; so you went back to your older self. Someone who played the piano but enjoys metal as much as Eddie Munson did, from what you’ve seen. You want to show him that side of you, in hopes for affirmation.

“None taken,” he breathes. “But, you’re right. No need to apologize.” your stomach buzzes with his accordance. “Metal’s just…me, though,” unlike earlier, Eddie turns the hazard before he turns. “So, I hope you don’t mind a man with a shag who’s a high school repeat’s driving you home, sweets,”

Sweets. Your whole body burns in the best way, biting back a smile. “No. I don’t mind. I like that.”

“I like that for you, though,” he gesticulates to you. “Being unashamedly yourself. Without aaany judgment whatsoever. And, uh, that’s amazing,” Eddie, although with his words genuine, smiles weakly and sweetly at you; harbors something that he wants to say but stops himself from doing so. “I should be like you more often.”

“I think you’re already being yourself,” your eyes trace the scratches on the windows, the slight blur on the corner of his windscreen; what once was a far distance of a motion blur of modern homes turns slower when Eddie’s foot lifts slowly from the accelerator. “I should be like you.”

“Trust me. You-...” when he looks at you, he visibly softens at your countenance. His adam's apple bobs in what seems to be rich poignance with the way his pupils slightly shrink when he flits his eyes away from you, only to dilate and almost take over his brown irises when they look back at you a mere second later. Eddie chuckles dryly, can't help but smile earnestly at you. “I like you as yourself, (y/n),”

Your hand compels you to reach for his. Like magnets forced to meet. But the console which separates you both hinders you from doing so. But maybe it was your fear; your lack of courage. A film reel in your mind that slides through its mid-tone dull colors of a possible incident — he’ll hold your hand tighter with the gentle caress of his calloused thumb that alleviates the rigorous pounding of your heart and smiles brighter than the ultraviolet sun. 

Or his face would twist in disgust and shove your hand back on your lap, lips curled into revulsion and he’d ask you what was wrong with you, reject any excuse that would come out of your mouth like they always did before he’d drop you home and ignore you like you didn’t exist.

Keep it together.

“Thanks,” you mumble, the pads of your thumbs come across the linear scars on your fingers. You see Eddie balk in his seat, lips pursed to make small incomprehensible sounds while he bobs his head to Message in a Bottle. Your house emerges, curtains drawn and run down car missing. Disappointedly, you press on the red button of the seat belt buckle. “Right here, Eddie.”

The van halts to a stop, passenger door right in front of the pathway to your small home. The radio lowers, the seat belt snapping back in place tickles your arm, and dismay wooshes with his loud ac. 

But Eddie leaves unexpectedly before you do, the unlocking sound of his car door disappears quicker than the door slamming shut. You watch as he crosses over with squinted eyes, until he reaches to open your door, bowing lightly with an arm stretched towards your house; a smile that reaches up his eyes and a dimple that comes with.

“M’lady,” he nods his head at you. You can’t help but laugh, picking the bag up from between your legs and slinging it over your shoulder, the heat adding an unfortunate ache on your eyes that shoots up to your head and almost burns any skin that’s exposed. Eddie notices. “‘S hot, isn’t it?”

“Unusually hot,” you shake your head. Eddie closes the door, walking on the unmowed grass on your small lawn until you both end up beneath the porch, in the shade that soothes you.

His eyes desecrate the components of your door, tracing the doorbell button, lips making small psh sh sounds before Eddie finally looks down at you. “Can I have your number?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “But I already have yours.”

“So I can call you anytime, Mandy,” he laughs heartily. “I can’t exactly save phone numbers, can I?”

You flush in embarrassment. “Right. Sorry,” you take the pen from behind your ear, reaching out. “Can I have your arm, please?”

Eddie smiles. “Lovely manners.”

He shows you his arm, a small, almost unnoticeable butterfly tattooed on his wrist where you write your number above it. “Nice tat,” you smile up at him, your own blue ink that’s botched to almost unusable decorates his pale skin.

“Yeah, I don’t really know how I got that,” his eye shuts, nose wrinkling, watches your eleven digits appear on his wrist along the veins. “Nice,” he sings. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to get going,” Eddie tugs on his bracelet, his feet lifting off the porch. “See you ‘round, Mandy. Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari for me, won’t you?”

You bid him goodbye with a sad wave, but you cover it with a smile.

Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari. Huh.

Morphine city slippin' dues

Down to see

That we don't even care

As restless as we are

It was a battle between who was gonna call first.

That day when Eddie drove back to the trailer, quietly as Wayne took a nap on the fold-up bed in the living room, he went inside his bedroom and locked the door. Barely was it night. Barely. Yet there he was, sitting on his bed clad in nothing but a random shirt and boxers as he waited for your call.

Nothing.

So he sat and played and thought and dreamed. 

Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari? What the fuck does that even mean?

The first ring on his phone, it hadn’t come from you. Mike Wheeler asked if he’d used any kind of shampoo on his hair, and what brand it had been. Eddie answered that it was three-in-one, no specific brand. Just anything he could afford. The second had come from Dustin, who’d asked about something DnD related that Eddie had already forgotten. 

And then the third was from Reefer Rick, who was put on probation and asked how he was and honestly, the phone call lasted for two hours. A conversation that barely included any drug talk whatsoever and simply what had happened in their lives.

So obviously, Eddie couldn’t help but mention you. Minus your name for safety reasons.

“Shit, dude. She’s… she’s nice. She’s smart and she writes songs like I do and she plays the piano. And I actually met her before! ‘S just that I don’t exactly-... remember it, y’know?”

“Don’t tell me you’re fallin’ in love, kid.”

“I’m not!”

“You know about love and how dangerous it is, don’t you?”

He did. 

Like a dangerous game of Dungeons and Dragons.

Yet there he was, the sun gone and the skies Stygian, painted with scattered specks of the burning stars and the crescent moon. Eddie’s patience had slowly been wilting, his knee bounced on the floor and his ass was sore from sitting too long on his lumpy mattress. A notebook in hand with his own clusterfuck of rhyming words with deep elucidations in hopes you’d be talking about songwriting. 

And when the phone rang, he stood up faster than the speed of light and he took the handset off the wall and pressed it up to his tingling ears. 

“Hello?”

A huff of a laugh. “Hey, Eds.”

Eds. Eds Eds Eds Eds. 

His heart palpitated; a ruthless attack of the Cupid’s red piercing arrow shot through his heart. Eddie Munson rested his hand against the wall and the other tight on the phone receiver as his knees liquified from your giggle. 

“Hey there, Mandy.”

“I took your lyric, by the way,” he could only imagine what you looked like that night—pajamas, sleep shorts, a crop top, or a random band shirt he thinks you’d totally have, you’d still be pretty nonetheless. “Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari. It’s very impressive. Kinda making me not want to give you credit here,”

Eddie shook his head in playful disbelief and turned over to rest his back on the wall with a silly smile and a belly full of butterflies. “I’d very much appreciate the credit. At least then the world would know who I was.”

A playful sound of consideration kisses his eardrums. “Maybe. Yeah, sure. I’ll give you credit.”

Since then, phone calls had been filled with exchanged conceptualizations and words written with a botched ballpen onto crumpled pieces of papers; Eddie would see you in school, too. Passing each other shy smiles, listening to music in his van as he offers to drive you home, his hand discreetly turning back to you to pass notes during History. He no longer found the random fuzz on his table interesting and thought that the girl who answered his notes that ended each message with a smiley face was way more interesting than anything else in the world.

Maybe DnD and metal, too. But you came in first.

And every night, after a campaign or band practice, after his uncle would wish him farewell before heading off to work, the usual jejune midnights had turned into cavorting twilight nights. Before he knows it, he’s already brushing his teeth at six pm, like you’d smell his breath through the phone, and bounces his knee in anticipation in front of the phone. 

One night, when Wayne stayed home to get some proper rest, he'd noticed how Eddie had barely left the room to watch the tv with him, or how he hasn't played a guitar in weeks, or suddenly rush out a farewell to meet his friends.

He took a peek in the crack of his bedroom door, saw how his nephew had a lovesick smile as he laid on the floor with the phone on his ear babbling about things that has happened on his day or something about his past.

"You've been hogging up the phone, Eddie. I've got someone to call too, you know?"

Poor Eddie yelped, almost dropping the phone to the ground. Wayne chuckles, walking over to him which made Eddie clutch the phone to his chest. Wayne claps his shoulder.

"Yeah like who? That recently divorced mom beside Kapinsky's trailer?"

He jested to his uncle, who barks out a laugh. "Probably. I'm not the only one trying to woo girls here, son,"

"I- I'm not trying to woo him, man! I'm just-... trying to be her friend."

Wayne huffs with a smile and a light shake of his head.

It went on for weeks; countless calls that he didn't realize months had passed. Every day, every night, you’d become his friend; conversations started turning into somewhat remedial talks other than songwriting, telling each other the stories in your lives that none had experienced, talking shit of the judgementals and the great pretenders, and gave each other keys to your hearts for safekeeping.  

“What ever happened to Benny’s Burgers?”

“Heard some Russian kid got him killed, or something. Jason’s using it for his orgies now. Like ritualistic sacrifices are way more important than teenagers having sex all together. The children of god hath given into their temptations! Those gents might not but repent their sins for foul fornication!” 

“Eddie, I don’t care if you sell drugs. Half the kids in my old school in Queens sold them. Would almost kill each other for ‘stealing’ their clients. Hell, even half of the NYPD sold drugs.”

“In all honesty, it’s weird how you’re so normal about this.”

“My mom died when I was a baby. The orphanage had different answers on how I ended up there, though. My dad died, he was in jail, he dumped me there. But it doesn’t matter — I’ve got a new family now, anyway.”

“My old man’s in prison. Haven’t talked to him in years. My mom died too, so at least we have that in common, eh?”

“Sometimes I wish people cared. Like-... sometimes I wish they’d see me; stop treating me like a ghost and ask ‘hey, what songs can you play on the piano?’ and all that shit. ‘Hey, are you okay? What’d you feel about getting left at an orphanage? Sorry, I hit you on the shoulder.’ And all that stuff.”

“‘M kinda tired of being seen as a freak. I know everybody has their own thing. But sometimes I… wish I liked the same thing everybody else did. But that’s the thing about society and their codependency on approval — you like something that people think is far from normal, or something that people say isn’t- trendy, you’re a freak. I mean, sorry I like playing a fantasy game than Monopoly. Or- that I like Eddie Van Halen than Olivia Newton-John.”

“Hey, you love Olivia Newton-John!”

Laying in his bed of lumps and stains, Eddie imagined he’s in a field. The tall grass stroking his inked skin, the clouds that hover over him, all his devotion laid upon the clouds that mutate into your silhouette, which beguiles him more. And even when his visual morphs the sky gray and lets its sickening tears drip down onto him, he stares up at this cloud indentation of you that looks back at him. Until it’s blown away and he finally sees your spellbinding beauty. 

“Hey,” your voice startled him. “Still there, or you’re asleep?”

“No. This is Eddie’s soul speaking. He’s very asleep,” his jest was followed by an obnoxious snore that made you laugh brightly. He smiles. “Yeah, no. I’m still here. Sorry,”

“It’s okay,” you softly said. “Hey, um, my neck’s aching.”

He frowned. “Oh. Do you wanna continue this tomorrow?” Eddie twirls the cord around his finger, trapping the phone between his neck and ear.

“No,” you sighed. “Keep talking, please?”

“Okay,” Eddie cleared his throat. “Band practice went well. We, uh, learned a new song. Something that’s not metal. Gareth was kind of a bitch about it but hey, there’s no harm in trying something new.”

“Really?” he nodded, remembering you were not there before he said ‘yes’. “What song is it?”

Eddie turned to his side, facing his Blue Öyster Cult poster. “It’s a surprise, Mandy,” his scoff etched a smile on his frivolous face. “You’ll hear it when you come to Hideout.”

“Shame,” he thought you’d been pouting. Playfully, with your pink lip jutted out. “What should I wear when I watch, though?”

“Anything you want,” it made him panic a little; he didn’t have an outfit for the show. Eddie sat up, his foot knocking over an empty bottle that fell down on his floor that thankfully did not break but was loud enough to disrupt you.

“What was that?” you had asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he clutched his ankle, face crumbling in pain. “Yeah, babe, I’m alright,”

Shit.

He sensed it then. When your breathing went silent, when his heart stopped beating for a millisecond, the way your mind registered what he said the same time he did. Eddie’s body had loosened in panic.

“Okay,” you finally said, quiet and gentle. “Um, careful.”

“Thanks,” he almost said it again, getting himself distracted. “Thanks, (y/n),”

A pregnant pause. Eddie was massaging his ankle with a look that berated him for his idiotic freudian slip. He scolded himself by bumping the sore spot against the foot of his bed, hard enough that another loud thump was heard and tears brimmed the edge of his eyes.

“Okay, seriously, what is going on in there?” you chuckled incredulously. 

“Nothing!”

“You know what? You should come here before you accidentally trip on a knife.”

Eddie’s head dipped. “I thought you weren’t allowed to invite boys in your home?”

“I can rebel, you know,” he felt an eye roll. “Besides, my parents aren’t home and- I’m bored. And my neck hurts and everything’s better when you’re here.”

He deceived himself into thinking you meant nothing in the last part. Eddie felt the warmth rise to his cheeks then, something he’d grown familiar to seeing as it only happens when he’s with you. 

“Sure,” he picked up a random pair of shoes beneath his bed and opened his drawer to pull out the finest pair of jeans he owned. “Be there in a couple of minutes.”

That night, he parked his van a few houses from yours, and he immediately spotted the purple curtain of your windows. The light dimmed with the yellow warmth of your lamp, your silhouette moving across with something rectangular in your hand that he can only assume was your notebook. He felt slightly eccentric.

Eddie, ever the man who loves to put on a good show, decided to climb up the side of your home using the uneven ridges of the brick wall and your pipes. His palms had lightly scratched against the rough surface of the bricks, where he used all his strength to lift himself up until his head peeks through your window.

When his forearms rested on the stool of your window, he propped himself on one arm and used his left hand to knock rhythmically on the glass. Eddie saw your silhouette stop pacing, your shadow growing as you near your window and pulled the curtains back.

He’d smiled, bigger when he saw your shocked, wide-eyed gaze. Eddie knows you’re berating him when he hears your muffled rambling. You unlatched the window and pulled it up, your hands clutching his bare elbows.

“You idiot!” you hissed. “I told you my parents are gone. And you come up through the window? Are you insane? You could break your back or stab yourself with the bushes!”

Eddie fell face down, his cheek meeting your carpeted floor. He pressed his palms on the ground, pulling his entire body in until he flopped on your floor. And when he finally fixed himself and rids of the leaves and dirt that stuck to him, he stood up. And you slap his arm.

He gawped at you. “Ow!” he pouts, massaging his arm. “You wound me.”

“Relax,” Eddie took his shoes off. “It was just a slap, you drama queen.”

Eddie’s eyes wandered across your body. You were wearing a band shirt: Dead or Alive. He didn’t know who they were. But he didn’t care because then he’s got his eyes on your exposed legs, black sleep shorts that barely come across half your thighs and it made him swallow thickly, his blood flowing everywhere and god forbid had he popped a boner right in the middle of your room, he would have jumped out your window and broke his neck instead.

“Y-you know me,” his voice cracked the slightest. “Always a queen. Which is why I love the Queen. Not the Queen of England. The band, I mean. Well, I listen to them occasionally.”

You sat on your bed, kicking his shin. “I know, dummy.”

That had been a couple of nights ago.

Now he’s sitting bored, fourth row in the second lane, his chin on his palm, right hand drawing a small bat on the corner of his notebook. Along with some other words until he quietly rips the page off, folds it, and takes it in his hand before he moves it behind him.

Eddie feels the paper slip off his fingers. He thinks of your smile, whether it be a toothy grin, a closed lip or the one that made your teeth shine prettily. His body shivers from head to toe, cheeks tingling while his knee bounces in anticipation.

A light graze on his bare elbow startles him, the heel of his foot knocking against the metal leg of his seat. He takes the paper from the corner of his table, silently unfolding it.

I think that’s a bad idea.

Offended, he writes. I just said hi >:(

He gets a quick reply after he gives it to you. I can smell you thinking. I’m like a vampire. And I’m already telling you that filling someone’s locker with shaving cream is boring and a bad idea.

You snicker when he takes a quick glance at you with a silent gasp. Then what do you suggest we do?

Fill it with shaving cream and stick someone’s hair in it. It’s grosser.

It’s followed by a brief drawing of two stick people, one with a small triangular skirt and one with a guitar in it’s hand, in front of a crooked rectangle which he assumes is the locker, the door opened and curved drawings oozing out. And some small, clustered lines that represent the hair you’d told him about.

Eddie smiles brightly, folding it and shoving it in his pocket before he shoots you a silly smile. 

The bell rings, obnoxious and almost deafening. Eddie stands from his seat, watching you meticulously gather your stuff together, hands gently pushing your items inside your bag. He sits on his table, waiting.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Mandy,” He tucks his book on his torso, watching you sling your bag over your shoulder and narrow your eyes at him. “It’s a great idea,”

“I’m not one for bullying, but I think, even though I contributed to your prank knavery, it’s pretty tame and shit,” 

Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you, slapping the top of the door as he passes through. “Oh yeah? Give me something better, do tell.”

“I say fill the locker with water, but then it’ll just slip out,” he towers over you. Sometimes he likes to take advantage of the fact that people would move out of his way merely because they didn’t want to be touched or grazed by him like some disease; he can move faster. “Or we can get your little shrimps to make some machine type of thing that could explode in their locker.”

“Who? Dustin?” Eddie bumps his shoulder with yours. “I mean, yeah could be. And we can just blame it on him,”

“Great idea,” your face wrinkles in confusion. “Wait, who’s locker are you destroying, anyways?”

“Gareth’s,”

Your nose wrinkles. “What did Gareth ever do to you?”

“Breathing,” he sighs. “Anyway, are you doing something later?”

Even in a clustered hallway, Eddie finds it in himself to get the wind knocked out of him when you look up with pensive eyes. Your mouth parts, the ends of your front teeth peeking just a bit from beneath your top lip. You blink and your eyebrows widen.

“Nothing. Homework, maybe. Or just writing again,” his heart pangs at the sad sigh you let out. “Wanna come over?”

He brightens.

-

Eddie lays on your thick mattress, hands clasped together on top of the notebook that lays open on his chest. Eddie scans every saxe glory of your blue walls, smelling the citrus fragrance of your new white sheets. It’s soft, maybe softer than the field up weathertop, and comforting. You sit on the edge of the bed, W.A.S.P. playing out loud but not loud enough for a complaint. 

He turns his head to you, sees how your back is hunched with your notebook on your lap and your fingers drumming on the sides with your pen wedged in between your lips. Eddie leans up, peering over your shoulder.

I put my heart on a piece of paper and you throw it away(?) my heart’s on a string around my neck and

Half the page is scribbled words and annotations with doodles of flowers on the corners. The annoyance radiates off the inelegance of your structure, the bite marks that deepen on the plastic cap of your black pen, and your eyebrows that meet in the middle. Eddie wants to kiss your worry lines away, taking your face in his hands and wonder how, despite the agitated expression, could someone still look so pretty?

Taking his pen from beneath the notebook, he takes the cap off with his teeth. Eddie props himself up on one hand, crosses his arm over yours and presses the black tip on your lined page.

Hi. Notice me pls :(

You laugh cordially, snapping your head to him with your chin on your shoulder and his chin on your bicep, his bottom lip jutting out from the lack of attention. 

“What’s up, Mands, huh?” his chin nudges your arm. You soften. “Writer’s block?”

“Writer’s block are for authors,” you say in a small voice.

“Writers. Songwriters. Semantics,” Eddie purses his lips. “Do you wanna turn the radio off? It’s what usually ruins the whole thinking thing, sometimes.”

“No,” you pout. “Maybe I just need a break. I don’t even know why I’m so upset about this. ‘S so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Eddie readjusts himself, his upper body being propped up by his arm with his legs spread on your mattress, knocking your arm with his temple. “Tell me why you’re upset. Come on.” 

You ruminate, staring deep into his eyes. “God, I don’t know, Eddie. It’s like my mind’s all hazy these days. It won’t work. Everytime I try to finish this stupid song, I- my mind just stops. It’s like I’ve forgotten the English dictionary, or something. I feel so illiterate. A freakin- a fucking ten year old could make a christmas jingle faster than I can finish this stupid stanza.” you slam your pen in the middle, closing your eyes in a deep sigh. “It’s tiring— I’m sorry. I talk too much.”

Eddie wants to draw this out. Close the space that’s almost not even there and take you into his arms as he heeds the words you avow with the silk petal of your voice that burrs when you tiptoe the edge of a breakdown. But you’re already looking away from him with a visible wobble of your bottom lip.

“Hey, hey,” he finally sits, ignoring the ache on his arm when he limits himself by touching your shoulder rather than grasping your chin; there’s still the lingering hesitation of crossing boundaries when it comes to physical contact, and he doesn’t want to drive you away. “You don’t talk too much. I love listening to you talk,”

A shimmer in your eyes from the tears that coat your irises. You blink rapidly and smile weakly. “Thanks. That’s- that’s nice.”

“You know what,” he plops to his stomach, reaching over to the ground where his open bag laid and took out two cans of Budweiser, warm with dents on the silver tin. “Let’s drink— just one! Have you ever tried?”

“I told you I used to live in New York. The only things I haven’t tried are coke and marijuana,” you take the can from him. “My dad gave me beer when I was fifteen. Not exactly great parenting but, we were alone and he didn’t know what to feed me.”

He opens the can and drinks the bitter alcohol with ease, letting it leave a burning sensation on his tongue as he watches you do the same. Eddie chortles when your face rumples in distaste, a frown replacing your woeful pout. 

“You alright there, Mands?” He raises a brow. “Sure your daddy didn’t give you apple juice?”

“Jesus christ,” you clear your throat. “I’m starting to think he did.” Eddie gently takes the can from you when you give it to him, gently placing it on your bedside table. “You know, Fred Benson has a party a couple blocks from here.”

Eddie takes another athirst sip. “Who?”

“Fred. The guy with glasses who’s with Nancy? I sat with him during lunch?”

“Oh right!” He sets his beer beside yours. “He’s nice. He put Hellfire Club in the student yearbook.”

“We should loosen up a bit,” you stand up, stretching your limbs and wince at the ache on your back. Your Beatles shirt, cut up to a midriff, exposes your stomach, a small scar just on the side of your hip and it makes Eddie flustered. He looks down at his hands. “We should go to the party.”

Eddie hops off your bed with the twist of his legs. “You can’t just leave. What about your parents?”

“I can rebel,” you repeat playfully. “And since when do you care about all that stuff, guy-who-got-arrested-once-when-he-sold-weed-to-an-undercover-cop?"

“I care when it comes to you,” he says softly, and he thinks you must have been pretending not to hear what he said. “Gonna call them or leave a note?”

“Gonna tell them I’ll sleep at Nancy’s,” you pull your drawer open and take a yellow sticky note out, scribbling down. Eddie takes his shoes from beside your bedroom door, frowning at the smudged dirt on the heel of his right shoe before he slips them on. “Can you wait outside? I’m gonna change.”

-

You looked breathtaking.

Embellished in a simple dress that stopped just above your knees, a pair of high-cut canvas sneakers that needed a bit of washing; a jubilant vogue that beguiles him, lifting him off his jittery fee. Your adroit hands accoutred in rings with lilliputian gems, warped around your dexterous fingers in delicate silver wires. And your hair, free from all its restraint, flowing down your shoulders. 

Driving to Fred’s house, you looked like a bright star found in the darkness of Eddie’s van. Sat on his seat, listening to all his metal mixtapes and headbanging to the songs you found endearing. His heart quivers whenever you awe at mixtapes you find in the back of his car. 

You were beautiful.

Covet reigns his cynical heart; he yearns to touch you. Wrapping his arm around your waist, holding your hand, or taking your face into his palms and telling you all the things that’ll make you smile. He wants to fortify you from all the savage things that ought to hurt you; Eddie yearns to proclaim his devotion into a dulcet whisper until he feels the rapidness of your heartbeat that thumps against his. 

But confusion regnants. He doesn’t know why he feels this way for a friend who simply knocked the wind out of him by wearing a simple dress. Then again, he thinks if it were any other person, they’d feel the same way. It’s you. You and your kind, shy, delicate heart that he wants to keep.

You, that he’s also lost.

It has been an hour since you guys have arrived. Maybe more than an hour. Eddie doesn’t know, but when he glances at his watch, it’d already been eleven in the evening. He wasn’t fond of parties but when it came to you and anything related to your happiness, he’d tolerate it. And for the first time in his life, in a house full of alcohol, he’s still sober. For your sake.

You told him you’d go to the bathroom, and he waited at some couch, stuck between two very drunk people who made out and completely forgot that they’re sitting right next to Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson. But, in all honesty, it felt nice not having someone run away as soon as they saw him. 

But when twenty minutes pass, where he debates on fetching you in case something happened, or thought maybe you were taking a shit, he ultimately decides to search for you. 

Foreigner guides him between the sweaty limbs of drunk teens and students who’ve already graduated high school but remained in Hawkins (aka Steve Harrington. He saw a glimpse of his voluptuous hair towering over the crowd). 

“I wanna know where (y/n) is,” he sings subconsciously. “I want you to show me,”

And then, he sees you. In a situation that proves his nagging thoughts right.

Standing against the wall is a drunk you. And lo and behold, Steve Harrington peers over you with a flushed face that spreads up to his neck, shirt unbuttoned like he’s seducing you with the jungle on his chest. Eddie feels the bottom of his stomach twist uncomfortably, a twinge of jealousy floating within the acids inside. 

He pushes the people away, as gently as he could, making his way toward you. 

“I know— Eddie!” you gasp, pushing away from the wall. You open your arms and fall against him, wrapping your limbs around his torso tightly so that it makes him just as shocked as Steve was. “Where have you been?”

“I was waiting,” a hand massages your forearm, the other resting cautiously on your back. “You said that I stay there.”

“Have you met Steve?” Eddie smiles tightly at him. He tries to hide his disappointment when you uncurl an arm from him. 

“Yeah, I met him,” he says softly. “Dustin kept on talking about him.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise in bewilderment. “Uh- yeah. Nice seeing you again, man.” he nods his head at him. “Haven’t seen you since I left highschool,”

“Kinda surprised you’re still here,”

He narrows his eyes at Eddie. “I could say the same,” Steve runs his hand through his hair, shifting all his weight on his left leg. “Didn’t you repeat high school?”

You gasp beneath Eddie, turning your head at him. “You repeated high school?”

“Didn’t I tell you that?”

“Yeah but I forgot,” you rub your nose with the side of your finger. “I’m sorry. That must have sucked.”

It used to. Until you came back. 

Eddie’s mouth parts, but all that could come out was. “Wanna go back home?”

“I haven’t peed yet,”

“You’ve been talking to Steve for twenty minutes?” he exclaims his disdain over this fact, tightening his arm around you without even realizing it. “Alright, I’m taking you up to the bathroom,”

“Hey hey hey,” Steve reaches out to grasp Eddie’s elbow, clumsily but tight as he can see the drunken gloss in his eyes. “Where’d you think you’re going?”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said?”

“Oh I heard it loud and clear,” he scoffs. “You’re not taking a drunk girl to the toilet, Munson.”

Eddie turns, hiding you behind him and lets you pick on the loose thread of his vest. “And what do you expect me to do? Let her piss herself in here?” he wonders wherever Steve found the nerve to act all protective over you. “Sending her up there alone is more dangerous, Harrington.”

“And you think I’ll let you take her up there?”

“Hey, excuse me,” with your hands around Eddie’s torso, you spin, your cheek right on the DIO print of his vest. “If you’re thinking that Eddie would take advantage of me, h’wont. You don’t know him. He- he won’t do what you’re thinking,” you narrow your eyes at him. “You know, if you people would just take the time to get to know him, you’d know that he’s not a freak. Or that he’d sacrifice me to the devil, or some shit. He’s a really nice person and you’re just—judgemental morons. And I really need to fucking pee.”

Your sweet mien is stripped off. An austere look makes Steve stumble back, face flushed in embarrassment than inebriation. He sputters out an apology, his eyes sobering in genuity. But surprisingly, he apologizes to Eddie. “I’m just drunk. I know it’s not an excuse but… she’s my friend.”

Still, with your words that left his heart unveiling and pounding like a fast drum bass, Eddie nods his head at him in slight forgiveness. “I get it, man. No hard feelings.”

(But he still is jealous that Henderson liked him more.)

Eddie takes you into his arms, smiles reassuringly at you as he pushes your hair out of your face, and leads you up to the nearest bathroom.

Lamented and assured

To the lights and towns below

Faster than the speed of sound

Faster than we thought we'd go

Beneath the sound of hope

Eddie Munson had only been in love once.

But maybe he’s wrong.

You sit patiently in the passenger seat, swaying to a Barry Manilow mixtape you found in Fred’s house that Eddie didn’t stop you from taking. He watches you from inside the convenience store, the beep of the scanner faint as well as the jingle of coins.

He bids a quiet goodbye to the cashier and pockets his change, holding two water bottles in his hand, sauntering to his vibrating van, and hopping in with ease.

Your eyes snap open, wide in its demiurgic inebriation. Eddie shuts the car door, placing his bottle on the cup holder in front of the gear shift so he could open yours to save you the struggle before he hands it to you. “Sober up, princess,”

Although half-drunk, you manage to swallow his sobriquet and flush. Princess. Babe. Mandy. What’s next? Love of my life?

God, I kinda hope so.

Eddie’s got his eyes on you, searching for any signs of struggle as you open the bottle with a small grunt before you bring the plastic up to your lips, swallowing heavily. Your eyes flutter shut, eyelashes caressing the gentle skin of your cheeks as you moan.

“Shit,” you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “What’s in the water?”

“Special K,” he jokes, opening his own. “You sober yet?”

“I can physically feel it-” you gesture your hands to yourself, waving it in a downward motion as you swallow the thick saliva on the edge of your tongue. “-disappear. I can feel it go down to my bladder.”

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head as he faces the steering wheel and twists the key in the ignition. “Just make sure you don’t have to pee yet. I’m gonna take you somewhere,”

You screw the cap back on, tugging on the ends of your dress as solemn curiosity makes you look up at him through your eyelashes. “Ooh. Where ya takin’ me, Eds?”

“It’s a surprise,” he pulls out of the parking lot, watching carefully from the rearview mirror with his eyes squinted. “I take Dustin up there every morning to talk to his girlfriend. But there’s a special spot I’m taking you.”

“Dustin has a girlfriend?” you gasp. “I always thought he made that up,”

“Oh, but she’s very real,” 

Tucking the bottle beneath your chin, you wriggle your brows at him with a skittish look. It enamors him, and it can’t stop him from turning his head at you and smiling softly. He wishes this would last — a fortuitous moment of abundant reposefulness, in his shitty van with your presence gracing the darkness of his world. 

Your face reappears in the darkness whenever a streetlight passes by. And every spark, you grow even more beautiful despite the intoxication that drops a barbell onto your eyelids. Eddie watches the buildings disappear, replaced by old trees, huddled together beside the road that swishes and collides with the passing breeze. 

With the doo-wop music pleasing to your ears, you hum beneath your breath, hand reaching out to roll the windows down and peak your head out. The wind strokes your skin headily, but the attempt to sober you is in vain. At least, with the alcohol that’s left in your system; you're clearheaded enough to register the lyrics from the radio and Eddie’s words of carefulness. 

Unable to detach his eyes from the lengthy road, Eddie filches every moment he’d glance at you out of worry you’d get your head decapitated off a pole or anything that passes by. 

But the sight of you with your back arched against the open window, hands in the air and your hair across your tipsy face was enough to relieve his worry. Were his eyes cameras, he’d taken every picture at every blink he took and kept in his mind. Just in case he’d never see such an unfathomable sight again.

“Hey, Mandy,” he yells slightly. “Having fun there, girl?”

“Totally,” you sigh, teeth gleaming. “Are we there yet, Munson? The inside of my mouth’s getting all dry here.”

“Get back inside, then,” he glouts playfully. “We’re almost there, babe.”

He’s getting really fucking comfortable with those petnames, now. 

You slither yourself back inside, slumping on his chair, your dress ridden up to your thighs. Eddie blushes from his face to his chest, snapping his eyes back on the road as you squirm on your seat, tugging on the ends until you’ve settled properly and rose the window up halfway. 

He tugs on the collar of his Paranoid shirt, a stark contrast to his exposed, opalescent skin. “You had fun poking your head out the window?” he cocks a brow. “Or do you still wanna go chase the cars that pass by thinkin’ they’re treats?”

“Dick,” you kick his shin, dirt smudging on his blue jeans. 

Eddie stops beside a broken fence, the vibration of his van coming to a halt when he twists the keys from the ignition and pulls it off. You blindly open the car door much to his dismay, and hop off with bleary feet. He does the same, shuts the door the same time you did and watches you cross over the van until you stand in front of him.

But you look at the hills, high and dark; its luscious green grass unseen by the darkness. He watches your jaw relax and your blinks decelerate. 

“We’re gonna walk up there?” you say smally, fiddling with your rings. 

“You don’t wanna?” his left eye narrows, a small pout coming up to draw itself on his face. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna. I can try to drive my car up the hill. Unless you also don’t wanna climb up the hill then I can just take you wherever you wanna go.”

You shake your head, tugging on his leather bracelet, hooking your finger around the ornament and crossing the shattered fence. “I can do it. I’m—I’m sober enough. I think I just have to remove my shoes. Hold on,”

He crosses the fence first, planting his feet on the ground as you use him as leverage. You balance yourself on one foot, pulling on the laces of your shoes and pulling it until he sees your socks—blue covered in black bats. Eddie takes your shoe as you do the same to the other, until he’s got your high-cuts in one hand, and the other being pulled by you.

Everything was untroubled. Laughs shared when he trips and scrapes his bare knee on the uncut grass; your socks darkened by the damp soil, his white Reeboks the same. And Eddie matches your heavy huffs, the remaining energy on his body on his legs that continue to lift him up the hill.

When you reach the top, you half-yell in relief, bending with your hands on your knees. Eddie sets your shoes down, letting himself fall on his ass. Once you’ve obtained your spent breath, you plop down beside him. 

“Holy shit,” you press your hands on the earth below, shifting to rest on your knees. “Eds, we can see Hawkins from here,”

You see the lights that brighten up the town. The miniscule homes of the village from across,  the burnt Starcourt mall, the sirens that lead its way to the Hospital and the variegated radiance from the arcade. You gawp silently.

“Exactly why I took you up here,” he tugs down on your dress when the wind blows it up, keeping his eyes at your face. “And if you look very closely, or if you have the eyes of an owl, you can see the trailer park.”

He laughs amusingly when you squint your eyes. Eddie knows if he can’t see it, so can’t you. But you try, nonetheless. 

“I don’t see it,” you lament, sitting back down beside him. Eddie tries to ignore the weight you rest on his arm; the pinky that grazes his behind your backs for anchor, and how your bare legs graze his jeans but despite the covering, he can feel the heat radiating off your body. 

“You’ll see it better when the sun’s up,” he leans on his right arm, shoulder bumping yours when he reaches for his Lucky Strike pack. Eddie flips it open, his small lighter lodged to the side of his cigarettes. You peer over, chin on his shoulder. He pulls out one, sticking it between his middle and index before he uses his thumb to pull his lighter out. 

Then he looks at you, nose beside yours with the minimal proximity. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“No,” you say. “My dad smokes. The dad who adopted me, I mean.”

“I know,” he smiles before he sticks the cigarette between his lips. He shoves his pack back on his pocket, sitting back down. “Do you smoke?”

The question was muffled through a lisp, but was still understandable. “Haven’t tried,” you answer. “But I almost did. It was weed, actually, that shit you sell? When I came back during summer, Steve picked me up and he asked me if I wanted to get high,”

“Really?” The cigar bobs when he speaks, the hand that cups over lowers slightly, his thumb stopping on the sparkwheel. “How long have you and Harrington been friends?”

He finally lights it up, the white paper burning into a crisp orange until smoke begins to vent. “Since middle school. Met him after my parents adopted me from my foster care. They took me to Hawkins, our house was near his, and we were invited to dinner by Steve’s parents when they were still present in his life.”

A burning jealousy on the pit of his stomach, ignited not by the lighter. “Were you good friends?”

“I’d like to think we were,” you tilt your head back and look at him. Eddie feels your pinky tap his, which he taps back. “When his parents started going on business trips, and mine were…well, working in Hawkins, Steve and I hung out in either his bedroom or mine,” you smile at him. “But, we rarely talked when I left for New York. It was a phone call every three months. And then he picked us up at the airport,” 

He lets the smoke leave the corner of his lips, on the other side where you weren’t. “Did he, uh, tell you all that shit about Henderson and Wheeler?”

“Through the phone. It’s kind of crazy,” his heart flutters at your light smile. “You know, I’m not sure if I should tell you this shit or not, but he told me about this whole thing about- monsters, and all that crap. Demogorgons, demodogs, the Upside Down. The Mind Flayer-”

“What, like DnD?” Eddie snorts. “Maybe the little shrimp talked to him about it, who knows,”

“I mean, he was half-drunk when he told me,” your lips purse. “Either he played DnD, or he dreamt about it. I mean, I asked Nancy about the Starcourt fire but she wouldn’t tell me anything!”

Eddie takes another puff, a long one that reaches his lungs. “‘M pretty sure he was just stoned,”

“What about you?” he sees you observe the cigarette, but he’s sure you’d been looking at his hands first and his dimly lit rings. “How’d you know him?”

He taps his finger on the rod, chunks falling down on the grass on the minimal space between your legs. “High school,” his lips twist into a frown. “I had my first senior year with him. And- uh, he was a douchebag. King Steve,” Eddie nods his head, a sardonic smile offered to you. “And when Henderson came and said that he was awesome, kept on insisting, actually, it was hard to believe.”

“Did he ever, uh,”

“Call me a freak?” he finishes. “Once. Twice. Dunno. We crossed paths but never really met, I guess. We knew we existed in each other’s lives but we never really acknowledged. He was too gung ho on Nancy Wheeler,”

You chortle, a plain snort leaving you that renders him amused. “Oh, God. Nancy. D’you know Steve wouldn’t stop talking about her whenever he called me.”

“You ever get jealous?”

He hopes you say no. Never did. He’s my friend. Only ever liked him as a friend. I don’t like his hair, I don’t like his smug smile. Eddie doesn’t care if it deems him jealous. But there’s nothing bad in hoping, right?

“No,” you ponder for a bit. “Maybe,”

His heart sinks.

“Only because I wished someone talked about me the way he did to Nancy,” a pensive gloss covers your irises, lit by the vibrant colors of the town upon your grazing knees and swaying feet. “He sounded so in love. And I always thought about how she would feel if she knew someone talked about her like that.”

He sighs. “You never know,”

You think he’s in thought, with the way his shoulder presses against yours absentmindedly and the silence that’s drawn out from his peart mien. 

“I had this dream when I was a kid,” you whisper. “That I was the greatest pianist in the world. I was singing with Billy Joel and—everybody knew who I was,” Eddie smiles. “And, ever since that dream, I’ve taught myself how to be one of the greatest pianists in the World,”

You exert amenity towards him when he laughs bemusingly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” your eyebrows furrow for a split second. 

A sudden memory climbs its way to his head. “Do you remember back in middle school? We, uh, hung out a lot after the talent show. And- and all we did was play music,” He says it with slight uncertainty; he himself can barely remember all those times yet he based on a single memory. “We played this one song all the time.”

“Does Everyone Stare,” you answer. “The Police.”

“That one,” he nods his head. “Because it was the only song we knew how to play that had guitars and pianos.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you nod. “I can’t believe we forgot each other,”

“But I do remember some parts,” he takes a short hit. “You said that you wanted to marry Billy Joel, and then you kept on bragging to me how you could play Die Young like, fifty times,”

“Only the Good Die Young!” you correct him. “God, yes! I played that even when I was in Queens. My grandma loved that song.”

“I always wondered why you had a huge crush on him. He was old,”

“He was not!” you gasp.

Eddie shrugs, lips curling in amusement when a huff leaves his nose. “Yes he was! And it was a good reason for me to get jealous, too,”

Shit.

If he could, he’d ululate his stupidity into the sky and embarrass himself further because it’s already out now, isn’t it? But confirming your jealousy didn’t mean he’d harbored feelings for you, right? He could be jealous for other reasons like…

He doesn’t remember.

“Jealous?” you repeat. “You were jealous of Billy Joel because I liked him?”

“We were kids. Hell, I got jealous when Tommy H. brought his Nintendo to school. Or when Barb Holland—may she rest in peace—won class president. I get jealous all the time,” he snickers. “Don't let it get into your big head, Mandy.”

Double crossed between his lies and what you truly perceive, you shake your head mirthly. “Yeah. Okay, Munson.” you roll your eyes at him. “God I… whenever I played that song, I always imagined I was in a concert. With this… huge grand piano. I’d play for those snobby rich people, then I’d get roses thrown at me. I’d play so hard my fingers would bleed and they’d give me a standing ovation,”

Eddie smiles. “What a dream,” he looks away, chin on his neck when he looks down on his lap. “I’d be your first ever watcher. Then I’ll throw tomatoes at you and boo you off the stage,”

He looks back at you and you laugh jovially. 

The muddle of alcohol in your head almost makes you miss how his jaw clenches and his eyes soften. A solemn twinkle in his button eyes, nostrils flaring as he stares at you with the smoke on his cigarette flowing between the tangled strands of his hair. 

Suddenly nervous with his intense stare, you nod at his cigarette. “Can I-uh, try?”

Eddie blinks. “Yeah, sure.”

He offers it to you with a balk stutter on his hand. You lean over, your hand almost on his thigh as you wrap your lips around, lipstick staining the orange filter that leaves a pink coruscating shine. Brazen do you inhale, cheeks sucked in, gray smoke filling your lungs until you cough abruptly and push it away.

Smoke puffs when you cough and he laughs jubilantly. “Mandy!”

“Fuck,” your hand grasps his shoulder, the other covering your mouth. “Christ. No wonder why my dad says I shouldn’t smoke. Oh- shit. Ah.”

He pats around beside him. “We left our water in the car,”  

“Screw it. I’ll try again,” you wrap your hand around his wrist and take the cigarette in your mouth, sucking like your life had depended on it until Eddie himself has to pull it away. It’s a bit calmer this time, no coughs and only smoke. 

His palm meets the side of his hand to a mock applause. “Bravo.”

“Who taught you this?”

Eddie takes a short puff. “My old man,”

Your smile falls. “Oh, shit, sorry,”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “My…mom got mad when she found out. I was eight,” he licks his lips. “And, you know, I told myself I wouldn’t do it again. But highschool happened and before I knew it, I have a metal lunchbox full of packs and weed,”

You feel his pink shyly tap yours. “My mom used to take me up here,” Eddie continues. “Way before Dustin did and- we used to go up before the sunrise so we could watch it. When he was dead asleep,” he swallows thickly. “She’d make these sandwiches, chocolate and peanut butter, and we’d eat them while we watched the sun rise; and she’d point out all these butterflies,” he shows you his wrist where the insect lays. “And she said ‘Eddie, you must always cherish the beginning of a new day,’”

He mimics the voice of his mother in a high-pitched voice and a tone that lilts to a posh border. Eddie knows it’s not exactly her voice, but he loves a good impression.

“She sounds like an amazing person,” you whisper.

“She was,” Eddie muses, a melancholy wave that crashes on him as he lays on the undertow, helpless. “She always had this bubble of hope, even if my dad always popped it. She just kept on blowing, and smiling, and loving even though she was struggling and honestly,” he looks at you with a sad smile, “she’s one of the strongest women I’ve ever met,”

Your heart breaks the slightest. But he looks at you like the brightest star he's ever found.

“She always had a bubbly personality even when everything was tough,” he sighs. “And I haven’t done this. Watching the sunrise since she, y’know, because I always slept in,”

His chuckle makes you smile breathlessly. But it had been more wistful. There’s a mosaic of maudlin rings over your eyes, on the verge of shattering. “Is that why you took me up here?”

“Kind of,” he drops his head sideways. “There’s no sunrise, though. So I hope this will suffice,” 

“I’ll take anything you give me, Munson,” you smile softly. “It makes me happy, either way,”

Finally, your pinkies hook behind you. His finger is warm, bigger than yours but bears a whit of gracious familiarity. They hook, as thick as thieves; Eddie gifts you a smile so warm and loving that makes you lean close.

“Even if my van’s all run down and loud and on the verge of burning?” his eyebrow raises. “Or I stain your reputation?”

“I don’t even have a reputation,” you laugh. “But yes. Even if you van smells like marijuana and you, like, listen to Orgasmatron for god knows how many times. I’ll accept anything,” 

I’ll accept anything.

Eddie leans close, tobacco breaths exchanged, nose bumping with yours; his eyes are low and hooded, his eyelashes that tickle his cheeks when he blinks rapidly, fearing that once he opens his eyes you’re a mist within the gray smoke. And fuck, you’re pretty.

Prettier than the barely there stars above you, prettier than the morphing clouds that entice him at seven in the morning, prettier than Sweetheart (his beloved guitar, yes); prettier than everything else, you being the center of attention, the only attraction in his terrifying world. His heart pounds like he’s fallen down the rollercoaster, and it feels gratifyingly amazing.

Your pinky clutches his tightly in a silent promise. And he vows to keep it, whatever it may be.

“Just where our bones will rest,”

Befuddled, he pulls back slightly. “What?”

“I thought of a lyric,” although disappointed, Eddie finds it in himself to smile lightly. “My heart's on a string around my neck and I stare just where our bones will rest.” you say. “Shit, Eddie, do you have a ballpen?”

“Lucky for you, I do,” he reaches for his pocket again and pulls out a blue pen with the cap covered in small indentation of bites. You frown. “Sorry. I get nervous a lot.”

“It’s okay,” you unscrew the cap. “Um, fuck,”

You unlace your pinky from his, pulling your left forearm out so you’d write the lyric just above your inner elbow, small across the skin of your forearm. 

“I could get this tattooed,” you mutter. And then you look up at him with a proud, bright smile. 

“I could do it,” his shoulders raise to a shrug. “I mean, I mostly do my own tattoos,” Eddie shows you his arms—the butterfly on his wrist, the bats on his forearm, before he pulls on the collar of his shirt and shows you The Devil. “Either I use my machine or the stick and needle,”

“Didn’t know you knew how to do tattoos,” you narrow your eyes at him. “What’s next? You can fix cars,”

He almost says yes.

You reach to touch the tattoo on his forearm in awe, delicate finger grazing his inked skin, petting the hairs on his arm. “Seriously. I’ll do it, (y/n),” he chuckles. “Just gotta tell me when,”

With your eyes gilded in delirium, you nod. And he smiles.

Eddie Munson had only been in love once. 

But he had no idea he could fall in love twice. 

-

You could remember how delicate he’d been.

Eddie had taken you back to his home. The place dark and desolate with the missing presence of his beloved uncle. He’d sat you down on his couch, apologized for how messy the place had been and that you’re getting your first tattoo at some dingy trailer. And you remember how your words succored the insecurity out of him; how he visibly deflated in relief and knelt in front of you.

Although covered in latex, his hands were warm against your arm, but it was incomparable to the spark you felt when you looped your pinky around his. 

His words had saged the pain from the stabbing needles. Constant praises that made your stomach flip; ballyhoos that made your cheeks burn as your mind swallowed them in a way that you shouldn’t— “You’re doing a great job, babe” “Taking it so well, aren’t you, Mandy?” “I know it hurts, but it’ll feel good soon,” “Good girl.”

Good girl had been the last straw. 

Eddie was doing it on purpose, right? Or your mind was just too deep into the gutter?

He’d traced the words you wrote on your inner elbow in vigilant precision. Eddie was fruitless of failure, nothing amiss in the Stygian tattoo. Which left you in awe given that he’d used a stick and needle rather than the machine hidden somewhere beneath the depths of his dusted bed. 

When he was done, he lathered your arm with ointment before covering it with plastic—cling wrap. And he drove you home with smiles painting both the canvases of your faces; the inside of his van filled with nothing but twitching hands that yearn for reconciliation, and knowing looks exchanged between the music of The Police.

You had laid on your bed with the lingering feeling of his latex touch and his bona fide scrutiny that night. A silly smile on your face when you think of Eddie Munson; the boy who’d disappeared in your life who you miraculously found again.

special thanks to: @vendettaparker, @munsonquinns, @familyvideostevie, @applcrumbl for proofreading :3

PART TWO

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED 💕

#eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munsonx y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things one shot #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things smut #stranger things angst #stranger things fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 15 - Nice

(Ao3 Link) (Masterlist Link)

Desire did not, on the whole, consider themselves to be “nice”. Fun, yes. Exciting? Oh, without a doubt. But nice? Mm. Not necessarily. Nice to feel, to experience, possibly. But not nice in the way that many people meant it. They were nice to be with, to feel the wants and desires fill their mortal hearts with song and fire. They were nice to luxuriate in, but they were cruel. Desires were pretty things, but often left many still wanting for more. A perpetual cycle, endless in its nature. People fought and killed and did many terrible things in Desire’s name.

So no. They would not consider themselves nice.

They were, however, accused of being such by none other than 1 (one) Robert Gadling. Desire sat perched on the edge of the kitchen counter in their not-brother’s (ex-brother? What Morpheus was, exactly, to their family now was confusing at best and Destiny, of course, gave exactly zero answers to their questions.) new living situation. The flat that rested above The New Inn was rather nice, all things considered. The layout was well thought out and there were numerous features (like the deep sink, the well spaced heating, the aircon in the corner) that many desired in their own dwellings. And, as far as aesthetics went, it wasn’t terrible. Sure, you’d walk in and have no doubts that the place belonged to an eccentric “collector” (hoarder. Let’s be frank and call it what it is) with a taste for earth tones, but it still felt cozy. Even if Desire had to scoot the stack of papers and books further down the countertop.

Robert Gadling was currently occupying himself with making french toast for everyone (everyone being the two of them and Morpheus). They understood why their brother was fond of the immortal. They’d tasted his lust for life many times. In fact, they could probably argue that he’d spent more time in Desire’s realm than the Dreaming. Or at least, close to it. Plus, he was cute. If you enjoyed that sort of look. The longer hair with the nice, strong frame was quite a fetching combination. Desire wouldn’t mind getting manhandled by him a bit. They wouldn’t pursue it. Not now, at least. Back when he was still Dream, probably. But not now.

“D’you have a sweet tooth, too?” Robert asks, turning those soft brown eyes of his to Desire.

Desire grins wide. “Oh?” They purr. “Does my elder brother have a fondness for the sweet,” they turn to look at Morpheus who is currently glaring over at them from his spot on the couch. He’s bundled up in a thick fuzzy blanket and just the top of his head and eyes are visible. Desire shoots him a teasing look, their lips drawn into a smirk. “and indulgent?”

Morpheus narrows his eyes even further at Desire and it makes them chuckle. They can feel so much more from him now that their brother is human. Back when he was Dream, he’d kept a lid tightly locked over his desires, not wanting to give them anything. The only times Desire would ever feel anything rolling off of their brother was in the height of his relationships. And even that was brief. Not because they didn’t last long (although that was certainly part of it) but rather as soon as he’d realized what he’d done, Morpheus would trap those thoughts and wants back tight again.

Desire hears Robert laugh. Turning, they see the man staring over at their brother, the fondness in his eyes, unmistakable. Desires pop up like bubbles, spilling from his heart. Images of him holding Morpheus close, tucking the blanket tighter around his thin frame. Robert places a kiss on his forehead, muttering sweet nothings into his skin. Flashes of matching rings, of weddings, his heart unable to decide where, so the scene flickers between unlimited spots. The feelings of warmth, of love, of holding something so dear to him in his arms. The pang of longing long since dulled, but still present when his heart thinks back on their times together when Morpheus was still Dream. Desire has to look away lest they feel overwhelmed at the sheer intensity of one man’s wants.

“He certainly enjoys his syrups. And desserts. And chocolates.”

“Hob…” Morpheus grumbles under the blankets. Hob, yes. The once common nickname turned pet name with sole use by one ex-Endless. Desire does their best not to gag at the sheer amount of pleasant domesticity engulfing them right now.

“One or two?” Robert asks, turning back to Desire. They don’t need food. None of the Endless do, not really. But they are Want and what they want is to see how well this man’s cooking holds up. If this was the man Morpheus was choosing, he’d better be a decent cook, at least.

“Two of your best,” they say, leaning back, their hands propped behind themself. They fold their legs over one another and watch as the immortal dishes up two freshly made slices of french toast on a plate. “You can choose the toppings. I’m curious what you’ll pick.” Robert nods and gives them a thumbs up as he goes about lathering each slice with butter. He places some slices of strawberries on top of one before placing the other slice of toast on top. Robert finishes it with a hefty pour of maple syrup (the good stuff too, it seems. No corn syrup or other thickeners. Desire appreciates the dedication) and finishes it off with a dusting of powdered sugar and a few dollops of whipped cream. It looked positively decadent. More dessert than breakfast.

He hands the plate to Desire before working on another identical plate. “This is Morpheus’s favorite way to have it. Not that I blame him. It’s really fucking good.” Robert laughs. “Definitely not an everyday breakfast though if you want to be able to move for the rest of the day.”

Desire hums as they slip off the countertop and make their way over to the couch. They fall into the cushions and swing their legs up on top of vaguely where Morpheus’s lap should be. Their brother groans, shifting to let the blanket fall further down his body. It stays firmly wrapped around his bottom half, but his torso is now mostly freed. He’s wearing- Oh for the love of - of course he’s wearing one of Robert’s jumpers. Desire knows it’s not Morpheus’s because there’s no way their brother would ever wear something as ugly as that shade of green. Humanity may have changed him, but they know for certain fashion was still important to their brother.

Robert brings over his and Morpheus’s plate. He hands it to their brother with a kiss to the top of his head before taking a seat in the chair to their right. “It’s nice to see you, Desire. Glad you dropped by.” Robert says, cutting into his own, significantly less sugary slice of toast.

“I doubt my brother feels that way,” they say, scooping up a dollop of cream onto their finger before plopping it into their mouth. It was light and sugary and delicious. Desire supposed they had a bit of a thing for sweets as well. Maybe it was an Endless thing.

“Why are you here, Desire?” Morpheus asks, eyes narrowed. Always with the narrowed eyes. Desire’s not sure they’d ever seen their brother not narrowing his eyes at them.

“Because I wanted to.”

“Yes, but why did you want,” Morpheus says, mimicking Desire’s tone. “To come?”

“Oh, well. I always want to cum~” Really, it was the perfect setup. Could anyone blame them?

Morpheus rolled his eyes and Robert just chuckled as he ate. “Do not play games with me, sibling. I may not have the powers of my old office, but I am human now. And there are laws that prohibit actions you may wish to take. Tread carefully.”

Desire sighs and cuts off a piece of their breakfast, stabbing through the thick layers of bread and sugar and cream and waves the bite around on their fork. “So melodramatic. Glad to see you haven’t changed.” They swing their fork into their mouth, licking the dripping syrup off of the end of the prongs.

Oh. Well. This was rather tasty. Robert isn’t a terrible cook, after all. That’s alright then.

“Sibling…”

“Oh relax, Morpheus. I’m not here to fuck with you, as determined as you are to think so.” They huff, setting their plate onto the coffee table in front of them. “I simply wanted to make sure you weren’t withering away with your new found humanity. Couldn’t have you dying in a corner because you forgot to eat or insulted the wrong man with your social ineptness.” They shrug. “I wanted to make sure you’d be around long enough to still mess with, after all.”

“Desire, I-”

They point their finger at their brother who is now staring at them with wide eyes. Ah. So he does know how to do something other than squint. “I will still be messing with you. Don’t think I won’t.”

Robert huffs with laughter and shakes his head. “That’s nice of you, Desire. But I can promise you, I’m not letting Morpheus keel over, no matter how hard he tries sometimes.”

Morpheus turns and glares at Robert. “It was one time, Hob.”

“Yeah, still scared the shite out of me. And now you’ve never fainted because you hadn’t eaten for a whole day since, have you?”

Desire watches in amusement as their brother shrinks into the couch, holding his untouched plate of sugar and carbs closer to his chest. “No,” he mumbles, beginning to divide a bite-size piece from the whole.

“Good. I’ll hold you to it, Gadling.” They say, standing. They brush off their skirt, the small spots of powdered sugar falling away at their desire to do so. “I’ll know who to punish if my brother does wind up dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Robert meets their gaze, the easy smile he seemed to always wear falling away to a more serious expression. “And I’ll have earned it.”

Desire nods. “Then we understand each other.” They sigh, rolling their head. “Well! This has been lovely, but duty calls. Robert, thank you for the most delectable breakfast.” They turn to their brother, who was still staring at them with open eyes. “Morpheus, don’t die.”

He huffs, but nods. A bubble bursts from his brother’s heart and Desire feels his own stop. A vision, a want, appears. Morpheus and Desire are sitting there, on the couch, laughing easily with one another, as they watch something non-descript on the television. They smile at each other. Desire rests their head on their brother’s shoulder and Morpheus leans his cheek to rest on top. Just like they used to when they were much, much younger.

A tear falls down their cheek. Morpheus looks up with concern in his eyes. “Desire?”

Desire turns their head, wiping away the offending tear before shimmying their shoulders with flair. They would not cry here for such silly things, especially not in front of their brother. They turn to Robert and wide smile, ignoring the twirling feeling inside themself. “My brother wishes you would bend him in half and choke him while calling him babygirl.”

“DESIRE!” Their brother yells.

“What…” Robert all but whispers.

In a blink, Desire vanishes, retreating back to the Threshold, cradling the desire of their brother against his heart.

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #the sandman #Desire of the Endless #ky writes #december writing list #kydrogen's december drabbles 2023

[byghostface]

1. Some daminika headcanons

1.

Damian is slightly shorter than Nika, but he didn't mind it much, cuz it's often an advantage for him to place his head on Nika's chest and listen to her heartbeats easily whenever they cuddle.

Damian loves to listen to Nika's heartbeats while they hug and hold Nika's hand constantly. Sometimes he would caress her wrist subconsciously like he is trying to check her pulse to make sure of her presence. (Nika finds it very endearing and soothing)

Nika is not afraid of cold as most people are, which might be due to her meta physique, and she often finds herself having cold hands. But Nika still loves to hug Damian like he is a warm plushie (naturally his body heat is higher than hers), and feeling the radio warmth from Damian is very pleasant to Nika. Damian is thrilled to warm Nika up at any chance he gets, this also makes it a great excuse for him to hold or hug her wherever he can. -[Do you have cold hands again?]-

Nika would give Damian casual kisses here and there pretty often, while Damian would sneak some smooches on her lips when they are in the more private spaces.

Nika has a sweet tooth, her favorite fruit flavors are strawberries, peaches, and grapes. Damian often tastes the flavors of sweet candy when they kiss. One time to prank her, Damian eats a mint candy just before they smooch, and Nika hates it instantly (it was a strong spicy mint, not the holidays' sweet peppermint she would enjoy), then refuses to kiss him for several days. Although Nika looks cute and intimidating with her tantrums, Damian regrets it a bit and ends up getting Nika some dark chocolate cookies to make up for her.

Nika would come to Wayne Manor early and do some makeovers with Damian before they went out on a date. Sometimes they would shop for more variable clothes and accessories together and plan on what to wear on their next date.

Damian and Nika both have no problem with PDA, but they're more at ease when there are just pedestrians in the background instead of acquaintances they frequently know. Most of the time is simple physical touch( hug, hand holding, etc.), but they would sneak little kisses when they think the people aren't watching. (Not caring much if people do see it though.)

They aren't hiding their relationship but they are not broadcasting it either. Although Damian likes to tell anyone who would listen about how he and Nika are an item, Nika thinks is cute but a little silly of him to decide on their relationship so quickly without her opinion. So they should figure out how their relationship would like to be privately for now. (But If you happen to know, so be it.)

Most of the time Damian is the little spoon(Nika is more initiative), but when Damian is uneasy Nika would let him be the big spoon so he could hold her better.

They had matching icons on chirper. They would also try to match their layout aesthetic and found some symbolism(emojis, stickers etc.) to represent each other.

1．2 (dates and activities)．3 (taking care of each other, sleep habits, gifts) ．pet names．art styles．asking game

#damian wayne #nika #flatline #daminika #flamian #gravebird #damiline #daminika headcanons #daminika hcs #hcs texts #damian al ghul #flatline dc #nika dc #dc comics #damian x nika #damian x flatline #robin x flatline

[alotofteez]

Sphallolalia | Part 9

Series: ⇢ Pairing: San x fem!Reader ⇢ Genre: flirty af fluff, hints of angst, suggestive, kinda smutty, older reader (noona) ⇢ Synopsis: As your best friend’s maid of honor, you must endure the shameless best man’s flirting until after the wedding. It’s just sphallolalia… right?

Part 9: (Un)Expectations - Moodboard ⇢ Genre: fluff, angst, & suggestive ⇢ Warnings: Language, adult themes ⇢ Word Count: 6,639

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

taglist: @joongiebug (url doesn’t exist), @simluvbot​ , @kimtae-bae (can’t be tagged?), @justsayk , @sunsethw4 , @baguette-atiny​ , @youre-a-wallflower-charlie , @knisterlicht, @nevieatiny, @laylasbunbunny, @brown88​, @rihannon14​

Your finger moves quickly across the tablet screen and repeatedly stops as you figure out the best shelving layout with the store’s data from last month. You are lost in thought behind the registers occupied by sales associates. Their chatting is mostly blocked out, but their sudden giddiness and posture change slightly grab your attention.

“He’s so cute— Fuck, he’s walking over here,” one of them whispers in a panic.

“Language,” you warn before looking up to see who they are freaking out about. 

The unfortunate sight of San strolling through your store welcomes you. He already has a smile on his face, and it only gets smugger the moment you lock eyes.

“What are you doing here?” You sigh defeatedly, putting the tablet down and stepping around the counter.

“Is that how you greet all your customers?” He asks, “I think I need to speak to the manager.”

“I am the manager,” you deadpan, leading him away from the prying ears of your employees, “Why are you here?”

“I happened to be around, so I decided to drop by to see if you’re a hardass at work as well,” he jokes, “I got you coffee. Happy birthday.” He smiles, holding out the cup.

You’re caught off guard by the sweet gesture and hesitantly take it. 

“Oh- Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

You didn’t think he even knew when your birthday was. You’re going to end up with a sweet tooth for this man.

“Yeah, but I wanted to,” he says with his smile turning into a smirk, noticing he has made you sappy, “You know what else you get for your birthday?”

Knowing exactly where this is going, your index finger presses against his lips before he can get out another word. 

“Don’t. I’m at work. I don’t need you here talking about birthday sex,” you warn, voice wavering between seriousness and laughing because goddamn, does the devil work hard but Choi San work harder.

His tongue sneakily licks your finger effectively removing it from his mouth, much to your dismay. While groaning and wiping his spit off on his shirt, you briefly notice the scoop neckline of it and how his defined collarbones peek out from underneath. Thoughts of peppered marks on them and being the one to do so cloud your mind as he speaks.

“I was gonna say a kiss,” he starts, mischief sparkling in his eyes, “But now I know where your mind is at.”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you try to play it off, “Your mind is always in the gutter-”

“If that’s what you want for your birthday, I think I can arrange that.”

“Hell no. Get out before someone hears you.”

He sighs, stepping towards you and making you back up, “If you change your mind about the birthday sex, you know where to find me.”

“San!” You smack his shoulder, making him chuckle.

“Impact play?”

“Get out!”

“I’ll see you tonight,” he says with a wink before turning to leave the store.

“Is he your boyfriend?” One of your cashiers asks excitedly.

“Definitely not.”

“Why not?”

“He likes being single,” you answer and give them warning glares.

“What’s happening tonight?” They tease, wiggling their eyebrows.

“We’re making decorations for our friends’ wedding. Would you busy yourselves? Go tidy up shelves or something.”

They grumble under their breaths.

“I’m your boss, not your bestie,” you remind them.

Behind the counter once again, you take a quick sip of the drink he brought. You’re surprised by the familiar taste. How does he know your favorite coffee drink? Since when did he care about your birthday? Why is he being so nice to you? It’s not that you’re mad about it, but it just seems suspicious.

San occupies your mind, which is unfortunate for your productivity. You can’t get his stupid face out of your head like he now lives there rent-free. The new shelving layout needs to be done so that you can figure out where to move things for a display of upcoming trends. Shipments are coming in next week, and your store is a bit behind schedule.

Although you try to refocus on the tablet, thoughts of birthday sex with San lure you down a raunchy rabbit hole. For a moment, you entertain those ideas. In your little scenario, you invite him over after work, blowing off your plans to go to Mina’s. Already on his way, he responds with “No one has to know.” Upon answering the door, you pull him inside your apartment by his shirt and crash your lips into his. He lets you take control, allowing you to use him as you please. You can almost hear him say with a smirk, “Don’t take it easy on me,” as you push him up against a wall. Mina blows up your phone asking where you are, but San simply puts it on silent. “Just tell her your battery died,” he murmurs against your lips before continuing to kiss you deeply.

What the hell is wrong with you? You’re at work! Due to confirmation bias, it’s all San’s fault. He is like quicksand. The harder you struggle to get out, the more you sink into him. Almost like he has been spying on your thoughts all day, San texted you while you were working.

From: San🖕 Take a nap because I’m gonna keep you up all night😉 3:17 PM

-

From: You Omfg shut up 4:53 PM

You didn’t know exactly how you would spend your birthday, but making so many decorations for the wedding was not on your radar. To make it worse, Yujin invited herself to Mina’s apartment after hearing Mingi say something about wedding decorations. The hidden upside of the night is that you will see San, and it will fuel your dumb crush on him.

That same crush clouds your judgement enough to have you reaching for a coral blouse out of your closet as you’re getting ready to head over to Mina’s. When you arrive, only a few members of the wedding party are present. Kyungmi texts that she’s running late. One by one, the rest trickle in… Except for San.

Mina sends the guys into the kitchen to cut out sticker decals on her many cutting boards. Apparently, no one in the friend group owns a cutting mat for crafting. The plan for those decals is to put them on wine glasses Mina bought in bulk, but that is a task for the girls because Mina doesn’t trust them to line the decals up perfectly. The cups are for the wedding guests to reuse during the reception and to keep as gifts.

When you hear one of the guys say San’s name, you glance in their direction. This crafting ‘party’ has been going on for almost an hour, and it’s killing you to know what he’s doing. 

“Where’s San?” You ask, trying to hide your interest.

“Yunho isn’t here either,” Mina counters, and you nearly slap yourself across the face. How could you be so careless? Your brain almost short-circuits racing for a rationale.

“Well, I figured the best man would be here,” you stammer out.

“He’s out with his other friends. You’re welcome,” Mina playfully answers.

Those words stab at your heart. He knows it’s your birthday and still changed plans? But why are you upset? He’s not your friend. This shouldn’t personally bother you so much, but it does. He even said he would see you tonight…

“He has other friends?” Sejeong jokes.

It doesn’t completely bring your mood back up, but you chuckle a little.

“He might be making a new one right now.” Mina wiggles her eyebrows.

“You look stupid when you do that,” Yujin grumbles, voice laced with what you assume is jealousy.

“Well, he is out with his party friends, so…” Mina emphasizes, making sure Yujin hears loud and clear, “Wooyoung is basically a copy and paste.”

You like that Mina also rubs salt in Yujin’s wounds, even if it’s for a different reason to keep her from him. But then again, it feels like salt in your wounds too. You can’t stand the idea of him in bed with some girl he barely knows all over him. Even though that’s his business, jealousy can make you think ugly things.

Looking down at your shirt, you feel so fucking stupid.

You pull yourself back together and start lining up the wine glasses on the table. Just after Seonghwa delivers a few dozen decals to you, Kyungmi busts through the front door.

“Guess who just won custody!”

You glance around at the other bridesmaids, who are just as confused as you.

“Huh?” Sejeong finally says something.

“My parents are giving my dog back. They had her while I was in college, and I broke them down enough to get her back. Wanna see pictures of her all cuddled up on my bed?”

Kyungmi doesn’t even wait for an answer. She must have pictures of her dog on deck at all times.

“Aw, what’s her name?” Yoojung coos, looking at a photo.

“Talulah.”

The dog is absolutely adorable, but there is something abnormal about her throughout all the pictures that has you hesitantly asking, “Does her tongue always hang out like that?”

“Yeah, she’s got a medical issue.”

“Wait, how old is she? You said your parents had her while you were in college, but she looks like a puppy.”

“She’s, like, seven, I think.”

Mina gasps as she remembers something and quickly whips out her phone.

“Do y’all want to see some pictures of Mingi from high school?”

“No, but don’t let that stop you,” Yujin deadpans.

“Was he a dork?” Kyungmi kids, putting her own phone away.

Mina pouts as she hands her phone to Yoojung and Sejeong, “Don’t be mean.”

“I mean, I was an anime kid, so…” Kyungmi trails off, lips pursing to make an ugly face, “It’s like the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Really?” Yoojung exclaims.

Kyungmi nods, “Yeah. Then, right before my sixteenth birthday, I was like, ‘What if I was hot?’”

“Yeah, what if,” Mina repeats, receiving a smack to her shoulder from Kyungmi.

Sejeong passes the phone to Kyungmi, and Mina peeks around the screen to swipe to another photo.

“He was on the basketball team?” Kyungmi is surprised, probably because she can’t picture him not being clumsy on the court.

“Yeah, but he was only on it because he was tall.” Mina swipes again.

Sejeong tilts her head next to Kyungmi’s and squints. “Wait, is that San?”

Your interest is suddenly piqued, but you act casually as you lean into Kyungmi to catch a glimpse. His long, dark hair covers half of his eyes, but his dimples give away that it’s him. There’s a boyish charm about him in the photo that makes you want to smile, but you suppress the urge. 

From the other room, you hear the refrigerator open and Jongho yelp, “Oh, shit” followed by the other guys gasping.

“Be careful!” Mina warns with an eye roll.

“Can you come here for a second?”

Mina stands while muttering under her breath, “Oh, my fucking god.”

They crowd around the kitchen island as Mina searches through some cabinets. Finally, Seonghwa emerges from the huddle with an adorably pink cake topped with lit candles, icing, and macarons.

“You guys didn’t have to do all this,” you say with glassy eyes as Seonghwa sets the cake on the table in front of you.

“Make a wish,” Mina smiles with the flames twinkling in her eyes.

It has been years since someone has said that to you. The last time was probably when you were a preteen. You can barely remember the things you wished for then. It was probably toys, a cell phone, or makeup. 

What should you wish for now? Money; a raise at work; stumble upon a wad of cash; a distant relative you’ve never heard of left their life’s fortune to you? A new job, preferably one that exercises your college degree? Good health and a long life? To fall in love? There is one thing all these ideas have in common. If somehow, this can manifest something, you just wish to be happy.

“Just blow out the candle. It’s not rocket science,” Mina jokes with a chuckle.

Right. It’s not.

“Alright, who wants a slice?” Mina claps her hands together as Seonghwa brings over plates and utensils. 

“I just want a small piece,” you inform Mina before she cuts one for you.

She furrows her brows, “No, you’re getting a slice thick with two C’s.”

You don’t want to waste it, so you might as well eat it. As much as you want to regret consuming these treats, they taste so good. The white chocolate rose macarons complement the vanilla cake with chocolate mousse filling well.

“Oh, my god, Seonghwa. Where did you get this cake?” Mina inquires, mouth full of cake with her hand hiding it.

“A little bakery over by my apartment.”

Mina nudges Mingi’s arm, almost causing him to drop his next bite in his lap, “We should check it out for our wedding cake.”

Once most of you are done eating, Sejeong suggests that you open your birthday gifts. You move a chair into the living room for your friends to watch comfortably on the couches.

“Hang on. I gotta go get my present. I hid it in the neighbor’s potted plant,” Kyungmi says in a rush to retrieve it.

Sejeong scrunches her face in confusion. “Why didn’t you just leave it in your car?”

“I wasn’t about to go all the way back down there.”

“There’s an elevator?”

“Yeah, and I wasn’t about to go all the way back down there,” she repeats as if it should be obvious that it would be too much work.

When she returns, you ask, hands hovering above the gifts, “Which one should I start with?”

“Save the big one for last,” Mina dismisses the large box.

“Start with the smallest one,” Yoojung suggests, and Kyungmi gets a large grin on her face.

You pick up the smallest bag and take note of how light it is. When you pull out all of the gift tissue paper, you’re met with something you weren’t quite expecting. A weird little stuffed creature with beady eyes stares back at you. As you take the plushy out, you find an envelope at the bottom of the bag. Your friends whisper among themselves asking what the gift is.

“It’s your adopted wombat!” Kyungmi chirps.

The paper inside the envelope confirms that it is a symbolically adopted wombat, specifically one named Gertrude. There’s even a photo of the wombat that benefits from the “adoption.”

“Why did you get her that?” Yoojung questions.

“She said she didn’t have a pet.”

“That’s cute,” Seonghwa approves.

As your friends discuss Kyungmi’s gift, you open the box from Yoojung. It’s a duffel bag; you remember her drunkenly pointing out at the bachelorette party how grungy the one you have been using is. Despite being put on blast for it, you’re thankful for the new one because truthfully, yours was disgusting.

“Those next,” Sejeong points out the matching gift bags. 

Her present is actually three separate bags containing a trio of fake plants. One is labeled as a spider plant, another as a pothos plant, and the last as a rubber plant. They’re cute and require no maintenance aside from dusting every now and again. There are a few places in your apartment that could use some decoration.

To give your friends a hard time, you sigh, “I’m starting to think you guys think I can’t keep anything alive.”

“You know, I’m honestly surprised you’re still here,” Mina jokes as she hands over another gift bag. You toss her an unimpressed glare.

“Because your apartment is always freezing,” Seonghwa chimes before you remove the tissue paper.

The gift bag feels heavy and full but not like it contains a hard, solid object. Inside is a thick, plush throw blanket that makes a grin grow on your face.

“Are the blankets I have not enough?” You challenge as a joke.

“Those shouldn’t even be called blankets. They’re like bed sheets.”

“So you got me a present for yourself when you come over?”

He starts stuttering out arguments now that you’ve put him on the spot.

“Hwa, I’m just teasing. Thank you.”

Mina slides two boxes in front of you; one large yet flat and one small. Tears spring to your eyes when you tear away the gift wrapping from the bigger one. Dozens of photos of you and Mina over the years are collaged in the shape of a heart in a large picture frame. There’s even the picture of you holding her at the hospital after she was born.

“Don’t cry.” Mina shuffles over to wrap you in her arms as you look at all the different pictures.

“Where did you get all these?”

“Me and my mom dug through all her photo albums in the attic.”

“Minnie Beanie, this is so cute,” you say wiping away a stray tear. The use of her childhood nickname makes her grin.

“Don’t forget the little box.”

Inside the box is a silver necklace with a small heart pendant.

When you look up at Mina, she excitedly says, “Let me help you put it on.”

As she does so, Sejeong slides the giant box to you with a bit of struggle. The birthday card is signed off by Mina, Mingi, Yunho, and Seonghwa.

“Oh, my god. This is huge,” you say in awe as you reveal the present’s box packaging. It’s a pretty sizable espresso machine. Mina has always criticized your caffeine addiction, and now here she is enabling it. But you won’t call her out on it. Currently, you can’t wait for the morning to test it out.

“Did you bring anything?” Yoojung quietly asks Jongho.

He clears his throat to announce, “My presence is your present.”

“Did you keep the receipt?” Kyungmi quips.

“You gave a full-grown woman a stuffed animal.”

“At least that has value.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but she cuts him off, “Yunho isn’t even here, and he still got her a present.”

“Children, please,” Sejeong attempts to shut down the argument.

“In his defense, we didn’t tell him we were doing a little party for Y/N,” Mina steps in.

“I would have gotten you a boyfriend if I could,” Kyungmi says to you as Mina and Seonghwa clear up the party mess.

You assure her while moving back to the dining table, “I don’t need or want a man.”

“I mean, they’re kinda fun to have around.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“What’s your type?” Sejeong is the first one to actually ask about what you are into.

You hum as you think for a second, “Mmm, I just want someone who listens and understands. A deep emotional connection would be nice, you know?”

“We all want that, but that kind of man doesn’t exist,” Kyungmi sighs.

“You’re being too picky,” Yujin adds, and you really want to be petty and snap back that not everyone is willing to hook up with anything that has a pulse and a dick. Besides, you really aren’t asking much of a person; it’s like the bare minimum of being a decent human being. There have to be people out there who can do that.

“I mean, look at Mingi. He listens but, like, selectively listens,” Mina jokes as she plops down in the chair next to you, and you force a chuckle.

“I can hear you!” Mingi shouts from the kitchen accompanied by his groomsmen cracking up.

“Pay attention to what you’re doing with that craft knife, babe. I don’t want to take you to the ER again,” Mina yells back and then quietly tells your group, “He dropped the knife and tried to catch it.”

“What if your perfect person is right in front of you and you just haven’t noticed?” Sejeong redirects the conversation, ignoring the other bridesmaids’ horrified expressions and Mingi’s loud complaints from the other room.

“If they are, please point them out because I’m oblivious.”

She hums as if she’s thinking about something and squints her eyes at you. Sucking her teeth, she says, “I don’t know.”

It doesn’t sound convincing, and you don’t miss her cautious yet subtle glance at the boys around the corner. Before anyone can ask about her cryptic reaction, Yoojung decides to throw out an option, an unavailable option.

“What about Mingi’s brother?”

Mina snorts, “He’s married with kids, and even if he wasn’t, there is no way in hell I would let Y/N date him.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing, that’s just fucking weird.”

“We could have been family,” you say, feigning offense with a hand resting on your chest.

Mina pushes at your shoulder, scoffing, “Shut up.” 

“He’s not really my type anyway,” you comment, chuckling a bit.

But your lighthearted mood comes to a screeching halt at Mina’s next words.

“What about San?”

You can’t help the panicked look on your face as all of the other girls start laughing. Your heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of your chest. There’s a gooey feeling in your stomach like you could throw up if provoked any further. For a moment, you think your secret crush has been found out.

“Did you see the absolute terror in her eyes?” Mina asks between laughs.

“There’s a special place in hell for people like you,” you warn your best friend.

“I’ll save you a seat,” she says, punctuating with a blown kiss and wink.

“There are still plenty of fish in the sea,” Yoojung says with a reassuring smile.

“The ocean is starting to look more like a koi pond,” you mutter quietly.

For some reason, Yujin instigates, “Are you sure you’re not aiming too high?”

“What do you mean?” Your voice is frail with confusion and surprise.

“Do you even deserve someone like that?”

“Yujin, what the fuck? Why would you say that?” Mina’s voice pitches with anger.

“Somebody has to be the voice of reason.”

“That wasn’t reasonable. That was just rude. You don’t know Y/N that well if you think she doesn’t deserve someone who will treat her right. On top of that, it’s her fucking birthday, you heartless cunt.”

You all sit in stunned silence. Even the guys have frozen in the kitchen. Yujin’s pretentious expression doesn’t waver.

“You know what? Just leave,” Mina says, standing from the table, “You weren’t even supposed to be here. You weren’t invited.”

The entire apartment is silent as Yujin grabs her things and exits through the front door. You have seen them fight many times but not to this extent and in front of so many non-family members. Yujin’s time at this little party is finished with a slam of the door behind her by Mina.

“And you told me to swear less,” Mingi comments as Mina replants herself in the seat next to you.

“That was the nicest I could be. If you want to be next, keep talking.”

Maybe Yujin is right. Maybe you don’t deserve anyone. Maybe that’s evident in you being unlikeable. What is there to like about you? What do you even bring to the table? You’re a stressed mess that’s possibly a little depressed.

You could probably think of some more adjectives that rhyme, but the guys suddenly distract your mind as they head to the parking lot to see Yunho’s new car. So, you digress.

But before they can make it out of the door, Sejeong stops them with a question.

“Do any of you know someone to set Y/N up with? Someone we would approve of?” 

“Seonghwa, who’s that one really good-looking guy you work with?” Jongho elbows the oldest of them.

Mingi and Seonghwa look at Jongho, asking with their eyes for him to stop talking. But he persists in repeating the question. Talking about you and finding a new love interest is now the cursed conversation subject of the night.

“Minhyuk?” Seonghwa says, shutting Jongho down, “He’s seeing someone.”

While Mingi visibly relaxes, Jongho deflates. Seonghwa shoos them out of the apartment, the door closing a lot softer than the last time.

“I’m not supposed to tell you, but Mingi told me the other night Yunho said his ideal type is basically Yoojung,” Mina gossips quietly as if the guys might miraculously hear her.

All eyes flick to Yoojung who is now making an awkward face.

“You don’t like him?” Kyungmi asks.

Yoojung shrugs, “He’s not my type.”

“How?! I’m scared of heights, but I’d still climb that like a tree.”

“You’re not that much shorter than him,” Sejeong notes.

“I’m a big bitch who just wants to feel like a little bitch, okay?”

“He knows how to play guitar,” Mina offers up that information to sweeten the deal.

“Oh, shit. He’s good with his fingers.”

“Kyungmi, honey. Chill,” Sejeong laughs, wrapping her arm around the other bridesmaid to keep her from falling out of the chair in hysterics.

Mina continues, “He also has a dog.”

“Oh, my god. Let me marry him!” Kyungmi bemoans.

Yoojung is sweating bullets at this point, so Mina finally gives in, “I’m just teasing. I don’t want it awkward within the wedding party.”

“Then you shouldn’t have said anything.” Yoojung fans her face with both hands to cool down before the guys return.

The front door suddenly swings open, and Yoojung nearly jumps out of her chair.

Kyungmi leans next to your ear and whispers, “If I get left alone with Yunho, I will devour him.”

“You don’t even look him in the eye when he says ‘hi’ to you.”

“Give me time,” she murmurs as her eyes land on her prey.

You swiftly remind her, “Mina will kill you.”

“Only if it turns out badly…”

“You’re a little late to help,” Mina playfully scolds as Yunho walks over to greet all of you.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he pouts.

“It’s fine. You want a piece of birthday cake?” She offers, already standing to head to the kitchen.

“Sure,” he smiles and looks to you, “Happy birthday.”

You thank him as he makes himself comfortable in the chair next to you.

“Mina was sitting there,” Yoojung mumbles from across the table, clearly shy knowing what she knows now.

“She’s not going to let me eat in the living room.”

As Yoojung opens her mouth, Kyungmi cuts her off.

“Show us a picture of your car.”

Yunho grins, pulls out his phone, and turns the screen around. 

“You think you’re in Mad Max or something?”

He confusedly hums.

“Why did you get a car with all those bars, lights, and gigantic wheels? Who are you fighting on the road?”

“Everyone, I guess,” Yunho laughs, “I like to go hiking, and sometimes you have to off-road a bit to get to the best paths.”

His attention goes back to his phone to close out of all his apps, and Kyungmi mouths to Yoojung, “You can have him.”

Yoojung pleads with her eyes for Kyungmi to stop.

“Yunho, get out of my seat,” Mina demands, withholding his cake.

“Where am I supposed to eat then?”

“The living room?” She answers as if it should be obvious and hands off the plate when he stands.

“'Master has given Dobby a sock.’”

“I have no idea what that’s from, but get the fuck out of here.”

He scurries off to join the other guys on the couch.

“God, you’d be a terrifying mom,” Sejeong laughs.

Kyungmi piggybacks off that, “When are you gonna have kids?”

“We don’t know yet,” Mingi answers from the living room.

Mina’s head jerks in his direction before she corrects him, “Not anytime soon. Maybe like a year or two after we get married.”

“Why?”

Her man’s dumb question summons her, and the bridesmaids follow the drama into the next room.

“We are not raising our kids in an apartment. Do you not remember our conversation about saving for a house?”

“We didn’t have that conversation?” His eyes shift around looking for anything to spark his memory.

“I told you to start putting money aside!”

Her angry rant fades into the background as Sejeong turns to you.

“That’s my cue to leave.”

She yells goodbyes over Mina to everyone else before exiting the apartment. The lively conversation in the living room continues, but you don’t bother joining them.

Alone, an all too familiar depression falls over you. You knew Mina didn’t want to raise kids in an apartment, but she never told you that she is making actual plans for it to happen. You can’t even imagine affording a house… or a nice car.

And what pisses you off the most is that San is somehow creeping around in your mind amidst this life crisis. How does that man have you in such a chokehold? Him just looking at you has you thinking about him for days. 

You want him to feel how he makes you feel. You want the little things you do to drive him insane and the things you say to linger in his ears. You want to be the only thing living in his mind as he tries to fall asleep at night but can’t because of you. You would be satisfied if he even thought of you out of the blue, unprovoked. Sometimes, he’s the only thing you can think about, and it isn’t fair.

To distract yourself, you decide to be more productive and grab some other decoration crafts out of the cardboard box tucked away in the corner of the dining room. You struggle to open the bag of glass rocks and with one particularly hard tug, rip it almost in half. The rocks skitter across the dining table, some falling off the edges. Sitting down adjacent to you, Seonghwa laughs and starts brushing the rocks on the table into a pile.

You urge him, “Don’t do it like that. You’re going to cut-”

He interrupts with a hiss, quickly retracting his hand from the table. Just as you are about to scold him, he flashes the woundless palm of his hand.

“Just kidding,” he says with a grin and resumes cleaning up.

“I’m getting too old for you to be pulling pranks like that. One day, I’m just gonna drop dead from a heart attack because of you.”

He chuckles at your dramatics, “You’re not that old. I don’t remember you being this clumsy when we worked together.”

“I didn’t have that much on my mind back then.”

“What are you worried about?”

You can’t talk to him about the wedding, your inexplicable loneliness, or the gray hair you found in your hairline this morning. You definitely can’t say anything about San. 

“Just things.”

He stares at you, hoping you’ll indulge more, but you don’t and change the subject.

“I remember when you were hired,” you say, reminiscing on those days when he was fresh out of high school, learning how to live on his own, “I was surprised to see you that night Mina introduced me to Mingi.”

“Yeah, suddenly my serious, hardworking colleague was a goofy girl horrible at board games.”

“Hey, I’m not that horrible now.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You softly chuckle but it fades, “You were my favorite sales associate, and you always brought in so many customers.”

He gazes at you, trying to suppress his smile.

“I miss you working at the store.”

“I miss it sometimes, but I went to school so I wouldn’t have to work in retail.”

Involuntarily, your face drops, your reflexes failing to bring up your usual facade.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t-”

“I know you didn’t mean it like that,” you reassure him and quietly continue, “I went to school for the same reason.”

As he sits there trying to find the words to undo what he has said, you resume working on the decoration. You know he wasn’t thinking in the moment and wasn’t trying to be malicious, but it still hurt. He only confirmed your negative thoughts about your unsuccessful career growth. After a few silent moments, he timidly changes the subject.

“I heard Mark has been texting you.”

“Yeah, he did a while back, but I ignored him.”

“Good… He was a piece of shit to you.”

You hum quietly in agreement.

“Are you seeing anyone?” He asks, his puppy dog eyes meeting yours.

“No, much to Mina’s dismay. I don’t have the time.”

“Same.”

“How’s grad school going?”

“It’s… going.”

“Is it hard since you’re also working?”

“Yeah, I barely have time for myself.”

Maybe you going back would be a bad idea. If Seonghwa, the most diligent student and worker, is struggling, how would you survive?

“But I’m managing,” he adds, “I finished a paper right before coming over here.”

“You must be tired.”

He nods enthusiastically, his focus on the vase in his hand as he carefully drops some glass rocks inside.

“I know you haven’t been able to be involved in the wedding stuff, but you could’ve stayed home and rested. I’m sure Mina and Mingi would understand.”

“I know, but I wouldn’t miss seeing you on your birthday.”

“I would also understand.”

“That wouldn’t stop me.”

His smile as he says that stays in your mind the rest of the night, but something else looms heavily over your thoughts. Choi goddamn San. Even after you return home, that little shit is still pissing you off.

“’I’ll see you tonight,’” you mimic as you enter your bedroom, “Fuck off.”

You pull out a fresh set of flannel pajamas from your dresser and begin your nightly routine. Traces of Seonghwa’s cologne are faint on your shirt. Warm vanilla and spice bring you comfort in knowing how good of a friend he is.

But your mind drifts back to this morning. The image of San ambling through your store with a small, endearing smile is stuck on replay in your head. He was technically the first to tell you ‘happy birthday’ in person, Mina having beat him by texting you at midnight. He even remembers your stupid first kiss story. His playful words ring in your ears. You think about his scoop neck top and how defined his collarbones are. 

A part of you wants to give in to him. This could be like a hall pass, couldn’t it? Just a one-time thing. The two of you know damn well you can’t do that, but that doesn’t mean you don’t desire a small taste of what he can give. 

A knock on your door this late at night has you confused. Through the peephole, you find San standing there, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. Did you just manifest him?

“What are you doing here?” You ask as you open the door.

“I heard you were asking about me.” He grins before inviting himself in like before.

“Yeah, because we had a lot to do today, and you were out being a fuck boy,” you say with unnecessary spite.

“Fuck boy?” He repeats with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah.” You cross your arms over your chest and watch him make himself at home on your couch. Following suit, you stiffly sit on the opposite end.

“Is that really what you think I was doing?” He asks and receives silence, “A friend I haven’t seen in a while invited me to dinner. I wasn’t going to go, but Mina told me I should.”

You feel a pang of guilt in your chest. You always assume he’s doing something of that nature when he’s not around; it’s an immature tendency of yours.

“You always shame me for the things I’ve done, but I have never judged you for your past actions. I know that I flirt and tease a lot, but I have feelings, too, you know. I didn’t want them and avoided them with one fuck after another,” he pauses, “But that doesn’t work anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes are fixed on the floor, him seemingly in deep thought. He shakes his head after a few seconds, and you offer up the only piece of advice you can remember off the top of your head.

“Sex never solves anything.”

He slightly nods, “I didn’t think I deserved love.”

“Why not?”

He faintly shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve already done what I did… I guess I’ll just always be known as a fuck boy.”

The look in his eyes completely fills you with guilt.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He stands from your couch.

“It’s whatever… Anyway, I got this for you for your birthday.” He pulls a small box out of his jacket pocket, and you immediately feel sick to your stomach. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

He leaves you alone in your apartment to drown in guilt. You don’t know if you want to cry or throw up. This sinking feeling consumes you quickly. As you open the box, the logo of your store stares back at you on a $5 gift card. Any regret you have for berating him is thrown out the window as you reach for your phone.

From: You I fucking hate you. 10:08 PM

-

From: San🖕 😘 10:09 PM

-

From: San🖕 Tell Sammy I said thanks for the help! 10:09 PM

Him mentioning your employee by name absolutely sends you reeling.

From: You Fuck off. 10:10 PM

-

From: San🖕 I’m joking. Your real present is at your door. 10:11 PM

He brought another one? Opening the front door, you find a large gift bag that is surprisingly very heavy. A part of you thinks he has given you a giant rock just to drive home the fact that he’s an asshole. But what’s actually inside makes you laugh in a good way. 

There are several refill bottles of coconut, rose, and dessert food scents for your wall plugins, a few different coconut-scented candles mixed with other scents, one candle with a vague scent name, and a sparkly birthday card. Of course, you have to smell all of them, but first, you reach for the candle that sticks out. The moment the smell reaches your nose, your jaw drops and your cheeks heat up. It smells just like his cologne.

Knowing you’re not going to bed for a bit, you light one of the candles and let the warm, musky scent consume your apartment. It makes you feel like you have a man around the house without actually dealing with one. Although, as nice as it is to live without planning your life depending on someone else’s, it wouldn’t be so bad to no longer be alone.

You watch the flame flicker as you recall San’s vague responses to your questions. What happened to make him believe he didn’t deserve love? Millions of reasons run through your mind, but one keeps coming back up, mostly because you don’t want it to be true: he hurt someone who loved him. You don’t want to become an accidental victim of his. That thought is suppressed as you blow out the candle because your heart is drained from thinking about him.

Unfortunately, those thoughts are replaced by his face as he told you he will always be known as a fuck boy. Why couldn’t you have just kept that to yourself? He’s just so frustrating sometimes. His words and actions contradict each other. He doesn’t really open up while simultaneously prying into your life. You let all of that get the best of you and run your mouth. Yet, somehow, he doesn’t seem too angry with you.

Falling asleep, your brain pretends the lingering aroma is from San laying next to you like the chimerical dream he is.

#san #choi san #ateez #kpop #scenario #fluff #angst #suggestive #san scenarios #choi san scenarios #ateez scenarios #kpop scenarios #san fluff #choi san fluff #ateez fluff #kpop fluff #san angst #choi san angst #ateez angst #kpop angst #sphallolalia #my fics #my thingies

[sirenologyyy]

ATWOW MODERN AU!

( a.k.a my hot take on all the teens if they were humans)

part 1 part 2

neteyam

- I cannot stress this enough this man listens to Frank Ocean LIKE NOBODY'S BUSINESS, if given the chance to inject his lyrics into his veins Neteyam would be the one to stick the needle in himself

- plays sports, (soccer for 6 years and swim team for 3) people think his dad encouraged him and his brother but they joined willingly, it was their mother who wanted them to join afterschool activities because she does not know what to do with that much energy when she already has Tuk bouncing from wall to wall

- wore those thick Harry Potter glasses to school before he learned about contacts

- wants to take up filmmaking when he's older, already has a YouTube channel where he posts the most innane vlogs with the messiest layouts and time cuts but his subscribers eat it up everytime

- wants to produce music too, all of his siblings are all musically trained (as in took voice lessons and music lessons as children as afterschool activities because again, Neytiri deserves a break plus they inherited her singing voice and she did not want it to go to waste as she should) everyone of them knows how to play at least 2 instruments. Neteyam plays the piano, the drums, and acoustic guitar. He's also one of those people who makes music from zippers and glass clinking and the finished product is annoyingly good

- extremely early or 5 minutes late to things there is no in between.

- is left handed

- used to like lego as a child, his dad got mad at him because the pieces would stick to the wheels of his wheelchair and would threaten to melt them down into coasters

- loves everything mango flavoured

- wired earbuds >>> headphones

- this man studies his ASS OFF and it PAYS OFF, with being on two varsity teams, the oldest brother, trying to get into an Ivy League school, and trying to maintain his hobbies he always has free time. It's so weird because his schedule is so packed and you see him chilling on his bed all the time like how does he do it

- was the password child (emphasis on was)

- has a huge ass sweet tooth I SWEAR (you'd never even expect it)

- his jersey number is 12

- THIS. MAN. PULLS. He doesn't even try to but he's a gentleman, good with kids, smart, active in school, good in sports, well-spoken, what more could you want? Plus he's got his Dad's charm and his Mom's charisma, everybody's hallway crush, you can see a throng of girls crowding the bleachers everytime the soccer team or the swim team have practice. (Most of them were there for Neteyam, and he says hello to everyone of them like the clueless son of a bitch he is)

- definitely does skin care (he has a 5 step regimen he does religiously)

- introverted extrovert

- learned how to drink at home (like the good boy he is) but can take 6 straight shots without making a face

- is always on his little sister's YouTube channel as a guest, always starts the video by addressing her brother by his yt handle instead of Neteyam. (they make slime and do unboxing videos and he dosent always say it but he enjoys them)

- his dad would bring him to boy's night with his Marine friends so Neteyam could get used to how rowdy his dad's friends were (my dad did the same thing with me that's literally the best I could explain it) Neytiri gets mad at him for it because she dosent want Neteyam to be around those kind of people

- has had 1 serious girlfriend before but she broke things off with him because she felt too trapped and started getting feelings for another guy (she never told him the last part but it was implied) since then he's only entertained a few people but he never got into another serious relationship :((

- almost barely recites in class but he is ALWAYS that one guy that saves the class when the teacher asks the hard questions

- he wasn't the type to go out of his way and make new friends when he was little plus they never matterred to him, Neytiri would often worry about him but Jake said he'd be fine

- has the neatest room and the messiest at the same time BCS HE HAS AN ASSLOAD OF POSTERS AND STICKERS ON HIS WALL, hangs up lightsabers, world maps, banners of his preferred college, used to hang awards but took them down so Lo'ak wouldn't have to feel bad

- has strong alcohol tolerance (Sully genes fr fr)

- taught himself how to fix his own hair, it takes him hours so that's why if he wants to try out a new hairstyle he wakes up at 3 just to devote 3 more hours into fixing his hair (he'd be doing his hair in front of the mirror at like 4:15 and he stumbles upon Lo'ak looking groggy af so Neteyam asks him if he'd been dragged awake by a tractor and Lo'ak goes I haven't slept yet and left)

- hates math but gets the questions on the take home sheets correct EVERYTIME, would complain on the workload but would get it done in like 2 hours. He loves Biology and History, still hates math, reads classic books even though he dosent understand shit, has a love hate relationship with social studies after this one time when he was 10 and had a nosebleed WHILE presenting in class.

- oh also did I mention this man is a photographer?? BECAUSE HE IS A PHOTOGRAPHER. Has an arsenal of janky film cameras to professional dlsr cameras on a shelf in his room. His pride and joy.

- always has to be doing something with his hands

- saves money and dosent like to ask for allowance but everytime they get a ride from their dad he slips them all 50 bucks like they're doing a drug deal

- his dad's a stickler abt posture (because of his spinal injury) he hated it when he was younger but now he's older he finds himself reminding his siblings (kiri surprisingly) unconsciously

- you can bring him to his mom's native country and leave him there and he'd be fine because EVERYONE WOULD THINK HE'S A LOCAL WITH HOW GOOD HIS SPANISH IS

lo'ak

- is more focused on music than Neteyam is because if you'd be handing around an electric guitar Neteyam would start playing the solo to Beer by Itchyworms, Kiri would start playing Moon Song by Phoebe Bridgers, and Lo'ak would decline BUT if forced he would shred the hell out of that guitar by playing Layla by Derek and the Dominoes

- draws a lot more too, Jake couldn't see how good Lo'ak really was until he won an award at school. (Jake found himself looking at that award on the Sully display case in their living room often)

- does graffiti art, skateboards, drinks monster on a daily basis, the stereotypical sk8r boy we all know and love (avril lavigne is typing) although he does not like monster he liked red bull more and everyone knows this

- wore a crop top to school once (no one noticed because he always wears baggy clothes)

- could be a straight A student if he cared (his parents remind him that everyday) likes biology too because his sister likes plants and his mom was a biology major, hates calculus and trigonometry. (Was the child that would cry on the dining table while his dad is this 🤏🏼 close to popping a nerve from repeating the problem to him over and over until he gets it)

- shaved off one side of his head after an argument with his dad and did not regret it

- if there's a new soccer line in Nike he's clearing the shelves out in no time

- has dyscalculia and gets Neteyam to help him (he never asks Neteyam just knows) He'd never get mad at his baby bro for taking hours upon hours on 1 single equation, but Lo'ak would get mad at himself that's why he's a visual learner

- put him in a room with boys his age and his littlest sister and he'd still go to his sister

- on the soccer team just like Neteyam, also on the swim team once they moved closer to their school because swim practice takes longer than soccer and they'd have to wait extra long for the bus

- when they'd visit their mother's province he'd teach the little kids in the neighborhood how to play soccer :,)

- hates that he's always Tuk's practice dummy for make up but lets her do it anyway *cue Lo'ak running away from a 7 year old in a tutu clutching her makeup brushes and eyeshadow palettes*

- is a night owl... enough said

- listened to Kanye West bcs of his dad's marine friends but heard about the issue at the VMAs and has been a swiftie since then (don't tell tsireya that also his favorite album is definitely reputation)

- is always late to things HE REALLY TRIES TO BE EARLY but Eywa says no

- would always be in that group of boys that play ice ice water during recess and lunch (they never get him because bros faster than speedy gonzales)

- I feel like aside from Jake seeing Lo'ak as the younger version of himself (brash, immature, impulsive) he was always in and out of the hospital because of injuries and medical conditions. Pretty much the second foundation as to why Lo'ak and Jake have such a sensitive relationship

- loves rice meals more than his siblings do, he will not function properly without rice in his system (he got that from Neytiri)

- makes ur mom jokes CONSTANTLY he does it so often that his other siblings are spiritually, mentally, and physically incapable of making that joke to others

- the pickiest eater (pickier than tuk but he was the 10+ allergy kid growing up so his parents constantly get him to try foods he was allergic to before but he'd just throw a fit)

- knows how to patch up wounds better than most nurses because of how many times he fell off his skateboard tryna show off to girls in the skatepark (or just in general)

- EVERYONE WAS SHOCKED THAT HE COPPED TSIREYA. As in Hina Tsireya Maihoa, student body vice president, it girl, must I go on? Anyways she is WAY out of his league not even Lo'ak could comprehend he got the finest girl in the school to fall for him

- always referred to as Neteyam's younger brother :((

- would literally dislocate his knee to ensure a win for their soccer team

- the type to carry around lighters to play with them

- if he's angry he resorts to drawing or taking a jog for several hours (both involving very loud music)

- was scared that he couldn't grow taller than Kiri or Neteyam when he was 12 but now he's taller than Kiri and 2 inches away from towering over Neteyam

- always carries around pads (shh) and hair ties in his bag

- listens to The Weeknd the same way Neteyam listens to Frank Ocean. Endlessly.

- hates loud places unless he's the one making all the noise

- used to want to become a pilot when he was younger like his Aunt Trudy before she died

- loves sour candy I mean LOVES sour candy (he and neytiri could go through those jumbo value sour patch kids and would not need water)

- developed a habit of scratching himself when he's nervous or on the verge of a panic attack (he's getting better now that he's been open about it to his siblings and now that he's got tsireya)

- has a blue takis obsession

- collects stickers for his skateboard and his room (he got that habit from neteyam)

- dosent fold and prefers to hanger, he'd be caught DEAD before he ever folded a shirt

- hates bell peppers (they just couldn't get him to eat them, the reason? Unknown)

kiri

- GAY. SO. SO. SO GAY.

- would have crystals in her room because let's be fucking fr they work like a CHARM she could get anyone she wanted (she really could though she pretty af) but chooses not to (because then the entire highschool would be on their knees)

- forced herself to have crushes on guys in elementary just so the other girls wouldn't find them weird for not liking anyone

- when she reached middle school she came out as bisexual and everyone made fun of her for it, would always go home crying with neteyam and lo'ak who had split open knuckles (half the time)

- terrified as fuck that jake and neytiri wouldn't accept her but then they did??? And she was like holy shit??? Because Neytiri was raised in a very very religious household and that gave little Kiri heart palpitations every time they went to the mall and a gay couple would pass them by and Neytiri gives them weird looks...

- her room is full of plants but we all know that (she may or may not have named all of them)

- always fighting over the aux with Lo'ak and Tuk (either it's gunna be another round of Kyoto, Reminder, or Girl in the Mirror)

- always layers her jewelry, they could be getting McDonald's drive thru and she'd be wearing 7 bracelets on each hand 4 necklaces on her neck

- would fucking OBLITERATE you in scrabble, they're literally just that comprehensively literate

- is ambidextrous

- joined theatre for shits and giggles but ended up loving it so much that she's the president now

- is the last one to die in a horror movie (final girl shit)

- always volunteered to bring home the class pet

- would always get bullied for her skin colour too, growing up with their dark skinned siblings, UNTIL JAKE WHEELS INTO THE ELEMENTARY SCHLOL BUILDING ONE DAY MAKING THOSE 9 YEAR OLDS QUIVER IN THEIR LIL BOOTIES

- she was the 'English teacher' gay

- once she reached highschool she started becoming more open with her sexuality and also came out of her shell a little more, she volunteered in animal shelters and that's where she met Tsireya and they've been besties ever since 🤞🏼

- makes cooking videos on tiktok, did that salt prank on both Jake and Neytiri (they have been reluctant to try anything Kiri has made since then)

- would give you 20 bucks if you needed it no exceptions (just pay her back most of it you'll be fine)

- if you wake up at 4 in the morning to use the bathroom and pass by her room and see them trimming their hair you didn't...

- also never initiated fights as a kid except this one time where they were told to make a diorama of their family (ya'll know where I'm going with this) some kids caught on that she wasn't exactly related to Jake and Neytiri, only that they took them under their wing when her biological mother Grace died, anywho they said that Grace 'took one good look at Kiri and decided to pass away because who wanted someone as deformed as her as a daughter' she had been sharpening a pencil at the time and let's just say she found a better use with the graphite than solving another math equation

- lit incense once and Jake thought she was smoking a joint

- on that note she always smells earthy and floraly

- she comes prepared or not prepared at all. Either their sage green cross bottle bag has 3 different kinds of gum, an extra charging cord, and alcohol wipes, or her tote bag has receipts, spare change, and tissue from this fancy Italian place they went to 2 nights prior

- has dry lips and peels them

- makes their own jewelry

- is a morning person through and through but she sleeps at ungodly hours of the night and still look more well-rested than their brothers who get like 8 hours of sleep AT BEST, meanwhile Kiri be out here making whole ass breakfast quiches and onion and potato foccacia

- has tried writing plays before (they never end up finishing them but the planning is what excites them the most) the only person she ever allows to read it is lo'ak, not that she dosent trust neteyam it's that him and her just click in a different way

- bi, lesbian, bi, unlabeled, bi, lesbian until she met Rotxo (starts giggling like a maniac) when he was trying to grab a 4lb weight on top of the shelf and got startled by a projectile being pelted at him and drops the weight on Kiri's head. He rushes them into the infirmary and stayed there with her until lunch time (he missed 3 classes which he's never EVER done before), they ate lunch together in the clinic just the two of them, laughing so hard that peas started shooting out of Kiri's nose, making them laugh harder, but Kiri got sent home right after and lemme just say that Rotxo looked like a wounded puppy the rest of the day

- identifies as queer and are a demi girl

- tsireya and her would go for sunset drives all the fucking time, they'd order take out, park by the one larkspur tree by the lake and start dishing out on the school tea AND LEMME TELL YOU! TSIREYA. DOES. NOT. MISS. She's literally friends with everyone who was anyone in pandora high and the tea is ENDLESS

- whenever Neytiri takes Neteyam and Lo'ak out for grocery shopping (she likes having them around because they'd be obligated to bring the groceries with them while she goes to Sephora to buy some skin care and if they don't complain she'll buy them ice cream) that leaves Jake alone with the girls at home and they'd blast 2000's songs through their big ass speakers while they dance around the (still very dirty) living room in pajamas and they often forget to cook the rice because of it, they would always ALWAYS pull up Rihanna's superbowl performance and vibe to that while they hurry and clean the house because the 10 minute mark has started and Neytiri would be home ANY FUCKING MINUTE

- her and tsireya bond over lo'ak's quirks

I had too much fun with this... anyways that's it for the Sully siblings! I'm gunna be doing part 2 which covers our beloved Metkayina Triad <3 will probably make this into a hs series but who tf knows... stay tuned if you are!

#avatar the way of water #avatar modern au #avatar #lo'ak #neteyam #kiri #tuk #pandora #avatar the way of water soc med au #the sullys

[cower-before-power]

Sweet Tooth

Summary: Needing a break from the absolute drag that is your bitchy cousin's wedding, you slip outside for some air. Luckily for you, a cute waiter and a stolen bottle of champagne are ready and waiting to sweeten your night considerably.

Pairing: Modern AU Connie Springer x F!Reader

Word Count: 2,684

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol consumption, drinking at work, dub-con (because Reader and Connie are tipsy), implied/referenced sexual content (including unprotected sex, outdoor sex, sex with someone you barely know, oral sex/cum eating), horrible horrible sex puns involving food, rusty writing.

A/N: HEY LOOK MA, I WROTE SOMETHING!! I started this fic ages ago, but only had the motivation to finish it recently thanks to joining The Coffee Corner discord server. This is for their Slice of Life collab, I hope you enjoy some funny Modern AU adult Connie, thank you for reading, likes and (especially) reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️.

————————————————

You breathe a sigh of relief as you slip outside into the refreshing evening air. The thumping of music and sounds of people talking dull as the door clicks shut behind you. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like weddings. It was just that you didn’t like this wedding.

Your cousin had always been a spoiled brat, a pouty, whiney thing that threw tantrums whenever something didn’t exactly go her way. They two of you had never gotten along, and you knew your parents did not exactly like that side of the family. But they wanted to avoid being reamed out for the next 20 years, so when the invitations arrived, your dad checked off “Yes” with a what could only be described as a world-weary sigh. 

You knew she didn’t actually want you there. It was a chance to show off, to show how wealthy her poor (and dumb) husband was and how lavish of a wedding she could throw. If there was one thing that stayed constant, it was her need to always be the center of attention.

“Need a light?”

You whirl around, hand clutching your chest as you come face to face with bright eyes and a toothy grin. Your heart does a strange ga-lump that has nothing to do with being startled; it’s him.

The guy you’ve had your eye on all night, one of the only bright spots in this whole wretched affair. You’ve dubbed him Cute Waiter in your mind, his boyishly charming good looks and happy-go-lucky demeanor like a beam of sunshine through the gloom. He wasn’t assigned to your table, sadly, and you’d been wondering how you would be able to strike up a conversation with him.

Seems like something good may be coming out of this night after all.

“I-I don’t smoke,” you shake your head, frantically trying to reclaim a tiny bit of composure. “Just out for some fresh air.”

“Oh, my bad,” he says cheerfully, stowing the lighter he’d been holding out back into his uniform pocket. “It is kind of stuffy in there, isn’t it?”

You sigh in agreement. “And loud. And mentally exhausting. If my cousin rubs it in my face one more time that she’s married and I’m still “hopelessly inept” at finding love, I’m not responsible for what will happen next.”

Cute Waiter laughs, loud and jolly like he’s auditioning for the role of Santa in a school play. It’s surprisingly adorable. “Yeah, because love is totally in the air tonight.”

You giggle at his words. “She claims it’s love, but trust me; their marriage came to be because of money and the fact my dear cousin does not take no for an answer.”

Cute Waiter leans against the wall of the venue, hands tucked into his pockets as he continues to flash that mega-watt grin. “Yeah, I got the vibe. Wanna make bets about how awkward their night’s gonna be later?”

You snort. “I’m certain she’s just been laying back and thinking of platinum credit cards and shopping sprees for the last two years, and that poor bastard has no idea. He’ll probably be convinced it’s a night of romance while she’s planning the layout of their new mansion in her head.”

Cute Waiter shakes his head, chuckling. “Damn, are we sure they have a chance? Maybe I’ll be serving food at their divorce party. Or his funeral after she murders him for the dough.”

Your face hurts from how much you’re smiling. “Is it bad to say I hope so? The food is very good.”

“Niccolo is quite the whiz in the kitchen,” Cute Waiter agrees genially. “You can’t get much better around here.”

Almost in slow motion, you see your opening being laid out before you. Bolstered no doubt by the two glasses of wine at dinner, and encouraged by the fact he was just so cute and funny, you make your move.

“Of course, I also hope it would mean I’d see a certain man I’ve dubbed Cute Waiter again.”

The man in front of you blinks, eyebrows raising as his face morphs into an strange expression of surprise and amusement. “Cute Waiter, you say?”

“Yes,” you nod, determined to see this through now that it’s underway. “I’ve been wondering how I could get a chance to talk with him all night, but he’s been very busy.” You feel your face warming under his hazel stare. “Imagine my delight to find he’s not only cheerful and good looking, but extremely funny and easy to talk to as well.”

Cute Waiter’s cheeks bloom a lovely shade of pink. “That’s-wow. The prettiest girl at this wedding just-do you really-I mean, thank you,” he stutters out, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m Connie.”

You duck your head shyly at his compliment, your own name murmured softly as you try to calm your thrumming heart. “Hello, Connie.” You stick out your hand out, heat now racing down your neck as you inwardly cringe at your own awkwardness.

Connie grins, taking your proffered hand in a gentle grip. You try not to think of how warm his hand is as his fingers curl around yours. “I think I liked Cute Waiter better.”

You could probably cook an egg on your face at this point. “Well, it’s still a true sentiment anyways.”

Connie chuckles. “You’re good for my ego.” His gaze drops to your still clasped hands. You stammer out an apology, attempting to snatch your misbehaving limb back, but to your surprise (and excitement), he grips your hand tighter.

“Wanna get out of here?”

Your eyes widen as your heart gives an excited thump. “What? Right now?”

Connie nods, eagerness rolling off him in waves. “I’m thinking you, me, and that massive bottle of expensive champagne I saw on the gift table deserve to get to know each other a little bit better. Preferably away from the god-awful vibes this place is giving off.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, but there’s no denying the thrum of excitement beneath your skin.

“You wanna skip out of work, steal someone else’s booze and run off with a girl you’ve known for all of 10 minutes?”

Connie grins. “If that girl is you, then hell yes.”

Laughter bubbles up from your chest like fizz in a soda can. “Then lead the way, Cute Waiter.”

And that’s how you find yourself down by the lake, sprawled out on a stolen tablecloth, tipsy giggles escaping the both of you as the champagne bottle is passed between you. Your animated chatter fills the twilight hour, talking about anything and everything. Connie is easy to talk to, open and free with what feels like a genuine interest in what you have to say. It’s nice. You don’t want it to end.

“This stuff is horrible,” Connie hiccups, shaking his head as he hands you the bottle. “Why do rich people have such garbage taste in alcohol?”

“I like it,” you grab the bottle from him, hugging it to your chest as if it was a beloved teddy bear. “It tastes like sunlight in a bottle. Maybe I’ll serve it at my wedding. If I ever get one.”

“You will,” Connie states matter-of-factly. “You’re super smart, pretty, funny, and nice. The only thing that sucks about you is your choice of drink. This shit is worse than pond water.”

You gasp in mock offense, your stomach doing somersaults at his compliments. “Okay, you are not invited to my hypothetical wedding, Mr. Meanie! How dare you insult the nectar of the gods?”

“Nectar- sweet mother of mercy,” Connie snorts, wrinkling his nose as you take another sip. “You’re too drunk to think straight, next thing you know you’ll be telling me you loved that horrible monstrosity your dear cousin calls a wedding dress.”

“I’m not drunk,” you giggle, “just a little tipsy. And no way am I ever wearing a dress like that. She looked like an over frosted cupcake-and that’s being nice.”

“Mmmmm cupcakes,” Connie sighs, rubbing a hand over his stomach. “Damn it, should’ve nicked some food, I’m hungry now.”

“Oh! I can help, one sec,” You wiggle around so you can reach your handbag, rummaging around until you find what you’re looking for. “Tada! Emergency Twinkies. I stashed some in case the food here was garbage, thankfully it wasn’t at all but you never can be too careful.” You nod sagely at the boy beside you.

“Shit, are you an angel?” Connie breaths, eyes going big and dopey as he takes the proffered treats. “Twinkies? A bunch of Twinkies in your bag. Just in case.”

“I always carry one at least,” you feel your heart going all gooey at his starry-eyed amazement. “You never know when you’re going to need a snack.”

Connie groans, low and deep in his throat, and you squirm at the sudden heat pricking at you. “You are literally the most fucking perfect girl. I am so glad I picked up this shift.”

“I’m glad I came too,” your smile is threatening to break your face in half, but you just can’t help it. There’s just something about Connie that makes you feel  warm and blissful, like the first sip of perfectly prepared coffee as it bursts on your tongue. 

You stare at each other, silly grins and hazy eyes and all the hope of youthful infatuation.

You don’t know who moves first.

What you do know, is that Connie kisses like he laughs; full, deep and with purpose. His mouth is warm and sweet with lingering champagne, and you whine as he cups the back of your neck to push you even closer to him. 

Maybe it’s the buzz of the alcohol, or the sweet song of the crickets, or the thudding of your heart when Connie licks into your mouth like he’s going die if he doesn’t taste every inch. It could be the thrill of being desired, the delicate bloom of two young hearts connecting as if you were in some sort of sappy fairytale. You don’t really know, nor do you really care.

But you let Connie lay you down on the tablecloth, let him ruck your fancy dress up, let him touch you until you’re trembling like the leaves in the warm spring breeze. 

“This ok?” He’s got one hand beside your head, the other stroking your inner thigh gently. “I uh-this wasn’t my intention, not right away anyways, but like, you’re so fucking cool and hot and I really really like you and-”

“Yes, ohmygosh yes,” you interrupt his rambling, clutching at his shoulders desperately. “I’m good. Fantastic. Wonderful. And very horny, so please hurry up.”

Connie huffs a laugh, leaning down to kiss you as you help him free himself from the confines of his pants. After that, only the soft light of the nearly set sun is the witness to your bodies meeting, your groans and sighs carried away on the gentle summer breeze as you let yourself drown in pleasure. 

When you’re both spent you lay beside each other, panting and grinning as your heartbeats slowly return to normal. You feel floaty, fizzy with satisfaction, like you’ve downed that whole damn bottle of champagne in one gulp. You can’t remember the last time you felt so good at the hands of another, and you can feel yourself itching to grab the man beside you and have him do it again.

Suddenly, a thought niggles it’s way into your fuzzy brain, and you snicker loudly.

“I hope that’s not in response to my performance,” Connie reaches over to pinch your cheek affectionately.

“No,” you titter tipsily, swatting his hand away. “I was just thinking….now I’m a Twinkie.”

Connie scrunches his eyebrows. “What?”

A snort leaves you. “I’m a Twinkie….because now I’m filled with cream.”

You dissolve into fits of giggles as his mouth drops open in surprise.

“Ugh, no fair!! You can’t make jokes like that!” Connie digs his fingers into your ribs, grinning as you shriek in surprise. “Not unless you want me to fall in love with you!”

You squirm away from his questing fingers. “Slow your roll there, cowboy,” you warn, but your heart is light and your skin is tingling. “At least take me on a date first!”

“I suppose,” Connie sighs dramatically. “But you better reign in that charm! One more stashed snack or raunchy joke and you might never get rid of me.”

The thought isn’t unpleasant. “You better not come home with me and look inside my bedside drawer then.”

“Oh?” Connie waggles his brows suggestively. “Whatcha got in there, hmmm? Some Skittles and flavoured lube? Fuzzy Peaches and fuzzy handcuffs? Edible candy panties? Please say edible candy panties.”

You laugh as you sit up, feeling for your bag. “Why don’t you come over after work and see? Assuming you still have a job, that is. I don’t think you’re supposed to drink and have sex on the clock.” You shimmy in triumph as you fish out your phone. “Here, give me your number, Cute Waiter Who Is Also Pretty Good At Sex.”

Connie smirks, grabbing your phone as he sits and pulls his own out of his pocket. You take it eagerly. “Don’t worry, I’m still employed. Niccolo owes me like a million favors, considering I’m the reason he and his fiancé, aka my best friend, are even together. That’s why I even have this job.” He winks, handing your phone back.  “Ah, the joys of nepotism.”

“Sexy,” you giggle as you swap phones. You smile when you see what he’s saved his contact as: Cute Waiter Who Is Also Pretty Good At Sex. Part of you feels a sense of disbelief; did you really just hook up with a hot, sweet, funny guy at your cousin’s wedding? And now you’re getting his phone number? After all the shit you got tonight for being the lonely single loser?

Take that, you frigid bitch.

Connie looks at his phone. He groans loudly as he reads what you’ve typed in. “You saved yourself as Twinkie ❤? Damn, woman! I’m never gonna be able to eat those delectable golden treats without popping a stiffy now. I’m rising to half mast right now just looking at this.”

You reach over and toss him the forgotten package, rolling your eyes playfully as it smacks him in face. “Down, boy. Eat your treat like you originally planned.”

Connie tosses the snack away, and you shiver as a hungry look flits across his genial face. “Yeah, these are not gonna cut it anymore. I wanna stuff my face with a different Twinkie now.”

Your insides twist violently, molten heat trickling down your spine at the implication of his words. 

“Ohmygosh,” you groan, already whipping your phone back out to text your parents you’re heading home. “Fuck the rest of this, we’re going to my place. Now.”

Connie pumps his fist in the air as he jumps to his feet. “Hell yes! Do I have a horseshoe up my ass today or what?” He makes a show of trying to look behind himself, as if his behind might actually be sporting one.

Your face feels like it will break in two from the force of your smile. “Just order us a damn Uber, you goof.”

Connie salutes and begins typing rapidly on his phone. You stand, adjusting yourself to contain the mess that’s currently trying to drip down your legs. “Damn. Should have grabbed napkins along with that booze. I’m leaking like a broken facet over here.”

Connie’s phone is already in his pocket, and your heart thumps happily at the warmth of his hand as it slides into your own.

“I’m all the cleanup you need, babe,” he winks, tugging you gently into his chest. You look up at him, all smiles and flushed cheeks, mischief dancing in his adoring gaze. You don't know if you've ever felt so alive, so free, so ready for wherever he takes you.

“After all," he lowers his mouth to brush teasingly against yours, "the cream is the best part of a Twinkie.”

#connie springer #connie springer x reader #connie springer x you #attack on titan fic #attack on titan imagine #shingeki no kyojin fic #shingeki no kyojin imagine #slice of life collab #my writing

[izchone]

coincidentally. jake enhypen headcannons!

genre: tooth rotting fluff, comfort,, bf!jake headcannons

info: hey guys!! as i said like 3 days ago I might make this a series so this is the first one! im in my jake era i think idk man🤭🤭 i also wrote in a different layout so i hope you like that and don’t mind it too much! but anyway i hope you enjoy this because i really liked writing this!!tw// food, overused emojis🙁

• i just have to make this scenario man it’s just so fitting

• he was your barista at the local coffee shop🤭

• when you were next up in line you caught his eye

• he thought you looked pretty cute idk😇😇

• and then when you said your order

• he got caught even more off guard

• you ordered his go-to order!! what!!!!

• so he just made the order

• still in shock obvi

• and gave it to you

• with the most playful wink as possible😒

• so annoying /j!!

• but even when that happened you came back because he made the drink really nicely

• .. and because you wanted to see him again

• but nobody knows that shhhh🤭

• the same guy from yesterday was at the cash register ready to serve you

• and so you went on and ordered your drink

• and then

• he paid for it!!!!

• “you know what’s crazy? we have the same order. even the two pumps of vanilla are the same! so it’s on me today, alright?”

• you were so surprised

• your eyes are wide open

• “.. oh, okay! thank you so much!”

• and he just giggles at your flustered reaction

• so silly😛😛

• i need to stop.

• and then he gave you the same wink he gave you yesterday

• what a dork honestly

• but then as you exited the cafe, you noticed that he wrote something on your cup

• text me! ***-***-**** -jake:)

• MAN THAT SOUNDS SO CUTE

• anyways

• you’ve been texting him back and forth for a while now

• and you also see him everyday at the cafe to buy your drink

• (once in a while he pays for it 🫶)

• but then one day he asks you to go on a date after his shift😱

• AND IT FELT SO SURREAL

• “a cute barista asking me on a date? i am literally winning🤭🤭”

• THAT WAS YOUR REACTION

• the effect this man has on you am i right😕

• btw you said yes

• you waited for him to clock out

• and he took you to go on a walk with him by the riverside🙁🙁

• what a cute date that sounds like

• and a few dates after

• he asks you out!!

• he is the most wholesome selfless boyfriend ever

• he loves to bring you sweets from the cafe

• he even makes some cookies himself and when he has free time he puts toppings on them or draw hearts on the cookies with icing just for you!!

• he also lends you his coats/sweatshirts/hoodies/shirts ANYTIME

• like not even joking

• i was not lying when i said he was selfless

• and when he sees you all dressed up or even sees you just like anywhere idk

• he will give you his signature wink

• he just loves doing that to you since day 1 i guess

• and whenever you feel down he gives so many back hugs

• gives you a big cup of your go-to drink

• and even sip some of it himself🤷‍♀️

• and just hug the pain away to the playlist he made you :(

• while giving you the look of love

• very precious love

• and a whole bunch of soft kisses

• until you know you’re loved and wanted so so much

• all in all he just wants to give all the love he has to you

• just for you<3

#jake #enhypen #jake enhypen #jake enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #jake x reader #jake sim #jake sim x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen fic #enhypen hcs #jay enhypen fluff #enhypen reactions #jay enhypen #heeseung #jay #sunghoon #sunoo #jungwon #heeseung enhypen #sunghoon enhypen #sunoo enhypen #jungwon enhypen #enhypen niki #heeseung enhypen fluff #sunghoon fluff #jungwon fluff

[slightly-ludic]

People you'd like to get to know better.

Thank you so much @vercosims for tagging me! So exciting!

Last Song: Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush Favorite Color: Any Autumnal Yellow (But I do love some Neutrals) Currently Watching: Nothing at this time! Last Movie: You've Got Mail Currently Reading: Pilgrim's Progress & Anne of Avonlea Sweet|Spicy|Savory: Definitely sweet! I have a tremendous sweet tooth Last Thing Googled: Old English Farm Layout Current Obsession: Watching Sims 4 Gameplays on YT (I love @plumloup , @oshinsimblr, and @aashwarr channels, they have a good mix of organic gameplay, excellent storytelling, and vanilla/cc content with cinematic finesse!) Currently Working On: I am currently working on a save file that is pack-specific. Each world is filled with its respective pack or base-game items so that anyone can play the save file without missing content. I am working in Willow Creek still, so you may see some of my builds here on Tumblr. I also have two gameplays going, Child of The Village and My Comfort Household. I do want to start a fresh gameplay that focuses on a single mother and her child who both love nature. I challenge @bouncytrait , @simsgalaxy , @itspupppycat , @nightlifeseries , hope you have fun with this too!

#simblr #sims 4 simblr #ts4 #about me

[hozierisgod]

Flufftober Prompts 2023

1. Wearing each others clothes (James & Sirius) here

2. Dancing (Pansy/Hermione) here

3. Accepting Help (Stiles/Derek)

4. Training/Sparring (Percy/Nico)

5. Healing, Helping Heal (Harry & Sirius)

6. Identity Reveal (Peter & Tony)

7. Camping Trip (James/Regulus)

8. Immortality (Percy/Apollo)

9. Hospital (Dick & Bruce)

10. Farmhouse (Jon/Daenerys)

11. "Let’s get you to bed" (Percy/Jason)

12. Love Languages (Alice/Narcissa)

13. Childhood Home (Kaz/Inej)

14. Hot Chocolate (Dick/Wally)

15. Cinderella Moment (Gwaine & Merlin)

16. {} + 1 Layout (Sam/Gabriel)

17. Rainy Day (Harry/Draco)

18. Sweet Tooth (Nina/Matthias)

19. Wrong number (Kaz & Wylan)

20. Fairytale Retelling (Ginny/Luna)

21. Crossover Fluff (Percy Jackson/Dick Grayson)

22. "Wait you love me?" "I always have" (Merlin/Arthur)

23. Blind date (Peter/Harley)

24. Masquerade Ball (Percy & Thalia)

25. They meet at a Wedding (Wylan/Jesper)

26. Photo Album (James, Marlene & Peter)

27. Polyamorous/Polycule (Percy/Jason/Nico)

28. Flowers (Pandora/Lily)

29. Secret Santa (Dick/Roy)

30. Naps (Nico/Will)

31. Game Day [Sport] (James/Lily)

#flufftober #fluff prompts #fic prompt #october #fic writing #marauders #harry potter #six of crows #merlin #mcu #pjo #dc universe #batfam #teen wolf #jonerys #supernatural #crossover

[dairyfreeicecreamlogin]

The Groccery Store Adventure: A Shopper's Paradise!

Introduction So, you've decided to embark on a thrilling journey to your local Groccery Store – the place where everyday life meets gastronomic wonderland. Whether you're a seasoned shopper or a newbie on the grocery scene, this article is your passport to unlocking the secrets and treasures of your beloved Groccery Store. We'll take you through the aisles, unveil the best-kept shopping secrets, and help you make the most of your visit. Get ready for an adventure filled with juicy tips, quirky facts, and a dash of humor! Let's dive right in!

The Groccery Store Experience Ah, the Groccery Store – a place where dreams (and appetites) come true. But what makes this haven of food, drinks, and necessities so extraordinary? Let's break it down:

The Art of Grocery Shopping Navigating a Groccery Store is like a treasure hunt for your taste buds and household needs! It's not just about picking up milk and bread; it's an experience, a journey of culinary exploration and discovery. Let's get started!

Pro Tip: Make a shopping list and stick to it, but don't be afraid to improvise if something extraordinary catches your eye!

Grocery Store vs. Groccery Store Now, before we dive any deeper, you might wonder, "What's with the extra 'c' in Groccery Store?" Well, it's all about adding a sprinkle of uniqueness to your grocery experience. A Groccery Store isn't your ordinary grocery store; it's a place where you'll encounter a bit of magic.

Did You Know: The term "Groccery Store" was coined by a passionate foodie who wanted to emphasize the "groove" of grocery shopping. So, prepare to groove through the store!

Navigating the Groccery Store Time to explore the ins and outs of the Groccery Store – from finding hidden gems to mastering the layout. Let's see how you can shop like a pro!

Aisles of Delights As you enter the Groccery Store, you're greeted by an array of aisles, each holding a different category of goodies. Here's a taste of what you'll find:

Fresh Produce: Fruits, veggies, and more – the vibrant, colorful section that welcomes you with a burst of freshness. Bakery Bliss: Follow the scent of freshly baked bread and pastries to this corner for a warm, doughy hug. Dairy Dreams: Milk, cheese, yogurt – all things creamy and delightful. Canned Classics: Canned goods, the unsung heroes of your pantry, waiting to rescue your dinner plans. Meat Mecca: The land of protein, where you'll meet various cuts of meat and friendly butchers. Pasta Paradise: Pasta, rice, and grains – a carb-lover's sanctuary. Sweet Surrender: Cakes, cookies, and candies – where your sweet tooth finds solace. Beverage Boulevard: Quench your thirst with a stroll down this aisle filled with drinks from around the world. Fun Fact: Did you know the average Groccery Store stocks over 38,000 products? That's a whole lot of choices!

Hidden Treasures While navigating the Groccery Store, keep an eye out for those hidden gems that can elevate your shopping experience:

Store Brands: Groccery Stores often have their own budget-friendly, high-quality products. Give 'em a try! End-of-Aisle Deals: Scan the end caps for special discounts and promotions that might just make your day. Local Products: Support local businesses by exploring sections dedicated to regional specialties. Free Samples: Don't be shy; take advantage of those free samples – it's like a mini buffet! Hot Tip: Get your groove on by exploring a new product or two every time you visit. You might discover a new favorite!

Savvy Shopping Strategies Now that you know your way around, let's dive into some savvy shopping strategies to make your Groccery Store visit smooth and wallet-friendly.

Coupons and Deals Who doesn't love a good deal? Keep an eye out for coupons, discounts, and loyalty programs to save some extra bucks. Many Groccery Stores have apps that offer exclusive savings.

Pro Tip: Organize your coupons and loyalty cards in a designated wallet or digital app for easy access.

Meal Planning Planning your meals in advance not only saves you time but also ensures you don't overbuy or waste food. Create a weekly menu and shop accordingly.

Fun Fact: Did you know that meal planning can reduce food waste by up to 20%?

Shop the Perimeter Here's a sneaky trick: most fresh and healthy items, like fruits, vegetables, and dairy, are usually located around the perimeter of the store. Start your journey there to load up on nutritious essentials.

Hot Tip: Make a game of it – see if you can make a complete loop around the perimeter without straying into the aisles!

Timing is Everything Groccery Stores tend to be less crowded in the early morning or late evening. If you want to shop in peace, avoid the Saturday afternoon rush!

Did You Know: Tuesday and Wednesday are the best days to shop for fresh produce, as many stores restock their inventory on these days.

The Checkout Shuffle You've conquered the aisles, found your treasures, and now it's time to check out. But wait, there's more to this than meets the eye!

The Art of Queue Selection Choosing the right checkout line is an art form. Keep an eye out for these factors:

Number of Items: Opt for a line with shoppers who have a similar number of items to you. Cash vs. Card: Some lines move faster based on the payment method. Express Lanes: If you have just a handful of items, express lanes are your friends. Hot Tip: Choose the line with the cashier who's the most fun – a little small talk can make the wait enjoyable!

Bagging Brilliance Bagging your groceries is an art, too! If you're not a pro, observe these tips:

Heavy at the Bottom: Place heavier items at the bottom of the bag to prevent squished bread or damaged produce. Double-Bag Fragiles: For delicate items, request double-bagging for added protection. Reusable Bags: Consider using reusable bags for an eco-friendly twist. Pro Tip: If you want to take your bagging skills to the next level, watch some YouTube tutorials!

[partnersincrimesuau]

Do you think Spinel is the kind of Gem that would like to eat food or sleep even though she doesn’t need to?

ABSOLUTELY.

We've already seen her eat donuts in the movie, so it is quite easy to assume that she would be eager to try more food in the future!!! I'd say she'd have a preeeetty big sweet-tooth XDD

However, I am CONVINCED Spinel would love to sleep. Although I'm sure she would get nightmares at times, Spinel would absolutely sleep if she knew how to. Future Spinel probably would sleep more so than Reset Spinel, but I can absolutely imagine Reset Spinel curling up with a soft toy and falling asleep. (Darn it, now I can't see that without thinking about the "snoooork mi mi mi mi" sound effect XDD)

In terms of Partners In Crime, I'm COUNTING ON SPINEL'S LOVE FOR SLEEPING. Spinel will be seen sleeping later on in the comic, and it will be a bit of a reoccurring thing important to certain aspects of the plot layout. I dunno if that sounds weird without context, but I assure you it will make sense soon enough!! XDD

Thanks for the ask!!!! :D

#ask #ask response #spinel steven universe #slight spoilers #partners in crime #steven universe comic #steven universe #stevinel

[thewritingstar]

Everything Changes

Super excited to post another fic for the Fairy Tail Reverse Bang 2022 for @ftguildevents 

Please go check out the super cool art that @wolfcry77 made. Im in awe at the absolute talent that went into the piece and I hope that I did the artwork justice.

Artwork Here  Go check it out :) 

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy some Nalu :) 

Pairing: Nalu 

TW: Mentions of blood, fighting, losing an arm 

---

The mission was going horribly wrong.

It had been a grueling ten days of non stop searching and putting together clues as if they were some type of murder mystery.

“Come on Natsu, pay attention.” Lucy scolded him for the tenth time today.

He was beyond exhausted and he could tell from the amount of yawns she was trying to hide, she was getting there too.

“Luce. We have been at this for hours, can’t we just take a break or have one of your spirits solve it?” Natus complained…again.

The blonde rolled her eyes and shut her book. “I can’t just make my spirits do our dirty work.”

“They battle for you.” He smirked and dodged a book being tossed towards him.

“That's different! This-” She gestured to the books and maps. “This is what we are being paid to do. If we find out where their base is then we can find them. Simple.”

“It’s not simple, we haven't figured it out yet.”

“No, I haven't figured it out yet. You’ve been drooling on a cookbook for almost an hour.”

“See! Even the books say we should eat.” He tried.

Lucy exhaled and shifted through some more papers. “Why don’t you go grab lunch and then bring some back for me. I’m not really hungry right now and I feel like a breakthrough is going to happen.”

Natsu stood and shrugged. “Fine but if you don’t find anything in an hour, you are taking a break.”

“Whatever.” She replied and continued to read.

He found his way out of the library and towards a row of shops they haven't gotten a chance to explore yet. Not only was this mission boring and taking too long, something else had started to irritate him.

He was told that this would be the time that symptoms of his problem would surface. As long as he stayed calm and collected, he would have no trouble keeping whatever was lurking in his body at bay. That would have been easier for someone who could stay calm but his eagerness and tendencies to jump the gun on things wasn’t helping him much.

What also wasn’t helping was going on a solo mission with Lucy. Happy was called to help Carla and PantherLily on another mission and while he had no doubt that Lucy could hold her own, having a flying cat with them was always reassuring.

Natsu chose a random deli from the shops and grabbed whatever was the most appetizing while getting Lucy something of her own. He picked up a few dessert items knowing that she had a bit of a sweet tooth and since she had been working non-stop reading and searching for answers, he was sure a brownie or cupcake would put her in a better mood.

The sun was high in the sky and beating down on him by the time he reached the library again. A strange twinge in his hand caused him to look down and he almost panicked when he saw that his nails looked much longer and much sharper to his dismay.

“Shit.” He said to himself and dropped the bag of food next to Lucy before shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Natsu you’re never going to believe this! I found their base! Or well, clues to it. I am assuming that this location is where they are hiding and if we leave now, we can make it there by sundown for a surprise ambush.” She pointed to one of the maps that had a dense forest area and certain rocky formations.

“These mages focus their magic on nature and their ability to change the layout of the areas around them. They have been known for smuggling expensive cargo and stealing from wandering guilds. They can get away with this because they can alter the pathways of the trees and cause it to become like a maze.” Lucy continued.

“Great so now we get to go get lost in a bunch of trees.” Natsu jokes.

Lucy patted him on the back. “Well if worse comes to worse you can start a forest fire.”

“Fine by me.” He shrugged.

“That was a joke, please don't burn down any trees. I don’t think our planet can handle it.”

“I am making no promises babe.” He winked, causing her to smile.

—

By the time they reach the edge of their location, the sun has started to set. A mix of oranges and reds fill the sky and he knew that if they weren't here for business, Lucy would beg him to take him to the tallest hill so they could watch it together.

Natsu follows Lucy as they try to memorize their surroundings. He was starting to get antsy and his head washed over with the same twinge as before.

“You okay?” Lucy called from behind as she heard him grunt.

Natsu squeezed his eyes shut trying to ignore the way his stomach curled as if he were on a train.

“Do not think of trains right now.” He scolded himself.

Slowly he raised his hand to the top of his head and pulled back quickly. “Uh Luce you go on ahead, I’m going to, uh, the bathroom?”

“Alright but don’t take too long.” She said not bothering to turn around as she was busy drawing her own map.

Quickly he ran behind a tree and put his hand up to the top of his head. Two small bumps were emerging from his scalp.

“Horns?” He whispered with concern. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He didn’t feel as if they were that big yet so he fluffed up his hair and hoped that his height advantage over the blonde would be able to conceal them. Quickly he caught up to Lucy as they found a clearing in the middle.

“I don’t remember this on the map?” Lucy said.

“Maybe we missed it.” He suggested.

“Or maybe, they know we are here.”

The forest floor rumbled and all of a sudden they heard a group of voices.

Five men approached them, each staring the pair down with an evil hunger in their eyes.

“Looks like we have some fresh meat here.” One says.

The feeling of a good fight didn’t sink in with Natsu as it usually does. He needs to stay in control and not let his new powers take over. They are clearly outmatched by numbers but they don’t seem that big of a threat. It wasn’t long until they began, all clearly on the same page that one team will win while the other will lose.

The battle starts the way it always had. A small stand off. Natsu and Lucy on one-side, determination coursing through their veins while the ones they were trying to defeat looked down on them like they were some kind of bugs. Usually it was Natsu who ran head first into battle. He could claim the first strike and set the tone for the entire team, but not today.

He was silent and still. His fists that were usually up and ready to blast an inferno of flames, were at his side waiting. Just waiting. Lucy's side glance made him shiver but he couldn’t meet her eyes. No not now.

Lucy turned to ask him something but he refuses to even let her get closer than she already is. His feet take off and now he’s letting a ring of fire do the talking.

He can hear her voice call out to her gates. Feel the way she commands power and respect with every attack. And he can smell her intoxicating scent more than he used to.

“Ignore it.” He whispers to himself.

“Let me play.” Something inside of him stirs and he chokes down a cough.

It can’t happen again. Not now. Not ever.

But it's been harder and harder to keep whatever hellscape inside him at bay.

His thoughts disappeared as he looked at the scene. Out of the five dark mages, four had been taken down and Lucy was up against the last on her own. He should help her. He should keep his distance though.

“She's strong, she can do it.” He says to himself as he takes a step back. Maybe he can get a grip and control the beast before it gets any worse.

“Open Gate of the-”

Natsu froze in his tracks as a scream rips through the forest. The sound turned his blood into a boil.

He turns to face the dark mage, to see Lucy kicking his ass, but the scream came from her. His eyes shoot wide open as he stares at the scene before him.

Lucy’s face twisted in pain and a hand around her neck stopping the scream. Lying on the ground with blood dripping is her left arm. That man just ripped Lucy’s arm right off.

And suddenly he can’t breathe.

He watches as Lucy's body hits the ground. Her scream belts from her lips and something within him snaps.

No amount of breathing or trying to relax could help the beast take over. He feels the small horns spike up and his skull rings with a thunderous pain. His nails turn to full claws and he knows that his normal pointed smile has sharpened tremendously.

It’s as if the world had faded to black and all he can see is red. There's no time for thinking as he lets out a roar of his own and an inferno of flames surrounds him.

“I’m going to kill him.” Natsu yells, his voice significantly deeper. And all control he thought he had is now lost.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

That's all he can hear as he grabs Lucy in his arms and places her safely down.

“Natsu-” She calls but he doesn’t have time to listen.

Instead he charges towards the man. He wants him dead with his blood on his hands. He grabs the man by the shirt and throws him into the air with his new found strength. Using his flames, he blasts into the air to meet him and then throws the man down towards the earth.

“FIRE DRAGON ROAR!” He screams with everything in his lungs. The flames are a mix of bright reds and yellows as they cover the man and some of the trees.

He grabs the man who is slightly burnt and punches him with everything he has. The man cries and pleads but he wouldn’t hear it.

“Can you fix her arm?” Natsu questions the man as he holds him up towards the sky by his neck.

The man chokes out a response that doesn’t satisfy him.

“So you rip off her arm and expect mercy from me? Is that what I’m getting at?” Natsu tightens his grip. “I don’t even think hell is enough for you.” He spats and drops him, not giving the body a second glance.

He walks over to Lucy staring at her shaking figure and lost arm. Natsu lowers himself to her and wraps her shoulder with his scarf.

“Natsu, the blood. It will ruin-”

“Don’t.” He pleads and tries not to have tears form in his eyes. “That doesn’t matter right now. We need to get you to a hospital.”

“I-okay.” She doesn’t try to fight him.

Instead he picks her up and begins to walk to the city. Her head rests against his shoulder and she's trying to stay awake.

“Stay with me Luce.” He whispers and he can feel his horns and claws shrink back down.

“Natsu.” She hums.

“Yeah?”

“Are we going to talk about what just happened?” She asks.

“I think we just need to focus on getting you the care you need.”

“That's not what I asked.” Her voice slurs.

Natsu sighs. “I know. Maybe later though.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

–

It had been three days since Lucy was admitted into the hospital. There was no sign that magic could replace or fix her arm and he had left it in the woods anyways.

The entire time she was in the hospital, Natsu was outside waiting for her. His leg would bounce with anxiety and he could feel his horns pop out slightly before retreating back in. everything he could say to her about what happened was playing in his mind. He wasn;t sure what to say or how to go about it.

What girl wants to know that her boyfriend could turn into a psych demon thing at any given moment? The last thing she needed was to worry about the freakshow he was becoming. He just hoped that the transformation wasn’t permanent.

It was night time now and he found a bench in front of the lake behind the hospital. He wasn’t sure what to do when she got out and he knew that she would be let out soon but he couldn’t face her just yet.

He needed to clear his head. The water felt cold against his skin as he made his way into it, ditching his pants and shirt at the shore. It was a small city and he was sure no one was around and he couldn’t care either.

Even in the moonlight, he could see his reflection. It was his normal self. Wild pink hair with fairly sharp teeth but normal enough that it didn’t worry him. His guild mark was the only marking on his body and a sigh of relief left him as he stared at the water.

He closed his eyes for a moment and felt a pulsing feeling run through him. When he opened his eyes again, the reflection was the same. Normal Natsu. However, his nails had sharpened and he felt the horns appear again, this time the pain wasn’t as bad.

He didn’t know what to do.

He wanted to go back to the guild. He wanted a signal or a sign that he was alright. He just wanted peace and most importantly he wanted Lucy to be okay.

“Natsu?” He heard her voice behind him.

Quickly he turned to see Lucy standing there. She was out of the hospital gown and in her normal clothes. She waved at him with a smile.

But he couldn’t smile back. Anxiety rose up inside of him as he realized that he was still in his demon form.

“Natsu.” Lucy called him. She had a relaxed expression on her face. “Don’t make me come in there.”

He felt like a dog that had just gotten scolded as he walked out of the water and to her. He felt her eyes travel around his body and he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. He didn’t think he could take it.

“Relax.” She tells him. “It’s only me.”

He meets her eyes and realizes that what she said is true. Lucy was one of the few people he trusted his life with. A person whose entire heart, soul and being he wanted to share with her.

“I can’t explain why it happens, it just does.” He says.

“Could be because you were raised by a dragon.” She points out.

“I haven’t gotten a chance to ask but maybe.”

Lucy stared at his horns. “Do they hurt?”

“At first but I think the more they appear, the less they hurt.” He then looks towards her side where her arm is missing. Guilt flooded his body and he could feel tears rising.

She follows his eyes to her side and bites her lip. “I’m trying not to dwell on it right now. I could have died.” She says as tears form in her eyes.

In a second, his arms are around her pulling her to his chest. “I’m sorry Lucy. I should have protected you, I should have-”

“I don’t blame you Natsu. Never have, never will. You didn’t do this to me and it's not the end of the world. After all, I’ve always been an adaptable person.” She smiles into his chest. Lucy pulls away to look up at him. “Your horns are gone.”

He notices her fingers are back to normal too. “I think you just calm me.”

Lucy places her palm against his cheek. “You could never scare me, Natsu. No matter what this new look part of you is, I love it just the same as before. Nothing could change that. I won’t look at you differently.”

Her confession made his heart warm and he felt more relaxed than he had in days. “I don’t deserve you. How did I get so lucky?”

She kisses his cheek. “I think you have good taste is all. Now I don’t know about you, but I am craving anything but that hospital food.”

“Then we better get you something good.” He says and holds out his hand.

They intertwine their fingers hoping to find a restaurant still open during the night. As a child the thought of this moment terrified him. A new form of power that he couldn't automatically control was not something he desired. However, he felt like the luckiest guy in the world to have Lucy by his side to not only be there for him, but to love him all the same.

Perhaps a missing arm and some horns was all it took to make them realize that the most important thing to each of them is each other. No matter the battles they faced, everything would be worth it as long as they were together through it all.

--

I hope you enjoyed :) 

#f #ftrbb2022 #nalu #nalu fic #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction

[ciaraloves]

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#ciara's links #ciara's convos #sideblog shenanigans

[ofunholylambs]

wow this cakes look delicious !

Oh! They didn't see her there! They were busy setting up for the holiday display per suggestion of Vox.

"Well, come on in and see what I can get for you! Welcome to Sweet Tooth pâtisserie!" The lamb turned with a sweetly smile to the moth, their smile bright and beaming and tail wagging a mile a minute.

The layout of the bake shop was much like a penny store you'd find in ye olde days of various types of Fudge aligning the cases, some cookies and cupcakes displayed aplenty.

There was an area of decedent I've creams you could peruse with flavors of all kinds, of course some you could request with or without blood mixed in!

And to the side, large cannisters for coffee and hot chocolate! This place had it all!

And finally, the piece de resistance, their coveted meat pies. Demons travel the rings for these suckers!

The pickings were endless.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Tis the season for some holiday hcs! 

Who goes around singing Christmas songs? 

Eleteo: Elena, obviously. She's the singer as we all know but Mateo happily joins her because they're that sweet sync couple where one starts something, the other joins in. Gababel: Isabel does because she's a Flores and Gabe sometimes will just stop whatever he's doing and simply smile, listening to Isabel's beautiful voice and gush that his girlfriend has the voice of an angel.Estenaomi: Esteban does while I feel Naomi would sing Christmas parodies or whatever the Avaloran equivalent would be. Then they'd start to try to top each other with ridiculous lyrics. Estoma: Esteban would despite his stuffy demeanor telling Elena that Navidad isn't here yet, he still can't help humming under his breath when the songs get stuck in his head.

 Who drinks too much eggnog? 

Eleteo: Mateo does. It really loosens him up and makes him giddy for the holiday and Elena enjoys it because after a few sips, he gets all eager to do "Baby it's cold outside" and gets as handsy as her. Gababel: Both do but Isabel a little more so because she has a sweet tooth she can't contain.Estenaomi: Esteban does. Like the rest of the Flores, his sweet tooth vsn't be contained and then Naomi challenges him to an eggnog drinking contest and let's just say they both have a great time. Estoma: Still Esteban, complete with a second mustache from it.

Who brings out the mistletoe?

Eleteo: Elena! She loves any chance to kiss her royal wizard and Mateo is an equal opportunist because he'll follow the most convoluted palace layout so he can get an unsuspecting Elena under the mistletoe even though she knows what he's up to. She always knows. Gababel: Gabe does. He enjoys seeing the range of emotions from Isabel's face ti surprise to slight blushing to sparkle as they kiss.Estenaomi: Naomi does. It's sort of a cat and mouse game to see how long they can avoid or snare each other. Estoma: Esteban does and very subtly hangs it over their bed.

Who starts the snowball fights?

Eleteo: Elena, obviously. She has a mischievous streak a mile long and Mateo is used to her antics. Though Mateo is just as competitive and starts using his magic in retaliation, so she'll get her scepter to blast snow missiles and the royal garden ends up a mess. Gababel: Isabel. Especially if Gabe is on guard duty so she'll act all innocent but he knows and though he wants to get her back, he stays on guard. However, when off duty, it's a free for all snowball fight.Estenaomi: They would do it at the same time. But more likely Naomi sine she thinks Esteban needs to loosen up a little with snow down his back. Estoma: Esteban does. He's like a little kid during the holidays and just like with everything else, when a snowball fight starts, they play to win.  

Who starts gift shopping first and who hides the gifts? 

Eleteo: Elena starts shopping first because she's eager and has lots of ideas, each better than the last like special spell books or new artifacts. Luisa often tells her not to go overboard, they're other holidays where she can give gifts after all. Mateo hides them because he has a tiny mischievous streak and it drives Elena crazy when she scours the castle to look for clues of what he got her so she can know what to get him. But Mateo just has a twinkle in his eye and a secret smile. (He hides them at Rafa's. Elena still hasn't gotten the idea that the gifts aren't even the palace). 

Gababel: Isabel gets shopping immediately with Luisa and Elena in a fun girls trip. Though she worries that the gift will never be enough or show how much she cares. Gabe assures her that a gift will never be a perfect representation of their love for each other and shouldn't be, but she still tries. Besides, she just really loves Navidad. Gabe is the one that hides the gifts (in the horse stables behind the manure) whenever Elena, Esteban and Isabel team up to find them.

Estenaomi: It's kinda hard since they're travelling on a ship but Esteban is the one most likely to start shopping first for a gift to blow her mind away. Naomi is the one to hide them because, like Mateo, it amuses her to watch Esteban fruitlessly hunt for presents (which are with her feminine supplies). 

Estoma: Dona starts shopping immediately though to be fair, she likes any excuse to go shopping. She can get distracted in that she starts buying more stuff for herself before she remembers Christmas gifts. Esteban hides the gifts and it is supremely difficult because he has to order the more exotic gifts through her emporium and she's there at the counter, smirking at him with her ledger, asking if the perfume is for her or someone else? Is the dress for her or someone else? etc etc. Somehow he has managed to surprise her every year. 

Who makes the cookies?

Eleteo: Elena does since Mateo doesn't know how. Rafa insisted on taking over the cooking so he wouldn't burn a hand or something. But Elena does it with him because it's a fun couple thing to do and yes, they can get sickeningly sweet with feeding each other gumdrops. Gababel: Gabe does as he is the baker boy but Isabel totally is the one in charge of the gingerbread house with her exact measurements and mathematical skills though Gabe tells her it's more about fun and artistry than just numbers.Estenaomi: Esteban dies. Or I should say he makes the tamales and Naomi makes the cookies though sometimes they get more icing on themselves than the cookies as they take turns sneaking tastes. Estoma: Esteban does. Dona usually orders in but once they get together Esteban insists on trying to make some cookies together in the spirit of Navidad.

Who decorates for the holidays? 

Eleteo: Elena. Clearly, Elena. She is all for it and she decorates like mad. She’s obssessed. Every door way is wrapped like a peasant, wreaths, string lights, you name it. She likes to make the festive atmosphere. Ocassionally, she’ll wrap Mateo up too in her fervor. 

Gababel: Osabel does as I imagine decorating the palace is a family tradition so they have fond memories associated with that and get into it. Gabe also adds to the festivities with giving the room a sugar cookie smell with all his baking. 

Estenaomi: I feel Esteban would even though they’re on a ship and the wreaths sometimes end up overboard during storms but he tries. 

Estoma: I feel like both. Esteban gets into it as a festive holiday spirit thing while Dona just has so much supplies she feels obligated to use it. 

#elena of avalor #eleteo #my hcs #my headcanons #estoma #gababel #estenaomi