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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 10 months

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i literally have no idea what this is, or where it came from but here's a thing:

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,043 | rated: M (will be E in next part)

Eddie Munson was not Steve’s bi awakening, okay? He wasn’t.

He just happened to be standing in the middle of Family Video dressed like his bi awakening (and it didn’t help that he already had an embarrassingly huge crush on the guy).

Steve had come out of the back none the wiser to what he was about to see, glancing up from the tape he was carrying for someone who’d called earlier. His eyes met big, clunky, worn-in cowboy boots, long lean legs (and very nice ass–damn, they’ve got one of those stupid bandanas in their back pocket too) in classic Levis so tight they looked like they were painted on, the back of leather jacket (--hold on), and the back of a head of long, wild-looking, sun-kissed, yet still dark hair.

After his seconds-long oogling, Robin, who was chatting with Bon Jovi’s twin at the counter, glances behind him at Steve.

Bon Jovi tries to turn and look back without taking himself off the counter, but when that insane hair of his gets in the way, he shoves up off the counter and spins on one heel.

“Munson? Where the hell’ve you been?” Steve thanks whatever it is up there that the surprise of seeing Eddie again temporarily suspends his frazzled ‘hothothothothot’ thoughts about his friend enough to respond normally.

“Damn, Stevie, been gone all summer and all I get is a ‘The hell’ve you been’?”

“Of course, asshole, you’ve been gone All. Summer.” Steve says, finally getting to the counter himself and dropping the tape on it. He scoops Eddie up in a tight hug, one long won from their month of recovery post-Vecna.

Everything went fine, Vecna was dead, the upside-down sealed away, but they hadn’t all left unscathed. Specifically Steve and Eddie, both of whom ended their spring break from hell nursing bat wounds, and closer than ever before.

Then, after finally graduating, being hailed a hero for “saving” Max and Dustin from the real killer (thank you, suspicious government people), Eddie was hauled out of Hawkins by his Uncle, the former of whom got just enough time for a quick ‘Gotta go, Wayne wants me helping out at the farm this summer,’ before he was gone.

“I told you I would be, Harrington,” Eddie says once Steve sets him back down on his own two feet.

“So what happened? Where’ve you really been?”

Eddie raises a brow, “At the farm. Like I said.”

“Okay, well, excuse me for thinking it may have been the same 'farm' my parents said my childhood dog was sent off to.”

“You think my Uncle was gonna take me upstate to shoot me dead?”

“Obviously not, dumbass, but what other goddamn reason would you, Eddie Munson, have to be on a farm. Like with cows and stuff?”

“Though the sun did you some favors,” Robin cuts back in.

And isn’t that the truth. Up close now (and letting himself look), Steve could see how Eddie’s normally dark hair and pale complexion were now sun-kissed and so well be-freckled that it sent his stomach for another rollercoaster ride.

“Yeah, Munson, you planning on keeping the blond around?” Steve teases, picking up a strand of sun-lightened hair off Eddie’s shoulder and giving it a short tug.

“I don’t know, I’m not really used to how light…”

Whatever Eddie says after that is completely drowned out by ringing in Steve’s ears because Eddie stretches an arm up to paw at the top of his head and he’s wearing a crop top.

He’s wearing a goddamn crop top under his jacket, some band tee that looks like he’d hacked off himself..and are those abs?? God damn he is so fine. It’s not fucking fair. Who does he think he is running around like Steve’s own personal wet dre–

“Holy shit.”

He couldn’t help it. The words just fell out of his mouth.

“H-holy shit, you’ve got abs, Eddie!”

‘Thank you, Robin.’ Steve thinks at her absently since his brain is completely preoccupied..

“Wha–? Oh! Yeah! Check me out, huh?!” Eddie grins wide, lifting his shirt just a bit more to show off the toned expanse of stomach.

Steve’s mouth goes bone dry.

“And that’s not all,” Eddie says. He drops his shirt and shucks the jacket off his shoulders.

His very well sculpted shoulders.

And arms.

And oh god those hands. Steve could hear the soft scrapes of rough callouses against the leather when Eddie threw the garment onto the counter beside him and his only thought was about how they might feel against his skin..

Still beaming, Eddie flexes one, then both arms, his biceps bunching under more tanned skin. “I got a lot of ‘lifting heavy things and putting them back down again’ in over the summer.” he continues, “I’m probably stronger than you now, Harrington.”

“Ha haha, right..yeah. Robin, can you excuse us for a second?”

Steve doesn’t wait for her response before he grabs Eddie around one of those absolutely delicious biceps and hauls him through the store and out the back door.

He lets a grinning Eddie go as soon as they’re through the back door, taking a couple steps away towards the woods behind their building, and trying to calm down with measured breaths.

When he does turn around, Eddie’s stood away from the door, one hip cocked out and his arms crossed across his chest.

The grin on his face has melted down into a smirk though, and the look in his eyes is less teasing and more cautious.

Steve steps back up close to the other man, and literally starts to circle him like a shark. Scanning his eyes up and down Eddie’s body as he does.

“What’s goin’ on Stevie? Looking for some style tips?” he jokes.

Steve doesn’t answer, and starts his second cycle around his friend.

“You know, maybe get rid of some of those polos?” Eddie sounds just a bit more unsure this time.

Steve’s behind Eddie’s right shoulder when he speaks again. “You think you can barge back in after all this time, looking like that,” Steve comes around to stand in front of Eddie again, “And not expect me to react?”

Eddie grins wickedly again, and steps back at the same time Steve steps forward.

“Expect me to not want to devour you whole?”

“You expect me to want that, big boy?” Eddie says as he’s pressed between Steve and the closed back door.

Steve rears back immediately, “Shit, Eddie, I’m sor–”

“‘Cause I do.” Eddie grabs hold of Steve and spins them around, pressing the younger man back against the door instead. “Ohhh boy, do I want that.”

Steve groans as Eddie slots their hips together, “You really are a big boy, aren’t you sunshine?”

“The things I’m gonna do to you..” Steve growls out, Eddie’s jaw snapping open with his words.

They’re both startled away from the back door when Robin bangs on it, “You’ve got five minutes to get back in here before I drag you back in! It’s Friday and we’re about to get busy!” she yells through the door.

He hears her converse squeak on the tile inside the door as she heads back to the front, then chances a look at Eddie.

He looks as red as Steve feels, from the bit of his face he can see from behind the hair he holds over it.

“Eddie–”

“It’s cool, Harrington,” he wheezes out a dry laugh, glancing over at him, “Better get in for the rush before Robin comes back.

He reaches for the handle again, but is stopped short by a hand on his wrist.

“Listen, Eddie.” Steve says, giving the other man’s arm a soft tug to get him to turn around. “I may have gotten a little…over enthusiastic…”

Eddie’s face scrunches up in a weird way.

“No! Not in a bad way, unless you weren’t as into it as I was–doesn’t matter! Point is, I may have gone a little crazy, but I wasn’t faking it.”

“I don’t think guys can fake it, Steve-o.” Eddie jokes softly, a small smile on his face.

Steve chuckles just as soft, “Shut up man, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“I think you do.”

“I dunno Steve," Eddie shrugs sarcastically, "You’re quite an enigma.”

“Okay, fine, here’s it spelled out for you: I am super into you.” Steve puts up a finger to stop whatever it is Eddie was about to say, “Hold on– I am bisexual, have been for a while and would like to try this..with you. If you want.”

“You gotta be more specific on what ‘this’ is, sunshine.” Eddie steps close to him once again.

Steve smirks, walking Eddie backward to the door again with both hands on his waist. Once he’s got him pressed back against the warm metal, he scoops the hair away from Eddie’s ear and holds it out of the way with a hand on the back of his neck.

He leans in, whispering right into Eddie’s ear. “I want to take you apart, Eddie.”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath and Steve can feel the man’s heart hammering against his own chest.

“I want to suck you down, eat you out, and fuck you into next Tuesday.” He states, nipping on his earlobe for good measure before pulling back.

Steve takes in Eddie’s flushed face, his eyes blown out they’re almost completely black, his chest heaving.

“I’d also like to totally romance you and date the fuck out of you, but…” he shrugs, grinning as Eddie smacks his chest lightly with a laugh of his own.

“I’m serious though, Eddie. I want this.”

Eddie’s smile falls slightly. “You sure about the whole dating thing, Harrington? You know you can’t date me for real..like in public and shit.”

Steve shrugs, “I know, but… I don’t think I’d survive something casual with you, Eddie.”

Eddie lets out a breath like he’d been punched.

He takes back in a deep breath, then pulls Steve flush to him again.

“I think that sounds amend—-”

Eddie’s forehead smashes into Steve’s nose when Robin shoves the door open behind Eddie.

“Damn! I knew the door was a bad idea.” Steve says, his voice coming out nasally from where he’s pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“Time’s up, Dingus, get your fruity butt inside.”

Eddie chuckles after her, leading Steve inside. “You shouldn’t tip your head back, lean forward and let it drain out.”

“Ugh, you sure? I’ll get blood all over me,”

“I’m sure, sweetheart, I’ve had a few bloody noses in my time.”

“Here,” Robin says once they reach the counter.

Steve takes the offered tissues, and soaks up the small trickle of blood.

“You still wanna date me if my nose is crooked?” he asks Eddie, who’s (sadly) shrugging his coat back on.

He pretends to think for a moment. “Sorry Stevie, that’s a dealbreaker. Even if it was my forehead what done it.”

“Ugh you’re such a dweeb, I don’t know what you see in him, Steve.”

“He’s hot, okay? And he’s still hot even after he rejected me just now.” Steve states matter-of-factly while shoving a wad of tissue into the one nostril still bleeding.

“You think I’m hot?”

“Very.”

“No, you’re gross. You guys are both gross.”

“Oh Birdie, you should've heard the things he was saying to me outside; all ‘Ooh Eddie, your muscles are so big and so is your hair and also your di—’”

“OKAY! That’s enough of that!” Steve cuts him off, pushing the still grinning Eddie toward the door, then, a softer: “Yours or mine after I’m off?” once they’re at the door.

“Definitely yours, unless you want Wayne to be privy to our shenanigans.”

“Yeah, that’s a no. Also, shenanigans? Really? You’re a super dweeb.” Steve smirks, pushing his boyfr— frien— Eddie out the front door. “I’m off at four, see you at five?”

Eddie fumbles backward over the curb but manages to catch himself, “It’s a date, Steve.”

He watches Eddie climb up into his van, and follows its path down the road and out of sight with a dreamy sigh.

“You still have tissues in your nose, Dingus.”

part 2/2 here | and on AO3!

definitely inspired by this post from @sparrowtapes

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #st #stranger things #steddie ficlet #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington having a crush on bon jovi is canon okay?#noelle writes

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paradiseismine · 23 days

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His Favorite - Miles Fairchild x reader

Pairing: Miles Fairchild (The Turning) x f!reader

Warnings: all smut, degradation, sort of free use (?), spanking, imbalanced power dynamics. This is much more intense than the stuff I usually write lol

Summary: our boy Miles is used to always getting exactly what he wants.

It had been a few weeks since you started working at the manor. You were still a minor, nearly 18, but had no family and had to make ends meet somehow. So, when you saw the opportunity to work as a young maid in a manor, granted to live and eat there for free, you took it without any further thoughts.

The teenage boy who lived there, Miles, caught your eye the very first time you saw him. There was something about his petulance, his wit and his dark eyes that really got your panties wet. He took an interest in you, and soon enough, you realized that doing him sexual favors got you in a much better position than not - plus, you also had the hots for him.

Miles was tough on the outside, but whenever Kate or any other person from the manor’s staff tried to get in your way or tease you, Miles would practically JUMP at them. You were sacred to him and everyone knew that. You could get away with half-assing your work, showing up late or refusing to do things. Nobody else in there could do that, so of course, they all hated you.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. The little girl, Flora, was playing in the gardens of the manor with her babysitter, and you were in the kitchen, washing the dishes. Miles was sitting on the kitchen table, toying with a rubber band, and you tried your best to pay him no attention at all. In a clumsy attempt to wash another plate, you ended up dropping it inside the sink, causing it to break.

Miles let out a chuckle.

- It’s hard to conciliate your little whoreish brain with doing your chores, isn’t it? All you can think about is getting your pussy fucked, right?

You chuckled at him, trying your best to clean the mess as fast as you could. The other maids would end up getting blamed for the broken plate, so you wanted to hide the evidence. But the way his voice reverberated in your ears simply wouldn’t let you work in peace. Not a minute after, you dropped another plate into the sink - to no surprise, it also broke in half. Great.

- Why are you so stupid today, huh? - Miles asked, rolling his eyes as he approached you, then grabbing the hair at your nape in a possessive way. - You’re lacking some cum inside your cunt, aren’t you, dumb slut? I bet you’d love to be filled to the brim with some warm cum, wouldn’t you?

You could barely talk back.

- Y-yes sir, I’d love that very much - you nearly whispered, your upper thighs sticking to each other already. Nothing made you hornier than tending to that preppy manor boy.

He made your knees weak and he knew it. That cocky grin in his face gave it all away.

- I knew you would - he bent you over the sink and lifted up your skirt in a swift movement, his fingers lightly lowering your panties down to your knees. - Your ass looks so pale… I think it could use some spanking, couldn’t it? It would look much better with a reddish color to it…

- Yes, sir, please - you pleaded, your cunt visibly slick with arousal.

You could hear Miles lightly chuckle before laying his hand harshly on your ass, spanking it. He would alternate between your butt cheeks, but without fail, all of your ass would be red and even a bit purple after he was done.

- There - he said, his voice lower than before. You could tell how hard he was just by the way he was talking. - Nice and spanked, my little whorelet.

- Thank you sir - you moaned, softly.

- You’re welcome - he replied, his tone still different than before - Now, since you can’t bring yourself to even wash the dishes properly, I think I could use you for my own entertainment.

- W-what do you mean, sir?

- I mean, I think my cock needs some good sucking… Get on your knees, you dumb slut - he ordered.

You quickly obeyed, kneeling in front of him as he sat in one of the kitchen chairs. You lowered his pants and took his cock in your mouth hungrily, lapping up the precum from his tip and deep throating his length as much as you could.

- Yes - he moaned, grabbing a fistful of your hair. - Just like that… Such a slutty little maid, aren’t you? Did you always go around sucking your masters’s dicks like that?

You moaned in response, his cock still deep down your throat. Miles tightened his grip on your hair and forced you to take him even deeper. He was so huge, you couldn’t believe it. Such a lanky pale boy, and hung like a horse. After another 20 minutes of hungrily sucking his dick, your jaw was nearly numb, when Miles suddenly shifted in the chair.

- Get up and spread your legs - Miles ordered, firmly, letting go of your hair. - I want to fill up your cunt with my cum.

- Finally - you moaned, bending over the sink and spreading your legs. - Cum inside my whorelet pussy, sir. Make it yours, put me in my place…

Miles shoved his cock in your dripping wet pussy all at once, immediately releasing hot ropes of his cum in your insides. You could feel the warmth from his seed seeping inside you, and you orgasmed solely from that feeling, your cunt clenching uncontrollably around Miles’ cock.

- Ah - he moaned, still releasing his cum inside you. It was so much cum, it would drip out immediately, you couldn’t possibly hold that much inside you. - Yes, milk my dick just like that, suck all my cum inside that worthless cunt of yours.

- Yes, sir, please give me all of your cum - you moaned, your knees weak.

After he was done, he put his pants back on and left the kitchen as if nothing had happened.

The other maids would come in a few minutes later and see Miles’ cum dripping down your legs. They were jealous, you knew that. They got scolded by him everyday, and so did you, but you were different. You pussy was the only one he’d cum in. You were the only one in the manor staff he’d protect and defend when needed. You were his favorite.

#finn wolfhard smut #finn wolfhard x reader #mike wheeler x reader #imagine #mike wheeler #miles fairchild #smut #trevor spengler #trevor spengler x reader

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amywritesthings · 6 months

Text

the better strategy. / astarion x tav

summary: a hand mirror, no shirt, and one hell of a discovery. (astarion romance canon scene spoilers, remixed with my own flair.)

pairing: astarion x tav (female, she/her) word count: 3.2k tags: manipulation, trauma, astarion's pov, miscommunications, mentions of cazador/spawn abuse, selûne worshipper!tav, sensuality, little kisses // mature for thematic elements

part two. / part four. | masterlist.

PART THREE: THE DISCOVERY.

Tav wakes well before Astarion anticipates, which is a problem.

He keeps his promise: he stays with her through the night with his arm around her shoulders, foolishly protecting her from a darkness that painfully calls him home.

He misses the sun just as badly as she misses the moon.

(He refuses to entertain two sides of the same coin.)

Upon keeping his promise, Astarion has run into an ironic problem: the threat of wandering eyes have always kept him alert in his surroundings, two steps ahead of anyone in his vicinity to protect himself, but now?

This time, his eyes are the ones to wander. One blink leads to another, until they fall on something... shiny.

Then his brain embarks on a peculiar, intrusive thought:

The mirror Tav uses to get ready in the morning sits a stone’s throw away from him on a crate acting as a makeshift table.

And he’s curious.

Curious, because the tadpole has cured just about every other ailment of vampirism — the glowing red eyes, the stench of eternal death, the pesky scorch of the sun.

Maybe he can finally see his own reflection after two hundred some-odd years.

It’s a pipe dream, he realizes, when he carefully lays her down on her bedroll with the care of a lover. It's a pipe dream, but so is living out his days as a free man.

In what precious time he has before the rest of the group stirs, Astarion stalks towards the crate and pokes at the silver handle of the mirror.

Huh.

No burning flesh. No jolt of pain.

That, too, is something he’s not yet used to — touching things, touching precious things, without burning for it.

Before picking it up by the handle, the vampire sheds his body of his billowing white tunic.

If this is going to work, he wants the grand reveal: of his face, of his body—

Of whatever the fuck Cazador carved into his skin all those years ago.

He’s felt around his back before, touched the edges of what feels like a warped semi-circle of text, but he’s never seen it.

(Shouldn’t he get the whole package of whatever in the hells this tadpole has irrevocably broke in his brain?)

When he picks up the smooth handle of the hand mirror, he stops. Freezes, really. He keeps the mirror's intricate rose-carved art facing upwards, avoiding what's on the other side for a moment longer.

Because he's afraid.

Astarion’s afraid of a lot of things — curing a fraction of his immortal disease hasn’t kept the list from growing.

If anything, it’s only grown longer since he’d stumbled into Tav’s merry band of misfits:

He’s afraid to lose the sun. He’s afraid to be caught. He’s afraid to wake up one morning and see that this merry band, however misfitted they are, will leave him behind.

(That she’ll lose any use for him, the stronger she becomes.)

Finally Astarion turns his arm at the wrist, expecting something hideous and distorted to stare back at him.

He knows his hands are translucent. He knows his body doesn’t hold hair like it used to. He knows he’s littered with over two-centuries' worth of scars.

...nothing.

Astarion squints, hoping that perhaps the nothingness in the mirror is a mistake.

Still nothing.

All he can see is Tav staring back at him.

Tav.

Wait—

“Shit,” he curses with gusto, turning on a heel to hide the mirror — and his entire mangled, carved back — from view as he flashes that forced, toothy grin her way.

Tav looks like she straddles this world and a dream realm with messy clothes and half-lidded eyes. If she’s mad, then typical signs are not present.

Astarion feels like a school boy caught red-handed with something naughty, ashamed when, truly?

“I was going to give it back,” he argues quickly, like being a thief in her own camp is the last thing he wishes Tav to think of him.

(Why the fuck should her opinion matter?)

He then turns smarmy, scrambling to his favorable line of defense: flirtation.

“My dear, are you perhaps — staring at something?”

He rolls a sensual shoulder towards her, hoping his face, his toned body, anything but what lay out of sight distracts her. Although flirting with Tav has always been useless, he sure does try.

She doesn’t look at his face. Instead her gaze is lost somewhere in the space between his throat and sternum.

Then he realizes all too late: flirting with Tav really will be useless, because she’s already seen what he's so desperate to hide.

“Astarion… your back…”

Ah, Hells.

So she did see the whole gnarled picture.

Tav trails off, seeking a question he knows she’s too afraid to ask. Because Tav is annoyingly good. She doesn’t poke her nose into places where it isn’t wanted.

He could be mean about it, too; make her so upset and embarrassed for staring instead of running back into her tent that she may cry.

In his mind, he has the upper hand in this agonizing moment.

“I thought it would be worth a shot, to see if my… current state of condition would lend itself to perhaps seeing my own reflection,” he chooses instead, playful in tone. He waves his free hand with little care. “It didn’t work, if that’s what you were wondering.”

No, she isn’t wondering that.

She’s wondering the very same thing that’s on his mind: what is that monstrosity on his back?

At first he assumes Tav doesn’t have the heart to play along. Her inhale is sharp, focused, before she exhales the intensity of her muscles away.

“It must be hard, not seeing your reflection,” she replies instead, surprising him.

“Quite a pain, yes,” he answers.

“Do you miss it?”

“What, preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity?”

The vampire’s eyebrows slide high, before his face falls with undeniable grief.

“Of course I miss it. I’ve never seen this face.”

He notes the way her expression knits in confusion, so he clarifies.

“Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.”

She watches his face, not daring to curve a peek at his back. The wood elf moves in a step closer, paying special attention to his eyes.

She wants to ask. Will she actually—

“What color were your eyes before?” she gently asks, and his stomach sinks.

Beautiful, wonderful, precious Tav — how can his lips be anything but loose around her?

“I..."

He could lie. Say brown, green, blue, whatever color might fit in her image, but he fails his deception for the second time.

"I don’t know,” he admits. “I can’t remember.”

(He'll never admit that he's made it a point to memorize hers. They’re such a brilliant color, magnificent in a way that’s perfectly Tav. No other eye color can compare.)

He's considering a lie, to tell her they have twin eyes, but something peculiar begins to stir with the cleric in front of him: she’s leaning in further, hands behind her back — she always refuses to touch him, which is as infuriating as it is assuaging — but then she… squints.

Stares.

Astarion blinks.

“What in the hells are you doing?” He takes a fraction of a step back, nerves bunched in the center of his throat. “Is there something on my face?”

“Not quite,” Tav corrects, and he loathes the sing-song tone she’s adopted. “I’m no poet, but I could tell you what I see.”

His brain blanks.

He has no retort, no sly flirtation, to toss in retaliation. He’s the one stuck with a translucent blush, left to wonder how someone like her manifested into this cruel, harsh world.

“You would tell me what you see?” he forces to repeat, to make sure he’s heard right. He wants to ask. He shouldn’t. He wants to know. He can’t. “What… do you see?”

He has always been reprimanded for impulse. Centuries haven’t changed that.

Tav takes a moment to study him with no malice.

“White hair. It curls around your ears and bounces when you walk. On the surface, it oftentimes waves in the wind.”

“I wasn’t aware you were a bard in disguise,” he scoffs, waving off such a tender recount.

She isn’t bothered by the jab. She glides closer, hands raising. The vampire’s brow rises.

“Your eyes are red, sure, but you have soft eyelashes. They frame your face wonderfully.”

Astarion playfully tilts his chin, fangs gleaming. “Flattery? Now this I can get behind.”

“It isn’t just flattery, Astarion,” she argues with a softness that devolves to laughter. “You have this… adorable little scar right here—”

To his surprise, the wood elf runs a fingertip over a scar he got on a particularly bad day luring game to Cazador’s palace, and his entire body runs hot — not because of the memory, but because her touch is featherlight and inviting.

He’s not sure Tav has ever put her hands on him, not in the way he’s defiled her body with his teeth.

Her hands have gripped his arms, but his face…

Why in the Hells does he want to lean into it?

His own hand shoots between them, curling around her wrist to keep her hand there.

Tav must realize what she’s done, because he can feel the muscle tend under his grip.

Astarion leans in, cooing his next question:

“Is this the part when you tell me I’m the most beautiful creature you’ve ever laid eyes on?”

Her eyes widen with shame.

He’s going to ruin this.

Good, he thinks. Feel bad for being kind to me. Remind me that I’m a monster that keeps you up at night. Remember I feed off of your very life source—

“Astarion, you are beautiful.”

As if it’s the most innocent confession at a religious altar.

(She'll never burn like him.)

So many before her have said the same — called him beautiful, gorgeous, sexy — but there is some uncertain way she goes about it that punches the air from his undead lungs.

He can’t do this.

He must upset something, or else he may upset himself.

“You saw the scars on my back, yes?” he murmurs in the finite space between them. Her eyes widen even further. “When you spoke earlier, was that not what you were referring to? Are they beautiful to you, too, or is it just my dashing young face and mouthwatering body?”

The wood elf considers her next words very carefully, but she doesn’t fight his hold on her wrist.

The vampire tilts his chin down, closer, and he can hear the urgent inhale through her nose.

“I saw them, yes," she admits under her breath. "What... may I ask what they are?"

“I haven’t the slightest clue, my sweet,” he replies. “I’ve been tracing them with my fingers for years, trying to read them by touch, but I can’t. They may as well be written in Rashemi.”

“And that’s why you were trying to use my mirror?”

Oh, Saint Tav. Always so clever.

She tilts her head, hair following her movements. He gets a whiff of her natural perfume — Gods, it’s intoxicating.

“Because you thought if you could see your reflection, then perhaps you’d see what's on your back without anyone's help?”

He sneers. “It wasn’t like Cazador was ever going to tell me.”

Her expression softens. “He…?”

“Carved them, yes,” he tells her, remaining as flippant as he can muster. “One night, in my first years as his spawn, he was feeling particularly gracious and decided to give me them. A poem for the ages, so that I may never forget my place in this world."

The words taste like ash on his tongue.

"He spent hours drawing his project into my back without sedatives or a healing potion in sight. My reward for being good and quiet was cleaning it up myself — my own blood as a source of food over my usual vermin. It was oh, so generous of my master.”

He expects pity so he can hate her again.

He wants her to feel sorry for him, so that he may return to his normal headspace where Tav isn’t a lingering infection, competing with the godforsaken tadpole in his mind.

Yet her face hardens. The wood elf pulls her arm away from him and, to his surprise, drops to her knees before him in the dirt below.

“Turn around.”

Well — that’s not what he hoped for.

A slight panic grips at his chest. “What?”

“Turn around,” Tav repeats, then clears her throat. “Please?”

His eyes narrow with innate distrust. “Why?”

Her shoulders slump. A slender finger reaches to the dirt beneath her boot, tapping at it.

“Because I am no bard or artist, but perhaps I can draw what I see for you to read yourself. It isn’t anything I can translate, but perhaps together we can figure something out.” She pauses. “And it’s easy to kick away should the others stir early.”

Astarion’s stomach drops.

She’s protecting him?

But... why?

Astarion reluctantly shuffles his shoe, turning on its heel until he’s trapped staring at the flaps of Tav’s tent. Their tent.

(The possessiveness does have him smirking to himself, his mind wrapping around something other than what the wood elf is doing behind him. Take that, Ravengard.)

After a few minutes of drawing in the dirt, he can hear Tav huff in frustration.

“I don’t quite understand… what did Cazador tell you this was?”

“Who knows,” Astarion calls over his shoulder, trying to sound unbothered. “A poem? He had a very sick sense of humor.”

She grows silent. He shifts his weight from one leg to another.

“Astarion…”

Her voice is smaller than before. Uncertain.

The vampire cannot help himself. He whips his chin over his shoulder, only to see—

“The hells did you draw?” he asks in a flurry of words, brows furiously furrowed.

Tav doesn’t look up from the crude rendition she’s drawn below. Swirls connect to lines in three distinct circles; a language he’s never read nor spoken in all his near three centuries of living.

It’s just as horrific as he recalls in the moment: his muffled screams, Cazador’s voice relentlessly berating his cries, how the tip of the dagger relentlessly dragged over—

He puffs his bare chest, refusing to landslide.

“Well? What in the hells did he do to me?”

“I don’t…”

The woman trails off, eyes rising to meet him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Tav is furious. He’s never seen her angry, save their encounter with Nere in the Grymforge cave-in.

Yet that anger isn’t directed to him — it’s at the dirt, where his shame, his pain, his past, lay bare.

“I don’t know what this is. I can’t read it. I thought maybe something would click if I drew it myself, but I have never read this language. It could — I don’t know, it could be some type of Infernal?”

“Excuse me? Did you say Infernal?” he repeats with uncensored anxiety.

What the fuck was his master doing with the language of devils?

Cazador was a right bastard, but he was not a devil. Not in the traditional sense, at the very least.

“Shit.” She curses, catching him by surprise.

This is not her burden, so why is she so upset?

“We’ll figure it out. Perhaps I can draw it on paper and find someone to translate,” Tav hurriedly replies as if she’s done something wrong. She stands from the ground, dirt pressed into the knees of her trousers. “Karlach might—”

“No.”

Astarion interrupts, shutting down the thought before it can cross her tongue. She freezes, halfway between kneeling and standing at full height.

Meeting her gaze he deflates, shaking his head.

“No, I… I’m not ready to involve anyone else.” His tongue is as heavy as lead. “Just you.”

Only you, Tav.

He cannot trust anyone else in this camp. He shouldn’t even be trusting her. Yet she has given him her life source, her blood, over a dozen times. She’s confided in her fears, her worries, without expecting payment. She’s provided shelter, weaponry—

Something akin to a home, even if that concept is all but foreign to him at this age.

Her face softens in that way he likes.

“Okay,” she promises. “Just me.”

Someone stirs in a tent at the other end of the camp. Gale opens the entrance of his tent, and Tav is quick: she shoves him back into their shared tent, out of view.

Her boot kicks and slides, erasing the image beneath her feet.

He realizes a beat too late: she’s covering the evidence.

(She’s keeping his secret.)

“Get dressed,” she adds, nodding to the shirt he left draped on her chair. She fixes her own clothes, readying for the breakfast fire.

Except he isn’t ready to let this go.

“...Tav.”

When she turns, the vampire is quick — he catches her wrist once more, tethering himself to her.

Before she can ask, Astarion gently pulls her back into the tent.

He realizes he’s never once called her by her first name.

In all the weeks they’ve traveled together, it’s always been a passing pet name. Flowery words for a wood elf; a body over a person. And now?

The man waits to catch her eye. Slowly, slowly, he raises her wrist to his mouth. His lips purse to press a gentle and chaste kiss to the heartbeat of her inner wrist.

Tav’s lips part, eyelids fluttering in a flurry of flustered surprise.

Astarion will burn that image into his memory, evermore.

“What you’ve given me these last few weeks,” he begins with purpose. “It is a gift. All of it.”

She relaxes, wrist limp when he presses an additional peck to the skin. Her blood is thrumming with life. Excitement. Anticipation.

His voice is but a murmur.

“I will not forget this.”

There: the wood elf bites her lip, and pride surges through his body. It’s a mannerism he recognizes all too well — he has seen the tell-tale sign on thousands of faceless people, on hundreds of the victims he lured home in dirty taverns and hidden alleyways and plush brothels.

He knows the script. He knows what he could push.

Yet seeing that look on her of all people stirs a feeling in his belly to the point where he is starving— not for blood, but for her.

To be consumed by something, rather than consume it himself.

He lets her go, his phantom heart beating wildly in his chest. Tav takes a modest step back.

She stares for one more precious minute, chin dropping to an understanding nod, before leaving him to help Gale start the morning fire.

No god has ever answered his prayers.

In the dirt, buried alive, he thought he begged every single one — yet now he fears he missed the one who could have saved him.

(The one who may save him yet.)

#astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion x tav fanfic #astarion x tav fanfiction #astarion x tav fic #bg3 fic #astarion fic #astarion x f!reader #wip series #baldurs gate 3 fic #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #fic: the better strategy #amywritesthings

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streamafterlaughter · 1 month

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nav | chapter XXI | masterlist | playlist | pin board

Chapter XXII: Blood Sugar Sex Magik

tags/warnings (spoilers below the cut!): MDNI 18+ ONLY! angst, drama, confession, tension, ALL YOUR FAVORITES! rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader, afab!gnc!reader, mentions of reader being bisexual. dual pov

a/n: buckle up people it’s a doozy. i think you’ll like it though.

cw: unprotected p in v, oral (afab receiving), graphic content not meant for people under 18. MDNI, NSFW.

a/n: haha. hey. hi guys. sorry for all that waiting… i hope it was worth it. This chapter is a little different, no prologue flashback, one scene instead of multiple. Decided this deserved its own chapter. a nice lil mindless sex scene for your reading pleasure. thanks SO SO MUCH for reading, and for your patience!

Disclaimer: i do not give permission to repost my work, please let me know if you see my writing posted anywhere else. reblogs welcome and encouraged to support the author!

—

Your POV

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. You were drunk, but not too drunk to forget what you’d said last night.

The sunlight streams through the blinds, giving the room an orange glow. It’s early, but the bed next to you is empty. Understandably. Shit! You sit up, groaning as the movement makes your head throb. You’re in your underwear, and the shirt you’d worn to the bar last night. You can feel the underwire of your bra digging into your flesh. There was absolutely no reason to go that crazy last night, not if this is the aftermath.

As you’re gaining the courage to stand, the door swings open, and you catch Eddie’s eyes for a millisecond before he looks to the floor, face beet red, breakfast burrito clenched in his grip.

“Sorry, shit, I thought you would have left by now.” Eddie tries to leave the room, but you stop him before you know what you’re doing.

“Wait! Wait,” He stops, slowly stepping back into the room. “Eddie, I am so sorry.” You blurt the words out before you can chicken out. “That was so unfair to you. I was so wasted and I was celebrating, and I wanted to tell you about it but I-”

“Y/n,” Eddie’s voice is calm, firm. “Slow down.”

You take a deep breath, centering yourself. Your head has stopped spinning since Eddie’s appearance in front of you, but you try not to make too much of that. He’s dressed in his usual attire, a pair of black ripped jeans, beat up sneakers, and a well worn band t-shirt. Today’s choice just so happens to be the homemade, one of a kind Death Dance Approximately shirt you’d given to Eddie a lifetime ago. He’s since cropped it right above his navel, exposing his midriff, including a tattoo you’d forgotten existed: Your initials on his hip bone.

Shit!

“Okay,” You start, unsure of how you’re gonna dig yourself out of this one.”I want to apologize.”

Eddie’s face contorts, confusion carved into his features. He leans against the wall, still so far away from you.

“What for?”

You gesture loosely to the air. “Well, you know, everything. Last night.”

“Everything, huh?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he sounds hurt.

“It wasn’t fair. I was drunk, I shouldn’t have barged in here, put you in that position.” You trip over yourself, feeling your throat tighten. Do not fucking cry right now.

“Well,” Eddie draws the word out slowly as he pushes off the wall and towards you. “I can only accept that apology under a certain condition.” He looms over where you sit on the edge of the bed, surrounding you. He smells freshly like cigarettes and mint, clouding your brain as he fills your senses.

“And what would that condition be?” You try to sound unbothered, but your words come out meek, nervous.

“If you mean it or not.”

You gape at him, unblinking, waiting for him to crack, to say “Nah, I'm just kiddin’! We don’t have to get into this right now!” But he doesn’t. He takes another bite of his breakfast instead before tossing it on the dresser, completely unfazed by your silence.

“Do I mean that I'm sorry?” You’re playing very, very dumb right now.

Eddie isn’t willing to drop it, though. “Sweetheart, c’mon. We’re adults. I thought we were over this tiptoeing shit.” He cocks his head to the side, eyes rolling.

“I-” You huff, flustered with the way his neck flexes.. “Look. I didn’t want it to happen like that.” You look at him, determined to get through this without actually admitting anything. “I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Why not?” Eddie shrugs, like this is no big fucking deal.

–

Eddie’s POV

He really hopes you can’t tell he’s sweating. He can feel his heart in his throat, choking him with every breath. He keeps his eyes on you to focus. He can’t let you go again. Not after those words have left your mouth.

“Why not?!” You shake your head at him, frustration practically bursting out of your ears. Good, he thinks, you deserve to squirm a little. “How about, because this is what happened the first time? We moved too fast, we didn’t think, and look how that ended up! Or, how about, you’re supposed to be getting well, and the last fucking thing you need is me distracting you. Or, because if this doesn’t go well, we still have another month on the road together! And the fans, what are they gonna say when-”

“Stop.” Eddie shakes his head, kneeling on the floor in front of you. He should be pissed, but he can’t bring himself to be even a little upset. He has the upperhand now, and all he wants is to hear you say it again. Sober, this time. “Please, just tell me if you mean it.”

–

Your POV

I should lie to him. It’s not a good idea to tell him, not right now. You could take it back, this is your chance to make everything go back to that uncomfortable, tension riddled “normal” you’ve become so used to with Eddie. Things would be so much easier if you could just lie to him. But the way he’s looking at you, with a hopeful discretion, chocolate eyes wet with unfallen tears. makes every rational thought slide out of your brain, only leaving room for the way he’s pleading with you, wordlessly, as his hands grip yours tightly, hopefully.

“I mean it. Of course I fucking mean it, Eddie.” You barely get the words out before he’s climbing on top of you, hands letting go of yours to find purchase on the mattress either side of you, and you let yours fly to his hair, tangling your fingers through it like it’s second nature. You are quickly overwhelmed by him, your space completely infiltrated. The walls you’d been reinforcing to keep him out now crumble without a second thought, and he’s the one behind the wrecking ball.

“Thank fucking god.” He mumbles against your lips, and you smile into the kiss as he lays you down on the mattress.

“Eddie, wait,” You come to your senses, one final time as his mouth detaches from yours. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Eddie has moved his mouth to your jaw, and you feel him chuckle against your skin as he kisses down your throat. “Even after all these years, you still doubt that I want this? That I want you?” You can feel his hand slide up your shirt, his skin lighting yours on fire. “You are all I want. All I could ever want. In fact,” He pulls himself away from your neck to look at your face. He’s serious suddenly, all traces of sweet teasing gone. “I should be the one asking if you want this.” He moves to get off of you, but you wrap your legs around his waist, holding him down. You’re tired of pretending not to want him, of avoiding how you feel because it’s easier. “I do. I really, really do.”

Eddie groans as you pull him back to your lips, letting the kiss say everything you’ve wanted to this whole tour. You hold his face in your hands, afraid he’ll disappear if you let go. His hand finds your skin again, sliding up your back to where your bra is still clasped. You’re nodding before he can even get the question out, and you feel the relief as he unhooks the fabric. He tugs your shirt off swiftly, and you let the straps of your bra slide down your shoulders.

–

Eddie’s POV

He separates from you then, getting up to kneel in front of where you lay on the bed, mostly exposed, save for your modest pair of black cotton panties. “Fuck,” The word comes out in a heavy breath as he takes in the sight before him. Your torso is littered with tattoos he’s never seen before, including one nestled between your tits. And speaking of, he can’t help but let his eyes land on your chest, admiring how your nipples have pebbled even before he’s really touched you.

“Still beautiful as ever.” He’s mostly talking to himself, but you smile up at him, eyes crinkling around the edges, and he feels his dick throb in his too-tight pants.

“I can’t be the only one exposed here!” You exclaim through giggles, and he obliges without argument, yanking his shirt over his head before moving back towards you.

–

Your POV

He’s been shirtless in front of you a few times over the past month, but not in this context. You watch, delighted as his abdomen tightens when you run your fingers down his stomach, along his happy trail to the waistband of his pants. You rake your fingernails over his skin, trace the new ink you hadn’t yet seen up close, listening to his breath hitch when you unbutton his jeans. Before you can yank his pants down, though, Eddie grips your hand in his, moving it back to the mattress. “We’ll get to that. Let me taste you first.” If you weren’t so eager, the words would have knocked you out, but you nod again as Eddie climbs clumsily off the bed to kneel back on the floor. He takes hold of your ankles, swiftly pulling you to the end of the mattress. You feel those pesky bats in your stomach for the first time in what feels like forever, heat rushing to your face as Eddie moves further in between your legs.

He’s in no rush as he moves up your body, lingering to place soft kisses in the crevices of your knees, the plush of your thighs, the peaks of your hips. He ghosts over your clothed heat, nose grazing your mound as he watches you writhe and plead above him. He’s amused by your eagerness, you know him well enough, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You want him, need him, and you’re tired of pretending you don’t.

Eddie is about to yank your last shred of clothing from your body when there’s a knock on the door.

—

Eddie’s POV

You have got to be fucking kidding. “What?!” He shouts, irritated, relaxing only slightly when he feels you giggling underneath him.

“Have you seen Y/n?” It’s Steve, taking his morning roll call. Eddie looks to you for the answer, but you only shrug, face getting redder by the second.

He moves to get off of you, but you follow him like attracting magnets, attaching your lips to his neck as he tries to answer his friend, causing his words to get lost in the fog, only letting out a strangled “Uhh…”

“Ed?” Steve twists the doorknob, out of habit probably. You flinch, and he feels his heart crack. “Wha- yeah! Sorry, I'm a little busy right now!” He clenches his teeth to keep from moaning as you lick a stripe up the column of his throat.

“Busy? You wanna know busy?!” Eddie can picture Steve behind the door, leaning into the peephole, one hand on his hip the other gesturing wildly. As pretty as Steve may be, the image is killing Eddie’s hard-on right now.

You’re not about to let that happen, though. “Steve, go away.” A command. He shifts, dick twitching in his pants again like a fuckin’ teenager.

“I-,” Pause. “Y/n?”

“Yeah.”

Silence. Then the fading of his footsteps down the hall. Eddie wills himself to look at you again, and is rewarded with your shit eating grin. “You are such a brat.” He scoffs, no actual effort behind the insult.

You have the gall to pout at him, like you’re an innocent bystander.

“Does this mean you don’t want to fuck me anymore?”

He gapes at your question, blinking rapidly as he digests it.

—

Your POV

You’d meant it to lighten the mood, but you’ve caught him off guard. Instead of his answer, you’re greeted with another interruption beyond the door. “Hey, love birds! Steve sent me over here because it is far too awkward for him to talk to you in this position, but I, frankly, am happy to relay the information.” While Robin is talking at you, Eddie is making his way closer, lowering to the floor while you bite back laughter at the mess you've gotten yourself into.

”We check out in two hours. If you plan to live out your honeymoon a little longer, it will be on your own dime!” Eddie kisses up your leg, grazing your skin with his nose, sending chills up your spine. Robin is seemingly unaware of your state, or she genuinely does not care. “We’re all going out for dinner tonight before everyone goes home, and both of you better not skip it to cuddle up in bed, you can do that for as long as you want, starting tomorrow. Also,” Eddie’s yanking at your waistband, his body shaking with giggles that you echo despite the knot in your stomach tightening with his touch. “Why are you laughing? What are you guys even doing in there? I know you’re not still asleep.”

”Robin!” Eddie calls, voice strained against his laughter. “I’m trying to eat!”

You drop your jaw, sending a backhanded slap to his shoulder.

”Did you guys get room service? Got any extra-,”

You cut her off with an involuntary moan, caused by Eddie slipping a finger past the damp cotton barricade of your underwear to slide teasingly between your folds. You smack a hand over your mouth, but it’s too late. There’s no way she didn’t hear that.

“Are you okay in th-“ It clicks. Finally. “Oh my god. Oh my god! Are you guys fucking?!” No regard for her fellow guests, or her best friend, Robin is cackling on the other side of the door. You’re in crisis, and she’s laughing!

”We’re trying!” You shriek back, feeling the frustration build as Eddie’s finger circles around your clit, causing you to grind against his hand.

“Oh my god. Wait. Is this first time?! Am I interrupting? Holy shit, I am so sorry-“

”Robin!” Eddie shouts again, this time sternly, losing his patience.

“Yeah?”

”Leave.”

”Yup, yup. See ya!” And finally, the fading of her footsteps, scurrying down the hall.

Eddie turns his face back to your center, littering kisses on your thigh as he wiggles your underwear away from your body.

You can’t help but get in one last dig. “You think she’s going to tell Gareth?”

His smile drops from his face completely, jaw tightly clenched. “I have no problem ignoring him yelling at me on the other side of that door. I think at this point he knows I don’t listen to him. And, he’d probably be relieved to find out I grew a pair.”

You scoff, ready with a wise ass remark when he shuts you up with a slow, wet lick between your folds. He glides your panties the rest of the way down your legs, and you don’t miss him pocketing them before moving his hands back to your thighs.

“Fuck,” you whine, desperately clawing at the sheets as Eddie’s tongue latches to your clit, tracing eager patterns across the bud. You drop your head back to the mattress, willing your brain to turn off. Eddie groans into your pussy, rutting against the mattress as he slips a single ringed digit into your hole. You buck your hips, aching for more and blinded by how good it all feels, how familiar. You’d had your fair share of one night stands since leaving Eddie, enough to get used to the normalcy of bad sex. Now, you’re blinded by how Eddie reads your body, like you’re written in a language only he can understand.

His tongue moves in circles over your clit, fingers curling steadily inside of you. The sounds he causes you to make are wet and absolutely filthy, but you can’t bring yourself to feel any shame. It’s Eddie, after all. You can feel your desire ripple through you, the coil in your stomach tightening with each swipe of his tongue, every stroke of his finger. He doesn’t relent, keeping an agonizing pace while you grind your pussy against his face, desperate for release. In response to your begging, Eddie groans into your core, the vibrations sending a shock of pleasure up your spine, and your vision goes white.

“Eddie, I’m gonna, fuck I’m gonna come!” It doesn’t take you long to feel your resolve snap, sending your legs shaking on either side of Eddie’s head. He holds you in place, still lapping at your juices as he claws at your hips, a response to the desperate praise you sing for him, an unintelligible string of curses and his name through breathy sighs as you attempt to slow your heart down. Eddie only pulls away when you tap the top of his head lightly, signaling your overstimulation. He releases his mouth from your core with a wet pop, and you can see his lips and chin are shiny with your arousal.

“Good as you remember?” He hovers over you, teasing smirk on his swollen lips as you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Even better, somehow.” You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling his body flush against yours. Your breathing is still ragged, heart still skipping around in your chest as he closes the gap between you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You take his distracted state as an opportunity, tightening your grip around him, flipping him onto the mattress, landing on top of him a little less gracefully than you’d have liked, causing Eddie to burst into laughter. You’re quick to shut him up, grinding your sensitive cunt over his clothed cock, feeling it kick up at the contact. “You wanna help me get these off?” You ask sweetly, toying with the button of his jeans.

—

Eddie’s POV

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart.” His head falls against the mass of pillows, head foggy with the heat between his legs. “Keep doin’ that and I won’t even get the tip in.” Eddie grips your hips harshly, willing you to be still. Touching you doesn’t help in centering himself, though.

“What a shame that would be,” You tease, unclasping his belt as you speak. “Guess I’ll have to move quickly.” Eddie gets the hint, tucking his thumbs into the waistband to assist in getting his stupidly tight jeans off. He’ll curse himself about it another time, though. Right now, he’s solely focused on you, yanking his pants and underwear from his body, and tossing them to the floor carelessly before straddling him again.

You’ve always been a tease, and even all of this time apart hasn’t changed that, Eddie notices. You move slowly, sliding the length of his cock between your wet folds, head lolled to the side as you close your eyes, as if focusing into the feeling between your body and his. Eddie bites back a groan as he watches your performance, awestruck by the closeness. You infiltrate his senses, and he wills himself not to close his eyes from the pleasure.

Finally, after what feels like eternity, his swollen tip catches on your entrance, jolting him into action. He takes his cock in his hand, preparing to line up to your center the way he must have hundreds of times before. Even after these years apart, the distance both emotionally and physically between you, it is a second nature to him. You’re about an inch away when he has a moment of clarity.

“Wait,”

You huff in complaint. “Seriously?”

“I don’t have a condom.”

–

Your POV

That has never stopped him before, and you can feel the panic in your throat as you ask the question. “Have you ben fucking other people?”

He stutters, “Well, I-”

“Wait. Don’t answer that. Did you wear one when you were fucking other people?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’m on the pill, you’re being safe.” You shrug. Nonchalant. Not desperate at all.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“When you fuck other people, do they… ?”

“I just said I’m on the pill.”

“Yeah, okay, but you don’t know who these guys are, what diseases-”

“Okay, Eddie, stop. First of all, how do you know what genetalia the people I’m fucking have?”

That shuts him up. “Yeah. Also, if you must know, I have made all the people with penises wear a rubber. Feel better?”

Eddie is silent, and you let your brain run with your panic again. The mood is dead, Eddie is over the spontaneous, passionate confession and he’s never going to speak to you again.

“Okay.” He shrugs, and before you can respond he grips your hips, guiding you down onto his cock as you roll your hips forward, taking him deeper. Without much effort, you take his entire length, reveling in the familiar stretch of your walls. He lets you set the pace at first, a vice grip on your hips as you gain your strength, bouncing on his cock as he bucks his hips into you. You feel him growing impatient though, his thrusts growing eager, hands migrating up to grab your tits. Though you would love to draw this out, make him beg you for it, you find you’re just as desperate, watching him beneath you, mouth slack and eyes glossy, a picture you’ve missed for so long.

He finally sits up, and you let him wrap an arm around your waist, flipping you onto the mattress. Effortlessly, Eddie gains control, lifting one of your legs to wrap around his waist, allowing him even deeper inside of you. The new sensation draws a guttural moan from you, unabashed and absolutely filthy.

“Fuck, I missed that sound,” Eddie speaks between grunts, seemingly hypnotized by the way his movements cause your boobs to bounce. He continues snapping his hips, prodding that spot deep inside, that only he’s ever been able to reach. “Thought about ‘em all the time. Couldn’t let myself forget those pretty noises.” All the while, you can’t form a single coherent thought, brain foggy from the heat, coil in your stomach tightening again. He looks so beautiful above you, curly bangs stuck to his face with perspiration, eyes blown out with desire.

Eddie babbles on, ever the talker. “Missed these beauties,” He holds himself up with one hand, the other squeezing your tit again teasingly, and you giggle. “And this pussy too, so much.” the same hand travels down, ghosting over your skin until he reaches between your bodies, rubbing sweet circles on your clit. “Best I ever had, only one I ever wanted. Takin’ me so well, sweetheart. You feel so fucking good.”

“I missed you too, Eddie. You make me feel so good.” It’s a whisper, all you really have the strength for. He’s panting, resting his sweaty forehead against your own as you breathe into each other’s mouths, and his smile widens with your admission. His rhythm stutters slightly, but he doesn’t relent. “Need you to say it again, baby. Wanna hear you tell me again.”

You don’t have to ask what he means. Through your haze, you can barely get the words out, but you muster enough from the way he’s looking at you. “I love you, Eddie.”

Eddie groans at your words, throwing his head into the crook of your neck, like he’s embarrassed by his sensitivity “Fuck, I love you too. I love you so much, y/n. So. Fucking. Much.” He punctuates each word with a thrust, bringing you to peak.

And he’s right behind you. “Where should I-” He lifts his head up, and he looks at you with wide, frightened eyes.

“Inside, Eddie, please come inside me.” Your breathing is ragged, legs twitching rapidly as you cry out, white knuckles gripping the mattress.

“Shit, baby, fuck!” Eddie keeps his pace until you can’t hold on, the tether finally snapping as your walls tighten around him. You throw your arms around Eddie’s shoulders, nails digging into his skin as his cock twitches. He comes with you, spilling inside of you as a shiver runs through his body. You bring your mouth to his, swallowing his whines as you both ride out your orgasms, skin sticking to skin with sweat and spit.

Reluctantly, Eddie slips himself out of you, causing you to whine at the loss. Before you can say anything, he’s rolling out of bed and into the bathroom.

—

Eddie’s POV

He needs a minute. Maybe an hour. Realistically he’s gonna need a month. Shit. Regret isn’t the right word. Ashamed, maybe, of his lack of resolve when the subject comes to you. He’s vulnerable, exposed. He tries to shake the intrusive voice from his brain yelling in his ear that he doesn’t deserve to be loved, especially not by you.

“Eds?” Your voice pulls him from his thoughts, and he takes a deep, heavy breath before returning to you with a wet cloth.

“Sorry, got a little lost.” He chuckles, suddenly unsure how to approach this. Post sex for Eddie lately had consisted of a brief wave and a paid cab at most. Something tells him that isn’t the correct approach this time.

“Where’d you go?” You tilt your head, lending your ear like nothing’s changed since yesterday.

Eddie shakes his head. He won’t let himself ruin this again. “Nowhere more important than here.” He slips the cloth between your legs, gently wiping your inner thighs as he speaks. “Just had to pinch myself a few times.”

When you smile at him, he forgets everything he’s supposed to be worried about. He can only smile back, briefly before he kisses you again. He makes a point to be gentle, to show you he means it. Nothing is more important than here, now, with you. When your hands lace into his hair again he can’t help but sigh, as if relieved to be in your arms again.

He can’t fully shake the tension, though, and you seem to sense that. “We’ll figure this out, okay? We can talk after dinner. Just float here with me a little longer.” Your soft hand caresses his stubbled cheek, tickling him slightly as he reads your features. There is so much love in your eyes, it causes his heart to race.

Eddie nods, leaning his cheek further into your palm. You lean in again, kissing him gently as if sealing your word. He pulls you into his lap, holding you as closely as he physically can. You stay like that for awhile, before migrating to the balcony, lazily draped in t shirts as you smoke your cigarettes, enjoying each other’s presence. For now, Eddie can relax. Even for a few minutes, he is grateful for the silence.

—

tag list: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @potatobeanpies @poisonedluv @kellsck @m-chmcl-rmnc @veemoon | send a message to be added🫶

#eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #smut #angst #fluff #fd #afab!reader #gnc!reader #90s au #slow burn #mutual pining #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #strangerthingscentral #st4

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shyphonics · 2 months

Text

Salad Days - Chapter 1: I Against I Against I Against I

Rodrick Heffley x Reader

Baby-Punk AU ✨ (part 2 here!)

No use of y/n, no physical description of reader, fem pronouns

Put yourself in the shoes of a snarky, hyper-competent punk bartender with a tragic backstory (but it's totally not a big deal! Who needs therapy?? lol lmao 🤪)

Some loser from the ‘burbs comes into your bar, and against your better judgement, you decide to show him the ropes of the scene. Even though his band name totally sucks.

Rodrick is kind of a sad, insecure boy in this. He's on bad terms with everyone back home, and absolutely refuses to fully acknowledge it. He refuses to acknowledge any of his emotions. And his quickly growing crush on his new bartender friend…

Also it's 2005 because I say so. Flip phones and email babey B)

Lightly angsty. Lightly based on my own experiences bullshitting my way into the bar scene. Lightly based on my hyperfixation on punk history lol.

Songs for this chapter:

(I haven't written anything in YEARS so I'm sorry if this is bad lol. part 2 and 3 are almost finished oops so let me know if you like it)

/////

In a quest for the test to fulfill an achievement

Everybody's only going to pursue themselves

When the fact of the matter is they just don't care

To extend a helping hand to anyone else

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The kid turns around. He looks like a wet rat. His facial expression says he knows he’s in trouble. He's tall and kinda goofy-looking. His dark hair is messy, and his eyes are overlined in black.

“Uh, hi. I'm Rodrick. I'm in a band, I uh, I wanna play a show?” He squeaks out, waving a barely legible flier in the air.

“Have you been in touch with Mike?”

“Mike?”

“You gotta get in touch with Mike.” you cross your arms and lean against the doorframe, one foot kicked over the other.

He stares at you, guilty and confused. Your expression is throwing him off. Raised eyebrow, pursed lips. It’s the face of a disappointed mom, but you’re… young. And pretty?

“Do you want the email, or what?”

You break his thoughts.

“Yes! Email. Mike.”

You retreat to the office, rifling through papers until you retrieve a business card.

“Mike Morello. By the way, you might wanna change that band name.”

He looks at his flier, “Why? What's wrong with it?”

You look at him for a while, raising your eyebrows higher and higher, as high as you can, until he’s frustrated. His lanky figure is bouncing all over the hallway. Like a dog who needs to go outside. A big, dumb dog. You look at him in true disbelief. You can’t believe he doesn’t know. He has to know.

“What? What?! Stop looking at me like that!” His eyes are wide and frantic, begging you to say something.

“It sucks!” you laugh.

“It does not suck!”

“Dude, it totally sucks. It's gross. What kind of music do you even play?”

“Fucking rock n roll, baby!” He’s pissed off. It’s hilarious.

“Uh huh. And what are your influences?”

“Influences?”

“Influences. Motives. Backstory.” You clutch your hand into a self-important fist.

“What's with all the questions?” He nearly screeches.

“I'm preparing you for Mike. He's a cynical old fart who's mentally still in late 70s San Francisco. You need to impress him, get a good story going. He's not gonna put some suburban garage band up there.”

He frowns. That's exactly what they are…

“I-” he starts.

“That's exactly what you are, yeah. I know.” You smile, “I can smell suburbs, dude. You'll figure it out.”

“Can I have your email? Or y'know, your phone number or something?” he looks nervous, “Just for, like, advice.”

You cock an eyebrow, think for a minute, then grab a sticky note. It’s surprising after how riled up you got him, but boys are weird.

“Number’s too risky. What if you're a weirdo or something? Here’s my email.” you finish scribbling down the address and extend your hand.

“Cool. I’ll use it.” He nods, taking it from you very delicately. Weirdly careful not to touch your hand. Again, boys are weird.

“…cool. See you around. Maybe. Diaper boy.” you smirk.

Before he can retort, you shut yourself in the office. He stands there for a while, trying to think of something to say back, but nothing comes to him.

I am a patient boy

I wait, I wait, I wait, I wait

My time’s water down a drain

Everybody's moving

Everybody's moving, moving, moving, moving

“I think she’s saying we need, like, punk cred. It’s a punk bar, after all.” Rodrick leans back on their crappy couch. It was free on the side of the road when they were moving in.

“Pshh, we are so punk!” Chris chimes in. “Ward has a shaved head!”

He points at Ward's head. Ward crosses his arms and nods approvingly.

“She knew I was from the suburbs just by looking at me.” He puts his head in his hands.

“So what are you gonna say to the guy?” Ben asks.

“I dunno, I kinda wanna email the girl first and ask for advice.” Rodrick mumbles.

“Oh, sure. Advice.” Ben rolls his eyes.

“Yes! Just advice!”

“Is she hot?” Ward giggles.

Silence falls upon the room.

“Whatever! What are our influences? Punk influences!”

“Dude, you're, like, totally wearing a Dead Kennedys shirt!” Chris pipes up.

“Okay, yeah, I like Dead Kennedys.” Rodricks sighs, relieved. He knows ‘Police Truck’. Who doesn’t? It was in Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater for fuck’s sake!

“Okay! Uhh, shit, what else did she say… motive!”

“Dude, what?” Ben's eyes go wide, “Like murder?”

“No, dumbass, like why did we start the band?” Ward tosses a crushed beer can at him.

“To get girls? To, uhhh…” Chris trails off.

“To rock and roll! To tell everyone to fuck off and prove them all wrong!” Rodrick yells.

The rest of the guys give a resounding yeah! and raise their beers.

Rodrick opens his laptop, making a big show of stretching his hands. He’s gonna write a masterpiece. Löded Diper is gonna take over this town.

He starts typing furiously, ignoring all the little red squiggles appearing among his words. It doesn't take him long to slow down, though, and he gives up and passes the laptop to Ben. Rodrick’s mind is cloudy. He’s thinking about that girl at the bar. You’d been so… mean. But not? Did you like him? He doesn’t get it.

Heather Hills had made it incredibly clear she did not like him. In fact, she hates him.

He remembers the last day of senior year. He’d handed her a Löded Diper CD, masterfully engineered by the man himself in GarageBand, and asked her to sign his yearbook.

Are you being serious right now? You still owe me for my ice sculpture, pleb!

Oh, uh, right, he’d replied, how much is that again?

Four. Thousand. Dollars. And you’ll never make that much in your life, freak.

He grimaces as the memory infects his brain. Four thousand seemed like a lot for just some ice. He remembers fantasizing, though, about getting signed and nailing down a solid deal. Reimbursing Heather for the sculpture and so much more. Maybe she’d marry him. Hot rockstar with a hot, blonde trophy wife. That had been the dream. Until…

Well. Don’t focus on the past. The past sucks. The future is now.

“Rodrick!” Ben’s hand shakes his shoulder.

“Sorry. Um. I don’t know. I think it’s pretty good!”

Between the bones he had put down, and some additions from the guys, they have what they think is a pretty kickass email.

Rodrick’s mind is still elsewhere, though. The thoughts of Heather had kind of messed with him, and now he’s just thinking about home. He hadn't left on great terms. He really wishes everything could be better. The only support system he has is the band, but they don't talk about that kind of stuff. Not more than once in a blue moon.

He’s where he wants to be and everything. He's living his dream. But something still feels wrong. He feels a little empty.

Your emotions make you a monster

#these boys are dumb and I love them #im having a lot of fun with this #hope u like it mwah #rodrick heffley #rodrick heffley x reader #doawk rodrick #rodrick x reader #punk au #salad days #my stuff

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courtingchaos · 1 year

Text

Rent the Space Inside My Mind

1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: This is quite the eventful day your both having, huh? I wonder what winter wonderland delights await you in the evening.

A/N: Ha ha ha this took so long oh my god. I'm still not happy with this, but it is what it is. The format is a little funky but it's because this was written in chunks and also frankensteined together a bit. I do hope everyone has fun though! I'm almost done with the next part, mainly because this was such a struggle and I ended up writing ahead of myself. Thank you my lovelies!

Warnings: Nothing I can think of, just a little self love ;) still 18+ minors g t f o please

The dim blues of the too early morning paint the wall, a small patch of pink sunlight glinting off the tacks holding up the posters there. It’s 6am, a whole hour before you’d normally be up but you’d gone to bed late and it’s bled through with a night of restless sleep. Those first couple of bleary minutes the only time your brain feels quiet and still.

The chill of the morning lingers, tips of your fingers cold where you groggily try to move your arms and hands to warm them up against your stomach under your shirt.

It’s when the grogginess is gone but you’re eyes haven’t adjusted to the light that you start the little patterns, dragging your finger tips over your skin and slowly inching the hem of your t-shirt up. Under the blanket is warm and you wiggle in further to tuck your nose below the edge of the comforter. Fingers continue their featherlight dance across your ribs, pulling goosebumps up along their wake and in the quiet alone you have for another hour, you can pretend they’re not your own.

Heavier, bigger. Thumbs calloused, rough where they drag just under the swell of your breast and the shiver runs right up the back of your neck, over the crown of your head. A little sigh and one hand roams lower, splayed wide and flat against the soft skin of your belly. Traces over your hip and up your thigh where it digs into the supple skin there, pulls it out and down towards the bed. The hand still at your chest pulls up on the shirt to get a handful of your tits, rolls the already hard nipple between thumb and forefinger earning a low gasp from you.

Haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.

You’d asked Eddie once, jokingly, just what he was doing to keep these girls around.

“Need pointers?” He’d laughed when you’d pushed his shoulder. Shrugged all cool and casual, chewing on the straw of his drink for moment.

“Got a talent for eating out.” A smug grin across his face when you’d coughed, choking on the sip you’d just taken.

“What, too crass? Are you blushing?!”

That had turned into a night of secret spilling and Eddie finding out you’d slept with some ‘real fuckin’ losers’, his opinion.

“So they just like, never offered?”

“No? Why would they? We were already fucking.” You’d mumbled that into the worn cushion of the couch, face down to hide your embarrassment.

“Because it’s fun?”

Fun.

He’d said it was fun.

Head buried between thighs and mouth searching, hands grabbing.

Hands that move from the inside of your thigh to your underwear to slide under the band and dip right into the heat of you, running lazy fingers through your folds, dipping lower to tease and gather slick to pull back up and right over your clit. Your head slides to the edge of your pillow and you let it hang over the short edge while a string of curses float out of you.

You imagine him in a dozen different ways. Hovering over you, laying kisses from your cheek down your neck and finally to your chest. Nipple between teeth while he buries his fingers deep in you.

Or leaned back on his heels, watching himself spread you open while he lazily jerks off, heavy cock twitching in his palm, whispering all the things your desperate to hear him say.

Mostly you picture his halo of curls, laying soft across your lap. Thick fingers dug into the meat your thighs pulling you closer to his face, keeping you pinned to the bed. Tongue hot while he runs the point of it through your folds, smiling against you when that sigh escapes you again.

The slow circles you’ve been working over yourself speed up, hand still kneading your breast and you hone in on the things you are familiar with.

The heat of him standing close. How his hands feel against you. The smell of clean laundry and smoke and whatever the hell deodorant he wears. That impish grin with his stupid dimples bracketing his pink lips. His mouth that never fucking stops. All the little personal ways he hangs around your life you play on repeat.

The white noise of quiet in your room turns to ringing in your ears, drowns out the pathetic little whines and moans falling out of you. The heat that’s been building low finally breaks, burns up through your abdomen and licks up your spine. A breathy sigh of “Eddie” and the heat hits your face, the blush creeping in fast enough to make you feel lightheaded.

There’s a few minutes where you’re locked up, knees pulled in tight together and back arched up off the bed while you come back down to earth.

Under the covers is still warm. Your limbs are pliant now. Your brain is buzzing and awake.

The clock is loud when it goes off next to your head, pulling you out of any kind of daze you were lingering in. A sigh puffs the blanket up around your face and you ignore the knot of guilt starting to form under your ribs.

Cold bites through your open coat while you dig around the inside pockets for your zippo. The two of you are close, leaned up against the front of Eddie’s van to absorb the left over heat.

“I think I left it at home.” You look up and he flicks his lighter to life in front of you, grinning over the flame.

“Figured.”

Cupping your hand around it to shade it from the wind gives you a little kiss of warmth from the fire. The early morning sun warming the back of your neck where it peaks out of the clouds. The van warming your thigh through your jeans. It’s cozy, this little moment. A breath in and a puff of smoke escapes your lips. Eddie pockets his lighter but doesn’t lean away so you stay close too and ask him if he actually did his homework for English. Share the cigarette between the two of you, foggy breath and smoke mingle with your voices while he tells you about his essay.

“It’s probably fine, I got wordy again, you know how O’Donnell feels about that. Figure I can scrape a C out of it.”

“Just a C?”

“She fuckin’ hates me.” He laughs and you let your eyes wander over his smile, watching the cigarette move in the corner of his mouth. “You wanna see it?” He’s digging through his bag where it’s propped on the small hood.

“Yeah, lemme see it.”

His fingers brush yours again when you grab for the smoke and you think about your early morning solo tryst. You cast your face down briefly so he doesn’t catch the stupid little grin on your face. He’s unaware when he fishes out his notebook and flips it open for you to glance at. You scan the page fast, it looks like yours and honestly, he might slide a B out of this.

Maybe.

“I think this was just busy work before break, so you might get lucky.”

“For once in my life.” He scoffs and you let out a sour little laugh.

Oh, just once?

“What?”

“Aren’t you always getting lucky?”

“Oh come on.” His grin is shy and he reaches out and snatches the cigarette right out of your mouth, earning him a gasp.

“Excuse me?” You slap at his chest and mange to push his shoulder away from you but he’s planted firmly in place. He raises his eyebrows at you, still grinning and laughing. Another little push and you hold your hand out, waiting for him to drop the cigarette back between your fingers.

“It’s not all the time.”

“Oh only when she sends out the call to arms?”

Eddie just sighs at you. Shakes his head and takes one last pull before handing the cigarette back. Around a mouthful of smoke he says, “You can kill it.” He gathers up his bag, stuffing the notebook back in and starts to turn around the corner of the van.

“Hey, I wasn’t trying to upset you.” You’re voice is small behind him and your tug on his bag slung over his shoulder makes him pause to look back at you. “I was just teasin’.”

“I’m not upset, I promise.” His expression is soft.

“Come on, I don’t want O’Dick bitching at me for being late too.” He flicks his head toward the front of the school, setting off again and you stub out the smoke, hot on his heels.

Her footsteps are light in the crunch of the gravel walking over the trail that leads out to the picnic table in the woods. Normally she tries to not meet him during school, just sneaking over to his van after the last bell before anyone can see. Today though she’d slipped a note in his locker when the hallways were dead.

‘Picnic during 3rd?’

She’s not embarrassed to be seen with Eddie. Well, not exactly. He’s just not her type per se, if he’s anyone’s really. She just doesn’t want to be seen with him is all. It’ll cause a fight and everyone will talk and that’s the last thing she needs, especially if Mark is actually trying to ask her to prom.

Look. Eddie is just…Eddie. He’s loud and obnoxious and arrogant and always smells like cigarettes and his hair is too long and and and-

And what.

He’s a nice guy. He didn’t make fun of her like her teammates when she didn’t even know how to smoke. He’d talked her through how to roll it, how to smoke it, how to hold her breath in till it didn’t hurt. All smiles and small talk and by the end of it they were something like acquaintances.

So back she went, another $30 in hand, to the picnic table in the woods and he’d been all jokes again. Asked if she needed help again. Made her feel comfortable again.

And then he had to go and ask her out.

Not out-out. He knew better than that. This was one of those quiet things that she’d heard some of the other girls talk about.

Fool around when parents aren’t home kind of thing.

Date with the back of his van kind of thing.

A little stoned stargazing and wandering hands at the lake kind of thing.

Still, she’d said no. She didn’t want secondhand dates, she wanted Mark and his first class ones.

Mark and Gwen. Gwen and Mark.

But Mark hadn’t said anything yet, all she had were the cheer teams whispers and her own intuition to go on.

(Maybe she did want those dates.)

Cornering him at his van, angled so no one could see her, she’d gone back on her own promise.

“Does that offer still stand?”

Of course it did, and she was sure he could draw a map from memory of her room by now. Eddie was fun because he was nice and because he was different but she could see the pit just in front of her now. How easy it’d be to say fuck it and walk him out in public in front of everyone. Show him off to all her teammates and turn her nose up at anyone who scoffed. Take a swan dive right into the dark depths of that chasm. Eddie was nice and he was good, and he was very nice and very good to her. He could be her little trailer park boyfriend and when she would inevitably ship off to Barnard next year she could drag him with her to New York and then!

And then? What? That pit again. Eddie was good and nice but he was what, a drug dealer? A failing senior? A trailer park kid with a dad in jail and a dead mom? Eddie was a pit.

Mark’s mom was a librarian downtown and his dad was a property lawyer for Harrington Development. He lived in Loch Nora, two streets from her own home. He didn’t even smoke weed, that’s how committed he was to basketball and making varsity. He was gonna go to Purdue and be a Boilermaker.

Gwen stops short when the table comes into view and she sees the back of your head, dark locks spilling onto the splintered wood.

“Oh.” It falls from her mouth before she can really think and you spin around, eyes wide and cigarette hanging from your lips.

“Hey! Uh are you-“

“Did Eddie send you?” Gwen’s gripping the straps on her backpack in an attempt to stop her stomach from plummeting. Did he send you out here to…to what? Beat her up? She’s heard about your temper and how short your fuse is and-

“What? No, this is my free period I just snuck out to smoke.” You’re up now, holding the cigarette in front of you as evidence. Gwen unwinds a little. “I didn’t know you two were meeting out here, sorry. I’ll make myself scarce.” You shoot her a tight smile and go to grab your stuff, ready to head back the way she just came.

“Wait, please?”

You pause, eyebrows raised in question.

“Can I…ask you something? Or talk?” She doesn’t even know what she wants to say to you. Gwen’s interactions with you have been third party through Eddie and she’s gotten the vibe that she wasn’t quiet popular with you or the rest of the gang.

“Sure.”

“You and Eddie aren’t like-“

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” You hold a hand up to her. You look annoyed and now she’s starting to feel it too.

“I’m just asking.”

“I know, and I’m telling you. We’re not an item, never have been. Just friends.” You’ve shifted back to sitting, this time facing her, leaned forward on your arms. Gwen keeps watching the cherry on the cigarette your fiddling with between your clasped hands like it’s keeping her focused. “I get what it looks like but he doesn’t-we don’t feel that way about each other.” Her eyes snap up to yours and she swears she can see a hint of panic in the crease of your forehead.

He doesn’t he doesn’t he doesn’t.

Gwen nods lightly and makes for the opposite bench. A long sigh escapes when she sits down before looking up at you again.

“I know you don’t really like me.”

“I never said-“

“Let me finish. I know Eddie’s canceled some plans with you guys because of us and that isn’t going to win me any favors. I also know y’all aren’t stupid. You know what this is. I’m not part of your little group of misfits. He’s your friend first, I get it, and I’m not…I’m not his girlfriend,” another big sigh and she shakes her head to clear it, “and I-I don’t want to be.”

Oof.

The silence sticks like the snow clinging to the roots around the trees out here. Gwen is still looking at you, looking for a response. Anger maybe, on behalf of your friend who’s being used. Sadness or jealousy even, over something you’ll never have with him. What she’s not expecting is the loud laugh you bark out. Loud enough to startle a bird out of the tree near you two. You take a long drag and rub a hand over your eyes.

“Listen, Gwen. I don’t hate you, but you don’t belong here.” You gesture at the space between the two of you. “That little confession isn’t news, did you think Eddie was trying to go steady with you?” There’s no cruelty in your voice and that stuns her more than if there was.

“I-I mean-“

“Sorry I know how that sounds, but Eddie? This isn’t his first time playing this game with your type. You guys fool around for a while and then you dump him when prom rolls around, or some jock finally notices you and takes you on a real date.” It’s so matter of fact, like you’d read her mind on the walk over.

Am I that transparent?

“I mean, he’s like king of the nerds around here and still pulling cheerleaders. Do you really think he cares about having to also take you on a date?” Okay that one was a little harsh, Gwen can feel the teeth sinking in to bite.

“He did ask me out, that first time.” She snaps.

He did ask me out.

“I don’t doubt that. He still hasn’t learned his lesson from Francesca. You don’t date cheerleaders if you don’t have a Letter.”

Fran had been one of the girls who’d told Gwen about Eddie, albeit a little cruelly.

“I took his virginity, your welcome.” She’d giggled at Gwen over her lunch, swatting playfully at her hand. “He’s a lot of fun, but he gets all googly-eyed if you’re too nice to him. Gets it in his head he has a chance.” The group had laughed and Gwen had felt a little cold.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt him.”

You stub out your cig in front of you and neatly avoid her gaze.

“I didn’t think you were. It’s…look, you’re breaking it off right?”

She nods.

“Better offer?”

Gwen wishes you wouldn’t say it like that. There’s no pretense anymore though.

“Yeah.”

You hum and nod a few times and cast a look over her shoulder, past her into the woods.

“Is he nice?”

Gwen’s taken aback again. Why would you care?

“I think so. His name’s Mark. I don’t know if you know him, but he plays basketball and he’s….the JV…” She’s trying to keep the quiet at bay but just trails off softly. Feels stupid for talking.

You pick at the table, face screwed up in thought. You’re quiet for a little too long and it has her looking around, wondering if Eddie even got the note.

“I don’t hate you Gwen, I’m just…jealous?” That brings her head snapping back around and you wave her off with an air of avoidance. “Don’t read into that. I’m glad you found your basketball prince or whatever just, don’t be mean to Eddie.”

“I won’t.” She means it, she was just going to be truthful.

There’s a beat before you slap the table and stand up. “Okay, I’m gonna get the fuck out of here because I don’t really need to see that in person. Try not to ruin his whole day, yeah?” You’ve already gathered your bag and started towards the trail back to the baseball field. All Gwen can do is nod, the nerves seeping back in with the cold that’s climbing up her legs.

Ahead of you there’s the shuffling of dragging feet through gravel and the familiar huff of someone who never runs the mile in gym. Eddie sees you first though, coming to a stop a few feet ahead of you.

“Hey trouble, what are you doing out here?” His face is screwed up in confusion, wondering if he’s misunderstood who the note was from when he sees your face pull into a tight frown.

“Ditching the library but I ran into your girl.”

“She’s not my girl.” Too quick to respond and he sees you chuckle.

“Yeah not for long man.” He wouldn’t say it’s glee written across your face, but there isn’t any regret there that’s for sure.

“The hell does that mean?” Eddie has an idea, had a feeling in the pit of his stomach this morning when he woke up. He’d planned on telling Gwen it was over by Friday, but it looks like she’s beat him to it. There’s a small sympathetic smile on your lips and you cross the space between the two of you to clap a hand on his shoulder.

“Just let me know if you need to drink about it later.”

He nods and rolls his eyes, a big sigh working it’s way out of his chest. The knot that’d been sitting heavy loosens a little under the warmth of your fingers.

He wants to walk back up to the school with you, leave this sphere of guilt out in the woods where he can forget it. He could just slide your hand off his shoulder and link it with his to drag you back up the trail and the two of you don’t even need to go back to class. It’s cold out, but he still has blankets in the back of his van and he can think of a few ways to keep you two warm.

Another nod, this one final and he steps around you to go find Gwen out in the clearing.

You don’t see him again until lunch when you rush him. So engrossed with whatever Gareth is telling him he doesn’t hear the squeak of your converse barreling up beside to tackle him into the wall.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie’s elbow comes down in the middle of your shoulders and you just laugh. Bent over and smushed up into his ribs you get a face full of leather and clean laundry. Gareth jumps away to avoid his flailing but he’s laughing. Everyone else around you seems unimpressed with the display. You give him a big squeeze before letting go.

“Oh unclench.” You say to a passing group, all holding on to their lunch trays like your gonna slap them on the floor.

“You coulda broken my ribs.” Eddie is rubbing his side, mock hurt pulling at his features.

“You have flipped me clean over your shoulder and I’m fine! You’ll live.” You see Gareth’s eyebrows raising and before he can open his mouth you shove his face away, eliciting another laugh from him.

“Don’t be a pervert.”

Eddie is uncharacteristically quiet during lunch, both Gareth and you keeping an eye on him. He told you two the gist of it, his little woodland meeting.

“She told me about Mark.” He sticks his tongue out. “I should have know, prom is right around the corner.” He’s creeping in on himself, shoulders pulling down. “It’s whatever. I was getting bored anyways.”

The way he says it sits weird with you.

“Bored with sex?” You’re trying to lighten the mood. Gareth laughs into his pudding cup and he’s just full of giggles today it would seem. Eddie kicks him under the table.

“No, that’s not what I said.” Eddie is blushing now, floundering for his next words. You keep looking at him and it keeps making him stumble and blush more and mission accomplished.

“What, were you gonna break up with her?” Gareth asks like it’s the dumbest thing in the world. Yeah, why would he break up with the hot cheerleader?

When he doesn’t answer or look up from his chips, Gareth drops the sarcasm.

“Oh shit you were.”

Eddie does shoot him a look then, a silent ‘shut up’ if you ever saw one.

You keep it to yourself, but there’s a warmth that grows up the inside of you with the knowledge that he’d made the decision this time before it was made for him.

The crumpled up paper all over his floor is a testament to his stupidity. At least he thinks so because why god why is it so hard to write a letter to someone. He’s tried every iteration of ‘I’m obsessed with you, will you please kiss me’. Some of them had turned into half ramblings about some dream he’d had and he’s absolutely not giving you some R rated fantasy to try to win you over.

(The thought keeps crossing his mind though.)

In desperation he’d even thought about trying to write out some kind of solo player campaign that involved a maze and a riddle. He’d been halfway to writing it, stressed and sleep deprived when he realized how long it’d take and this was supposed to be a love letter for fucks sake.

He hadn’t given himself a timeline really, had just been thinking in afters. After he called it off with Gwen. After he wrote you an epic poem. After he got his head out of his ass.

But one of the afters, the most important really, had kind of happened out of step and it left him adrift.

When would he tell you? He couldn’t let this go on much longer, he’d run out of little trinkets to steal from you. He’d collapse in on himself if he had to suppress any urge around you much longer. He figures two weeks off of school would give him time to clear his head. Get to the new year. Hell, maybe even make his and yours New Years Eve a nice memorable one for once.

With one after out of the way he thinks maybe he doesn’t need the others.

Maybe…maybe it didn’t need to be a letter. He could just tell you. Just lay himself out, heart on his sleeve.

(Head would be firmly out of ass too.)

Even if you said no he knows you wouldn’t be cruel, not to him.

What if she doesn’t want to be friends anymore?

No. No he won’t let that happen because he’s so good at pretending. Pretending everything is fine and pretending he’s okay and that nothing is going wrong ever for him. Pretending that he’d be over you in an instant.

She’s gonna see right through that, genius.

Okay new thought.

You say yes. Of course you’d say yes, it’s Eddie! You’re already up each others asses enough everyone thinks your dating anyways. You’re comfortable around each other, you share secrets like you share food and drinks (and that lollipop that one time.) There’s no one else he’d rather hang out with normally, except maybe Gareth but he’s never wanted to pin him up against a wall and kiss him till he can’t breathe.

He’s pacing his room, small little lazy circles in the cramped space, chewing on a hangnail on his thumb. He’s lost in thought enough that he almost misses the phone ringing and he bounds down the hallway to the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“Took you long enough. What, were you jerkin’ off? Too busy to answer me?” You joke around a mouthful of something. Eddie can hear the clink of a spoon in a bowl from your end.

“Ha ha.”

“Seriously, what are you up to?” You cut to the chase. It’s Thursday so both Wayne and your mom are working overnight and Eddie’s brain starts working overtime. Could just tell you tonight, force his own hand and spill his guts. Could be a Christmas miracle instead, one thing going his way for once.

“Nothing special. Wanna come over and waste a perfectly good evening?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

20 minutes later he hears you outside, coming up the steps and before you can knock he swings the door open.

“Thanks for dressing up.” He smirks, looking you up and down. Ratty jeans under oversized hoodie under secondhand peacoat. You scoff hard, one of his favorite sounds you make.

“Oh fuck you Munson. I bring you booze and you critique my attire?” You half pull out a bottle from the folds of you coat to show him. “Like you’ve got any room to talk.”

“My apologies, I didn’t know we were partying.” His hand slaps against his chest and you push him out of the way, smiling as you filter into the trailer. The bottle goes on the kitchen counter and you toss your coat over the back of the recliner.

“I figure we could skip tomorrow. Last day before break, you know we aren’t doing shit. Also I figured you could use a drink or three.” You’re busying yourself in the kitchen, finding glasses and grabbing a soda out of his fridge. Eddie hasn’t said anything because he’s realizing a fatal flaw in his plan, where if he tells you how he feels then you’ll know how he feels. Having you in the same room as his thoughts makes it evident that he needs to figure his shit out.

“I told you I’m fine.”

“I know, but getting dumped for Mark the Hoop King can’t feel great.”

“I mean, honestly I wasn’t that invested.” He shrugs, coming over to lean on the outside of the counter and watching you crack open the fifth of jack you definitely stole from your mom. You shoot him a doubtful look under the cabinets. He feels like he might start vibrating if he keeps thinking about telling you anything ever.

“If you say so.” The glass you push towards him is more liquor than soda and Eddie grimaces before even taking a sip. Knows it’ll burn. Knows it’ll loosen his tongue. He downs half before he can talk himself out of it. You cheers the air in front of you and follow suit, sucking your teeth when the glass hits the countertop.

“What are we watching tonight?” The strain on your voice makes him chuckle, your own drink working against you.

“I got The Dead Zone if you want to watch something horror, and I also snagged the last copy of Year Without a Santa Claus because I know you can’t get enough of the snow miser.”

You let out a gasp and clap your hands together, gathering up your glass and shimmying over to the couch. You look at him expectantly where he’s still leaned up against the counter and gesture at the tv set.

“Well come on! Santa’s not gonna get fat without us.”

Eddie gives you another smile and heads to his room to grab the cassettes off of his dresser. On his way back into the living room he sees you pulling your feet up onto the cushion, adjusting around until you’re comfortable.

Down deep he lets himself have a moment.

He can pretend when he sits down next you he could snake his arm around you and pull you close. Smush his nose into your hair while some claymation character sings about the joy of the season.

Instead he grabs the bottle from the kitchen after getting the tape set up and drops down on the opposite side of you. Swings his legs up to shove his socked feet under your calf. You laugh through your nose and settle into the couch further and he supposes this is good too.

When the credits roll the both of you are tipsy, more so you since you’d taken Eddie up on his game. Any time you felt the need to recite along with the movie, he’d pour a little more into your glass, effectively turning it all into whiskey. He took a few swigs in solidarity with you but he was finding your rosy cheeks and giggles a little distracting, loosing count of how many sips behind he was.

“Laugh at me all you want, I love Rankin and Bass. There’s an Easter one I’m gonna make you watch in April.” You’ve stretched out alongside Eddie, feet wiggling beside his shoulder while you nurse the half full cup clasped between your hands.

“You’re not gonna make me do shit.” His laugh rumbles quiet in his chest. He sounds a little buzzed, voice deeper from the drinks. His own feet are stuffed behind your back and he moves them around, jostling you lightly. You laugh and tell him to stop, slapping his knee.

“I’m gonna spill my drink!”

He does it again and you dip your fingers into your cup and flick the liquid at him.

“That’s low!”

“Stop kicking me!”

He sits up and leans forward, hands reaching for your glass and you try to pull it away but he hooks a finger on the rim.

“Ed-!“ and tips it forward right into his lap. Neither of you jump to move out of the way, accepting the sticky fate right off. The hand you’ve slapped over your mouth is doing nothing to hide the laugh that’s shaking your shoulders. Eddie stares down at this lap and then back up to you which seems to send you into a harder fit of giggles.

“Here let me-“

“I just need to move my legs-“ It’s a scramble to get off the couch before anything sinks too deep into the cushion. You can see Eddie trying to hold back laughter himself but refusing to break a smile in front of you. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the living room with his hands out to his side and you just can’t seem to stop laughing at his awkwardness.

“Okay. I’m gonna go change, try not to make any more messes while I’m gone?”

“Me?!”

He’d shuffled around his room before heading into the bathroom and you’d taken the opportunity to switch the movie out. Standing in front of the tv waiting for the credits to roll you notice a wet patch on your hoodie that’s soaked through to your shirt. “Ah, Eddie what the shit.” Wobbling slightly down the hallway to his room to root around for a t-shirt that would fit, you hear the shower kick on.

It makes you pause, the haze of liquor whispering at you to lean forward. Press your ear up against the door lightly. There’s shuffling and a small bump followed by Eddie’s quiet cursing. The shower curtain pulling open and closed. The heavy thud of your heartbeat in your ear. You trail a finger down the door, hand hovering near the handle before you startle and pull your hand back.

What are you doing?

Getting a shirt. Yeah. A head shake to get your brain right, you aren’t even drunk what are you doing?

You shut the bedroom door behind you and strip off your sweatshirt and top, pulling open the bottom drawer of his dresser where all his shirts are shoved in haphazardly.

“How do you find anything in here.” Mumbling while shuffling through all his shit, you find a faded out ren fair shirt and when you stand up a glint of metal catches your eye. His little secret drawer he was gatekeeping his weed in is ajar and just inside is…your zippo? You’d thought you’d just left it at home this morning but now it’s here.

You shove the shirt on and open the drawer completely to see, yep, your silver VFW zippo slide fully into view.

Along with an assortment of things.

Frowning, you sift through some smaller hair clips that you swore you’d lost at school or in the chaos of your car. There’s two eyeliner pencils that you’ve replaced twice now. A lipstick you’d bitched about misplacing.

And your tiefling minifig.

Eddie had been adamant you hadn’t left it at his or Hellfire. Had said he hadn’t seen the little purple figure you’d spent a few hours painting delicately.

What the fuck.

You wrench the drawer open all the way and and see a handful of picks and two rings you reallythought you’d lost in the mayhem of the locker room after gym. Some folded up notes you’ve passed him in classes. There’s fabric bunched up at the back that you shake out. It’s the Dead Kennedys shirt you’ve been missing for months.

What the fuck Eddie.

You pick up the little wooden box, expecting to find more of your shit in it but it’s what’s underneath that catches your attention.

You only pause for a moment, an upside down polaroid could be anything, or anyone really, but you don’t care right now because he has a drawer of your shit and-

The edges are worn a little like it’s been handled frequently, a corner of the white tab bent just a little.

The wooden box is clutched against your chest, knuckles white with the tightness of your fist holding it to you.

You’ve never seen this photo. You’ve got an idea of when it was taken, you’ve only dressed up like Elvira the one time.

Your eyes are roaming the photo, looking for…what? Your hand in the bottom of the photo keeps snagging your attention. Dark nails dug into dark denim.

Is this how he saw you? There’s an itch at the base of your skull that feels like fire and your mind rolls in it. Maybe you weren’t crazy after all, pining after Eddie Munson. Your stomach does a somersault at the notion.

The trailer is quiet around you, some truck going by outside but otherwise nothing. The creak of the hinges being flexed under your hand where you’re blanking out in the quiet.

You don’t hear the bathroom door open or Eddie wandering out to living room to see you gone.

Mind going a mile a minute piecing the puzzle together.

This was last year, so he’s had this for a whole year and then a drawer full of shit he said he hadn’t seen and my zippo that I just talked about this morning did he take it out of my pocket-

“I see how it is, you snoop while I’m in the shower.” Eddie’s voice is a clear cut through the tornado sirens going off in your mind. The door opens behind you and you see him in the mirror toweling off his hair.

“I keep telling you you’re gonna find-“ He’s dropped the towel and pushed his hair out of his eyes to see your back to him, watching him in the reflection of his mirror. His eyes flick down to the top of his dresser where the contents of the drawer are sprawled out. Panic blooms over his face when his eyes find yours again and he notices your hands in the mirror, clutching the box and-

Oh my god no.

He thinks his heart has ceased beating, might even have brain leaking out of his ears. He watches you turn around, sees your eyebrows drawn together. He can’t tell if you’re angry or worried or scared? Maybe all three. Holds his breath till you say something because he hadn’t thought about this outcome. Had thought he’d been good about keeping it hidden, his stupid fucking crush on you. Tucked under boxes of weed or in pages of books. Under a mattress. In a breast pocket.

Eddie can hear the deep breaths you’re taking and he wonders how you’re finding oxygen in this room.

Your voice is quiet when your eyes search his, holding up the picture.

“Ed?”

💕Tag List💕

@edsforehead, @fracturedarkness, @munsonsguitarpick, @bebe0701, @ali-r3n, @cantreadbutcute, @marjoriea13, @demeterlindavis, @eddiethesexy, @fckyeahlames, @tiannamortis, @munsonzzgf, @emma77645, @starrywhitenight, @e0509, @chelebelletx,

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x y/n #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fanfic #My Work #My Fic #Bitch this is long?#like long long??? shit #The weight is off my shoulders #I can finally get to the fuckin parts #Rentfic

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deanscroissant · 1 year

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Chris Knight headcanon #1

“I saw your recent post about headcanons for Chris Knight, and I adore Real Genius! It's a funny movie movie, I love it. Would you be up to the idea of how Chris would be when you and him are studying together?” ~ Anon

A/N: so sorry it took a while to write. life happened lol. pls be gentle with me because this is my first headcanon. i also kind of went a little overboard so i hope this is okay. thanks for the request! if anyone else want to request then shoot me an ask. tyyyy 😁

okay Chris is an absolute sweetheart

he’ll make sure you have everything you need before studying: water, snacks, sharpened pencils, pens, highlighters, etc.

you do not play when it comes to studying and he knows it, so if he even just so move a muscle to pick up one of those gadgets he’s made then you’ll kick him out of his own dorm

but when he can tell you’re overworking yourself he’ll tell you to stop and take a break

when you would ace a test he’ll throw you a party each time

and when you would do bad on one (the worst you’ve ever gotten was a C) he still throws you a party and pamper you because, as he would say, “to my knowledge, there is no ‘c’ in failure. but i do know ‘Kent’ and ‘failure’ both have an ‘e’.”

you loved how he would cheer you up by just cracking jokes

before finals week approached, chris surprises you by taking you out on a weekend getaway to a concert of your favorite band

“are you kidding me?! these must have cost a fortune!” you gasped as you stared at the tickets in your hand.

“they weren’t when i threatened the guy who i brought them from.”

you giggled and jumped in his arms, “thank you, baby.”

“of course.” he said, smiling as he pulled you closer into him.

he loved making you happy just to see your beautiful smile + you deserved to be happy

you were hit with reality when you got back on campus Sunday night

you were scared as hell for your first final tomorrow and started to regret going on that weekend trip

“chris, do you think it was a good idea to go on that trip when we could have been studying?”

“yeah i think so. we’d probably have fried brains at this point if we did, don’t you think?”

you shrugged, “i guess so.”

“don’t worry, y/n. you got this. if you doubt yourself then you’ll do terrible on the test.”

“that’s what i always do, huh? doubting myself.” you said melancholy as you sat on your bed.

“yeah and you over think.” he squats down to your level, lifting your head up by your chin to look at him. he gently caresses your chin with his thumb. “i took you on the trip for that reason. believe in yourself, y/n…because i believe in you. can you promise me that?”

his viridian-colored eyes stared back into yours waiting for an answer. a moment went by before you smiled at him, “i think that can happen, captain.”

chris jumped up, threw his hand in the air, and yelled a cheerful, “Hell yeah!” before picking you up from the bed—bridal style— spinning you around as you let out a fit of laughter

you were passing your exams left and right all week, and when it came friday for your last exam, you passed that one as well!

when chris heard the news he was so happy for you. and you were happy for him of course, even though you knew he would ace all of his in one day

chris decided to go out to dinner to celebrate finishing the semester with you, along with mitch, jordan, ick, and lazlo.

then you guys went to a carnival and when chris would win anything from a game he would give it to you

“babe, no you deserved this. that was a really hard game.” you told him as you handed it back to him, but only for him to push your hand away.

“no, it’s for you. now come on! i got to win you one more prize for the last exam you passed.” he faked groaned and playfully rolled his eyes before taking your hand in his, smiling cheekily when he heard you laughing behind him.

so yeah even though chris graduates and you have one year left, he’s still gunna be your study buddy and cheering you on until then.

#val kilmer #chris knight #chris knight x reader #real genius #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #iceman #tom iceman kazansky #tom kazansky #iceman top gun #iceman x reader #iceman x y/n #chris knight headcanon #headcanon #real genius headcanon

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groovesnjams · 5 months

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youtube

2 / 50

"Not Strong Enough" by boygenius

MG:

Writing about boygenius, at this point, feels impossible. I have an urge to defend them, to shout down some anonymous but not entirely imagined comment section* (it felt like everywhere I turned on the internet just fucking hated this group and it always always always boiled down to some projected misogyny) and a world that just couldn’t…quite…admit this was the greatest song of the year. Even in the places where boygenius unequivocally ruled there was this little whiff of embarrassment like they’re great but, ok, not that great. Well, they are that great! They don’t have to do something wholly original or reflect everyone’s personal identity back to them to be great!

But we don’t need more of that, it’s a stupid feedback loop, I have to be the change I want to see in the world and that change is to write about this song without defending it! To do that, however, would not be entirely honest because, to be entirely honest, I was very much that person I outlined above for most of the year. I put “A&W” at the top of my dopey playlist and felt very vibey about it and even had a period where I got into Father John Misty a little bit because that made sense. And then when it got closer to calling it, as I was listening through that playlist a whole bunch to make cuts and remember things I’d forgotten, I listened to “Not Strong Enough” for the first time on headphones and it fucking ripped. It ripped my brain right open! This song is gorgeously produced, full of rich instrumentation that colors neatly in-between the wavy lines of the storytelling. It’s the kind of thing I want to choreograph a dance to, I want it to soundtrack a movie about an aimless, broken person who surrenders to life’s enduring beauty and awakens to their own possibility, I want to watch a music video where boygenius play in a barn with vaulted ceilings. Every detail of this song feels so specific and fully realized that I can’t help but play along. It speaks to some half-remembered, half-imagined past but it’s also coming to, in the front seat, still happening, still going somewhere.

I get it, what I said about Chappell Roan, about being unlikable and thus lovable, applies here, too. I can’t make you like this song, it is unlikable and it got better every time I heard it (a lot, it was blessed and highly favored by Sirius XMU, who chose to make Mitski’s TikTok hit “My Love, Mine All Mine” their song of the year) and I love “Not Strong Enough.” It is my favorite song of the year.

*(To my complete and total amusement, shortly after I finished my first draft of this post, the comment section I was thinking of voted "Not Strong Enough" their song of the year. I'm not sure if there's a significant disconnect between commenting members and voting members or if I'm a woman of the people, charting the course of lukewarm acceptance to full on wholehearted embrace of this song. But, either way, good for all of us!)

DV:

Wow it's really tough to talk about "Not Strong Enough" without talking about boygenius and parasociality and fandom in 2023, huh? This may also be true of a lot of this year's list, but with the rest of the lot it's relatively easy to find other angles into the song. With boygenius the angles all lead back to the band, their dynamic, their process, their relationships. It's a little gauche isn't it? I don't feel like boygenius meant for the story of their 2023 to be about themselves but here they are at the end of the year where they went viral for Halloween costumes and they're winning gendered awards like Ron Swanson from Parks & Recreation, and we just have to hope things age better in reality than in fiction. But also, boygenius made "Not Strong Enough", which some days felt like it might actually be my favorite song of the year (a distinction shared by many others on this list, but one this song got more than most.) It's a song built out of climaxes, rolling and building, with hooks to spare and a secret weapon in the drummer, whose name is weirdly difficult to find but whose fills do more to make the song than even the jangliest guitar. So on one hand, I know more about this band's lore than I do about any other artist who I can't name a second song by. But on the other: "Not Strong Enough" is straightforwardly a gorgeous, propulsive power pop banger, delivered beautifully. When you have a Lucy Dacus and can hold her in reserve for a climax like this one, taking fully a minute and a half but never losing momentum, you're simply operating at a level that few other artists are capable of.

#gnjsoty2k23 #boygenius #not strong enough #music #phoebe bridgers #julien baker #lucy dacus

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polaroidtelevision · 1 year

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I've seen a few fics/posts on here where Eddie successfully corrupts Steve into a metalhead, and I've seen a very small handful of punk Steve content. Now, punk Steve has my heart, especially anarcho-punk, becuase you can't tell me he wouldn't be, like, "Where has the government been this whole time? Huh?? Kids had to save the world several times, the government just deals with clean up. Plus it's illegal to be gay. Fuck the government!!"

But this post isn't about punk Steve, this post is about goth Steve, which I havent seen a single fic or ficlet or anything on here for yet. There's probably some of it out there, but I haven't seen it and thats homophobic, so I'm writing it.

So Eddie and Steve become friends and same thing we've all seen a ton of, tries to get him into better music. But metal just hurts his brain, not even in a general way, like in a repeated head trauma way, its too loud and fast and oh yeah, he definitely wishes he could enjoy it for Eddie, but he just can't deal with the migraines it gives him, that anything a little too loud or with a fast beat does.

So Eddie respects that, but still helps him expand his tastes because Steve is helpless, he listens to the same three radio stations that play whatever shitty pop is popular, he isn't really a Fan of anything but Bowie and Queen.

And then Steve finds the goth subcultures, something still alternative and daring and a bit queer but with music that he can actually listen to, because it can be mellow, lulling. He can turn it up in the car and let it fill his head, it's hypnotic. Even the faster songs, they tend to be more electronic, less drum and guitar solos that make his ears ring, and he can listen to them, and he ends up enjoying it. The Cure? Depeche Mode? Bauhaus? Ministry? New Order? He'd eat all that shit up.

And maybe he'd never get super into the style, he'd start wearing band tees and paining his nails and sometimes wearing eyeliner and little things and he'd do something wild with his hair and put on a mesh top and just do something crazier for club nights and he'd never really go All Out like some other guys, but he loves the new culture he's found, loves that it's still different and interesting and alternative and exciting and that he can actually be a part of it.

And Eddie loves it too, he loves that Steve's finally found something and made it his own. He can finally express himself, not the leftover mold of who he tried to be in high school and for his parents. Plus, Steve looks great in eyeliner and Eddie thinks he's hotter than ever before.

#goth steve supremacy #steddie #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie munson #steddie headcannon #steddie headcanon #steddie fanfic #steddie ficlet #goth steve au #stranger things drabble #stranger things headcanons #steddie drabble

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whiskeyswifty · 3 days

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Feel free to bank this ask if you need more time but what are your overall thoughts? I feel like I won’t be able to ever rank this album bc it straight up doesn’t feel like an album it more feels like she was like 🤲 here ya go! Which I don’t mind too much bc there’s plenty for me to dig into here but I’m always curious to hear your takes! :)

i fully took your permission to bank this and sit on it, so thank you for that haha but FINALLY i think i can talk about it with enough perspective and time with it where novelty or initial vexations have worn off. I think for the sake being respectful of people's sensitivity (not a value judgment) i'll break it up into positives, net neutral thoughts and criticisms. So you can skip the critical section if you're unable to handle frank but thoughtful criticism of her and her work (again not a value judgement, do whatever you need to enjoy what you want to enjoy. i just enjoy engaging with art critically and it is my blog after all). I'm sure i missed something, and i'll babble about it in the near future, but for now this feels like a good place to stop and share where I've landed.

My TTPD songs on repeat (in no particular order):

The tortured poets department

down bad

so long london

but daddy i love him

florida

guilty as sin

who's afraid of little old me

loml

broken heart

smallest man

clara bow

the black dog

i'mgonnagetyouback

i look in people's windows

so high school

the prophecy

POSITIVES:

loml upon first listen was my favorite and is probably the most Taylor swift song on this album, in the best way. the soft and emotive voice, rising with anger and cracking with pain. the piano and the rhyming structure of the bridge being a cascade of couplets, and even the conceit of the song! taking a well known acronym loml and despite the song being a heartbreak song, still using it in the song the way you expect. luring you in and getting you to let your guard down, knowing to wait until the right moment, and then on the LAST LINE subverting that expectation devastatingly. it's got all the swiftian motifs; the longing that lingers despite a betrayal, the magnetism of an old flame that you can never quite stamp out, haunted by it, passion as fire as it but also how it consumes and destroys, being a fool for love, the burden of remembrance and willing yourself to forget. you name it, this song's got it. just really a remarkable little gem of a song.

but after the anthology came out, loml was usurped by the prophecy. it's absoutely my favorite like hoooooooooly shit. this is what i LOOOOOOVE hearing about from her. the perspective of time!! the self reflection!! the tension of what you want vs. what you think you deserve!! The guitar plucking at the start every time makes me go AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH and the way she jumps up and down in pitch or whatever in the chorus??? WOOOOOOOO THATS THE GOOD SHIT.

the title track really grew on me (and i have supplanted the fairly obvious subject with someone else that suits my taste so i have a ball listening to it. i won't say cuz people are fucking weird on here about deviating from the ~truth~ for their own personal enjoyment but my buddies know and we all agree it makes it so much more fun). I love the melodic way she sings on this song, and it's my platonic ideal jack production, where it's imitating that 80s emotional garbled synth a la new order or erasure or the cure. i eat that shit uppppppp. that final bridge/ring situation though is..... not great and is only saved because of how the way she sings it and how it tickles my brain.

THE BLACK DOG!!!!!!!!! THE. BLACK. DOG. HELLOOOOOOOO WHAT A TUNE WHAT A SONG WHAT A SPECIFIC GIFT FOR ME. literally the starting line lyric gets me every time like WHAT A NICHE EMO BAND NOBODY KNOWS HUH. fun fact, at my moms house recently i found this framed school assignment from when i was like 14 or 15 or something. we had to do a mock front page of a newspaper as an icebreaker activity, you all know what i mean if you know what i mean. And under the music section i put "I love to listen to The Starting Line and The Killers" like askfjalskjfsadklfj. taylor clearly wrote this song about me and sorry i did all that i guess, but you can keep stalking me it's fine.

Clara bow of course absolutely incredible closer, incredible song that i've waxed poetic about several times already so i won't bore you with repeat rants. just a stunner. a curtain close of a closer as the crowd jumps up for a standing ovation.

Aaron on this album.... my guy..... WHAT a showing from someone who has jumped aboard the taylor ship and steered it into incredibly rich directions!!! i think most of my picks for My Version of this album are aaron songs, and even when i thought it was a jack song and i was ready to congratulate jack on finding a sweet spot again..... oops it was aaron ajsdlfkdsfjlkdsjflsd. THE GUY!!! THE DUDE!!! LETS HEAR IT FOR UPSTATE NEW YORK!!!

NET NEUTRALS:

album proper is very solid and fun to jump around! it took me a few listens to really dig into it, but i like it. i don't think i love it, and i think it's a middling ranking somewhere in my ranking overall. Also, I don’t think the order is particularly important, as none of these songs really need to go before or after one another as they have little to do with each other. Which is neutral, and how honestly most albums are, and I'm pretty fine with how it is now . And anyway, play through-concept albums are rare and specific but a different beast than your standard album. I’m fine with how it is because I listen to different songs in different orders each time depending on my mood. but i'm also not interested enough in the subject matter to play around with it too much. I think the album proper is a good distillation of this project's songs with a little bit for everyone in there, which to me is a marker of success, even if i would swap some anthology songs for album proper songs.

I’m not invested in her romantic life anymore, and i've noticed that seems to be one of the top complaints or roadblocks to enjoying this album, which is understandable. Especially when this one is incredibly unsympathetic, as is the sentiment writ large (and if I did care about her personal life, I would have those same roadblocks so lol). But I don’t think her diaristic songwriting is overdone or she needs to hang it up, which i've seen some people complain about. I think at this point, her choice in subject matter is what is key to the success of it. Her love life in a 2024 social landscape is yes comparatively straight, white, privileged, and because the romantic lives of people in that demo have been begun to be de-centered in culture over the course of her career, it’s now boring and rote, and we've had centuries playing out the cyclical drama of straight, white, and privileged people. But rather, her fame is what really is worth writing about imo. that’s what’s juicy about her now and what people wanna know, if she’s going to trade on personal details of her life as song fodder. She’s in such rarified air and songs that delve into how she feels about it are the best on this. what it has done to her? what has it driven her to do? The longer she spends in this machine, what does she decide is most valuable? What is worth it and what isn’t? What did she think would change and what did she think would stay the same, and which of those things was she wrong about? I love hearing about all the answers to questions like that on this album, and also answers to questions I had that she perhaps gave away unknowingly and quite…. Unbecomingly but still delicious none the less. Where we usually get one or two songs about fame per album, she has a nice handful on here and it’s so curious to me, especially considering she wasn’t raised among it. She’s an avatar for the common man in Hollywood in some ways, but losing touch with the common man more and more each day and I love seeing that documented, and how she has a self awareness about that, if no idea what to do about that. if she’s now the monster we made her, I wanna get to know that monster in all it’s ugliness and vindictiveness and whatever else lurks in there, and it seems she too is tired of caging it.

CRITICAL:

i loathe the anthology concept, mainly in how quickly she dropped it. i think the album proper is solid and dropping all those additional songs lowers the batting average significantly, as noted in many critical reviews of the album v. the anthology. I personally chalk it up to her experience with the vault tracks' success, which she mistakenly took as ALL of her songs are great and she should cut LESS of them. when the reality of that was they were received with such excitement because they had the lore of being vault songs, and they were ways for us to revisit eras of her musical styles that have long since passed, and there is IMMENSE novelty in nostalgia. I also think that if she pays attention to middling or negative reviews both from critics and fans alike (which i don't think tree puts on her desk, but she might seek it out for whatever temperature check reasons she has so i won't rule it out) she would have seen how midnights' "bonus tracks" or whatever you want to call them were received pretty unanimously as a great batch of songs, compared to polarized reactions to the album's original songs. perhaps that inspired her to approach her album release this time around by throwing spaghetti songs at the proverbial wall of an audience and seeing what sticks. i don't know if this is.... a bad approach? I don't feel great about it either, but it certainly is interesting coming from someone sooooooo meticulous in every other instance of her Taylor Swift brand in recent years. (or maybe she really did think every single song on the anthology was worthy, and that is perhaps my greater fear).

all jokes aside, I don’t actually think her and jack’s relationship has run its course in terms of inspiring one another to do new and exciting things, I just think perhaps some editing is required. I’m firmly of the camp that it’s not jack’s fault for something sounding how it does, as most people who work with him are quick to take offense to that and say that he very much is an employee as a producer. The artist is always the boss. Of course lesser artists or ones who are more friendly with him may be less honest, because of intimidation/gratitude or fondness respectively, but on the whole, it seems like he is at their mercy and will. And has the range to make music across many genres and composition styles. That being said, I do think there is a comfort in him and Taylor’s working relationship, of course because of their personal one, and that perhaps has become a bit of a hinderance to her. (He continues to make incredibly wide ranging stuff with other artists and his own music, so he stays pushing himself and being pushed) I don’t think what they make is bad, when it’s the least successful, but it’s a tad rote, heavily trodden, and flat. Perhaps the flatness in her voice on some of those songs is her trying to compliment an instrumental that is a bit flat, which is trying to keep pace with her vocals that are flat, and so on and so forth and there is no culprit but just two flat bitches saying exactly to each other. But it’s extremely frustrating if only because we have, on this album even, examples of when they both really blend beautifully and push towards something unique and exciting (Broken Heart, Black Dog, imgonnagetyouback to name a few). I would just like to see more development of sounds like that and exploration of that more boldly, as even those songs dance at the edge of progressing stylistically, but ultimately shy away from fully embracing something new.

it’s very interesting that this album does not have the same retention that her other albums have had with me, at least not instantly or in the weeks after. And what I mean by that is songs are not getting stuck in my head that much. I do not want to revisit them immediately after listening to them, and when I do, some of them have somewhat diminishing returns. And I asked myself why that is and the greater existential question of what is music supposed to be. And I think midnights is a great album to compare to this album and maybe history will make sisters of these two albums, it’s too soon to tell, but with proximity as something to inspire comparison, I think they’re great to talk about in conversation with each other. Midnights is an album that many critics and many longtime Taylor Swift fans did not enjoy to the degree of her others, and some new fans who came to her during folklore were turned off by her returned to pop in a way that some felt was empty. But what is interesting about midnights is despite the fact that the rich text isn’t really there or well articulated or particularly inspiring, the bangers are there to be so crass. Songs like antihero and bejeweled and even karma every time I would return to them or listen to them again I could not get them out of my head. Even though the lyrics are next to nothing or are the simplest versions of those concepts, the marriage of the lyrics with the melody is perfect. I wanna listen again, I get them stuck in my head, I wanna dance to them. Very little of that is on this album currently, even with songs I like or love. There are songs that I enjoy more with each listen, yes, and chew on lyrically and composition wise, but the bangers are not here, not like they have been in the past. if midnight was her putting bangers over substance, this album is her putting substance over bangers. I don’t know if either of those things is the right way to make music, or if there is a right way to make music.

This gets into the existential question that is far beyond her, and not her responsibility to answer, that is what purpose does music serve as an art form. What metrics of success do we measure it by, obviously charts and financial success not being competent measures for art? And should music, which is perhaps the most populous and accessible form of art we have on planet earth because of the universality of a banger, maybe err on the side of bangers as enjoyability is it’s main purpose? Which is to say that should it always put the song over substance? If you can manage both, which she has historically been able to do time and time again, then by all means do so. But if you find yourself wanting to choose between the two, in the aftermath of this album I think my personal feeling is this. If you’re gonna write poetry, just write poetry, but don’t tell me that it’s a song if it doesn’t bang. And I don’t mean that it has to be a pop song, I am being a bit glib. I mean that I should want to listen to it. wordiness and any flow disruptions because of it should not take priority over the fact that it it a song and it should be pleasing to listen to, more so than it needs to be poetic. This album is a bit indulgent in the latter and i feel the songs that couldn't bend to the will of the "poetry" suffered. I think that’s ultimately what makes this album so easy and delicious to talk about because it is forcing us to ask these questions. Not just of music in general, but of Taylor Swift who, in a lot of ways, is a microcosm of the music industry. No I don’t mean that ~she is the music industry~ silly way that people refer to her. But I mean in the way that Taylor is a good case study in asking ourselves what we want from music because she is capable of all of the things that music is capable of. Even further, it’s us asking ourselves what we consider to be successful music. I recognize that this is an incredibly personal question for everyone in the sense that the success of music and art is a subjective opinion and that I am once again wading into waters where my feet don’t touch the ground but I do think it’s what makes talking about all of this so fun and why I find it to be an engaging and important and stimulating debate that we will probably have for eternity, or at least as long as Taylor Swift keeps making music.

#i'm not going to answer the other anons asking about my thoughts directly #so this one is for ALL of you!#and i'm so flattered that you even care what i think lol so thank you for sending those! i was probably going to post my thoughts anyway #but it's nice to have some encouragement :)#my silly little essays

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howlingday · 1 year

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au where jaune has some really bad scars after a run in with a very angry cat he was trying to save from a tree and looks super intimidating so he grows a big mountain man beard to try and cover them up but it only makes things worse so his friends take turns decoratiing it with braids and flowers in an attempt to make him not look so intimidating.

like jaune is now the most intense-looking guy ever but he's still a huge dork and just wants to make friends and help people and he's got braids and flowers all through his hair.

Jaune read over the chapter again. He was getting the hang of fighting, and Grimm had some easily noticeable variations among them, but for the life of him, dust just could not stick to his brain. There were a nearly limitless variation, and it didn't help that at least three of them were green, with their own different elements!

"Um, excuse me," Jaune looked up to see Velvet looking down at him, "do you have a second?"

"Sure." Jaune said, closing the book in front of him. Not that it was doing anything good for him anyways. "What's up? Is Cardin bothering you again?"

"No, no, but," Velvet rubbed her arm, "it has nothing to do with Cardin, but I just," she looked away to the window, then sighed. "Actually, there's nothing wrong."

"Are you sure?" He leaned a bit forward. Velvet flinched and leaned away. "Oh, sorry."

"It's fine." She sighed. "I just needed someone to talk to without getting my team involved."

"Yeah, Beacon really needs a counselor." Jaune brought a burly, calloused hand up to his face and stroked his massive bush of a beard. A flower petal fell to the table with a flutter. "Until then, I guess I'll have to do, huh?"

"Yeah." Velvet noticed there was a scar poking out from behind the beard.

Jaune was a stark contrast from Cardin, who used to bully her incessantly half a year ago. At the time, she kept it to herself while she carried herself through it. Until Jaune decided to stepped in, she thought she would have to suffer this torment until her graduation. She didn't know the details, but she heard that the young man in front of her left the Forever Fall behind Cardin, with the bully looking more shaken of the two.

"You sure you're okay?" Jaune asked again. "You seem kind of distant."

"No, no, really, I'm fine." Velvet waved her hands. "I just got lost in my thoughts."

"Mm, I get that sometimes." Jaune nodded, shaking a flower loose from a braid.

"Hey, have you, uh," Velvet plucked the flower from the table, "have you ever thought about trimming your beard?"

"Yeah." Jaune chuckled. "But my team likes to braid it and put flowers in it."

"Your whole team?" Velvet asked.

"Well, mostly Nora." Jaune corrected. "But Ren and Pyrrha will add their own flair if Nora asks them to. Ren like to tie the ends off with elastic bands, while Pyrrha prefers to do cross-braids in between."

Velvet giggled. "And the flowers are Nora's idea?"

"Yeah, except she'll drag Team RWBY into it, too. I'm usually sitting in a chair for about three hours while everyone gets a turn to do something to my beard."

"You could alsways shave it." Velvet offered.

"I could, but," Jaune sighed, "then you probably wouldn't talk to me."

"Why?" Velvet asked. "Is there a Grimm under there?"

"No, there isn't, but..." Jaune then held up a finger and pulled out his scroll. "What you're looking at is Jaune with a beard." He tapped and swiped across his scroll until he found what he was looking for. "This is me with no beard."

As Jaune turned the scroll, Velvet flinched at the image. What she was staring at was something out of a horror film. A horribly disfigured man with piercing blue eyes stared back at her. There were scars slashed across his lips, cheeks, and chin.

"What kind of Grimm was that?!" Velvet asked, glancing back and forth between Jaune's before and after image.

"That was Shrapnel."

"A bomb exploded in your face?!"

Jaune chuckled. "No, Shrapnel was the neighbor's cat. Mean little thing, too. Pretty sure she was the one tearing up Mom's garden."

"What happened?"

"Well, I was trying to save them from the tree. She was big enough to climb up, but the neighbors thought she couldn't climb down. I stepped in to help because 1, I'm a nice guy, and 2, I had a crush on his oldest daughter."

"And how did that work out, Romeo?" Velvet smirked.

"Well, I think a picture speaks a thousand words. Don't you?"

#rwby #my answers #rwby au #bearded jaune au #velvet scarlatina

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pxrxcxa · 2 years

Text

Opposite Ends

Chapter Four - The Freak At My Door Step

C1 | C2 | C3 | C5 | C6 | C7 | C8 | C9 | C10 | C11 | C12 | C13 pt1 | C13 pt 2 |

Chapter Five is out now, enjoy Sunflowers x 🌻

Pairing | Eddie x Female reader 18+. Steve x Robin x Female reader platonic friendship

Series summary | Dustins older sister got brought into the group during the events of Starcourt mall, 3 months on she's in her senior year and the kids are starting high school. After everything that went down she feels that she has to keep them safe at all costs, that includes keeping them way from the charismatic 'freak' Eddie Munson that runs a club based on their favourite game. They've both hated each other since freshman year -with good reason-, but when keeping distance between the kids and Eddie means putting herself in the firing line, boundaries get blurred, intentions get lost & the heart speaks louder than the brain.

The story is told from both Y/N & Eddies point of view.

What to expect | Slow burn enemies to lovers, Angst - with a happy ending, fluff & smut (in the later chapters). 18+ to read this story.

Series Warnings | Mentions of abuse, drug use, 18+ smut content

Chapter word count | 5.8 k Word count.

Chapter warnings | Drug use, Physical abuse, allusions to SA.

As always, any & all comments/reblogs are most appreciated - Love, P. x 🌿

Authors Note | This has been my favourite chapter to write so far, {I most definitely did not write this when I should have been sleeping for work 😐} As always, if you read the entire chapter then thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it, take care Sunflower 🌻 P. x

Eddie | October 1985

It felt almost illegal driving through the uppity higher social class of Hawkins, of course most of my activates lately were on the unlawful side so I shouldn’t have felt so uncomfortable. I was just so out of place here, a stain against the purity of our small-minded towns own slice of suburbia perfection. As I thundered down the street in my van leaving a trail of smoke that puffed out at random intervals, neighbours pulled their drawn curtains tighter, peeking out from behind them with judgment filled eyes to glare at the spider creeping in their midst. I was willing to bet everything I had – which wasn’t much admittedly - that they had dirtier secrets tucked beneath their pretty steamed carpets than I did in my uncle’s shabby trailer.

The identical double story houses with picketed white fences and perfectly manicured lawns made me nauseous. I slowed to a stop at a red right, the trees that decorated the foot paths on both sides of the road, swayed in the moonlight as their remaining autumn leaves littered to the ground. I turned down Iron Maiden to tune into laughter behind me, a red glow poured in through the windshield as I glanced in my rear-view mirror, the freshman’s faces pulsing red from either the traffic light or the intensity of their conversation, I couldn’t tell. They had all opted to sit in the back of my van rather than next to me up front, even after a legendary night of playing Hellfire by my side the boys still seemed wary – if not a little frightened of me. Huh. I guess my reputation proceeded me. I grinned like a mad man at the notion, silently shaking with laughter.

It rarely bothered me what the sheep of Hawkins thought about Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson. ’86 was my year, I was going to graduate, flip principal Higgins the bird, snatch my diploma and run like hell out of this shit hole. In fact, I sort of preferred the repute that I had fraudulently been branded with, it kept people away. Something I long was used to and almost enjoyed. There was no one fascinating enough to in Hawkins to pay any attention to anyhow, well asides from the racy bartender with great tits from down at the Hideout that my band, – Corroded Coffin – played at on Tuesdays. She had occasionally shown me, in her words, ‘what a real groupie is capable of’.

“Yeah man I told you, you were wrong!” Lucas shouted over the rumbling of the van.

“You wanted to flee from Vecna and his cult, Mike and I wanted to fight.” Dustin pointed out. Mike nodding along beside him.

“Yeah! To the death.” He added on, I smiled and reached down to a bag shoved out of sight, on the passenger side floor.

“Yeah” retorted Lucas, “And look where that got us, Vecna decimated us, we only had 12 hit points left between the three of us!” He sighed and slumped back against the exposed rusty wall of the van.

“Hey dunderheads.” They fell silent like they had forgotten who was driving, “There is no shame in running.” I sang as I tossed them a handful a fabric over my shoulder, three Hellfire shirts. They all shouted yelps of excitement.

“This is awesome.” Grinned Dustin, pulling his on immediately, forgetting his cap still placed on his head and getting stuck in the neck hole. The light turned green, and I floored it, sending the kids sprawling in the back.

“By the way am I supposed to know where you guys live or are you gonna tell me huh?” Mike gasped for air and grasped the sides of the seats to pull himself up beside me in the space between the front arm rests.

“Turn. Down. Here.” He gasped in between deep breaths, grunting echoed from the back as Lucas tried to heave Dustin back to his feet, who soon went launching again as I took a sharp turn down the street Mike pointed out. My screeching stop flung Lucas into the back of my chair. Wheeler grabbed his bag and slid the side door open, stumbling into the cool night air. I leaned out my open window to glance up at his home, there was a light pouring out onto the front lawn from a bedroom on the second level – assumably Nancy’s, given the frilly pink curtains in the window.

“Hey Wheeler, tell your sister I said Hi.” I smirked at him, he just sort of nodded his head with his mouth gaping wide as he looked at me in shock. I squinted at him as I considered the fact that Mike seemed to have this permanent blank look on his face, making it look like there was just absolutely nothing going on behind those dark eyes. Huh, I guess Mr and Mrs Wheeler gave all the brains to their eldest. Lucas quickly slithered out behind Mike, slightly shaking.

“Am I not driving you home Sinclair?” I questioned.

“Oh – uh- it��s okay, I live close. I’ll walk the rest of the way, than-thanks though Eddie. And thanks for letting me come tonight, I was trying out for the basketball team earlier, that’s why I didn’t come with Dustin and Mike to meet you.” Ugh, the balls in laundry basket game. I groaned internally but shot Lucas a downturned smile. They were all actually alright at DnD - Hellfire would be in good hands once I passed the baton of dungeon master on- although I’d never tell them that. Little Henderson already had an ego bigger than he could handle.

“S’all good kid.” He flashed a hesitant smile and closed the door; Dustin quickly climbed into the passenger seat and clipped the seat belt in before I could take off again, his hands gripping the fabric beside his thighs.

“So, what was up with your sister?” I asked, a slightly awkward silence settled between us, as a beat of stillness in-between a song ending and a new one beginning, filled the air.

“Who knows, she’s been weird for a while now. Probably just got bored at the campaign.” For some reasons his words stung, as a dungeon master, I prided myself on bringing the game to life and engaging everyone involved. I worked my ass off organising the campaigns, and the thought that even someone as boring and uptight as y/n didn’t appreciate it, maddened me. “It’s just up here by the way.” He pointed out a corner block with the porch light on. I slowed automictically and considered the Henderson’s humble abode. It was chaotic, which kind of fit the image I had painted of their family, now having met the pair of siblings. Gumboots were scattered across the front porch, along with gardening tools that were desperately needed for the overgrown shrubs skirting the underside of the front rooms reading window. Loose blades of grass cluttered their driveway, I rolled down my window to inhale the smell of the freshly mown lawn. There wasn’t enough green at the trailer park, just dirt, gravel and the occasional patches of vegetation that hadn’t been driven over yet. I found myself finding any excuse to be in the woods near school, I handled all my deals there, using the justification of the seclusiveness it provided as to the reason why. But really it was because the billows of wind the whipped through the treetops and chirping birds that bounced off each other’s songs, made me feel like I was the only person in existence. It was the only place I didn’t have to guard my emotions from showing on my face or consider how my body language might be construed.

“Huh” grunted Dustin, bringing me out of my thoughts. “Y/n isn’t home yet, I thought she would have come straight back.” There was only one car parked in front of the house. Assumably their parents since I knew y/n drove a cream Ford, I had watched her skip across the school car park enough times after forgetting to lock it, her hair whipping wildly as she ran late for a class. His words – hiding a thinly veiled tinge of concern- sent an eager feeling into my stomach. Y/n had forced her presence into one of my few safe spaces, invading the room with her essence, I could still smell remnants of her perfume lingering in the air long after she had fled from the meeting. She had snuck behind carefully guarded walls I kept in place against those I built them specifically for -the crowd she ran with. Or used to anyway. I hadn’t seen her joining them at their regular table for a few weeks, but once a peaked-in-high-school-c-grade-cheerleader-marry-a-one-time-jock, always one. She had probably just had a petty falling out with one of her teammates, she’d be back in the mix in no time, gossiping and attending parties once again.

I knew she wasn’t going to let Little Henderson come to Hellfire tonight alone, and I knew why. I wasn’t going to spill her little secret, but I was more than happy to continue letting her think that I was, if it made her uncomfortable. We needed new members to replace the seniors once they graduated -hopefully me along with them-, if that meant I had to put up with her for a couple of extra hours a week, then so be it. That didn’t mean I had to like it or make it easy for her. My mind ticked over in mere seconds while I considered all of this, pulling into their driveway slowly. She had invasively forced myself to expose a part of me I never expected to show y/n, all without my choice. I wanted to take that same power from her. I turned over my next words carefully as I twisted to Dustin, stopping him as he went to open his door.

“D’ya mind if I use your bathroom Kid?” Cutting off his goodbye, his eyes flashed to the front of his house, where a large shadow was seemingly pacing behind the frosted glass. My heart halfway sunk.

“If you’re parents wouldn’t be okay with that, s’all good man.” Not many residents of Hawkins would take kindly to the freak defiling their welcome mats. I went to slide the van out of park when he shook his head derisively.

“Nah that’s not it, I was just thinking about y/n. But she probably just went to see some friends, and it’s just my mom by the way. Come on, I’ll introduce you.” He smiled genuinely. Hesitantly, I returned it, wondering how Mrs Henderson’s two children, who grew up in the same home had turned out so differently. Sniggering slightly, I followed Dustin as he tromped up to the arched front door, a slight sheet of rain beginning to flow down, wondering what the hell happened for y/n to be so stuck-up when her brother was pretty cool.

Dustin’s Mom was sweet and fluffy, and possibly dangerous as she trapped me in the hallway shoving an assortment of unidentifiable food under my nose, while little Henderson waved his arms behind her silently, mouthing something manically I couldn’t understand.

“Uh thank you, no but thank you Mrs Henderson.” I laughed breathily as I tried to slip past her, my shoes sinking into the thick mustard coloured carpet.

“Mom we’ll eat later! I need to show Eddie something.” I threw a polite smile over my shoulder and followed him down the hallway.

“That’s the bathroom there Eds, I’ll be in my room – it’s the one at the end.” He jogged off leaving me to my own devices, knocking a photo frame off an end table with his bulky backpack. It hit the ground with a muted thud, and I bent down to retrieve it. The photo encompassed what I assumed was a family holiday. A much thinner Mrs Henderson was holding a much smaller Dustin as he squirmed in her arms, a large toothless grin decorating his chubby face. A tall balding man I presumed was Dustin’s father, had a wrinkled hand draped over a young y/n. Not a lot had changed physically from whenever this photo was taken to now, she was just a few inches shorter, and her face was less – haunted - There was no better word for it really. I had only been sharing a private joke with myself earlier when I considered why she was so bad-tempered all of the time. The girl I purposefully annoyed in calculus four times a week wasn’t anywhere in this photograph, I wondered what happened to change her carefree smile to one that screamed that there were angry secrets boiling beneath the surface of her thinly obscured façade, just waiting to burst through at the slightest puncture.

I carefully placed the frame back as something grabbed my attention. I stepped forward and pushed the already ajar door just a few inches wider, exposing y/ns bedroom to my hungry eyes. She was just forever full of surprises, given how rigid she was about her appearance and grades I would have expected her room to look like she had OCD, which I honestly thought she had. Every time I’d knock the leg of her desk with my foot, sending her pencils rolling across her desk, she’d fix them with a huff and a side eye at me.

But her room wasn’t what I imagined – not that I pictured y/n in her bedroom often. It wasn’t dirty per se, but it was positively the definition of messy. Clothes were thrown around the room, I could almost picture y/n ripping them out of her closet in frustration. I laughed to myself as my eyes soaked up the rest of her belongings. There was far too much makeup cluttering the desk that was pushed up against the wall and it was very yellow in here. Mostly due to the flower themed wallpaper faded with age. The family photos above her bed reflected that not much had changed in the room over the years, just y/n herself, with the addition of possessions accumulated throughout the ages. Shoes decorated the floor, and she had a gazillion blankets tangled on her bed. The jumper hung over her desk chair that had originally caught my focus, swung gently as a cool breezed flowed through the open window, sending her scent to wash over me. Her perfume was a hundred times more concentrated in here than back at Hellfire, it coated everything. It was a nice perfume -very nice- it smelled like the wildflowers that covered the meadow in the woods beside school. It just made me feel like I was choking on y/n’s essence, like she was standing right in front of me. My concertation swivelled to the full ashtray stacked on top of a few books atop her nightstand, as another breeze passed over me, clearing my head.

Curiosity got the better of me, my feet carried me across her room to wrench the top draw of her side table open. I smirked. Scissors, papers and empty baggies cluttered the draw, very much like mine in my own room. Takes one to know one, I thought. Splatters of water danced across my knuckles as they ricocheted off the windowsill, I leant forward and snapped y/n’s window shut to save her bedspread from getting soaked as the rain beat down heavier and louder. Looking back down at the number of empty baggies, I considered something quickly, after a brief moment of weakness I reached deep into my jean pocket.

“What the hell are you doing in here.” I slammed the draw shut as I spun around, already placing a mischievous but innocent smile on my face, like I was a child getting caught doing something I shouldn’t have, by someone I knew who wasn’t going to punish me. But it wasn’t Dustin or Mrs Henderson standing at the doorway.

Y/n was staring wide eyed at me with her fists balled at her sides, dripping water onto her carpet, she was drenched from head to toe, shivering compulsively with black mascara running down her face. Her eyes were ringed red, like she had been crying but I wasn’t sure. She glanced down behind me suspiciously and stormed over to where I was frozen, leaving wet squishy footprints on the floor in her wake, shoving me out of the way to examine her bedside, making sure I hadn’t touched anything.

“I know you’re stupid but you’re not deaf Munson, what the hell are you doing in here?” Her eyes darkened as she whirled to face me. Up this close our height difference was more prominent to me, she stared up angrily through her long eyelashes with her lips pursed, waiting for an answer. She had caught me invading her own private space, and I could see that it had had my desired effect. A crimson blush had started to fill her cheeks as her chest rose and fell rapidly, my jaw clenched as her sweet breath fanned over my face, momentarily sending my mind blank.

"Well?" She growled. Her tone snapped me out of my short-lived moment of shock. I towered over her and opened my mouth to shoot an insult back harder at her, regretting my brief moment of kindness that she was about to discover, when Dustin appeared in the doorway, holding a small scale R2-D2 replica in one hand and some self-made mechanism in the other, a goofy smile dropping from his face at the sight of us.

Y/N | October 1985

The scent of his cologne tipped me off, well technically his van should have been the first thing, but the rain was pouring down so hard – as well as my tears that were falling harder and faster- by the time I finally made it home I couldn’t see more than three feet in front of me. I had just pulled my car over to the curb in front of my house instead of my usual spot in the driveway and dashed inside, pulling my jumper over my head to protect my face from the stinging rain. But Eddies cologne was a familiar scent to me, I had spent too many classes having it invade my mind whenever he would shift his weight at his desk, or a breeze would flow through the windows on his side of the classroom, to not recognise it now as I slammed the front door shut. The warm air was welcome as it lapped at my frozen skin. I followed his scent disbelievingly to my bedroom, wondering when the hell he had been in my house. Mom had the tv set turned up as loud as it would go, battling with the rain as she patted Mews 2.0 on her lap. I slipped past the living area undetected, my thoughts spinning as I considered what I was about to stumble into.

I knew he was going to drive the boy’s home after my hurried departure earlier, but the scenario I had imagined was him barely slowing to a stop as he rolled past their houses and making the kids jump out of his van. After everything that happened tonight I was not ready – nor did I think I would have to– to deal with Eddie. Never in a million years did I expect him to invite himself in and make himself right at home. But there he was, in all his Eddie like glory, fumblingly with something on my dresser. The sight was so foreign to me, under no circumstance could I come up with a reason for Edward Munson to be standing in my childhood bedroom. But, infuriatingly so, he fit in perfectly – like the satisfying snap of a last puzzle piece – despite the two very different contrasts of our worlds colliding. A red checked flannel peaked out from beneath a black leather jacket, the colouring matching his dark jeans exactly. The chains that lined the pockets of his pants, jingled lightly with his movements and a skull patterned bandanna hung delicately from his back pocket. I stared daggers at the multitude of brown ringed curls tucked into his collar and yelled.

He jumped out of his skin and spun to face me, a smile already sitting lazily on his face like I was the intruder here and he had every right to be ruffling through my things. The audacity. I narrowed my eyes dangerously as rage started to heat up my icy form, before I knew it, I was across the room, sweeping past his leather clad body to examine what he had been fondling, heat blossomed from my arm that brushed his clothed chest. Nothing seemed out of place, but my anger was already well and truly on its course of destruction. I twisted back to him as venomous words tumbled from my mouth, catching him off guard completely. Puppy like eyes stared down into mine as I leant forward angrily, closing the distance between us so he didn’t miss my intention entirely. Direct confrontation seemed the only way to deal with Eddie. His dark eyes flittered down to my lips for the briefest of seconds as my voice raised an octave, the moment sent a shudder through my frame. But I pressed on, unwillingly to be side tracked or closely examine why I had that reaction at all.

Dustin appeared in my doorway, holding some dorky toys in his hands as his gaze flittered between the storm brewing in front of him.

“Oh shit.” He muttered, his hands falling hopelessly to his sides. Without turning back to look at him, I grabbed a handful of fabric near Eddies elbow and shoved him towards the door, it was a slow-going process as he leant backwards, baring his whole body weight onto me and digging his heels into the carpet. A low chuckle grumbled from his chest as I spluttered for breath, with one last heave I shoved him into an unsuspecting Dustin, sending them toppling into the hallway outside.

“Get out of here!” I screamed, slamming the door behind them both.

I collapsed onto my bed in a fetal position, not caring about my soaked clothes drenching the clean sheets underneath. Sobs racked my body as I buried another scream into a pillow. Hating Eddie. Hating myself. Hating everything that had occurred since Starcourt. A salty tear rolled down my cheek and rested at the corner of my mouth, I sat up with my feet on the edge of the bed. Pushing my wet hair out of my face, searching the ashtray for another half smoked joint. With success I brought it to my lips and hung my head in my hands, the images of tonight shoving themselves into the forefront of my brain. I sparked up in an attempt to drown them out.

Earlier |

The nearest gas station was closer to home than school, I squeezed my legs tighter and debated my options. It seemed ridiculous that the janitor from school left every door except the bathrooms unlocked at night, admittedly I could have used the bathroom at home before we left, but now wasn't the time for logical arguments. There was a 7/11 a few corner blocks away from school and at this time of night, it was doubtful I’d run into anyone. Being a Friday night, the usual nocturnal crowd of Hawkins should be half buzzed at a house party by now, if not then definitely at the abandoned ‘Benny’s” . A cramp stabbed my abdomen, and I swerved my car left out of the car park, chasing the neon reflective nights of the corner store. Beer cans and cigarette butts littered the sidewalk of the shop as I drove past towards the entrance, I hastily jumped out of the car as I swung it round-about into an empty spot. The overhead lights of the fuel station flickered unnervingly, dousing my position in a wavering green light. I instinctively pulled my jumper tighter around me, tucking my arms under each other as dark clouds above me thundered menacingly, threating to drown me at any moment.

I watched the store clerk through the foggy glass windows, drearily mop the floor, his back turned to me. I reminded myself to grab something to eat on the way out, knowing that mom had definitely saved leftovers. I lightly jogged around the side of the building, heading for the unlocked public toilet, mentally already crinkling my nose in preparation of the lingering stench. As I rounded the corner, the smell of cigarettes hit me, and the sound of drunken laughs rang in my ears. Mechanically my steps quietened as I tried to sneak pass them unnoticed, a queasy sensation building in my stomach. With an icy shock down my spine, the fluorescent 7/11 lights threw the groups faces and their Hawkins High jersey jackets into sharp relief. Jason Carver stood huddle near his truck with a group of his teammates, hooting groggily as he downed the rest of his beer can. Apprehension turned to fear as I sped up, reaching for the bathroom door handle. Grateful for the cheap store owners, as the bulb hanging above the door had blown and evidently not been replaced. From my position I could see the group of seniors squishing cigarettes butts beneath their feet and crushing empty beer cans, but I was thankfully enveloped in the safety of the buildings shadow, hidden from their preying eyes.

“It was a shit shot, man.” Jason grinned and shook his head, bringing his drink back to his lips, his face flushed with alcohol. Andy groaned pathetically, tossing his head as he dribbled beer. He clumsily wiped it from his mouth as he swung a heavy arm over Patrick’s shoulders.

“Leave the kid alone man, Chrissy was just looking too damn good in that skirt tonight. He couldn’t focus, hell, none of us could.” Andy grinned triumphantly as two other boys I couldn’t remember the name of, laughed, agreeing with him. Jason kicked his can away and turned to glare at Andy, who in turn dropped his arm back to his side and stood up straight so he was eye to eye level with Jason. They sized each other for a moment, neither backing down as their audience watched with motionless breath, including me. Suddenly with a grin that looked forced, Jason clapped Andy on the shoulder, laughing.

“Hell, yeah she did man, I don’t blame the kid for getting side-tracked.” The others let out a relieved sigh and I took advantage over the distraction to slip into the bathroom. The door let out the slightest of creeks and I slid inside the smallest of openings, light seeping out of the crack into the darkened carpark. I quickly snapped the door shut behind me and twisted the lock, hoping the guys were too drunk to notice the disturbance. I would wait in here all night until I heard the thunder of their engines fading in the distance if I had to, I wasn’t risking trying to sneak past them again, I didn’t think I’d be successful a second time.

Torn toilet paper littered the floor, and the smell of stale urine attacked my nose. Covering half of my face with the sleeve of my sweater I went to clean myself up.

The faucet turned on with a squeak as I ran my hands under the freezing water, rinsing off the dirt from under my finger nails. I lifted my eyes to check my reflection in the dirtied mirror, only to see that it was already staring at me.

I gasped and flung back against the tiled wall, trying to put as much space between me and the monster in the reflection. Her face was covered in black spidery lines, writhing to life. She snapped her neck to the side, and it ran its eyes over my body, slowly grinning she placed her hands on the side of the mirror, her long taloned fingers curling around the edge – my edge – as she slowly began pulling herself through it towards me.

Cold sweat pooled in my hands and my knees buckled, as soon as my weight hit the floor, the dangly light above me flickered, concealing me in darkness. My hitched breathing roared in my ears, I squeezed my eyes shut as dizziness overcame me, I hoped I would pass out before she reached me. But that sweet abyss never came – and neither did she.

When I gathered enough courage to open my eyes again the small bathroom was filled with light to every corner, I turned over to the toilet, quickly snapping the lid back as I hurled up stomach bile and whatever small amount of food, I’d managed to eat this morning. While I pressed my forehead to the cold wall – not caring about whatever disease I was guaranteed to contract – I heard the sweet sound of an engine warm to life outside. Breathing a sigh of relief, I leaned back on my heels, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. I stayed on the ground a few moments before I was certain my legs could hold me.

Creeping back to the door, I pulled it open a slither and peered into the darkness, squinting. Damn glasses. I couldn’t see the glowing red cherry of a lit cigarette or hear any signs of existence, I figured it was safe. I tiptoed, hugging the rough brick of the building. Lurking in the shadows like I was the monster hiding in the dark. My taut muscles automatically relaxed as I spotted my car, picking up my pace as I longed to be huddled in the familiar setting, behind locked doors.

I had barely put a sneakered foot onto the lighted footpath from a street lantern when a hoarse voice called my name.

“Y/N” Jason shouted, I don’t know why I stopped and turned, why I didn’t run those last few feet to my car. He sounded far away when he called out to me, but as I spun to face him, he was pressed up against me. I stumbled back towards my parked car, and he mirrored my steps, never allowing more space to open up between us. My heels hit the back tire of the car, holding me in place. Jason quickly closed the gap between us, trapping me.

“Y/N” He crooned, titling my chin with his finger to bring my lips closer to his. I clenched my jaw shut, refusing him access if he did decide to close the few inches remaining between our faces. He splayed his hand on my back window, next to my head, flexing his bicep in the process. His eyes soaked me up ravenously and I took the opportunity to scan my surroundings, looking for someone – anyone – to get help, the cashier had disappeared, seemingly done with cleaning for the moment. Jason must have seen me slink into the bathroom and remained behind after his friends took off. Just like earlier in school today, his free hand reached up to tug on my hair, looking for the ribbon I’d removed after he’d soiled it with his touch.

“I missed you tonight.” His fingers moved from my hair to caress my exposed collar bone, tugging my jumper down lightly to feel the exposed skin above my chest. My eyes squeezed shut as his breathed painted my face, nearly knocking me out with the fumes. He’d had more than just beer tonight. I didn’t think he’d remember this in the morning, but I would. The sickly feeling of his warm fingertips tracing patterns on my skin would be forever etched in my mind.

Before Starcourt, I had playfully put off Jason’s advances, using Chrissy as the excuse. ‘She wouldn’t find out.’ He would beg, and I would shoot a seductive smile back him and say that I couldn’t risk it, letting him think that it was just his relationship holding us back from fooling around. Not the fact that I had seen something unnatural simmering beneath the surface in his eyes from the moment I met Jason.

I knew that a lusting man was less dangerous than one with a bruised ego, so I let him think what he wanted, fantasied about what he wanted because it was easier to fly under the radar than be a target. I had avoided being alone with him at all costs when I was a part of the cheer team, and consequently – his crowd-, skipping out on practices and leaving parties early, hanging off Chrissy’s arm to safely hide behind her observant eyes, keeping him at bay.

But here now, alone with nothing stopping him. He was going to do what he wanted, take what he wanted. I doubted even my cries of No was going to be enough to deter him from what he had hunted for, for so long. He pinched the skin at the base of my neck as he waited for an answer. A lump formed in my throat as tears brimmed in my eyes, threating to spill over.

“Why so frigid now babe?” He scoffed, genuine confusion clouding his features. He was under the impression that I had wanted this as much as him,

“Hey.” He snapped, sounding a little more sober this time. “Look at me.” He grabbed my jaw between his free hand harshly, pressing his fingers into my soft cheeks, definitely leaving long bruises there. I halted beneath his touch, stunned at the violent turn he had taken. A soft chiming bell in the distance snapped me out of my composure.

“Hey!” The cashier yelled, brandishing his mop at the open door. “Buy something or move on, no loitering.” Jason turned away from me, yelling back at the older man, telling him to mind his own business. I took advantage as his grip slackened slightly, bringing my knee up between his legs.

Jason coughed and spluttered, stumbling forward as he doubled over, letting go of me completely. I threw myself through the unlocked driver’s side door of my car, quickly spinning back to lock it behind me. Jason’s hands slammed on my door, rattling the window. Spit bubbles formed at the corner of his mouth as he screamed obscenities at me. I revved the engine threateningly, throwing it into reverse. He jumped out of the way as I tore out of the park, the car dipped and scrapped as I drove over the gutter, the glowing lights of the 7/11 reflecting in my review mirror, growing smaller every second I pushed my Ford well over the speed limit and its own abilities.

The hot tears I had been barely holding back, finally fell, steadily running down my face and blurring my vision as I curled over the steering wheel. Hysterical sobs racked my body as I blindly drove home, except home hadn’t felt like it for a long time, my cries became more desperate as the thought consumed me. I pushed down the accelerator. Willing the car to fly.

Chapter Five

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