#ENJOYYY

[crowcrate]

can you draw Wave Storm and Jet in Feral forms

As opposed to their regular, domesticated forms

[eddiesghxst]

ARE YOU BORED YET? - part one

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you're steve's “bitchy” step-sister and are spending the summer in hawkins; eddie is steve's annoying best friend who you can’t seem to shake, but things take a sharp turn when you find yourself sneaking around and ultimately falling for him

contains: slightly enemies to lovers trope, drug and alcohol use, smoking, secret relationship vibes, tension, and eddie being a certified tease <3

word count: 7k

chapter song: foxey lady x jimi hendrix

| next part |

| series masterlist | their mixtape I -main masterlist- I

Eddie hates summer.

Most people hate summer due to boredom, but if Eddie’s being honest, he’s never been bored a day in his life— Eddie can make staring at the wall a fun game if he wants to— so, no, Eddie doesn’t hate summer because of boredom. Eddie hates summer because it’s so fucking hot. It’s hot, and the sun is always out, and Eddie burns like fucking bacon in an oven— and it doesn’t help that over half of Eddie’s wardrobe is the color black. Do you know how hard it is to be a metalhead with long hair and black jeans in the middle of a summer heatwave? It’s hard.

Now, you would think that with this knowledge of his undying hate for the heat, Eddie would do everything in his power to stay out of it— except Eddie’s friend is kind of a picturesque summer lover boy and drags Eddie everywhere with him no matter how intense satan’s wrath feels that day. So now, Eddie sits in the airport carpool lane, nearly drowning in his sweat as he waits for Steve’s step-sister to get off the plane.

“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t ask Robin to come with you,” Eddie grumbles as he tugs the front of his black muscle tee open and shut in a fanning manner. It doesn’t do much to cool him down, considering the dry heat that’s settled over Hawkins. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever been this hot in his life if he’s being honest.

Steve rolls his eyes, watching people filter out of the airport, dragging luggage behind them as they spot their rides. Steve doesn’t bother looking Eddie’s way when he responds, “I already told you— Robin’s been too busy shoving her tongue down her girlfriend's throat all summer,” he grimaces, “Plus, I know my step-sister, and I know she has at least three suitcases— all of which will fit perfectly in your van.”

Eddie’s the one to roll his eyes now, irritation settling in his bones as the seconds pass like minutes. “Asshole,” Eddie mumbles as he shifts in his seat. He’s sticky everywhere. Sticky, wet, and gross, and he’s sweating in places that he’s almost one hundred percent sure shouldn’t be sweating. He huffs as he turns his attention to the exit of the airport, eyes scanning through different people as he asks, “...Well, what’s she look like anyway?”

Steve scoffs, “You’ll know it’s her when you see her. Just look for a girl that looks like she came straight out of a Baywatch episode.”

Eddie thinks for a moment, brows furrowing before he speaks, “So… someone hot?”

Steve grimaces and turns to Eddie, “Ew. Gross, dude, no— that’s my sister—” “Step-sister.”

Steve shakes his head and turns back to people watching, “She’s from California, pervert. I meant look for someone who looks like an asshole from California.”

Eddie’s not sure why Steve would ever decide to associate Baywatch with anything other than hot, sun-bathed babes, but Eddie’s too irritated with the heat to argue his point and instead nods his head in understanding. 

“She’s probably wearing heels, and she’s probably in some over-the-top girly outfit— and again, she’s probably lugging at least three suitcases.” Steve further explains.

Eddie nods and purses his lips. “So…” he pauses and thinks for a moment, “Malibu Barbie?”

Steve snaps his fingers and points to Eddie as he glances at him, “Exactly. And forewarning— she’s a total bitch.”

Eddie nods, lips pursed as he takes the information in. Eddie scans the crowd of people for some time, growing frustrated when he finds no sign of a bitchy-looking Malibu Barbie running around Hawkins, but then…

It’s as if a cool breeze drifts through the devil’s heat, and Eddie feels something other than absolute dread when the airport's sliding doors open and out steps a girl that fits the very description Steve had just given— only, you’re even better in real life.

Eddie swears time slows down when he sees you— pretty, glowy skin glistening in the summer sun, the light wash jean skirt you’re wearing is hugging your waist sinfully, leaving little to nothing for Eddie’s imagination as his eyes travel down your legs. Soft, shiny, perfect legs with doughy thighs that Eddie thinks would make his brain short-circuit if he ever got the chance to feel them. 

Eddie’s mouth may as well become a fountain with the way it fills with spit at the sight of your soft tummy, peeking out from the tiny sliver your top leaves— god, is that a fucking belly ring? Your shirt hugs your tits in an ungodly way— well enough to make Eddie stir within his pants because, seriously, how do they look so perfect? Eddie thinks you’ve come straight out of one of the porno magazines he’s got stuffed in his junk drawer.

You’re a dream. Dreamtime fucking central. 

Sex on legs or whatever they say— Eddie doesn’t know; he just knows you’re really fucking hot, and you’re about to get into his disgusting, old, and dirty van.

Eddie’s hand nearly caves Steve’s chest in when he smacks his friend, “Dude,” his face twists in disbelief, “Why didn’t you tell me she’s like—” “Jesus Christ, Eddie, do not tell me you think my step-sister is hot.” Steve groans as he rolls his head on his neck.

“But she is!” Eddie exclaims.

“Well, she’s off limits,” Steve quickly shuts the idea down, "For everybody in this town, especially you.” He points an accusing finger at Eddie, and Eddie can’t help the way his eyes roll. What could Eddie possibly do to somebody like you? As if you would even give him a chance.

“Plus, I’m pretty sure she’s dating some douchebag quarterback from her school. She’s got a new boyfriend every time she comes home.” Steve grumbles— which immediately confirms it; you would never give Eddie, someone who has never willingly touched any set of balls other than his own, the time of day.

That doesn’t mean Eddie can’t admit you’re drop-dead gorgeous, though. Because you are. And Eddie kind of forgets what he’s doing here in the first place until Steve unbuckles himself and gets out, and Eddie remembers— oh yeah, I’m here to pick up this extremely hot girl in my extremely run-down van.

Whatever.

Eddie will live, he thinks. He unbuckles and gets out of the van, rounding the front of his van to step onto the sidewalk, where Steve calls your name and grabs your attention. You spot them immediately, your expression unreadable as you wave a flight attendant over to follow you. And yeah, that’s more than three suitcases being pushed behind you.

You glance at Eddie when you get closer, your cute little kitten heels clicking against the cement floor— who wears heels to the airport?

“This is disgusting.” You say as you gesture to the air. And Eddie couldn’t agree more. This heat is disgusting, and he couldn’t imagine being in it with heels. 

Steve hums, “Welcome back to paradise.”

You roll your eyes, handing your carry-on to Steve. Steve grunts at the weight of it, glaring at you as he stumbles from your force, “Did you fucking move out?” he stresses when he sees the cart of suitcases behind you. You grimace, “Like I would ever move here. Where’s your car?” 

You don’t acknowledge Eddie as you glance around, and Eddie’s honestly too stunned to speak— and is that your perfume he’s smelling? Jesus Christ, Eddie wants to fall to his knees right here on this cracked pavement. 

Steve rolls his eyes at your response and turns to open the back doors of the van, “My car wouldn’t be able to hold your fifty suitcases, so I came prepared,” he throws a fake smile as he tosses your bag in, ignoring your warning to, “Be careful with my stuff, asshole.”

Steve waves you off before he gestures lazily to Eddie, “This is my friend, Eddie, by the way.”

And for the first time, you look at Eddie. It’s then that Eddie’s bodily autonomy finally comes back, and he remembers that he has control over his limbs. He waves, tossing out a lazy hey as he opens the back doors of his van, “Heard tons about you,” he grunts as he loads in another suitcase.

You huff as you cross your arms, “I doubt it.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, “Yeah, not much.” He admits. “But when I heard Malibu Barbie was coming into town, I knew I had to see her for myself.” He winks.

You grimace, rolling your eyes with a groan, “Gross.” You grumble before yanking the side doors open and stepping in.

Eddie can’t help but smile as he finishes loading your suitcases.

Steve had run off somewhere to find an ATM; something about needing to tip the attendant who helped you with your luggage, so it’s only you and Eddie in the van when Eddie hops back into the driver's seat. 

It’s silent for a moment, achingly so, and Eddie takes it upon himself to turn the radio on, forgetting that the volume had been amped to the highest level. The music blares through his speakers— nearly blows them out— and Eddie almost jumps out of his seat as he scrambles to reduce the volume, awkwardly laughing as he glances back at you and speaks, “Sorry about that…”

You don’t say anything. Instead, you stay seated, arms crossed over your chest, legs crossed, and your glossed lips pouted in boredom. Eddie turns back to the front, the radio now a soft hum as he taps his decorated fingers on the steering wheel. He purses his lips briefly, his skin itching because Eddie has never done well with silence, so— “You listen to Iron Maiden?” He asks.

“No.” You flatly respond.

Your tone is dull and bored, and Eddie nods again as if it softens the blow. Eddie avoids opening his mouth again, too afraid that whatever comes out will just piss you off even more, so he keeps quiet. But he can’t help it when his gaze flickers up to find you in his rearview mirror, watching as you huff and gaze out the window. 

It’s silent for a few long, crippling minutes before you speak, “Does this thing not have AC?”

Eddie purses his lips, fingertips tapping against his thigh as he shrugs, “Just takes a second.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you mumble, “Course it does.” 

Eddie lets it fall silent for a moment again, but Eddie’s never been one to like silence, so— “How’s college?”

“Do you usually talk this much?” You suddenly ask, tilting your head and narrowing your eyes at him. Eddie snorts, glancing around the airport for any sign of Steve, and he responds, “No, actually, I usually talk more than this. Wait ‘til you get me going about D&D.” He scoffs. 

Your face twists in confusion, “D&D?”

Eddie waits for a moment before turning to gaze at you. You look at him, an unwavering expression plastered across your face as you wait for Eddie to speak.

“…You don’t know what Dungeons and Dragons is?”

You blink at Eddie, definitely contemplating if you could catch a flight back home before you respond, “Am I supposed to?”

Eddie shrugs, “Well, I mean, it’s only like the greatest game to ever fucking exist.” He stresses.

You roll your eyes and softly groan in disgust, “Ew. If you’re about to nerd out on me, I’d rather walk home in the heat.” You grimace.

And Eddie pauses, contemplating the amount of damage he’ll do if he continues to ramble about his favorite game— then he’ll really have zero chance with you, that’s for sure. But it’s not like he ever had one in the first place, right? 

Eddie turns back around, watching as people bustle around the airport. “Do you like games?” He can’t help but ask.

You take a slow and long breath, gathering your patience before you reply, “I can’t remember the last time I played a game, so no.”

Eddie’s face twists in concern, “What do you do for fun?” He glances in the mirror, watching as you gaze out the window.

You shrug, watching people as you speak, “Spend my dad’s money.”

Eddie lets it fall silent for a moment, a few responses rolling around in his head before you roll your eyes and speak again, “It was a joke. I’m not a spoiled brat.”

“Oh,” Eddie awkwardly laughs before glancing at you. “Well, the heels and cart full of suitcases didn’t exactly sell a ‘humble woman’ picture.”

You laugh then, “I didn’t say I was humble; I said I’m not a spoiled brat.”

“What’s the difference?”

“There’s a difference.” You mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. Eddie thinks it’s cute, the way you get flustered by his smart mouth. He wonders how much he can push and prod before you explode.

But before he can respond, Steve is swinging the passenger door open and hoping in, glaring back at you when he speaks, “Next time you come here— and god forbid you do— maybe try to keep the bags to a minimum of two. I just tipped that dude a hundred bucks.” He complains.

You teasingly coo at your step-brother, “Poor Stevie, having to use my dad’s money to pay for things.”

Eddie snorts at that, earning Steve's glare, which quickly directs Eddie’s attention to pull out of the airport. Steve settles in his seat, ignoring your annoyed mood as he grumbles, “Told you she’s an asshole.”

“Not bigger than yours.” You quickly whip back.

Eddie can’t help but chuckle. So, the princess does have humor.

The house is quiet, something you hadn’t expected given how obnoxious Steve is, though you don’t take it for granted as you flip through a magazine and let the TV play in the back.

You don’t like coming into town, you never have. It’s dull and dreary in Hawkins, and you’re not quite sure why your father would give up the sunny California weather for this. Conservative townies that grow and die here— that’s all this town has to offer.

But there’s no point in complaining; you’re stuck here for the whole summer; otherwise, your dad will stop paying for your school. So, you do what you can to take your mind off of it, which includes drifting through magazines and wasting away with shitty TV shows.

Your stepmother has been home from work for nearly an hour, but you hardly give her complete sentences, so she made herself scarce. Her son, however, doesn’t get the memo as he bursts into the room. You say nothing, eyeing him as he sits on the opposite side of the couch and puts on his shoes.

“Get up, we’re going out.”

You train your eyes back on the magazine in your hands as you boredly mumble, “Not interested.”

Steve hums in annoyance as he shoves his right foot into a shoe, “Mom said I have to include you in shit, and I’m not in the mood to get bitched at for your shitty mood, so— get up, we’re going out.” He repeats before standing up to place his hands on his hips and look at you. You glare at him from behind the magazine before closing it, folding it over your stomach as you tilt your head, “And where exactly are we going? I can’t imagine there’s anything fun in this town— at least none that you would know of.” You jeer.

Steve sneers at you, stepping forward to dig the toe of his shoe into your shin, earning an annoyed kick from you. You swat at him with the magazine, striking him and earning a few curse words as Steve rips it from you and tosses it on the coffee table. He huffs as he turns to you with a huff, “Eddie’s band is playing tonight.” 

And that’s rich. It’s incredibly bold of Steve to believe you would ever willingly submit yourself to hear his weird, gross friend spit out nonsense into a mic. As if you hadn’t had enough of them two on the drive here. You scoff, leaning forward to grab your now crinkled magazine before laying back on the couch with a scoff, “Absolutely not.”

Steve snatches the magazine yet again, tossing it onto the opposite side of the couch as he glares down at you, “Too bad.” He snaps, stepping over your legs and walking over to the front door, “I’m leaving in ten,” he grabs his keys off the mantle, “Be ready, or I’ll drag you out myself.”

You watch him walk out with a slam of the door, a refusal dancing on your tongue. And Steve is, in no way, your boss. You’ll cut off your limbs before you let Steve boss you around— but fuck. If his mom is this hellbent on you two spending time together, you’re sure she’ll throw a fit at your refusal, which will ultimately end up being your dad’s problem, and he won’t hesitate to cut you off money-wise. So, with a dramatic huff and an undeniable reluctance, you stomp up to your room and get dressed.

The bar is exactly what you’d imagined— loud, grungy, and somewhere you would never be caught dead in. Yet, here you stand, arms crossed with a tabletop dogging into your lower back and a scowl etched across your face.

The smell of sweat, liquor, and cigarettes wraps around you like a dusty old jacket, sticky floors snapping beneath your shoes with every move you make. The walls are covered in graffiti, posters, and old stickers, and the crowd is primarily full of ripped denim, fishnets, and loud groups of friends.

It's not your scene.

Though you can’t seem to stop watching.

It’s like a movie. Something is happening in every corner of the place, with loud music blaring through the speakers and dancing lights kissing the grimy space. It’s chaotic. It’s noisy and dirty. And you feel so… misplaced.

Your outfit isn’t screaming country club, but it surely isn’t screaming anything close to this.

Steve brought a few other friends along, none of whom you care to learn the names of or attempt to hold a conversation with. You’re too busy trying to ignore the intense burning sensation of smoke in your eyes. 

“So, how long are you in town for?”

You glance over at the girl; you think her name is Robin, and shrug, “Unfortunately, the whole summer.” You sigh.

Robin hums, lips pursing in an apologetic look, “Bummer. Can’t imagine giving up a Californian summer for Hawkins.” 

You huff, something like a grim smile splitting your lips, “Wasn’t exactly my choice, but,” you shrug again, “No point in crying now.”

Robin raises her glass to that and takes a sip, allowing you to turn back to gaze about the room. You catch a few people headbanging near the stage, smiling as they enjoy the music pouring through the speakers. After a few moments, you lean into Robin. “Is it always this… rowdy?” you ask.

Robin follows your eyes to the group of friends by the stage and smiles, “This place was a shit hole a few years back, actually. Wasn’t much of anything, but Corroded Coffin brings some traction and, well, their music is pretty intense, just like their listeners.”

Your face twists in confusion then, “Corroded Coffin?”

Robin smiles with a nod, “Yeah, Eddie’s band.”

You nod and drag in a breath, diverting your attention back to the stage. So these people listen to Eddie’s music, or at least music similar to Eddie’s. You find yourself annoyingly intrigued. 

You gaze at the empty stage that awaits the band, and you hardly realize your mind has wandered as you begin to wonder what kind of show Eddie’s band will put on. Are they any good? You doubt it, honestly— you’re two minutes from a headache already. 

You’re not left wondering for long before the boys step onto the stage— four of them, all incredibly different in style yet cohesive in presentation. 

The lights shift, reds and blues pouring over the stage as the band takes their place, adjusting instruments and whatnot. You recognize Eddie immediately as he steps up to the mic, testing it for feedback.

He looks different up there. He looks like he belongs. Like this is his place, where he’s meant to be. The messy hair that you’d wrinkled your nose towards at the airport fits perfectly beneath the dim, flashing lights. His tattoos almost look as if they’re on display, like this is an art museum, and he is presenting the art on himself, there on the stage beneath the red hues.

He’s wearing a worn-out band tee with a name you don’t recognize, the sleeves cut off, and the sides ripped open just enough to be irritating. You can see his muscles working beneath his skin, tensing and relaxing as he moves about. He adjusts the mic, entirely at ease, like he’s done this a thousand times before. 

He greets the small crowd, humble with the low rumble of his voice, and beside you, Robin hollers out a small cheer that makes you jump— you’d been so lost in watching everyone that you’d almost forgotten you weren’t here alone.

His eyes drift towards the back where you are seated with Steve and his friends, mumbling a low thank you to Robin in the mic before his eyes dance a little to her left, and he meets yours. It’s only for a second before he looks away, and you find yourself relieved not to have been caught in that situation as he glances down at the guitar slung across his body, skilled fingers working the tuning pegs.

And then he smiles to himself.

It’s lazy and confident, the kind of smile that says I know you’re watching.

Your teeth dig into your tongue, your gaze immediately snapping away as if you’ve been caught looking at something you shouldn’t have been looking at. 

And as if he knew you were grappling with your resolve and only aimed to torment you more, the first note crashes through the speaker, and the show begins. 

It’s loud and raw. Nowhere close to the polished music you listen to, but despite your innate desire to hate everything about it— the rowdy crowd, the thrumming of bass on your chest, the chaos of it all— you only find yourself fascinated more than anything.

You sneak a few glances at Eddie every now and then. Quick ones that you will, later on, string together in your mind to create a stop-motion picture. He’s lost in it. He sings like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do besides breathing. His fingers fly over the fret of his guitar like he was born with it in his hands— and he works the stage like it’s nothing. He owns every inch of this room whether you like it or not— and the scary part is… you don’t seem to dislike it.

And as if that isn’t bad enough, Eddie keeps looking at you.

At every glance, no matter how little or discreet you try to be, Eddie’s eyes always find yours first. As if they never left. And in between songs, when he���s changing the tuning of his instrument or addressing the crowd, his eyes drift off towards the back and onto you, lingering long enough for you to feel it. 

And you refuse to react. You know what this is. You know what he’s doing, teasing and provoking your disdain for this night, and you won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you crack.

After what feels like an eternity, the set ends. The bar erupts in applause, hoots, and hollers, and the band thanks them all as they hop down from the stage.

You stay glued to your seat, untouched drink resting on the table beside you as you watch Eddie and his band pack up the stage. You lose interest after some time, eyes going back to watching the different scenes of the room. And you had been so focused on everything around you that you didn’t even notice the curly-headed boy make his way up to you.

“Didn’t peg you for a metal fan, princess.”

You look at him, the devilish smirk on his face as he drags a barstool next to you and swings a leg over— invading your space. You can feel how warm he is, seeping through your clothes and penetrating your very soul as you wonder if he knows the concept of personal space.

“I’m not.” You boredly reply.

His brows raise for a split moment, taunting just like his voice as he asks, “No?”

“No.”

“And yet here you are.” He gestures to the dingy bar. 

You scoff out a humorless laugh, “Not by choice.” 

Eddie grins, shifting on the barstool to let his legs hang more open. You look— just for a second. The thickness of his thighs, the way they strain against his jeans. Stupid. You snap your gaze away before he can notice.

Eddie snags your drink without asking. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself.” He says, briefly sniffing the drink before deciding it’ll do. His lips press right over the stain of your lipstick. You know he notices. 

Your stomach tenses, but your expression never falters from neutral as you watch him toss the drink back. He drags his pink tongue between his lips, savoring the taste. 

The sight is infuriating. 

“Take drugs before your little show?” You ask, voice dry.

Eddie hums, snapping his tongue at the taste of your drink before pointing a finger at you matter-of-factly, “I did, actually.”

You condescendingly coo, “Must explain your hallucinations then.”

Eddie chuckles, slow and lazy, as if he expected that response. He shifts on the barstool, taking his time to think, swirling his finger around the rim of the glass a few times before tilting his head toward you, “No one’s gonna, like, lose it if you say you liked the show, you know?” He points out. 

Your jaw tightens. 

“I mean,” he continues, “given the few precious hours I’ve gotten to know you,” he places a faux-heartfelt hand over his chest, leaning in like he’s making some grand confession, “I don’t think you’d waste a second being somewhere you don’t want to be.”

You grimace at his theatrical performance. But the worst part?

He’s not wrong.

You hate wasting your time, and you don’t put yourself in situations you can’t stand. But did you really have a choice tonight? Not when Steve’s mom is at home, probably working out a million ways to make your life a living hell by forcing you to spend time with her perfect son.

You shrug, playing it off, “Again, not by choice.”

Eddie hums, clicking his tongue as he shakes his head, “Everyone has a choice, princess.” He lulls, slowly letting a lopsided grin split across his lips when he looks at you. 

The heat that pricks at the base of your neck is aggravating. Not from embarrassment— from irritation. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. And you thank god the lights in here are dim because, god forbid, Eddie sees any physical evidence of his effect on you.

He’d probably misconstrue it and think you liked him. 

You ignore him, “Don’t call me that.” 

Eddie hums, tilting his head like he didn’t hear you, “What? Princess?” 

“Yes.”

He purses his lips briefly, considering, before grinning again, “Would you rather be called Barbie— because those are my top names for you, doll.” He offers. 

Your stomach churns at the thought. 

You visibly cringe then, looking at him as you make a sound of disgust, “Neither.” 

Eddie gives shrugs, “Why not? It fits you.”

You roll your eyes, unable to keep the annoyed look off your face, “Because it’s annoying.” 

“So are you.”

You freeze.

Your eyes snap to him, glaring and hot.  He’s smirking around the rim of your glass before tipping back the rest of the drink like it’s his.

“Excuse me?” You bite out. 

Eddie puts the empty glass down and slides off the barstool with a deep sigh, swinging it back over to the table he’d stolen it from before throwing a wink your way, “Thanks for coming to the show, princess.”

And as he walks away, leaving you steaming, you realize—

This is going to be your entire summer.

The first weeks of summer are miserable.

A thick and relentless heatwave has settled over Hawkins, turning every breath into a chore. It clings to you, wrapping around your bones from the second you wake up to the moment you rest your head on your pillow again. It makes every movement exhausting. 

You spend most of your days sitting in front of a fan, dreaming about California— the cool ocean breeze, the lack of mosquitoes, the ability to breathe without suffocating. 

When the sun begins to dip behind the trees, you escape to the backyard, wasting hours by the pool, dangling your legs in the water, relaxing in the few hours of cool air the evening brings you

At night, you run up the phone bill, flipping onto your back and spending hours talking to friends from school, twirling the cord around your fingers, your friend's voices drifting through the static. You talk about everything— who’s dating who, what parties you’re missing, how much you want to be anywhere but here. 

Inevitably and routinely, Steve ruins it.

He always does.

“Shut up!” He yells from the intercepted line, “Some of us actually want to sleep!” 

You roll your eyes, pressing the phone harder against your ear. You don’t shut up, and you don’t ever plan on it.

Steve isn’t the only problem this summer, though.

No— he’s not even the worst one.

Because for the first time in the history of knowing Steve, he is not the leading cause of your headaches. 

That honor belongs to Eddie Munson.

Eddie is obnoxiously, disgustingly everywhere. 

And you don’t know why.

You’re not sure what path of destruction Steve has chosen, but suddenly, Eddie is constantly in your house. 

It’s like some rotting, stoner apocalypse has overtaken the upstairs— video games blaring, pantry raids, the distinct smell of weed they air out through Steve’s window— it’s twenty-four seven.

And no matter what you do or where you go, Eddie makes sure you know he’s there.

— As you walk past Steve’s room:

“Bring up a soda when you come back, princess!”

“No!”

“Worth a shot.”

— Late at night, when you’re sneakily digging through your stepmother’s stash of chocolate:

“Don’t you get tired of having to match all of your pajamas? I’ve never seen you in regular shorts and t-shirts.”

“Don’t you get tired of wearing that ratty old t-shirt every day?”

Eddie grins, “You noticed. Cute.”

— Or in the backseat of Chase’s car as he drives you to a friend's house:

“You look good today, special occasion?”

“Stop trying to hit on me. Steve, tell your friend to stop hitting on me.”

Steve rolls his eyes as Eddie responds, “I think you like it.” 

“It kills me inside a little, honestly.”

“God, that’s so hot.”

“Gross.”

It’s constant.

It’s guaranteed at this rate that if Eddie is in the vicinity, he’ll find a way to get on your nerves. And the most annoying part of it all is you feel something. There in the pit of your stomach, or sometimes your chest. 

You think it might be early onset asthma from the amount of secondhand smoke you’ve had to endure around him.

That being said, since you’ve spent the past few weeks growing used to Eddie’s constant presence, you can’t help but notice how he has yet to bother you at the bonfire Steve has dragged you to— another courtesy of his darling mother.

You hadn’t seen much of Eddie all night, only at the start of the evening when he had first arrived. And with Eddie and Steve being your only ‘friends’ here and the former having gone missing, you’re kind of pissed when Steve says he’s going off to be with some girl for the night.

“Why can’t you drop me off at home now?” You frown as you storm after your stepbrother. Steve groans, “Because it’s a total boner killer— oh, sorry, I just have to drop off my sister at home real quick,” he mockingly says before cringing, “Are you kidding me? No.” He scoffs.

You’re the one to groan now, stomping after him as he weaves through the cars parked on the hill in front of the lake— “You can’t just leave me here, Steve!” You stress as Steve makes it to his car, which is already occupied by a girl in the passenger seat as she waits for him.

Steve glances at you, “Would you relax? I’m not leaving you stranded; I’ll be gone for an hour— maybe two.” He rolls his eyes when you dramatically groan. “Look, just talk to someone to pass the time. And if you really want to leave, find Eddie.” He shrugs before opening his door.

“I haven’t even seen him all night.” You point out, to which Steve just shrugs again before pointing over your shoulder, “Couldn’t have gone far if his van is still here.”

And sure enough, when you glance over your shoulder, Eddie’s van is parked just a few cars down. You turn back to plead for Steve to take you home but are disappointed to see him already in his car, waving a taunting hand in farewell as he backs out.

Then you’re stranded. You’re stuck, all by yourself, at a bonfire you could care less about with people you don’t even know.

And you miss home more than you can afford to admit.

You find yourself walking towards Eddie’s van, leaves crunching beneath your feet as you grumble your way to the front of the car. Given the height of the vehicle, it's hard, but you manage to climb your way up onto the van's hood, cool metal pressing against your thighs as you settle on it. 

You’re hardly paying attention when Eddie walks up, too busy plotting ways to escape back to your home when he clears his throat. You look up, catching his gaze as he walks up to the front of the van, tilting his head in question as he looks at you perched upon his car.

“Didn’t know you’re so eager to see me, doll.” He smirks.

You roll your eyes, glancing away at the distant flicker of fire, “Don’t flatter yourself; Steve left me stranded here, so I need a ride home.” You grumble at the last part, glaring at him when he hums.

Eddie grins, walking closer until he can turn and rest against the car's grille, “Left you with good company then.” He teases as he digs out a cigarette from his pocket.

You roll your eyes, ignoring the heat of his body seeping into the skin of your leg. “I’d beg to differ.”

He snickers, pearly teeth peeking out behind his grin as he sticks the cigarette between his lips. You watch him light the end of the stick, thin trails of smoke leaving the side of his mouth before he pulls in one quick drag. 

He exhales, a cloud of smoke wrapping around you both as he glances at you, shifting with a deep sigh before he speaks, “So,” he starts, “What’s it like? The whole college thing.”

You think for a moment, glancing at the bonfire some yards away before you shrug, kicking your heel again, “Fast. Loud. Always something going on.” You briefly reply. 

Eddie hums as he takes another drag, “Sounds awful.”

You huff a small laugh, “Yeah, you’d hate it.” You agree— which is true. Most days, you hate it, too.

You nudge him with your foot, suppressing a grin when he nudges you back as you ask, “What about you?”

Eddie snorts, “M’not in college, princess.”

You roll your eyes, “I know that,” you dismiss, “I meant, like… Do you ever plan on leaving this place?”

Eddie hesitates momentarily, distracting himself with his cigarette before he shrugs, “Nah.”

You suspect he’s lying, but he doesn’t give you a chance to pry before he speaks up, “You ever smoked before?”

Your lips curl in disgust, “No. Gross habit.” You grumble.

Eddie glances at you, raising an eyebrow as he takes a drag. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he says, plucking the cigarette from his lips and raising it to you. “Go ahead, princess. Let’s see what you’re made of, " he challenges. 

Your face twists in disgust as you glare at the burning paper between his fingers, “No thanks.”

Eddie hums, tilting his head tauntingly, “Scared?” He teases. 

“No.” You snap.

He wiggles the cigarette at you, “Then take a hit.” He says with a teasing lilt to his voice.

You glare down at him, eyes slightly narrowed— and it’s so stupid. You know Eddie is only doing this as some silly way of provoking you. You know he wants you to do the predictable thing, which is snap back with some witty remark, but as you look at the curly-haired boy smirking up at you with that dark glint in his eye, you know there’s only one thing you have to do.

You take the cigarette.

“Fine.” You grumble. 

Eddie raises a brow as he turns to face you. He now stands before you, watching you turn the burning paper between your fingers. “Pointers?” You ask.

Eddie’s lips twitch in a smirk, boots crunching against the leaves as he steps closer, the chain on his pants brushing against your ankle. “Don’t cough and embarrass yourself.” He teases, to which you roll your eyes, “Helpful.” You mutter. 

He grins as he cages you in, one palm pressed to the hood of the car as the other gestures to the unlit end of the cigarette, “Lips here and just inhale slow; don’t overthink it.” 

You nod, gazing at the cigarette before you shrug and bring it to your lips with not much of a mental preparation— because how hard can it be to smoke a cigarette? Apparently, it’s hard— because one moment you’re breathing just fine, and the next you’re coughing up a lung on Eddie Munson’s car hood.

You cringe, coughing violently as your eyes well up with tears. “Shit—” you hold up the cigarette with a grimace, “People actually like this stuff?” You question with a groggy voice, coughs still sputtering up from your chest. Eddie laughs, a real, guttural laugh, as he takes his gift from you, “Good, right?” He asks.

You shake your head, eyes wild, as you look at him. “No! Not at all, " you stress. “I won’t be trying that again.” You shake your head, watching as he takes a drag, lips pulled into a smirk as he looks at you.

He blows the smoke off to the side, still gazing up at you as he jokes, “You’re already halfway to a badass reputation, princess.”

You roll your eyes, pressing your palms onto the car hood as you slightly lean forward, your body slowly relaxing after having nearly lost a lung. “Right, because sharing a cigarette with a guy like you in the middle of a shitty bonfire is exactly how I pictured my future as a child.”

Eddie rolls his tongue behind his cheek for a moment, his lips twitching with something like a lazy smile before he asks, “A guy like me?”

You hum in confirmation, and he slightly narrows his eyes. “What does that look like?” He asks.

Your eyes dance, something charged dancing between you both that you, upon weak judgment, decide to ignore. 

“Reckless. Irresponsible. Cocky.” You list off.

Eddie hums, feigning understanding, “Bad company for a girl like you, I assume?” He prods. 

And you don’t have to ask what he thinks you are before you nod, “Absolutely.”

It falls silent momentarily, that charged sensation thickening between you both. And maybe you hadn’t been aware of it; perhaps you had been so wrapped up in the conversation, but you’re not exactly sure when Eddie’s hands had gotten so close to yours.

You can feel his warmth; right there, just inches away for you to grasp and sink your palms into. His calloused fingertips are ghostly sensations against your soft knuckles, daring you to inch forward and just touch him. The space between your fingers buzzes, like a current threatening to connect. 

You could do it.

You kind of want to do it.

It would take nothing to close the distance. 

And Eddie? He’s waiting.

His brown eyes— dark and rich like the earth you walk on— flicker downwards and take in the sight of the space between your hands. 

And you know Eddie.

You’ve been around Eddie enough to know that he likes touch; Eddie communicates through it like his words won’t do his warmth justice. So, when his gaze flickers back to you, and there’s that look swimming in his gaze, you know what he wants to do.

You know he wants to let his touch speak for itself.

And you nearly let your desires win.

But in the distance, a bottle crashes, and an eruption of cheers lifts, and you’re back in your body.

Your spine stiffens. Your throat tightens. Your stomach churns. And your fingers curl away from him.

You pull away— not abruptly, but just enough that the moment feels as if it’s lingering like the smoke that had left Eddie’s lungs minutes ago.

You blink, pulling in the crisp summer air as you sit up, putting space where there was none.

“So, can you drive me home or not?”

Eddie blinks, the moment fractured between you— and you think he might speak on it. 

But he says nothing. 

Disappointment swirls in his eyes, barely showing before it’s gone. You take in a breath, glancing away as he pulls back and clears his throat, dusting his thumb across his nose in nervous habit as he nods, “Uh,” he blinks, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath his boot.

You hate the feeling that stirs in your chest, and you hate that you want to fix it. But Eddie nods anyway, fishing his keys from his pocket and forcing a half-hearted smile.

“Yeah, princess, let’s get you home.”

I wanna take you home

I won't do you no harm, no

You've gotta be all mine, all mine

Aw shucks, foxey lady

- foxey lady x jimi hendrix

part two.

cutie teeny taglist: @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @hereforshmut @emxxblog @mdurdenpitt @glassbxttless @peculiarwren @aactuaaltraash @daveythorntonslocker

————

a/n: HIII if you’ve made it this far i hope you enjoyed the first part to this little 5 part series !! i’ve got a packed summer planned for these two so i hope you’ll stick along for the ride :) also, expect smut next chappy hehe. anyway, as always, thank you for reading, ily and appreciate any and all forms of feedback <3

[screampied]

do you have any gojo fic recs? sfw and nsfw but nothing else really specific, just in general <3

sure 🎀. i’ll mention some of my fav gojo works i’ve read so farr

laundry day by @satoruhour one of the first gojo fics i’ve read here when i joined tumblr and selineeeee never disappoints. her roommate! gojo is so SCRUMPTIOUS i highly recommend. miss u girlie !!!

older bf gojo! series by @sttoru READ THIS SERIES NOOWWWW. it has both sfw & nsfw n the dynamic always has me swooning. i’d also rec karina’s angst satoru fics if you like angst bc her angst is immaculate and heart wrenching. perfect combo mmh 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

brigerton! gojo series by @fushitoru VERY VERY GOOD this entire series feels like the actual show but better n its so descriptive with lots of yummy angst, plot twists n more. aashi has lots of delicious yummy works, i’d also rec her clan head! gojo and spiderman! gojo bc it’s actual literature >>>

unmistakably yours by @tonycries thisf and i think her fic called ‘initiation!’ were the first tony fics i’ve ever read last year ANDWEEEROO. just ssssoo good, love a good best friends to lovers trope. the part with his powers was so cool n actually changed something in me. GOOD FUCKING SHIT. ur panties will disintegrate

streamer gojo! series by @osaemu this entire series is so cute n streamer gojo’s so 💗💖💞. first fic i’ve read was ‘yes i have a girlfriend, yes she’s real!’ AND ITS SO CUTE. this series has both sfw & nsfw including angst YUM. plus sab’s graphics like always are a total 10. the chats always kill me, especially the toji slander 😭😭.

digimon—but making u cum is my real hobby by @blkkizzat LMAOOOO THIS FIC IS EVERYTHING TO ME. otaku gojo is such a loser and the way kali wrote him, i need him BAD. i’ve never laughed and throbbed so much at the same time in a fic. kali nails gojo’s personality perfectly !!! there’s also a mlist too i believe. i come back to this fic like every month just YUM

wolf in sheep’s clothing by @starmapz this has it all !!!! fluff, angst, smut and it’s just WOW. satoru’s so lovable, and it genuinely felt like i was watching a movie. i’ve read this in one sitting and UUUUGH everything about this fic >>>>

dying for your love by @staryukis I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED ZOMBIE! AU GOJO IN MY LIFE. this fic literally shattered me, the dynamic is just so heartbreaking. it’s set in an apocalypse au! with lots of gut-wrenching angst so beware. soso good, i remember stumbling upon the masterlist and knewww it was gonna be a good read. also, logan’s follow up fic ‘die with a smile’ broke me into two I LOVE IT

[loverofpiggies]

Beginning | Previous | Next

Beginning | Previous | Next

I set up my table for Salt Lake FanX, then sat around drawing until my roomies fly in! So I accidentally colored 5 pages today.

After this, there's only 4 pages left in this chapter, wahoo!!

Enjoy!

[vader-anakin]

Hayden Christensen as Jacob

— Outcast (2014)

[onecupofsugar]

This is me, realizing I spent a whole three weeks on a Secret Santa gift in the IMS only to FORGET TO POST IT until nearly two goddamn months later So here's that, I guess??? I dunno, man

I hope you all enjoy it despite my terrible blunder /j

[1captainjordan4]

Finally allowed to post this in full, one of my pieces for the @empiropediazine where i did the royal portrait of Joel

[choibeomgyuu]

hueningkai x hhmnyaring for @nonbinaryhobi

[agnes-draws]

i think… i might be back??

[premiumbitch]

۶ৎ HOLLIWOOD TEMPTRESS: THE SURREAL BEAUTY & SEDUCTION OF HOLLI WOULD. MANIFESTATION & SCRIPTING PACK ˙⋆.˚

This is for the lovely people who want to manifest stuff about themselves or script this in their shifting script! this pack is a "holli would" from cool world theme ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ enjoy! oh and also I haven't watched cool world so forgive me If I get anything wrong about her, I just based this on the clips and edits I've seen of her.

𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐷𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝒪𝒻 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒸𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓃

You don’t walk into a room—you make an entrance, leaving trails of gold dust and neon dreams behind you. There’s a reason directors stop mid-sentence when you pass by. You are the close-up, the lingering gaze, the femme fatale they can’t rewrite. Silver screens were built to worship you, and every flashing light knows your name.

𝐂𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐬✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒾𝓃 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒞𝒶𝓃’𝓉 𝒬𝓊𝒾𝓉

You exhale slow, letting the world breathe you in like forbidden air. Lips painted in deep reds, voice dripping like melted wax—you don’t chase, you lure. They lean in, helpless, trapped in the rhythm of your existence. You are velvet gloves slipping off one finger at a time, the slow burn of something they should resist but never do.

𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐷𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒟𝒶𝓎𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂

You are the love song they play in empty diners at midnight, the lipstick print on the rim of a forgotten glass. There’s something about you—too sweet, too dangerous. A beauty that belongs to another time, yet here you are, making fools out of everyone lucky enough to witness it. You don’t just break hearts—you sculpt them into something prettier before you leave.

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝓁𝑜𝑜𝒹𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒟𝒾𝓋𝒶

They don’t know whether to kiss you or carve your name into their skin. You’re the soft sigh before disaster, the diamond-sharp edge of a smile that cuts just right. You walk like a warning, speak like poetry, and love like a war that nobody ever wins. But oh, they’d still march into battle for you—every single time.

𝐋𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐫 𝐄𝐜𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝑜𝓃’𝓈 𝐹𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒

The night sky adores you, cradles you in its arms, and whispers secrets only you can hear. Your beauty isn’t just seen—it’s felt, lingering in the air like the last note of a haunting melody. People look at you and see constellations they can’t name, feel tides shifting in places they didn’t know existed. You don’t belong to this world, but oh, how it worships you anyway.

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐥 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝓊𝑔𝒶𝓇-𝒞𝑜𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒮𝓎𝓃

Soft to the touch, lethal underneath. You smell like flowers in bloom and taste like the last thing they’ll ever want on their lips. Every glance, every movement—calculated, devastating. You don’t just wear beauty, you wield it, leaving wreckage in your wake, wrapped in pink ribbons and the scent of something too suspiciously sweet to be safe.

𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐁𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉 𝒪𝒻 𝒮𝑒𝓍 𝒜𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓁

Men forget how to speak when you look at them. It’s not just the curve of your smile or the way you move—it’s the way you exist. Every glance feels like a promise they’ll never be good enough for. Your presence alone makes them sweat, makes them trip over their words, makes them wish they had a chance. But you don’t give chances. You decide.

𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐥 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒯𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒞𝒶𝓃’𝓉 𝐻𝑜𝓁𝒹

You shimmer like liquid gold, impossible to contain. They try to keep you, wrap you up in velvet and chain you in love songs—but you were never meant to be owned. You are the treasure at the end of a journey that no one is worthy of. They reach, they ache, they crave—but you are already gone.

𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐿𝒾𝓅𝓈 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝐷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂 𝒪𝒻

You leave traces of yourself wherever you go—on the rim of a glass, on the collar of a shirt, in the back of someone’s mind where longing turns into obsession. You don’t just captivate, you haunt. Every word you speak is smoke curling in the air, lingering long after you’ve disappeared. You taste like danger, like something they should have never touched—but now they’ll die without another taste.

𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐭 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒾𝓃 𝒯𝒉𝑒𝓎 𝐵𝑒𝑔 𝐹𝑜𝓇

They know better, but it doesn’t stop them. Your presence is temptation in its purest form—languid, knowing, irresistible. You are the kind of mistake people make twice, three times, as many times as it takes to ruin them completely. And when they fall to their knees, begging for absolution, you simply smile. Because you were never the sin. You were the consequence.

𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒮𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓉

You glow like neon against midnight, a vision in gold and scarlet. There’s something tragic about your beauty—like a love letter never sent, like the final note of a song before the record skips. They pray at your feet, whisper your name like a secret, but you are already somewhere else, fading like a dream they wake up from too soon.

𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐷𝒾𝓈𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒟𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝒲𝒽𝒾𝓉𝑒

You are untouched, yet entirely ruined—an angel with lipstick smeared, a vision of purity wrapped in something far more wicked. They think you are innocence, but you know better. Behind every flutter of your lashes is a dare, behind every smile is a promise they won’t recover from. You make them ache for something they can’t name, and when they finally realize what it is—it’s already too late.

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝒾𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝒫𝒶𝑔𝑒 𝒪𝒻 𝒜 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎

Your existence is poetry that should have never been written—too raw, too cruel, too beautiful for this world. They try to capture you, to turn you into something they can keep, but you are a masterpiece meant to be glimpsed, not owned. They will spend the rest of their lives searching for something that feels even half as real as you did in that single, fleeting moment.

𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐹𝓇𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝐷𝑜𝓁𝓁 𝒲𝒽𝑜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝐵𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀 𝒴𝑜𝓊

You shimmer like something delicate, something precious. But they forget—glass can cut, and cherries stain. You are not a thing to be handled carelessly, and those who try soon learn that your beauty is laced with sharp edges. They admire you, they adore you, they ruin themselves trying to hold you close. But in the end, it’s their own hands that end up bleeding.

𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝓎 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐻𝒶𝓊𝓃𝓉𝓈

Your beauty isn’t just admired—it lingers. It clings to the air long after you’ve gone, like perfume on sheets, like fingerprints on glass. They will see you in the reflection of shop windows, in the flicker of candlelight, in the silence of their own thoughts. You are not simply remembered—you are felt, forever, in ways they never asked for and will never escape.

𝐍𝐨𝐢𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐞 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐹𝒾𝓁𝓂 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝐶𝒶𝓃’𝓉 𝐹𝑜𝓇𝑔𝑒𝓉

You belong in black-and-white, in cigarette smoke curling through the air, in the slow, deliberate drag of a red-painted nail across a lover’s wrist. They watch you like a scene they can’t rewind, a moment they can’t relive. And when the credits roll, when the lights come up, they are left wanting—wishing they had just one more moment in the dark with you.

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐦𝐞 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒞𝒶𝓃’𝓉 𝐸𝓍𝒽𝒶𝓁𝑒

You move like a whisper, like a song that drifts through an open window on a summer night. People close their eyes and swear they can still feel you—on their skin, in their breath, wrapped around their ribs like a secret they were never meant to keep. You are a memory that never fades, a scent that lingers long after the bottle has shattered.

𝐌𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐮𝐛𝐲 ✧ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐹𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝒯𝒉𝒶𝓉 𝒟𝓇𝒾𝓅𝓈

You are decadence, desire, and destruction all at once—too much, too hot, too dangerous. They reach for you, thinking they can handle the burn, but you are not meant to be held. You are meant to be worshipped. Every step you take is a slow drip of something they’ll never deserve, and yet—they crave it anyway.

[harmandmac]

THE NEWS IS OUT!!

[pinkxpantha]

Mute in the Language of Love

- Lynette x FEM! reader

#: synopsis- Lynette is pining hard for her friend. A not-so breaking news, she's not that experienced in the field of love. But maybe you'll help guide her in this unexplored biome

#: cw- 1.4k words, you/her pronouns, winners love winning, canon complient, non-established relationship, mutual pining, fluff, reader is implied to work with reviewing books or something, reader implied to be older if you squint and look through a magnifying glass. cup'o'tea

Lynette didn't think of herself as the type to fall in love and fall so hard. As though an arrow was shot into her eye, blinding her of her own environment as she fumbled and was tossed by the world around her.

That swirling in her chest was unfamiliar, the rhythmic pulse of her heart felt as though she could feel the texture of her own ribs whenever she was with you. 

You were a fascinating girl, and you filled her mind more often than she'd like to admit it.

She'd be foolish to think she could keep her feelings hidden for so long, but she didn't expect to be found out so quickly.

It might've only been three hours since Lynette herself realized what that bubbling of her chest meant each time she stared at you. And it only took three minutes for Lyney to become absolutely insufferable. 

Any time she was with you and he just so happened to be in proximity, She'd see his teasing looks directed at her, small smirks flashed her way when the corners of her lips twitched upwards at something you said.

"Lynette, when are you going to tell her?" He pestered her at least once every day. 

It wasn't that she didn't want to tell you anything; each day she suffered in longing wondering if she could hold you in her arms and live with your touch always being available to her, too familiar to forget.

Yet she worried about how her words may come across, if it was too direct, how would you react? Do you like grandiose gestures? (as much as she'd prefer not to make her feelings into a public spectacle it was still an option.) Or would even a heartfelt note suffice?

But Lyney, the ever clever and somehow helpfully-unhelpful man he was told her to 'Just ask her'

Safe to say Lyney got a face full of pillow that night. (Look what you've done, reduced her into this immature mess..)

 The next person to recognize her love filled gazes; one that would commonly be interpreted by those passing by as almost soulless despite how drunk her soul was off of her love for you, Was her younger brother, Freminet.

He had seen the two of you walking down a pathway close enough to one of his usual diving areas to see that soft smile on her face, Lynette's gentle gaze on you as though you were the most precious being in the world.

It took three days for Lynette to even muster up the courage to talk about romance with you; and she didn't even bring the topic up.

It didn't take long to find you, as if an internal compass pulled her into your direction everyday. She walked up to the table you were sitting at, a book rested in one of your hands and a cup of tea in the other.

"What is that you're reading [Name]?" She asked, stirring you out of the focused concentration you held when reading. (Was it so bad she found it cute when your brows furrowed after reading a sentence a bit too quickly?)

"A friend recommended me this book from Yae publishing house," you said, slipping a ribbon in between the page you were reading, showing her the title of the book in your hands. "It's a romance but I wouldn't say it's all too romantic." 

She looked at the cover, reading out loud. "'Engaged to my Lover's possessed body..?' It sounds out of place for that genre, it's a bit...?" 

"Scary? Definitely." You finished for her, the curve of your cheeks becoming more pronounced as you smiled with amusement at her confused reaction. "It would be horrifying to wake up and suddenly someone you know well-- isn't them?"

Lynette hummed in response, "When you put it like that, I wonder how the author came up with that plot." To which you rested your head on the knuckle of your fingers.

"It really depends on how it's written. Good chemistry is good chemistry," you said before looking at the chair in front of you. "If you have the time, you can always have some tea and chat with me Lynette." You offered.

Lynette's ear twitched at your offer. She sat down with a 'Thank you' quickly feeling all her surroundings melt away into a fading background noise with you.

You went over to one of the staff, placing her order for her. Something you had already known by heart, Lynette liked the sharp bitterness of her tea, and she also liked a sweet aftertaste. Tea and biscuits was a perfect combo.

Soon you returned back to her, the sun coating you in it's rays as though it was accepting you to be of the same caliber.

In some ways you were the sun to Lynette. "Are romance books something you read often?" She asked as you sat back down in front of her. 

You held your position in thought, "Outside of reviewing books I wouldn't really say so. I definitely do have an appreciation for the romantic but its always better when you can see it on someone's face." You looked off into the streets of fontaine

Your eyes followed that of those walking together. Different pairs of couples with their arms interlaced with one another, "That look in their eyes, treasuring someone so much that they could stand out in any crowd. That's more satisfying than any well-crafted line of text."

Lynette wanted to beg you to look at her, to see how her pupils dilated each time she looked at you as if she wanted to take in your whole essence and keep it imprinted onto your brain.

"It sounds like you speak from expirence."  Lynette commented, a selfish part of her wanted to be the only one that could show you love on such a grand scale. But her love for you was unique in its own way. She would be the one walking with you as you recited poems from across teyvat that you remembered in that moment.

That love was hers.

"I guess you could say so, I have fallen in love before." You said after taking a sip from your own tea making her remember her own neglected tea. You turned back your head to face her.

Lynette hesitated, her mouth slightly parting as she asked, "If it's not too personal, could I hear more?" You nodded, "Of course."

"I love for simple reasons," You said, your hands folded on your lap as you watched Lynette. "They would listen to me as though I was the only sound they could hear." Your gaze dusted her cheeks like a feather, as if she could feel each movement of your pupils.

"And I watched them as if they were the only moving thing in a still world. " You said.

"Do you still love them?" Lynette asked, her words tumbling out almost instantaneously. Maybe if you were a bit closet to her you might've heard the waver of her breath or seen how her tounge rubbed against one of her teeth. 

 "I don't think its possible to ever stop loving." You responded, Lynette's breath caught in her throat, the vertebrae of her spine keeping it trapped as she looked back at you. 

How Lynette wished she were an artist so she could draw that fondness of your face over and over again, and feel her stomach explode and contort with each rendition. 

Lynette's mouth twitched into a small, barely noticable smile "I guess that's what makes absence hurt so much." She said.

You nodded, "Love really is a beautiful thing." You responded. 

The two of you sat in each other's company for a few more minutes, drinking into each other's presence in a comforting silence as you sipped your tea.

It was only a few minutes afterwards when Lynette placed her cup down with a clink, the empty teacup placed back on its holder.

"Thank you for staying with me for a while." You said, not finding something of substance to make her stay and talk with you some more, but also not wanting her to leave.

She stood up and gave a slight bow to you, "Of course. I enjoy your company." Those soft monotone words padded your ears in a comfort she probably didn't even mean to give.

"I'll see you soon?" You said to her.

"Yes, soon." She responded.

You watched as she walked off into the distance, her figure fading with each step. You let out a soft sigh, glad you could talk about love with her, even just for a moment. In three seconds you already missed her so.

I literally spedran this, it's 3:29 am and I have not proofread it, I will come back to fix mistakes tho 😁 trust ( ≧ꇴ≦)

its actually 1477 words but who's counting [proud]

[oh-gh0st]

Happy Birthday!

[sucrecube9]

She'll take us to the golden land! 👼

[skyward-floored]

I’m a day late, but I remembered I had an Incredibles au fic lying around where it was Wild’s birthday that I hadn’t quite finished yet, so I managed to finish it up and here we are! Birthday fic. Wild is 14 or 15 here, this is sometime after movie events (I didn’t want his present to get blown up when the plane hits the house sdfhjfdg).

Anyway, happy birthday botw (in a roundabout manner lol)

————————————————————

“Now that was a good cake.”

Wild watched in amusement as Wind sighed dreamily, flopping backwards with blue and brown frosting smeared on his face. He agreed that it had been a good cake— he’d helped their Mom make it after all— but he appreciated the compliment towards his choice of dessert. He’d been debating for weeks on what cake to have for his birthday, and triple-layer chocolate mousse cake had been the winner this year.

Legend poked Wind with a toe as he walked by with his dishes, but Wind only batted a lazy hand at him, too full to properly go after him.

“It’s decided. I’m gonna have chocolate mousse cake for my birthday too,” Wind said with another sigh, and Four looked at him in confusion.

“Your birthday isn’t for eight months,” he pointed out, and Wind thought about that for a moment, tapping his finger on his chin.

“Uhh... my half birthday is only in three though! I’ll have it then,” he decided, and a clamor of arguments broke out from his brothers about how you don’t get cake on your half birthday and yes you do if Mom or Wild randomly decides to make one and what’s a half birthday and other points in a similar vein.

Wild watched the argument with a snort, finishing off the slice he was eating. Birthdays were always exciting in their house, especially if Sky and Warriors came over too, which they had earlier. They’d left now, but things were still winding down, and there was a lot of sugar that had been consumed in the past hour.

Not a bad birthday all in all.

“Hey Wild?” a voice called, and Wild looked up to see his mother standing the doorway and gesturing to him. “Would you come here for a moment?”

“Sure,” Wild said, and zipped over to stand beside Malon in the blink of an eye. “What do you need?”

“Just for you to follow me,” she assured with a smile, and Wild did so, curious as to what was going on. Malon led him past the kitchen and upstairs, and stopped in his room, where Time was waiting for them.

He smiled at Wild as Malon gestured him in, and gently set down a fairly big cardboard box, Wild peering at it curiously.

“It’s all set,” Time said with a small dust of his hands, and Wild looked between his parents, then at the box.

“What’s this?” he asked curiously, and Malon smiled at him.

“Your birthday present. Or, a bonus one, I suppose.”

Wild looked at the cardboard box again, tilting his head in confusion. It didn’t seem like much of a present, no wrapping, not even a bow on top, but... he supposed he could be wrong.

“Uh... what is it?” he asked a little hesitantly, and Time chuckled.

“Have a look.”

Wild looked at them suspiciously, his parents both smiling, then looked back at the box, and slowly got to his knees beside it. There was only a small piece of tape on the top, and Wild carefully picked it off and pulled open the flaps, revealing all sorts of stuff inside the box.

He stared at it all in confusion, trying to figure out exactly what he was looking at. There were some books and clothes, a smattering of toys he was too old for among them, and doubtlessly more of the same underneath. Wild leaned closer, and pulled out a plush bunny-like creature, with bright eyes and fur in a warm friendly blue.

Something about it seemed... familiar.

“...What is this stuff?” he asked more softly, and Malon put her hand on his shoulder.

“It’s some things from when you were little,” she said gently. “Before we adopted you.”

Wild froze, looking over at her with wide eyes.

“We’d thought you didn’t have anything left, so we never looked, but Impa called us a few weeks ago saying she’d found a box of your things that landed in storage,” Time said with a smile.

“We’ve had it for a little while now, but we thought we’d wait until your birthday so it would be more of a surprise,” Malon continued as Wild looked again at the stuffed blupee in his hands. “Happy Birthday, honey.”

Wild swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, then gently set the stuffed animal down, pulling out some more of the other items.

There were a few more stuffed creatures, a dragon, a horse, a few other random animals with them. There were some wooden toys too, and a little sword someone had obviously made. Wild mostly set the handful of clothes to the side, since they were all much too small for him, but he found a few hairbands that he could still use, and what looked like a baby blanket, made with squares of blue and green.

Wild looked through everything quietly, gently picking up each item and studying it before carefully setting it down. There was a weird feeling in his chest the further he went, like a knot of warmth that was both painful and warm, prickling something in both his head and heart. It was almost like wonder and grief, all smooshed together. It was sort of weird.

He finally reached the bottom of the box, books in a thin layer underneath everything. They were mostly storybooks, though Wild found a couple he wouldn’t mind reading now. The last book he picked up was heavier though, with no words on the cover, and Wild flipped it open in confusion.

Then he froze, staring at the picture inside.

A man and a woman stood by some water somewhere, the man with a soft smile, the woman mid-laugh. There was a small child at their feet, smiling brightly as he hugged the man’s leg, and Wild knew, somehow, despite the lack of scars and shorter hair, that it was himself.

The longer he stared at the picture, the more he couldn’t tear his gaze away, and something odd flickered in his mind, something he couldn’t quite...

Hands slapping the water, sending cool sprays of droplets into the air. A voice laughing in return, and a squeal escaping his lips as he got splashed back.

Giggling as he was pulled up onto strong shoulders, hair tangling in his fingers as he gave a head a hug. The woman leaning against the man as they watched the water run past, slow and smooth. Someone tossed a rock in, and ripples spread out through the water, scaring a frog off a rock. The sun set, and the birds quieted down, crickets starting their song as fireflies drifted past his sleepy vision.

Link waking up in the backseat of the car just enough to hear his parents laugh softly at something before drifting off again.

“Wild?”

Wild blinked back into himself, the strangely sharp memory fading from his vision.

He felt suddenly dizzy, and as someone’s hand squeezed his shoulder, he looked over at his mother, her face creased with concern. Or at least he thought it was. She was strangely blurry for some reason.

“Link, are you okay?” Malon asked worriedly, and Wild wiped his sleeve over his eyes, suddenly realizing he was crying.

“Yeah,” he choked out, shakily laughing. “Yeah, I’m... thank you,” he finished in a whisper, sniffling as looked at the pictograph again. He could tell there were more pictures in the album, but after the intenseness of the first one, he wasn’t sure he was up to looking at them right now.

But knowing they were there, that he had pictures of his parents now, that he knew what they looked like...

Malon put her arm fully around his shoulders as he sniffled again, and Wild leaned into it, his mother turning the contact into more of a hug. Time knelt down as well, and placed a hand on Wild’s back, giving him a gentle look.

Wild managed a wobbly smile at the both of them, and sank into Malon’s arms as he squeezed the stuffed blupee to his chest, looking at the photo again.

He’d wondered, sometimes, if his birth parents had loved him. He didn’t obsess over it or anything, but it was a piece to his past that he thought about on and off. Wild had been living with his grandfather before he’d gotten his scars and was adopted, and as little as he knew about him, he knew even less about his parents.

But now he had undeniable proof that they’d loved him.

And that brought with it a mix of warmth and grief and light that Wild appreciated more than anything else he’d gotten today.

Wild spent the rest of the evening flipping through photos, laughing at some, crying at others. None of them triggered any memories like the first one had, but Wild didn’t care. The pictures themselves were enough, glimpses into a life he didn’t remember, parents that had loved him just as much as his current ones, memories lost to him, but memorialized in a way that he could go back and look at whenever he wanted.

It was nice.

Wild set a hand over a picture of his parents chasing him as a toddler, his younger self covered in mud and wearing what used to be nice clothes, and laughed, Malon and Time both joining in.

It was really nice.

[terreurihardlyknowher]

This sinking ship all rusted brown, it leans for land, desperate not to drown.