#JEFF IF YOU HAVE SILVER IN THERE COME ON

[redwylde]

That's

This is

That's Meteor Smash.

[imaginedisish]

Lover, You Should've Come Over (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Get ready to cry. This is based on a request I received yesterday where the reader gets jealous of Jean. I tried to take this in a different direction just because I feel like this is a popular trope that has been done by many fantastic writers. It's also inspired by "Lover, You Should've Come Over," by Jeff Buckley. Hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: You've been pining after Logan since you joined the X-Men, and you're convinced he'll never love you back. He’s obsessed with Jean—always has been. Or...maybe he's not.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, Oral (f!receiving), fingering, PIV (unprotected...pls WRAP IT UP THIS IS FICTION!), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, f!reader/afab!reader, telepathic!reader, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan (kinda? yeah.), non-canon compliant (you'll see what I mean...no spoilers), cursing, angst, feelings, implied mutant trauma (kinda a given in X-Men), probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,197 sorry

Wanting someone you can’t have—it’s that crying in the shower, pulling your legs into your chest, screaming into your pillow kind of heartache. You’ve come to know the feeling intimately. It’s an awful, horrid, stomach-churning kind of pain.

But you want him. Despite all the pain, you want him. Logan Howlett. You can’t seem to keep him off your mind. For the few months you’ve been one of the X-Men, Logan has been a constant. He’s always there—whether it’s to train or just to talk. But you know he’ll never want you. You see the way he looks at Jean. You wish you didn’t. You wish you were oblivious to that sort of thing. But you don’t need to use your telepathy to reach inside his mind for proof—you just know. 

You keep holding on, savoring every moment, every interaction you have with Logan. You sit on the lawn of the mansion with him, watching the sunset. You’ll come down to the living room late at night to find him sitting in front of the T.V. and join him. Sometimes he’ll drape an arm around your shoulder. He’ll draw circles into your side as you drift off. You’ll wake up the next morning back in your bed, Logan having carried you there long after you’ve fallen asleep. 

You’ve decided you’ll take all he’ll give you, even if it means nothing to him—even if it's platonic. 

But tonight, you wish something would come up through the floor and swallow you whole. A void, a black hole maybe. That would do the trick. Disappearing would make everything so much easier. The second-best thing to disappearing is sitting in the kitchen of the mansion, alone, with a pint of ice cream. You decide to practice your powers, moving the silver spoon with your mind, concentrating as you dig the spoon into the top of the pint and into your mouth. 

You hear a warm, familiar chuckle from the doorway as the spoon lands on your tongue. You look up, and there’s Logan, arms tucked across his chest. “Wish I could do that.”

You can’t help but smile around the spoon as he strides over to you, taking a seat on the stool next to yours. You slide the spoon out of your mouth and rest it on the napkin next to the ice cream. “Hey,” you mutter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

His shoulder brushes against yours. He’s so close it hurts. You try to shove the pain down and enjoy the moment. 

“Was hoping I’d run into you down here. Thought maybe you’d be in bed already,” Logan says, his eyes locked on yours. 

You shake your head, doing your best to keep that fake smile plastered on your face. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

You can see the sudden concern appear on his face. “Everything okay?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. Fuck, you think to yourself. Maybe he’s catching on. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, looking down at the ice cream. “Just still having a hard time adjusting.” It wasn’t a lie. You had always struggled with your powers, longing to hide, to shove them down. Your whole life, you were either a freak or something to be used—whatever was most convenient in the moment. The struggle between visibility and forcing yourself to be “normal” was an impossible battle. You were no stranger to being taken advantage of or being experimented on.

Logan was the first person who understood that—understood you. He made you feel seen in a way that no one ever had. It’s part of the reason you’ve fallen so hard for him. 

His hand is suddenly on your back, yanking you from your thoughts and back to reality. “I’m here,” he whispers. “Whatever you need, anything.” 

Anything. You wish he really meant it. 

“Thanks, Lo.” You smile up at him, letting your eyes linger on his lips for just a second before looking back down at the ice cream. “Want some?” You ask, nodding at the pint. 

“Only if you feed it to me the way you did when I walked in.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he taps the spoon. You side-eye him incredulously. “I mean it. Wanna see you do it again.” There’s a husk in his voice, a shift in his timber that sends a chill down your spine. You try not to think about it too much as you pick up the spoon with your mind. 

You guide the spoon inside the pint, scraping the top, and lifting it up towards Logan’s mouth. He opens wide as you lead the spoon inside, his tongue hitting the bottom as his lips close around it. The implications of the moment don’t dawn on you until he’s grabbing the spoon with his hands and sucking on the metal. There’s something undeniably suggestive about this. 

Heat rises to your chest as you replay the image of him taking the spoon into his mouth in your mind. It’s so intimate, so domestic. And, certainly, something else—something that makes you tick, that makes that familiar fire grow deep within your belly. 

But—like always—the moment doesn’t last long. You wince, feeling someone itching against your thoughts, prodding at your mental shields, begging to be let in. Suddenly, there’s another voice in your mind. 

I gotta try that myself. You flinch at the sound, taking the spoon from Logan’s hand and shooting it across the room to where you sense the person’s presence. You turn around, and there’s Jean, resisting the spoon’s trajectory with her mind. 

It's almost pressing into her skull, shaking in mid-air, ready to break her skin. You gasp and drop the spoon, embarrassed to have registered her as a threat. “I’m so sorry,” you say, watching as Jean crouches down and picks up the spoon. “I didn’t know that was you in there, I swear.”

You expect Logan to stand from the chair and rush over to Jean, but he stays next to you, glued to your side, the palm of his hand resting gently on your back. “Jean.” His voice is firm, almost cold and harsh. “What was that?” You’re surprised at how curt he’s being with her, surprised he remembered that you’re sensitive to people probing around your mind, even if it’s friendly. 

Jean mutters a curse. “I was just communicating with her. I didn’t think she’d—” 

Logan stands, his hand still steady at your back. “Don’t do that again. Ever.” His voice is louder now, heavier. 

She whispers an apology, setting the spoon on the counter and walking towards the doorway. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says. “I should’ve remembered given your…” she pauses, searching for the word, “past…that it wouldn’t be a good idea.” She takes another tentative step. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, and she slips out. 

Logan settles back into the stool next to you. You’re shocked that he’s still here, that he hasn’t run away yet. You can hear him breathe—in and out—gentle, long breaths. You close your eyes and listen, the sound calming you down. You’re still expecting him to leave, to walk away, but he doesn’t. 

“You okay?” He asks, your eyes fluttering open, his voice hanging in the air. His head is tilted to the side, worry painted across his face. 

“Y-yeah. I’m fine,” you stutter, your voice cracking. “You don’t have to stay with me. You can go check on her if you want.” You nod towards the doorway—to wherever Jean wandered off to. 

“And why would I do that?” Is all he says in return, furrowing his brows. 

You put on that fake smile again. “I almost jammed a spoon into her forehead because she spoke to me telepathically.” You shake your head. “Don’t really think my reaction was particularly friendly—or something that good people do.” You break eye contact with Logan and look to the other side of the kitchen. “Plus, you two are…close.”

“Hey.” His voice is firm again, but gentle this time, reassuring. His hand slips across your back and rests on your waist. You’re so shocked by the contact that you almost miss what he says. “First of all, she knows better. Charles warned her about what you’ve been through. And second…” He trails off, smirking at you. “I’d rather be with you.”

Oh? Oh. He’d rather be with you. 

“I just thought, you know, you and Jean were…” You’re too embarrassed to finish the sentence and too nervous to hear him say the words you’ve been dreading most. 

He shakes his head, that smirk still spread across his lips. “No, it’s not Jean I want. Never has been.” 

Your breathing becomes shaky—your heart beating rapidly in your chest. “If it’s not Jean, then—” 

Logan cuts you off as he suddenly moves. His arm lifts from your waist as he stands, turning your stool around so your back is against the cold countertop. He’s gripping the arms of the stool now, caging you in. Your mind is hazy—you can’t concentrate with him this close. 

“You think I do the shit I do with you with Jean too, hm?” He’s towering over you, his head cocking to the side, his voice self-assured and confident. “Think I’m watching movies and sunsets with her? Carrying her to bed, too?” 

You’re overwhelmed, dizzied by his words, his size, him. “Just thought that—”

“Just thought what?” He cuts you off again. “That I didn’t want you, darlin’?” He brings his lips to the shell of your ear, one hand moving from the counter to your hip. “Wanted you this whole time,” he huffs, goosebumps rising on your arms. “Only you.” He presses a kiss to your ear, and then just underneath your jaw. 

“Logan,” you whisper. “W-want you too,” you choke out, your hands coming up and around his back. “B-but someone’s gonna walk in on us.” 

He’s ignoring you, biting your pulse point lightly and licking the pain away. “Let them,” he husks, refusing to stop. You instinctively bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, your nails digging in slightly. He groans at the contact, his chest heaving against yours. 

“One of the kids is catch us in here, or somebody else,” you mutter, his face still buried in the crook of your neck. “W-we should—”

“Go to my room.” He finishes your thought. 

“Please.” 

And then he’s picking you up from the chair, his hands under your thighs, grabbing your ass. You wrap your legs around his waist as he prowls out of the kitchen. He looks both ways as he crosses the hallway and makes his way to the stairs. There’s no one in sight. He carries you up the steps and down the hall to his room, practically breaking down the door as he swings it open and slams it shut. 

And then he’s laying you down on his bed, crawling over you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Wanted you in here sooner,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from yours. “Hoped you’d come over one night. You should’ve.”

His lips crash down onto yours before you can find the words to say. He’s starving for you, swallowing your moans as his hands slip under your shirt, his nails digging lightly into your sides. “So fucking beautiful,” he rasps against your lips. Everything is desperate and rushed, hands pawing at bare skin in the dim light of his room. 

Logan tugs on the hem of your shirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the side as he sits up on his knees, taking you in. He curses under his breath, looking you up and down. 

“Logan,” you whine, arching your back. You need his hands on you again, his lips. Something. Anything. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, his fingers hooking inside the waistband of your shorts. “Gonna take care of you.” He yanks them down your legs, leaving you in just your bra and panties. 

He pulls off his own shirt, tossing it carelessly, letting it get lost on the floor. He settles back down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand finds your waist. He slides up to the bottom of your bra, teasingly pulling on the fabric before slipping his hand behind your back—skillfully unclasping the bra with one easy motion. You arch your back again, the bra straps sliding down your arms as Logan tosses the bra to the floor, too. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, his hand tracing the curves of your breasts, massaging gently. “Perfect.” He captures your lips in another kiss as his thumb ghosts over your nipples, just barely giving you the relief you need before pinching softly. The pressure feels so good, so right, but it’s not enough. 

He draws circles around your nipples with his thumb, the sensation feeding the aching fire between your legs. Your hips involuntarily lift off the mattress, meeting his. “Need me that bad, huh?” He is always so incredibly cocky, even now—especially now. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and what to do next. 

Logan grinds his erection into your core. You can feel how big he is, the weight of him heavy against your cunt even in his jeans. You clench around nothing, whining his name as his strained cock teases your panty-clad pussy. “You want me to make you feel good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, biting your lips as his hand leaves your tits and sweeps down your stomach, stopping just above your clit. He slides his fingers down just a bit more, feeling where your arousal seeps through your panties. 

“Already soaking for me, sweetheart.” The bassy timber of his voice stokes that flame deep within your belly. Without warning, he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanking them down your legs. “Can’t wait anymore, pretty girl,” he whispers. “Wanna taste this pussy.” He kisses your belly button, leaving a trail down the rest of your stomach as his mouth travels to where you need him most. 

There’s something depraved about the way he’s crawling down your body, taking in every inch of you. He spreads your legs apart with the palms of his hands—his thumbs brushing against your bare skin, licking teasingly at your inner thighs as he settles in between them. 

He pauses, looking at you under hooded eyes. You can see the want—no, the need—in the way his muscles flex and how he works his jaw. But he’s hesitating, his breath hot against your core, sending another jolt of desire through your body. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your eyes searching his for his next move. 

He finally presses a kiss to your clit. “You don’t understand how you make me feel,” he mumbles against your heat, licking a long stripe through your folds and back to your clit. “No idea how long I’ve fucking wanted you.” You throw your head back, whimpering his name as he laps again and again. He’s starving, and you’re the only thing that can satiate his hunger. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking it, taking it in between his lips and sucking hard. 

Your hips lift off the mattress and Logan quickly moves to hold them down. “You’re not going anywhere, darlin’,” he grunts against you, the vibration of his voice going straight to your core. 

His free hand slips up the inside of your thighs, teasingly climbing higher and higher, his nails skimming your flesh. He’s toying with you, leading you on, taking his time. His fingers finally ghost over your folds, exploring you, stroking up and down as his tongue laps at your cunt. 

Logan prods your entrance with two fingers, slipping in just a bit, testing the waters. “Please,” you beg, pushing your hips down in an attempt to sink his fingers deeper into you. He stops you, his hand still firmly holding your hips down, refusing to give you the release you’re dying for. 

“So fucking impatient, aren’t you?” He tuts. And then he’s shoving two fingers all the way inside you, down to his knuckles. “Such a pretty pussy.”

“F-fuck!” You cry out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he sets a relentless pace. He’s drinking you in, sucking roughly, his long fingers pumping in and out with a vengeance. 

“’This what you wanted, pretty girl?” He asks condescendingly in between laps. You’re too fucked out to form a sentence, your legs trembling underneath him. You know he’s loving this—loving that you’re a wet, needy, whimpering mess. 

Your walls squeeze around his fingers, your swollen clit throbbing as he laps at you. You’re so close already. “Lo,” you call out, fisting the sheets of his bed. Everything in here smells like him: pine and mint and musk and tobacco and that thing that’s uniquely Logan. It’s all so overwhelming and overstimulating. You’re ready to fall apart, to melt into nothingness. “S-so close.”

He squeezes your hip. “I know, sweetheart,” he soothes, his pace unwavering as his fingers fuck into you, scissoring inside you, drawing you closer to your climax with that come-hither motion he does so well. Your walls flutter again. “That’s it,” he coos. “Wanna feel you come—wanna know what it tastes like.” He licks harder, faster. “Let go for me, darlin’.” 

He pushes you over the edge, pleasure warming your belly as you let go. It washes over you in waves, his fingers still pumping in and out, his tongue still hanging on to the taste of you. You ride it out, his thumb brushing your hip, coaxing you through it. His fingers slip out of your cunt, but his head is still buried between your legs. You shudder as he licks long, slow stripes through your folds. 

“So fucking sweet,” he growls, still starving for more. “Not done with you yet.”

Fuck. 

But you need more—need his cock deep inside you, pounding into you. You need him in front of you, his lips on yours. 

“Logan,” you whine, your voice shaky and trembling just like the rest of your body. He finally lifts his head, his hair a disheveled mess, your juices glistening on his lips and his chin. The sight of him makes your breath hitch in your throat. There’s a feral, needy look in his eyes. He’s starving for more of you, and you’re not quite sure he’ll ever get enough. 

But he can see your chest heaving and the desire in your own eyes. He knows what you need—he always does. He sits up on his knees, staring at you while he slowly unbuckles his belt. The tension is palpable, the clinking of his belt against the hardwood floors cutting through it like a hot knife—the only sounds the melding of your quick breaths and the shuffling of bed sheets as Logan finally comes up to meet you. 

He's balancing on his forearm as he unbuttons his jeans, undoing the zipper and shoving the denim and his boxers down his legs. You swallow at the sight of his cock springing against his stomach. You had felt his erection before, but he is far bigger than you ever anticipated. 

With one hand on his cock, he lowers himself in between your thighs. You instinctually spread your legs for him, inviting him in. He nudges against your entrance, taking his time. 

His forehead meets yours, your chests flush against each other’s, panting in sync. You’re both waiting with bated breath, his tip slipping inside, but stopping short before going any farther. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Thought I’d never have you,” he confesses, pushing his tip a bit further in. “Would’ve given up anything for this. Would’ve waited forever.”

“You don’t have to,” you murmur.  “I’m right here. I’m yours.” 

“Mine?”

“All yours.”

And then he’s pushing deep inside you, down to the hilt, bottoming out. He swallows your moans with a kiss, biting your lip, drawing blood, and licking it away. “All fucking mine.” He stays buried inside you, unmoving. “Wanna stay inside you forever, sweetheart,” he growls, your heart bursting at the thought.

He pulls himself all the way out and all the way back in, stretching you out, working you open. You look down in between your bodies and watch as his cock disappears inside of you. “Feels s-so fucking good,” you stammer, already drunk off him. 

“Like watching me fuck into you?” Logan husks, picking up his pace, his hips snapping into yours. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper. His muscles flex as he ruts into you. He takes the hand that was on his cock and brings it in between your bodies, his fingertips quickly finding your clit and giving it a soft pinch. Your back arches off the mattress at the sensation. 

Logan hums at your reaction. “So sensitive,” he groans. “Taking me so good, sweetheart.” You can feel him losing control as he rams into you, his thrusts growing harder with each pump of his cock. He’s drawing firm, fast circles into your core. 

It’s all too much, him, his cock, his fingers. Your skin is on fire, your nipples pushing against his chest—the friction absolutely delicious. You’re already so close, just a few steps away from the ledge, and you’re ready to fall. 

“Know you’re close, darlin’,” Logan moans in between kisses. “Can feel you squeezing me.” 

You hum in response, but Logan refuses to let up. His pace is beyond brutal, pounding into you over and over again, his fingers working your clit in tandem. Your muscles contract around him, gripping tightly. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “So fucking tight, so fucking warm.” His praises are more than you can handle. “You gonna come on my cock, just like this?” 

“Yes, fuck, Logan!” You’re a babbling mess, his name the only thing on your mind, on your lips, hanging in the air like it’s a sacred prayer. Everything is him, and it always has been. In this moment and in every other, he is your end and your beginning. 

 “Let go for me, sweetheart. Know you can do it for me.” His deep voice is all you need to walk you through it. You’re breaking down, coming on his cock, the pleasure coursing through your veins, spreading like an untamable fire. 

He’s stroking your clit long after you’ve come, still snapping his hips into yours, still working up towards his own orgasm. His pace is getting sloppier, but he shows no signs of stopping. You can feel yourself growing overstimulated, his cock rubbing against your walls, his fingers circling your clit. “S’too much,” you whine, your nails digging into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. 

Logan presses himself closer to you, as close as he possibly can be. “You’ve got one more in you, sweetheart,” he coaxes, not letting up. “Know you can take it.”

You’re breathless, clinging onto him helplessly. You’re clamping down on him again, taking him deeper than you did before. He’s hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. “Lo,” you whimper. “I’m gonna—”

“I know, darlin’,” he grunts. You can feel him throbbing inside you. “Let it happen, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

The tension is snapping again, breaking in half as he pulls another orgasm from you. You shudder as you come for a third time, overstimulated and beyond fucked out. You know he’s close behind, his hips slowing down, his forehead pressed against yours. He slips his hand away from your clit and around your back, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s so intimate, so perfect. 

“F-fuck,” he mumbles. “Where do you want me to—”

You hold him closer. “Stay,” you whisper. “Want you inside. Wanna feel you come.”

“Oh fuck,” he mutters, plunging deep inside you, his muscles tensing as he fills you up, your name on his lips. His thrusts slow, pumping in and out every now and then before finally stopping. 

You stay like this for a few minutes, his arm keeping you tight against his chest, his cock still buried inside you and your foreheads still pressed together. 

He brings a hand up to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. You sigh, your eyes fluttering open and closed. 

He shakes his head. “I always wanted you,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “The whole time. It was only ever you.” 

His words could make you cry. It’s everything you’ve ever hoped to hear. You smile, his hand finding its way to the crook of your neck, his fingers lightly stroking your sensitive skin. “Can’t believe I didn’t see it,” you breathe, your voice laden with sleepiness. “I never knew. Thought you’d never want me.”

“I’ll always want you.” His cock finally slips out of you, leaving you feeling empty. His legs tangle with yours, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “Would’ve waited forever for you, darlin’.”

“Forever?”

“Longer.”

[paceprompting]

one silver ring

written for ‘gift’ | wc: 1000 # | steddie | rated: t | cw: no warnings apply | tags: established relationship, eddie munson's rings, lazy mornings, domestic steddie, musician eddie,

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Eddie didn’t want to leave Steve behind.

Three years ago, they’ve gotten the hell out of Hawkins and gone with Robin to Chicago

It had been the three of them for a while now—him and Steve most of all, with Robin focused on her degree. They’d shared a room strictly to avoid being stuck with a three-bedroom apartment’s rent—and then because, somehow, Steve found Eddie’s gremlin brain and organized chaos endearing enough to want to do more than just sleeping.

And Eddie never had to explain why his nightmares terrified him too much to go back to sleep—a rare occurrence now, but almost worse because of it when they came back.

But it was a tour. Corroded Coffin’s tour. They needed to do it to build on the momentum of the album. Cross-country, multiple shows a week, for six months.

All without Steve.

Eddie loved the band. Gareth, Jeff and Freak had all stuck around through the terror and chaos of spring break in ‘86. Somehow, they’d agreed that going to Chicago to try for their big break was actually a good idea.

Steve was thinking about going to school. Once Robin was finished, and it would still be only one person who needed to cut back to a part-time job. Maybe a teaching degree.

The advance from the band’s label definitely helped. Enough to cover their rent through Robin’s graduation and months beyond for a while. Now all Eddie had to do was follow through and travel across the country playing his music night after night.

Steve groaned softly in his sleep, turning over to face Eddie. His hand shuffled blindly up the mattress to Eddie’s thigh, his large palm spread across Eddie’s bare skin. It shifted upwards, stopped by his stomach. Brows furrowed, Steve opened his eyes.

Blearily, he took in that Eddie was sat up on their bed instead of passed out haphazardly across most of the mattress.

“What time is it?” he mumbled half into his pillow.

Eddie glanced at the alarm clock on Steve’s side. It didn’t fare well when it was on Eddie’s. Not if they wanted it to work after one alarm.

“Before eight.”

Steve had to check for himself, sitting up onto his elbows. He looked back to Eddie. “What are you doing up?”

“Just thinking.” Eddie shrugged. “Start of the tour’s coming soon.”

Steve nudged him, raising his brows. “You excited?”

He’d practically jumped Steve when he got the call that it was all happening—literally jumped him. Steve had barely gotten his arms around Eddie when he’d leapt at him, they’d gone crashing to the floor.

“Sorta.”

Steve stared at Eddie’s profile, what wasn’t hidden by his hair. The bed creaked as he rose onto his knees and resettled beside Eddie’s, shoulders pressed together. “What’s wrong?”

Steve was warm from being underneath the blankets, even through his t-shirt. It was hit or miss right now in the summer, but Eddie practically glued himself to Steve’s side during the unforgiving Chicago winters.

Eddie bit at his bottom lip, pulling gently at the rings on his left hand. Moving them up to his knuckle and then back down to the base of his fingers.

“I want to give you something.”

“A gift? Not a usual occasion.” Steve wiggled closer, tucking his head onto Eddie’s shoulder.

“For my going away,” Eddie clarified. With a half-hearted laugh, he added. “I don’t want you forgetting about me after six months, do I?”

“I think you have that backwards, Eds,” Steve teased with a kiss to the side of his face.

Steve slid one arm around Eddie’s middle, pulling him close. Eddie hadn’t realized how much he needed the touch until he leaned back against Steve’s chest, the tense air in his chest leaving him.

“Just,” Eddie paused, working the ring off his index finger. He reached for Steve’s free hand, bringing it around in front of them, palm facing up. “Here.”

He fit it onto Steve’s thumb, the bulky, silver cross ring only reaching the first knuckle. A size too small.

Steve huffed his laughter into Eddie’s hair, bring his other hand up to test his other fingers until the ring found a home on his own index finger, the same place where Eddie wore it.

“Perfect,” Steve murmured, twisting his hand to examine his new adornment.

It was anything but perfect for Steve—who still preferred his polos and Henleys in every color except black. But Eddie wasn’t sure he would ask for it back after the tour.

“I’m going to miss you.”

Steve wrapped his arms around him, squeezing with a gently hum. “After hours playing your music, hearing thousands chant your name, you’re not going to be thinking about me. Not to mention being exhausted from all the traveling.”

Eddie couldn’t believe Steve thought he was the reason their pairing was strange. Eddie should never have snuck under Steve’s radar, and yet Steve never asked him to leave.

“You’re going to be in my every spare thought, babe.”

There was a second where neither of them said anything, and Eddie closed his eyes to bask in Steve’s warmth.

“You going to dedicate a song to me?” Steve asked, nosing Eddie’s hair out of the way to nip at the shell of his ear. Only God and Eddie knew how many Corroded Coffin songs had been written while Eddie pined for his roommate—not to mention the explicit ballads that had come after their dancing around each other while having sex phase.

Some of those had needed a rewrite.

“Maybe.”

“Which one?” Steve pitched his voice low, and Eddie shivered. Steve slid his hand underneath Eddie’s shirt, teasing up and up until he grazed Eddie’s sensitive chest.

“God, fuck, all of them.”

Steve held him tight to keep Eddie from squirming, his chuckle low in his chest.

“Thank you for the ring, sweetheart,” he said, slowly tipping them back onto the bed and climbing over Eddie to see how the ring looking tangled in his curls.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 6

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5

In the next letter, Eddie makes no comment about their differing opinions. Chrissy knew he wouldn’t. She doesn’t know Eddie, not really, but he’s never seemed like the kind of guy who’d stop talking to someone over such shallow, small differences, no matter how he comes off in his little cafeteria rants.

       Secret Admirer,

       You’re enough, just the way you are, brown eyes and all. I bet they’re real pretty. I could look into them for hours, mesmerized by every color differentiation, spend days counting every one of your eye lashes.

       Just say the word—I’ll pick you up in my van and we can go to the drive-in and hold hands the whole time. I’ll wear my silver jewelry, and you can wear gold. I bet your hands would look real pretty wrapped up in mine.

       I’ll be a gentleman, sweetheart, I swear.

       Only the best for you.

       Yours,

       Eddie

       P.S. Romantic meeting spot. I can’t wait to put this note right next to your heart. Next time maybe I can put my letter in Moby Dick. After all, you’re my white whale, baby, I’m always looking for you.

She likes Eddie, really she does, but the way Steve blushes as he hands the letter to her is ridiculous. The guy’s not exactly smooth, or suave, or any of the things that should leave Steve all hot and bothered.

Still, she dutifully helps him write his reply:

       Eddie —

       Maybe someday, we’ll get to go to that movie. When we do, you don’t have to be a gentleman at all—I’m easy, if it’s for you, and it would be such a waste not to make use of all that space in your van.

       I don’t have any rings, but if I did, I think I’d want one of yours. That way, whenever I look down at them, I’d be reminded of you.

       How was your day? All I want to do is ask and hear your reply.

       Yours, always

       Your Secret Admirer

       P.S. I’ll search the seas for you.

“I know he’s your friend, but I just don’t get it,” Chrissy says to Jeff, walking close enough to his side that their shoulders brush. “The guy looks like a mangy poodle, and he’s not exactly Shakespeare.”

Jeff snorts. “Hey, he’s at least a cute mangy poodle,” he replies, bumping their shoulders purposefully this time.

“I guess if you’re into that sort of thing,” she mutters, and somehow, Steve is. It still shocks her, sometimes, when she thinks about it too much.

“The heart wants what it wants,” Jeff says, sounding wise, but when she glances at him, he’s grinning, eyebrows jumping up and down at her like this is all just some joke.

She scoffs, “I just wish what Steve wanted wasn’t leading toward a broken heart.”

Jeff’s expression drops at that, mouth pursing. He’s quiet all the way to Eddie’s locker. She slips Steve’s letter between the slats and keeps walking, only stopping when she realizes Jeff’s no longer beside her. When she turns around, he’s staring at Eddie’s closed locker like it holds the answers to the universe.

“I’m not so sure about that,” he says, finally turning back toward her and catching back up with quick strides.

Chrissy doesn’t respond, at a loss for what to say. She can’t see it, but for all the letters she’s helped write, her and Eddie aren’t friends. She doesn’t know him as well as Jeff, who’s been by his side for years, or even as well as Steve, who watches him every chance he can get.

“Yeah, maybe,” she replies, unwilling to let any hope build, not when it’s Steve’s heart on the line. “Want a ride home?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jeff replies.

And when he slides into her passenger seat, she feels a little less alone.

The letters keep coming, and Steve keeps blushing and pushing them across the table at her.

       Secret Admirer,

       Oh, a flirty one, aren’t you? I like it. But maybe I’m shy, did you ever think about that? Maybe I want to walk you to your door, slide one of my rings on your finger, and give you a little kiss. You can pick the ring, baby—I’ll even resize it to fit you just right.

       My days are always brighter when I hear from you. I go to the quarry on Wednesday’s to peddle my wares, but all I want to do is go home and play my guitar (my sweetheart). I’m writing a new song and I really want to get it down by next week’s practice, but I’m stuck on a riff I just can’t get right.

       Do you play any instruments?

       Sincerely,

       Eddie

       P.S. You’re going to make me swoon, babygirl.

And Steve keeps responding using Chrissy’s pen and Chrissy’s brain, and his own bleeding heart.

       Eddie —

       My mom made me take piano lessons when I was little, but my dad refused to keep paying for them. I didn’t want to at first, but I really liked it. Maybe I’ll brush up my skills so I can play a song for you. Any requests?

       Does your band play anywhere? I remember you from the middle school talent show, are you still going by Corroded Coffin? I bet you look hot when you play—I want to see it, someday. Your rings would glint under show lights, hypnotizing the entire audience. Especially me.

       Did you figure out your riff? I’m waiting with bated breath.

       Sincerely,

       Your Secret Admirer

       P.S. leave this one in The Taming of the Shrew.

She wants to build a cage and lock him inside, or shake him and shake him until he sees what a risk he’s taking. Jeff might not see it, his priorities are different. But her first concern is Steve, always will be Steve, whose heart isn’t the only thing on the line. And she can feel it coming—the moment, inevitably, when this whole thing falls to pieces.

       Secret Admirer,

       Have you read this play? It’s not the romantic story you think it is. Since you’re already holding the book, why not check it out? I promise not to look at the checkout card to figure out who you are (I say, unrepentantly lying).

       My band actually just got our first gig at the Hideout. It’s next Tuesday, and you should come! I would love to see you in the audience, cheering me on. I’ve been trying to respect your boundaries, but darling, I want to see you. Will you come? Please?

       Thinking of you, always,

       Eddie

Chrissy doesn’t want to stand by and watch Steve Harrington break.

*** 

Part of Eddie wonders if he won’t get another letter—if she’ll just show up at the Hideout next Tuesday with a smile. Still, when he hasn’t received an answer for a couple days, he checks if anyone’s checked out The Taming of the Shrew, but no, it’s still there, nestled on its shelf in the library, Eddie’s damning letter no longer inside.

He’s starting to wonder if he made a terrible mistake.

It’s happenstance, the way he finds out. He could have just as easily not forgotten his campaign notes. He could have been prepared, and not left all his little sheep moaning and groaning about what amounts to a five minute delay, if he’s quick about it.

He could have, but he didn’t.

Instead, Eddie stands at the end of the hall, transfixed, as he watches Chrissy Cunningham’s distinctive high ponytail sway back and forth as she walks away. From his locker. Where he just saw her slip something in.

She’s well out of sight before Eddie walks up to the looming hunk of metal on shaky legs. It takes three tries to get it open, and there, for all and sundry to see, is an envelope with his name written in a familiar scrawl.

He doesn’t open it.

“What took so long?” Doug gripes as Eddie shuffles back into the room, clutching his notebook to his chest.

Eddie walks slowly to his throne without replying, eyes still unfocused and fixed on the swishing of Chrissy’s hair.

“Are you okay?” Jeff asks.

Eddie shakes the thoughts out of his head, leans back on his throne, and smiles. “Sometimes a quester is besieged on his travels and must defeat a mighty foe before he can return from whence he came.” He says it with all the gravitas of his dungeon master voice.

Doug laughs, Gareth rolls his eyes, but Jeff’s eyes are narrowed on his face for the next ten minutes until he gets sucked into the campaign. And Eddie? Eddie’s heart isn’t in it. No matter how determined he is to put it out of his mind, it keeps sticking to his neurons.

Because Chrissy? She’s nice, sure. And pretty, definitely. Her hair’s…nice? Bouncy? It’s probably soft. And yeah, she’s a jock, but she’s not like most of them—too kind to give a kid a swirly or call any of the other girls fat.

Which brings him to the King of the jocks, Steve Harrington, whose name is practically branded on Chrissy’s shoulders by this point, whose arm is pretty much super-glued around her waist. Steve, with his perfect hair, and long eyelashes, and those big brown eyes, and all those muscles.

Something too squirmy to be hatred sinks in his gut. Jealousy, maybe? Because how could someone like him compete with King Steve for a lady’s hand, love notes or no?

He’s distracted for the rest of the campaign, says half-hearted goodbyes to the boys before finally closing the van door on them and driving away.

When he opens the letter in the safety of his bedroom, it’s shorter than usual:

  Eddie —

  There’s nothing more I want than to see you up on that stage, rocking out, in your element, but I’m just not ready. I hope you’ll forgive me.

  Yours,

  Your Secret Admirer

  P.S. If you still want to respond, I’ll look in the big print edition of The Hobbit.

He goes over the words again and again, finger running along the lines of each character, trying to picture Chrissy pouring over them with her pen.  He loves all the words in all the letters, wants to carve them all on his skin, helplessly charmed by each vulnerability shared.

He can’t quite make the words fit the girl.

Eddie still drops his next reply in the big print edition of The Hobbit the next morning. He watches Chrissy all day. He’s surprised, somehow, when she meets his eyes once across the insurmountable distances between them in the lunchroom. She ducks her head immediately and blushes, even with Harrington’s arm wrapped around her shoulders.

There isn’t another note by the end of the day.

“So, wait,” Gareth says, stoned out of his mind and sprawled out on Eddie’s bed after the hell they call education finally released them. “You’re saying Chrissy has been leaving you all those notes?”

Eddie spins around in his desk chair, but it’s not one of those fancy wheeled ones that Harrington probably has, so he’s forced to turn and straddle the back, letting his head hang over the headrest as he groans.

“For the last time, yes!” he says, more to the little bits of his carpet that he can see than to Gareth himself. “It’s Chrissy!”

Gareth takes another hit, blowing smoke toward Eddie’s ceiling to swirl around and join the rest of the stains up there. “Are you sure it wasn’t just someone who looked like her? How close to her were you?”

Eddie groans again, shuffles off his uncomfortable chair to flop beside Gareth and steal his joint back. “She was wearing a cheerleading uniform, man,” he says before taking a puff and letting all the smoke out with his next words. “And no one else on the team has that color hair.”

Gareth hums, twisting on his side to burrow his head into Eddie’s only pillow. “What is that color even? Like, blond but with a weird red in it? What’s it called, bluh-red?”

He laughs like that’s the funniest joke in the world, so Eddie doesn’t hand back the joint, just pulls on it until he’s down to the quick and ashes it on his nightstand as Gareth whines.

“It’s strawberry blond, you idiot.”

Gareth wrinkles his nose at that. “That’s a stupid name.”

Eddie smacks his hand out, lets it hit Gareth’s arm with a solid thwack. “You’re supposed to be helping me!”

“With what?” Gareth replies, rolling away from Eddie when he goes to hit him again. He ends up on Eddie’s floor, fall cushioned by all of his dirty clothes scattered about. “Just like, talk to her?”

“Chrissy Cunningham?” Eddie demands. Gareth doesn’t seem to be understanding the severity of the situation. “Whose head cheerleader and, oh yeah, dating Steve Harrington?”

“So what? The guy’s a douche,” Gareth replies.

Instead of getting back up on the bed, he snuggles further into Eddie’s dirty clothes, rolling around like a pig in a mud puddle until he’s got enough of Eddie’s discarded shirts on him to function as a makeshift blanket.

Harrington is a douche. He’s got to spend an obscene amount of time on his hair in the morning, and he hangs out with those hyenas on the basketball team all the time, and he’s Steve Harrington. Rich kid, lady killer, King Steve Harrington.

Maybe all Chrissy really wants is an excuse to leave him. If that’s what his lady wants, he will provide.

*** 

Steve’s been sitting on Eddie’s letter for a few days now, at a loss for what to say. He puts it under his pillow at night, hoping the perfect answer will come to him in his dreams. He finds himself unfolding it and refolding it again and again, wondering if the words will change.

  Darling,

  If you’re not ready, that’s okay. But the heart wants what it wants, and you can’t blame me for trying, can you? Even still, I’ll be singing just for you.

  Of course I still want your letters, never doubt that. They’re still, always, forever, the best part of my day.

  Always,

  Eddie

  P.S. Excellent choice in hiding places, have you read it?

It’s just, a big part of him had expected Steve’s dismissal of meeting up would end this thing they have. He’d braced for it, and instead, Eddie was sweet.

And Steve can’t give him what he wants, isn’t what he wants, so he keeps the letter with him and stews on it, Chrissy sending him worried looks when she thinks he’s not paying attention.

No matter how lost in thought he is, a part of him is always tuned into Eddie’s presence, so he sees him coming before Chrissy does.

“Miss Cunningham,” Eddie says, leaning forward like a gallant knight as he takes her small hand in one of his own. She jumps, eyes darting up from her lunch to meet Eddie’s own. “Can I have this dance?”

The rest of the lunch table titters. It might have been charming, if they were at a dance, or anywhere aside from shoehorned to the side of the table with all of Steve’s shitty friends laughing.

It might have been charming if Eddie’d looked at Steve at all.

Chrissy’s sure looking at him, though—eyes all wide in her face as she shifts her gaze back and forth from Steve sitting across from her to Eddie crouched at her side.

“Um—” is all she gets out before Jason stands from the far end of the table and starts taking threatening steps forward.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Freak?” Jason demands, chin raised.

Steve’s about ready to stand, insert himself in the whole thing, but then Eddie’s lips graze Chrissy’s hand.

Jason stumbles back like he’s been shot. Eddie grins against Chrissy’s skin, turns his gaze away from Jason, and lands on Steve. He can almost feel it on his own skin as Eddie puckers his lips again and presses another kiss to Chrissy’s skin, this time to the smooth surface of her wrist.

He never looks away from Steve.

“Um!” Chrissy says again.

Only then does Eddie break eye contact with him. He drops Chrissy’s hand, placing it gently back to the table, says, “until next time, mi amore,” and saunters away, continuing until he’s out of the cafeteria entirely.

Steve doesn’t look away until the door swings shut and blocks his view of Eddie entirely.

“What was that, Chrissy?” Jason demands. He’s moved closer while Steve was distracted, absolutely towering over her, looking more like a beleaguered father than an ex. “First Harrington, and now the Freak?”

Steve wants to defend himself, defend Eddie, defend Chrissy. But despite what Jason clearly thinks, she’s never needed defending, so he asks, “do you want to get out of here?”

“God, yes,” Chrissy sighs.

They leave their lunches uneaten and their tables unbussed, hustling out the same doors Eddie’d just sauntered through, leaving a scolding Jason in their wake. Something about devil worship and blaspheming?

Steve’s not exactly the church-going type; he’s just glad when the doors swing shut and cut off Jason’s little speech.

“What was that?” Chrissy asks in a whisper despite the deserted corridor.

“Jason?” Steve asks at his normal volume. “I don’t know, he’s always been a bit like that, hasn’t he?”

“Not Jason,” Chrissy snaps, slapping at Steve’s arm, taking any sting out of the motion by wrapping her arm in his after and reeling him right back in. “Eddie!”

Steve, who had sort of been hoping that he could pretend the whole thing had been a vivid hallucination, has nothing to say.

“Do you think he knows?” she asks, voice quiet again as she looks furtively around the deserted halls, for random passerby’s or even Eddie himself.

“About you?” Steve asks, stomach sinking even further when he continues, “or about me?”

Chrissy stumbles, eyes going impossibly wider at the thought. She pulls him into an abandoned classroom and pushes him into one of the uncomfortable chairs. She sits in front of him, looking across the desk between them like he’s a sad woodland creature she’d just hit with her car.

“He can’t know about you,” she says. “He was flirting with me.”

Steve grimaces. Chrissy’s too nice, always thinking the best in people like she doesn’t have Jason Carver as living, breathing proof that sometimes, beyond all expectations, people can suck.

“He could be fucking with me. Eddie seems like the type to play with his food.” Steve stares down at the grooves of the desk he’s seated in. Someone had carved FUCK on it in big, bold letters. Steve’s never agreed with a sentiment more. “Do you think Jeff told him?”

Chrissy shakes her head so hard that her ponytail whacks her in the face. “No way, he promised!” she reminds him.

Jeff seems like a good guy, but Steve’s not sure how far that goes. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to trust like that, not with this.

“Well, what do we do?” Steve asks. “Should you just flirt back next time?”

Chrissy bites her lip, worrying at the dry skin there until Steve taps her chin in reminder, and she puts her teeth back in her mouth.

“Maybe it won’t happen again?”

Steve sighs, thunking his head down against the desk. “Yeah, maybe,” he murmurs into the wood, Chrissy’s hand patting his shoulder a paltry consolation to the nightmare he’s found himself in.

*** 

It happens again.

“Carry your books, my lady?” Eddie asks. He’s already got his hands out expectantly, but he’s too much of a gentleman to make a move without her say-so.

She watches his hopeful grin for a moment before sliding her pile of books into his awaiting arms. Once secured, he does an endearing little fist bump before taking up residence at her side like it's his birthright.

“What are you doing, Eddie?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” he asks, almost sounding clueless enough to convince her, if it wasn’t for that little smirk on his lips.

Everyone in the hallways are giving them a wide berth, clearly shocked by the unexpected pair. It’s nice, almost, to be given so much space. But—

But.

“You know I’m with Steve, right?” Chrissy asks.

Eddie grimaces, like just hearing Steve’s name is enough to sour his mood. “What, is it illegal to walk a pretty girl to class now?” he asks.

Chrissy’s own mood sinks to the pits, and she sighs, disappointed. “No,” she replies before letting the silence between them linger uncomfortably.

Eddie’s fidgeting with her books, anxious fingers fluttering against the loose pages of one of her notebooks, and his eyes dart toward her every couple of seconds.

“Chrissy—”

“You know, for someone who spends so much time ranting about the status quo, you sure can’t seem to look past skin deep.”

Eddie jerks like she struck him. Chrissy would feel bad if she wasn’t thinking about having to tell her best friend about this in a couple hours. “I see you,” he murmurs, shifting on his feet and not meeting her gaze as he holds out her books for her to take.

When Chrissy sighs, he flinches again. “I don’t think you do,” she says, not sticking around to see how it lands.

She’s got class to get to, and a best friend’s heart to break.

Chrissy snags Steve’s hand before he can walk through the cafeteria’s swinging doors and pulls him the other way. They settle into the same, abandoned classroom in the same, abandoned seats.

“It happened again,” she says, not letting go of Steve’s hand.

He’s still got a bit of polish clinging to his nails, the chipped yellow making him look almost jaundiced with how patchy it is. She uses her own fingernail to chip at it, ignoring the sunshine yellow flakes dropping down to the empty desk separating them.

Steve doesn’t ask what happened again; he doesn’t need to.

“Did you flirt back?” he asks.

Chrissy bites her lip. “I let him carry my books.”

She hadn’t flirted, is the thing, but she hadn’t gotten rid of him either. She knew, no matter how heartbroken he looks across from her right now, he wouldn’t have wanted her to.

“Okay,” he says, like it really is, like he means it. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me!” she snaps, snatching her hands back for a second before the bewildered look on his face has her reaching out again. “What are you thanking me for?”

Steve smiles—it’s small, and sad, and he’s beaming it right into her soul. “For keeping me safe.”

Chrissy groans, dropping her head onto their clasped hands and just keeps groaning. He means it—of course he does. If there’s one thing she’s learned since this whole thing started, it’s that Steve Harrington is somehow, inexplicably, too nice for his own good.

“I love you, you know,” she says, lips brushing against his skin with every word.

She’s been thinking it since he’d called her his best friend in that letter, since he’d said it and she hadn’t said it back. It sits unsaid behind her teeth every time he smiles, or frowns, or anything at all. He’s just too dang easy to love.

When he doesn’t reply, she forces herself to raise her tired head and get a look at his face. His eyes are big and round, mouth hanging open far enough that she’s tempted to close it for him, and there’s a damning sheen to his eyes that makes her own water.

“Really?” he asks, voice cracking. “You do?”

“Of course,” she replies, the way he always does to her, no matter what she asks for.

He smiles again, and it’s big this time, happy and watery around the edges as he says, “love you, too,” leaving the “I” out of the confession like that’ll somehow make the whole thing less real.

They’re smiling at each other like damn fools when Steve’s stomach growls and they dissolve into giggles.

“Buy me lunch?” she asks.

“Of course.” He jumps up from the desk and holds out his hand for her, an unknowing mirror of Eddie this morning.

She doesn’t put her books into his arms, just takes his hand.

PART 7

[rollercoasterwords]

do you have any favorite poems? Or poets

YES!!!!! here is a long list of some favorite poems:

we have not long to love - tennessee williams

dream song 28: snow line - john berryman

a poem about the hounds and the hares - lisel mueller

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond - e.e. cummings

[i carry your heart with me (i carry it in] - e.e. cummings

wishbone - richard siken

scheherazade - richard siken

dirty valentine - richard siken

the torn-up road - richard siken

you are jeff - richard siken

the crowds cheered as gloom galloped away - matthea harvey

outbreaks - kitchen mckeown

if morning never comes - kallie falandays

i want to tell you yes - kallie falandays

another elegy - jericho brown

regarding the rottgen pieta - elle emerson

the sensual world - louise glück

hesitate to call - louise glück

the edge - louise glück

gretel in darkness - louise glück

messengers - louise glück

snowdrops - louise glück

telemachus' guilt - louise glück

midnight - louise glück

siren - louise glück

october - louise glück

the silver lily - louise glück

persephone the wanderer - louise glück

the pond - louise glück

beg - franny choi

making of - franny choi

perchance to dream - franny choi

august peaches - joan tierney

you think you are something less real than you are - wendy xu

the double-bed dream gallows - richard brautigan

a boat - richard brautigan

molly brodak - molly brodak

what the dragon said: a love story - catherynne m. valente

the tenor of your yes - mary ruefle

in the desert - stephen crane

i try to sing along but i get it all wrong - frog k

two mangoes - kc cramm

from a german war primer - bertolt brecht

to be read in the morning and at night - bertolt brecht

saint judas - james wright

goodtime jesus - james tate

the crown of laurel - ursula k. leguin

the old catcher considers the failing of his knees - devin kelly

wild geese - mary oliver

a brother named gethsemane - natalie diaz

& some fave books of poetry: poems 1962-2012 by louise glück, when my brother was an aztec by natalie diaz, grit by silas denver melvin, soft science by franny choi, in the pines by alice notley, crush by richard siken, and war of the foxes by richard siken.

[dreamwatch]

Ramblin' Gamblin' Man

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #20 - Prompt: Under The Covers | Word Count: 979 | Rating: M | CW: period typical homophobia (alluded to) | POV: Steve | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: secret relationship, sharp suits, Steve Harrington is stupid for Eddie Munson, Fluff but make it lustful

Steve’s at the Grammys. Holy Shit.

It’s not the first time Eddie’s been here, but it’s the first time he’s brought Steve. He walked the red carpet alone last time, the rest of the band ahead of him with their wives and girlfriends, Eddie playing up the bachelor angle. Steve watched from their home. 

Tonight they’re ’best friends if anyone asks’, which Eddie thinks is unlikely because there are some big names here and like, who the fuck are they in the scheme of things?

They’re not nominated for anything; Eddie said they’d been asked to play a cover of Ramblin’ Gamblin Man and both Wayne and Steve’s dad are big Bob Seger fans so the band said yes. See, its little things like that that make him want to climb inside Eddie and never come out. Any other act is thinking about the prestige, Eddie’s thinking about whether his family would like it.

He loves this man so fucking much.

The band are sitting about ten rows back; he’s got a clear view of Sheryl Crow from his seat, and he’s pretty sure that’s the back of Whitney Houston’s head over to his left.

His new phone is buzzing in his pocket. Robin is obsessed with sending him messages. Tonight so far:

‘Is Stevie Nicks there?’

‘If she is please tell me she’s hot.’

‘Shit I think I just saw you!’

‘Is that Sheryl Crow in front of you?’

He deletes them to make space for new messages, hopefully something about how their friends are at the goddamn Grammys and not whether Shania Twain has a nice ass. (She does, he looked.)

Eddie taps his arm. “Okay, we have to go get changed.”

“Huh? Why?”

They’re wearing their ‘Corroded Coffin smart attire’, essentially their usual clothes minus the rips. They’re not exactly scruffy, per se, but… Steve’s in a suit here, you know? (The suit is borrowed, but it’s all about the effort.)

Eddie grins at him. “You didn’t think I was performing at the Grammys in this, did you?” He pulls at the long sleeve tee he’s wearing under his new leather jacket. 

“I mean, yeah, I kind of did.”

Eddie tsks. “For shame, Steve.” He leans in, achingly close, his breath tickling Steve’s neck. “Wish me luck.”

Just for a second Steve thinks about kissing him. Fuck everyone else, fuck the fans, the industry, he just wants to kiss his man publicly. But he doesn’t. Instead he shifts so his lips are practically touching the shell of Eddie’s ear.

“Good luck,” he whispers. 

Eddie shivers. Steve laughs.

The boys all leave, and now it’s Steve and The Wives.

Thirty minutes later the sound of a trashy high-hat fills the auditorium, lights flashing in time to the thu-thu thump bass drum pattern. Despite Jeff being their lead vocalist it’s Eddie, with his raspier, bluesier voice, that’s taking the lead tonight, and doesn’t that just make Steve’s heart fucking cry out with pride? And you know, Eddie, his Eddie, singing at a nationally televised event should be the thing he’s concentrating on, and it is! It is. But when the lights go up the first thing he actually notices is—

“Holy shit, they’re wearing suits!” 

Bonnie says it before anyone else gets a chance. He imagines the four of them are a picture right now, side by side, eyes on stalks because their men are all on stage at the Grammy’s wearing blacks suits, crisp white shirts and… fucking sunglasses. 

Look, he’s seen Eddie in a suit. It was a nice suit, but he looked about as comfortable as a priest in a lingerie store. This is not that.

These are sharp tailored suits, fitted to perfection. Eddie has too many buttons undone on the shirt, some of his chest exposed, that old Fender guitar pick necklace replaced with a solid silver copy (the original with Wayne). The stage lights hit his mirrored Ray Bans, the chain, the rings. But Steve can’t take his eyes off that fucking suit.

He’s going to devour him.

Eddie’s not a frontman, says he loves being able to just do his thing and let Jeff take care of the crowd. But he has a feeling things might change after tonight. 

The audience are on their feet, and Steve grabs the girls so they can head down to the backstage area. They have passes but even then he has to pull the ‘pregnant ladies coming through’ card to get them back to the green room. And when they get in there--

They’re still dressed in those fucking suits.

Eddie spins toward him. “Hey! What did you—“

Steve doesn’t give him a chance to finish the sentence, he has his hands on Eddie’s face and he’s dragging him in for a long, deep kiss, Eddie’s eyes wide and cross eyed.

When he finally comes up for air he realises Jeff, Gareth and Matt are all getting much the same treatment from their wives.

“You’re never taking this off, understand?” Steve says breathlessly. “Never.”

“What… the suit?”

“Duh, the suit, yes the suit. You’re never taking it off. I don’t care what you’re doing, mowing the lawn, taking the trash out, washing the car, don’t care. This,” he says gently pulling at a very expensive lapel, “is never leaving your body.” He goes in for another kiss. “God the things I’m going to do to you tonight.”

“In the suit?”

“Fuck yes, in the suit! Told you, you’re never taking this off.”

Eddie’s grin is slow and mischievous. “This is really doing it for you, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

It’s doing it for everyone. There are three respectable married ladies here, mothers no less, acting like groupies at an Aerosmith gig. 

Steve squeezes his hips. “Let’s go.”

“Sunglasses: on or off?”

Steve wants to sink his teeth into him right here.

“On. Definitely on.”

The song:

The inspiration:

[carolmunson]

let's go, don't wait (e.m. x f!reader)

inspired by this prompt by @edsforehead - it's not exactly the same but i did my best! summary: modern!eddie's been single since 2020 and aside from getting his dick wet after weekend shows at the hideout, he hasn't been going out of his way for love until his friends make him. cw: 18+ for adult themes. alcohol use, swearing, some sexual themes. some discussions of bad parents. eddie had some sad parts of his childhood. all around this is a fluff piece so nothing too bad. (11k) eddie is 32, reader is 30. so older!reader i guess, idk. i already started writing the part two which is almost entirely smut.

Jingle. Click. Creak. “Mmmm.” Eddie knows that groan anywhere, the deep primal urging of a one Gareth Emerson and the giggles of his girlfriend, Tatianna Edwards. They stumble into the apartment, lips attached, hands grabbing and fisting each other’s layers from the cold. 

“Hi guys,” he calls out, his tone was as bored and annoyed as he hoped it would be. His eyes don’t leave the TV, transfixed on the screen while he watches another YouTube compilation of the best guitar solos of all time. He disagrees with most of them, but it’s enough to drone on in the background while he scrolls through his Twitter feed. He’s never even posted. Not once. Not even a picture on his profile. 

“Hi Ed,” Tati chirps, clicking the side table lights on. He can smell her Chloe perfume when she comes to give him a hug hello. Her arms wrap around him from behind the couch, cheeks touching, a few of her butterfly twists falling forward over his shoulder. 

“Did you stay in tonight?” she asks, pressing a glossy smooch to his cheek. “Sure did,” he huffs, arms crossing over hers in a semblance of an embrace. Her gold bracelets are cool against his skin, her gold rings match his silver ones. He thought when Tati entered the picture that he and Gareth would’ve started to drift apart. Instead, Tati became Eddie’s new best friend – Gare really took ‘date the girl version of Eddie’ to heart. They were two peas in a pod. “You should’ve come out, there were a lot of single girls there – you’re a good dancer, you coulda snagged one,” she sounds like a mother trying to set him up. Eddie tilts his head up and looks at her from below, her deep skin shimmering with the glitter fallout from her eye makeup. She always looks pretty with ease, even with her makeup smudged – like she meant to do that. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” he smiles tightly, but the look falls to something soft when Tati lets go and her almond shaped manicured nails rake gently over his scalp through his conditioned curls.  “You can’t just keep picking up girls from shows, dude,” Gareth chides playfully, coming around the couch to sit next to him, “They’re starting to get waaaay too young for you at the bars.”

“Yeah, perv,” Tatianna teases, ruffling his hair before curling up on the recliner closer to the TV.

“Can we please not talk about this again,” Eddie sighs, sinking further into the cushions. He presses on his eyes with the heels of his hands, “You do this every time you guys come back from a date.”

“We gotta get you on Hinge, or something,” Gareth says.

“Tinder at the very least,” Tatianna follows.

“Okay, I’m going to bed,” Eddie grunts when he gets up, a little dizzy at the speed before he finds his footing, “Don’t be too loud tonight.”

“Just trying to help!” Tati calls out, “You deserve to be too loud at night, too!”

Eddie sucks his teeth before he turns the corner to the hallway, disappearing for the night while his friends fell more in love. 

It feels like they’re disassembling a bomb. Eddie sulks in a seat at the kitchen table while Robin, Steve, Nancy, and Gareth chatter behind him. Jeff and his wife sit across from him with just as much excitement as the group opposite them. Eddie frowns, bangs too long over his eyes, hands sweating onto the back of his banged up stickered phone case.

“I think you should put the picture of the guitar last, it doesn’t have your face in it. I’d swipe past you,” Robin points at the screen in front of him while he tries to make sense of his Hinge profile. 

“Well you’re a whole lesbian Rob, so you’d swipe past me anyway,” Eddie’s clipped words make the group laugh instead of making them back off. His shoulders sink immediately. This was mortifying.

“She’s right though,” Steve pipes up, “They’ll think you’re some weirdo who's obsessed with his guitar if you — well, actually then maybe it’s fine…” 

“Why don’t you—” Jeff starts.

“You’re married and you’ve been with Alycia since 2014. Your opinions are void,” Eddie interrupts with a sigh. 

Jeff lets out a laugh from his broad smile, “Look, I’m just saying. Why don’t you focus on your answers to the questions rather than the pictures? Girls love stuff like that. You’re smart, you’re a good writer.” 

“Babe, they’re not gonna care about his answers if the first picture they see is of an out of focus guitar taken on an iPhone 4S,” Alycia cocks her head at Jeff, “Like, at least be honest with him.” 

“I know you’re squinting in that picture from Jeff’s wedding but maybe you can put that one first,” Nancy points to the screen and then scrolls down a little. It lands on a photo of Jeff and Eddie, both sweating from the night's activities. His dress shirt is unbuttoned half way down his chest, silver chains and tattoos on full display, tie tied around Jeff’s forehead like a makeshift Rambo. 

“Yeah, you look really good in it,” Robin agrees. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” Tati shuffles into the kitchen, “I got in touch with the photographer from the show two weeks ago at Wraith Bar and he’s sending me some pictures.” 

“You can use the six pictures you’re tagged in from the last three years,” Tatianna scolds, “You look like a bum in them.” 

The group frowns and tosses glances at each other, it’s true. The more recent pictures they had of Eddie were far and few between. He was either blinking or off to the side, blurry or ducking out of frame. Every picture where he looks like himself was either from a show or had Chrissy in it, and he deleted all of those three years ago.

“Stop, you look so fine in these,” Tatianna squeals, “The girls are gonna love you.” Everyone but Eddie huddles around Tatianna to scroll through the pictures. Some of him mid shred with sweat pouring down his chest. Some of him screaming into the mic, hair wild and wet around his face. There was one, that he begrudgingly really liked, where his head leaned back into the light with a winning Munson smile. It was when he heard the opening drums to cover ‘The Immigrant Song’ as a gag – but not really a gag ‘cause he loves that song. It gets everyone at the bar pretty excited – even if they only know the song from School of Rock. 

Eventually, Eddie isn’t even holding his phone, it’s being passed between Tati, Steve, and Robin while he dictates his answers to stupid questions. By the time his profile is finished, his head is hidden in his mass of curls, resting his forehead on his forearms at the table. 

“Are we done now?” he asks into the space between his face and the woodgrain. Despite the winter air flowing through the kitchen window, he’s overheated with embarrassment. There are suddenly too many people around, too much talking, too much giggling at his expense. He tilts his head back up and takes a full breath through his nose and out through his mouth – “Oh shit! You matched with someone!” “How? I didn’t even look at anyone yet,” Eddie’s brows furrow while his head slowly comes to center. “Don’t worry about it, dingus,” Robin chides, “Just talk to her.” Eddie takes the phone and looks at her profile. Rachel, 27, Vet tech. She’s pretty, soft eyes, great smile. He swallows thickly before he goes to his ‘Matches’ and types three letters that felt like they took ten years to write: Hey.

The chats start fast and die faster, some flirty banter here and there before he’s too nervous or quickly bored. His heart squeezes every time he gets a notification, a buzz in his pocket, a reminder of a message. Some girls don’t want a relationship and that’s fine, that’s just not what he’s looking for. Some girls ask the big questions first and he can’t answer right away. Some girls just aren’t his type and he isn’t theirs either. 

The first date he goes on ends with her excusing herself to the bathroom before they even get to order dinner. She doesn’t come back — he’s not even sure what he did. It started off fine, she was pretty with blonde hair and blue eyes. Fun and easy conversation, a voice that sounded like powder puffs and sugar scented perfume. If he blurred his vision a little, she could’ve been Chris. But she wasn’t Chris. 

Maybe that’s why she left. Maybe she got the vibe that he was preoccupied with her looking like his ex. 

Maybe it was because he said, ‘You remind me so much of my ex-wife,’ before they got to order dinner. 

His second date wasn’t much better. He was proud of himself for not going for another Chrissy look alike, but it was clear that this new girl was on a hunt for a husband. 

“So are you planning on getting the tattoos removed?” she had asked, pursing her red lips. He was surprised at how well her lipstick stayed on after eating a pasta dish. Whenever he wears makeup for a show, it smudges before the lights come up. 

“Uh, no why?” he asked.

“Just y’know, thinking ahead — family photos and whatever,” she shrugged. His mouth had never run so dry in his life. The chicken alfredo turned in his stomach. 

The third ended up being a quickie in the bar bathroom only for her to leave right after and unmatch him without as much as a ‘Thanks for a good night!’ He at least wanted to be a gentleman about it. 

The fourth fizzled out and neither of them felt the connection. 

The fifth felt weird because they had talked so much on the app that they didn’t have anything left to talk about when they went out for drinks. 

A month had gone by and all he had to show for it was five bad dates and dozens of unanswered chats. Eddie was found sitting in his bed in the dark, only the light on his phone keeping him illuminated while he thumbs through Instagram. Another app that he has for no reason, he never posts, he never shares anything. He just scrolls.

He wonders if Chrissy’s on Hinge. Eddie’s stomach lurches at the thought of coming across her profile. All blonde and blue eyes, all sweet and spunky, all the right answers to her curated questions. Photos of her in the Maldives, in her friend’s weddings, of her in Chicago after she moved. His heart hammers, sweat collects on his bare chest, heating up the chain lying flat against it until it sticks. He quickly swipes out of Instagram to his home screen, a photo of Robin and Steve flipping him off from the stage after a Corroded Show during load out. He holds his thumb on the app until all the apps shake, thumb hovering over the ‘x’ on the corner to delete the Hinge for good. 

What’s another three years of being single? 

“Ed?” he hears Tati on the other side of the door, her soft knock following her voice, “I got Indian and I’m not gonna eat it all. Gare doesn’t want it, you want it?” 

“Yeah, sure,” he hums. She opens the door and sighs at the darkness. He squints as the light pools in from the hallway and sees her lean her shoulder against the door frame.

“Are you in here sulking?” she asks, one brow raising.

“Yeah, Tat, I’m in here sulking,” he groans, laying flat on his mattress, “I like to sulk. Let me sulk.” 

“Don’t sulk,” she puts on a pout and flicks his light on, leaving the containers of rice and chicken saag. He groans when the light stings his eyes, tossing a forearm over his face. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice falling into kindergarten teacher territory. She never realized her profession would come so handy living with two grown men, “Why’re you being such a baby in here?” 

“I think I’m gonna delete the app,” he murmurs, still hiding under the protection of his tattooed arm. The pressure feels good on his face, releasing the tension starting to brew behind his eyes. He hadn’t eaten since his lunch period at work, the hunger was starting to catch up to him. 

“Don’t delete it,” she shakes her head, crawling onto the end of his bed. She takes her twists out of her jumbo claw clip and readjusts to pull them all back away from her face. Tati eases his phone out of his hand and slides her glasses on, flinging his dead arm off his face to use his Face ID. He whines, face scrunching is disapproval.

“I told you to stop doing that,” Eddie complains, sitting up against his pillows before crawling out of bed to get the food waiting on his dresser, “Do you have any naan or…?” 

“Do I look like a food bank, Munson? Damn,” she tilts her head and he raises his brows in a silent ‘Well, do you?’

She sighs deeply, “Yes, I have extra naan but you can only have it if you don’t delete the app and eat with us in the living room.” 

“Those are two totally different asks, Tati,” Eddie huffs. 

“I don’t make the rules,” she shrugs before starting to laugh, “Actually, I totally do.” 

The phone buzzes in her hand and Tatianna’s grin only widens when she sees the notification, “You have a new like.” 

“Whatever,” he shrugs, face laced with disappointment and frustration, “It’s gonna be another dud. Why bother if there’s no point? Like, this can’t actually be how people meet each other —“ 

Tatianna opens her mouth to protest but Eddie interrupts his own thought before she can speak, “You and Gareth are the anomaly.” 

“What if the sixth time’s a charm? She looks really cute,” She smiles, teeth bright against her smile, cheekbones glistening where her moisturized skin hits the light. 

He rolls his neck and sighs while Tatianna continues to encourage him, “Just try. You owe yourself that. Chrissy wouldn’t—.”

“Fuck Chrissy, Tat,” Eddie’s voice raises slightly, suddenly defensive. His chest burns at the sound of her name, heat rising up through his neck to his face,  “I don’t really give a fuck what Chrissy would and wouldn’t want. ‘Cause if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have to be on these stupid fucking apps.” 

“Whew, tell me how you really feel Ed,” she says while she stands up off the bed to walk towards him.

“Look, I get you’re still mad about how things went down with Chris. I know you’re still hurting, but you’re denying yourself a chance to start over — just shoot this girl a message. She seems cool,” Tati speaks so gently to him that he soothes instantly. She offers his phone, still open on the new profile — he’s hesitant at first but he takes it from her to look at the screen. 

There you are. You are cute. Your profile is simple: your name, age thirty, your opening tagline ‘idk i’m just out here i guess’. He lets a puff of air out of his nose at the sentiment — ‘Same,’ he thinks. 

“Fine,” he says finally, “I’ll look through her stuff and I’ll message her. Are you happy?” 

“Thrilled,” she smiles, “So thrilled that I’ll even let you have the extra samosa.” 

He follows her out of the room with his phone and food in hand, looking at her fondly when she passes him a tinfoil covered piece of naan in the kitchen, “You’re my best fucking friend, dude.” 

“I thought I was your best friend?” Gareth pouts from the kitchen table, D&D notes littered in front of him. 

Eddie scrunches his nose, tilting his head while he considers, “You’re alright I guess.” 

When the food is done and he’s gotten a proper look at your profile he decides to bite the bullet — fingers shaking while he matches back with you. He doesn’t start with ‘hey’ this time because Robin and Steve said that was boring, so he tries something new: 

wild that you’re just ‘out here’, me too. 

…

…

…

lol, twin behavior. how’s your night?

Eddie’s heart hammers at the response. He’s surprised at the reaction, he hadn’t had that with any of his other chats, normally expecting them to die off after the first ‘Hey, how are you?’ pleasantry. But maybe this could be different, maybe this could be fun. 

scored some indian food from one of my roommates so it’s one of my better nights. 

ooh, i’m so jealous. i have buyers remorse from some baked ziti i ordered. should’ve just made it.

what did you get?

chicken saag, still jealous?

i’m more of a saag paneer girl but consider me over here seething.

Eddie grins into the phone, cheeks hot while he thinks about what to say back. He skims over your profile again, eyes stilling at a photo of you laughing on what looks like a cruise deck. The sun hits you like a golden streak across your eyes. The caption reads ‘the last time i felt a single shred of genuine happiness’, he huffs an airy giggle before going back to the chat. 

you’re funny, did you know that?

um ya, i’m the funniest person i know, actually. 🥰

that's crazy cause i’m the funniest person i know. and since now i know you, it’s looking like we gotta battle for who the funniest is.

Jesus fucking Christ Munson, why can’t you just be normal? Why can you just say ‘lol’ and call it a night? He frets. His leg bounces while he waits for your reply, food rolling in his stomach. The cool metal of his rings is welcomed on his warm cheeks while he leans against his hand on the arm of the couch. The few minutes he waits for the buzz of his phone feel like eternities. But there you are to save him from his embarrassment:

lmao okay. where did you wanna battle?

there’s a bar in the city that i think could host. you around tomornight?

tommorow night* sorry, fuck, i was trying so hard to be smooth with it.

TOMORROW***** FUCK. LET ME LOG OFF FOR ETERNITY REAL QUICK.

yiiiiikes! embarrassing. but this proves you actually might be funnier than me. i’m not a sore loser so i’ll go on a date with you if that’s what you’re asking.

do you drink? it doesn’t have to be a bar.

i do! where did you have in mind?

there’s a spot called little spoon saloon in the city if you’re familiar. sorta cozy.

oh yeah sounds great for a battle 🙄

but yeah i know it, that’s not too far from my place. maybe we’ve seen each other before and never known it. two ships passing in the night~*

does seven work for you? i know it’s a monday, so we can do earlier if you gotta be up early or something.

sevens fine :)

okay :)

:)

:)

see ya tomorrow! Eddie bites his lower lip, breathing steadily through his nose while he sends over his number. Anything to get out of looking at the app for at least another day, anything to spare him from potentially running into Chrissy’s profile despite her being in a different state. It was getting close to the holidays, she could be around at any moment. 

Before he can spiral, his phone buzzes again – this time a text from an unknown number. His grin widens, too caught up in the excitement bubbling in his chest to feel Tatianna’s stare from the recliner. hi, it's me. jsyk if you don't reach out by like, two tomorrow -- i'm considering it a cancellation and i do have a 50% cancellation fee. sorry! 

50%? stop selling yourself so short, kid. but don’t worry, i won’t cancel. no? you’re not scared to battle? i’m never scared of a battle. :) (A lie.) see you tomorrow. 

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Tatianna smiles, cheeks tight from being unable to hide her excitement. “Are you talking to a girrrrrl?” Gareth teases. Eddie let’s out a ‘tssss’ while he stands up and stretches, quirking a brow at his best friend. “Is it a girl? You takin’ her out?” he asks again. “Yeah G, it’s your mom,” he shrugs, “Night y’all.” “Ed,” Tati whines, “Come on.” Pink floats across his cheeks, itching his nose to hide his goofy smile behind his hand. “Yeah, it’s a girl. And yeah, I’m taking her on a date tomorrow,” he groans. Tatianna squeals, shimmying with giddiness while the recliner rocks with her. Eddie’s too caught up in hiding his face, “Ugh, she’s cuuuute, Tati, what am I supposed to do?” 

“Show her what she’s been missing,” Tati shrugs, “Everyone needs an Eddie.” 

Last night, Eddie fell asleep caught in a memory that became a dream. He’s eight years old at the YMCA, Wayne sitting in the stands watching him – this is maybe two weeks after his dad dropped him off before he got sent to prison. Wayne wanted to make sure his schedule stayed the same as it could, so Saturday swim lessons it was – today was diving off the block. Eddie had been dreading this lesson for a month, knowing that level 2.5 meant you had to at least try. In level two, they had you stand on the block just to get used to it. He could barely breathe for the ten seconds it was up there, tears stinging his eyes while his teacher encouraged him to come closer to the edge. Three of his classmates had already asked if they were allowed to jump off. It looked fun but it was just so high up. What if it hurts? What if he landed the wrong way? He was up soon, standing behind the block with the rest of the kids, shivering from being out of the water. He could dive off the edge of the pool just fine – in fact, his teacher said he was a great diver, especially for an eight year old. So it should be no problem to dive off the block, he just had to do the same thing he always does. Just higher. 

Gareth, before Gareth was his best friend, climbs up the block and puts his feet at the edge of the white plastic and metal. His teacher, Miss Tiffany, tells him to put his arms up and bend his knees and to dive at the whistle. The whistle blows and Gareth leaps – but he doesn’t dive smoothly into the water. 

“BELLY FLOP!” Jason Carver yells from the edge of the pool where all the kids who already dove sat. They start teasing him relentlessly, Miss Tiffany helping him out of the water to inspect his red belly. Tears well up in Gareth’s eyes, his mom leaning over the bannister from the seating area. “Are you okay, baby?” she asks. Gareth burns red with embarrassment, only encouraging the cackling kids to get crueler. 

Miss Tiffany puffs her whistle three times, “If you tease again, you’re not allowed to go to free swim. Do you understand me?” 

The group quiets, slowly kicking their feet in the water. “Alright Eddie, you’re up next!” 

He gulps, climbing up on the block slowly before standing to full height with his eyes closed. He takes a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth, like his Uncle Wayne taught him to do when he was feeling nervous. When Eddie’s eyes opened, a chill ran through his chest – for some reason the block seemed higher than ever. 

“Ready Freddie?” Miss Tiffany asked, treading water in her red bathing suit. She grinned up at him, knowing that the phrase always made him giggle – but not today. 

“Arms up, knees bent,” she continues. Ed looks down at the water and the room spins, he can hear Jason and the class giggling. Hear the splashes from the kicks of their feet. 

The whistle blows. He doesn’t move. The whistle blows, again. He puts his arms down. “You okay, Eddie? You can do it! You’re a great diver!” she cheers. 

Eddie chews on his lower lip, thinking about the smack of the water when it hit Gareth’s stomach. The laughter. The teasing. The potential of the pain. The whistle blows again. Eddie climbs down off the block, sniffling when he makes it back to the pool deck, “I don’t want to Miss Tiffany.”  

“C’mon Ed, I know you can do it! Do you want me to save you for last?” she asks, her smile still bright and encouraging. Eddie sniffles again, eyes burning with tears while Jason and his friends start to tease him, too. “Swimming sucks,” he bites, stomping towards the boys room, grabbing his ratty towel off one of the benches on the way in. He’s only in the locker room for a few minutes before he hears the door open and Wayne’s apologetic voice talking to Miss Tiffany from the deck floor.

“He’s just goin’ through a lot right now,” Wayne says, his gruff voice rattling off the metal of the room. 

“Eddie?” Tiffany’s voice calls. 

“Come out here, son,” Wayne calls, “Y’know, if your decent.”  

Eddie sniffles back his tears again, shuffling over to the door while Miss Tiffany waits with his Uncle.

“Do you maybe wanna stay a little late today and we can practice diving off the block when class is over?” she offers, “I know it can be scary to do it in front of your classmates, but I want you to pass to level three!” 

“No thanks Miss Tiffany,” he mumbles to the tiles on the floor. 

“That’s okay Eddie, maybe we can try again next week. How’s that sound? I know you can do it,” she says softly. 

“Okay,” he murmurs before turning on his heel and moping back into the locker room. Wayne was waiting by the check in desk when Eddie emerged after changing, his ratty towel slung off his shoulder. 

“You okay?” Wayne asked.

“Yeah, can we just go home?” 

“Sure kid, was gonna stop and get us some lunch if you wanted,” Wayne’s eyes crinkle with his smile, “Wanna go to McDonalds?” 

Eddie returns the smile half heartedly, “Yeah.”

They walk to Wayne’s pick-up hand in hand, despite some parents thinking he’s ‘too old’ to be doing that. He needed the support, and his uncle was never one to make him feel like he didn’t have it. 

“So d’you wanna try again next week? Your starting form was great, buddy,” Wayne asks while Eddie puts his seatbelt on. Eddie considers it. Getting to the edge of the block and making Jason Carver eat his own words. Making him look like a loser for a change. 

But the words ring in his ear ‘BELLY FLOP!’ The relentless teasing if he didn’t do it this week and then messed up next week. He’d be a baby and a joke. 

“I don’t wanna do swimming anymore, Uncle Wayne,” he huffs.

“You sure?” his uncle frowns, putting the car into gear, “You’re really good, Ed. Y’could be on the swim team.” 

“I don’t wanna come back. I quit,” he repeats. He crosses his arms while they pull out of the parking lot, watching the rest of the kids pool out of the doors with smiles on.

Eddie wakes up to his alarm blaring, back in his 32 year old body. He swears that the air of his bedroom smells like chlorine.

Eddie made sure to text you at 1:59 PM like an asshole. 

still on for tonight? :)

so close to having to pay my cancellation fee. 

but yes, still on for tonight :) 

sorry, work’s been wild today. would’ve texted you sooner!

you’re off the hook…

for now. 😡

He likes your little attitude, he decides. That little hint of sass in your messages keeps him on his toes and it’s not lost on him that this is probably how you flirt. He wonders, selfishly, how easy you are to fluster. You both exchange a few back and forths before he’s finishing up work for the day and heading to Wheeler’s for a campaign chat. 

The texts completely drop off while he gets ready to see you. He takes an extra long time in the shower, using the tiniest squeeze of Tati’s curl cream when he comes out because it makes his hair look good. He scrubs his face raw before shaving, following up with the skin care routine he kept up with, even though Chrissy curated it for him. 

Once dressed, he stepped quietly out to the living room to grab his jacket in the closet and pull out his boots. 

“You used my curl cream, I see,” Tatianna crosses her arms. He blushes. 

“Don’t be mad, I just wanna look good,” he puts on a faux pout, eyes rounding while he slides the leather over arms.

“You look really good,” she smiles, “It’s gonna be great.” 

Eddie shoves his socked feet in his Docs, worn in from years of wear, and looks up at her, “I’m kind of excited.” 

“You should be! I don’t know, I just have a really good feeling about this one,” she smirks, “Text me at some point, let me know how it goes.” 

“It’s a better indicator if he doesn’t text you, Tati,” Gareth says, coming up behind her, “You look sharp, dude.” 

“Sharp?” Eddie rolls his eyes, “What’re you? Eighty?” 

Tatianna clicks on her phone to look at the time, “Can you get the fuck outta here? You’re gonna be late!” 

“I’m going, I’m going!” he laughs, arms up while he grabs his keys from the hook by the door, “Wish me luck, bye!” 

Eddie felt sick. Suddenly feeling like he was standing at the edge of the pool in ‘98.

When he got his keys in the ignition of his Honda Civic, a text came through immediately. He swallowed tightly, in some way expecting it to be you. In some way, expecting you to be canceling on him. 

Instead, it was Tatianna in the big group chat: 

here, we made a playlist for you

Eddie clicks on the Spotify link and laughs. First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182 First Date - Blink 182 First Date - Blink 182 First Date - Blink 182

And so on. The music automatically connects, the opening guitar ripping through his speakers. Eddie quickly types up a response on his phone before pulling out into the street. 

very creative, edwards.

someone in this house has to be. ‘In the car, I just can't wait, to pick you up on our very first date. Is it cool if I hold your hand? Is it wrong if I think it's lame to dance?’ He rolls his eyes as Mark and Tom serenade him in the car, laughing at the lyrics. It’d been a while since he’d listened to this album, let alone this song. While he won’t admit it to Gareth or his girlfriend, it was exactly what he needed before he got to the bar. 

‘Do you like my stupid hair? Would you guess that I didn't know what to wear? I'm just scared of what you think, you make me nervous so I really can't eat.’ “Let’s go, don’t wait, this night’s almost over,” he sings along, fingers tapping on his steering wheel while he waits at a red light. He’s on the fourth replay of the song by the time he pulls up. The ignition cuts off the lyrics before the chorus, he takes a big breath before opening the door. Just a couple minutes past seven, but he told you he was running a little late, so you wouldn’t be mad. His phone buzzes to Robin, Steve, and Jeff reacting to the playlist Tati sent. Alicia, Jeff, and Nancy sent him sweet good luck messages. Robin and Steve sent them a picture from a bar they were at, flipping him off. ‘Break a leg, dingus,’ came in her follow up voice memo. Eddie considers making this new picture his phone background. 

He swallows hard when he gets to the door, his bottom lip getting pulled between his teeth in apprehension. He nods to himself, “You got this, Munson.”  Another deep breath, he’s still ten, he’s still afraid to dive off the diving block. What if it hurts? What if he belly flops? 

‘What if you don’t? What if you dive this time?’ He thinks to himself. He opens the door to the bar, his ten year old self puts one foot on the diving block. The chatter of a few conversations at once is disorienting, so is the low light of the bar in comparison to the neon outside. The man at the entrance asks for his ID and he awkwardly fumbles for his wallet as if it’s not obvious he’s been old enough to drink for eleven years. “Here, man,” he says, somehow nervous he’ll get caught with a fake like he’s nineteen again. The security’s light flashes over his birthdate and he passes it back with a short and gruff thank you. Eddie takes a few steps before checking his phone to remind him what you said you’d be wearing.

in a red cut off sweatshirt, jeans that look like dickies – hard to miss! white airforces! i’m here, looking for you if you can’t spot me just approach the most off putting girl at the bar, it’s probably me :) 

He smiles into the light of his phone. You’re are funny. His phone lights up again, another text bubble added to your previous one. Eddie’s heart hammers in his chest when he looks at it, knowing you’re really only moments away. got you a guinness cause that’s what you said you liked on your profile. it looks like battery acid tbh. there’s a couple seats by the end of the bar, i’ll grab them. He looks up from his phone finally to see a blur of red start maneuvering over to the end of the bar. That’s you. Oh shit, that’s you. Oh shit, you’re – fuck. You have a fat fucking ass in those jeans. He swallows again, shaking the horny thoughts out of his head through the tendrils of his hair. Another deep breath through the nose, out of the water to the diving block just to dive again. He walks the length of the bar and hears his name, your voice in real life – not through a voice note or on your profile. “Ed?” 

Eddie catches your eye and his heart sinks and leaps so quickly he thinks he’s going into cardiac arrest. You’re real pretty, even more so when you grin at him from a few feet away. You wave him over and he does his best to walk confidently towards you, taking his jacket off while he does. He doesn’t know it, but the other girls at the bar are looking. He’s all broad shoulders and dark tattoos, two silver chains and understated rings. Full lips and doe eyes. Tatianna never told a lie, he was unmistakably handsome – he just didn’t know what to do with it. You toss your hair when you speak to the bartender from the end of the bar with a bright smile. The man puts two drinks in front of you and you leave cash in their wake. Eddie winces when he sees you pay, but tries to ignore the sting. In a way, it feels like he’s already losing – like he’s playing Sims with Robin and he’s not on track to get a gold reward on date night. You’re hot and you know it, but he can tell it’s like you just found out. Your eyes are flirty no matter what you’re looking at, you’re full bodied and it’s like you know it’s making him salivate. Eddie can’t help but be nervous when he takes a seat next to you, fingers immediately drumming on the bar top in front of him. “Guinness for you,” you say, sliding the pint glass in front of him. “Thanks,” he smiles, “You didn’t have to do that. I asked you out, you’re not supposed to be paying for me.” 

“I know, but – why don’t you get the next one and we’ll call it even?” you offer. He nods while he takes a sip, eyeing the lighter orangey liquid in your glass. “Did you get a cider?” he teases. 

“It’s a grapefruit beer, thank you,” your brows furrow at him while you take a sip. You have a good face, part of him wants to say that but it seems like a weird compliment. ‘Nice face.’ Like, what does that even mean? His tongue feels heavy, he can feel the sweat building under his curly bangs. “Weaksauce,” he laughs, scrunching his nose, “Grapefruit beer? Not for me, toots.” 

“Yeah, because you drink battery acid!” you tease back, “You’re a stout snob, huh?”

“Nah, just never heard of grapefruit beer. I always drink Guinness – or like, Miller light. Never really stray,” he shrugs. 

“You wanna try mine?” you ask, sliding the glass to him. 

“You sure?” he watches you nod and brings the beer to his lips. It’s tart, a little bubbly, hitting his tongue on the off beat from the stout before. It settles and then it’s sweet, he wonders if you’re the same. Eddie smacks his lips, “I don’t hate it.” 

“That’s such a stout snob thing for you to say,” you pull a face, bringing your drink back to sit in front of you. “I’d offer you a sip of mine but I know you don’t like it,” he smiles, “Wouldn’t want to ruin the taste of your dessert beer.” “Fuck off,” you shake your head and smile, taking another sip of your drink. The Guinness in his hand makes him feel less nervous, but not all the way – toeing the line of the end of the diving block but not scared to look down into the water. He can tell you’re nervous too by the way you pick at a hangnail on your thumb absentmindedly, the way you cross and uncross your legs. Eddie’s eyes linger for a moment at the way they spill over each other, squishing flat on the seat of the stool when you keep them uncrossed. He tries to discreetly follow the line of your thighs to your hips, up to your waist before getting ahead of himself and pulling his eyes away. 

“How was your day?” you ask. Not the question he was expecting. “My day?” he asks, brows raised while he tries to recollect anything before getting ready to see you. “Uh, my day was good. Yours?” You fucking dumbass, you couldn’t just spare one detail? She’s gonna think you’re an asshole. “It was fine,” you answer quietly. Your smile fades a little and he feels a panicked chill rush in his chest. “S-sorry, I should’ve elaborated. I sound like such a dick, sorry,” Eddie feels the heat creeping up on his cheeks, a clamminess starting up at his hairline, “I um, I went to work. Came home, went to a friend’s house for a minute and we talked about a campaign we’re putting together next weekend. I had some dinner, and then I started getting ready to see you and um – uh, now I’m here.” “Campaign? Are you a politician or somethin’?” you quirk a brow while you look him over. He feels insecure under your gaze, he hopes you like his tattoos.  

“No, no, it’s for Dungeons and Dragons.” Saying it outloud makes him feel like a loser, even though you don’t react like you think so. 

“Cool,” you smile. 

“Do you like, even know what that is?” Defensive already, waiting for you to make fun of him. Waiting for this to end up another mistake. Waiting to belly flop. 

“Yeah, I know what it is,” you answer quietly again, this time your shoulders, “Have some friends that play.” 

“Oh, cool. Cool,” Eddie nods, chest tightening, toying with his rings while you reach for your drink, “Um, I’m — yeah, sorry if that came off like, dickish. I didn’t mean to—.” 

“No, no, it’s okay,” you shake your head when you say it, almost like it’s rehearsed. Like you’re always ‘okay’-ing something. 

“Sometimes people think it’s weird when I tell them, I dunno,” he shrugs, still looking down at his rings, “If I’m being honest I haven’t been so great at this whole dating thing.” 

You smile again and he looks up in time to see it, his breath hitches. You’re very pretty. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I learned how to play Magic the Gathering twice to impress a boy. Two different ones,” you grimace, scrunching your nose, “Gross right?” 

“Oof, that’s rough,” he jokes, “Magic the Gathering? That’s like, way worse than D&D.”

“Well the difference between you and me, is that I don’t still play,” you bite back, cocking your head while you take another drink. “Didn’t impress those boys after all, huh?” he raises a brow and your mouth falls open in faux offense. 

“You’re so mean,” you gasp.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he drawls, “Should’ve put that in my profile.” 

“Oh, so you are mean?” you grin. 

“The meanest,” he grins back, teeth straight and shiny. Full lips pulled tight against them, “How was your day?” “I worked,” you shrug, “Not as exciting.” 

“What do you do?” he asks, turning towards you on the stool, leaning one arm on the bar. He relaxes into the seat, legs spreading wide while his free hand runs nervously over his thigh.

“I’m a personal assistant to a jewelry maker,” you let out a half chuckle through your nose, “It sounds fake when I say it out loud. But basically, I just keep her schedule and run errands and keep her shit in order. She’s an older woman and she’s not the most tech savvy in the world — great at what she does though, really eccentric but I feel like you gotta be when you work in the arts like that.” 

“That’s cool,” he says softly, watching you talk, “What kind of jewelry does she make?” 

“Oh you’ll love this, since you like D&D and stuff,” you start, your excitement is infectious, his heart thrums, “She makes fine jewelry for the most part, but also makes anodized chain mail jewelry and wearable pieces for theater and ren fairs on the side. I told you, eccentric.” 

“Oh, so she’s a little alchemist, huh?” he smirks. 

“Kinda, yeah,” you shrug, heat hitting your cheeks while he keeps his gaze on you, “It’s cool to watch the first few times, and then you get bored.” 

“I’m sure it’s the same for people who watch my band,” he laughs. You shake your head, a curve pulling from the corners of your lips while you finish your beer. 

“Alchemist,” you repeat with a playful roll of your eyes, “You’re such a nerd.” 

“What do you do for work?” he notices you fully turn when you ask, your knees toward him. He remembers Steve telling him once that it was always a good sign when they do that. Like Steve knows anything about body language and dating these days, he’s been platonically attached to Robin for years. His little guard dog. 

“I’m a teacher,” he replies, knocking back the remainder of the Guinness in his glass.  

“Hm,” you hum, looking him over suspiciously, “That’s surprising.” 

“I work at a performing arts school,” he rolls his eyes, “It’s 2023, I’m allowed to have tattoos.” “What do you teach?” you squint when you look him over a second time, “Actually, let me guess – drama?” 

“Music theory,” he corrects. 

“Ooh, big brain,” you joke, “That’s cool.” 

“Big brain? I don’t know about that, I just like music,” he shrugs, “It makes sense to me.” “When I was in high school everyone always talked about how hard music theory was – like, all the band kids,” you explain, there’s a sparkle starting to glint in your eye when you talk to him. “You were hanging out with the band kids?” he tosses a sarcastic knowing look before taking his glass in his hands, “And I’m a nerd? I dunno girl, it’s not looking good for you here...” “Even worse, I was dating one,” you grimace back. “Fuuuuck, you were really fighting for your life in 2009 huh?” Eddie laughs low, lower lip tucking in between his teeth to run his tongue over it. 

“2007, 2008 all the way to like, 2016,” you hide your face in one hand and he wishes you wouldn’t. 

“Damn, that’s a long time,” he observes, “You didn’t marry that guy?” 

You lift your head back up, and shake your head, “It was on and off for a long time, he’s not a fan favorite. It’s uh – it’s why I normally don’t date musicians. I almost didn’t match with you ‘cause of your first picture.” 

Fucking Tatianna. 

“Eek, sorry,” Eddie puts his hands up, “Should I go?” “Do you play bass?” you wince.

“I play a lot of instruments,” he chuckles, “I can play the bass. But I’m not like…a bass player, if you know what I mean.” 

“Oh, I know what you mean,” you breathe out a sigh of relief, “Made that mistake more than once.” “What’s your favorite instrument that you play?” you ask, it’s almost girlish. He ponders it while you cross your legs, the toe of your shoe barely brushing the back of his calf but he knows it's there. You rest your chin on your fist while you watch him think about it. His brown eyes glint in the reflection of the light overhead, plush lips parted while he runs his hands over his stubble. “I think I’d have to say…electric guitar? I’ve been playing that the longest,” he hopes you think that’s cool. “Is it the same one that’s in your pictures?” 

“The Warlock?” he asks with a grin, “Yeah, that’s my girl. Best relationship of my life, prob’ly the only lady who talks more than me.” 

“It’s really nice. I like the color.” 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, eyes darting to your knees where they sit between his, “Um, can I get you another drink? Do you want a beer or…?” 

“If I get a real drink will you stop making fun of my beer?” 

“I promise.” He slides off the stool, sad to see your close proximity to him fade away when he stands up. 

“They have food here, right? I’m sort of hungry, if that’s okay,” your voice gets sheepish when you ask. 

“Yeah, that’s okay. Did you eat dinner?” The words fall out of him too fondly. 

“I had like, a huge spinach salad,” you explain, “Might not have been enough.” 

Something tells him to press further before he buys you more liquor, lest this date go to the wayside too quickly, “Did you eat lunch?” 

“I worked through lunch.” 

“Did you eat breakfast?” 

“I had a smoothie,” you confess. 

“Okay, so before I get you a drink, why don’t I get you some chicken fingers or something?” he insists. You’re shy in your smile back to him, nodding along at his advice. Yes, you should eat more before you keep drinking with him. He doesn’t want you to think he’s just trying to get you tipsy, he’s never been that kind of guy – even when he’d bring home girls from the bar. (They’d at least be the same level of totally obliterated as he was.)

He beams back at you when you nod, “Atta girl.” 

He doesn’t notice when your thighs clench. 

The last chicken finger is eaten, the last fry of the basket he got for you to split crunched through. The conversation had lulled, not because you weren’t interesting – the nerves were getting to him, creeping up like vines along his chest. The look over the diving block at the water, it’s slow waves teasing him to jump. 

“So um,” you began, swallowing your final fry and wiping your hands on a napkin, “Since you’re a teacher, how was school today?” 

Eddie’s so used to this question that his response doesn’t change, always the same quote from the same movie. Forgetting he doesn’t know you like that, his mouth moves quicker than his desire to play things off cool.

“The worst day of my life, what do you think? Gosh!” Eddie sounds more like John Heder in 2004 than John Heder does now – but when he hears himself say it, he’s immediately embarrassed. Eddie opens his mouth to apologize, nervous you won’t understand but instead – you laugh. And what a sound that is for him to hear. 

“Oh, shit. I haven’t watched Napoleon Dynamite in years. Like, not since grade school.” Eddie laughs with you, “Sorry, sorry, that’s like my go-to reaction at home when my roommates ask me that. I should’ve said something more normal like, ‘It was fine. The kids can’t stop trying to take TikTok fancams of me.”

“Roommates? Fancams? You’re so hip, tell me more,” you enthuse. He puts a finger up to stop you at first, locking eyes with the bartender so he can finally order another round of drinks. 

“What kind of real drink do you want?” he asks. 

“Just a marg on the rocks, salt,” you shrug. 

“Psh, I said a real drink,” Eddie teases with a roll of the eyes, but they soften when you go to argue back, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” 

His toes inch towards the middle of the diving block.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he flirts. Eddie can see the heat hit your cheeks, the creep of a smile slowly curving upwards, you’re embarrassed. Nervous like he is. Maybe this is going just fine. 

When the drinks arrive he slides the margarita towards you and sips his own Jack and Coke slowly through the tiny bar straw. 

“Okay, so. I have two roommates. Gareth, who’s been my best friend since I was nine; and Tatianna who has been my best friend since I was twenty-nine,” he explains. 

“So why aren’t you dating Tatianna?” you challenge. You miss the straw when you reach for it with your mouth, it slides over to the other side of the cup. You try again and miss, cheeks burning while Eddie looks at you continue to fuck up. His eyes glint mischievously while you hold in your frustrated laughter, “Stop looking at me.” 

“It’s fine, I’ll wait while you get your life figured out over there,” he jokes, checking ‘the time’ on his wrist, “Shouldn’t be too long until you finally get it.” 

“You’re so annoying,” you grit out playfully while you capture the straw between your teeth, “Should’ve put that on your profile, too.”

“Anyway,” he continues, “I’m not dating Tatianna because Gare’s going to propose to her when they go on vacation in a few weeks.”

 “Oh! Yeah, that makes sense,” you nod, “Probably not a good idea to date your best friend’s almost wife.” 

“Yeah, definitely not well advised,” he shakes his head, pulling his hair up off of his neck for a minute before dropping it down, “Plus, her last name is Edwards and I dunno…don’t think I could live with myself if I was ‘Eddie Edwards’.”

You laugh again and he hoped you would. It’s a goofy laugh, you don’t try to sound cute when you do it. He knows you must be a loud laugher, if your small ones are any preview to what you could really do. You don’t sound like Chrissy. Her laugh was dainty, feathery. Like how they teach you to giggle in an etiquette class – all soft edges, all smooth lines. 

“You wanna take the girl’s last name?” you raise your brows, “Very forward thinking. Progressive.” 

“I don’t know, something about it’s kinda hot right?” he asks cock of his head, “Plus, my dad sucks so I don’t want to keep repping him by having his last name.” 

“Oh wow, my dad sucks, too,” you reply cheerily, “We have so much in common!” 

“What was it you said before? ‘Twin behavior’?” 

“Twin behavior, yes!” your hands meet both of his knees where he sits across from you, your tone is light and earnest, “You get me.”

Eddie takes in a hitch of breath, desperate to keep his cool when he feels your hands on him. It’s not even sexy but he could shoot straight to the moon if you asked him to. You use his knees as leverage to hop down from your stool, grabbing your drink before nudging him with your hip. 

“If we’re still battling though, there’s an air hockey table in the back room if you wanna play,” you offer. 

“Are you any good?” he wonders, hopping off the stool to follow you to the back. 

“I’m amazing,” you grin, “Actually won seventeen first place trophies in the intergalactic air hockey competition – of course I’m fucking bad at it, that’s why it’s fun to play.” 

Eddie laughs this time, it’s gruff and nicotine soaked. You’re already winning the battle for funniest person – you’re sharp with him and he’s starting to like it. He runs his hand over the side of the air hockey table in the empty back room, more and more pleased that he put this date together on a Monday. He slides a dollar into the machine so it whirs to life, the neon lights flicking on with a stutter. 

“This reminds me of birthday parties when I was a kid,” you muse to yourself, reaching for the hockey disc trapped in your goal, “Can you help me?” 

He nods, hand grazing your back to get you out of the way – you’re warm to the touch. If he was a braver man he would’ve pulled you into him but he’s not, instead squatting down to reach further into the goal where your game piece was. 

“Hm,” he murmurs, reaching further back and barely touching the top of it, “It’s in here, it’s just back there. I can get it, just –” he sucks his teeth like he did the night before, getting to his knees to try. Music plays over head, stuff the new crop of bar goers would consider oldies. You smile at the opening ‘Damn, shawty snappin’...’ of T-Pain’s ‘Buy U A Drank’, but even more surprised when you hear Eddie sing along softly to himself. 

“Snap ya fingers, do yuh step, you can do it all by yourself. Babygirl, what’s your name?” “Not you knowing the lyrics,” you laugh. 

“I was in highschool in 2007 of course, I know the lyrics,” he huffs, standing up, “I think it’s a bust for air hockey.” 

“That’s fine,” you shrug, “We tried.” 

“I know the club, close at three,” he lip syncs to himself before, turning his attention to you, “What’s the chances of you rollin’ with me?” 

You back and forth to each other in time with the lyrics before settling back down in your spot at bar. 

“You even know the Yung Joc part? Damn,” you laugh again, he loves it. 

“Why’re you so surprised? Is it the tattoos?” he asks. 

“Well yeah, you definitely give off a ‘loved Avenged Sevenfold’ in high school vibe,” you scooch your stool closer to his, your knees slotting between his open ones like a perfect puzzle. It’s not enough though, and he’s not sure if it’s himself or the Jack and Coke that encourages him, but he reaches for one of the legs of your stool to pull you closer. 

“Hey,” he says, your faces only a few inches apart. 

“Hey,” you respond. You catch his eyes flick briefly to your lips before they meet yours again. You can see the light smatter of freckles over his nose, long faded from the summer. 

“You’re right, I was really into Avenged Sevenfold when I was in highschool.” 

“I figured. I was into that whole scene thing, back then. All those singers that are mad at their dad’s and like, in retrospect, all hate women I guess,” you realize it as you speak. 

“I probably would’ve thought you were cute,” he guesses. 

“No, you would’ve called me a poser,” you correct, “Don’t lie.” 

He hesitates before nodding, “No, no, you’re right I definitely would’ve called you a poser. Did you like Fall Out Boy and all of that shit?” 

“Don’t shit on the music I liked,” you frown, “That’s not cool.” 

“I’m not, I’m not,” he assures, pulse speeding, “I promise, I’m not. I’m sorry.” You continue talking about music, high school, college, some ins and outs. Nothing too serious. Nothing too intense. But by now, Eddie’s feeling nice and if one thing’s for certain:

He wants to fucking kiss you. Toes at the edge of the diving block, Miss Tiffany’s whistle caught between her teeth. 

“So now that we’re three drinks in, can I ask you a personal question?” you ask, your eyes a little glassy. You’ve confessed that you’re tipsy, but aware, that if you have one more drink you won’t be – so Eddie already paid the tab. 

“What do you wanna know?” he asks.

“Why’re you,” you enunciate, implying he’s something, “On the apps? It’s hard to believe that someone like you would be single. Unless you have like, something deeply wrong with you, but you’ve been all green flags so far.” 

Your hand falls back to his knee and he eyes it before sliding his own hand down his thigh to lace your fingers with his. 

“You want the real story?” he asks, lifting your hand up of his knee to play with your fingers in both of his hands while he talks. His hands are warm and calloused on the fingertips, but the rest are soft. Lacing and unlacing, running his thumb up the lengths of your fingers, tracing your palm. 

“The real story.” 

“You gonna tell me why you’re on the apps after?” 

“Sure,” you nod. You look gentle, at ease. He eases in, too. 

“I got divorced in 2020,” he confesses. It feels like a weight off his chest to tell you, “Married my high school sweetheart, things were great for a long time, but y’know. People grow and – the pandemic was not kind to us.”

“Oh, I’m…I’m sorry to hear that,” you offer softly. 

“It’s okay,” he smiles tightly. “I guess I was both surprised and not surprised at all when she broke up with me. Almost relieved, I guess – that I didn’t have to play the part of her husband anymore. Not that she was a bad wife or anything, she was great she just – I don’t know,” he rambles, “And I don’t know, I just threw myself into work and my friends after. Girls after shows. Was too scared to like – go on dates incase it ended up like my marriage and –” 

He laughs, “My friends were tired of seeing me be so sad, I guess.” 

“You have such a solid support system,” you comment, “You mention your friends, like, every other sentence.” 

A beat. “I like that,” you nod and smile. He can’t get over how you look when you do that. 

“Why’re you on the apps?” he asks, your hand now cradled between the two of his, his fingers grazing your wrist. 

“I’m six months out of a six year long relationship,” you let out a breath through your nose and drop your shoulders a little, “Figured it was time to get back out there – enter my slut era.” 

“Oh yeah, you’re super slutty,” he teases, “That’s actually the first thing I thought when I saw you. ‘She’s in her slut era.’” “God, fuck offfff,” you giggle again. 

“But yeah, I ended it. I figure I should make that clear,” you say, “Just in case that’s like, a red flag for you. But I don’t know, we just weren’t growing in the same directions. Things felt done way before I left and I – I don’t know. I think I was just scared. I took some time for myself and now, here I am.” 

“It’s okay that you ended your relationship, it’s not a red flag,” Eddie’s voice soothes you when he says it, “If you told me you like, cheated on him and then hit him with your car then maybe yeah, I’d be a little concerned. But you’re an adult, you just know what you want better this time around.”

“Yeah,” you agree. Your eyes meet in a silent confirmation. His eyes flick to your lips for a second time before tucking his lower lip between his teeth again. 

BELLY FLOP! 

“You wanna head out? It’s getting a little late,” he offers. 

Your brows raise in surprise, “Uh, sure, yeah.” 

“Not that I don’t like spending time with you,” he assures, letting his fingers linger over your hand while he stands up, not wanting to lose contact just yet, “Just don’t want to keep you out too late.” 

“Oh yes!” you start with an old southern twang, “My daddy’ll be out there with his pistol if I don’t get home ‘fore sundown.”

“You’re funny,” he laughs, letting go over your hand to reach up and squeeze your cheeks affectionately. You both put on your jackets and head outside, both of you wincing in the cold of the winter air. 

“I’d really like to do this again, if you want,” a shy blush reaches his cheeks, meeting the pink from the cold. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you’re just as shy in your response, “This was fun. You’re fun.” 

“Thank you,” he flushes deeper, trying to prolong the inevitable. What if he belly flops? What if it hurts? What if the kids make fun of him? 

“I’d offer to drive you home but I’ve had a few,” he says, hand reaching out to fall on your shoulder, “I feel good to drive but like, god forbid anything happens so – I’m happy to get you a car or pay for it for you.” 

“That’s really sweet, thanks. Let me just um,” you pull out your phone to get in Uber with a speed that impresses him, “It’s really not that pricey, I’m close-ish by.” 

“Still,” he says, “Just wanna be a gentleman y’know?” 

“You’re very gentlemanly,” you flirt. Eddie stiffens, nervous, palms clammy. 

“So um, I’ll see you soon?” he asks, opening his arms to give you a hug. 

“Yeah, for sure,” you nod while you let him engulf you. His scent is warm and spicy, mixed with tobacco. You guess either still smokes, or he used to, but he never got up to have a cigarette in the hours you were at the bar. Eddie let’s go and cups your cheek briefly before giving you a gentle but winning smile. His warm brown eyes linger for the last time on your lips, now they’re slightly parted, waiting for him. His toes curl over the edge of the diving block, his knees are bent, arms up over his head...I don’t want to Miss Tiffany. 

Swimming sucks.

“See ya.” 

You quirk your brow for a moment, having expected much more than a hug, “Oh, um…see ya.” 

He walks half way down the street to his car, heart thrumming in his chest in embarrassment. He should’ve just done it. FUCK. He should’ve just kissed you. 

But what if it hurts? What if she leaves? What if you can’t make it to level three? What if they laugh at you? 

He breathes heavily through his nose while tears threaten to well up in his eyes, staining his eyelashes. What if you don’t want to see him again after this? What if you change your mind? He sighs audibly when he turns the key, phone auto connecting to the speakers. He turns up the radio while the car revs to life, pulling on his seatbelt and putting the wheels into gear. He leans back in his seat to pull out of his spot only to see you still waiting for the car outside of the bar. 

Blink-182 blares through his speakers, hitting him straight in the chest.

‘Let’s go, don’t wait, this night’s almost over. Honest, let’s make,this night last forever. Forever. And ever. Let’s make this last forever.’ 

What if he did stay a little later after class? What if he got the chance to move on to level three? 

Fuck it, he thinks. He turns off the ignition, shaking out the sounds of Jason Carver and the kids laughing, the sounds of their feet kicking in the water. Just Miss Tiffany and her whistle. He gets out of the car, determined. You’re still there, head whipping around to see him coming towards you while you bounce on the balls of your feet in the cold. 

Arms up. Knees bent. “Ed? My car’s gonna be here in a sec–” Whistle. His hands reach out to your cold cheeks to pull you in before his full lips capture yours. His eyes flutter close at the contact, feeling your mouth react to his in time. Soft and needy, hydrated. You immediately know how to keep his pace while he separates and goes back in for more. Wet but not messy, passionate but not feverish. The smoothest dive he’d ever done in his life. Your hands escape your pockets, fingers sliding behind his neck to pull him closer, sliding through the nape of his hair. He breaks away for a moment to delicately push your hair out of your face and really look at you before pressing his lips to yours again. You only stop when your Uber beeps from across the street. 

“I wanted to do that all night,” he mumbles sheepishly. 

“I wanted you to do that all night, too,” you giggle, breathless and blushing, “Thank you.” 

“Thank you,” he says, running a hand over his face, “Let me know when you get home, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, hurrying across the street as the car honks again,  “Bye!” 

“I’ll put something together for next time!” he calls out. ‘Cause there will be a next time. 

Tatianna is leaning over the back of the couch with her chin in her hands when Eddie opens the door. Her cheshire cat grin matches his own. 

“So I didn’t hear from you all night,” she starts, her voice syrupy smooth, “So that means it must’ve went really well.” 

Eddie sighs dreamily, kicking off his boots at the entryway and hanging his jacket on one of the hooks by the door. 

“Ooh, you like herrrr! I can tell! Look at your stupid face!” she laughs, pointing at him, bouncing on the cushions. 

“Tati she’s…fuck,” he shakes his head in disbelief while he walks towards her, “There’s either two ways this could go.” 

“Yeah?” she asks, looking up at him, “And those are?” 

“I’m gonna marry her, or she’s gonna absolutely fuckin’ ruin my life.” 

“I like her already,” Tati grins, “Sit down, tell me everything.” 

“Yeah, yeah, give me a sec,” he grumbles, his phone buzzing in his pocket. He plops down onto the couch while Tati grabs two cups of tea from the kitchen that she made especially for the recap of his night. Gareth had been long asleep for an early morning at work tomorrow. 

Eddie takes out his phone, two unread text alerts lingering on his home page. He opens them, smiling stupidly into the screen.

i’m home :) you’re a really good kisser by the way. 

glad you made it home safe. you are too. :) but you started off pretty kissable so, that’s probably why. you’re making me blush over here, stop it. 

Eddie lets out a soft chuckle through his nose, clicking out of your text conversation to go back to his home screen. 

He deletes the apps.

[thediaryofaurora]

General HCs

◎BEN drowned/Ben Lawman◎

- Died at thirteen, but he’s able to take form of whatever age he wants. Usually presents as sixteen to eighteen since most of his friends are in that age range. Technically he’s about sixteen now.

- About 5’8, but he can levitate when he’s a ghost.

- White with Swedish backgrounds. He was born in Idaho.

- He doesn’t constantly have blood coming out his eyes, it slowly comes out over time.

- Mainly talks to Jeff, Ben, Nina, Lost Silver, and Toby. Him, Toby, and Jeff usually hang out the most together, even though they don’t really get along most of the time. Ben’s really just the common denominator. Nina and him are both pretty internet involved, so they’re able to bond over that.

- Most of the time he chooses to be in his ghost form since he doesn’t require any sleep or food, but when he’s in his human form it’s nice to feel normal.

- When he’s human he is COLD. Constantly wears hoodies and pants, you can never catch him in t-shirts or shorts.

- He has an overwhelming amount of burner accounts that he cyber bullies people on, sometimes even the other residents. Him and Nina team up on kids on Roblox.

- Absolutely never drinks water. When he’s in his human form it would be in his best interest to, but he still doesn’t. Goes through about ten energy drinks and Mountain Dews a day.

- Him and Jeff almost exclusively eat fast food, usually together. He can steal whatever money he wants and cash it out or use it on a card, so they get whatever they want. They both get way too much food. Sonic and Wendy’s enthusiast.

- Unbearably sarcastic. You can’t say ANYTHING around this guy without getting picked on or teased, even if you’re friends. He’s more mean if he doesn’t like you, but if you’re closer he’s a little nicer.

- Completely relies on autocorrect, he can’t spell anything. Most of the time his texts are so incoherent even auto correct can’t help him, so all of his messages just look like gibberish. Nina can understand most of it, Jeff cannot whatsoever.

- He constantly has his hair in a ponytail, doesn’t wear his hat very often. He steals hair ties from pretty much every girl in the mansion, as does Jeff. They both feel awkward buying them in person so they either break into rooms and take them or they find them on the ground.

- Talks in brain rot way too often. Usually he’s being ironic, for the most part. Constantly quotes old vines or extremely niche, chronically online references.

- Actually really enjoys being around Toby, despite Jeff ranting his ear off about how much he hates him. Toby’s easy for him to get along with and he’s not as much of a douchebag as Jeff.

- When he’s human his eyes are still black and red, so if anyone asks while he’s in public he just says he’s wearing contacts.

- He doesn’t go outside very often. To him it’s the most boring thing ever, he’d rather stay in. Toby tries to get him to go out in the yard with him or go on walks, but after the first few times Ben realized it wasn’t his cup of tea.

- His room is surprisingly cool. He has a lot of trinkets and merchandise from his favorite games/ shows. His whole room is pretty much a clash of all his interests.

- Plays pretty much every genera of game. you can’t convince me he doesn’t have an established Stardew Valley file.

- Doesn’t really kill people unless they are trying to research the proxy symbol or anything else that could expose the mansion.

- He reminds me so much of Rigby from The Regular Show, it’s crazy.

៙◎៙◎៙◎៙◎៙◎៙◎៙

[fandomtrumpshate]

Unlisted Fandoms Challenge

While we pull together the post on the various types of fan labor being offered so far, here's a quick update on the *hundreds* of write-in fandoms we've received ...

At the top of the list we have Jeff Satur holding onto the lead with 7 entries, but Zhen Hun/Guardian is right on his heels with 6. And then there's a three-way tie for third place with 5 write-ins each for BBC Ghosts, Control (Remedy Game), and Dungeon Meshi / Delicious In Dungeon. Schitt's Creek claims fourth place with 4 entries, and in fifth there's a 14-way tie:

Alien Stage Cabin Pressure Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast) Fire Emblem Awakening Fire Emblem Fates Iron Widow Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint Roswell New Mexico Stand By Me/The Body by Stephen King The Goblin Emperor Series - Katherine Addison Transformers Voltron: Legendary Defender White Collar Zhen Hun / Guardian (drama) RPF

All it would take to upset the apple cart and reset the leader board is one signup. Manage two and it's a whole new ball game. Yes, we're mixing metaphors. And we're not done yet!

Below the cut are the 133 fandoms that have so far received only ONE signup. Want to really shake things up? Get two more signups for any of these and watch them leap into the fray on the leader board ...

10 Things I Hate About You (1999) Among Us Arctic Monkeys/The Last shadow Puppets Around the World in 80 Days (TV 2021) Baseball RPF BBC’s Musketeers Bendy and the Ink Machine Beyond Evil Black Doves Boygenius (Band)(RPF) Brokeback Mountain Bullet train Canji Baojun De Zhangxin Yu Chong (The disabled tyrant's pet palm fish) Cassette Beasts Castle Challengers Charmed (1998) Danger Force (TV) Dark Deception Dark Rise Dead by Daylight Descendants Destiny 2 Dimension 20 Downton Abbey Dr. Stone Dragonball Dragonlance Dragonriders of Pern by Anne McCaffrey Due South Dune (Villeneuve) Emma - Jane Austen Etta Invincible Fangs of Fortune Farscape Fields of Mistria Finder no Hyouteki / Finder Series Flight Rising Formula 2/3 RPF Frieren Fruits Basket Gangsta (Anime & Manga) Giselle Grantchester (TV) Grimm Hatoful Boyfriend Haven (TV) Helluva Boss Henry Danger (TV) High School Musical (Movies) Hikaru no Go HLVRAI - Half-life VR But the AI is Self-Aware House MD In Other Lands In Stars And Time IndyCar RPF It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia Jeeves and Wooster Jet Lag The Game RPF Jurassic Park (Extended Universe) Kamen Rider Gotchard Kane and Feels Kraven the Hunter Kuroko no Basuke / Kuroko's Basketball Law & Order Law & Order: Special Victims Unit Lays of the Hearth-Fire Series - Victoria Goddard Lies of P Live A Live Lord Seventh/Qi Ye Mass Effect 1, 2 or 3 Mononoke (2007 series and 2024 movie) MotoGP RPF My Time at Sandrock Mystic Messenger NBA RPF Nerdy Prudes Must Die Norah Grant Bruce's Billabong books Oh No! Here Comes Trouble Once Upon A Time Order of the Stick Outlast games Over the Garden Wall Pacific Rim Pathologic Peaky Blinders Persuasion - Jane Austen Phandom Pirates of the Caribbean Power Rangers (2017 movie) Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen Prodigal Son Puella Magi Madoka Magica Quantum Break Ranma 1/2 Resident Alien Resident Evil Rise of the Guardians S.C.I Mystery S.W.A.T. (2017 show) Saint Seiya Saw franchise Scooby Doo: Mystery Incorporated (2010) She-Ra Netflix Shipwrecked Comedy Sonic the Hedgehog (Games) South Park Spinning Silver (Novik) Spirited Squid Game Starkid Musicals (no hp) Stephen King's It Stray Gods: The Roleplaying Musical Super Sentai That 70s Show The A Team (either the 2010 movie or the 1980s series) The Coffin of Andy and Leyley The OC The Pairing - Casey McQuiston The Paradise of Thorns The Radiant Emperor The Silt Verses The Umbrella Academy the vampire diaries universe The Venture Maidens The Walking Dead The West Wing Thousand Autumns Tokusatsu Tron Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles Turning Universal Century Gundam video games by Arkane Studios Wander Over Yonder Warriors / Warrior Cats Watcher Entertainment/BuzzFeed Unsolved RPF Wind Breaker Wonka Word of Honor Yellowjackets Young Wizards (Diane Duane) บ้านหลอน ON SALE / Peaceful Property (TV)

[katherines-imagines]

“Stupid bitches, be stupid bitches.”

pairings: hazel callahan x reader

warnings: angst, fighting, mean PJ, bad writing

summary: PJ starts yelling at Hazel, but her girlfriends not having it.

A meeting was called for the fight club after their revenge on Jef. As the girls started coming in, each had a mischievous yet proud smile adorning their faces. Y/N walked towards the back where her girlfriend, Hazel, was saving a seat for her. Sitting down, Y/N took Hazel’s hand into her own, playing with her silver rings. When everyone arrived, PJ began to speak.

“Alright, well, some of us clearly have a different definition of egging.” The girls gave each other knowing looks. “But if we keep our mouth shut, stay calm, we’ll be fine,” PJ finished.

“They’re gonna shut us down, aren’t they,” Sylvie asked sadly.

“What,” PJ laughed nervously. “No, we don’t know that. Why-”

“Principal Meyers will believe whatever Jeff and Tim say,” Brittany pointed out. “I don’t really see how we recover from this.” She was right, and all the girls knew it. As much as they could hope that the club would continue, after their little stunt, the club would be shut down.

“Man. Fuck,” Sylvie sad dejectedly.

“It’s been real guys,” Hazel said, looking bittersweetly to the group. Her girlfriend lovingly tracing her hands, nodding in agreement.

“Okay,” PJ interrupted. “Let’s not jump to conclusions with the, goodbyes,” she waved her arms around.

“I’m gonna miss you guys so much,” Hazel said, ignoring PJ. Y/N’s heart felt heavy from the break up for the group. These were her friends. This was her safe space. Now it would end, but she didn’t regret joining at all, and that made it all the more bittersweet.

“I’m like,” Sylvie started while standing up. “At least we went out with a bang,” Sylvie referred to the bomb Hazel made, causing the group to laugh sans PJ and Josie. “I mean, that was fucking insane!” The group laughed louder. “It’s just like, fire, everywhere” she continued, playfully hitting the girls.

“Wait, wh, stop,” PJ stuttered. “We don’t, wait, no, we don’t know that for sure,” PJ tried to deny, but the girls had already accepted it.

“PJ,” Annie stopped her with a sad smile. “Don’t be sad it’s over. Be happy it happened,” she smiled towards the fight club members, them smiling back.

“Alright, can everyone calm the fuck down please,” PJ said exasperatingly. “The club is not over, Josie? Right?” PJ motioned to her best friend, a hand motioning in her direction. Josie kept silent, PJ turning in disbelief at the lack of answer.

“No matter what,” Isabel started. “This club has brought me so much. I feel..” She took a deep breath before continuing. “So much more powerful, and, protected.”

“Me too,” Josie agreed, eyes showing vulnerability like the rest of the girls. PJ let out a sarcastic laugh

“Great,” PJ said. Hazel, tired of her attitude, interrupted her.

“Oh my god PJ, okay,” Hazel stood abruptly, her hand leaving Y/N’s grasp, causing her to jump at the sudden movement. “I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted out of this group, but I think the rest of us did.” She motioned towards the girls with a smile.

“Oh,” PJ spoke sarcastically. “Good for fucking you Hazel.” Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed, not liking how PJ was speaking to her girlfriend. “I’m glad that you finally wrote one email. Accomplished a lot.”

“I actually did, I practically ran this club for you and Josie,” Hazel said frustratedly. Y/N nodded harshly in support.

“Let’s calm down, maybe,” Josie said, trying to deescalate the situation, but it was too late for that.

“You really think that your the reason that we have this club,” PJ asked rudely.

“The reason? No, but I can tell everyone that if you want,” Hazel shot back. The girls heads snapped to Hazel at the comment, none of them expecting Hazel to have a mean bone in her body. Y/N stood up next to her girlfriend, hand going to the small of her back in support. As much as Y/N wanted to tear PJ a new one, she knew that Hazel had to do this part, at least, by herself.

“Hazel, uh hey, let’s calm down,” Josie said to Hazel. Y/N glared at Josie. Clearly PJ was the one who needed to calm down, not Hazel.

“You’re really ungrateful,” PJ snapped at her. “You’re so lucky that we even let you be a part of this.” How dare PJ try and glorify herself?

“PJ, your a liar.” A silence followed after Hazel’s retort, eyes turning to PJ for an explanation. PJ scoffed in disbelief.

“Yeah, well,” PJ started. Y/N had a feeling that the next few words that would come out of PJ’s mouth would make Y/N’s patience snap. “You have no friends, and a skank as a mom, so,” PJ smiled maliciously, as Josie looked at her feet. As the girls stared quietly, Y/N yelled at PJ.

“How dare you say that? She has friends, and you have no right so say something so atrocious to her,” Y/N said angrily, while Hazel stared in disbelief at PJ. Before Y/N could continue, Hazel looked at her friends in pain before picking up her stuff. Y/N followed Hazel’s lead, picking up her and her girlfriend’s stuff before following Hazel down the bleachers. Before leaving the gym, Y/N went to PJ’s face and spoke coldly, “If you every say shit like that again, I’ll fuck you up. Don’t you ever, disrespect her.” Shoving PJ with her shoulder, Y/N followed Hazel out the gym. While the rest of the girls watched them leave, Josie calling out for Hazel. When Y/N caught up to Hazel’s fast walking, she stayed quite. After a few minutes of walking quietly, Hazel spoke softly.

“What did you say, hun,” Y/N asked softly, not hearing what Hazel had said.

“Could you please hold my hand,” she shakily asked, quiet tears streaming down her face. Instead of answering, Y/N simply took Hazel’s hand in her own, comfortingly rubbing her thumb across her girlfriend’s hand. They walked in silence before Y/N spoke up.

“She’s a bitch.” Hazel let out a startled laugh of disbelief. “And not even a good one like me,” Y/N added, hesitantly looking at Hazel to see if it was ok to talk. Hazel laughed quietly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Y/N stopped the pair, Hazel looking curiously for the reason why. Y/N dropped their bags and took of her jacket, using the sleeve to wipe Hazel’s tears before putting it on Hazel. When Y/N picked up their bags, she took Hazel’s hand and continued to walk. “Don’t listen to her Haze. You know what they say about girls like her?” Y/N waiting until Hazel hummed in question.

“Stupid bitches, be stupid bitches.”

Hazel laughed loudly, hugging Y/N’s arm to stop her from falling.

“Y/N,” Hazel laughed.

“Hazel,” Y/N responded seriously. Well, semi-seriously. She couldn’t help the small smile growing on her mouth. Sighing gratefully, Hazel tugged on Y/N’s arm to stop.

“Thank you, love,” Hazel said, looking into Y/N’s eyes with love. Y/N swore she could feel her heart melt, warmth filling her up.

“Of course, pretty girl,” Y/N spoke softly, hugging her girlfriend tightly. Y/N was not going to let PJ get away with this.

No one spoke to her girl like that.

a/n: first imagine since I came back! if you have any requests from any fandom, please let me know. if I know the fandom, I will try and do it! Hope you guys like this one as much as I did.

[nymph-ette111]

general jeff x vampire.goth reader pretty pls w a cherry on top?

WARNINGS; JEFF IS PERVERTED... :3 ALSO READER IS WRITTEN AS FEM IN MIND, IT IS IMPLIED LIKE ONCE I THINK

AUTHOR'S NOTE; I saw a Jeff cosplay on tiktok shit was so good it motivated me to write this.

-shamelessly down bad, like actually.

-would never miss a chance to throw some sort of inappropriate comment towards you.

-does not care if there is people around, he thinks you're hot and he'll say it.

-owns a good amount of silver jewelry, might let you borrow some if you ask nicely.

-or you could just steal it.

-his room is all over the place so he probably wouldn't notice.

-a little biased when it comes to music... loves his metal and would rather die than ask you about a song he heard you listening to.

-either he tries to find it himself or begrudgingly asks you the name of the song/album/singer.

-he'd feel so defeated like bro it's not that deep just admit something for once.

-god forbid if you wear something that reveals some chest area, he'll go feral.

-ESPECIALLY IF IT'S BLACK WITH LACE.

-certified pervert. will stare at your boobs.

-also likes it when you wear dark red lipstick.

-what can I say? he's really into the whole vampire aesthetic. even the music isn't too bad but again he'd never admit it.

-he'd probably make fun of it at first but having to listen to it so often whenever you're getting ready, doing your makeup, or just hanging out in general its starting to grow on him.

-you might find a song or two in his playlist but don't bring it up. he'd get so defensive and for what

[slutforben]

here's how i think the creeps smoke and what some of them are like when they're high

i like to think that the pastas with non-physical bodies, or non-human bodies can’t get physically harmed really bad, so doing stuff like drugs doesn’t affect them negatively that much. with me saying that, please don’t take this as inspiration to go do drugs. you are not a creepypasta. you have a physical body ( probably ) and please don’t go do drugs because of this post. anyway, here’s how i think the creeps have a fun saturday night. i am not liable for anything ever.

---

Jeff: it’s well known on this blog that this bastard will smoke anything, out of anything, with anything, that he can get his dirty fucking hands on. he doesn’t consider himself a stoner, but he will smoke with someone is invited. or alone, he doesn’t care. i think his favorite drugs are edibles that have like 200mg in them. he eats them all. absolutely fucks them up. then he lays on the living room couch, stoned out of his mind, watching pastas come in and out from their assigned jobs. he thrives knowing that he’s liked just enough by slender to sit on his ass and watch everyone else work. probably vapes too, enjoys menthol and mint flavors most but secretly enjoys fruity flavors, specifically white peach and strawberry. also smokes cigarettes a lot, but nowhere near as much as tim or brian. jeff loves the burn they give in his lungs. when high, he's much more impulsive, much more offensive, much more violent, and just overall more of a jerk off.

BEN: ben definitely vapes as his main choice of getting high; he’s the type of kid in school who skips class to go vape and fiend in the bathroom with the upperclassmen. he knows how to do tricks, how to hold the vapor in hella long, and loves trying to hit multiple vapes at once. i’m talking 4 through his mouth, 1 through his nose all at once. his go to flavors are fruity flavors and his favorite types are geek bars, referred to as “ the geekers. “ loves orange creamsicle, raspberry peach, and mango flavors the most. also smokes weed when he’s home; prefers to smoke with blunts or carts but has a fancy bong that he’s incredibly protective of. smokes indica-type strains mostly, and his favorite time of day to smoke is late night-early morning. he doesn’t mind smoking alone but loves to smoke with jeffery or toby. loves to try to get toby as baked as humanly possible. sometimes, rarely, once in a blue moon type of rare, tim will smoke with ben if he’s had a really boring day. brian and dark link are also regulars during ben’s smoke sessions. silver likes to sit in and hang out too but never joins in. ben would probably have sex high, maybe i’ll make another post about that. the hardest thing he’s ever done was molly, had a really weird trip so now he only sticks to vaping and smoking weed. 

toby: he seems like he’d smoke cigarettes the most, but i also like to think that he smokes weed and vapes pretty often. gets his cigarettes from tim, either buying them off him or stealing them. doesn’t have his own weed stash, so he goes to smoke with ben instead and fiend off him. toby has an abnormally high thc tolerance, so it takes a little bit more to get him high, and ben always takes this as a challenge to see how stoned he can get toby. likes minty-flavored vapes, specifically juuls and geekbars. he’s the type of high to sit around and be lazy, be laid back and flirty, and say and do stupider things than usual. the hardest thing he’s ever done was molly with ben, his trip wasn’t as weird and was pretty dope in his opinion, he’d do it again. tries to smoke multiple cigarettes at once, fails and almost throws up.

slenderman: doesn’t smoke often, but has a box of old-timey cigars he keeps on him at all times that he will rarely smoke. he likes the smell of cigars and cigarettes but isn’t fond of the smell of weed that lingers in the Manor halls. 

masky: likes his cigarettes, prefers marlboro reds but will smoke any kind. he’s been smoking since his late teens so sometimes he’s got a raspy voice and rough smokers cough that makes you jump if it’s quiet. doesn’t care much for weed, but will smoke with hoodie and ben if he’s had a boring day, or if he’s feeling nostalgic. has hit ben’s vape a couple times, doesn’t mind it and would buy his own if desperate for a buzz and didn’t have his cigarettes on him. ben pays him to buy his vapes and weed since he’s obviously over 21, and in turn he gets ben to pay for his cigarettes. the hardest thing he’s done is coke, tweaked out incredibly hard and then swore to never do it again. 

Hoodie: not as heavy of a cigarette smoker as tim is, but still runs out of packs pretty quick. smokes weed more often with ben and jeff than any other person, prefers to smoke it early morning so he can unwind from his workday. he’s the type of high to get really philosophical and have deep conversations, and still wonder about them days after. has hit ben’s vapes but doesn’t really care for it, likes the minty ones more than others but still prefers cigarettes. sometimes buys ben’s stuff if tim can’t get it in exchange for free weed. will smoke multiple cigarettes at once and not throw up. the hardest thing he’s done was pills, has a pretty bad addiction but got himself out of it with tim’s help.

eyeless jack: i can’t see him smoking weed or vaping, or even cigarettes that often. maybe a cigarette every once in a while, but that’s only if he’s stressed out and it’s a really specific setting, or he just barely saved someone’s life and he needs to relieve that build-up. most likely smoked weed a little bit and experimented during college, although never wanted to do anything to hard due to personal experiences with friends and family doing it. the hardest thing he’s ever done was secretly acid, had a terrible trip and will never touch it again. 

laughing jack: has done meth before, would probably do it again. 

clockwork: she’s a cigarette girl. loves her cigarettes, laughs at ben’s tutti-frutti flavored vape. smokes a lot with tim and brian in the shop, the littered cigarette butts on the ground are hers by a significant amount. the hardest thing she’s done is molly, enjoyed her trip and would do it again probably. 

dark link: loves to smoke weed with ben, that’s his preferred way to get high. doesn’t care much for cigarettes cause he doesn’t like the smell, but does enjoy ben’s menthol vapes. loves bongs and joints equally, but loves blunts the most. likes carts a lot too, and will take edibles like they’re candy. he’s the type to get high and get really really flirty, but did we expect anything less from dark? likes to get crossfaded too, but doesn’t ever remember the night before when he wakes up, but ben and his trusty cameras do. the hardest thing he’s ever done is so many shrooms that he thought he was in hell. 

glitchy red: prefers weed and vaping over cigarettes, and only likes getting high at night in a group or with at least one other person. fiends off of ben’s vapes, and likes the fruity flavors, specifically strawberry or kiwi. prefers to smoke weed out of bongs or pipes, but will settle for carts or joints. he’s the type of high to also get really flirty and would have sex while high as well. would probably be more experimental too. also really lazy when he’s high, just wants to sit and chill and eat a bunch of food. the hardest thing he’s done is probably shrooms. And the trip was alright. 

lost silver: i don’t see him smoking really at all out of shyness and no urge to do it. nobody pressures him, and he doesn’t see the point, so he just kinda hangs out when people are smoking, preferably ben. he has hit ben’s vapes a couple times, didn’t mind the minty flavors but just doesn’t see the enjoyment in it. has hit ben’s bong once, and one hit was enough for him to almost green out. 

nina: she LOVES her girly flavored vapes. doesn’t care much for cigarettes or weed, but will smoke ben’s bong in exchange for gossip she hears around that he hasn’t picked up on yet. loves hitting ben’s tutti-frutti vapes, and will chief his dead ones from him. likes strawberry, pina colada, and white grape the most. when she’s high she gets really energized and talkative and will yap your ear off. ben is her vape plug, she tells him what she wants and he sends tim out to get it. hardest thing she’s done i imagine could be acid or shrooms.  

[berzahoes]

i love you | johnny knoxville

summary: just some moments with johnny and the reader

an: yes i’m watching jackass 🫶🏼

PARTY BOY

johnny was busy taking a shower while you did your skin care routine. the jackass crew had made it to the uk and everyone was tired. you were more annoyed than tired, it seemed like every little thing annoyed you from waiting too long for the elevator to johnny’s snoring on the plane.

“did you call your mom? she wanted you to call when we land,” johnny said as he washed his body. he got no response so he slightly moved the curtain so he could look at you. “did you hear me?”

you hummed and continued washing your face. “yeah, call my mom although i’m pretty sure she won’t pick up since, you know, time zones.”

“are you going to be mad at me during the whole trip? i said sorry.”

you rolled your eyes and continued washing your face. while checking in, the receptionist of the hotel had said some flirty comments to johnny right in front of you and what did johnny do? he laughed it off then later when you were unpacking a little, he explained that he laughed because he was he didn’t know how to respond.

“come on, i know i was an asshole-” he saw the side eye you gave him. “i am an asshole, but this asshole loves you and you’re not getting rid you me that easily. you’re stuck with me, baby.”

“you’re still an asshole.” you mumble, grabbing a towel to dry your face.

then someone had knocked on the door, you still didn’t move from your spot, which johnny noticed. “you’re not getting the door, are you?”

“you’re so smart, philip.” you replied. through the mirror, you saw him sigh and carefully got out of the shower. you were being nice so you handed him a small towel.

“who is it?” johnny asked as he opened the door then saw that it was chris and tried to close the door.

“it’s party boy!” chris forced his way into the bathroom where he saw you in your sweat pants and bralette. “let’s party!” he danced around you then got into the shower with johnny, who couldn’t stop laughing.

“why did i open the door?” johnny laughed.

you joined their laughter as you saw the camera crew enter as well. “i’m not even tired anymore.” you watched as chris danced in the shower. after a while, you forgot you were even mad.

SILVER FOXVILLE

the filming of ‘jackass forever’ had to stop due to a virus so everyone had to stay home. you liked it since you could finally spend more time with johnny. you two did many things to get rid of your boredom like puzzles, bake, watch movies, sleep, swim in your pool and even more sleep.

during quarantine, johnny had decided to stop dyeing his hair. you didn’t think much of it since at some point everyone starts going gray, but once you saw johnny with his silver hair, you couldn’t keep your hands off of it.

when filming for the movie resumed, johnny was now sporting a full gray hair look and you loved it. in the mornings, you would run your hands through his hair, compliment him, play with it. he just looked even better.

when you and johnny arrived to the jackass forever set, all eyes were on him. jeff immediately let out the loudest laugh when he saw johnny.

“who are you and what have you done with knoxville?” jeff chuckled then he turned to you. “you’re dating an old man.“

“jeff, i can literally see your grays from here.”

GQ COUPLES QUIZ

“hi everyone! we are here to take the couple’s quiz.” you smiled. you and johnny were sat across from each other with flash cards in your hands with questions written on them. after many years of knowing, dating and marriage, you seemed pretty confident.

“okay, we actually did a game of rock, paper, scissors and johnny won so he goes first.” you explained.

“sorry sweetheart, you suck at that game, but i love you. okay, what is my middle name? we’re starting off easy.” johnny said.

without thinking, you immediately answer. “john. if i say your full name, do i get bonus points?”

“we can make up our own rules. i’ll give ‘em to you. but only because i love you.”

“love you too, philip john clapp.”

“next question, you watch snl right? have i ever hosted saturday night live?” johnny asked.

“no?” you weren’t sure if johnny was even allowed to be on snl, you were convinced all the jackass guys were banned.

“you’re breaking my heart, babe. you were there! system of a down performed and you watched them perform.” johnny scoffed.

“no, i remember system of a down but i don’t remember you hosting if i’m being honest. congratulations, i guess.” you laughed as johnny rolled his eyes.

“i really hope you get the next questions right. what was my number in the royal rumble match? again, you were there.”

“easy, number nine,” you confidently said. “nine is my lucky number.”

“really? mines sixty nine.”

[ladykailitha]

Everything I Ever Wanted Part 3/4

Hello! We're almost done with this lovely story just one more to go.

It's chapters like this that make me wish I was a better artist so I could draw Steve's wedding clothes. But alas, I'm not so I can only hope I described it well enough.

The wedding/bonding ceremony of the century. Steve and Eddie being absolutely gooey for each other and their shared rut/heat. And with the heat comes sexy times so mature fun ahead.

Part 1 Part 2

****

Steve and Eddie’s bonding and wedding ceremony was the event of the decade everyone from royalty to who’s who in film, music, and sports all wanted an invite.

A world famous rockstar bonding to a wealthy and glamorous former escort?

Yeah, everyone wanted a piece of that action, but sadly they were all out of luck. It was an intimate affair where only their closest friends and in Eddie’s case family were invited to attend.

Jim and Joyce Hopper stood in for Steve’s parents (he didn’t even bother to invite the Harringtons) and Wayne stood in for Eddie’s.

All of Steve’s friends were there. Nancy and Jonathan’s younger brothers, Mike and Will. Lucas and Max were there, of course. With Erica in tow. Dustin, too. Nikita was there, too. Steve insisting on it after their lunch together. She had brought her boyfriend, a beta actor who looked at her like she was the sun.

Steve was happy for her.

Robin was his maid of honor with Jeff as Eddie’s best man. Chrissy and Elinor rounding out Steve’s side of the aisle and Gareth and Brian rounding out Eddie’s.

Everyone had been expecting Steve to wear a dress being an omega. But Steve surprised them all. He wore white, skin tight pants that had a poofy train attached at the waist, a white lace bodice with a sweetheart neckline. It was daring and provocative. Steve loved it.

Eddie was standing at the end of the aisle in a leather jacket over a white button up that was only buttoned up halfway. His skin tight pants were tucked into leather boots. He had on all his chains and leather bands and bracelets.

His groomsmen were all dressed similarly, but Steve’s bridesmaids were all in silver sheath gowns. Well except Robin. She was a grey suit that was like Steve’s white suit but without the train, and with a black bodice instead of grey.

The fashion mags would have been scandalized for sure, but Steve refused to conform for anyone. He had spent too long under societal pressures and wasn’t going to let society dictate what he wore to his ceremony.

Jim walked Steve down the aisle and handed him off to Eddie.

The officiant gave the usual spiel on the importance of the bond and how like marriage it is a commitment not to be taken lightly, then he veered off script a little as spoke of Eddie and Steve.

“Never before have I seen a couple so deeply and categorically in love with each other as these two people,” he said. “In their case the bond isn’t just a next step. It’s the next step. The only step left in their journey together.”

Steve and Eddie looked at each other so fondly that the crowd all cooed.

A single tear slipped down Eddie’s cheek and Steve gently wiped it away.

“Do you, Edward Nicholas Munson take Steven Aaron Harrington to have and to hold through bond and matrimony, sickness and health, hardship and success?”

Eddie squeezed Steve’s hands. “I do.”

“And do you Steve Aaron Harrington take Edward Nicholas Munson,” he said turning to the omega, “to support and sustain through all that life may take you both?”

“I do.”

“Then I now pronounce you as husbands and bondmates. You may kiss each other.”

Steve and Eddie leaned in for a chaste but deep kiss.

A cheer went up and Steve and Eddie parted with great reluctance.

White and black confetti went up as they walked back down the aisle arm in arm, their groomsmen and bridesmaids falling in behind them.

****

Once they got to the reception Robin helped Steve remove the train from the back of his suit so that he could move around more freely and put on a tuxedo jacket over the top of the bodice to match Robin’s suit.

Everyone came up and congratulated them. They cut the cake, they had their first dance.

The one thing they didn’t do was the tossing of bouquet and garter. Steve’s outfit precluded a garter and he didn’t want to lose his bouquet that way.

The food was good, the alcohol flowed freely, and everyone had a good time.

It wouldn’t be until after their honeymoon that Steve would learn that his parents had tried to crash the reception, but security had handled it so well, that no one had known until after the event.

Steve and Eddie had planned everything down to the minutest detail. Including having their wedding and honeymoon before their shared heat and rut.

They had actually wanted to enjoy themselves and not be mindless fuck machines.

They opted to spend three days at a lovely castle nestled in the Scottish Highlands and then two days on Welsh beaches.

When they came home, they had found that Robin and Jeff had made sure they had everything they needed for their fuck fest as Jeff kept calling it. Robin called it their reat. An unholy combination of rut and heat.

Steve hated it.

So of course Robin refused to call it anything else.

Steve’s nest had been painstakingly been put in Eddie’s bedroom, new items being added from Elinor, Chrissy, and Jim and Joyce Hopper. Eddie’s comfort items had already been integrated before the wedding.

Steve collapsed happily into the folds of his nest without even so much as taking off his shoes.

Eddie snorted and swatted playfully at Steve’s ass. “At least take off your shoes, you brat.”

Steve chuckled and rolled over to do just that. Then he removed all of his clothes. Just shucked everything off.

Eddie was about to say something snarky when Steve’s scent reached his nose.

His spicy chocolate scent had become sweeter and spicier then it normally was.

He reached between Steve’s legs and found that, yup, his husband was slick and open.

Steve threw his head back and moaned. Eddie licked his lips and manhandled his omega further up onto the bed.

“You already starting without me, sweetheart?” he growled into Steve’s ear.

“Hit the lights, baby,” Steve groaned in response. If his heat had come early then Eddie’s rut would no doubt be right behind.

Eddie lowered the lights and closed the drapes, then got undressed. As soon as he crawled onto the bed, he could feel his skin tighten and heat up. A sure sign his body was reacting to the omega in front of him.

“I need you so bad, Eddie...” Steve groaned, his back arching off the bed.

Eddie spread Steve’s legs and settled between them. He rubbed his hands soothingly over Steve’s sides and thighs until his body relaxed enough for Eddie to line up and pressed in.

The omega cried out in utter bliss as his alpha’s cock slid all the way in. Steve jack knifed off the bed as pleasure hit him.

Eddie rubbed his hands over Steve’s abs and stomach. “Is it too much, baby?”

Steve wanted to immediately answer no, to shake his head, to demand Eddie to just fucking move! But he forced himself to actually take stock of what his body needed in that moment. Just like he would force an alpha in their rut to do the same.

He let out a shuddering breath and then another.

“I never knew it could feel like this,” he huffed, more than a little breathless. “I know why us escorts aren’t allowed to spend our heats with alphas, but holy fuck I was not prepared by how intense it actually is.”

Eddie continued to brush his fingers lightly over Steve’s overheated skin in soothing circles. He was glad his rut hadn’t hit yet, so that he could be present for his omega’s first heat with him, instead being overtaken by lust.

“I’m going to start slow, Stevie,” Eddie murmured. “I promise it’ll get better once I get moving.”

Steve gulped but nodded.

“Uh-uh,” Eddie said wagging his finger. “Words, baby.”

“Yes, honey. Please move. I need it. I need you!” he blurted, before he arched his back again as pleasure hit him with another wave.

“I’ve got you.”

Eddie started with small, easy movements because while Steve was used to normal and rut sex, heat sex was not in his wheelhouse as it were. Once Steve got used to the smaller movements, Eddie ramped it up to longer and faster thrusts.

“Oh, Eds...” Steve moaned as the friction began to build up heat in his lower abdomen.

“You feeling good?” Eddie asked, reaching out to cup his cheek gently.

All Steve could answer in response was to turn his head and kiss Eddie’s palm.

Eddie melted from the sheer tenderness of it all. He had a lot of sex. Had even done so with a couple of alphas in his early days when he was experimenting with his sexuality before he decided it was men first gender and omega second gender for him. Betas, too, he supposed. But definitely not alphas.

But in all those encounters, he had never felt this warmth between his partner and him.

It was something he didn’t realize he craved before Steve. That love and connection. And holy fuck did he get it from Steve in spades. Even when Steve was still working as an escort, he never let Eddie think for a moment that he wasn’t completely and totally in love him.

Flowers waiting from him in his dressing room after a concert. Food delivered to his hotel room when he was just too tired to go out. Little text messages with just heart or a kiss.

Eddie devoured the attention like a man, starving.

And now with this beautiful creature below him, soaking up his touch and reveling in the pleasure Eddie was giving him?

He was in paradise. Heaven. Nirvana. Elysium. Didn’t matter what you called it, Eddie was there with this ethereal being who was begging for his knot.

Just pleasure bubbling out of those perfect lips.

And who was Eddie to deny this man anything? He buried himself deep into Steve, his knot blooming just past the opening, locking them together. Suddenly he was coming and coming. It felt like it wasn’t going to stop.

But it did and Eddie was spent. Not just sexually, but physically exhausted too. He laid down on Steve and just murmured inanities into his omega’s ear.

Steve wrapped his arms around him and caressed his back and hair, telling him what a good strong alpha he was. Eddie’s inner alpha purred. It rumbled deep and happy.

Steve’s omega chirped back, sated and serene.

****

It would be several days before they were both aware at the same time. It was then when Eddie decided to do the bite.

They both had about a day left in their cycles and there was no better time for it.

Steve got down on all fours, presenting his ass to Eddie in the most delicious way imaginable. Eddie lined himself up and gently slid in as he had the first time, but now Steve was ready for the wave of pleasure that took over him the second Eddie entered his body.

Despite all the sex they had had over the week, Eddie knew he wasn’t going to last long. He gingerly pulled Steve up so their bodies were flush against each other.

“You ready, Stevie?” he asked into the crook of Steve’s neck.

Steve nodded, all ready breathless from the pleasure sending wave after wave through his skin.

“Okay, baby,” Eddie murmured. “It might sting for the first little bit, but your endorphins will quickly override the pain and it’ll feel like you’re high.”

“Oh god,” Steve huffed. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s–”

He was stopped short by Eddie starting his thrusting. He had one hand on Steve’s hip and the other arm draped over his shoulders to keep them as close to each other as possible.

The knot formed quickly and too soon Eddie was filling up his pretty, little omega’s cunt. Steve’s head dropped from the sheer instinct and Eddie bit down on Steve’s soul patch as the area was called. It would send the bonding chemical right to Steve’s brain, and his blood mingling with the saliva in Eddie’s mouth would when swallowed would bind Eddie to Steve. It takes longer for the alpha to bond to omega as it has farther to go, but it would be as strong for either one of them.

Some alphas had tried to cheat the system so that omega would be bonded to them, but they could fool around with other omegas by not being bonded to the one they bit, by trying not to swallow. There were even some sketchy products that came out in the early 1960s that claimed to prevent the blood and saliva from being swallowed. But the claims were bogus because there would always be some remnant left on the teeth or under the tongue and all it would take would a swipe of the tongue and a swallow and they were bonded anyway.

Eddie licked up the blood on the back of Steve’s neck, his saliva during knotting producing a healing component to close the wound. As the process neared the end, Steve gasped and suddenly he was coming too.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Eddie cooed. “You did so well. I love you so much.”

Steve came again, his body shaking with the strength of his bond to Eddie. He could feel it alter his brain chemicals. Eddie lowered him onto the other side of the bed so as to not have him face plant into his own cum.

Eddie cleaned Steve up and then when he was able to stand, cleared off the bed and put down clean sheets. One of the few times they’d been able to do that over the course of their cycle.

Once done they laid down on the bed and cuddled.

“How do you feel, baby?” Eddie asked, running his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“Those faux bonds are fucking liars, love,” Steve growled. “I thought this would be just more intense versions of that. But no. This is real in every way I never thought possible. Everything is brighter and clearer. I feel like I’m floating and I don’t want to ever come down.”

Eddie chuckled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “So good then?”

“Fucking fantastic!” Steve chirped.

Suddenly Eddie had a lap full of horny omega and he couldn’t be happier.

“Hey, babe,” he murmured sweetly. “You ready to go again?”

Steve responded by grounding their cocks together. Eddie threw back his head with a high pitched whine.

“Yeah, Stevie,” he gasped. “Just like that.”

****

The next morning they woke up both heads clear of their cycle and wrapped up in each other’s arms.

They showered and ate and puttered around their kitchen, cleaning up after themselves.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Eddie asked as Steve made a list of food they would need to replenish.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck where there would be a bond mark showing the world that he was taken if he ever wanted to cut his hair. The mark was warm to the touch and he traced each indent of Eddie’s teeth.

“I feel good,” he murmured. “Safe. Contented.”

Eddie smiled up at him with that closed lip smile he only ever bestowed on his omega.

“Everything you ever hoped for?”

“Everything and more.”

****

Part 4

Tag List:

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[spindrifters]

I've been doing battle with my internet all day to get this up for Lynxmas. I would not be bested!! I refused and I persevered!! So a very happy birthday from me and the rowdy 11 year olds to our favorite barwench humble forest cat @lynxindisguise!!

There’s a peculiar shuffle to sharing one’s room, a frenzy of activity when it comes to four boys squashed into a rather small circular dorm that puts Remus—not only used to the solitude of his own little cottage bedroom, but raised without so much as a single other child his own age for at least ten miles in each direction—decidedly on edge.

It’s a continuation of the chaos from the welcoming feast, where the newly-sorted Gryffindor boys had quickly found their stride and accompanying role in the ecosystem. James and Sirius, no longer competing over who could eat more chicken thighs but still loudly trying to one-up each other’s boasts about feats of accidental magic. Peter, scrabbling to get a word in while his eyes gleamed with excitement each time one of them noticed. And Remus, the impulse to join in the fun warring with Dad’s gentle word of warning before he climbed on the train earlier in the day—can’t be too careful, lad.

He pushes that to the side, focusing instead on finding his plush grindylow Raccoon at the bottom of his trunk. It’s a poor replacement for Jeff, the very real grindylow who lives at the bottom of his garden pond and who he already misses something fierce—and he is not going to let the other boys see that he brought a stuffed animal with him to school, thank you very much—but still. It helps to know that Raccoon’s there. It helps to know he'll have at least one friend at school.

Because Peter’s nice, but he and James are already friends from growing up, and Sirius and James… Well, he supposes they mean well, but with their shining black shoes and posh accents and the way they barrel loud and bright through a conversation like nothing in the world could touch them, Remus can’t help but be intimidated. For Merlin’s sake, Sirius has silver monogrammed cufflinks on the sleeves of his school uniform. Even if Remus does manage the courage to ever string more than two words together in front of his new dormmates, he can’t imagine they’d ever want to be friends with someone like him.

There’s a flash then, followed by a bang, and Remus becomes briefly distracted by a whirling firework escaping from James’s trunk. There’s laughter at that, a slight salve to his fluttering, nervous gut when the other boy winks at him from behind square-frame glasses, but then James turns back to say something to Sirius instead and stops. He gapes.

“Why are you wearing a dress?”

“It’s not a dress,” Sirius sniffs, looking affronted at the very idea. “It’s a nightshirt.”

Well, whatever it is Sirius has changed into while the rest of them weren’t paying attention, it certainly looks like a dress. It’s white, and ankle-length, and buttoned all the way up to just beneath his chin. Also, it’s frilly. Very frilly. If anything, it looks like something out of Ma’s old and battered copy of A Christmas Carol, like he should really have a long nightcap and candleholder to go with it.

Remus can’t help it. He snorts.

Sirius snaps his gaze over, steel grey eyes boring holes into him, and Remus wants to melt into the floor beneath his feet. “Well, what do you wear to sleep, then, if it’s so funny?” he snaps.

“Not my gran’s nightie,” Remus replies, feeling he ought to be congratulated, actually, on such a witty remark. Only Sirius’s eyes flash at that, and immediately his jaw clamps jaw shut.

But then James is cackling, and Sirius seems to take in his new dormmates for the first time since they all began changing for bed. James, in a vest and Quidditch shorts. Peter, in a matching set of broomstick-patterned pyjamas. Remus, in a pair of joggers and the oversized green jumper that still smells like Dad. A red flush creeps up Sirius’s pale cheeks. “Oh.”

It occurs to Remus then, that this wasn’t at all what he wanted, either. He didn’t want to make Sirius feel bad about it. He hadn’t wanted to embarrass him.

So it’s a poor offering, maybe, but he finds himself digging out another jumper—orange, this time, but a nice soft one, and not too oversized or nubby—and says, “D’you want to borrow it?”

A moment passes, then two, and then Sirius is smiling wide. “Cheers, Lupin,” he says, a shine in his eyes of something Remus doesn’t quite know how to place.

In future days he’ll come to understand that that look is the surefire sign of Sirius about to do something that’s not the done thing—not by pureblood standards, anyway, whatever the hell those are. All he knows right now is that Sirius isn’t yelling at him—or worse, ignoring him—and then James is throwing an extra pair of Quidditch shorts at Sirius’s face and saying no one wants to see his skivvies, and then Peter is breaking out a massive bag of Bertie Bott’s to share, and maybe it turns out that Remus can have friends, actually, after all.

[sharp-silver4795]

Silly Creepypasta Contacts

Inspired by this post

These are all from BEN’s Perspective cuz who else would do this? let’s be honest.

A few of them may need explaining-

21 Pilots Bitch (Judge Angels)

🎶you’re the judge, oh no, set me free, oh no

I know my soul’s freezing, hells hot for good reason

So please… take me🎶

“The Judge” song by 21 Pilots

No brain-only scythe (Scarecrow)

🎶if I only had a brain🎶

Slender’s Lapdog (Rouge)

Rouge is given the nickname “The Operator’s Watch Dog”

BEN’s making fun of that

Nordic Cat (Kat Hunter)

The name of Kat’s cat is Loki, a Nordic god

To BEN, Kat means nothing in comparison to Loki

Which is correct

Chippy (Toby)

Toby likes chips

Aaaaannnnddd someone called him “twitchy” once and BEN thought they said “Chippy”

It’s just a running joke now.

Boring (Tim)

“Masky” is a boring asf name

He would have called Brian Boring too but the Voyeur was too good

Voyeur (Brian)

The camera

Whack-a-clown (Candy Pop)

The mallet

Frosty (Ani)

🎶 frosty the snowman🎶

Precious Baby (Lost Silver)

He thinks of Lost Silver as a lil bean

He’s not exactly wrong either

Scary Bitch (Kate)

Joker Reject (Jeff) ; Cat Woman (Nina) ; Lesbian Batman (Jane)

Jeff has the Joker smile

the people he tried to murder are going to beat the shit outta him

Tick-Tock (Clockwork)

Muscles (Zero)

Girly is strong

Buff friend

Not a Twink 🤯 (Liu)

BEN was thoroughly shocked to find that Liu actually has muscle and such, it’s just hidden under all them layers-

Bendy Eyes (EJ)

Referring to Bendy and the Ink Machine

Since the liquid coming out of his eye sockets looks like ink

Wine God (Kagekao)

Villain (Dark Link)

In the game, Dark Link is one of the characters you fight in the Water Temple

Plamt (Doll Maker)

His first name is “Vine”

King of Twinks (Jason)

The ultimate twink

Adopts twinks as his kids

Mono IT (L. Jack) ; Drag IT (L. Jill)

IT as in Pennywise the clown

Mono(chrome)

Drag, as in dressing/being in drag

Circus music (Candy Cane)

Sock boi (Puppeteer)

Referring to sock puppets

No friends lol (Nathan)

He’s a “nobody” so he has no friends

Divider Creds: Sister-Lucifer

Header Creds: ME!!!