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sunflower-lilac42 · 27 days

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✧ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞 || luke hughes ♔

summary: when she gets cold on the boat, luke gives her his hoodie and all the emotions come out.

warnings: reader feeling crappy about herself, negative thoughts

publish date: 03/31/24

notes: this is for my plus-sized girlies coming from a plus-sized girlie. i am here for you and i will give you as much content as you would like. this really healed my inner child fr, so i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i had writing it. i love you and give me three-eight business months for a next fic | add yourself to the taglist ➺ taglist!

nhl masterlist | main masterlist

A lot of the time it felt like that was the only feature people noticed about her. Not that she was funny, or smart, or insanely good at making a spreadsheet for anything and everything. It was the fact that she was fat, or excuse people’s language, curvy. It had been what labeled her for her whole life it seemed like. And no matter how hard she tried to stop it from happening, it never did.

She heard the whispers every time she was in the hallways in high school, every time she sat down and the chair would creek even the slightest bit, every time she’d accidentally brush someone’s shoulder. It was horrible, something that would haunt her for years to come no matter what happened.

When she went off to college, her voice was the only one that stayed with her. She met Luke through mutual friends and while she loved their relationship, she always thought it put a damper on her mind especially when she realized she liked him. Luke was Luke, he was tall, handsome, adorable, cute, charming, and all of the above. And on the inside, he was funny, smart, kind, nice, everything a girl could ever love. He made it impossible not to fall for him.

But why would Luke want her, when he could have anyone he ever wanted? This put a strain on their friendship during sophomore year especially. She would go to games, supporting the hell out of him because he asked her to be there. And always somewhere further down the row, in a different section, wherever, there was a group of girls who looked nothing like her. They were skinny, and pretty, they wore outfits that looked not only good on them but just good in general.

They were standing there, looking like that, while she looked like this. Wearing leggings that were too tight to make her look thinner, they pressed too hard on her stomach. Wearing the largest sweatshirt in her closet to hide the way her hips bulge a little, to hide everything if she was honest. And while she knew it shouldn’t have bothered her, that she shouldn’t have been mad at them, she couldn’t help it.

However, when she was around him and it was just the two of them, she couldn’t help but notice the thoughts dissipate. There was something about him that made her forget what she was thinking, forget what she was feeling besides happiness. He made her feel beautiful even if he didn’t know it.

But, when he went away to New Jersey, there was no one to block out those thoughts anymore. Every day she thought negative things about herself, and compared herself to her friends, to those she passed on the way to class, those in the dining hall, everyone. She was left feeling alone with her thoughts, which made her feel all the worse.

In the weeks following her last day of class, she got a text from Luke. He had asked her to go to the lake house in Michigan. She wasn’t expecting it, to say the least. It meant that she would have to spend at least a week around Luke and his brothers and their friends in shorts and shirts. The things that made her uncomfortable when she was alone.

She reluctantly agreed to his invitation and the only reason she did agree was because she knew Luke wouldn’t stop texting her and calling her until she said yes. She didn’t like summer, it meant that she couldn’t resort to her long sleeves and leggings due to the temperature. It was too hot for that. At least when she was at her own house, it wasn’t bad, she could do that and wouldn’t be hot due to her being able to set the house to a cooler temperature.

But, Luke was Luke, and it was hard to ignore him. They hadn’t seen each other since he left for New Jersey, keeping up only through texts and FaceTime (which was not her favorite thing in the world). So, when that text came through that she had said yes to coming, he was bouncing off the walls for hours. He had run to tell Jack and Quinn, immediately, yelling at them to get a room set up for her and to make Trevor and Cole or whoever share one.

It was rare that Luke got excited to see someone besides his brothers and his closest friends, so when Quinn and Jack heard him rambling a million miles an hour, they knew that this “friend” was special. Luke picked her up from the airport, having flown in from her home state. He was quick to bring her bags to the car for her, open up the passenger side door, and everything in between.

When he saw what she was wearing, he curled an eyebrow, “Aren’t you hot?”

“W-what? No.”

“Y/n/n, you’re wearing a literal sheep right now and it’s like 80 degrees.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m quite comfy.”

“Whatever you say.” He muttered but he made sure to turn the AC on full blast so she wouldn’t overheat more than she already was.

Y/n was trying to prolong the time she would have to be around Luke, and his brothers and their friends, in shorts and t-shirts and tank tops. And while she knew it was going to have to happen soon, it didn’t mean that it had to happen now. She was beyond grateful that Luke turned the AC on, it was a blessing in disguise.

When they pulled up to the house, he wasted no time in doing the same things he did at the airport; grabbing her luggage, opening her door, and leading her up the steps. He opened the door with his elbow and pushed it open with his back, or well more or less his butt. Y/n giggled at the action and stepped inside after him, looking around in disbelief, “Can’t believe you get to spend every summer here.”

“Yeah, kind of lucky to have two-”

“Heads up!”

The two turned to see Jack hurling a football in their direction and Luke dropped her things to catch it. Due to Luke’s reaction time, he spared his best friend from getting hit in the face, “Dude!”

Y/n stood in shock, blinking even as Luke’s hand was taken away from her face. Jack winced, “Sorry.”

Luke threw it back at him and hit him square in the head, “Well, that’s Jack, which means…”

As he trailed off two more voices and two pairs of footsteps came from the hallway, “Cole and Trevor aren’t too far behind him. Blonde one is Cole, the douchey looking one is Trevor.”

“Douchey?”

She stood there in the entranceway, raising a hand as if to say hi. Trevor and Cole walked in and took her bags for her, “M’lady.”

She giggled again as she watched the two bumble around the house like idiots, all while Luke’s face heated up in embarrassment. When she looked at him she threaded her arm around his waist, “Don’t worry. I have my bunch of idiots back home. They don’t compare honestly.”

Luke’s arm wrapped around her shoulders in habit, slightly tightening as a way to ground himself. He looked over at her to see her still watching the three 22-year-olds, who were now dancing around the living room playing Just Dance. His eyes were filled with fondness, he couldn’t remember the last time or if there was ever a time he felt like this about someone.

“You must be y/n! I’m Quinn, Luke’s oldest brother.”

Y/n smiled at him and Luke swore he could’ve died right there, “Nice to meet you, Quinn. Oh! I saw your guys’ last few games of the season, you guys played well.”

Quinn’s cheeks flushed, “Oh, thanks. Well, listen, your room is right next to Luke’s if you need anything. Anything in the kitchen you are more than welcome to have, we do have some things that if you want to cook you can. The bathroom is at the end of the hallway and the campfire is out back. I won’t tell, but I’m fine if you drink, just don’t do it outside the property or when our parents get here.”

She nods, trying to keep up with all the information he is spitting at her. He walked away and let the two be on their own, going back to his room. Luke picked back up her things and led her into the hallway and to her room. He placed her bags on the foot of the bed and looked back at her, “Well, I’ll let you get settled. I think we’re going out on the boat tonight.”

She didn’t think it would be this soon that she would have to wear them. Luke could see the panic that showed in her eyes for a brief moment, “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I'm just not a huge fan of the water.”

“Oh, that’s okay! You don’t have to go in it if you don’t want to.”

That sent some relief through her body, “Okay.”

“I’ll come back when we’re ready to go, okay?”

She nods and watches as he leaves, worried about what was to come.

✧༺✎༻∞

Two hours later, Luke came back into her room. He knocked before coming in, of course, looking down, “Hey we’re just about- holy shit.”

Y/n stood there in her ripped jean shorts that didn’t come down fully because she had gotten them last year, her oversized UMich hockey shirt that was beginning to fade from the number of times she’d put it through the wash. Her hair was in two braids with her UMich baseball hat on and her makeup was done in the slightest bit. She was wearing a pair of gym shoes, her trusted ones that she’s had since she started college. When she heard Luke’s voice and then it cut off, she shied away, wrapping her arms around her waist.

“What?”

“Nothing, you just look-”

Here it comes. The fat jokes, the “you should get clothes that actually fit you” monologue, the snide remarks about her working out, and everything in between. But what hurt more, was that it was going to come from Luke, her best friend, her crush, her seemingly everything. The one who made her forget about those things.

“Really pretty.”

Her head snapped up and her eyes opened wide, “I- what?”

Luke’s face flushed, “You look pretty. Um, we’re getting ready to go! You ready?”

“Oh, uh yeah.”

“Did he really just call me pretty?” Her thoughts ran a thousand miles an hour as she grabbed her bag from the bed and followed Luke. There was no way he said that, was she imagining things? What had she eaten for lunch?

Luke helped her onto the boat, holding her hand as she stepped up. She sat down and immediately pulled out her computer, connecting it to her portable hotspot. The boys watched her both in confusion and in awe, but Jack was the only one to speak up, “Why are you on your laptop? Dude, you’re gonna get it wet.”

“I just have to do something quick.”

Jack watched from beside her as she pulled up her spreadsheets and started typing information in it, “Holy shit,”

That was the second one of the day, and both of them had been directed at her, “What now?”

“Dude, these are insane.”

He stole the laptop and started scrolling. Now she felt ten times more embarrassed than she was before, “It’s nothing.”

Luke was the next to steal the computer, sitting in awe at the payrolls among other stuff she created, “Damn girl. How much free time do you have?”

She toyed with the ends of her shorts, starting to fray, “A lot.”

She was glad once they moved on from the topic and she was able to shove her computer back in her bag after updating a few things. She watched as the boys went out on the water, Luke staying with her, claiming that he didn’t want to go in the water either. However, as time went on it got colder and colder, yet none of them wanted to go back.

It was now nighttime and y/n was cold from the drastic temperature change. Luke watched as she shivered and instantly took off his sweatshirt and handed it to her, “Here.”

Her eyes looked between him and his hoodie before shaking her head, “I’m okay.”

His eyes softened, growing increasingly worried and confused, “Y/n/n you have goosebumps all along your arms. You’re not ‘okay’.”

“No, I promise. I’m okay.”

“Please.”

She hesitantly took it and unfolded it to hold it up and look at the size. This had always been a worry for her, fitting into other people’s clothes especially when it came to boys. Sure they were ‘bigger’ than her, height was and all, but was that enough to counteract? She nervously put her arms through it, being careful not to stretch it out. She pulled it over her head and was pleasantly surprised when it fit a little baggy on her.

However, her mind clouded with negative thoughts and it started yelling at her that she was the one that stretched it out, that that was the reason why it was baggy. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Hey, it’s okay. You can tell me.”

She tugged slightly on the hoodie, feeling it start to cling to her impossibly tight. It wasn’t the hoodie, it was her mind making her think that it was smaller than it was. She tried to get out of Luke’s gaze but it was no use. She cursed to herself before looking out at the water, watching the boys splash each other like immature 10-year-olds, “I’ve never been the skinniest girl out there, Luke.”

Her words caused him to frown. ‘Is that seriously what she’s worried about?’ He brought his right hand up to her face, placing her chin in between his index finger and his thumb. He turned her head so her eyes had no choice but to look at him, “You listen to me. You are beautiful, okay? You are the prettiest girl I have ever laid eyes on.”

She moved her head away from his grasp and wrapped her arms in front of her stomach. Luke was determined to convince her that he wanted her. That she was the only one for him, so despite her worries and insecurities, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap. She yelped in surprise and as soon as her butt touched his legs and squirmed, “Let me go, Luke.”

“No.” His voice was stern as he spoke.

“Please, Lu.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t think I can. Not when you are talking about yourself like this, out loud or in that beautiful head of yours. Listen, y/n/n, I know it’s hard, believe me. And while I might not know exactly what you’re going through, I have had my fair share of insecurities myself. You are gorgeous and I love every single part of you there is, okay? I cannot tell you one moment that I have seen you look ugly.”

Completely brushing over the fact that he said ‘I love’, she continued trying to prove him wrong, “What about that-”

“Nope! Doesn’t exist. And I’m going to tell you that if you do not come to at least one game of mine next season, wearing my jersey I might lose it.”

Luke’s words had her blushing in an instant but her mind did not want happiness to be a thing tonight. Her thoughts of this being a prank clouded the intense blissfulness she felt for a few seconds, “Why?”

“Why what, sweet girl?”

The nickname passed over her, “Me. Why me?”

“I’m going to tell you my favorite moment of you and then we’ll see if you know why,” He removed one of his arms from her waist to wrap his fingers around the back of her neck and rub his thumb against her cheek before continuing, “Freshman year. First game you ever went to. I had just bought you a jersey and wrote on the back of it with a sharpie my name and my number. It wasn’t the prettiest thing in the world, obviously because that’s you, but it made sure everyone knew you were supporting me. You wore it with those jeans that I like, the ones with the rhinestones bordering the pockets, and you wore these gym shoes, the ones you’re wearing right now. You had your hair in two ponytails and this hat,” He flicked the brim of it, “and you brought two of your other friends for whom the life of me I cannot remember.

“But you stood for the whole game with this little pompom thing in your hand, cheering every time someone got a goal and booing every time whoever we were playing got one. And then after the game I met you outside and then we went to go get ice cream and you got vanilla with sprinkles and we tasted each other’s because I kept looking over at yours and you finally gave in. And then I took you back to your dorm and you stole my beanie. Which you didn’t give back for another two weeks.”

Her eyes watered as she listened to him, “Y/n/n. Don’t cry, please.”

She shook her head, “I’m not, I promise.”

“No matter how long it takes, what it takes, I am going to prove to you that you are beautiful no matter what anyone says. And as long as you love yourself, that’s all that matters. But you’ll always have my love, okay?”

“You love me?”

“Of course I do! I know we’re in college, or well, you are, and we haven’t really dated, but when you know you know.”

She smiled at him and closed her eyes when his lips made contact with her forehead, and then her cheek, “Can I kiss you?”

She nodded and leaned in to meet him halfway. Once their lips connected they heard ‘whoops’ from the water. They pulled away, both red in the face. And as they drove back, y/n sat next to Luke with her head on his shoulder and his hand resting comfortably on her thigh.

𝑵𝑬𝑾 𝑱𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑬𝒀 𝑫𝑬𝑽𝑰𝑳𝑺 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

if your name is crossed out it means i couldn't tag you

#sunny lune writes #luke hughes #lh43 #nhl #hockey #luke hughes x reader #nj devils

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l1tw1ck · 8 months

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ahh i'd like to turn Miguel into my cute malewife, make him quit his job and stay at home...his only job will to be my cute lil cocksleeve ♡

ftm miguel, afab language used

roughing him up after a tough day at work...

"Slow- ah- slow down~!" He cries, tears falling down his heated cheeks. "It hurts!" His ass is sore from you spanking it.

or giving him lots of love bc he deserves it for being such a good boy that week

"Mm- more~" Miguel looks down at you as you eat his pussy. "Plea- please~" He at least remembers his manners.

orrr bringing him to work and having him cockwarm you as you fill out some spreadsheets in your office

Miguel tried his best to stay still but he couldn't help but move his hips, having your cock lodged inside him without being able to move was like torture! You grip his waist tightly with one hand. "What did I tell you?" You ask, voice stern. "N..not to move.." He whimpers, sitting still once again.

or maybe, having him suck your cock after failing to follow directions while he was keeping your cock warm

Miguel slowly bobs his head up and down, looking up at you with teary eyes. You're not paying him any mind. He loves sucking your cock but he missed having you inside him, and not having your attention on him makes him feel sad. He wants to be a good boy so bad but it's hard when he always wants to chase his own pleasure.

#wicks🕯️shorts #top male reader #male reader #miguel o'hara x male reader #miguel o'hara smut #ftm character #bottom miguel o'hara

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flummoxisafunnyword · 2 years

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Holy shit

#how long has it been since I have intentionally flirted #and like #in reciprocal way #aaaaaaaaaaa #he made me a fricken spreadsheet when I was panicking about finding a new place #like literally 10 minutes after mentioning it to him #and saying I wouldn’t mind some help looking #he had sent me a spreadsheet #I am #look #so far his nerd meshes with my nerd okay #we spent over an hour just relating through dnd stories #but the SPREADSHEET #look spreadsheets are my love language #personal

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forever-rogue · 7 months

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Could I request some Eddie. It’s the readers birthday and Eddie gives her a mix tape of all her favorite songs. But instead of it being the original artist’s versions is Corroded Coffin doing covers?

AN | No but this is the sweetest idea?! Imagine getting this from Eddie! 🥰

Warnings | Language

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.8k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey there birthday girl,” you playfully huffed as you walked into Eddie’s shop, finding at the counter, pouring over some spreadsheets. He wasn’t bothered in the slightest by your response, pushing everything away in order to give you his full attention, “you look pretty.”

“It’s not my birthday, Eddie,” you hopped onto the counter without a second thought and Eddie leaned in to kiss you, lips lingering against yours, “hi.”

“Hi almost birthday girl,” he hand setted on the back of your neck as he pressed his forehead to yours. You groaned softly; your heart was both so happy at how sweet he was and heavy because you didn’t want him to make a big deal of your birthday. You’d never really been a fan of celebrations or parties, but Eddie insisted on doing something to celebrate you. You knew that he would listen and respect your wishes, which was one of the many things you loved about him. He always saw you, even when you felt invisible, “missed you today.”

“I missed you too,” you promised, putting your hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze, "are you almost done here?"

"Yes ma'am," he tossed everything off the counter and onto the floor, causing you to laugh at his dramatics, "anything for you."

"Such a dork," you slid off the counter and held out your hand for him. He eagerly took your hand and brought it to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles, “my dork.”

“And you’re mine too.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Hey," you couldn't sleep and had spent almost an hour staring at the ceiling. You weren't sure if Eddie was awake but figured it was worth a try, "Ed?"

"Hmm?" He rolled over so he was facing you, eyes closed and a sleepy smile on his face, "what's wrong baby?"

"Nothing," you sighed lightly, relaxing when you felt him reach for your hand, "its just…its dumb."

"Tell me."

"You don't have anything planned for my birthday right? I don't want a big celebration or anything," you exhaled slowly as he squeezed your hand, "I just don't want anything big. I'd rather just have it be another day."

“I know baby,” he scooted closer to you and nuzzled his face next to yours on the pillow. You felt his lips kiss the tip of your nose, “it’ll be just like any other day. If that’s what my baby wants for her birthday, that’s what she’ll get.”

“Thank you,” you closed your eyes and snuggled up to him; he instantly wrapped his arm around your waist, “I love you Eddie.”

“I love you,” and with that, you allowed yourself to relax and give into sleep, “so much.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Your day at work had gone by without anything noteworthy happening. That would definitely have everything to do with the fact that you hadn’t told your coworkers or boss that it was your birthday. You knew that it was your personnel file somewhere, but you doubted anyone ever checked them. It still didn’t stop you from startling a few times and bracing yourself for the worst when your coworkers came up to you. But if anyone actually knew that it was your birthday, they didn’t comment on it.

Which was exactly what you wanted.

It wasn’t that you were vehemently against birthdays or celebrating them - you loved helping friends celebrate. You just didn’t want to celebrate your own. At first it seemed like Eddie had been upset when you told him you didn’t want to do anything, almost like it was some sort of slight, but he quickly came around and realized that it wasn’t personal. It was just your preference, and he always wanted to respect your wishes.

The only issue you’d experienced all day was the fact that Eddie seemed to be almost completely radio silent. You knew that some days he was extra busy and didn’t have a lot of time to text, but it was strange to hear nothing from him. You’d seen him when he left for work as you were getting ready, and he’d seemed fine. But now you were almost worried with how quiet he was being; you hoped he was okay.

When you pulled up to the house, not a single light was on. Only the porch light flipped on as you walked up to the front door. But Eddie’s truck was parked in his usual spot which didn’t do anything to reassure you. You almost ran inside, almost dropping your key in your haste to open the door.

“Eddie!?” you made your way into the kitchen and flicked on the lights to have some sort of balance.

“Surprise!” As soon as you flicked on the light, Eddie jumped out from the other side of the counter, blowing on a noisemaker with a little happy birthday hat on his mop of curls. You yelped in surprise and jumped back, clutching at your wildly beating heart.

“What the hell, Edward?” you took a moment to catch your breath as you looked around to see if anyone else was in your house. But you didn’t see any movement or anything to suggest anyone was there. He came around the counter and threw his arms around you, pulling you into a big, warm hug. You relaxed into his touch and hugged him back just as tightly, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“Sorry baby,” he peppered kisses to the side of your head, rubbing your back soothingly, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought it would be a fun surprise.”

“Oh Eddie,” you pulled back and kissed him softly, “it’s definitely a surprise. I was starting to get worried since I hadn’t heard from you all day. I was hoping nothing happened, and then you had to go and give me a heart attack!”

“I was…I had to finish a few things up today on top of work so it was just a long day,” you could tell that he was being honest…but giving you all of the story. But you didn’t want to push him either - he always came around and told you the entire story, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to be so absent today.”

“It’s okay - I’m glad you’re okay,” you took the noisemaker from his hand and blew into it loudly. That caused him to laugh, shaking his head fondly at you, “what’s all this for?”

“First of all, let me just say that I haven’t gone and planned a huge surprise party or anything. It’s just me and you,” his promise allowed you to relax, “I have a few things planned for tonight, if that sounds good to you.”

“Just you and me?” your voice was small as he beamed at you, big brown eyes bright and shining.

“Just you and me.”

“That sounds perfect,” the idea of spending some time along with your love sounded like the best thing in the world, “what’ve you got planned then? Should I be concerned?”

“Not at all,” but yeah, there was still that little mischievous glint in his eye, “but first things first.”

He ran into the living room before coming back with another party hat and putting on your head. You couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up as Eddie snapped a few pictures of the two of you.

“I’ve ordered dinner from your favorite place - it’s on the way and should be here soon,” as if on cue your stomach started to rumble, “I didn’t think about asking if you wanted to eat at the restaurant, fuck! But I figured it might be nice if it’s just here with the two of us.”

“That sounds perfect,” you promised, “can we also change into pajamas and eat on the couch?”

“Blankets are already on the couch and I already put out the clean pajamas," he was such a sweetheart, always thinking of the things you liked. Your expression softened as he slowly started to usher you toward the bedroom, "but I think we have just enough time to take a hot shower before the food is here and we get comfortable."

"Eddie…I - this is wonderful," the way your face lit up was enough to make it all worth it. Truthfully he would have done anything for you, but then again, you would have done the same for him, "you didn't have to do all this though. Seriously."

"It's your birthday," he reminded you, "and even if you don't want a big celebration or want to make a big deal of it or anything, I want to do something special for my girl. I want to celebrate you. I love you, you know.”

“Yeah,” you blinked back a few tears that his sweet words had caused to spring up as you took one of his hands in both of yours and held it gently, “I love you too, Eddie. Thank you for all of this, it’s…wonderful. This is perfect. Are you going to join me in this shower?”

“Only if you want me to…”

“Of course I do,” this time you were pulling him to the bathroom, already trying to pull off your clothes in your haste to get into the shower. The two of you were fumbling around as you turned on the shower and tried to pull off his and your clothes. Hasty kisses were exchanged along with soft smiles and laughter; the two of you were just so…meant to be. That’s what Eddie always said and you didn’t disagree with him. It was all true.

“C’mon,” Eddie pulled back the curtain to make sure the water was warm enough for the two of you, “let me take care of you.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time the two of you were on the couch, clean and in fresh pajamas with the remnants of dinner spread on the coffee table, you were already growing tired. The shower had been so warm and comforting, along with Eddie going down on you which he insisted was part of celebrating you, and the food was delicious. It all led to you feeling the tiredness in your bones as you cuddled with him on the couch, with warm and soft blankets covering the two of you.

“Don’t go falling asleep on me, pretty girl,” your head was resting on his chest, lulled by the steady beating of his heart. You mumbled something in response as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“I’m not,” you insisted softly, badly stifling a yawn as you pulled back and blinked up at him with heavy, sleepy eyes, “just resting my eyes for a moment.”

“Mhmm,” he tenderly took your chin in his hand and turned your face up to his, “is that why you were snoring?”

“Was not!” your lips pulled in a playful little pout as you looked at him. He raised an eye but didn’t say anything, “I was just heavily breathing as I watched the movie.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm.”

“Alright then, what’s happened in the movie so far?” judging from the surprised look on your face, Eddie knew that he had you trapped. You opened and closed your mouth a few times before leaning up and kissing him. You figured if there was one way to shut him up it was through a kiss. He leaned into you, your lips still sugary sweet from dessert, “it’s not really an answer but I’m willing to accept that.”

“As you should, my love,” you managed to work your into his lap, snuggling up to him and wrapping your arms around his neck, “thank you for tonight - everything. It means the world to me - you mean the world to me.”

“Well, if you’re amenable, I have a little something for you - another little thing. But it’s actually tangible,” your eyes widened in curiosity as he nodded, “so…yeah.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” you loved him. You really loved him, “ugh, stop, you’re so disgustingly amazing.”

“Anything for you,” he pressed kisses to your cheeks, forehead, nose and stopped at your lips, “and I’m really excited for you to have it. It’s - can I go and grab it?”

“And just who would I be to say no?” you slid off his lap and cuddled up in the corner of the couch under both blankets, “I’ll allow it.”

“Be right back!” he almost jumped off the couch as he ran into the bedroom. You heard him rummaging around for a few minutes before he came back out, his arms behind his back, “close your eyes.”

You eagerly complied and made a show of squeezing your eyes closed and draping one arm over your eyes. Eddie snorted in amusement as he reached for your free hand and set something small and square into it.

“Alright - you can go ahead and open your eyes,” as soon as you did, he watched your face go through several different expressions as you tried to figure out what the small wrapped item was. You pulled off the big, golden bow and looked at him, “go on - open it.”

You slid your finger under the messily wrapped paper - you loved that about him - and pulled out the item inside. Your face turned into a huge grin as you realized what you were holding - a mixtape. An actual, real life, mixtape. You weren't sure if you'd ever seen held one before.

“Eddie. Y-you made me a mixtape?” you felt the tears prick up again as he nodded excitedly, biting on his bottom lip.

“It’s not just any old mixtape either,” he watched as you turned it around and looked at the label, “it’s your favorite songs but umm, well, it’s all Corroded Coffin covers. I think it’d be neat you know to have something just your own, so yeah. I-I hope you like it.”

“Edward Munson,” you jumped up and quickly closed the small distance between your bodies, almost throwing yourself into his arms. He let out a nervous laugh, relieved at your reaction. It had been an idea he’d had for a long time, but it was never anything he’d actually planned on doing. Then one day, he realized just how much he wanted to do this for you. He felt your tears soak into the thin fabric of his t-shirt and gently rubbed your back, “this is the nicest and most special thing anyone has ever done for me. I love it. So much.”

“You haven’t even listened to it yet baby,” every nerve and worry he’d had about sharing this was relieved, “can’t judge it just yet.”

“I can and I will,” you took his face in your hands and kissed him sweetly, “I can’t wait to listen to it. I love this so much. Thank you.”

“Happy birthday baby,” he put his hand on your face and brushed his thumb over your cheek, “to this one and to many more. I love you so much.”

“I love you, Eddie,” you looked towards the old radio that was next to the vintage record player; Eddie followed your line of sight as his smile grew, “you’ve made this one of the best and most special birthdays ever. Can we give this a listen?”

“Oh, you don’t have to…are you sure?”

“Of course!” you bounced over and popped the cassette in, “and it’s still my birthday and this is one of my few requests. And that you dance with me.”

“What if it’s not danceable?” he took your hand that was already outstretched to him, as you pulled him closer.

“Then we’ll make it danceable,” you sighed softly as he kissed you, reaching behind you and hitting play, “you’re going to have a lot to live up to next year.”

“Don’t worry, I plan on surpassing even your biggest expectations,” he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, “was this okay then? Nothing too much or not enough?”

“This was perfect,” you promised, “I couldn’t think of anything better. Best birthday ever.”

The new mixtape became a part of your regular rotation.

It was your favorite gift ever.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #joseph quinn #st

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cnovelartreblogs · 1 year

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C-Novels Available in English Translation

A few weeks ago, a few of my danmei-loving friends and I got to talking about how much there is that we want to read, but that none of us have been very organized about keeping track of titles, fantranslation links, etc.

So, we decided to make a spreadsheet.

AND to combine every link we'd each separately stashed around on that spreadsheet.

The result is a list of 102 titles (currently 96 are danmei, 5 are baihe, and 1 is gen, reflecting our personal interests/preferences) with links to translations, some complete, some not. (as of 2/20/23)

Love C-Novels? Especially danmei? Looking for something to read? Check it out!

Some notes:

This is specifically for English translations from Chinese titles. Though some of the links do include other works (for example, some translators also do Japanese, and some Carrds list fantranslations in multiple languages), we're English speakers who are interested in Chinese novels, so we focused on that.

Currently, this is mostly basic information (titles, authors, links), with no summaries, genre tags, etc. We hope to ultimately expand it but that will be a lot of work and the information is already available at the provided NovelUpdates links, so we encourage you to use those.

We make no claims that this list is exhaustive; while the first sheet lists the resources we had collectively already gathered, there's a second sheet with things we know of and intend to add.

We'll try to keep links and such up-to-date but if you spot a problem please let me know!

Know of something that's not on the main list OR on the "to add" page? Please do send the info my way! Comments or ask box stuff will help.

Note that to actually access the fantranslations, you'll often need to take additional action to read them - you may need to request access, or get a password, etc. How to get this access is usually included on the pages.

Known official translations are listed. We will not link fantranslations for titles that are out officially in English. Don't send them. Don't ask for them. We won't help you pirate these titles.

(ADDED): I have also now added carrds for works that I could find carrds for, and added a third sheet, with carrds for authors. (I looked for every title and author and added the ones I could locate; Google asked if I was a bot at least 6 times lmao). Carrds are often good for summaries, information about the characters, and especially trigger warnings, so they're worth checking out! (ADDED MORE): I also added NovelUpdates links for all authors, so people can see a full list of their other works even if they don't have Carrds.

Don't forget to thank and respect translators, and honor their wishes! Without fantranslators, we wouldn't have all this amazing stuff to read in English, so THANK YOU FANTRANSLATORS!

GO FORTH, AND FIND YOUR NEW FAVORITE BOOK!

#danmei #resources #i don't know how to tag this oh well #i'm gonna just not instead of tagging a bajillion different fandom tags #baihe #priest #mo xiang tong xiu #meng xi shi #please don't laugh #mu su li #tang jiu qing

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pilfappreciator · 4 months

Text

Part 1 | Part 2

WAKE UP BABES!! DINNER IS SERVED!!!

Bruce/Brandi x Reader: part 2

Includes: GN! Reader, Vacay Lovers, polyamory, relationship headcanons, slight Bruce Jr. slander

💜 These two took things slow when they were wooing you, you better BELIEVE they're gonna do the same once you've actually been bagged

🧡 I MEAN DON'T GET ME WRONG!! They're not any less passionate about you or anything, but like... c'mon. They're middle-aged, run a full time business and are married with kids. They've got a lot on their hands already so chances are they're not immediatly urging you to move in with them or just straight up sign marriage documents (sorry to disappoint u_u)

💜 But like I said: this doesn't mean they're not good lovers

🧡 In fact I'd say in my entirely unbiased opinion that they'd make fantastic lovers! Wonderful! Superb, even!

💜 So naturally, once you find yourself added to the relationship? Expect all that supportive energy thrown your way too lol

🧡 No matter what endeavor you choose to pursue, rest easy knowing you'll have your own personal cheerleaders having your back at all times. You got a hobby you're really into? SAY LESS BABES!! Gift-giving is Brandi's love language so you bet your ass she's buying you everything you could possibly need. Wanna pursue some form of higher education, maybe get some fancy degree? BOOM, you've just signed yourself up for study sessions with Bruce

💜 (I mean like... he might not be much help if you're studying for something shmancy like law or medicine, but he will happily hold and read out flashcards for you :3)

🧡 Or maybe you just wanna help out around Vacay Island which? Yes hello they would love that??

💜 Running a business is no easy feat so the couple definitely welcome the extra set of hands (paws??). If you're more social and outgoing then chances are you're out on the front lines with Bruce, taking orders for food, welcoming guests and getting them settled in, leading activites like volleyball or the weekly shuffleboard tournament, etc.

🧡 Obviously if you'd rather remain behind the scenes, you're more than welcome to join Brandi on her end of things. Making food, booking guests into their rooms, keeping track of all the finances, etc.

💜 Maybe you're crap with spreadsheets and numbers and just wanna like... keep her company while she works at her desk? Grab her some refreshments every now and then?? Maybe even offer a shoulder massage once you've noticed she's been hunched over for too long???

🧡 I swear this woman will cherish you forever

💜 Whether you're another troll like Bruce or a fellow Vacationer like Brandi, the way you spend time with either of these two can differ

🧡 If you're on the smaller side? Bruce just enjoys getting to hold your hand while walking alongside you on the beach. The man spends pretty much all his time around literal giants and it can get a little overwhelming sometimes, so he can definitely appreciate having someone around who's more on his level (hehe). Brandi on the other hand just thinks your small size is cute! Hands down one of her favorite things is when either you or Bruce (OR BOTH) just like? Casually hitch a ride on her shoulder?? Or she'll hold you both in the palm of of her hand and just go "omigosh it's totally like holding a couple of grapes haha :D"

💜 Reader POV: Ah yes. Me, my boyfriend, and our giant girlfriend/wife

🧡 On the flipside, if you're closer to Brandi's size? This woman is taking every available opportunity to take full advantage of the fact. She's laying kisses all over your face, running her fingers through your hair, cuddling with you after a long day of work, etc etc. Technically speaking she COULD (and DOES) do all this regardless of how big/small you are... but at the same time it's just soooo much easier when she doesn't have to constantly watch herself so she doesn't accidentally crush you ://

💜 Meanwhile Bruce is just like "if either of you DO crush me... you won't hear any complaints from my end, just sayin"

🧡 Man is horrendously down bad 😳

💜 Last post i was like OUTINGS WITH BRANDI, but this post?? SURFING LESSONS WITH BRUCE! This man will not rest until you know how to ride a wave, okay, he is DEDICATED. Once you've gotten good enough, expect regular invites to the beach so you two can hit the ocean asdjahdslak

🧡 I like to think that even while running a business and family, Bruce and Brandi are still perfectly capable of maintaining a healthy love life— both with each other and you. Partly because they're just that in love but also cuz they don't let ANYTHING get in the way of weekly date nights (yeah that's right, plural)

💜 Bruce, on the phone: "Hey honey, me and (____) are outside the resturaunt. Where are you?"

"Oh, I'll probably be a few minutes. Bruce Jr. just set off a firework in the kitchen, you know how he is. But you two should go get us a table while you're waiting!"

"Alright, we'll see you later, love you :)"

"I love you guys more~"

🧡 And then Bruce just... hangs up and leads you inside the resturaunt, meanwhile you're just?? Very concerned????

💜 Dates with these two are pretty casual ngl. Neither feel the need for extravagant displays of love, so chances are the three of you are just spending some quality time together. Chillin at home without the kids, cooking/baking food together, watching reality TV

💜 (Tbh there's probably some trollverse version of The Bachelor/Bachelorett and lemme tell you that these two EAT THAT SHIT UP)

🧡 Of course if you wanna go out somewhere fancy then no worries!! Your girl Brandi knows the downlow on all the hottest spots in town and Bruce likely has enough connections to get you three reservations at even the fanciest restaurants

💜 Simply ask and these two will find a way to get it done <33

🧡 LOTS OF FAMILY OUTINGS WITH THE VACAY LOVERS HOUSEHOLD!!!

💜 At some point in the relationship Bruce will approach you and go "Hey, our son Benni has a dance recital tomorrow, did you wanna come?" and the second you say yes is the second you offically become a permanent member of the family. You are joining their monthly family camping trips. You are helping Brandi make cupcakes for school soccer games. You and Bruce are sitting down with the kids for homework help

🧡 Hopefully you've got good memory cuz you're gonna need to memorize 13 different fast food orders whenever the kids drag you to Bergen King askdhalslk

💜 Speaking of the little shits

🧡 You thought you were spending a lot of time with them BEFORE you were smoochin their parents?? Well congrats because the second you start becoming a permanent member at the dinner table, expect to have all 13 of them constantly hanging off you

💜 Maybe one of them needs your help practicing a new move they've learned from their martial arts class, maybe another wants someone to listen as they info dump about their latest hyperfixation, or maybe they just need help kickstarting their underground fireworks selling business

🧡 Cough cough (Bruce Jr) cough cough

ASJKJDHALJSKD THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN, I LOVE THESE TWO SO MUCH!! There were a for more headcanons i wanted to touch upon but the post was getting long lol. Definitely plan on doing more for them tho so no worries uwu

but i mean like if you guys got prompts/questions then go ahead, my asks are open 👀👉👈

#bruce jr. had like 10 seconds of screentime total #10 seconds is all i need to clock him as the family Shit-Stirer(tm)#(was gonna shorten his name to BJ but like...)#(i mean i'll slander him alright)#(but im not gonna do him THAT dirty)#trolls #trolls band together #bruce trolls #brandi trolls #Vacay Lovers #brozone #headcanon #brozone x reader #trolls x reader #x reader #spruce trolls

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ghost-proofbaby · 6 months

Text

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER FIVE: HOLY GROUND

I LEFT A NOTE ON THE DOOR WITH THE JOKE WE MADE, AND THAT WAS THE FIRST DAY. AND DARLING, IT WAS GOOD NEVER LOOKING DOWN.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, minors dni

☆ WC: 8K+

☆ A/N: trying something new in the formating here amongst the chapter - please bear with me <3

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

Oh, how you realize you’ll come to regret that taunt.

The first week of working on organizing Corroded Coffin’s single release party is easy enough. Most of the communication is restricted to Matt and vendors, beginning the process of assessing venues as you start your list of all that will be needed for the party. An actual location, an open bar, entire stage crews. Matt is able to provide a few connections here and there, people in the live music industry that owe him a favor as he had so kindly put it. You had your spreadsheet of contacts that was growing with each passing day, you had several venues that looked as though they would work well for the occasion — the only thing you had yet to do was go over options with the band or properly reach out for their list of requirements for their night of celebration.

You had tried to be sneaky about it. Get around asking for any of their emails, continue living comfortably in the radio silence of not hearing from Eddie. And then you’d made the fatal mistake of asking Matt if he could gather the list of things the boys may want.

And of course, as any sane person would do, he had only forwarded the email to all of the boys’ professional emails and replied: I’ve CC’d our rockstars. I’ve instructed them to personally send you any requests they may have.

Fuck.

Eddie’s email sat at the lead of the list of CC’d emails, almost teasing you as it stared back at you from your laptop screen. A full week, you had avoided this. Even if he could have gotten your email from Matt, he hadn’t, and like a fool, you’d assumed that meant you were in the clear.

So much for that.

You compose and erase multiple emails until you decide that if the boys want to reach out, they can. There was no need for you to make first contact; they now had your email, a bait set for them to initiate a conversation by sending you their lists. If Eddie wanted to reach out to you, he had the perfect excuse to do so.

For a few hours, you don’t hear anything, and instead of sighing in relief, it only puts you further on edge. You want him to just get it over with. To send you an email, preferably an impersonal list that allows you to continue your job. No relations, no interferences. You didn’t know it, but the Universe was already laughing in your face.

The first email from any of the boys comes from Jeff.

A simple list, just as you’d requested. There was nothing outrageous; he’d recommended an open bar, asked for a specific brand of whiskey if possible, and thanked you for all you were doing. Simple, kind, appreciative. Jeff, it seemed, had stayed as humble as you remembered him.

The next email came from Gareth. Less simple, but still just as expected.

Nerds (the CANDY) of any kind. That vodka infused whipped cream (does it even get you drunk?), the softest robe money can buy. Actually, can I get matching house shoes with that robe? Can we also have some cigars in the dressing room? (We are getting a dressing room… right?)

You’re so busy snorting at his requests, rolling your eyes but also losing yourself in the warmth to know he also hadn’t changed much, you don’t see the next email come through.

It was comforting. You knew Eddie had changed — more than you could ever wrap your head around — but these boys you once knew seemed to still be connected to their roots. You read the requests and recall the times you’d spent in Gareth’s hot garage over the summer, sitting on warm concrete as you cheered overly excited, even occasionally standing up to jokingly mosh to their rehearsals. Sweltering summer nights between friends and beers that lost their chill far too quickly, laughter that echoed down the driveway and out into the empty streets of Hawkins. Nostalgia burns away at you, sitting restlessly in your chest as you let yourself simmer in it for the first time since…. since moving to New York, really. Even in that first year, life had moved so quickly, you and Eddie never took the time to ruminate in your past too often. If you did, it had caught you off guard, always fleeting to make room for the next uncertain experience.

You two had been so busy running away from your hometown, you’d never stopped to consider what you had given up in the process.

A soft sigh escapes your lips, and you swear you can still taste the shitty Miller Lite, the only brand that seemed to occupy the Emerson’s fridge, on your tongue as you exit the email and scribble on the notepad before you. Even if Gareth had been joking around with some of his requests, you’d take them seriously — besides, the mental image of Gareth in a plush robe and fluffy slippers to match made you laugh. You were thinking about your past, and for once, you were laughing. This part wasn’t a stain, wasn’t something you had scrubbed away at in a haste to make it fade from your ledger. This was the part you should have been lingering on.

And linger you did until you glanced up to find the next unread email.

Eddie.

[email protected]. You could fool yourself, tell yourself that email is from anyone else, but you know it isn’t. It isn’t even the email that had been CC’d. It’s his personal email.

Your mouse hovers over the highlighted and unopened message, heart dropping with each passing second. There’s a small preview of his message, but your vision blurs just enough that you can’t make out the small words.

Is this how you were always doomed to live out the rest of your days? To freeze, to panic, to malfunction at every slightest thing that has to do with the man you left to begin with? Would he always pull such visceral reactions from you?

In an act of bravery, you press the tip of your finger against the smooth mouse pad, a muted click that doesn’t reach your ears signaling the official opening of the email. All of your hopes are shattered as you realize it’s clearly too short to be a list similar to the other boys, a simple response that you could acknowledge and move on from.

No, he sends something that specifically calls for you to play with him. To reply and interact, to give him what he wants. To talk.

Two fucking words. Two loaded, vexing, provocative words that call to you with the titillating grin you imagine he wore as he typed them.

Your fingers work faster than your brain, slamming away at the keys hurriedly without thought as you type your least professional email to date.

The bottom of the email is automatically signed off with your work signature, including your direct personal line. If you had half the mind, you would have erased that bit of information to keep it from Eddie. It even has your actual signature, a mature one that differs from how you used to scrawl your name atop of schoolwork in high school, that you had scanned into your computer after having gone through the painful process of rewriting it what must have been a thousand times. No one had let you in on the fact that most other corporate monsters and coworkers just used one of the sloping fonts available to them. No one had shown you the ropes – you’d just assumed that it was the normal, to go so above and beyond.

Another brick in the foundation you’d built for yourself, separate from Eddie. Another attempt to change from the girl he’d once loved.

You’re shocked when a reply comes very quickly. You hadn’t even clicked out of the thread before it entered your inbox.

You try to channel fury, years of irritation and calluses you’d built up against him. But your chest has been weakened by that brief moment of nostalgia that Jeff and Gareth had triggered, and it’s a fruitless battle when he sends another message rapidly. He’s treating it like casual texting rather than stiff business interactions.

Your entire body flushes, a shock to your system coming that brings you out of the allusive hypnosis easily.

My emails are monitored. They’re going to see that we know each other. I’m going to get fucking fired.

You steady your breathing and try to stave off the anxiety. It’ll be fine; Lydia has no reason to comb through your emails at this time. Nothing said would trigger any bells or whistles to cause concern. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. It has to be.

You wish you had it in you to see red. He had an incomprehensible amount of nerve to be asking for your personal email all because he refused to use his professional email.

Soft. You’d worked on becoming a hardened version of your old self for two years, and all hard work was quickly going down the drain as you remained too soft for him. It was easy, too. All the rough edges had melted so discreetly somewhere amongst the in between.

You think he’s dropped the topic of your personal email, but you should know better. Not even mere seconds after you receive the first email, brimming with nonchalance and a teasing tone that has no room between the two of you, another message comes through.

Good to see he’s still annoying and persistent as ever, I suppose.

He’s all bark, no bite. That’s what you convince yourself. There’s no way he could find your personal email, a plethora of power and connections at his fingertips or not. Even if he could, it would take him ages and more effort than it would be worth.

All bark. No bite.

You hadn’t realized just how quick and consistent his replies had maintained until you’re met with silence. You wait impatiently, biting at your fingernails as you await for another one of his responses. The more the time passes, the excessive minutes piling up in the quiet midday hum of your midtown apartment, the more noticeable Eddie’s online silence becomes.

No, you think suddenly and strongly. No, I am not doing this.

You refuse to sit around like this and succumb so easily. All your half-healed scars thrum with aches deep-rooted within the skin you’ve grown over the last two years, screaming out in phantom pains with a reminder of what happened to you the last time you’d let yourself sit around and wait on the boy on the end of the line. Every lonely night, every tear shed, every beat of your bleeding heart — you cannot be doing this again, and not so soon.

Quickly, you click out of your email tab and back onto the list of vendors you needed to contact for the bar commodities. Distract, distract, distract. You comb through your list. Some vendors seemed to hold more potential than others, more attainable in the grand scheme of it all. For the first time ever in your very short career of event planning, budget wasn’t the issue.

Eddie’s reputation was.

But you’re not thinking about Eddie. No, your focus was anywhere but him right now. You weren’t thinking about him, or his new cologne, or his new rings, or his new life-

Just as you pick up your cell phone to start your calls down the list, a notification pings.

Only seven minutes had passed. Seven minutes, and your phone is suddenly alight with a small but terrifying notification from your personal email.

New email from [email protected]!

Oh, fuck.

Your thumb hesitates over the tiny banner before you release the breath you were sure you’d been holding the entire seven minutes. It shouldn’t have taken him such little time. You expected it to realistically take him a few hours, all your anxious waiting aside.

There had been only one fatal flaw in your taunting — well, technically there were several becoming more apparent as the seconds ticked by, but only one so glaringly obvious. Your personal email address. You had forgotten.

You hadn’t changed it since high school, since moving to New York, since meeting and since leaving Eddie.

[email protected].

The stupid inside joke haunts you.

“Why does your email even matter?” Eddie huffed from where he was sprawled out on your bed, tossing around some bouncy ball he’d acquired a few nights before during dinner at a local pizza joint, “No one even uses email anymore.”

He tossed the ball of rubber into the air once more, a blur of the rainbow swirl pattern whirring too close to your ceiling for comfort. Your focus waned from your laptop for just a moment as you suddenly shot out a hand, attempting to intercept the ball.

No use. Eddie used one hand to swat yours away, the other happily capturing the toy in his palm with a muted thud.

“Nuh, uh, uh,” he drawled as he looked at you with his boyish grin, eyes sparkling as his fingers closed loosely around his prize, “If you wanted one so badly the other night, you should have also coughed up a quarter.”

You snorted, “Are you really proud of that? You spent a whole twenty five cents on a hunk of rubber, Rockstar.”

“A hunk of rubber you’re now trying to steal from me.”

“I’m not trying to steal it,” you scowled, “I’m trying to focus here. Emails are important, despite your pessimism. Something my English teacher said about professionalism.”

“You’re really going to listen to that dinosaur? The old O’Donnel-saurus?” Eddie mused, chuckling beneath his breath at his own joke.

You refused to crack a smile in return, or show any recognition at the awful joke, but your chest still warmed. The smoke of your affection for the boy in front of you unfurled, thick enough to choke you up a few extra seconds but thin enough to not suffocate. Never suffocate — it was a time in which you could never imagine your love for Eddie Munson being your downfall. It was a wispy and adaptable type of adoration, just like the smoke that flows off of the end of the incense you’d taken to burning in your room lately in lieu of candles.

“It’d do you well to also come up with a professional sounding email, you know,” you hummed. You were mere seconds away from shoving your laptop away and joining Eddie in his relaxed position, maybe even laying your head on his chest or shoulder and bringing up the idea of a late afternoon nap you knew he’d never turn down, “Can’t go around emailing important people when you’re a rockstar with your Dungeons & Dragons nickname.”

“One,” he held up a stern finger, “Like I said — I don’t use email. And two, I’m very happy with my email, sweetheart. I’ll probably email the damn President with that name. Life’s too short and we’re too young to get a stick up our ass about shit like that.”

You reached out and wrapped your palm around his finger, tugging it down. Unlike with the ball, he let you capture him in your grasp, “I don’t have a stick up my ass about it.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then make it something funny,” he wiggled his brows, “Make your email something stupid and live a little.”

“A little?” you scoffed, “I think I live plenty for the both of us. You’ve put me through at least three lifetimes worth of stress before I’ve hit twenty. I probably have grey hairs already.”

Your hand curled around his pointer finger drops to your thigh, but doesn’t release him. The touch remained, ever constant, now more for comfort rather than defiance. And he let you continue to hold him, as if your touch was a luxury he was indulging in just as much as you were his.

“Wanna check?” he taunted. He lifted up off his back for a microsecond, tugging your arm with his before the roll of your eyes had him falling back flat once more.

It was a losing battle, arguing with Eddie.

Your conjoined hands settled back atop your thigh as you sighed. Maybe Eddie had been right, and you were stressing out too much about this. He was right; you were young, and having a dumb email was a right of passage. Something to giggle at in your maturity when you’d provide it later down the road, a flash of your youth to keep close.

Fuck professionalism, or whatever high horse O’Donnel had been on.

“Fine,” you huffed, “What do you suggest?”

“… To check for grey hairs?”

“For my email, you idiot.”

A bit more back and forth, a bit too raunchy of ideas that passed Eddie’s lips only to be rejected quickly with rough shakes of your head. His finger remained locked in your palm, at some point his knuckle wiggling between suggestions to stroke at your skin.

“Sweetheart, you’re being too picky,” Eddie finally whined as you shot down yet another one of his ideas, “At this point, just make it something related to the band. You’ll probably be Corroded Coffin’s manager when we make it big, anyways.”

“That sounds like a nightmare,” you murmured, even if you enjoyed the thought. You already had started to get a hang of wrangling the boys in your small town for menial tasks and day-to-day activities. But on a wider, professional scale? You could already feel the headache pressing into your temples. If they ever offered you the proposition, you wouldn’t have said no, but you certainly would have complained to no end. And definitely got grey hairs.

“Sweetheart.”

The repetition of the nickname froze you. Your eyebrows furrowed as the wheels in your brain turned and you looked down at your boy, the formulation of an idea that was combining both of Eddie’s suggestions suddenly.

“Why do you call me sweetheart?”

Eddie was taken back by your question, face crumpling with confusion, “What?”

“Why do you call me sweetheart?” you repeated yourself as you finally let go of his finger and twisted to face him fully, laptop momentarily forgotten as your legs folded beneath you and pressed into your worn mattress, “Like, I call you Rockstar because I know you’ll be a rockstar someday. Already are technically, to me, but don’t let that go to your head,” you explained, smiling shyly as Eddie narrowed his eyes and shined his dimples at you, “So why do you call me sweetheart?”

He hardly had to think about it, although his answer came out as more of a question, “Because you’re my sweetheart?”

“That’s all?”

“Is this a trick question?”

You nearly cackled at his hesitation, “It isn’t, I swear. Just… humor me.”

This time, he took his time to carefully deliberate his answer, “Well, I guess because it just fits,” he paused, wide eyes catching yours as you lifted your brows in question, “You know? Cause you’re sweet like sugar, and you’ve got a heart of gold,” he grabbed up the hand that once held him and drew it into his lips, peppering kisses across your knuckles and fingertips, fighting a grin as he groveled, “There. Is that romantic enough to humor you?”

“Almost.”

You pulled your hand away despite the fact that you wanted to let him continue his display of affection. You would have laid around all day, letting Eddie Munson shower you in all the affection he had to give. But you really needed to create this email.

And now, you had the perfect name.

CORRODEDSUGAR.

You created the account quickly. Set everything up with ease before you proudly turned your screen to Eddie.

“Corroded sugar?” he read outloud in a murmur as a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, “Cute. But also, very metal. Very badass. I approve, Sugar.”

A new nickname was born that day, to haunt you and taunt you at every corner. In soft mornings when he woke before you, his voice softly cooing ‘wake up, Sugar’ as he’d brush his nose along your jaw and attempt to awaken you with needy nuzzling. Amidst heated and passionate arguments had all in good fun while out with friends, where he knew you were right but the closest he’d come to admitting it would simply be ‘whatever you say, Sugar!’. He’d even once weaponized it against you during sacred moments, where his lips worshiped you as they trailed leisurely down the skin of your torso until he’d settled between your thighs, humming as he wrapped ringed fingers around your hips and whispered nothing more than the nickname. ‘Sugar’. He had sighed as if he were a starving man, and you were the plate of sweetness that would bring him back to life.

Sugar. A prayer, a promise, a reminder.

You couldn’t remember the last time he’d called you that. Until now.

When you’d tried to reset, rebuild, remake yourself, it had been hard to figure out a new email address. Amongst all the changes and all the decisions to be made, choosing a new email just felt overwhelming. And you’d been foolish, clung to one last relic of your past like an estranged child fisting a blanket to sleep.

The seven minutes suddenly makes crystal clear sense.

Whether it had really been Eddie’s rockstar connections from his fame, or simply recalling a far away memory, you hadn’t made yourself a very hard person to find. And you never considered that your laziness would have a consequence like this.

You don’t know what else to say. Your mind keeps reading over that silly five letter word, the bold lettering jumping off the page at you. All recollections of every time he’d ever called you that slip into the forefront of your brain, slapping away any concentrated thought.

You’d had dreams of him calling you that again. A mixture of memories and fantasies that would wake you up in the months following your departure. Compared to the other dreams you’d had amongst those, they had been a sweet reprieve. Not a nightmare of Eddie with his lips pressed to another, or mournful dreams where you reached out to him only for him to become intangible smoke where your hand should have connected with his torso. They were one of your only dreams you had awoken from without immediate tears.

They were the type of dreams where you’d awake, and for just a moment, you’d forgotten all that had happened. They’d twist you up in a blissful blanket of delusion that he was still yours, that you were still laying in a shared bed in that small apartment, that there was still a calendar on the wall with the date of his return marked with a scarlet heart.

The tears would come later. Once the dreamy fog cleared, and your eyes opened up to see the unfamiliar space you had taken to calling home instead.

The two of you should be discussing the release party. He should be handing over a list of requests and you should be adding them to the same page that you’d copied down Gareth’s.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

Talking, like nothing happened. Having a playful conversation over email that reeked of the same make-believe that had clung to your dreams of Sugar.

He won’t break the illusion, so you do.

Messaging him from this contact only reminds you of all that could have been. All the joking conversations back in Hawkins of your involvement with the band once they inevitably blew up, all the late nights where you’d been privy to a private show as he hunched over his guitar and hummed out melodies to new songs, all the bruises those once familiar hands had left and then caressed in the afterglow.��

For just a moment, you miss it all.

For only a second, you wish he wore the same cologne and you wish you still signed your name as you had when you first met him. You wish for days of instability and the solid touch of his shoulders beneath your palms as you convince him to take a leap of faith on himself and the band. Dancing in a small apartment, falling asleep on the phone while he was a world away, quiet confessions of love to soothe the wound that distance made grow larger — for just a moment, you want it all back. Even the pain. Even the hurt you’d been burying alive for years.

Silence. Once again, he’s left you with static lines as the minutes pass and no new message is received.

You think you liked it better when he was being inappropriately playful.

At least then, he was saying something. Now, as he says nothing, you have to resort back to doing your job. You bring up a knee to rest your chin on as you adjust in your home office chair, clicking over to tabs of information on a physically small but well-known venue that had several different capacity options. Ranging from a small room that could hardly fit twenty five people to a rooftop set up with the ability to entertain several hundred people. Something about it had felt very Eddie to you; reclusive, with opportunity for an afterparty. Some odd mixture of who you once knew and who you’d seen flashes of through headlines and brief encounters. You hadn’t been given many guidelines from Matt to go off of, and when you’d questioned capacity size, he’d only brushed it off.

Just something smaller than the venues they play on tour.

Would Eddie even want this small of a venue? Looking over the venue’s website, you catch sight of the approximate occupancy limit for the “largest” stage room — 750 standing. What was Corroded Coffin’s new normal? Once upon a time, you were amongst a crowd that couldn’t even break double digits. But now, a show like this might sell out for them in five minutes flat. Hell, they could probably even sell out a thousand person capacity room.

A ding sounds to signify a new email.

For a second, you’re nonsensically relieved when you see it’s from Eddie. You find yourself blindly hopeful for a continuation of banter, another message solely trying to get on your nerves – something to satiate that stubborn need to slip back into old habits, even if for only just today.

It’s not. It’s a stale list of requests. Sent to your work email, this time.

No sight of his playfulness between the words. No beckoning of him taunting you, teasing you, whispering for you to just give in and play pretend with him one last time.

It’s probably for the best.

—

Have Mondays always been this hectic?

Week two of working on Corroded Coffin’s album release was starting off very differently from the first week. It seemed every corner you turned, you were faced with a new challenge that only made the headache behind your temples pound more relentlessly. Denial from venues, cold calls being forwarded to voicemail when you’d reach out to vendors, and Matt being impossibly busy with the band to get back to any of your emails in a timely manner.

If you had to hear one more venue representative turn down your business proposition with a “Sorry, but we’ve heard about Eddie’s reputation…”, you might make a detour to go jump off the Empire State Building.

Had he really been that awful to venue properties?

“You look stressed,” Romina notes when you hang up on your third unsuccessful call of the day, slamming the phone down more violently than you should.

“Who, me?” you bitterly reply, looking over your shoulder to where she leans in her chair, turned entirely from her desk to watch you with gentle amusement, “Never. I have never been stressed a day in my life.”

She quirks an eyebrow, “And before this new secret project of yours, I would have agreed.”

“Every venue is shooting me down.”

“It happens,” you yearn to feel the nonchalance that flows through the shrug of her shoulders, as if she’s now the one without a worry in the world, “Are they giving reasons?”

You open your mouth, but your tongue stops short. Because yes, they were each giving the same resounding, completely valid reason. But to admit this is to inform Romina what your secret project really is – something that a certain NDA strictly prohibits for the time being.

“Conflict of schedules,” you tightly lie as your glare diverts to your computer screen, still open on a mostly empty inbox.

Eddie hadn’t emailed you since last week.

Somewhere amongst your frustration, there was a sore disappointment lying in patient wait. You have not a single doubt that once the storm of the task at hand passes, once you finally secure a venue, that you’ll be forced to deal with it. But for now, a boy not emailing you after being so insistent for your personal contact was the least of your worries.

Romina’s voice draws you back in, “Really? How far out are you trying to book for?”

“Three months.”

The squeak of her chair pauses abruptly. Your eyes shift and you catch the way all her mindless swaying has ceased, mouth flat with eyes widened in disbelief.

“Three months?”

“What?” you finally spin your chair to face her, playing off nonchalance. You know why she’s reacting so dramatically, “Should I not be booking that far in advan-”

“I- No, no. You absolutely should be. It should actually be making it easier to book,” she leans forward in her seat, squinting at you, “Is that really the only reason they’re giving?”

You get it. Because she’s right; giving such fair notice should be making your job easier. But you can’t defend yourself and explain how the client you’re representing is the real issue.

“Yeah,” you force a forlorn sigh.

“Jesus,” she whistles out, “Well, that’s just… Fuck. I’m sorry, babe. That’s rough. What types of venues are you even trying for? Wait - didn’t you say you were arranging for a grand opening of a bakery? Wouldn’t they already have their shop set up-”

“Hello ladies.”

Thank fucking God for Lydia.

“Lydia!” you sit up just a little bit straighter, nearly leaping out of your seat with relief as your boss approaches. You knew exactly where Romina’s train of thought was heading, and you wouldn’t have been able to come up with a single pitiful excuse to keep up with your little white lie, “How are you today?”

Romina is still perched in her chair with a confused look, but Lydia doesn’t even glance her way, looking just as concerned as she looks down at you, “I’m… fine. There’s a client for you in the conference room.”

Straight to the point. Except, you didn’t have a meeting scheduled today.

“A client?” you echo, shrinking down a bit. You only have one client, technically, at this moment, “I didn’t have anything on my calendar.”

“Apparently, they were just on this side of town. Said you’d left a few voicemails and he thought it’d be easier to just pop in to discuss things.”

It had to be Matt. He must have gotten one of your frantic voicemails you’d left over the weekend, the ones you’d instantly regretted and worried had lacked in professionalism.

It has to be Matt.

“Oh,” Romina’s eyes are burning holes in the back of your chair as you fumble to lock your computer screen, scrambling to gather anything you might need. The notebook you’d been using to keep track of the entire ordeal crinkles slightly in your grip, “Yeah, of course, that- I’ll go straight there. Are they in one of the smaller conference rooms or the-”

“The main one,” Lydia interrupts you, and her tone makes you pause.

She sounds as if Matt’s arrival is the largest inconvenience she had experienced in the last month.

Why would Matt popping in to talk to me be such a big deal?

She’s clearly not in the mood for questions, so you only nod as you stand up, “Got it.”

And then she’s gone. No interest in joining you, or to question what could be going wrong. No sign of involvement like the day you’d originally met with the band and Matt to sign all documentation.

Your gut twists in knots that not even boy scout’s have discovered yet.

And they only worsen when Romina calls after your retreating figure, “Good luck with your baker!”

You’re kind of fucked. It’s clear she’s no longer buying into your lie of your client, and the thought of facing her after Matt is nausea-inducing. What if you just came clean? Would they sue you for telling Romina? Would Romina tell anyone else if you confided in her? Your thoughts race with question after question as you quickly make your way through the maze of cubicles, taking lefts and rights far too fast as you worry about making Matt wait much longer.

It was just stupid. Because amongst the questions, one rings out that’s insane enough to make the rest of them actually sound reasonable.

If you did manage to fuck this up in any way, would Eddie protect you?

Whether it be because you couldn’t complete the task at hand that was beginning to look impossible, or if it was because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, would he defend you?

You’d figured you’d lost his servitude and protection long ago, back when you’d first left that apartment and ignored every attempt at contact. But if it came down to it, would he offer you one last privilege of his defense? Probably not. Which — fair enough. You hadn’t done anything in the last week to have already earned that back. You hadn’t wanted to earn that privilege back, either. No matter how badly you found yourself wanting a new email from him in your inbox, there was a clear line in the sand drawn by your own stick, and you had to stay to your side of it.

You were a big girl. You could handle it.

Just as you finally approach the conference room, eyes trained to the ground and brows tightly furrowed in careful consideration (definitely not frustration, because the thought of Eddie surely couldn’t frustrate you), you make a fatal mistake. It’s a small detail you’d never paid much mind to prior — a stain on the carpet just outside the doorway, subtle yet large once the shadowy shifting of the carpet’s color caught your eyes. You’re so busy letting your eyes trail the perimeter of it, trying to focus on the threaded shades rather than the shade of Eddie’s dark eyes in the hallway the week before, that you aren’t prepared when the toe of your shoe catches against the said carpet.

You should have ate shit, to put it plainly.

One quick fumble, and you’re flying forward, hardly thinking as you throw out your hands to brace for impact. Foolish, considering the fall would have left you with severely aching wrists, or a bruised face. But it never arrives.

Large hands suddenly appear to grab you, catching you halfway through the sudden fall, and the unfamiliar cologne that’s plagued your waking thoughts for a week now overtakes your senses.

You thought it was Matt waiting for you.

“Woah!” his voice echoes easily in the empty hallway, “Shit, are you okay?”

You swore it was Matt waiting for you.

“Fine,” you strangle out, pulling away from that touch as quickly as possible. Like he’s burned you. Like those hands that once knew you all too well held your entire demise in their palms.

And they might.

It wasn’t Matt waiting for you.

Eddie doesn’t seem shocked by your retreat, only watching with a blank face as you regain your balance on your own and avoid eye contact. He looks nice – a leather jacket too shiny to be the one he wore when you wore together, a faded band t-shirt beneath you can’t fully see the logo of but know was bought that distressed just for looks due to the familiar unfamiliarity that has begun to cloud around the man you once knew, heavy boots planted right on the stain in the carpet that had distracted you.

“What did you even trip on?” he finally questions, looking curiously behind you as he retraces your path, “Was it-”

“Air,” you cut him off, “Save me the embarrassment, but I tripped on air.”

If you had half a mind, you would have interrupted with something more useful. Maybe demanded to know why he was here in your office. Questioned his intentions of showing up unannounced. Asked why he never emailed again.

Okay, maybe not that last one.

He lets out a short chuckle, more a breath than anything else as his face finally cracks and he almost grins, “I see. To be fair, it’s an easy thing to trip on. Very hard to see. Almost as if it’s invisible.”

He gauges your reaction, but you don’t let yourself so much as smile at his awkward attempt at a joke.

You can’t. You can’t casually joke with him, you can’t laugh and pretend like there isn’t an elephant sitting on your chest every time you occupy the same space as him. There’s no magic eraser to everything between you two; no amount of emails, no amount of bad jokes that can vanish all that has transpired. Your past and the carpet, it seems, have something in common.

Never thought you’d say that about the ugly threads you only look at to disassociate during particularly long days.

“What are you doing here?” you finally whisper out the right question, and internally cringe as your mouth keeps moving only to tack on a completely unnecessary addition of, “I didn’t receive any emails about a meeting-”

“Matt sent me,” Eddie shrugs. You watch the way the leather creases and fits his wide shoulders, catch yourself studying to see if there’s any new muscle beneath the layers to further estrange you further from him, “He’s been stuck in meetings for the album and single, and said you’d left him a few voice mails so… I’m the rescue team, I guess.”

You finally look him in his eyes, jaw dropping ever so slightly, “You?”

“What about me?”

“You’re my ‘rescue team’?” the words are bitter on your tongue, his presence anything but a relief of rescue, “No offense, but how can you possibly help me?”

And then he smiles. And, oh Lord, you’ve forgotten how nice of a smile he has. It’s painful – a sharp reminder of the past that you just can’t shake. He’s an old photograph that never quite burns, a stain on your favorite article of clothing you’ll never wear again. For a moment, it doesn’t matter how many parts of him he’s replaced, how many pieces of him have been turned over brand new and unfamiliar, because he looks just like the boy you left behind. A relic you can mourn for once you return to your apartment all alone. A whisper you’ll exchange with your children about someday, as you tell them all about the boy who changed you for the worse.

“You’d be surprised,” he muses, reaching a hand up to drag over a chin shadowed over in faint facial hair, “Apparently, once you make it big, you have to learn about more things than just how to play an A chord on a guitar or sing in tune. Business, for example. That’s what you’ve been struggling with, yeah? The business aspect of it all?”

You kind of want to walk away from him. To go and eat shit in a different hallway, on your way to tell Lydia you can’t do this anymore.

“I’m not struggling,” you snap.

He’s quick to lift his hands in surrender, “Don’t shoot the messenger. Those were Matt’s words, not mine.”

“Yeah, well, tell Matt I’m fine,” you huff indignantly, “I’m a professional who can handle myself. I can figure this out on my own.”

You’re turning your back to him, ready to storm off dramatically for your own sanity, when he clears his throat.

You pause. You don’t turn to look, but you halt mid-step.

“Humor me, for a second,” he begins, “What exactly are you fully capable of figuring out on your own?”

“The planning,” you state the obvious, staring at an odd piece of art on the office wall to your left. Not quite turning your head to him, but angling so your voice carries.

“Yeah, no shit,” his words spark a little more anger, a little more rage, “I mean what part of the planning? You’ve left Matt at least two voicemails. Probably more, if he’s resorted to sending me.”

More like five. Possibly seven, but you’d indulged in more wine than would be wise to admitting this weekend after receiving your third venue rejection.

“Maybe he just got tired of babysitting you. Decided to make you someone else’s problem.”

“Maybe,” Eddie hums, and you can hear his slow footsteps as he slowly walks to block your vision of the abstract artwork. Your gaze is cut off from the silvery lines splattered across a black background and forced upon brown eyes that are more lively than you remember from the previous week, “But I already made the trip all the way down here. Might as well make myself useful to you.”

He’s still wearing that smile. The one that belongs captured in a polaroid at the back of your closet. The one frozen in a time that was so much simpler than this.

The kind that leaves a mark – a stain.

“You want to make yourself useful to me?” you narrow your eyes, straighten your shoulders, prepare for battle, “Then leave. That is the most useful thing you can do for me right now – walk out of this building, and leave me to figure this out without being a pest.”

Your words should hurt him, but they only seem to fuel him. It’s the exact same reaction you’d imagined on the other side of all the emails. A pep to his step and a perk in his posture that elicits unhinged annoyance from deep within you.

“No can do,” he smirks, “Sorry, I’m on Matt’s orders to not leave until we figure this out. Together.”

You don’t care how nice Matt is – you decidedly hate him at this moment.

“Eddie,” you don’t notice the way his chest catches when you say his name, even in your defiant tone, “I am telling you right now, there is nothing you can do to help.”

And then he takes you off guard, breathing still not quite steady as he breathes out, “Let’s go get coffee.”

“I already told you, I have no interest in getting coffee or lunch with yo-”

“Not like that,” he waves off, finally slipping back into his casual demeanor, “Just- throw me a bone here, Sugar. We don’t even have to talk. You can bring your laptop and phone, focus on work and pretend I don’t exist the entire time. But I have to stick around long enough to get Matt off my ass, and you clearly have been stuck in this stuffy ass building for too long.”

Sugar.

Your breath catches at the nickname, just as his had when you said his name.

Shakily, you exhale, “No, I-”

“Funny thing,” he shoves both hands in the pockets of his jeans. Well-fitted, fairly new. No signs of distress like he preferred in his youth. Just starch black that clings to skin you once knew, “I’m not asking. Technically, I’m your boss. And as your boss, I’m instructing you to join me for nothing more than a free coffee and change of scenery. Like I said, it’ll be as if I’m not even there. I’ll keep my mouth shut the entire time – strictly business.”

You nearly slip up and inform him that it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t talk – if he’s near you, your body always seems to know. Your body, your senses, your soul. Any time he occupies the same room as you, his vicinity lights something in you impossible to ignore. It had been that way since the first day you met him. And would probably continue to be that way until the day you were buried six feet under.

Even in death, his soul would probably haunt yours. You would never know another day of peace since meeting Eddie Munson.

“You’re not my boss,” you argue, crossing your arms, “You’re my client. Lydia is my boss.”

“And would Lydia appreciate you arguing with a client like this?”

“What do you want from me?”

The question falls from your lips with unexpected weight and exasperation.

Your arms fall down from your chest just as quickly as they’d risen, the two of you encased in silence as you both realize the implication behind the question. It’s about more than just the coffee, more than just his impromptu visit to your work. It’s the heaviest question you could have asked at this moment; and one that neither of you were ready to hear the answer to quite yet.

There’s a million unsaid words swirling behind whiskey irises. A hundred and one conversations never had, a thousand and one battles never witnessed on both ends of this war. Something in them whispers you might not be the only one haunted.

Maybe, just maybe, his soul will only haunt yours for as long as yours haunts his. A haunted house, a ghastly gallery. Two ghosts always meant to hang up parallel to each other in crooked frames, in an empty hallway.

“Just a coffee,” he whispers, and something in you cracks quietly, “Just one cup of coffee, for now.”

With all things considered, it’s not asking that much of you.

You don’t have any fight left in you. Whether he’s here, whether he’s a world away, you’re still destined to be stuck across from him in the damn hallway. Always staring, always drawn. There might not be a single corner of this world far enough away to break whatever thread ties you to the man before you, whether you still know him or not.

After a pregnant pause, you sigh, “Let me grab my purse.”

With all things considered, he probably should be asking more of you.

But you’re grateful he isn’t as you retreat and do exactly as promised, not looking Romina in her eyes before you begin your doomsday march for just one cup of coffee.

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