#I don’t know how to string together a sentence anymore

[forwhomthewordsflow]

Stars In My Eyes

(a part two to this fic!)

modern music teacher!eddie munson x art teacher fem!reader

18+ ONLY MDNI!!!

warnings: fluff, so fluffy, first dates, first kisses, some anxiety/stress, a little dash of coach!steve harrington, suggestiveness

author's note: i feel like this took me ages to write! so sorry for the wait...i do sort of love how this turned out :) writing a first kiss scene is hard!!!

please let me know what your thoughts are on this series!

word count: 7.7k

Eddie Munson couldn’t believe his luck.

Like, sure he’s gotten lucky a few times before.  There was that one time an officer let him off with a warning after he rolled through a stop sign, he’d played the “I’m a teacher during finals week” card and it had seemed to work out pretty well for him.  There were also a few times when a stranger in front of him at the Starbucks drive thru had paid for his morning coffee, only for him to turn around and see there was no one behind him to pay it forward to.  

And then, there was that time back during his final senior year where Stacy Cowell was going through a “rebel phase” and decided to give Eddie a string of random blowjobs over the course of a week and a half to make herself feel like she was living on “the wild side.”  She quickly transitioned out of that phase when Eddie had asked her out on a date, he figured they should probably make an effort to learn a little about each other if she was going to be deepthroating him in the back of his van every other day after school.  She turned him down with a disgusted sneer, leaving Eddie a little heartbroken by the fact that a girl could be so offended at the idea of a date with him.  

But none of that even mattered to Eddie anymore.  All of those situations touched by a bit of luck have been reduced down to mere coincidences now that he has you in his life.  Even though it was only one IKEA date trip that the two of you went on last weekend, Eddie couldn’t stop himself from imagining a long, happy future with you because of how fucking perfect it all went.

- 

You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervously giddy over anything in your entire life.  There had never really been any boys that you were crazy for when you were younger.  Sure, you’d been in love a couple times before, but nothing was ever…”wow.” 

 You’d never felt any real sparks, never met anyone truly special enough to change your life like all of the women you’d seen in movies or read about in books.  

But Eddie…he was very much wow.

After you’d worked out the details for your IKEA trip that afternoon in your classroom, you found it hard to stop blushing for the remainder of the week.  The both of you decided that you’d go on Saturday morning, and Eddie had insisted on picking you up and driving there together.  He bowed his head and lightly pressed his lips to your hand in a dramatic and silly fashion before leaving your classroom.  Your knees felt weak and a bright red blush bloomed on your face as Eddie stood back up to his full height to face you. 

“You know,” he started, still holding your hand, "you're really cute when you blush like that.”

A tiny squeak is all that comes out of your mouth when you open it to respond.  

You struggle to put together a coherent sentence and settle for the smile and girlish giggle that bubbled its way out of your chest.  

“I’ll see you later.”

Eddie started to walk backwards, keeping your hand in his grasp until he was too far away and then turning around to exit your classroom.  There wasn’t much else you could do except stare at the hand that had just been held by him, while holding your other over your mouth in shock.  

Eddie waited the appropriate five seconds after being out of your line of sight before erupting into a silent “fist-punching-head-banging-fuck yeah!” celebration in the hallway.  He couldn’t believe he kissed your hand.  The thought to kiss your hand had barely graced his mind before his body had made the decision to go through with it.  Eddie was terrified that his nerdy qualities would cause you to run for the hills, or that you’d think he was weird or stupid.

But instead, you’d blushed bright red and blessed his ears with a giggle, and all of Eddie’s worries and fears were banished from his mind at the sound of it.  

Eddie decided he was going to really enjoy taking every opportunity to make you blush.  

-

There were only two days until your IKEA trip with Eddie, and somehow you kept missing each other in the hallways at school.  On the rare occasion that Eddie had a spare moment, you were at some kind of art teacher workshop.  Whenever you could pull yourself away from decorating your classroom and lesson-planning, Eddie was leaving early for the day to go look at different types of Tubano drums for his classroom.  

There were a couple of staff meetings that everyone had to attend, but the two of you never ended up sitting next to each other.  Instead, you would indulge in a game of eye tag, making yourself feel like you were in high school all over again with a big fat crush.  

While you were really looking forward to your day out with Eddie, a tiny part of you was glad that you weren’t running into him constantly.  You found yourself overpouring your coffee in the morning because of the way the deep brown shade of the coffee matched the color of Eddie’s eyes.  You accidentally took a sip out of your paint water cup instead of your drinking cup because you were staring off at the lamps in your room, wondering which one had been Eddie’s favorite.  Two days was just what you needed to collect yourself enough to act like a normal human being before you saw Eddie again.  You weren’t even allowing yourself the time to think about being in a car with him for the hour that it took to get to IKEA.  All of the workshops, lesson plans and other preparation for the start of school kept you calm and collected.

Eddie, on the other hand, was reduced to a pile of chunky silver rings and nerves.  He couldn’t stop thinking about everything he had to get done before your trip…date?  Was it a date?  Did you say the word date when you asked him?  Is it even a date when the girl asks the guy-

Eddie’s frantic pacing is interrupted by a shark knock on his propped open classroom door.

“Yo, Munson.  How’s the…” Steve trailed off as he took in Eddie’s disheveled state.  “Dude.”

“I know, I know, man.” Eddie responds, plopping down in a chair that was meant for one of his students.  He puts his head in his hands, tugging on the roots to try and get a grip.

“What’s goin’ on, Ed?  I haven’t seen you this distraught since One Direction broke up.”  Steve sits on top of a desk next to Eddie, jabbing him softly in the shoulder after his lame attempt at getting a smile out of Eddie.  

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head at the stupid joke.  He looks up at Steve with a deep sigh, then stands up and grabs him by the shoulders.

“If I tell you, it stays between us.”  Eddie fixes Steve with a hard look and raised eyebrows, not any different from the look he gives his students when they’re getting up to no good.  “I’m so dead serious.”

Steve’s eyes widen at the sudden seriousness, making a cross over his chest with his finger.  “Yeah man, cross my heart and all that.”

Eddie lets go of Steve, slumping back into the chair with a huff.  

“How do you know that a date is a date, and not just a friend thing?”

Steve smiles cockily and leans forward, always interested in Eddie’s love life…or lack thereof.

“Well, I don’t know…I think I might have to hear a little more about this special lady in order for me to provide some of my good ol’ Harrington Love Advice.”  Steve wiggles his eyebrows at Eddie, throwing in a wink for the sake of being annoying.

Eddie rolls his eyes, he knew it was a mistake to bring up girls around this guy.  Steve was always giving Eddie pointers on how to get chicks the way he did, but Eddie was in no way similar to Steve when it came to relationships.  Steve never had nothing to do on the weekends, always with a new girl, sometimes even the single moms at school.  He’d meet them out at a bar, woo them, take them to dinner and then even sometimes back to his place.  Despite his fuck-boy tendencies, Eddie knows it’s never that meaningful for either party.  Steve’s been pining after one of the English teachers for years, and these flings are only serving as a way to satiate his intensely flirtatious side.  

As annoying as he may be, it would be nice to rant about all of his pent up loverboy feelings for you to Steve.  Eddie knows he’s just giving him a hard time, it’s one of the many love languages they share as best friends.

“I-it’s just…she’s so beautiful man, like…holy fuck.”  Eddie shakes his head in disbelief, looking off into the distance as he rambles on about you.  “I mean just…she looks like some kind of Elven princess-angel-goddess-fairy–”

“Dude, Ed.  None of that nerd shit please, say it to me in English.”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head with a sigh.  

“Okay.  I really like her.  I haven’t felt this way in years, maybe ever.  We met officially yesterday and just…clicked.”

Steve smiles at Eddie as he talks about you, happy to see his friend so excited about someone.

“We made plans to go to IKEA this weekend, but I don’t know what to make of it?  Is it a date?  Should I bring her flowers?  What if I do bring her flowers and she gets weirded out because it was actually never a date at all?”

Steve holds his hands up like he’s trying to calm down an animal.  

“Woah there, buddy.  No need to get all freaked out about it.”  Steve can’t help but to laugh a little at the helpless look on his friend’s face.  “Let’s just start with the details, okay?  Who asked who?”

“She asked me.  I said I liked her lamps and then she said she got them at IKEA and then I said that I needed some for my room and then she said that we should go to IKEAandshopforsometogether-”

“Okay, okay man.  Take a deep breath.”  Steve motions for Eddie to inhale for a couple seconds.  

“Then let it all out.”  Eddie expels the breath from his lips in a hard huff, looking a little calmer.  “Alright.  So, she asked you?”

Eddie nods.

“That’s good, it means she’s interested!  Not a lot of women are making the first move these days, it means that she definitely wants a slice of Munson.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at Steve, but still waits for him to go on.

“Are you picking her up for the trip to IKEA?”

“Yeah, I offered to pick her up and drive us both there since it’s about an hour away.”

Steve scratches his five o’clock stubble.

“Hmm…okay.  Did she like…jump at the chance for you to drive her or was there some hesitation before she agreed?”

Eddie thinks back to that moment.  How the two of you were standing slightly too close for new friends, the way your eyes seemed to sparkle as you looked up at him, how he was surprised you couldn’t hear his heart beating out of his chest.  

He remembers offering to drive the both of you to the store, surprising himself by saying it way calmer than he was feeling.  Your face lit up a little, like you were shocked that he’d even offer to pick you up and drive you there.  You smiled and nodded your head sweetly before agreeing out loud.

Eddie feels himself smiling at the tiny memory.

“It wasn’t like she immediately answered…but she definitely was smiling when she agreed.  She didn’t seem nervous about it or anything, it was more like she was excited or something.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up as a smirk emerges on his face.

“So let me see if I’m getting this straight.  She asked you to go to IKEA, probably knowing it was a long drive, and then she happily agreed to let you pick her up and drive the two of you there?  For a whole two hours there and back?”

Eddie nods, anxiously awaiting Steve’s opinion on all of this.

“I mean, it’ll probably be a good four or five hours that you spend together driving and shopping.”

Steve fixes Eddie with a look that says ‘c’mon man, it’s obvious.’

Eddie’s had enough of his edging.  “Will you just get to the fucking point please for the love of god?”

Steve sighs and claps a hand on Eddie's shoulder. 

“Ed, it’s a date.”

Eddie barks out a triumphant laugh and Steve does the same.  The two men high five and Steve wraps a beefy arm around Eddie’s shoulder to pat him on the chest.  Eddie can’t help but to let out a big sigh of relief now that he can stop worrying about how to act on this trip date.

-

On Friday, you could’ve sworn you went slightly neurotic.  

Since Tuesday you’d been considering your day with Eddie as a date, but it suddenly hit you that maybe he didn’t feel the same way.  What if you’d been doing all this worrying and freaking out for no reason?  What if he ends up calling you ‘dude’ the entire day?  What if he has a girlfriend already, and he just agreed to take you to IKEA so that you wouldn’t get your feelings hurt?

You’d been running circles in your head trying to prepare yourself for any and all possible outcomes that Saturday could hold for you, but none of it seemed to be doing you any good.

So, you did what you always did whenever you found yourself flipping out over something new.

You made a to-do list. 

Pick out an outfit.  Dress! too fancy…jeans?  Dress, definitely dress. not too fancy though…

Drink wine 

Watch movie

Clean house…again

Drink more wine

Possibly reconsider outfit…

After all was said and done, you plopped down on your worn-in couch, sufficiently drunk with a clean house and an outfit neatly hung up outside of your closet.  You decide to pour your third and final glass of wine for the evening, and to surrender your anxiety to the gods of love.  You hope and pray that they like you enough to let you have this one. 

-

It was finally Saturday.  Eddie stands in front of his closet furiously, wondering why in the fuck he can’t find a single thing to wear for his date with you today.  He’s got enough clothes to fill his entire closet, dresser, and a $20 clothing rack he picked up at Target years ago.  Steve said to just go with what felt the most like ‘Eddie’, but he’s suddenly unable to remember what his style even looks like.  

He wants to punch himself in the nuts for not taking the time last night to plan this all out like a normal person.  

He ends up settling for a fitted white tee, a pair of trusty black jeans, and black boots.  On a FaceTime call with Steve (so he could approve Eddie’s choice), Steve mentioned that the outfit was casual, but still fairly nice, and that the white shirt showed off his tattoos and muscles.

“Chicks dig the muscles and white tee combo, man.  Trust.”

Eddie chuckles at his friend’s ‘frat boy’ lingo, but the comment makes him feel better about his appearance anyways.  Last year, Steve had managed to convince Eddie to start going to the gym with him after school during the week, and it pains him to admit that he sort of really likes it now.  He likes how much stronger he feels, he likes sweating out all of his frustrations, and most of all he likes the way he fills out his t-shirts now.

After hanging up the call with Steve, Eddie flexes a little in his mirror before leaving to go pick you up.  He decides to do a few last minute push ups and to moisturize the tattoos on his arms so that he looks extra good for you.

-

Perhaps being slightly neurotic about this date was a good idea.

Thanks to all of your meticulous planning, you managed to get completely ready with a half hour to spare.  You decided against sitting on your couch until Eddie arrived since the nervous butterflies in your stomach made you want to throw up, so you opted to wander around your house for the remainder of the time.

You pass by your mirror, doing a final check and making sure your outfit and makeup are up to par.  You’d decided on a simple white dress, with a denim button up thrown over it and your pair of black chelsea boots that had yet to let you down.  You smile at your reflection, happy that you’d managed to choose a comfy and cute outfit that felt like you.

There’d been too many dates before this one where you’d gone out and spent insane amounts of money on brand new outfits that you weren’t even sure you really liked, all in the name of impressing your date and hoping he likes you enough to ask you out on a second one.  When prepping for those dates, you spent hours upon hours running around like a mad woman.  Shaving, plucking, tweezing, waxing.  Making sure your hair curled just right and that your eyeliner was sexy, but not slutty.

You couldn’t figure out why Eddie felt so different to you.  Even though the nerves of a first date had really freaked you out the night before, this morning was fairly calm.  Sure, you took plenty of time in the shower and doing your hair and makeup, but it didn’t feel like you were trying to morph into a different version of yourself to please a man. 

It felt more like you were trying your best to look like your favorite version of yourself. 

You want Eddie to know who you are inside and outside of work, and you really hope that he likes what he finds. 

-

Eddie stays parked outside of your house for a minute or two to try and settle his nerves.  

You lived in a small, red brick house in a family neighborhood.  There were flowers planted in the beds under your windows, and your front door was painted a deep turquoise color.  Eddie sucks in a breath when he sees your figure moving around through the gauzy white curtains covering your windows.  

How can a hazy silhouette still be so beautiful?

Looking into his rearview mirror, Eddie takes a deep breath.

“You got this man.  Be cool.”

He turns his car off and makes his way to your front door, knocking three times and then taking a step back to wait for you.

It takes all of two seconds for your front door to swing open, revealing you on the other side.

Eddie immediately feels weak in the knees.  You looked so cute in your little boots, and he couldn’t help but to let his eyes trail up the smooth skin of your legs.  He gulped a bit at the short hem of your dress, and then realized he should probably say something.

“Hey you.”

“Hi,” You smile up at him bashfully as he looks you up and down.  You take the opportunity to look him over as well, and damn.  You already knew he was sexy, but his tight tee shirt and pulled back hair made you want to drag him into your house and do things to him…

You only notice that he’s been holding a hand behind his back when he brings it out in front of him, revealing a beautiful bouquet of flowers.  

“These are for you.  I didn’t know which was your favorite, so I just asked the lady to throw together a bunch of different kinds and to make it look pretty.”  Eddie holds the colorful bouquet out to you and smiles sheepishly.  

Your mouth hangs open as you reach out to take them, being so careful for no real reason.  You look up at Eddie with those big, sparkling eyes.

“Thank you so much, Eddie.  These are so incredibly beautiful,” he watches you looking down at the flowers, gently brushing your fingers against their petals.  “Let me run inside and find a vase for them real quick.  Come on in!”

You wave him in behind you and hurry inside.

Eddie tries to suppress the excitement he feels at being invited into your home.  He felt like he already got a good glimpse at who you are and how you express yourself when he was inside your classroom, but he’s now getting to see where you spend the majority of your time, where you live.  As he steps over the threshold and into your house, he readies his brain to take mental pictures of everything he sets his eyes on, just in case he never sees it again.

Instantly, he’s hit with a sense of “home.”  The inside of your house is the perfect temperature and it smells so good and womanly, like your perfume and also like you’ve been baking something but somehow also like flowers…Eddie loves it already.

You scurry off into the kitchen, trying not to think about the fact that Eddie Munson is looking around your house right now.

Where in the hell have all of your vases run off to?

Eddie walks around cooly with his hands clasped behind his back, taking in everything about your space.  Much like your classroom, Eddie is able to spot at least four different sized lamps and light fixtures placed around your entryway and living room.  There were warm white Christmas lights hung up along the ceiling, multiple green-leaved plants in different corners, and Eddie even thinks he spotted a black cat sprinting under your soft looking white sectional.

Overall, he’d give your interior design skills an 11/10. 

He’s just starting to miss you a little when you come out from your kitchen holding your flowers in a sparkly glass vase.  

It’s an odd feeling, seeing Eddie in your house.  His ‘edgier’ look seems like it wouldn’t fit with your overall aesthetic, but to your surprise he looks like he belongs here.  You walk up to him almost in a daze, admiring the silver hoop earrings he’s wearing, the smile on his lips, and the way some of his hair has made its way out of his low bun to frame his face.  

The two of you stand there for a moment looking at each other, with you holding your flowers in between your bodies.  You engage in a staring match for almost a second too long before you break the silence.

“No one’s ever gotten me flowers before,” you sheepishly admit, looking down at them instead of at him.  Eddie grins at the blush that blooms onto your cheeks after your prolonged eye contact.

Eddie scoffs before he can stop himself.

“Seriously?  That’s a damn shame, sweetheart.”

You look up at him again and try not to faint at how easily the word fell from his perfect lips.  Unable to take another second of his eyes on yours, you retreat into your living room to find the perfect place for your new flowers.  You decide to put them on your coffee table, then turn around to find that Eddie had followed you in.  

He offers his arm out to you, “Shall we?”

This time, you can’t fight the smile.

You take his arm and swipe your purse from the coat hanger next to your front door on your way out.

-

Eddie was the perfect gentleman for the entire duration of the car ride to IKEA.  He had opened the car door for you, he let you pick the music, and he definitely did not sneak a glimpse at your bare, voluminous thighs when your dress shifted as you sat down.  The sweet smell of your perfume spread throughout the interior of his truck, he hopes that smell never fades away.

He couldn’t help glancing over at you every other minute, looking so beautiful in his passenger seat while you bobbed your head to whatever song you had queued up on his phone. 

“Would it be a total invasion of privacy if I played your On Repeat playlist?  I’m dying to know what the music teacher’s favorite music is right now.”  Eddie turned to see that you were smiling pleadingly at him, and how could he say no to that face?

“I suppose,” Eddie sighs dramatically.  “But, you are not allowed to judge me for whatever pops up.”  He playfully points a finger at you while keeping his eyes on the road.  You giggle girlishly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You hit ‘shuffle’ on Eddie’s playlist and aren’t surprised when the first song that plays through the speakers is ‘The Unforgiven ll’ by Metallica.  You already knew Eddie was a fan of the band thanks to the music he always has playing a tad too loudly whenever you pass by his classroom.

“Oh, I know this song!”

Eddie’s face whips towards you sporting a shocked ‘you’ve gotta be kidding me’ expression.  He was definitely expecting you to be the ‘indie music’ type.  Your eyebrows furrow adorably angrily at the look on his face.  

“What?  A girl can’t like Metallica?” You fix him with a look that tells Eddie he should think twice about his response.

“W-well…I just didn’t expect you to be into them…that’s all.”  You roll your eyes playfully at him and cross your arms.  “But!  I’m very pleasantly surprised that you are!  Girls rule, alright?  Men like…totally suck and stuff.”

You chuckle at his frantic attempt at avoiding a lecture on gender inequality and feminism while settling back into your seat.  And because you actually do know and love this song, you start mouthing the words, which eventually evolves into singing them under your breath.

When Eddie thought he spotted you mouthing the words out of the corner of his eye, he was sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him.  But just barely hearing you singing the words to his favorite Metallica song just further confirmed a fact that he already knew.

Eddie Munson was totally going to fall in love with you.

The rest of the car ride consisted of sharing music, talking about work and life, childhood memories, and other random topics.  Eddie discovered that you love thunderstorms, your cat’s name is Pascal (after the chameleon from Tangled), and that you moved here at the beginning of summer from Chicago.

Eddie swears there’s never been a conversation in history that flowed as well as yours and his.  He felt like he’s known you for years, and he hopes you’re feeling the same way.

You totally are.

-

Once the two of you made it to IKEA and inside the giant store, Eddie quickly realized that he never really put any thought into what he actually wanted to buy for his classroom.  You swiftly came to his rescue and pulled out your phone to open up Pinterest.

Together, you found a couple pictures that matched the general vibe of Eddie’s classroom.  He grabbed a map of the store and a cart, and set off into the maze of furniture.  

You were back to being shy again, now that you were out in the wild with Eddie.  He found that making jokes about all of the funny names got you giggling, and so he didn’t miss an opportunity.

He made you laugh the hardest next to the Koppang drawers.

You bumped your shoulder into his around the Baggebo bookcases.

His hand brushed yours next to a Tornviken kitchen island. 

And Eddie finally worked up the courage to hold your hand next to a Klippan loveseat.

You gasped a little when you felt his warm hand slide into yours, interlocking your fingers together.  A red hot blush worked its way up your neck as you snuck a glance over at him, only to find that he was already looking at you with a smirk.  He knows exactly what this hand holding is doing to you.

He chuckles smugly as the two of you arrive at the lights section of the store.  As he pushes the cart through the aisles, you’re enamored by the twinkling lights that are draped overhead.  You’re lucky he’s holding your hand, or else you probably would’ve fallen flat on your face.  Eddie can’t help but to stare at you as you stare up at all the different light fixtures.  The different colors and hues of light shine beautifully onto your face, and the soft smile on your lips makes Eddie wish he could just grab you and kiss you right here in the aisle.  But, he figures that would cause you to explode after your reaction to his hand-holding.

He watches as you look further down the aisle at the lamps that are on display there, your face lighting up in recognition.

“Oh!  That’s one that I’ve got in my room!”  You point at an orange, donut shaped light called a Varmblixt.  Eddie recognizes it, you do indeed have one hanging on the wall behind your desk.

“I must have it,” Eddie says with a flourish ,”Never have I seen a more extraordinary donut lamp.”

You giggle and go to grab one to place in the cart, but the box proves to be way heavier than you remember.  Eddie notices as soon as you inhale to exert more effort, and he steps in immediately. 

 No fair maiden such as you should be forced to exert any effort whatsoever in his presence.

“I’ve got it, sweetheart.”

You try not to let the name affect you but once again, you fail.  You’re left blushing and biting your lip, speechless.  You stare unashamed at Eddie as he picks up the heavy box and goes to place it in the cart with ease.  The overhead lights were really doing him favors, every ridge and contour of his body was lit to perfection.  You could see the delicious bulge of his biceps, the ripple of his forearm muscles, and the outline of his chest in his shirt….why is your mouth watering?

Eddie easily places the box in the cart, turning to face you again.  He finds you blushing up at him with wide eyes, and is unable to contain the smug smirk on his face.  The sudden lack of distance between the two of you did not go unnoticed by him, he hoped you couldn’t hear his heart pounding in his chest.

The ‘normal you’ would’ve noticed that you were obviously in Eddie’s personal bubble, and you would’ve taken a step back like the respectable adult that you are.  But the ‘normal you’ was long gone in Eddie’s presence.  This version of you was not unlike the version that existed when you were an awkward teenager who was on the brink of passing out anytime a boy even breathed in your direction. 

While you were busy ogling Eddie’s physique, you’d failed to notice the close proximity between the two of you, which led you to your current situation.  

You and him were so close together, you could feel the warm puffs of air from between his parted lips gently hitting your face.  His gaze trailed down from your eyes to your lips, but you wouldn’t have noticed anyways because you were one step ahead of him.

His lips looked so pillowy and soft, you wondered how they’d feel pressed against yours.  Would he kiss you slowly, gently holding your face in his big hands and brushing his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks?  Or would he be rougher than that, grabbing you by the waist and tugging you into him, kissing you with fire and passion?

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow as he watches you suck your bottom lip into your mouth to bite it.  You’re so goddamn beautiful, and you looked like an angel in this aisle of lights.  A lamp from behind you lights up the silhouette of your hair like a halo, and he can see the lights above his head reflected in your eyes like stars.  

Eddie knows he shouldn’t kiss you right now, not in the middle of IKEA where he can hear kids whining to their parents and couples arguing over which shade of beige would match their living room better.  He knows this, but he can’t stop himself from reaching his hand up to gently grasp your jaw.  His thumb slides from your chin to your bottom lip, tugging it free from your teeth.

His hand snakes down to the side of your neck, and you can feel the slight tremor in his hand.  You’re glad that the situation is affecting him too, because you are freaking out.  

Is he going to kiss you right now?  

In IKEA?

On your first date? 

Is this even a date?  

Do you even want him to kiss you?  Idiot, of course you want him to.

Eddie’s eyebrows lift slightly, almost questioning you.  Asking you, ‘Do you want this? Is this okay?’

You answer him with a soft smile, and you feel his hand move behind your neck to pull you in.

It is at this moment that a baby starts to wail one aisle over, effectively ruining any sort of moment you and Eddie had been sharing.

He lets out a frustrated huff, and touches his forehead to yours with closed eyes.  

“Of course,” he groans.

You’re secretly giddy at the fact that he so obviously wanted to kiss you badly.  You bring your hand up to his arm that’s still resting on your neck to give it a reassuring squeeze, and in a surprising burst of confidence, you rise up on your toes to peck him on the cheek.

Eddie’s eyes shoot open at the feeling of your soft lips on his cheek.  He pulls back to stare down at you as his face turns red.

You giggle at him, then turn around to walk down the aisle.

“C’mon, I think I saw another one of my lamps down this way!”

Eddie snaps himself out of his daze with a shake of his head, he’s sure that he’s got hearts in his eyes as he watches you walk away from him.  Grabbing the cart with one hand, he holds his other gently to his cheek, touching the spot that’s still warm from your lips.

-

Eddie ends up purchasing five lamps from IKEA after an hour and a half of wandering through the aisles with you.  

He can’t help but to act like the loverboy he is when he’s looking at furniture with you.  He fantasizes about a life with you, imagining that the two of you are actually here to pick out items to furnish your shared house.  

He wonders which kind of wood floors you’d pick out and which backsplash you’d want in the kitchen.  You’d probably want to decorate with colorful rugs and throw pillows, and Eddie wouldn’t complain.  Not as long as you’re happy.   He’d live in a pink house decorated with bows and lace trim as long as he was living in it with you.  

Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself, it’s only your first date together right?

If only he knew you were having similar thoughts as you strolled up and down the aisles, hand in hand.  You thought about what kind of decorating he did in his house, you figured it was styled in some way considering the amount of effort he puts into making his classroom look as cool as it does.  Does he have shelves full of records or different posters framed and hung up on his wall?  Which side of the bed does he sleep on?  You hope he likes plants, there’s no way you could part with your beloved greenery if the two of you were to live together.

You’re quick to silence the random thoughts buzzing around in your head, it’s silly to think about these things on your very first date…you don’t even know his middle name yet!

You and Eddie both seem to snap out of your stupors at the same time, sighing simultaneously.  You both turn to look at each other and then begin to laugh, unsure on whether or not the ‘jinx’ rules apply in a sighing situation.  

-

Eddie pays for the lights, and soon enough you’re both back in his truck.  

It dawns on you that your date is almost over, but you’re quickly redirected when you hear the starting notes to the next song that starts playing when Eddie’s phone connects to his radio.

Is that…Taylor Swift?

You turn to him slowly, confused at why a Taylor Swift song is on his ‘On Repeat’ Spotify playlist.

Eddie’s already staring at you mortified.  He holds a hand up, pausing any words that might’ve come out of your mouth.

“Before you say anything,” he begins ,”I really admire her lyricism.  Girl’s a wizard with words.”

The two of you sit in a charged silence for a moment before you can’t hold in your reaction any longer.  A laugh breaks free from your chest, and Eddie can’t  help but to laugh along with you.

You’re wiping tears from your eyes as your laughter dies down, and Eddie just grins at you.

“I can’t believe it.  The rock and roll music teacher listens to enough Taylor Swift for it to end up on his ‘On Repeat’ playlist.”  You shake your head at him with a wide smile on your face that Eddie wants to take a picture of and frame.  

“Yeah, yeah…laugh it up.  As a music teacher, it’s my duty to appreciate all types of music.”

You nod along to his explanation, “Yes, of course.  How else are you supposed to connect with the teenage girls these days?”

“Right! Yes!”  Eddie exclaims.  “I do this lesson on lyrics and Taylor’s music is a great example of what storytelling in music can look like.  I respect her, hard.”

You stifle another laugh at his emotional Taylor Swift themed outburst.

“This stays between you and I alright?” Eddie points a finger at you playfully.  “If Harrington gets word of this I’ll never live it down.”

“Of course, my lips are sealed.”  You mime zipping your lips shut and throwing away the key.

Eddie settles back into his seat with a huff, boyishly smiling over at you.

“I have a very important question for you Eddie.”

He leans in, intrigued by your seriousness. 

“Which era are you in right now?”

Eddie scoffs, throwing his head back with a groan.  This sends you into another laughing fit, Eddie can’t help but to join in again.  He’s coming to find out that your joy is such an infectious thing.

“Hmm let’s see…,” he muses.  He turns to look at you with one hand on the wheel and a smirk on his face as he puts his keys in the ignition.  

“Right now…I’d have to go with ‘Lover,’” he says with a wink.

Your laughter is cut off abruptly as you gasp and bite your lip, attempting to subdue the cheesy grin that’s surely made its way onto your face by now.  

You stare unashamed as Eddie puts his right hand over the back of your seat to turn around and look through the rear window as he reverses the car out of its parking spot.  You can smell the cologne he must’ve sprayed on this morning, which immediately awakens the butterflies in your stomach.

As soon as Eddie is set on the route back to your house, he holds out his hand expectantly over his center console.  You look at it, then at him, then back at his hand before shyly placing your hand in his.  He’s quick to lace his fingers through yours, holding on tight and running his thumb back and forth.

You’re both thinking that you could get used to this.

-

Eddie (reluctantly) only lets go of your hand in order to rush around the front of his truck to open your car door for you after he’s pulled into your driveway.  He’s quiet as he walks you to your front door, wondering which way is the best way to ask you out on another date.  

You stop when you reach your door, looking down at your hand in his.  The silence begins to feel just a tad awkward as you both search for something to fill it.

“Thank you,” you start quietly ,”for today.  I had a wonderful time.”

Eddie lets out a relieved breath and grins widely down at you.

“I did too,” he begins, readying himself for his next question.  “Would you…I mean–would you like to…uh…shit, would you want to maybe do it again sometime?”

You know what he means, but it’s still so tempting to tease him when he’s blushing like this.

“Would I want to go to IKEA with you again?”

“N-no!  I mean, if you wanted to we could I guess…b-but I was thinking something more along the lines of dinner?”

You find it adorable how nervous he is to ask you out on a second date, as if you wouldn’t agree to go out to dinner with him tonight.

“I’d love that.”

Eddie’s face lights up with a triumphant smile as he lets out the anxious breath he’d been holding in.  

“Good, that’s really good.”  The way you’re smiling up at him right now is causing him to lose his train of thought.  “Um…how’s tomorrow night?  Around 7?”

“Tomorrow night is perfect.”

“Awesome.  Great, yeah I’ll just…I’ll pick you up, okay?”

You’re beaming as you nod your head, much too ecstatic at the idea of going out with Eddie again to form a coherent sentence.

Eddie finds himself smiling and nodding with you, you’re just too adorable. 

“Hey could I uh…c-could I get your number?” Eddie stammers the question out like he’s a prepubescent teenager, mentally face palming the whole time.

He’s relieved when you chuckle and hold your hand out for him to place his phone in.  He fumbles around trying to give you his phone as quickly as possible, he can’t believe how nervous he feels right now. 

He finally somehow manages to pass over his phone with a new contact page pulled up and ready for you.  You type in your number and name, making sure to add the artist’s palette emoji afterwards.  Eddie laughs through his nose when he sees it, then pockets his phone again.  

There’s a weird tension in the air that can only be brought upon by two people who so obviously want to kiss each other, but are too nervous to make the first move.  Eddie wracks his brain for a way to ask you if it’d be okay for him to kiss you without looking like a total idiot.  It’s really unfortunate that the way you bite your lip causes his mind to completely shut off and switch to autopilot.  

“I really wanna kiss you right now,” he blurts out.

You look up at him, shocked at his bluntness.  Eddie’s even more shocked than you are.

“Y-you probably should then,” you bashfully admit.

Eddie can’t believe that worked.

He steps towards you and softly places one hand on your cheek, the other going to gently grasp the side of your neck similarly to the way he had in IKEA during your almost-kiss.

Your eyes flutter closed as you feel his lips graze yours for the first time.  The feeling is electrifying, and you can’t help but to venture forward for more.  

Your lips were just as soft, if not softer, than Eddie imagined. 

You plunge forward to press your lips against his, instantly deepening the kiss.  Eddie found himself instantly addicted to the feel of your lips and the way you sigh into the kiss.  It’s a shy kiss at first, where the two of you slowly begin to figure out your shared rhythm.  But it wasn’t long before you sank into a synchronized dance, mirroring each other’s movements in a way that crafted the most perfect, earth shattering first kiss.  

You let Eddie Munson kiss you at your front door in a way that you had longed to be kissed for your entire life.  This was how the women you saw in movies or read about in books were kissed.  You’d read about magic and sparks flying, and you think you’re finally starting to believe in all of it.  

Eddie moves his hand from your cheek to your waist, gripping it and pulling you closer to him.  The gasp you let out gave him the sweet opportunity to run his tongue against your bottom lip, asking, pleading for an entrance which you of course granted.  You tasted like autumn and felt like home, he decided he could kiss you for hours on end.

You both stood there for a good five minutes at your front door, making out like giddy teenagers and feeling like them too.  Eddie finally pulls away from your lips, pleased to find you subtly chasing his mouth with your own.  You open your eyes and come out of your kiss-induced haze to find him smiling adoringly down at you with both hands now circling your waist.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you once more. 

“Actually, I’m gonna call you tonight.”  He kisses you again.  “Is that okay?”  Another peck.

You're giggling as he places a final kiss on your forehead, “Yes, please.”

“Good.”

Eddie steps back, grabbing your hand to kiss it like he did on Tuesday.  He pulls you back in with that same hand to plant one last kiss on your lips, then jogs back to his truck.  He waves and quickly honks his horn twice as he pulls away.  

You’re left standing at your front door, watching his truck disappear down your street and reliving every moment of your first kiss with Eddie Munson.

When you finally make your way inside, you make sure to smell your brand new beautiful flowers before scurrying off to your bedroom to pick out an outfit for your second date with Eddie tomorrow night.  

TAGLIST:

@josephquinnsfreckles @the-fairy-anon @anukulee @littlebebebunny @meetmeatyourworst @lalalala-melmosworld @someantics @lokis-army-77 @loserboysandlithium @strangerstilinski @mystra-midnight @lesservillain @queenimmadolla @luveline @munson-blurbs @fairyysoup @urhoneycombwitch @oneforthemunny @rebelfell @taintedcigs @wroteclassicaly @eiightysixbaby @bettyfrommars @loveshotzz @lovebugism @carolmunson @rustedhearts @lonelysatellites

[museanddream]

Heaven - part 3 || Ona Batlle x Lucy Bronze x reader

Warnings: 🔞 || threesome, poly relationship, fingering, strap-ons, degrading language, bottom!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Part 3 of 3

Part 1 || Part 2

Ona’s hands on your hips guide you to shuffle slightly further up the bed so that your face is closer to Lucy’s sweat-sheened stomach than her pussy, but she keeps the toy sheathed inside you and you feel every movement tenfold.

“Ona, please,” you whine.

“Shh, you’ll come,” Lucy soothes you with a low voice and her hand cradling the back of your head. “Ona’s gonna make sure of that. D’ya know why?”

If the answer is supposed to be obvious, your mind is too lust-clouded to figure it out. You slowly shake your head as much as Lucy’s hand in your hair will allow.

Lucy is more than happy to supply the answer herself.

“Because I told her to. And Ona’s a good girl. Ona does what I ask her to, when I ask her to do it. Without mouthing off.”

“You asked me to make you come,” you point out, desperate for Lucy’s praise, or at least a hint that she’s pleased with your efforts. “I did that.”

“Suppose you did,” Lucy acknowledges, her hand coming down to stroke your cheek. Her fingers tighten slightly against your jaw, and she adds, “But only after being a brat.”

Behind you, Ona’s slight body curls around your back, hot skin pressed against your own as her voice appears close to your ear.

“Ready, cariño?”

You have to try not to snort. It’s a ridiculous question, you’ve been ready for what feels like hours.

“Give it to her,” Lucy instructs. “You don’t need to be gentle.”

As her hips start to move, Ona isn’t gentle. Gone is the care from before, now the way she fucks into you can only be described as primal. There’s a slap of skin each time she bottoms out inside you, her fingers digging into your hips as she holds you still so she can drive the toy into you.

“She fucks you so well, doesn’t she?” Lucy asks, a hint of pride in her voice as she watches on.

Ona times a particularly deep thrust with you opening your mouth to respond and all that leaves your throat is a particularly debauched cry that will surely leave you hoarse tomorrow. You’re not even coherent enough to feel any shame for the sounds escaping your mouth, let alone to hold a conversation with Lucy while Ona fucks you.

“Answer me,” Lucy growls, tugging at your hair to lift your head to look at her.

“Yes,” you manage to choke. “So good.”

Lucy relinquishes her grip and your head falls forward as you put all your effort into staying in place for Ona.

“How does she feel?” Lucy asks.

For a couple of seconds, you think Lucy’s question is aimed at you again, until Ona answers.

“Good.”

“Tight?” Lucy asks.

“Not anymore,” Ona grunts with the effort of talking while fucking you. “But she’s also just really wet.”

“Course she is. Little slut.” A pause, then Lucy adds, “Come on, give it to her.”

If you had the capacity to string enough words together to form a sentence, you’d tell Lucy that Ona is already giving it to you. Yet Ona surprises you by somehow finding another energy reserve to fuck into you harder. The cock hits so deep inside you with every thrust that you think Ona might actually be trying to fuck you into another dimension.

You manage just a few thrusts like that before you can no longer hold yourself up, arms giving way until your cheek rests on Lucy’s warm stomach and your hips are almost flat to the bed, except for the pillow cushioned beneath them.

Ona falters for just a second as you move, then readjusts her own position, covering your back with her own body as she continues to rut into you. Meanwhile one of Lucy’s hands finds your head again, careful fingers sweeping loose tendrils away from where they’re plastered to the sheen of sweat on your forehead.

“Good girl,” Lucy says, and for the first time since you disobeyed her earlier, there’s a glimmer of warmth in her voice, like she’s almost proud of the way you take everything that they give you. “Taking it so well. Letting Ona fuck you like this. You just love being used, don’t you?”

As much as your earlier pride might have told you to argue back, you do like this. Lucy’s hand in your hair, Ona’s body pressed against your back. It’s comforting to have them both so close, freeing to be able to trust them both so wholeheartedly with your pleasure, to be able to give up control and forget about training and schedules and media for a while.

To be fucked by them, wanted by them, loved by them.

Yet all you manage to choke out is a raspy, “Uh huh.”

Ona’s thrusts are shallower now, the new position against your back not allowing for much more than that. But her movements are still quick and from the little noises she lets out, her breath escaping in hot puffs against your back, you know it must be working for her too, the position pushing the base of the strap against her clit.

Your own clit needs something more and you whine into Lucy’s stomach as you attempt to grind down on the pillow below your hips for some stimulation, but it’s not enough.

“Ona…”

Ona knows your body so well that you don’t need to say anything more for her to know exactly what to give you. Her hips stall for just a second as she adjusts to slip her hand between your body and the pillow, skilful fingers finding your clit as her hips resume.

Each rut inside you has you grinding against Ona’s hand, pleasure building inside you until you know the coil is going to snap.

You nuzzle your face into Lucy’s stomach but she has other ideas, using the hand in your hair to turn and lift your head.

“Stop that,” she murmurs, though her voice is far from scolding. “Told you I wanna see you when you come. Go on. Come for us.”

Lucy’s permission is all it takes for you to hurtle over the edge. Her hand in your hair is what stops the fall from being fatal. She keeps you present as the pleasure tears through your body, Ona’s thrusts into you never relinquishing even as you flutter and clench around the toy. The orgasm feels eternal, or maybe the first one bleeds into a second when Ona’s hips stumble as she slips off the precipice with you, grinding out her own climax with a beautiful cry that gets muffled into the skin of your shoulder.

When it finally subsides, when the pleasure numbs you and you finally stop trembling, Ona’s body still limply pressed against your back, it’s Lucy’s gravelly voice that brings you back to reality.

“Fucking hell. That was something. Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of watching you two together. My gorgeous girls.”

You’re vaguely aware of Ona pressing her lips against your shoulder blades, of Lucy’s hand now caressing your cheek, but you’re too blissed out to open your eyes just yet.

“You okay?” Lucy asks.

You don’t know who the question is aimed at but let Ona answer it.

“Uh huh.” There’s a pause, another gentle kiss against your shoulder, then the low rumble of Ona chuckling against your back as she adds, “I think we broke her.”

“Need a moment,” you mumble, eyes still closed but turning your head to nuzzle into Lucy’s palm.

There’s a shift behind you and you let out a soft cry as Ona withdraws the toy, your cunt spasming around nothing with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Sorry,” Ona whispers, trailing kisses up your spine until she can press her face into your neck. “How about a bath?”

“I’ll go run one,” Lucy pipes up, carefully slipping out from under you and padding away towards the bathroom. Seconds later, you hear the running water start to hit the tub.

Ona carefully rolls you onto your back and you blink open your eyes to watch as she expertly loosens the straps and lets the harness slide down her legs and onto the floor with a thud, before she curls into your side.

“That was good for you too, right?” you ask, as Ona’s arm snakes around your middle and one of her legs hooks over your hips.

Ona’s body shakes a bit as she laughs, then she answers in a low voice, “Did you miss the part where I came inside you?”

Another tremor through your over sensitive cunt. You have no idea if Ona knows how filthy what she just said sounds, or if it’s just a quirk of the translation. Either way, you’re exhausted and you let it slide for now.

“No, I felt it,” you assure her. “Just making sure.”

“It was good for you too, no?”

You turn your head and arch a lazy eyebrow at Ona as if to ask her seriously? Her face cracks open into a pretty smile.

“Just making sure,” she echoes your words back to you teasingly. “Lucy might not be so kind next time though.”

“That was kind?” you scoff.

“We both know she’s capable of worse. I thought for a second she might not let you come at all.”

You pull Ona closer and press your lips absently to her forehead as you hum in agreement.

“So did I.” You poke Ona in the ribs, forcing a little yelp from her lips. “And you wouldn’t help me out if that happened. Not when you’re sucking up to her.”

“It’s not sucking up, it’s avoiding punishment,” Ona teases you, poking you back.

“You just like being her good girl.”

“You’re both my good girls.” Lucy’s voice calls out across the room and you glance up to see her head peering around the door to the ensuite. Her lips curl up into a smirk, then she adds, “Some of the time, anyway.”

Ona pushes herself up onto her elbow, leaning down to capture your lips in a lingering kiss, then nudges you towards Lucy.

“Go and have your bath. I’ll clean up here.”

She kisses you once, twice, three times more, then rolls off to let you go.

Inside the bathroom, the tub is full of bubbles and Lucy has lit a few candles. She flicks off the tap as you enter, then lowers her head in a goofy bow as she gestures towards the bath and says, “M’lady.”

“Join me?” you ask, shooting her a pleading little pout as you step into the hot water.

Lucy is quick to nod and soon you’re settled against her chest, her knees bracketing yours as you sit together amongst the bubbles. Her arms slink around your waist from behind and though you didn’t invite her to join you with the intention of fooling around, it doesn’t take long for her hands to start to wander, first up to your nipples, then one dips lower between your legs.

You’re still a little sensitive, but you let your knees fall open as far as the constraints of the tub and Lucy’s legs either side of you will allow.

“Again?” Your voice slips into a gasp as Lucy’s fingers find your clit.

She moves the hand on your breast up to sweep your hair over one shoulder, then nuzzles her lips into the newly exposed skin of your neck.

“You were the one begging us to make you come twenty minutes ago. I reckon you can handle another one.” Her voice is low and you feel the rumble of it against your back as her fingers start to paint delicate circles around your clit. “Anyway, s’not fair that Ona got to be inside you and I didn’t.”

“I wasn’t the one stopping you,” you remind her. “Fuck, Luce, just like that.”

Two of Lucy’s fingers slide into you easily after being stretched open by Ona’s cock for so long. You’re still sensitive from before and you don’t think it’ll take long to come again, not with Lucy’s body wrapped possessively around you, not with the way her teeth catch lightly against the delicate skin of your neck, and especially not with the way she curls her fingers inside you. The angle from behind makes it hard for her to thrust into you properly but it’s still working for you, the pressure building once again as her fingers work inside you.

“Again, huh?”

You hear Ona’s amused voice in the doorway behind you, but you’re too focused on the wicked things Lucy’s fingers are doing to you to be able to open your eyes and look at her.

Instead, you manage to gasp out, “Lucy started it.”

“You’re not complaining though, are ya?” Lucy asks.

You slowly roll your hips into her hand as her fingers move inside you.

“Fuck no.”

“You gonna join us?” Lucy asks Ona, as she withdraws her fingers and returns them to your clit, rubbing circles just above the hood that drive you crazy.

“Don’t think the tub is big enough for three,” Ona replies, stepping into the bathroom and lowering the lid of the toilet seat so she can sit down and enjoy the view. “But I’m happy to watch.”

You’re already embarrassingly close again, the thought of Ona spectating is enough to ensure that.

Lucy’s lips find the side of your neck once more, kissing where your pulse flutters at the crux of your jaw.

“You gonna come again for Ona, baby? To thank her for fucking you so nicely.”

It’s hard to believe the contrast between this Lucy, and the Lucy from earlier. The same Lucy who denies you orgasms, who calls you a slut when you politely ask to be allowed to come, who refers to a strap-on as hers even when its harness is attached to Ona’s hips, is almost offering your next orgasm to Ona as a gift despite being the one to make you come this time.

“I’m so close,” you whine. “Please, Luce.”

“You want me inside again?”

“No, just like this. I’m gonna come if you keep…”

“That’s it,” Lucy encourages you, as she keeps the pressure on your clit and sends her other hand up to shamelessly grope your tit. “Come for us, babygirl.”

It just takes a few more seconds, a few more touches, and you’re doing exactly like that, letting out a cry that echoes against the bathroom tiles as you tumble over the edge once more. It’s not as intense as the first one, numbed slightly by the earlier orgasm that almost tore your body apart, but just as pleasurable.

The water sloshes against the side of the tub as you sink back against Lucy’s chest, boneless, and she removes her hand from between your legs to wrap it around your middle instead.

“What d’ya think?”

“Beautiful.” Ona’s response to Lucy’s question is immediate. “I love watching you together.”

“I love you,” you mumble hazily. Your hand finds one of Lucy’s knees and squeezes, adding, “Both of you.”

“And I love how soppy you get when we’ve made you come so hard you can barely think,” Lucy chuckles against your back.

“Well, if you’re trying to stop me from ‘being a brat’, as you put it, I can’t say it’s working. That was all sorts of incredible.”

“Don’t worry, sweetie.” Lucy’s voice is low and dangerous, her hot breath against your neck sending a ripple of goosebumps down your spine. “I’ve got worse punishments lined up for next time you mouth off. We’re only just getting started with you.”

[scoops-aboy86]

Secret Admirer

Steddie Week 2024, July 1: Mystery / secret relationship / One Night Alone by Vixen

wc: 2131 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

cw: negative self talk (steve), allusions to unhealthy use of drugs and alcohol (eddie), and one horny paragraph

In the first few letters, Eddie had tried to disguise his handwriting. It occurred to him after a while, though, that there would be no reason for someone like Steve Harrington to recognize it, so he stopped. And he was right, nothing happened. 

Steve hasn’t figured out the secret admirer letters he kept answering were written by none other than the official Freak of Hawkins High. Hell, Steve hasn’t even worked out that he’s a he. Though a few vaguely worded sentences every now and then suggest that Steve might not be assuming she either, which is…interesting. Possibly nothing, but interesting all the same. And Eddie knows he’s probably just stringing himself along by doing this, but he’s about to repeat his senior year of high school for the third goddamn time and this is a better option than drinking or dipping into the harder stuff that Reefer Rick expects him to sell. Broken heart likely, but at least he doesn’t wake up with a headache or the shakes.

Now it’s well into summer, and the PO Box he’d had since he was sixteen (for Blueboys and other mags that would get him equally tarred and feathered if anyone finds out) gets mail every damn day.

Eddie looks down at the most recent letter, rereading it for the hundredth time with a joint in one hand, several empty beer cans littering the bedspread and floor of his room around him. 

Dear Secret Admirer, Hey, I’m sorry if I came on too strong in my last couple of letters. I get why you don’t want to tell me who you are. We probably went to high school together, right? You don’t write like a middle schooler and no one who graduates sticks around in this stupid town besides me. I guess that makes me stupid means you probably knew me when I was still a douchebag. Sorry about that. I hope I never said anything to you or let Tommy push you around. Except I don’t know why you would’ve started writing to me in the first place if I had? It’s not like I would’ve written back if I was still that popular guy who everyone talked to and thought was so cool. Yeah, I admit it, I thought I was hot shit back then too! But it turns out, they only give you the spotlight as long as you don’t put a toe out of line. Don’t point out when they’re being assholes. You wouldn’t believe the kind of shit some people will say when they think you already agree with them about everything.  Anyway, I’m trying to be better now. Genuinely, if I’m not, if I’ve been an asshole in these letters at all, please tell me. And it’s not like I’m tired of writing to you, I just. Wouldn’t getting to talk in person be even better? Or we don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to, that’s okay! You can come by Scoops and tell me it’s you and I’ll give you a free ice cream cone or something, whatever you want. Because actions speak louder than words, right? You keep sending me all these nice letters, and I’m not the best with words so I want to give you something too. (I don’t mean that like That wasn’t a come-on, I swear. Shit, I should rewrite this again but this is already the fifth draft, it’s not getting any better than this. Sorry.) — Steve PS, I don’t know if you have been to Scoops already, but if you’ve seen my coworker’s whiteboard I swear I’m not interested just because I keep striking out. Turns out I don’t actually know how to talk to girls without being weird. It’s weird being done with high school and not have that stuff in common to talk about, and I used to be this cool guy that I’m really not anymore so I panic and all this bullshit (who am I kidding) bullshit comes out my mouth and it’s EMBARRASSING. Anyway. I really like your letters, it’s been great having someone to talk to even if it’s not really talking a face to face thing, and I’m not just saying that because I’m kind of a loser now. Anyway, have a nice day! Fuck, Robin is right, I SUCK

The first bullshit in the postscript is crossed out so hard there’s a tear in the paper. All the scribbled out bits are borderline illegible, like Steve really tried, but Eddie can still make out most of it and can guess the rest from context. The very last word, for example, is totally obscured, but he has seen the You Rule / You Suck board, so. Yeah.

It makes his heart ache, the way Steve talks about himself sometimes. The way his insecurities bleed through artlessly on the page like coffee stains. Eddie alternates between wanting to wrap him up in soft things to protect him from whatever sharpness left him so cut open, and wanting to smother him with kisses for the bravery in being so genuine with a nameless, faceless stranger. 

Except Steve isn’t his. Steve is straight, for all he’s apparently being kind enough not to make assumptions, and could never want Eddie in the same way. And it’s not fair, the hanging back that Eddie’s been doing, holding out now that Steve has come to look forward to his letters just because of a little (huge, massive, life-threatening) fear of rejection. 

He’s been dragging his heels so long that Steve is feeling rejected, and that just won’t do. 

Sighing, Eddie takes another long drag before stubbing the remaining nub of the joint out. Scrubs his hands across his face and considers getting another beer. Or maybe forgetting the corner he’s backed himself into, with Steve wanting to meet—not only to satisfy the curiosity of knowing who his secret admirer is, but because he actually seems to like the person writing to him. (Actually wrote that they didn’t have to talk if Eddie didn’t want to, Jesus H. Christ, why did he have to be such a fucking sweetheart about that?) 

It’s late, and he’s already stripped restlessly down to just his boxers for bed. He could push it all aside, push his hands down the front of his underwear and get lost in different thoughts about Steve for a while, for the trillionth time. God knows that always works to clear his head, sometimes twice if he’s ambitious about it, enough for sleep to take him. 

Instead, Eddie drops the letter on his bed and hunts around on his desk for a notebook he can stand to tear a few more pages out of. Once he has what he needs, he chews on the end of his pen for several minutes  before putting it to the paper.

Steve, my beloved, It has been some time since I’ve replied. My deepest apologies for that, as it seems like you’ve taken that to mean something I absolutely did not intend. I received all of your letters, and “too strong” is not how I would describe them. They were lovely, sweetheart. I have reread them many times, I have slept with them under my pillow, I have cried happy tears over them for the thought that you might actually share my affection enough to want so badly to know who I am.  Very quickly, to address some of your questions and concerns: One, we did share some years in high school, yes, and I’m pleased to read that you think my writing is at a level appropriate to someone approximately our age. (I wish more of my teachers shared that view, but alas, I’m pretty sure that most of them hate me. Except for the drama teacher, who would let me get away with murder as long as I didn’t stain or break any of his props with the act.) Two, Hagan was a dick, but more to my friends than me directly, and the worst you ever did was laugh when I dropped my books a few times, that sort of thing. Water under the bridge, fuck high school, etc. etc.. Three, you have not engaged in any assholery in your writing, or in any of your actions that I’ve seen in a long time.  And four… you should’ve left the double entendre (i.e. the “I want to give you something too”); I wouldn’t have minded.  Obviously I think of you as prime boyfriend material—thoughtful, good sense of humor and humility, and whenever those younger kids swing by to pester you at the mall you put up a good front of being exasperated and annoyed, but through all that I can tell you care about them. (They say never trust someone who would hurt an animal, it works for kids too.)  But you’re also a total smoke show, baby. The effortless way you moved around the basketball court, same as in the water when you were still on the swim team, and in those indecently tiny shorts. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running my fingers up the inside of those thighs. Or my mouth. Whichever you think you’d like best, baby, I’m not picky. And while I do like ice cream, particularly strawberry with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, I can think of something else I’d love to wrap my hand around and run my tongue over before any drips can escape. You just think about that, hmm? Maybe share some of those thoughts in your reply, if I haven’t scared you off with this paragraph.  It was a relief to write that, to be honest. I am not without my fantasies, you see; in a lot of ways, they’re all I have. The real reason I’ve been hesitant to respond to all of your heartfelt entreaties to meet, sweetheart, is that I’m afraid. I’ve been head over heels for you for so long—for your looks before anything else, I’ll admit, but the douchebag boy from high school that you mentioned is long gone. A man stands in his place, and what a man you are. In writing to you, I wanted to make clear first and foremost how ardently I admire and love you, lest my feelings be mistaken for mere tawdry teen lust.  And hopefully I’ve succeeded. If so, can you see now how actions can be carved in with the words? It is the intent that shines through, and I can read in between the lines, Steve, that you are being genuinely honest with yours. All those disparaging remarks you made about yourself in your last letter, both crossed out and not, are probably you being too hard on yourself, but they speak to the fact that you both understand you’ve made mistakes in the past and are trying to pay penance for them. That, along with your fantastic hair and magnificent ass, are just a few of the reasons I remain, as always— Your Secret Admirer P.S. I don’t mind weird. Like it, even. Bring it on, big boy.  P.P.S.  If all I could ever have with you is one night alone, I’d take it and be grateful.

Eddie’s letter is almost twice as long as Steve’s, but whatever. That’s par for the course; he never expected Steve to be much of a wordsmith, even though the guy is clearly putting in a lot of effort. Writes drafts, apparently. Unlike Eddie, who bangs all that out in pretty much one go and merely skims it before sliding it in an envelope, sealing it in, slapping on a stamp and address, and throwing it off the bed. 

Then he falls into bed and strips his dick to the thought of Steve reading the letter and thinking about his mouth, half in a hot anonymous way and half in some imaginary reality where Steve knows it’s him and wants this just as badly. Of Steve groaning out how good it feels and maybe wanting to hold him after, fall asleep together, like they’re…

The next morning (or afternoon, whatever, it’s summer vacation), Eddie reviews his slightly fuzzy memory of the letter after stepping on the envelope and realizing, oh, right. Overly verbose and dramatic, the way he always is but even more so when tipsy. And… fuck it. One horny paragraph, he decides, won’t be the end of the world. Maybe it will scare Steve off; maybe he’ll enjoy it. Let fate decide, just like at the dnd table. 

Eddie shoves the envelope into the mail drop box just outside the trailer park gate on his way into town and sends a prayer out to no god in particular that he hasn’t just rolled a nat one.

~

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve

Tagging some folks who expressed interest about this story in my Wiggly Wednesday post last week, let me know if you don't want to be tagged going forward: @steviewashere @cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve

@rozzieroos @lunaraindrop @just-my-latest-hyperfixation

[pers1st]

i'm there regardless of the pain

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

notes: this is more r focused and very short, mentions of death, idk i don’t like it but whatever

Dropping down onto your bed, you let out a breath you've been holding for the past three weeks. It's been three long weeks since that phone call with your father, three weeks of being home and trying to pick up the pieces of your family's life, shattered by the sudden death of your mother. It's been three incredibly difficult weeks, and despite the fact that you've been longing for Alexia ever since you've left Barcelona, you make no move to reach for her as she slides into bed beside you.

"Do you want to talk about it?", she asks, hesitation in her voice. The two of you haven't been dating for that long, haven't been dating long enough for her to finally be introduced to your family, not even long enough for you to tell your parents.

Do you want to talk about it? Not necessarily. All you've been doing for three weeks is to talk about it. To welcome all the neighbors into your home who dropped off food as an excuse to sneak in on your life, gather information to spread it through the neighborhood, all with a fake smile and goggling eyes.

"No."

You don't think you can talk about it anymore. All of the words have left you already, have left you after accepting every wish of condolences at the funeral, have left you at the reception afterwards, have left you since you've read the eulogy you'd prepared on your own. Even if you open your mouth, you're not sure a single word about your mother would escape.

Alexia deserves to hear about her. To hear about the incredibly kind woman who raised you, who gifted you with so much love and support all throughout your life, who was the absolute anchor of you and your brother's life, who was the love of your father's life and left him behind shattered. You wish you could tell your girlfriend all about her, make up for the fact that you are the reason she never met the woman, but you can't.

"Do you want to take your mind off it?"

It surprises you. You don't think you've ever heard your girlfriend string more than one sentence of English together without the odd Spanish slipping in between. It makes you smile, but even the knowledge that she is really trying to help you can't mend the pain in your chest.

Truthfully, there is no taking your mind off it. Your mother's ghost floats in front of you every time you close your eyes, her voice whispers into your ears constantly, if you try hard enough, you can feel the traces of her arms around your frame. She is everywhere, yet she is buried in the ground somewhere in your hometown, left alone under the cold mud and an arrangement of flowers, rain casting over her.

"No."

Alexia doesn't reply for a second, and the room is so silent you want the bed to swallow you, you want to drop under the mattress and let the darkness engulf you. There is no taking your mind off it, perhaps for the rest of your life. How are you supposed to carry on when everything pulls you back?

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

At that, your glance across the ceiling lowers. Alexia looks up at you with her wide, stormy eyes and for a second, you feel your breath falter.

"No."

You never, ever want Alexia to leave you alone. Despite the fact that you went to your own apartment with an Uber, not even caring to let your girlfriend pick you up from the airport, only letting her know you arrived back in Barcelona and leaving her to guess your whereabouts, despite the fact that you sent her a total of five messages and declined every phone call for three long, impossibly difficult weeks, you never, ever want Alexia to leave you alone.

She seems to believe you, despite the fact that you make no effort to look at her again, and settles her head on your shoulder, using her hand to provide a little cushion.

You missed her return. You missed her comeback to the pitch, one that the two of you had been anticipating for a few months. You missed Barcelona's first Champions League quarterfinal, and if Alexia has any say in it, you will miss the next one as well. Because despite the fact that your breathing is calm, that she feels your heart beating regularly in your chest, she knows just how heavy the burden is that you are forced to carry. She feels the gravity of it all, sees it in your eyes, despite the fact that you won't look at her. She is not just your girlfriend, she is also your captain, and both of her positions worry about you immensely.

"You never got to know her."

Admittedly, you told Alexia you didn't want to speak about it, so the breath she draws in doesn't shock you. You don't want to talk about it, but if it's occupying your whole mind, what else are you supposed to speak about?

"I know."

There it is again. The Spanish accent that rolls off her tongue so easily, slipping in between the words.

"I told my dad. About us", you say next, and once again, Alexia draws in a sharp breath.

You met Alexia's family regularly, having been accepted as one of their own by both Eli, Alba and the rest of her relatives, but Alexia wasn't even a known name to either of your parents, at least prior to last week. It's not that you are ashamed of her - quite the opposite of it, actually. It's rather that sometimes, you feel ashamed of your family. They accepted it when you came out, but they never mentioned it again. You are bi, not gay, and so at every opportunity, they would throw men your way, you figure in hopes to keep the image of a normal family. Alexia doesn't deserve to know the critical gazes of both your parents, although you figure your mother would've accepted her happily. Your father-

"What did he say?"

You shrug.

"I don't even know if he heard me. He was crying, no- screaming, for someone to make the pain stop. I don't know if he heard me, but if he did, he didn't mention it again."

It gives Alexia just an idea of how horrible the past three weeks of your life must have been. She saw it as well- when her own father passed, yet her mother kept herself together enough to be strong for her children. His death was inevitable, and although it pained Alexia to this very day, she knows it's nothing like your situation. Your mother just fell asleep one day, and the next morning, she was dead. She still is.

"Amor, I am so sorry."

"It's fine. I don't want to talk about it", you huff as Alexia tentatively stretches an arm across your chest, placing it in the centre to feel your heartbeat. It is still regular.

That's how you spend the next few hours, your stare fixed on the ceiling, Alexia's alternating between your features, the ceiling and her hand on your chest. You are in an unbearable amount of pain, your girlfriend knows, she feels it weighing down on you, feels it sitting on your shoulder and snarling into your ear. Regardless, she is there. She will always be there. Even if you don't want to talk about it. Even if you don't want to take your mind off it. And even if you had wanted her to leave you alone- she would be there, regardless of the pain.

[physalian]

Fuck Grammarly

Okay I need to rant about Grammarly. A program I never used before and never will now. Doubly pissed because their ads keep interrupting my peaceful 4-hour Minecraft music session with their fake-ass influencers.

Guys. Gals. Nonbinary pals.

“As a corporate girlie—” learn how to write a proper concise email.

“I used to spend hours proofreading—” enjoy the process, and then the product.

If you hate proofreading, to the point where you’ll consult a robot to do it all for you, then you hate writing. If all you care about is the end product, sorry to say but ‘writing’ is like, 30% of writing. The other 70% is editing, by design. You’re supposed to like it.

Of course I’d love to have beautiful artwork of whatever’s in my head, but I’m going to love whatever I make a whole lot more than whatever I type into some garbage generator. Because I love the process of creation.

Do I think editing is tedious as hell? Absolutely, but it’s still a tedium that I enjoy. I like fixing my mistakes, I like improving my sentence flow. I like thinking about patterns and connections that I didn’t see before and revising and reworking until I’m satisfied.

For the humdrum day to day work emails that some of us have to write—if you’re sending out whole essays to your coworkers that you need a robot to write for you, you’re doing it wrong. Corporate emails are boring and trite, but I can type out a “hey please do this thing for me” faster than I can load up ChatGPT or Grammarly, type out my prompt, make sure the result is what I actually want to say, and then send it to my coworker. If you can’t, learn.

Apparently, Grammarly used to be a helpful way to check for spelling and grammar errors. I don’t have any issue with the AI that runs spellchecker whatsoever. I type so fast and miss typos constantly and when the spellchecker is absent, like on this website, it’s annoying af.

But that’s not what Grammarly is about anymore, and that’s not what the above ad was trying to sell you, either.

You won’t get better if you don’t practice. You won’t get better if you aren’t the one making, seeing, and fixing your mistakes. Especially if you write fiction where grammar rules are a suggestion at best. My published novel is littered with flagged words and sentence fragments that I know are technically improper English, but I sacrificed an MLA-proof paper for something fun and entertaining.

AI does not understand nuance and flavor text and aesthetic choices. It never will.

If you train yourself by using a crutch you don’t need, you will end up needing it because you’ll be too afraid to act without it.

Fuck up. Make a mess. Make mistakes. You won’t make them for long once you see them. You do not need a robot to do it for you. We’ve been writing books for hundreds of years and all the authors who came before did it just fine without a robot.

This isn’t even about writing novels, it’s about communicating in the written medium. Fucking. Learn. It’s not rocket science, it’s not coding in C++, it’s not brain surgery. It’s stringing words together in a comprehensible sentence.

And obligatory disclaimer: To anyone who has an impairment and needs these tools, this is not about you and you know it.

[thedovesaredying]

Hi I'm hyperfixated over your zombie! Ghost and I've been reading it every hour since it was up, it's the idea of him only acting upon his own primal urges get me going 🤤 i don't know if your zombie! Ghost is a dead person who became zombie or just an infected living human but either way I'm so down!!

I thought about what if reader leaves the muzzle on him all the time and do the usual stuff, pull him by it when they walk about looking for food and medicine, loosen it a bit when he tries to eat whatever is in his zombies menu and of course tugging it backwards as you ride him 🩵

- 🌋

Anon! Your brain!! 

I’m glad I’m not the only one weak for our Zombie lad. I actually have a bunch more I want to write about him, so feel free to request more for him at any point uwu 

A little snippet for you below the cut <3 

Words: 780

Rating: NSFW

Warnings: Teratophilia, PnV, Unprotected Sex, Muzzles.

Reminder, this is an 18+ account!

Ghost has been in quite a huff with you recently or, at least, you think he is. It’s a little difficult to tell given his difficulty stringing full sentences together after the infection ravaged his brain. He’s still cognisant and able to get his thoughts across to you (even if most of those thoughts involve being hungry or wanting to fulfil certain urges).  

However, his attention span isn’t the greatest and he’s constantly getting distracted by things in your surroundings. Wandering off like a toddler at every new sound, checking to see if there’s food or a potential threat hiding around every corner. No matter how many times you ask him to try and focus, he’ll inevitably end up finding trouble.  

The other zombies aren’t much of a problem since he can chase them off with a few well-placed swipes and growls to remind them of their place. It’s the other survivors you’re worried about. It’s a lawless land out here and anyone that’s survived this long knows to shoot first and ask questions later. This doesn’t bode well for your zombified partner. He’s an enemy and when he has his sights on a potential meal there’s little you can do to deter him from attacking.  

Hence, it’s easier to simply keep him at your side. The muzzle works wonders for when you need to gently steer him away from distractions, even if he occasionally gets a little grumpy at having to be pulled around by his face. He can’t nose his face up against you properly when it’s in place which often makes him grumble and sigh a tad overdramatically.  

You take it off when you go to sleep, after all, it wouldn't do you any good to have your guard dog unable to use his best weapons. Ghost doesn’t require sleep anymore, so he makes an excellent protector for when you’re in your most vulnerable state.  

He stays with you all throughout the night, his body pressed up against your back and his arms caging you to his chest. His lips are dry and completely missing in some parts, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to lave every inch of you with kisses. A soft rumbling sound always accompanies his affections, almost a purr.  

But the uses of a muzzle don’t stop at simply helping to direct your companion whenever he starts to drift away. It’s particularly useful for manipulating his face to exactly where you want it, be it away from something he wants or toward the places you require his attention.  

Riding him is only more intense when you’re able to grip at the thick leather straps keeping his muzzle in place. He tries to press his mouth to your throat, but you hold him back, forcing his milky white eyes to stare directly into your own as you slowly sink down on his cock. It’s beautiful, the way his eyelids flutter and a frankly sinful groan escapes him.  

“Good boy,” you coo, earning yourself a rough jerk of Ghost’s hips. He starts rocking his body up and into your warmth, his gloved hands raising to grip at your waist.  

He pulls you down and onto him over and over again in time with his rapid thrusts, snarling and growling all the while. Ghost might not be able to shift his gaze from your blissed out expression, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less in control. The pace he sets is downright brutal, bullying his entire length into your sopping cunt until it nudges at your cervix.  

Even when you gasp at the sensation and one of your hands grips at his hair he doesn’t faulter. Your noises seem only to urge him on, his panting breath heavy as he endeavours to draw out at many sounds from your lips as physically possible. His intense gaze from where you hold his face only heightens the experience, his eyes scrutinising each and every expression you offer.  

You grow close to orgasm almost embarrassingly fast, but all it takes is a raspy, possessive, “mine,” snarled at you to have your pussy clamping down around Ghost’s cock.  

With your body growing weak from coming so hard, Ghost takes full advantage of your distraction, pushing you down and onto your back without missing a single beat in his current rhythm. He keeps going all through your orgasm, the slick from your tender hole only helping to easy his way. He doesn’t let up with his desperate chanting of, “mine, mine, mine,” right up until he spills deep inside you.  

Your attempts to dominate him hadn’t exactly gone to plan. Perhaps next time you should use some handcuffs as well.  

[greenfiend]

Will Byers the Love Guru

In Stranger Things 3, he’s the one who’s “not gonna fall in love”, yet he’s out there fixing every one else’s relationship problems…

Lucas/Max

Jonathan/Nancy

Dustin/Suzie

Hopper/Joyce

and even…

Mike/Eleven…

So come along on this wild journey with me as I explain Will’s influence on those pairings…

Before I begin, I must remind you that everything is intentional within this show. If Will suddenly appears within a shot or someone says or does something that doesn’t seem relevant… it is still relevant but just not in the way you might initially think.

I’m going to start with the more simple “fixes” and end with the most complicated.

Lucas/Max

Their relationship in ST3 was fairly low key. Their “breakups” were not serious and were always temporary. Lucas does mess up at times though.

Oops! Code red! Code red! Lucas needs some help asap!

Well that was a close call! Thanks to Will of course, who magically appeared in this shot and clearly influenced Lucas.

Will understands the mysteries of the female species better than these guys clearly. Not sure what they’d do without him.

Jonathan/Nancy

Jonathan and Nancy had a major fight in ST3, and Will is having none of his big bro’s BS! He instantly calls him out for not being there for Nancy.

Will strikes again! Thank goodness for his influence. What a good little bro!

Dustin/Suzie

Okay, things are getting stranger now.

No one believes Dustin has a girlfriend… except for our dear lil Will! But I can’t really blame the others, she did seem unbelievable. I mean she did come from “Camp Know Where”. Sounds pretty made up to me.

Did Will conjure her up? Well… let’s just say it’s interesting that the first ever shot we see of her involves her holding up a book about a wizard… I’m not ruling this out as a possibility… 🧙🏻‍♂️

Hopper/Joyce

Oh Will… sweet sweet Will. He’s worried about his mother, and doesn’t want her to be alone anymore… so what does he do, you ask? Well…

He Marty Mcflys it! He influences Hopper by “flaying” him and pushes him together with his mom!

Things get a tad awkward though. But his intentions were pure!

Mike/Eleven

So… this one is the most complicated one because Will is very biased here obviously. He’s hopelessly in love with Mike. In the beginning, he had a hand in Mike and El’s breakup as he was pulling the strings behind Hopper’s intervention. Hopper “threatened” Mike due to Will’s influence. Now, don’t worry, Will didn’t actually threaten to kill Mike, Mike made that very clear.

Mike and Will have their epic rain fight and things are tense.

Until… Will has a change of heart.

Notice how Will is clearly in the shot here? Well it’s because he is wanting to give his “olive branch” to Mike. He’s tried of the tension between them and wants to make things right.

Look at the words here! These are not Mike’s words. They’re Will’s words to Mike!

Both of these moments are Will putting words into Mike’s mouth, just as he did to Lucas, Jonathan, and Hopper! But he’s not as successful.

The first moment was just bad timing as El was not even present. The second time, the connection was poor, that’s why Mike was literally drawing blanks and unable to complete his sentences. We know this because the walkie talkie call from Dustin provided the subtext for it.

Mike actually doesn’t even remember saying the words because Will said them for him…

In conclusion, Will is a great love guru, but still cannot fix Mike and El’s problems. Dunno if even the most powerful wizard could successfully fix their problems…

[shootmetwice25]

Moonlight to Sunrise

Tzuyu x Male Reader

Shoutout to @capslocked for helping me with the plot. Super unedited lol. BFH go brrrrrrrr. Enjoy!

2.2k Words

“Moonlight sunrise”

Loud applause follows after Jihyo closes the new Twice song. You clap as well before standing up from your table and making your way over to the bar. JYP set up a company party to celebrate Twice’s new english release and there’s an open bar, so might as well take advantage of that.

You take a sip of your drink as the members take turns thanking the staff. Another loud applause as Twice exit the stage. Conversation resumes filling up the large room as you continue to sip your drink. You’ve been part of the producing team for Twice for years now and this is the first time there’s been a party for the release of a new song. As long as you get free drinks, you’re all for it. 

You’re too busy soaking it all in that you don’t realize that a young woman approached you. 

“Hey,” she says. Her soft voice alerts you to her presence. 

“Oh, hi Tzuyu.”

She looks a little sideways at you. “What are you doing here all alone? Shouldn’t you be celebrating with your team?”

“Uh, I was just getting a drink,” you say, holding up the glass you have in your hand.

“Yeah, I see that,” she says. An awkward silence lingers in the air for a few seconds before Tzuyu speaks again. “So uh, we haven’t talked in a while. Since…” her voice trails off.

You look away from her before finishing her sentence. “Since you dumped me.” 

“Yeah,” she says.

“So, how are you guys?” you ask, taking a large swig of your drink before placing it down on the table. 

“Oh, we aren’t together anymore. It just didn’t click, you know.”

A lot of things go through your mind as you hear that new piece of information. You look at her and nod. “Right.”

“I should probably get going,” you say as you look at your watch. “Boss wants me in early tomorrow morning.

You start to stand but Tzuyu grabs your arm with her gloved hand. “Wait,” she says. “I- I need to talk to you.”

“You broke my heart, Tzu. And I know it’s been a while but I just don’t feel like I can just talk to you right now,” you say before gently removing her hand from your arm.

You walk through the doors and into the parking lot, unsure of what you should be feeling. She left you for another guy and they aren’t even together anymore. She broke your heart for nothing. 

You reach your car and unlock the door, but before you open it, you hear a voice yelling “Wait!” You sigh as you watch Tzuyu run to you. Her black outfit blends into the darkness of the night, but the moonlight illuminates her figure.

When she reaches you, she doesn’t even give you a chance to say anything. She lunges at you, pinning your body between the car door and herself and she kisses you. 

You are absolutely shocked and it takes you a second before you push her off of you. “Tzuyu, what are you doing?!”

She pants, out of breath from running. “I-I made a mistake. I was stupid. I need you,” she says frantically. “Being away from you made me realize that you’re the one I want. You’re the one I need. And I know you still want me too. I can see it in your eyes everytime you look at me.”

“How- how do I know you’re not just bullshitting?”

She takes a deep breath. “Let me show you.”

Tzuyu closes the distance and attaches her lips to your once again. This time you don’t resist and you kiss her back. She was right. You still want her. You’ve missed her. You’ve missed her touch, her soft lips, everything about her you’ve missed. 

The kiss is full of passion. A reaffirmation of feelings that were always there. Your lips are still connected by a string of saliva when Tzuyu slowly pulls away from the kiss. You both pant and stare into each other’s eyes. 

Suddenly Tzuyu drops to her knees and starts to undo your belt.

“Wait Tzuyu. What are you doing? Right here? Right now?”

“Just let me do this, okay,” she says as she’s able to get your pants undone and slide them down your legs. 

You don’t protest. If Tzuyu wants to blow you in the middle of a parking lot, who are you to say no?

She holds your semi hard cock in her gloved hand and licks the tip, immediately hardening your cock and sending shockwaves through your body. Tzuyu licks a few more times then puts half your cock into her mouth. Her mouth is so warm and moist. Her saliva coats your cock and her tongue swirls giving you an intense sensation. Her right hand pumps the base of your cock, the glove giving her extra friction. You haven’t felt Tzuyu’s touch in so long that you almost cum immediately. 

“Fuck Tzuyu,” you moan as you place your hands on Tzuyu’s head, guiding her head back and forth. You watch as Tzuyu’s head bobs in the moonlight. You never thought you’d be able to get intimate with Tzuyu again, but here you are, in a parking lot, getting a blowjob by the prettiest woman in existence. 

You want this to last forever, but a combination of the situation and Tzuyu’s incredible ability to blow your cock, you feel your orgasm coming. 

“I’m gonna cum, Tzu,” you grunt, barely able to get the words out because of the pleasure.

Tzuyu releases your cock from her lips with a pop and starts pumping it with her hand. You moan loudly as your cum shoots onto Tzuyu, painting her perfect face. Rope after rope of your warm cum coats her face. You wish there was more light so you could really see her face.

Tzuyu puts your sensitive cock back into her mouth to clean it up and you groan and almost fall over. She giggles before standing up and taking off the glove on her right hand. She stares at you as she glides her finger across her cheek where it collects some of the cum. Then she puts the finger in her mouth.

“Mmmm,” she moans. “You taste so good.” 

She does it again and again. And you just watch her. It’s so sexy and seductive. 

“Let’s go back to my apartment,” she says. 

————————————————————————

The short drive back to her apartment is filled with sexual tension. Tzuyu cleans her face off with a combination of her finger and a tissue. It’s extremely hard for you to keep your eyes on the road. Luckily, there aren’t that many cars on the road tonight. 

The second Tzuyu opens the door, the two of you are on each other like wild animals. Your lips are all over each other, tongues exploring every nook and cranny of the other. Tzuyu flicks the switch to a small lamp that slightly brightens the room enough for you to see all her beautiful features. 

Tzuyu pushes you down onto a couch then quickly takes off her gloves and furry top. She takes her bra off too, revealing her small and cute mounds. She also drops her pants to the floor and she’s just left in a lacy black underwear. 

Her figure is special. Her tits are small but just the right size for her. Her waist is incredibly slim that leads to wide hips. Her ass is plump and nice and round. And her legs. Oh, her legs. You’ve spent an unknown amount of time staring and worshiping her legs. Her thighs legitimately make your mouth water.

Tzuyu lets you stare at her body for a few moments then she kneels down and slides your pants and underwear off your legs. Your cock is already rock hard. 

Tzuyu maneuvers her body so that her chest is right above your cock. “I haven’t done this before,” she says as she squeezes her tits together and impales your cock in between her breasts. 

“Does it feel good?” Tzuyu asks, moving her chest up and down.

“Fuck yes Tzuyu. It feels really good,” you say as you moan.

Tzuyu smiles. “Good”.  Then Tzuyu begins to suck the tip of your cock with her lips as she pumps your cock with her tits.

“Ohhhhh, fuck Tzuyu,” you groan. This is the first time she’s given you a titjob and her tits may be small, but everything she does makes you feel so damn good.

It doesn’t take long before you feel another orgasm coming. 

“I’m cumming,” you grunt as a rope of cum shoots up and lands on Tzuyu’s neck. She moans as your cum paints her breasts. Her breasts milk your cock dry and you slump back into the couch. Tzuyu does the same thing as before and takes her finger to taste more of your cum.

“Mmmmmm. So good,” she moans. “Let’s go to the bedroom.” 

She helps you up and the two of you make your way to her bedroom, your tongues exploring each other’s mouth the whole way there. 

“Eat me,” Tzuyu says as she lays on her back on the bed. Her fingers have moved her panties to the side revealing her pussy.

You don’t have to be told twice. You dive right in between her thighs. Her taste is so sweet. Like nectar from a goddess. You lick and suck her pussy, wanting to taste as much of her as you can. Tzuyu’s hands grip your hair, pulling you into her more. Her moans are heavenly. Soon, you can’t hear her moans anymore as her thighs wrap around your head, covering your ears. The more pleasure she feels the tighter her thighs squeeze your head. Her thighs squeeze tighter and tighter and it gets hard to breathe. She’s getting close and she won’t let your head go until she cums. There’s a good chance that you’ll die from suffocation or a crushed skull from her thighs. And honestly, there’s no other way you would want to die from. You keep eating her until she’s satisfied or you die. You can’t hear or see anything. You just use your tongue to pleasure her.

You feel Tzuyu’s body shake and the pressure on your skull increases tenfold. You wouldn’t be surprised if your skull actually gets crushed by her massive thighs. Luckily for you, after a few moments of intense shaking from Tzuyu, you feel the pressure begin to relieve and eventually you hear Tzuyu moaning and panting. Tzuyu’s juices are all over your mouth and you do your best to lap it all up. 

“Fuck me,” Tzuyu demands as she gets on all fours. 

You take up a position behind her and insert your cock into her soaking wet pussy. There isn’t a need for teasing. She needs you and you need her.

You grab her hips and push your cock all the way into her, as far as you can. Both of you let out loud moans. 

“You’re so big,” Tzuyu moans. 

Your cock is super sensitive from the two orgasms from early so you know if you go too fast this won’t last as long as you or her want, so you decide on long deep strokes. 

You get into a rhythm, making sure to hit her deepest spot and to pull her hips back into you as you thrust into her. 

“Oh fuck, you stretch me so much,” Tzuyu groans. “Keep fucking me like that.”

You keep going. You watch as her ass ripples and thighs jiggle with each thrust. 

Tzuyu looks back at you. “Fuck me harder.”

If you fuck her harder, you’ll cum soon, but she wants it, so you’ll give it to her. You move your hands and grab on to her still cum soaked tits and you start to pound her.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Tzuyu’s screams are in sync with each hard and fast thrust into her. 

The sound of wet skin slapping echoes in the room along with your grunts and Tzuyu’s moans. 

You fuck her hard and fast as long as you can. 

“I’m- gonna- cum,” you say in between grunts and through gritted teeth. 

“Yes! Cum in me! Please cum in me, baby!” Tzuyu yells out.

One final thrust and you lodge your cock deep into Tzuyu and cum erupts. You have no idea how you still have so much cum. It must be the power of Tzuyu. 

Tzuyu moans as your cock completely fills her with your warm cum. Her body spazzes from another orgasm as well. Both of her hands are on top of yours on her breasts. It’s pure bliss. 

Once your orgasm passes you fall straight back onto the bed. You have no energy left but Tzuyu climbs between your legs and starts to lick your cock.

“Tzuyu, I’m so tired,” you say weakly. 

Tzuyu giggles. “We have to make up for the lost time. Baby, let’s do it all night.”

…

[juneknight]

.Be Lost. || 2.5

Chapter 1 | Chapter 1.5 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 2.5

Next chapter is the last.

*

His grin is broad, beatific. It turns teasing almost right away. He leans down and brushes his nose against yours before releasing your wrists and rolling off of you. 

“I want to be just friends for just a while longer,” he admits in a whisper. “Throughout dinner. There’s something important I need to tell you.” 

*

‘There’s something important I need to tell you’. Have more infamous words ever been spoken, besides ‘we need to talk’? His sentence infuses you with dread and a strange calm all at once. This is it. The other shoe is about to drop. Marc deciding that he doesn’t want to dominate you will be the best-case-scenario outcome. 

Worst case scenario? He’s already done too much with you to salvage the friendship, and you both will have to part ways. Maybe that’s what he meant by wanting to stay just friends for a while longer. All these thoughts spin in your brain like a cyclone, sucking up your sanity while you pick at your entree at the (expensive) restaurant Marc insisted on bringing you to for dinner. Your hand is clammy where you are clutching your fork. You consider stabbing yourself with it to end the dinner early. 

It isn’t the worst dinner you’ve ever had together (that honor goes to the miserable time you and Marc had tried double dating, each of you bringing a lackluster date and spending the whole time—as you understood it now—fuming when the other showed any hint of affection towards their partner). But this is close. So close. 

Even Marc seems nervous. He is quiet(er). He clears his throat every now and then like he is about to say something, but then just reaches for his wine and takes another sip. When he cuts himself off after one glass and moves on to water, he drinks nearly two entire glasses thanks to this procrastination-sipping. You want to scream. Go ahead and say it! Break my heart already! Just get it over with. 

When he insists on dessert, you can’t take it anymore. Over dark chocolate cake with chocolate ganache, you sit your fork down and say: 

“What is it?”

“Have you ever seen the birds outside your window?” he blurts out. You stare. He clears his throat. Another sip of water. “At your apartment. On your balcony, you have a bird feeder. I just—do you ever stop and watch the birds?” 

“Yes,” you say, twisting your napkin in your lap. “Hence the bird feeder. Why—?” 

“You have this one bird that comes back often. It’s a house sparrow—I looked it up. House sparrows are like most birds, where the males are all beautiful and the females are more plain. Except this one bird. She had a bib, like the males do, but her’s was a downy gray instead of black. She came back every day. Multiple times a day, sometimes. Maybe she had babies that she was raiding your feeder for, I don’t know. 

“But I started talking to her about you while you were gone. Because I missed you. And I always miss you when you go away during the winter, don’t get me wrong, but this time…Well I had to talk to that fucking bird, or I would have—yes, another water would be fine, thank you—” 

You glare at the waiter’s back, irritated by the interruption. Something about this strange tangent has your attention. Maybe it’s the serious expression in Marc’s eyes, marred only by a hint of something sharper. Desperation, maybe. Maybe that’s what makes his words string together, turns him into a rambler. Still, you would have him see this through. 

“Go on,“ you coax. 

“I started talking to that fucking bird, because I couldn’t call you all day, and if I didn’t talk to something, I’d go crazy. I told her all about you. The way your skin gets lit up at night when you fall asleep while we’re watching television, colors changing blue, red, brown, white with whatever is on the screen. I told her about how you can’t let your food groups touch when they’re on your plate. I told her how you laugh so hard sometimes that you snort, and that those are always my favorite laughs.” 

“This bird knows all my secrets then,” you murmur. “I hope she doesn’t work for the government.” 

“All birds work for the government. I told her about my day. Work. Friends. Traffic. Dreams. Besides our every-other-night phonecalls, this…fucking…bird was the highlight of my day. I mean that unirionically.” 

“I’m starting to get jealous.” 

“And then one day she was gone,” says Marc. “She missed the morning rush. I sat on your bed, looking out at the balcony, waiting. And she never came. She never came back. I didn’t realize it until sunset, when she’d missed dinner, that I’d wasted my entire day off waiting. That whatever happens to birds—wherever she went when she wasn’t with me—she was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.

“That made me think of you. Going away from me, going wherever birds go. Taking all these pieces of me with you, and never coming back with them. You have those, you know. Pieces of me. So many pieces. I’d say that I have one last one to give you, but—” he snorts softly, looking down at his plate, “—you’ve had my heart already.

“And I don’t mind leaving them with you. I don’t mind you leaving. I know your work is important, and that you love it. I just want to know that you’ll always come back. I want you to have a reason to always come back—to me.”

“What are you saying?” you wonder, eyes wide as moons, mouth feeling a little numb. It almost sounds like he’s—

“I’m in love with you. I don’t want tonight to be a one-and-done, and I don’t just want the sex—yes, thank you, the check is fine—-” 

“I’m sorry,” you say to the waiter, holding up a finger. “Could you give us a moment without interruptions? Very important conversation. I apologize—thanks! You…you don’t want the sex?” 

“I don’t just want the sex. Important distinction,” says Marc. He laughs a little, but it sounds weak, punched-out. “You’re scaring me a little. Everytime I went over it in my head, you said it back straightaway. Then there was usually a spontaneous firework show, maybe some birds—” 

“Doves?”

“House sparrows.” 

“Marc—” you get shy suddenly. He’s opened himself up to you, fulfilled your wildest dreams (except the thought of Marc Spector loving you was so wild that it hadn’t even been in your dreams), but the idea of opening yourself up in return was terrifying. Couldn’t he just…tell? “Come on. You have to know…” 

Marc’s jaw gets tight. His eyes fall to his plate. “I didn’t. I thought—maybe I’ve just been seeing things. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have fucking—God, I’ve gone and fucked it all up, haven’t I?” 

“No—Marc, you aren’t getting it. The way you feel—it’s the way I feel, too,” you admit, nearly at a whisper, so quiet that he is leaning closer to you across the table straining to hear your words. “I’ve felt this way all this time. A long time before I even let myself realize it. It’s always been you. It would break my heart if all that happened tonight was amazing, kinky sex—excuse me, I just said—!”

The waiter clears his throat. He brandishes a bottle of wine from behind his back. “For new love. On the house.” 

“Is it corked?” Marc asks, his eyes on your own. There is something dark in his eyes, something that makes your mouth go dry in an instant and your hands clench into fists in your lap.

“Yes, sir.” 

“We’ll take it to go.”

*

Marc goes to open your car door for you but instead crowds you against it right there in the parking lot, one hand braced on the window beside you and the other on your hip. His body throws off warmth, and you find yourself arching away from the cool metal of the car against his body, all the breath rushing out of you in a whoosh. 

“Listen,” Marc says, leaning in to nuzzle against your temple. “You have to tell me now if you have any doubts. If you do, we’ll get in the car and I’ll drive you back to your apartment, and tomorrow night I’ll take you on another date like nice normal people do when they’re in love. But if you don’t, if you get in this car, you’ll belong to me. You know that, don’t you? Your body—”

“I want it, Marc, I want it,” you breathe. “I don’t have any doubts, I promise—”

He reaches up and grips your chin firmly, pressing your lower jaw up until your teeth clench together. His thumb rests over the seam of your lips, locking them closed. Something about the simple act makes you whine in the back of your throat. “At, At. It’s my turn to talk, yeah? Be a good girl and wait your turn. 

“If you get in this car, then for tonight you’re mine. Your body, your mind. Your words and your actions. Your sounds. Your pleasure. All of it will be mine to do with as I see fit. And I’ll treat you so fucking good honey. So goddamn good. Because I know that’s how good of a girl you’d be for me. So what’s it gonna be?” He lets go of your mouth. 

“My safeword is wine.” 

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, lips thinning. He nods, like he knew it was headed this direction. His hand drops and finds the handle of the car door, and but he doesn’t open it. Not yet. 

“One condition,” he says. “Non-negotiable.” 

Anxious, you say: “What is it?” 

“We kiss first. Here. Now. While we’re still just us.” 

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, do it, please—” 

He kisses you, and it’s—wow. There could be fireworks, for all you know, but they’d be coming in second. Second to the taste of wine on Marc’s tongue. Second to the soft firmness of his lips. Second to the way his broad hand cups the back of your head and tilts it just-so, so that he can deepen the kiss the way he likes. Second to the way he starts to smile against your mouth. A smile that turns into a broad grin. 

“Oh my god,” he laughs. “That was the best kiss I’ve ever had.” 

“I found your bird,” you whisper shakily against his mouth. 

He pulls back, startled by your words. “You—what?” 

“Your missing bird,” you say, reaching for his hand. You place it over your racing heart, which feels like the beating of wings beneath his touch. 

[novasillies]

wip (not) wednesday

in honour of hitting 100k words (WHAT THE FUCK) of this fic I am gonna drop a wee little snippet I suppoossseeeeeeAAAAAAAAAGAGHG

This is from the beginning (ish) of the 6th and final chapter of Third Time's The Charm season 1: 'Promises, Fools'. i only have a handful of scenes left in this chapter and then I'm DONE!!! (she says as if it's not already like 20k words long (FREE MEEEE))

“I need you,” were the first words he whispered into the soft rustling of sheets as Derek began to stir behind him. A real answer to the question he’d asked earlier. Derek probably didn’t hear. Or maybe he was too close to asleep to answer properly. Or to understand. Or maybe he just didn’t want to. He could almost hear the bullshit answer Derek would give him back if he gave one at all. ‘I’m right here,’ he’d say. ‘You already have me.’ “I don’t wanna be Him,” were the next words he said, an eternity of silence later. Derek’s hand stopped where it had been tracing back and forth right beside the concave scar tissue left over from that night at the mall. It was the only one of his scars that made him nauseous to touch. It had hurt, when the grimoire was out of his skin. It ached and burned if he strained too much. It itched. But then he’d touch it and that phantom sensation of touching his own internal organs made his stomach lurch. That and couldn’t sleep on his front or back anymore.  “Who?”  “Him,” Stiles answered, “Me. The Other Me.” After a moment, Derek answered into his skin, “I know.” Stiles took in a shaky breath, “I don’t want to. I don’t… I…” His brows met in the middle. Derek’s fingertips started to move again, more conscious in their comfort. “I don’t understand you.” He could feel the way Derek’s brows moved, just as his did, against the back of his neck, “What do you mean?” “I burned your house down,” Stiles answered mildly.  Derek’s breath caught against him, “You didn’t–” “I did,” Stiles said, “I burned it down with you and Peter inside. And you carried me to the hospital.” He turned around, unflinching with the unwanted power of his spark muting any pain from his scars once again, to stare straight into Derek’s eyes. Into the horribly familiar way his jaw tightened and his green eyes sharpened. He waited for Derek to adjust his arms around his waist before he went on, “And when I left to try and go back in time, you even went to Scott to help find me.” He blinked slowly at the just as slow downturn of Derek’s brows, “I don’t understand how you could react like that.” Those green eyes darted down for just a fraction of a second before they rose again, “It’s complicated.” “Well,” Stiles said, “I didn’t think it would be simple.” Derek’s left eye twitched, and he licked his lips, “It’s not–” He huffed a little, shifting where he lay, “It felt like it was my fault you lost control like that.” Stiles said nothing.  “The Other Stiles didn’t…” Derek’s eyes shifted away slightly, “He didn’t have to say much to convince me to keep you busy at the formal. I…” He frowned, “I guess I felt like I was…”  Stiles got sick of waiting for him to finish that sentence awfully fast, “You know He’s not gonna be better than what we saw of Him just because you love me, right?” Derek met his gaze, steadfast, “You know he’s not another you, right?” Stiles’ stomach turned.  “I said last night you don’t have a choice,” Derek nodded, “and I meant it. I love you, Stiles. And that means I love you even when you think you’re at your worst.” “You shouldn’t,” Stiles spat with narrowed eyes, “My worst is deadly, Derek. My worst is getting possessed and stringing together elaborate plots to kill and terrorise as many as possible. It’s wrecking my car. It’s shattering mirrors and vomiting and snapping necks and burning down houses.” The words flowed out of him like molten lava, “Blind faith is the killer of devotion, you remember that?”

Oh boy, oh boy. what a joyful conversation. yikes!! anyway. i am having a whale of a time writing this (how in the world is that actually a saying. are whales well known for their recreational fun???) and cannot wait for the like two people that r gonna read it wowowww

ofc no-pressure tag to the og gangster @patolemus (and anyone else who so wishes to share. please do!! love love love)

read the prequel (or the original fic i guess?), Twice And For All, here <3

[lixiesfreckless]

The Way You Shatter | h. js.

➸ synopsis: you should love him. you do love him. but not like this.

➸ starring: han jisung x female reader(ft. a mention of another skz member)

➸ word count: 1.6k

➸ general content: probably the angstiest thing I have ever written. unrequited love, established relationship, mentions of metaphorical blood

➸ warnings: alcohol consumption, no real happy ending

➸ rating: teen+

➸ author’s note: a fic I wrote after I broke up with my boyfriend a few years back. I always see people talking about how hard it is to have your heart broken, but no one ever mentions the pain of knowing you have to break someone's heart, to do the right thing. so I wrote this to cope and process my feelings, in the hope that maybe this would help someone going through a similar situation. you are so not alone.

♫ recharge- yasumu

“I don’t wanna break up with you.”

Somehow, these are the scariest words that have ever been uttered to you.

For the first time, someone has given you their heart; something so precious and invaluable, fragile and vulnerable, and you don’t know what to do with it. You don’t have a clue.

He’s looking at you with watery eyes, the same eyes you once saw long nights and baby names inside of. A future. Something to build forever upon. 

Now all you see is dark umber rimmed with red.

You’re supposed to say something back, you realize. People don’t give others their heart so they can zone out and stare at the wall, leaving the blood to seep out between their fingers.

You know exactly what you’re supposed to say to make the tears stop. You want to rub the space between his eyebrows until the wrinkles that lie there smooth out, until the corners of his mouth lift in relief. You want to run so far away from him; erase any chance of you hurting him again. Invent time travel and stop yourself from saying yes too quickly.

“I don’t wanna break up with you either.”

The words taste so vile in your mouth. You hate yourself for every syllable you speak. Liar, you hear yourself say in the back of your mind. 

You almost don’t recognize your own voice; thick with tears and stress and yet so devoid of emotion. There are robots with more character. Again but with more feeling, the director in your head screams at you.

But Jisung doesn’t seem to think any of that, no— he lets out a broken sigh, squeezing your hand in his, and it feels as if you’re being suffocated. As if the thumb caressing your knuckle is slanting against your windpipe, stopping you from saying the words you desperately need to tell him.

You feel yourself continue talking. Reassuring him that you’ll get through this, that you can work through this together. That you’re just going through a dry spell. You can’t tell who you’re trying to convince anymore.

Please stop talking. Please, you’re only making it worse.

Even the people pleaser inside of you is wincing, knowing that this cannot last for long. That you cannot pretend for another second. That your words are more hollow than sparrow bones.

Please don’t believe me. Please figure it out so I don’t have to splinter your heart by hand.

Your eyes meet with his and you finally notice it. How his eyes don’t penetrate past your physical appearance anymore. How the idea of love isn’t immortalized in his irises. 

It finally clicks once you stop talking, but not in the satisfying way legos do. It manifests in your stomach dropping, the thought that no, this cannot be remedied, you have crossed the point of no return but will not be paying the price.

You have effectively shoved shards of glass into the heart in your hand. With every sentence you spoke, you mindlessly wove together a world where you could continue, with him. With his chestnut hair and round cheeks, his sweet songs and guitar melodies, his full laugh, his doc martens.

You should love him. You do love him.

But not like this.

And so the world you wove together takes its strings and wraps them around your neck, all of the promises working together against you, and you curse your tongue for being so quick to please, his eyes for begging you to make the pain go away.

“I love you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he looks up at you, eyes expectant.

You must say it back. After everything you’ve said, you have to right? Maybe the feeling will come back, if it was ever there. Maybe you won’t compromise yourself to ensure a smile again. Maybe you’ll repeat the words back and it won’t feel like you’re removing a shard from his heart, and shoving it right into your own.

But it’s in saying the words that you realize what a mistake you’ve made. You wonder if Jisung could finally tell you about the thing each of his songs talk about. Looking into your eyes, he is bound to figure out what love is.

After all, you’re much more likely to notice something when it’s not there.

“I love you too.”

In its absence.

…

“As long as you love him, I think you guys will be okay.” He raises his bottle to his lips, half expecting you to nod your head, say something, have some sort of reaction.

But you sit across from him, lifeless, and instead of waiting for the cold soju to hit the back of his throat, he tips his head forward, setting the bottle down beside him.

“Y/n,” he says with a hint of concern, “you do love him, right?”

Your eyes dart to his, big and brown, half expecting there to be worry, fear, anything to be swimming in those coffee-colored irises.

Instead you find Hyunjin looking at you with a blank expression, tracing the rim of the bottle opening with his index finger. He’s so carefully neutral about the way he looks right now, which only tells you one thing.

He already knows how you feel.

About Jisung.

You hesitated for a second too long and now you are glass, so perfectly see-through for Hyunjin to dissect and psychoanalyze. 

It only takes those two seconds of silence, your hesitation, for Hyunjin to see, to know what has been plaguing your thoughts.

“Yes.” You gulp hard. “Yes, I do love him.” Does love sound like a forced phrase?

Hyunjin is one of those friends that likes to surprise you. With his talent, his paintings, his dances, his outbursts of laughter. He is a constant in your life and yet, you never know what to expect from him.

“But you are not in love with him.”

You did not expect Hwang Hyunjin to read you so easily on the floor of his living room, to explain your situation in the simplest most detailed way possible.

Your mouth opens to fight his suggestion, because in your head, he is wrong. In your head, it is crazy that he would assume such a thing. You kiss Jisung hello and goodbye, you already have his birthday gift, you love his dog, his family, his smile, his laugh. Isn’t it obvious? Isn’t it enough?

Your heart knows it isn’t. Your mouth closes again.

Hyunjin knows what to expect from you, which is why even though he just made a statement, he left it open ended. Open for you to admit that it went wrong, somewhere. There’s no judgement in his eyes; part of you wonders if he’s been here before. Teetering on the line between obligation and feeling. You hope he’s never been here.

But you’ve been here, you feel like you’ve lived a million lifetimes here, and now it feels like the tear rolling down your cheek is the first step down off the tightrope you’ve called home.

You don’t want to admit it. But what’s the use in hiding it— if Hyunjin could see it, who’s to say no one else has? You don’t want to indirectly break Jisung’s heart like that.

Eight words is all it takes for him to break the glass that is you. And you shatter all over his floor.

Hyunjin doesn’t say a word when you sniffle. He picks up his bottle and walks over to you, bunny-shaped slippers stepping on the scattered splinters of you on the floor. He crouches next to you, hooking the cuff of his hoodie around his thumb so he can swipe away the wetness on your cheek.

“Y/n. He will be okay.”

It’s no use, the dam breaks, and Hyunjin catches you as you start sobbing, releasing all of the pent up stress and worry you’ve been holding for weeks. You try to speak but it’s barely understandable, but it’s met with soft hushes, whispers of it’s going to be alright, you didn’t mean to hurt him, you tried, you tried, you tried.

Hyunjin doesn’t say a word when you take his bottle of soju, and down the rest of it in one go. He doesn’t speak when you start stringing your tears into sentences. You let him into the darkest corner of your mind and he doesn’t snoop, he just sits and waits for you to show him around.

And you show him everything. How you never got butterflies when you kissed. How you haven’t felt your heartbeat in months. How you think Bbama understands you better than he does. How he’s never done anything wrong, but the more you try to love him the more you start to resent him. And how the thought of resenting Jisung makes you want to throw up.

You remember the exact moment you realized you weren’t in love with him, how you looked into his eyes and asked yourself, how did it get to this point?

“I don’t want to break up with him,” you whisper out shakily, and Hyunjin nods back at you, still drying your tears with his sleeve. “I know how it would break him. I can’t do that to him.” Not after you reassured him. Not after you splintered his heart and stabbed your own.

Hyunjin has a couple things he could say back to you. He could tell you that it’s no good leading Jisung on from here. That lying to yourself will make you bleed from the inside out. That he doesn’t want to see his two closest friends in tears either. 

But the sorrowful look in his eyes tells you all of that already.

“I know,” he sighs, eyes just the tiniest bit more glassy.

What more can be said, really?

[sluttywonwoo]

revenge part 2 bc you provoked me: just think about hard dom chan punishing your bratty attitude with the slowest fucking ever until all you can do is stutter out a “please just fuck me for real” and he’s all smirky and smug and whispers in your ear, “see? told you i’d fuck the brat right out of you,” and you can’t even say anything back because now he’s giving you exactly what you asked for. and he isn’t stopping, making you cum again and again and again. and when you say you’re sensitive all he offers back is, “oh, i’m sorry, didn’t get it in your pretty head that i decide how much this cunt takes?”. 😇

i doubt you remember sending this to me so who is it really revenge for now @gimmeurtmi

“whine all you want, i’m not going faster until i decide i want to,” chris hums, smacking your ass for good measure.

he has you on your stomach with your hips in the air so that he can fuck into you as hard and as deep as he wants— which is not very hard or deep at the moment since he’s intent on punishing you for being a brat all night. you can feel how hard he is inside of you and yet he’s playing it cool, acting unaffected by all your little moans and whimpers.

“chris please,” you beg, trying to fuck yourself on his cock. you know it’s useless. he’s holding you in place with both hands on your hips and he’s easily twice as strong as you— maybe three times as strong when you’re fucked out like this, unable to think of anything except him him him.

“please what?”

“please… need…” you trail off, unable to string the words together into a coherent sentence.

“come on, baby,” he tsks, “you can’t be that dumb on cock yet, can you? we’ve barely started.”

“‘s your fault,” you scowl.

“and you’re still being a brat?”

chris smirks as your eyes get wide and you frantically grab at him. “no, no! it was supposed to be a compliment! about h-how good you feel-”

“compliments don’t usually come with glares my love.”

“i’m sorry,” you sob. “please baby, i can’t take it anymore.”

“fine. but don’t complain about being sensitive when you’re cumming over and over and over. because you asked for it.”

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 4,162 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: S10/S11, The Reapers Warnings: language, mentions of injury A/N: This is part of a series! You can find the rest on my Master List, the pinned post on my blog.

Summary: Injured and scattered, the group tries to find each other.

Your name: submit What is this?

Daryl,

Our son is two years old today. You wouldn’t believe how much he’s changed in only the last few months. It used to be that you could only make out baby babble with a few words here and there, and now he’s stringing together full sentences, expressing his own original thoughts. He looks less like a toddler every day and more and more like a little kid, soon to be asking questions about the world that will be harder and harder for me to answer. He reminds me of you in so many ways and I hold onto this part of you extra tight. When I think of how much you’ve missed of his little life, of all the milestones we’ve already passed, every part of me aches, and to know he’s missed out on having you too... that hurts even worse. I know you would be the most amazing dad. You love as fiercely as anyone could.

When I think of you at all, it nearly stops me to a grinding halt, could bring me to my knees, the pain is still that sharp. If we never find each other again, I think I’ll walk around forever with this poignant sense of something profound missing. It’s hard to write this, but if it wasn’t for DJ, I may have given up by now… But if I know anything, it’s that you’re out there somewhere, still alive, still surviving, still protecting the people you love. I know that beyond any doubt, because that’s who you are. I just hope that in our continued wandering that we find some sign of you. I don’t know what it would be—but Jen keeps telling me not to give up hope, to trust that my intuition is right.

I’m not having that dream anymore—the one I wrote about before where you’re calling for me from the other side of the glass—but lately I’ve been having a new one. I find you again, out in the woods, wandering, and then the next moment you’ve vanished. It’s almost worse than the last dream, because I think I have you and then a moment later I lose you all over again. It feels so unbelievably real. I wake up completely gutted with my cheeks wet. I have to reach for DJ every time.

God, I miss you.

It’s hitting me hard today, on DJ’s birthday. I hope you’re safe wherever you are…

With love, Y/N Daryl was mentally running through the parts of your book he’d already read, and wishing he’d made the time to read more, but he was also thanking himself for not bringing it along. He was certain The Reapers had gone through his pack. He didn’t know what would have happened if Leah had found it… She’d know he’d found you again and then all of this—his pretended disconnection from “those people on the road” and the implied feelings he was manufacturing for her—it wouldn’t have been available for him to try to keep his family and Alexandria safe.

His hand strayed to the left breast of his vest and he could feel the stiffness of the picture in the lining. It was comforting. He hadn’t slept. He was too afraid to. His mind was too busy. He laid on his back on a cot, far off in a corner, and waited.

It had to be near first light when he heard bootsteps coming up the hallway outside. He turned his ear toward the sound, listening intently for anything else that could signal what was happening.

Carver showed up in the doorway. “Get up, dickhead,” he spat. “We’re moving on that info.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

A hand on your shoulder shook you awake and you startled at the sudden jolt.

“Easy.” Negan’s voice. His hazel eyes were looking right into yours beneath his raised eyebrows. The point of your blade was at his throat.

You let out the breath you’d been holding and lowered it.

Negan was in front of you, palms out. He relaxed as your knife left his neck. “I’m a little worried that reflex isn’t going to stop short one of these times,” he said.

You shifted so you could better sit up against the back of the dingy armchair. “Then stop surprising me,” you said. You winced as you moved and couldn’t help drawing in a sharp hiss of breath between your teeth. Your side, the knife wound from The Reapers, felt like it was on fire. “Fuck…” you murmured, shifting to attempt to relieve the worst of the pain to little success.

Negan’s brow furrowed. “How ya feelin’?” You thought you could hear genuine concern in his voice.

You shook your head. “Not at my best, but I’ve had worse,” you said.

He went on frowning at you. He swept a hand back over his short hair. “I don’t doubt it but, uhh, no offense… you look like shit. I don’t think the whole pale, graying skin thing suits you at all. I woke you up because I was starting to get a little paranoid that you might not wake up.”

You rolled your eyes. “Stop being so dramatic,” you scolded him.

Negan gave you a small tight smile despite the situation. “Can’t. Drama. Theater… It’s kind of my thing,” he retorted. He watched as you pulled your shirt up to look at the wound on your side. The surrounding area and the wound itself were an angry shade of red.

Negan saw it. “Well, fuck. That doesn’t look good.”

You closed your eyes for a moment and leaned back against the chair. You’d flushed the stab wound out as best you could and applied ointment but it didn’t seem to have been enough. “No shit,” you said. “Any other earth-shattering observations you want to hit me with?”

Negan let out a dry laugh and straightened up, grabbing his crowbar from where it was leaning against a dusty couch and swinging it absently. “You know, I am actually trying to help you here. You see anybody else around?”

You sighed. “Right. Right… Sorry. Just—this whole situation is—”

“Complete and utter-fucked, five ways ‘til Friday bullshit?” Negan finished for you.

You gave him a long look but eventually nodded. “Yeah.” You pulled your shirt up again and looked at the neatly stitched wound. Negan had helped you with that the night before, and you had to hand it to him that he’d done a good job. “It’s a local infection or the start of one,” you said softly. You paused to think. You had limited medical supplies left and had used the last of the antibacterial ointment the night before patching up your side and Negan’s leg.

“Alright, so, can we kick its ass before it becomes un-local? From what I hear, that’s something to avoid, what with the lack of hospitals and meds these days.”

You chewed anxiously on your bottom lip. The burning and pulse you could feel in your whole side made it hard to think. “Hopefully…”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression darkening like a cloud passing across the face of the moon. “You have a fever?” he asked, and you heard some apprehension in his voice.

You shook your head. “I don’t think so.” You mopped at the cold sweat on your brow even as you answered, but you were pretty sure that was just from the pain.

Negan cleared his throat and stepped closer hesitantly. “Can I check without you slitting my throat?” he asked. “I’ve actually already had that done, courtesy of Rick, and it isn’t something I’d like to repeat.”

“Fine.”

He bent his tall frame and put the back of his hand on your forehead. He shook his head and let out a hugely relieved sigh. “No. No, I think you’re good.” You gave him a questioning look. “I had the thought that maybe they’d coated their blades… so that anyone that didn’t die right away would go full-blown undead asshole.”

You fixed a steely stare on him. “Oh, you mean like you did. To the Hilltop.”

Negan gulped and his face fell. His eyes turned down to the floor. “Maggie told you about that, huh?” he said softly.

“Mhm…”

“Yeah. That was pretty fucked up.” He was still avoiding your eyes. “But it was effective...”

“Negan—” you started angrily.

“Hey, I’m just stating a fact! And to be fair, it was a fucking war! I was looking after my own the same way—” he broke off abruptly at the look on your face.

You shook your head. “No. Not the same way I do. Not the same way they were. Not even close.”

“So, you’re telling me that you’ve never done anything royally fucked up to keep yourself or people you care about alive? Hmm? Doll,” he said, swinging his crowbar up onto his shoulder, a smirk on his face, “I ain’t buyin’ it.”

You scowled at him. “Don’t call me ‘doll.’ In fact, let’s just table any more nicknames you’ve got floating around in your head. And let’s get one thing straight, Negan. You didn’t care about those people at The Sanctuary. You gave them barely enough to stay alive and it wasn’t even a life. The only person you actually gave a shit about was yourself. And have I done fucked up shit? Yeah. Plenty. To keep me and my son alive… not to set myself up as some sort of wannabe god to assuage my bloated ego,” you spat at him, wincing and putting a hand over your side again and shutting your eyes.

There was a tense pause and then Negan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and another small laugh escaped him. “I can’t really argue with most of that. You’re right. And I see that Maggie and Daryl have been pretty thorough in catching you up already.” He sighed and sank back down on the wooden chair across the room from you. “But none of that shit matters right now. So, what do we do about your tidy little ticking time bomb there? You have any more of that—”

“No, we used almost everything up last night,” you interrupted him.

Negan laughed humorously. “Now let me make something clear here; you’ve gotta be okay,” he said emphatically. “If something happens to you while you’re with me, Daryl will fucking murder me. That is not an exaggeration. No, he won’t just murder me—he’d probably carve off little pieces slowly. He isn’t gonna hear that it wasn’t my fault. So, for your health and mine,” Negan said, fiddling with the crowbar across his knees, “we’ve got to figure this out. So, what do I need to do? You obviously can’t go anywhere fast at the moment, which is really what we need.”

Your ground your teeth together and Negan saw the muscle in your jaw tense. “You’re going to have to find me some moss and get us some water and fuel for a fire.” Negan stared at you blankly.

“Sorry, did you say fucking moss?”

You nodded. “Yeah. A specific kind. I’m gonna tell you where it grows and what it looks like.” You pulled your pack closer and dug around inside it until you pulled out a small cloth bag and held it out to him.

“Is now the right time for a scavenger hunt?” he asked, but he got up and accepted the bag from you.

“A lot of mosses have antimicrobial properties that should fight the infection and—look, just do what I’m fucking asking, okay? Or I can go myself. Like I said, I’ve had worse,” you started getting out of the chair, pushing yourself up on the arms but the pain in your side seemed to ricochet through the rest of your abdomen and chest and you quickly froze, only partially standing.

“Whoa!” Negan grabbed your upper arm and helped you lower back down into the seat. His leg didn’t feel great, but it was definitely better than your side. “I’ll get it! Fuck, just sit the fuck down,” he shook his head at you. “I can see why you and that pain in the ass Daryl are together. Stubborn with an attitude,” he said with some amusement. “Moss. Water. Fuel. I can handle that. Just tell me what I need to know…”

You did. And Negan set out and returned a couple hours later with all of it.

Soon you had a fire going in one corner near a broken-out window, any smoke trailing up and out—though you’d made sure all the fuel was dry as a bone so it wouldn’t lead The Reapers straight to you. The water had finished boiling and was sitting to cool a bit. Negan was watching you with interest from his seat again as you cleaned as much debris out of the moss as you could.

Negan was casually peeling the bark off a stick, sitting on the stiff wooden chair and watching you work. “Are you going to tell me what the deal is with you and Daryl or what?” he asked.

Your eyes flickered up to his face for a moment and you paused, completely still. Then you went back to what you were doing. “No,” you said simply.

“Ahh, come on. What the hell else are we gonna talk about? I’m dying to know how exactly he ended up having a kid he didn’t seem to know about. Especially one that looks to be about ten years old.”

You tossed the handful of debris you’d been picking out of the moss into the fire. “I’m sure you are. But you’re the last person I’m going to discuss my personal life with, Negan.”

Negan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Come on. It’ll pass the time!”

You fixed your gaze on him for a long moment. “I’ll give you one question,” you said, dusting off your hands.

“Hot damn!” Negan grinned. “I better make it a good one… Hmm. Let’s see…” A smirk grew on his face. “So, are you guys fucking again? I mean what’s the current status?”

“Negan!” you barked back at him angrily, color flaring in your face. He only chuckled.

“It’s just a question! Anybody can see the guy is head over heels. That was obvious by the way he looked like he was mentally dismembering me anytime I came within ten feet of you.”

You only glared at him. “Do me and yourself a favor and shut the fuck up,” you growled. You collected the moss and plunged some of it into the still warm water and let it soak for a few seconds. Then you removed it and wrung most of the water out. Negan watched with interest as you packed it over the wound in your side and secured it around your body with a long makeshift bandage you’d fashioned from a spare flannel you’d had stowed in your pack.

“That’s gonna fight off infection?” Negan asked, interested. “Seems counter-intuitive to stick some dirty shit you found outside right over a wound.”

“It’s not dirty. And yes, hopefully. Long before we had modern medicine, plants were doing what doctors and pills used to,” you said, climbing to your feet and sinking back into the armchair again with a sigh.

“How the hell did you learn this?” Negan asked, digging in his pack for his MRE and tearing off the top.

You shrugged. “Aren’t we all picking up new things all the time? One of my people, from my last community, knew a lot about medicinal and edible plants. I paid attention.”

Negan nodded, scooping another bite into his mouth. “So, we gotta just wait now?”

You nodded. “Just have to let it do its job.” You sunk back more heavily into the chair and closed your eyes, but they were only shut a moment before Negan’s voice broke the silence again.

“You’re really not going to tell me about you and Daryl?”

Your eyes opened. “No. I’m not.”

He sighed. “What if I tell you about my wife?” he said softly.

Your brow furrowed. “Which one?” you asked sharply.

“The real one.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next morning, you woke up gently. Negan was already awake, standing at one of the dingy windows, staring thoughtfully outside. He turned when he heard you shifting. “You’re looking better,” Negan commented.

You stood and moved without pangs of pain and sighed with relief. Unbinding your bandage and peeling the poultice from the wound, you saw that the redness was gone and it was no longer inflamed. The moss had done its job. You applied fresh, dry moss over the stitches and rebound the bandage.

Negan wandered over, watching you closely. “You good?”

You looked up and nodded. “Yeah.” You paused. “Thanks. For your help yesterday with getting all that stuff.” He nodded once. You slung your pack up onto your shoulder. “Come on. We’ve gotta get to that house. Maybe the others are waiting there.”

“You can’t be serious,” Negan said, nearly stepping in your way as you moved toward the door. “You want to keep going? We don’t even know if anyone else made it.”

You started to unbarricade the door with a grunt of effort. “They did,” you said matter-of-factly.

Negan shook his head. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do!” you snapped at him, standing up straight. For the first time, Negan saw something like desperation in your eyes. “They made it,” you said firmly, but he heard the shake in your voice. “Now, help me move this…”

Negan looked at you for a long moment and then sighed and pushed the heavy oak desk out of the path of the door.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Maggie, Gabriel, and Elijah waited in silence. The air was heavy with anxiety and Maggie found herself alternately pacing the length of the room and then standing frozen at the window, peering out through the wooden slats. Through the narrow space, she saw figures moving on the street outside but it was difficult to see through the leaves of the shrubs close to the house. “I got movement comin’ up on this side.”

Elijah stood and went to another window near the front door. His knife was in his hand.

“Oh my God. Oh, thank God,” Maggie suddenly sighed. “It’s alright. It’s Negan and Y/N,” she said, happy tears in her eyes.

A moment later, Elijah pulled the door open and the two of you stepped into the dilapidated interior, Maggie rushed over and grabbed you in a hug. “Thank God you’re alright,” she said.

You tightened your free arm around her, bow in your hand at your other side. “You too. All of you,” you said, looking at Elijah and Gabriel as she broke away, but at the same moment your heart sank. “Daryl?” you asked, your brow furrowing and casting a shadow over your momentary relief at seeing the others.

Maggie shook her head. “We don’t know. We haven’t seen Daryl or Frost. Alden’s hurt bad. I left him someplace safe,” she said, her voice breaking. “Agatha. Duncan. They’re gone...”

You hung your head and closed your eyes for a long moment. “Fuck…” Your knuckles shone white as you gripped riser of your bow hard. “Goddammit… I’m so sorry.”

She nodded solemnly and then scrutinized you and Negan more closely. “How are you two?”

You moved farther into the house and stood beside the small stash of supplies. “We took a little damage but I think we’ll be fine. What’s the plan?” you asked, getting straight back to your purpose.

“We’ll wait a little longer for Daryl and Frost, in case they’re tryin’ to get here. But then we have to move. It’s not too far to Meridian from here.”

Negan let out a small scoff and paced away in a small circle, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

Maggie bristled. “Somethin’ you wanna say?”

“Maggie, look at us. We’re hurt. There are only four of us. One more encounter like the one we just had and that number is going to drop to zero.”

“People back home are dependin’ on us. Hungry kids. If we can’t make this work, Alexandria is done.”

Negan sighed and leaned back against the wall, but he stayed quiet.

“So, unless you’ve gotta somethin’ helpful to add, just keep your mouth shut for once in your life,” she snapped at him.

“Hey—” Elijah said suddenly. “Something’s up.” _ _ _ _ _ _

The heavy bootsteps overhead seemed to press on your ear drums as the Reapers moved through the house. Your heart was hammering in your throat. Then suddenly—Daryl’s voice. You clapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from gasping with relief. Alive. He was alive. He was okay. But then your stomach plummeted into the pit of your stomach. But why was he with them?

It didn’t take long for you to realize what was going on. A voice. A woman. “You’re either with us, or you’re not.” Leah. It had to be Leah. It was the only thing that made sense.

Your chest tightened and it was harder for you to draw in even shallow breaths. You closed your eyes, straining your hearing. Daryl again. “What do you want me to do?”

Then it was obvious; Daryl was dropping as much info as he could to you hiding below. 20 people. Weapons. Supplies. Walls. And then he was picking a fight on purpose with this “Carver” asshole.

“Shaw. Wake. Up. Everything is a test now,” Carver spat. “If you think this guy is ever going to give a shit about any of us, you’re gonna fail.”

“He’s right,” Daryl said quickly. “I don’t give a shit about any of you. Except you.” You felt a sharp pain between your lungs. “I’m here for you. It’s no secret I made mistakes. But I’m here right now.”

You were trying to suppress a rising wave of nausea. You could feel Maggie and Negan looking your way and you ducked your eyes, kept them down-turned to the cement of the cellar floor. A second later, Maggie touched you on the sleeve and tilted her head toward the cellar door. With Daryl distracting Leah and Carver, you snuck away, but the painful bubble in the middle of your chest stayed with you.

When you were finally safely away from the town the Reapers had been combing, Maggie stopped all of you. “We can stop for a minute,” she said, out of breath just like the rest of you from rushing through the woods. “We’re getting’ close. About three miles out.”

Negan let out a disbelieving laugh again, but you silenced him with a look. Maggie turned to you and touched you on the arm and spoke to you in a soft undertone. “You know Daryl was only sayin’ those things to—”

“I know,” you interrupted her, nodding, but your face was downturned. It still felt like a knife was lodged upward between your lungs. Listening in on that, Daryl saying those things to another woman, to her, had been excruciating. You hadn’t even realized how much so until you were out of the immediate danger. They seemed to ring in your head. “I’m here for you.” “I made mistakes.”

Maggie frowned softly. “Y/N, you and DJ are his whole life. I was there. I saw it. I saw how he was after. We almost lost him when he lost you. And then he never gave up on you. He never stopped searchin’. Whoever she is, she’s nothin’ to him compared to you. Believe that. Trust it.”

You gulped and nodded again and managed to give her a forced smile, though the worry line stayed between your brows. “What’s the plan for taking care of these assholes?”

You all turned as sticks cracked nearby. Walkers were wandering in. Everyone fingered their weapon but Maggie stopped you. “Wait,” she said, looking at more following behind out of the trees. She glanced back at the group of you. “Think we can find more?”

[imsoveryveryconfusedatlife]

Tag Game: Writeblr Interview

Thanks @tildeathiwillwrite for the tag here!

I hesitate to tag as many people as this is one of those things where there’s no point in doing it twice but tagging:

@xenon-writes-sometimes, @rumeysawrites, @rivenantiqnerd, @leahnardo-da-veggie, @kaylinalexanderbooks, and an open tag!

This is going to be a long post so I’m adding a break here

Short stories, novels, or poems?

I cannot stand most poetry. Maybe it’s because I’m still in school and have to analyse it but I can’t deal with how abstract it can be. I want to write more short stories but my one and only WIP is probably gonna be closer to a novel, if and when I finish it.

What genre do you prefer reading?

Fantasy, especially high fantasy. Murder mysteries and detective stories in general are a close second. Most other genres are reserved for spin offs or fan fiction.

Are you a planner or a write as I go kind of person?

I make a plan that I then actively ignore my OCs force me to not use

What music do you listen to while writing?

Most of the time I listen to the one Reddit podcast I’ve listened to every episode of because I can zone out and I don’t miss anything important. This one is a bit of a bad habit because it distracts me, but EPIC the musical is my current hyperfixation and I listen to that constantly as well.

Favorite books/movies?

Because I have the reading comprehension of an 11 year old we have Murder Most Unladylike (I would die for this series), its spin off the Ministry of Unladylike Activity, The Hunger Games but only really the first book, How to train your dragon but only really the Netflix show and the first movie (the books are great but I haven’t read them in 7 or 8 years and because they’re so different from the movies I’m not sure if I’d like them anymore)

Any current WIPs?

Gold, Greed and Gods which is a vaguely Victorian fantasy about the main cast trying to find a cult before it engulfs the world in literal chaos. And also magical shenanigans and timeline fuckery

Create a character description of yourself:

Honestly I’d rather not. Sorry!

Do you like incorporating actual people you know into your writing?

No it kinda weirds me out. The closest I’ll get is asking my one irl mutual about their experiences with stuff that I (as a someone who is cishet and perisex) do not understand

Are you kill happy with your characters?

I’m not the biggest fan of angst so no. If anyone was gonna die you aren’t allowed to get attached to them so I don’t get attached them hence why the only dead characters in my WIP die before or very soon after it begins. That isn’t to say my characters aren’t affected, but I can only imagine any potential readers will be neither here or there about those characters.

Coffee or Tea while writing?

I don’t really like hot drinks but I hate the smell of coffee so tea?

Slow or fast writer?

A secret third thing which is I wrote 5000 words in 3 hours yesterday so for atleast the next week I won’t be able to string a sentence together

If you were in a fantasy world, what would you be?

A healer would be fun? I wanna be a doctor so I guess that’s close enough. I cannot imagine I’d survive very long without my glasses/ contacts in any case.

Most fav book cliche:

Not really a book cliche but horny bard memes will never not be funny. I also love juxtaposition between characters, if done tastefully, eg. Ray of sunshine is best friends/ dating the grumpiest character alive. I also just love ray of sunshine characters in general. Also, calm/ happy go lucky/ mentor figure characters who have really high body counts and it’s just kind of an open secret are really fun.

Least favorite cliche:

A lot of romance tropes are tied for last place: miscommunication, any reference or idea that firsts=better (virginity, first loves, one true love etc.), not like other girls

Also love triangles. The only good love triangles are the ones that end in polycules. No exceptions (/hj)

I probably just have a problem with like most romance stories

Favorite scene to write?

I love when characters reference unique worldbuilding things that I actually had to think about. Similarly, if I feel I’m doing them well, exposition dumps can be fun.

Reason for writing?

Because blirbos in my head yearn for freedom

On a more serious note, I’ve gotta do something healthy with all this escapism and maladaptive daydreaming.

—

Questions:

Short stories, novels, or poems?

What genre do you prefer reading?

Are you a planner or a write as I go kind of person?

What music do you listen to while writing?

Favorite books/movies?

Any current WIPs?

Create a character description of yourself:

Do you like incorporating actual people you know into your writing?

Are you kill happy with your characters?

Coffee or Tea while writing?

Slow or fast writer?

If you were in a fantasy world, what would you be?

Most fav book cliche:

Least favorite cliche:

Favorite scene to write?

Reason for writing?

—

Thanks again for the tag!

[love-kurdt]

Swooping, Sloping, Cursive Letters: 37

word count: 609

warnings: mentions of being roofied & SA

PLEASE READ THIS IS ME TRYING FIRST, AS THIS STORY RELIES HEAVILY UPON THE CONTEXT OF TIMT

October 21, 1990

Dear Will,

Something happened to me this past weekend. I was roofied at a party. I don’t know who did it, but I do know that I was sexually assaulted and tried to bike home immediately afterwards. Thankfully, Warren Blakeley, one of my old English 101 classmates saw me on the side of the road and saved my life. I don’t remember much of this happening; I’m basically retelling the story from his point of view.

Once he got me into the car in one piece and asked about what exactly happened, I couldn’t string a single sentence together. After a few minutes, I apparently started telling a story about two boys in the middle of the apocalypse who had a conversation about death in the basement. When Warren told me this later on, I knew exactly what conversation Drugged Mike™ had been referring to. I was suddenly transported back to when the Vecnapocalypse was still in full swing, and we were on our last mission in the Upside Down. 

“It’s a miracle we’ve made it this far,” I said, and let out an exhausted huff from running. You cautiously sat down next to me on the couch, trying to catch your breath.

“Yeah, I guess,” you shrugged. I turned to look at you with an incredulous expression.

“What do you mean, I guess? We’re alive, aren’t we?”

“Just that… sometimes I think I shouldn’t be. That you guys would be better off if I had just died in the Upside Down the first time around.” I’d never heard you sound so defeated, not since the Shadow Monster possessed you in ‘84.

“Will, you can’t actually believe that,” I protested, grasping your hand between both of mine in an attempt to prove how much you meant to me. Your other hand lifted to meet the back of mine so our palms were sandwiched together.

“I do,” you glanced down at the musty cushion below us. “I shouldn’t be alive, but I am. And because I am, I’ve dragged you into this mess with me, and for what? So we can go down in a tangled mess of limbs and vines?”

“I would do this a hundred more times if it meant I got to go down in a tangled mess of limbs and vines with you.” I hated how cliche I sounded, but it made you crack a smile, so I considered that a win.

“Now you’re just being stupid, Michael.”

“It’s true!” I grinned. “And if I’m stupid, you’re stupider.”

You rolled your eyes. Beautiful. “Uh-huh.” The two of us burst into a fit of giggles, and the fact that we were in an alternate dimension with Vecna breathing down our necks became a distant priority, even for a few seconds. Once our laughter died down, your eyes lifted to meet mine.

“Hey, Will?”

“Yeah, Mike?”

“You should be alive,” I told you with as much sincerity I could possibly convey. “And I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.”

“Thanks… me neither.”

And now I do know what I’d do without you. Because you’re not here anymore. And I think I finally know how you felt when you didn’t feel like you should be alive. I could have easily died this weekend. I could have died… and the last thing you would’ve said to me was “You’ve done enough.” It kind of brings me satisfaction thinking about how shitty you’d feel if you’d lost me for good.

Or maybe you wouldn’t feel anything at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t even grieve for me. I suppose I deserve it.

Love,

Mike

-

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[thornilee013]

I am late bit can I get you to work on the Pride Zine for WIP Wednesday? 👀

Silly Little Jean Moreau Fic | WW 27.3.2024

(I'm cheating a bit bc most of this is from a pre-written snippet, but I wanted to post some snippets from later chapters in this fic before TSC was released... alas! I added three sentences throughout. Enjoy regardless.)

If not for the fact that Jean knew that he'd have more headaches to deal with in the aftermath than their current presence contributed to his life, Jean was certain that he would have strangled at least half of the Trojan lineup by then. Jean was certain that Jeremy would give up on bringing him to Trojan social events eventually, but until then, Jeremy would have to suffer the consequences. If that meant that feelings were hurt and the team ended up divided because someone couldn't be cordial, then it was hardly Jean's fault.

Still, separating from the rest of the group and getting to be alone with Jeremy in a space that wasn't their room was... a positive.

Jeremy sighed, looking out at the L.A. skyline and tilting his beer can back and forth. “Can I tell you a truth, Jean?”

Jean scoffed and leaned back onto his palms. “Haven’t we been doing that all night?”

Jeremy turned to face Jean only so that he could see him roll his eyes, then gently shoved Jean’s shoulder. “Seriously, Jean,” he said, pausing to wet his lips. “No strings attached. No being scared of being honest with myself anymore. I want to share a truth with you, and you alone. If you’ll let me, that is.”

Jean’s entire body seemed to pulse along to the beat of his heart, a strong thrum in his fingers, his neck, his chest. There was weight behind how Jeremy’s hand had lingered on his shoulder before returning to his lap. There was significance behind Jeremy’s insistence that Jean be the only one to hear what he had to say. “Yeah,” he breathed, swallowing before continuing, “always.” 

Jeremy turned his entire body to face Jean, his blue eyes searching for something in Jean’s expression, anything. He nodded to himself, knocked back the rest of his beer can and set it aside. “I… I don’t know how to say this, really.”

“That’s okay,” Jean whispered, his own gaze dropping to Jeremy’s lips as he bit his bottom lip. He turned to face Jeremy fully and brought his hands to his lap, clasping his hands together to keep them still. Jeremy’s frantic voice echoed in his mind: “I didn’t want this to happen, he needs me to be a safe place, and what if he doesn’t feel comfortable around me anymore?” Jean didn’t know who else Jeremy could have been talking about if not him, but the chance that Jean’s own feelings could be reciprocated was too good for him to believe. He refused to believe it until Jeremy told him, face to face, exactly how he felt.

Jeremy screwed his lips to one side, his gaze dropping to Jean’s lips for just a second before his own spread in a thin smile, a shy, private, imperfect smile reserved for moments away from the cameras. “I think I’m falling for you, Jean.”

MASTERPOST