#Sloven movie

[bizaar]

Cruel Summer - Part 14

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pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 8k

warnings: fluff, allusions to sex/sexual content, swearing, slight angst (Edward J. Munson continues to be the most dramatic person on the planet) mentions of Barb's death/violence

a.n.: this was a much longer chapter that I had to split up for the sake of my sanity - taglist continues to be broken, sorry chat! if you would like to stay updated you should probably just follow me at this point because we're seriously almost done here

It takes you much longer to make it back to the trailer than it had to leave it behind, simply because Eddie can’t stop himself from pulling you close every couple of steps to kiss you again. Long, sloven presses of lips and swiping tongues begging for passage between your mouths. It’s all teeth and ragged breath and soft touches and the honest-to-God biblical revival of unchecked teenage hormones. 

You have to get back, this he knows very well, but now that he’s got you back, he just can’t stop loving on you. Kissing you has always been too easy - as natural as breathing, and you’re such a receptive lover – always have been, from the very start. 

And it’s not like you’re doing much to stop him, giggling and pushing against his chest without any real intention of separating yourself from him. Breathless insistences of “we really need to get back” that don’t mean anything at all when you’re fisting your hands in his jacket and pulling him right back to you for another round.

Not that Eddie’s complaining. He’s too busy fighting the overwhelming urge to bend you over right here in the underbrush.

The only thing really stopping him from popping the button of your jeans and wrestling you out of them is the nagging threat of his inner voice reminding him what a patently bad idea that is, because “that’s how you get killed in a horror movie”. 

It’s the only reliable basis of logic anymore. As far as Eddie is concerned, over the course of a very short week, his life has inexplicably devolved into the plot of a bad horror movie, which, in this scenario, regrettably makes you the horny couple who gets slaughtered whilst bunnyfucking out in the woods. 

As appealing as that sounds, he’s not about to let that happen.

Because you hate a cliche and you have to get back, for reasons that are extremely hard to rationalize when you’re pressed up against him and making all those pretty little sounds.

Eddie casually catches your southbound hands before they can find their way to his belt buckle and expertly replaces them on his shoulders, tut-tutting the way you whine out your displeasure with the move.   

Bad girl, he thinks, Needy girl. 

It’s the honeymoon phase and then some, a speedrun of that long expanse of ooey—gooey fairytale bliss that sees the both of you unable to keep your hands off of each other. Only this time around it’s not the halls and alcoves of Hawkins High witnessing your very public displays of affection, but the trees and the whirling cosmos and everything beyond that Carl Sagan ever promised – it’s super fucking romantic. 

You spent the duration of the not-so-long walk back making your own, much more tangible promises.

“I love you,” You tell him for what must be the hundredth time, eager to make up for lost time.  

“I know,” Eddie assures you, cradling your face and ducking down for the next in a long line of all the kisses he owes you for every time you say it. “But we gotta go.” he says against your lips, “Harrington’s gonna be pissed.” 

You whine pathetically. It’s a muffled sound that Eddie feels more than he hears. 

Normally that would have been enough to sway him considering you’re usually the one with the functioning brain, and he’s the raging pit of electric hormones,

Still, hearing you all needy like that tends to cause the rational part of Eddie’s brain to shut off. Many occasions of you pawing at him just like that have ended with a thick and wanton utterance of “aw hell” that sees Eddie throwing caution —and very often, your panties— to the wind.

But this is neither the time nor the place (though more the former than the latter, because it would not be the first time you’d gotten your rocks off out in the woods – horny teens don’t tend to make smart decisions about location when the mood strikes them that hard). 

Still, one of you has got to retain some of your faculties, because you really do need to get back, despite the way his lizard brain doth protest. 

Get back? Where? Harrington who? What’s he so goddamn pissed about and who even cares?   

“More,” You plead, and you always get what you want with him.

“Okay,” Eddie says, lips clicking with a lewd, wet smack when he parts with you, “One more for the road.”

He didn’t need to even give you that kind of permission, because you’re already chasing him again the second he parts from you. 

“Okay,” You hum, snaking your arms up around his neck and pressing yourself bodily against him, backing him into the tree he hadn’t realized was behind him until the bark is digging painfully into his spine.

He doesn’t care, not when you’re rubbing up against him like that. 

You’re both so unbearably gross and horror movie logic be damned, Eddie just can’t help himself. 

“Maybe just one more.” He hums, hand snaking unwisely up the back of your shirt to twist at the clasp of your bra. 

“Okay,” You sigh into his mouth.

When you finally make it back to the park, stealing across the grounds hand in hand, all smiles and giggles and clothes pulled out of shape like kids stumbling home well past curfew, Steve is indeed raging.

He’s there to whip the door open and bathe you in the accusing orange glow of incandescent light that has you balking as you come clambering up the steps. His looming, perfectly coiffed figure is almost comedic, backlit in the doorway with his hands on his hips, literally tapping his foot, and he’s quick to lay into you like he thought he was your goddamn father or something – not Eddie’s father, of course, which would have been an arguably terrifying turn of events, and not even much like your father, who Eddie has still never met, and at this point is not entirely sure he ever will. 

He’s not even sure your parents really know he exists outside of general rumor – they certainly don’t know what he does with their daughter out in the woods, considering they barely acknowledge the fact that you exist. 

That’s fine by him, it just means he gets you all to himself. 

Steve grabs you by the elbow and yanks you over the threshold and back into the warm, cozy embrace of home – what good is a house when you’re all the home Eddie needs – already halfway through a lecture about how you’ve been gone “way longer than ten minutes” and demanding to know “what the hell took you so goddamn long” because, in case you haven’t noticed, the fate of the world is oh so casually resting on your collective shoulders. 

Not that any of that currently matters, Eddie isn’t listening. He’s completely blissed out, far too busy watching with wrapt attention as you pull your pretty pink, kiss-bitten lips in past your teeth in a miserable attempt at trying not to smile while Steve goes blue in the face.

It’s so unbearably You, though he thinks perhaps only as a result of him rubbing off on you in the worst way – or in the best way, who can say? – giggling in the middle of a dressing down, really playing into the hand you’ve been dealt. 

Christ, you’re adorable … and you love him. 

You love him you love him you love him – and he loves you, he should tell you - no, he needs to tell you…

It takes every bit of Eddie’s limited capacity for self-control not to seize you and drag you right back to him. He’s not finished loving on you just yet – he quietly hopes that there will never come a time when he’s ever finished. 

He’s never been the type to give a second thought to laying a big sloppy kiss on you in front of whoever the fuck happens to be watching, but he knows how public displays of affection make you uncomfortable and he’s not so love-drunk that he can’t respect your boundaries. 

He cannot, however, stop smiling. He knows he’s got to look a goddamn fool, grinning ear to ear like the fate of the world and all their lives don’t hang in the balance — his face is starting to hurt. 

He hasn’t realized how he’s missed that until now, the cramping of his facial muscles against something he’s powerless to resist. 

There’s an entire conversation going on in front of him without his knowledge – he couldn’t repeat a word anyone has said in the past five minutes if someone put a gun to his head, but he could talk endlessly about all the soft little noises you’d been making only a short while back. 

He could go on about those for days, write tomes of essays and sonnets waxing poetic about them, but the loud shouting voice of Dustin returning to the room from whatever odd corner of the trailer he’d been hiding in cuts the lecture thankfully short. 

“There you are!” He squawks, stomping out from the hall. 

He’s standing there looking suddenly very small dressed in an overlarge grey sweatshirt and the deconstructed pieces of the Gilley suit someone had thought to grab from the War Zone. It is his carefully selected uniform for bat-tle, as he’d put it back in the field – you’d booed and hissed at the audacity of such a terrible pun, much to Henderson’s patent chagrin.   

“Do you have any idea how long you two were gone? We were worried sick!” He squawks.  

“Now, where have I heard that before?” You hum, casting a sly, sidelong glance in Eddie’s direction before squeezing past Dustin to disappear down the hall toward the bathroom so you can wash the woods off of you. 

“You know your shirt’s on inside out,” Dustin calls moodily after you. “And backwards,” 

You ignore him. 

Eddie watches you go and gets a little lost in the familiar swaying of your gait. Suddenly he’s back at school, watching you skip away down the hall toward your next class, the tantalizing promise of later hanging in the air. You glance back at him and smile sweetly, and he’s instantly shot full of holes. 

You love him, you love him, you love him. 

“Eddie!” Dustin grouses, drawing him back to the close quarters and warm, incandescent glow of his living room — and he realizes, once again, he’s missed every word of the boy’s outraged spiel, “Are you even listening to me?”

“Sure am.” Eddie lies.

Dustin narrows his eyes.  

“Then what did I just say?”

He shrugs and shoves past him as he spies the carefully folded pile of items from the jaunt to the army surplus store, though more specifically one decidedly metal bandolier sitting in a burnished brass pile on the dining table. 

It sets Eddie’s magpie brain to fluttering and he’s reaching for it before he’s even realized he’s moved.  

“No idea,” Eddie says good-naturedly, clapping a hand fondly down on the top of Dustin’s head as he passes him by.

He can feel the boy’s eyes on him, turning to follow as he saunters across the room.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dustin demands.

“Not a thing, Henderson,” He assures him, electing to snatch the belt up rather than confess the undying overwhelming vice of puppy love he’s gripped in.

He turns the thing over in his hands, eyeing it with great interest - it’s just about the coolest damn thing he’s ever seen.

"You sure about that?"

"Hundred percent," Eddie says, "Everything's just fine."

After that, it’s twenty-five minutes or so of finishing touches before Eddie slinks off to his bedroom.

Everyone has armed themselves in some kind of battle garb, armor picked up from the War Zone for the impending task, but nobody had thought to grab anything for you. It hadn’t even crossed their mind because back then you didn’t need any sort of protection, not while the most you’d been expected to do was stand watch in the living room for any curious onlookers come to peek in on the murder scene at the Munson residence. 

Now, with such a daunting task ahead of you, Eddie knows you’re going to need all the help you can get. So he upends his dresser drawers, looking for something — anything that might put some kind of a barrier between you and the flurry of teeth and claws that await you.

Steve’s already returned the battle vest, decidedly worse for wear but not bad enough to be decommissioned, and Eddie fully intends to swathe you in it. It’s not much, but it’s better than the same torn jeans and old t-shirt you’ve been wearing for the last three days. It’s something, at least, 

His room is dark compared to the rest of the trailer. It hadn’t seemed like a smart thing to go flipping on any more lights, on the off chance that someone noticed and decided to come snooping. He doesn’t mind much, considering his aversion to flipping on the overhead light in the first place – Eddie much prefers the ambiance of the table lamp, and he is well-practiced in navigating the dimly lit space  

The front room is abuzz with noise and ambivalent movement. Voices filter in and out and saturate the room in the warm glow of company, the aural equivalent of the incandescent bulbs burning overhead. 

It reminds Eddie of something he has only felt very few times in his life: what it feels like to belong, to be a part of something, even if that something is nothing more than camaraderie forged in the face of impending doom. Somehow he can’t find it in him to be worried about it, not while he’s among friends. 

The mere thought of the word brings a bitter scoff rising up from the deepest part of his chest, and he has to work very hard to swallow it back down again. 

It’s what gets him more than anything, more than the danger of the Upsidedown or the armed hicks crawling the streets, hungry for his blood – it’s that after everything he’s been through over the past few days, suddenly he’s back home and (relatively) safe, because of his friends.

Not Gareth or Jeff or Adam or even Wayne, but astoundingly thanks to Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, and Dustin (less baffling but still bizarre) —his strange collection of new friends, who put their lives and reputations on the line to find him and bring him back from the precipice, despite barely knowing him.

It’s more than a little jarring, and Eddie isn’t quite sure how he feels about it. 

Whatever the feeling is, it’s largely a positive thing. He’s glad they’re all here – and it goes without saying that he’s glad you’re here. 

He’d say it anyway. 

He’s glad you’re here when you have every reason not to be, but you’d promised that you loved him even when you hated him, which actually might have hurt his feelings if he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to hear it. 

Without you, he’s not sure he would have such a strange new group of friends rallying around him, embracing him. 

And maybe that’s not a fair assumption. Maybe Dustin had more of a hand in facilitating his rescue than he’s accounting for— credit where credit is due and all that — but Eddie will be the first to admit that he’s totally and completely biased. You’re far and beyond his favorite person here, and he’s not shy about admitting that. 

The thing he really hates to admit, however, is that he’s glad you’re coming with them to the other side – which seems stupid. 

He was being smarter when he was angry that you were crazy enough to go volunteering yourself to play the bait, but hadn’t he spent the duration of the last jaunt to the Upsidedown bombarding you with psychic postcards? Wish you were here doesn’t even begin to cut it. 

He almost forgets to care about how aggressively he’d rejected the idea of you putting your life on the line only a few hours ago because when it came down to it, that’s what it took to win back your love.

Not that he ever really lost it in the first place (and not that he actually knew that) but Boy Howdy hadn’t you done your utmost to tow that line and make him work for it?  

If only Eddie had known it would be that easy – it wasn’t easy, it was the worst suffering he’s ever experienced – he wouldn’t have fought so hard to keep you from running headlong into peril.

More than that, if he had any idea of what the two of you were going to get up to on your walk back through the woods, he would have thrown you to the wolves and jumped right in after you. 

Maybe not, but the sentiment feels dramatic and appropriate for the status quo as it currently stands.

Danger, it seems, has become his new middle name. Or maybe it’s yours, considering you’re the one who keeps getting him into these situations … except that’s only true because Eddie initially dragged you into all this, so maybe the name belongs to the both of you. 

Maybe you married into the name and now you’re Mr. and Mrs. Danger. 

It’s a stupid thought, and it makes him laugh.  

Snickering to himself in the dark, Eddie upends the last of his drawers and makes a mental note to tell you that joke after all this —  if either of you survives this, that is. 

It’s a dismal thought that makes quick work of chasing away any sense of the levity he’d felt moments before. 

Once he’s satisfied with the excavation of everything he owns, Eddie lays out a series of choices across the stark bed: the first-generation Hellfire shirt, the black one with the short sleeves and white collar, a grey Hawkin’s Phys. Ed shirt with “Munson” scrawled across the nameplate in obnoxiously large print (his old gym clothes), and a super faded Misfits tee he’s had for years and years. 

None of them are particularly significant, only that they are some of the only clean articles of clothing he could find, and he wants you to have options. 

He wouldn’t presume to make the decision for you, because somehow this feels important, as silly as that seems. You deserve to choose what kind of armor you’re going to wear to herald the doom they bring to Vecna.

Eddie finds you in the kitchen with Steve, running through a series of stretches, learning tips and tricks on how to breathe so as best to oxygenate your muscles, and having the very basics of general athleticism explained to you. 

It’s a lifetime of athletics boiled down to a five-minute lecture – Eddie only catches the tail end of it, but it’s riveting stuff.

“The worst thing you can do when you’re running hard like that for distance is start to hyperventilate – you know, gasping for air,”  Steve tells you, and Eddie half expects you to roll your eyes and make some snappy remark about being molly-coddled like that, but oddly enough all you do is nod.

For once, you’ve got nothing snide to say – remarkably, Steve has your undivided attention, and even he seems a little unsure of what to do with it as he continues.  

“If you start in with that, you won’t be able to catch your breath and you’re gonna pass out.” He says matter-of-factly, “If you pass out, you’re dead, you got that? That’s worse than a worst-case scenario, that’s a game over.”

“Yikes,” Eddie can’t help himself from saying, summarily drawing your attention. 

In the span of a microsecond, you go from serious as a heart attack and nodding like your life depends on it – which it very likely does – to dopey grinning, staring wistfully up at him with honest-to-god heart eyes. 

Eddie wonders if you and Steve can hear his heart beating against his ribcage. 

Just like that, the lesson is over, because now that Eddie is here, Steve is never going to get your attention back. 

“Sorry to butt in,” He says tentatively, curling his hands around your shoulders, “D’you mind if I borrow Barry Allen here for a second?”

Steve levels him with a blank if not highly irritable look as the reference sails clear over his head. 

Harrington, Steve: Fucking jerk Not so bad, I guess. Worshipped by Henderson. Doesn’t know who Ozzy Osbourne is. Total fucking cheeseball. Has apparently never heard of The Flash. 

You, thankfully, are not so hopelessly ignorant.

“Nerd.” You scoff, shoving Eddie playfully – then you notice the thousand-yard stare gracing Steve’s features, and you’re quick to explain, “Barry Allen is–”

“I don’t care.” He says – it doesn’t feel mean so much as deeply uninterested, “Just try to remember what I told you.”

“Sure. Don’t pass out.” You say with a lopsided shrug.  

“Exactly. And no more sneaking off.” Eddie can’t help but get the sense that the second part is more for him than you, especially with the knowing look Steve gives him. 

He just can’t help but tease him a little.  

“No need,” Eddie says, curling his arms around you and jerking his head back down the hall. “Bedroom’s right back there, Big Boy — care to join us?”

“Oh, gross—”

“For the love of…”  

Steve rolls his eyes and breathes the beginnings of a long-suffering sigh – Eddie is quick to let him off the hook. 

“I’m kidding.” He assures the both of you. 

You shove your way out of his arms and Steve shakes his head, in a clear attempt at trying to mask how visibly relieved he is to hear it.

“Yeah well, who can ever tell with you two,” he says, reaching out to clap Eddie on the shoulder before turning his attention to all the other hundreds of little preparations that still need to be made.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You call indignantly. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve replies, “Your shirt’s on backwards, by the way.” 

After that, it takes no effort at all for Eddie to coax you down the hall. Back in the relative dark of his bedroom, you choose the Hawkins Phys. Ed shirt graffitied with his name, and he can’t help but puff up a little with the warm glow of satisfaction for the choice as he watches you shrug out of your clothes.

Out of one shirt and into another, both of them his – the forest green gym shorts are yours, though, and it’s only pure happenstance that they’d gone unnoticed when he packed you away last fall. Stuffed into the back of the drawer they remained, since who knows when – from one of the hundreds of times you’ve slept over, he’s sure. 

It feels a little bit like fate, if he believed in such a thing. Like they’d sat waiting for you, knowing you’d need them here and now, the matching pair to Eddie’s old gym shirt.

Once the shorts are tied tight and the shirt is over your head, you pull it taught by the hem to regard the chicken scratch scrawling of Munson with what he hopes is satisfaction. 

Good, he thinks. Let the name do some good for once, let it shield you from anything that means you harm. Everything means you harm down there, even the air you breathe, but he can’t think about that right now, lest he succumb to his wits and try once more in vain to talk you out of this.

At least this way he can wrap himself around you, make a shield of his things. 

“How’s that feel?” Eddie asks tentatively, watching you turn to regard yourself in what bit of the mirror you can see around Sweetheart.

You level him with a dour look.

“Like gym class.” You answer, flapping your arms at your sides matter-of-factly, “Why do you still have these?”

Eddie shrugs, pushing up from where he’s been sitting on the edge of the box spring with one leg tucked neatly beneath him. 

“‘Cause I’m full of school spirit, remember?” 

You roll your eyes. 

“Right. How could I forget? You’ve got pep in your step.”

“Go Tigers.” 

Eddie holds his battle vest dutifully in place so you can fit your arms through the holes, then pulls it snugly around you like a worn, patchy, denim hug – you’re swimming in it, and normally it would be incredibly endearing, but his heart is suddenly thumping solidly in his chest, and his insides are churning.

The fear is creeping in again.

“Anyway, have a little respect, will you?” he says, poking at the scrawling of his name across your belly. “This is lucky.”

Your brows marry over your eyes, and it’s almost enough to distract from the gnawing dread settling into his bones.

“How d’you figure?”

“Munsons are resilient.” He explains, “We’re hard to kill,” 

Like some kind of unwanted household pest, skittering around Hawkins and coming back time and time again no matter what this town does to try and eradicate them. 

Like cockroaches, he thinks miserably, but of course, he won’t tell you that. 

“Good for you, I guess,” You say, “But not all of us have the good fortune of being a Munson.”

It’s ever so slightly shocking, hearing you say that. He’s never heard anyone refer to his family name as being one of good fortune, and suddenly he doesn’t know what to do with that endearment.

Nobody wants to be a Munson. He imagines the way his mother must have panicked when she came to realize the terrible mistake she’d made in hitching her wagon to his father, but by then it was too late because he’d already taken root in her – Eddie had always been the ball and chain that stopped his mother from escaping the name, what it did to her…  

No, nobody wants to be a Munson… but maybe it doesn’t have to be like it’s always been. 

Eddie tilts his head left to press his shoulder to his ear as he considers the notion – then raises his hand to make a slow, gentle chopping motion down against your shoulder – one, then the other – summarily knighting you. 

“I dub thee: Honorary Munson.” He teases. 

You bite your tongue against the giggling suddenly bubbling up inside you and roll your eyes. 

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” You say. 

“Oh, so suddenly you’re the expert?”

“It’s just not very official, is all.”  

He stares at you a moment, letting the words sink in and feeling his heart beat heavily against his ribcage. 

Suddenly he can’t stop thinking about where you’d been this time last year, propped up against one another on the sofa in the next room.  

Eddie had been sick as a dog that whole week, certain he was always just moments from death’s eternal embrace, and yet laying there with his head in your lap, watching some forgettable movie of the week, he was happy. Happier than he would have been stuffed into the van for sixteen hours, at least. 

That’s all he ever wanted, a life of quiet intimacy, where everybody was content to mind their own damn business, leave you to your devices. 

Let all his grand plans and schemes fall through, so long as it means he gets to spend the rest of his life doing nothing with you.

Filthy rich or dirt poor, he doesn’t care so long as it's with you. 

That’s all he wants, all he’s ever wanted, and he’s been certain of that since way too early on in your relationship, and it was a problem. 

You weren’t even friends yet the first time he lost himself in a flight of fancy over how the rest of your lives would play out – the milestones you’d hit together. 

Eddie shrugs against the way his heart is in his throat as he makes quick work of removing the ring with the dark stone from his finger. He reaches for your hand and hopes you can’t see the way he’s trembling as he slides it easily back into place over your middle finger – it’s nothing really, you’d already asked him for that ring a year into your relationship and worn it proudly up until last summer. 

All he’s doing is righting a wrong, putting something back where it belongs, but somehow, this time it feels more important than that. This time it feels like a promise. 

“There,” He says gently, feeling unbearably vulnerable as he watches you closely for your reaction, “How’s that for official?” 

You’re beaming as you bring your hand up to look at the ring, admiring the scuffed, dingy stone like it were some kind of glittering diamond he’d spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on rather than the forgotten heirloom he'd found stashed in a dusty corner of his grandmother’s house a hundred years ago. 

“Cool.” You hum.

“So cool.”  

He reaches up to pull the vest tighter around you again before he’s realized he’s even moved, and then suddenly Eddie’s got his arms around you, hugging you tight against his body — his natural state of being, it seems. 

You respond in turn by burying your face into the crook of his neck and sighing against him as he presses his cheek to your temple. 

For as long a moment as he dares, he just holds you like that while the fear creeps up again. 

Don’t go don’t go please don’t go.

“Can I ask you something?” 

Your response buzzes against his flesh and sends goosebumps crawling across his body.

“Always,” 

Eddie’s hand comes down to trace the length of your arm, a gentle up and down, grazing the pads of his fingers along the soft and tender flesh he knows so well. 

His insides go tight and squirmy, and he feels a potent cocktail of nerves and nostalgic shyness bleed into his bloodstream.

He never actually asked you out the first time around. You sort of just mutually fell into the routine of scrambling to spend every spare second you had with each other, until one day he looked up and your lives were woven together.

It feels stupid to suddenly be shy about it, but he can’t let you cross that gate without putting it out there, even if you say no, even if you laugh in his face.

Eddie clears his throat to try and steady his voice. 

“When all this is over — if we make it out, I mean — can I take you to the movies or something?”

You don’t answer, not right away, but he feels you still against him in a way that makes his nerves scream. After an agonizing moment, your hands snake up to rest on his shoulders and you push against him, though not with enough force to dislodge you from Eddie’s grasp more than a few inches.

He grips you by your elbows and holds you there, reluctant to let you go until it is absolutely necessary as you lean back and stick him to the spot with a wry look — eyes narrowed, lips curled.

He knows you’re about to tease him, considering everything you’ve been through, but those nerves are quickly turning sour in his stomach and Eddie doesn’t think he can stand to hear you say something sarcastic right now, not when he’s teetering so close to the edge. 

Why does it suddenly feel like if he lets you go he’ll lose you all over again? His eyes feel puffy with the notion, and you thankfully pick up on it, like you always do, reaching up to stroke the highest point of his cheek with the backs of your knuckles.

The scratchy fabric of your bandage tickles him and he swallows the ragged breath threatening to burst forth from his lungs. 

Eddie clears his throat again to middling results before he continues.

“I bet that stupid Gremlins ripoff is still playing in the city…” He says thickly, then rolls his eyes and offers a lopsided shrug he hopes appears as casual as he means it to be, “I mean … unless you already saw it or whatever.” 

“Critters.” You posit. 

“Right.”

You shake your head. 

“Haven’t seen it.” 

“Right.” He says again, because it’s all he can do to stop himself from falling to his knees and begging you not to do this. 

He’d do just about anything to make you stay here where it’s safe, even if that means marching himself into town and right into the hands of the Hawkins Police. 

But that’s not gonna stop Vecna, and if they don’t stop him then there’s no point to any of this. 

They need you there on the other side, and it's tearing him to little melancholy pieces.  

Your lips quirk up into a wry if not entirely sympathetic smile.

“Are you asking me out, Munson?” You ask, gently teasing him in a dutiful attempt to try and leaven the mood.

Eddie forces out a thick, wet bark of laughter and tilts his head forward to rest against yours. 

“Nah, no way. ‘Course not.” he sniffs, “What, d’you think I like you or something?”

You hum thoughtfully and twist your head to the side so that his forehead is pressed against your temple and take a long hard look at the ring sitting snugly on your middle finger. It’s the wrong one, but the intention is still there.

Same as before, same as he’d felt way too early on in your relationship, Eddie would marry you tomorrow if you’d have him – make a real Munson out of you and do it better than any of the previous generations before him ever managed to. Break the cycle and finally do things right.  

Neither of you may be around to indulge in that whimsy tomorrow.

You wrinkle your nose. 

“Yeah, you know, I kind of got that impression,”

“Well, that’s stupid.” Eddie rasps, “And gross.”

“So gross.” You hum, pushing up on your toes to slant your lips against his.

It's only a chaste peck, made a little less so by a cheeky swipe of your tongue against his bottom lip – it’s all you have time for before there is a rapping of someone’s knuckles against the door frame, cutting the moment short.   

You drop back down and spin around to face whoever it is come to intrude on your moment – only Nancy, thankfully, lingering in the doorway. You stand in front of Eddie with your back against him, like you mean to shield him from prying eyes until he can collect himself again. 

If she notices the way he quickly brushes the wetness from his eyes, she doesn’t mention it, because Nancy Wheeler is nothing if not entirely classy. 

“It’s time, you guys.” She says softly, and Eddie feels his guts seize in terror. 

As if you anticipated the feeling, you reach back and squeeze his hand, nodding curtly. 

“We’ll be right out,” you promise. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sliding through the gate is probably the worst thing you have ever experienced in your entire life, made all the worse by the way you’d had to ask Eddie for a boost because you’ve always been hopeless at the rope climb and you’re not about to start down the journey of self-improvement now.  

“Cheerleader-style,” you’d explained, showing him what position to get into when he asked how best to do that.

He’d rolled his eyes and taken your foot in his hands.

“That’s not Cheerleader-style,” He snarked, which made Steve choke on a surprised bark of laughter. 

And that’s how you knew the world was well and truly coming to an end. Because Eddie made a stupid sex joke and it was enough to make Steve Harrington laugh. 

You’re so, incredibly fucked.

The reverse suction of gravity pulling you down through at the highest point of the gate and turning your world topsy turvy is the second worst thing you’ve ever experienced, and it sees you landing hard on your ass on the other side.

Your fall was mercifully broken by the bizarro version of Eddie’s mattress — somehow more disgusting than its real-world doppelgänger — which Steve had thankfully thought to pull out from the other room.

You’d only just managed to slide off of the thing before Eddie came crashing down after you, landing gracelessly on his back with a hard thump mere inches from where you’d been only moments before.

Everything moves much too quickly after that.

You follow A Team out into the murky underdark waiting just outside the tin door and have to plant roots in the ground to stop yourself from turning right back around and going for the safety of the gate.

Suddenly, faced with the dark and the debris and the perpetual bloody thunderstorm, sitting watch and babysitting the hole in the ceiling doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. But it’s far too late to start thinking about changing your mind, especially when B Team comes shuffling down the front steps to see you off. 

You distract yourself by playing Mother Hen, turning around to fuss needlessly over your boys. 

Your boys, your precious boys…

You pull Dustin’s hood up and secure it in place with the headband he’d chosen to add to his armor, straighten the Gilley suit, and tweak his nose for good measure, garnering an indignant squawk from the boy before you move over to Eddie.

You’re less frantic with him, and you can feel his eyes on you as you pull the zipper of his army-grade vest tight up to the collar, the demon-faced logo of the Hellfire club winking out of existence as you do. You can’t help but smooth your hands across his chest, attempting in vain to press out the wrinkles there and banish your nerves alongside them. 

It’s not enough, you think, this isn’t gonna stop anything from hurting him.

You have to heave a sharp, steadying breath to quell the sick feeling suddenly stirring in your stomach, and you tell yourself it’s better than nothing. 

It’s certainly better than what you’ve got, which is to say nothing at all – at least he’s got layers to protect against scraping claws and gnashing teeth, he’s got a shield and one of those wicked-looking spears the Sinclairs had prepared back in the field while you’d wasted precious time goofing off. 

You wish you had a suit of armor, but you’ve got to move faster than you ever have, you can’t afford to be weighed down by any more protective layers than a pair of cotton shorts, Eddie’s vest – you’re thankful to have it, it’s the next best thing to carrying him with you (along with the faintest tinge of Steve, regrettably) but somehow you know it’s not going to be enough if something down here decides to try and make a meal out of you. 

You’re cold, at least you think you are, somehow simultaneously shivering under the heavy, dank chill of the Upsidedown and growing sticky with sweat in the cloying humidity. 

This place is a fucking nightmare — this place is where Barb died. 

Suddenly you can’t stop thinking about that night in ‘83, about the party she disappeared from. You don’t know much about it, only that it had been Tommy and Carol at Steve’s place — your old friends who had at the point only recently ejected you from their circle.

Barb was only there because they had a vacancy to fill in the form of Nancy, and she came along by default. Suddenly you can’t help but feel that if Eddie hadn’t waltzed in and turned your world upside down, you would have been at that party, and it probably would have been your face on all the missing person posters and milk cartons.

Barb would still be here, getting ready to take her SATs and live the rest of her life, and you would have been dragged screaming into the abyss, never to be seen again. 

You’re thankfully rescued from the spiral of trying to determine how your karma tallies up against the guilt you feel over it and pulled from the mire of your thoughts by the sound of your name tumbling gently from Eddie’s lips.

When you glance up at him, he’s giving you a deeply concerned look, and you wonder how much of the journey through your thoughts had been reflected across your face. 

You feel the corners of your mouth twitch in your best attempt at offering him a reassuring smile, but you know it doesn’t reach your eyes. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Eddie says.

“No, yeah of course. It’s gonna be fine.” You mumble, painfully aware of how the tremble in your voice betrays that statement, so you try again, “It’s gonna be fun.” 

It’s not even convincing enough to come across as sarcastic — you’re terrified. 

Then, like he’s only just remembered something vitally important, Dustin perks up and begins patting himself down, frantically fumbling in his pockets as you watch without really seeing. He produces a clunky black Casio, the kind with a calculator built into the face, and immediately goes to work strapping it to your wrist.

“I already set it up to count you down.” He explains, “All you have to do is hit start and go, it’ll keep us in sync.”

You swallow hard as you stare at it — you remember the year he got the watch for his birthday, how excited he was about all its features.

You’d thought it was unbearably sweet that he was so thrilled about a cheap watch from Melvald’s General Store, but you desperately wish you were back there now, timing Dustin to see how fast he could run around the block (the answer was not very fast at all, and he’d been royally pissed when Mike beat his time by nearly half.) 

He nudges you to bring your attention back again, this time he’s holding a walkie-talkie out to you. 

You take it and sling it around your shoulders.

“It’s gonna be fine,” You say again, somehow less convincing than before. 

However, neither Eddie nor Dustin gets the opportunity to say otherwise because Steve is suddenly there, sending you leaping damn near out of your skin with the simple act of resting a tentative hand on your shoulder. 

“You ready?” He asks.

No, you want to tell him, but your throat is closing up and you don’t think you could have squeaked out an answer even if you tried. 

You swallow hard against the tightness there and nod.

“Okay,” He says solemnly, turning his attention to B Team - Team Distraction, “Keep your radios on – stay in contact, stick to the plan—”

“And don’t get killed.” Eddie pipes up, winking at you. 

As you turn on your heel and trail after the others across the park, you curl your hands into fists and silently hope you can manage to do all of those things at once. 

It takes every bit of willpower you possess not to turn around and look back – if you look back you’re going to lose what tiny bit of nerve you’d been able to muster – but you didn't look back the last time you’d walked away from Eddie, left him standing there at the foot of those stairs.

The radio crackles, at your hip, and through it comes Eddie’s voice, calling your name.

“–Copy.”

You snatch the walkie-talkie up so quickly that you nearly crack yourself in the mouth, twisting around and stumbling over your feet, almost crashing into Robin as you do. 

“What’s up, Eds?” You answer.

You can barely see him out in the dark, but he’s still there, watching you go. You can’t make out his features, but somehow you know he’s grinning that stupid grin.

“You’re supposed to say over – over.” He teases, voice lilting in that same old sing-song tone.

You roll your eyes.

“What do you want, Eddie … over.”

“Just to tell you your butt looks great in those shorts –”

You’re instantly blushing as Robin makes a harsh sound of undainty laughter at your side. 

“Eddie–!” you hiss.

“Over and out.”

It’s not a long walk to the Creel House, but it’s made that much shorter by the cloud of doom hanging over your head.  

You’d always done your utmost to avoid the place, what with its reputation for being haunted. It’s eerie enough in the daytime, but here and now, with the darkness crushing in on all sides, you can’t help the chill that creeps down your spine.

When you were thirteen, you’d very nearly had a falling out with Carol Perkins, who was still your best friend at the time, over your refusal to enter the house on a dare.

With high school looming, she was at the start of a sudden and violent transition that would inevitably see her become the mean girl she is today. As such, she was subsequently worried that you were making her look bad in front of her cool new friends, who wanted absolutely nothing to do with you, but were still busy making up their minds about her.

She called you a pussy, and you happily accepted the title, staying safely outside of the house while the older girls all filed in to play with the Ouija board one of them had brought along. 

Carol stayed with you, out of some lingering sense of misplaced loyalty, you imagine, and as a result lost some of the budding clout she so desperately craved from the others — from that day on to the eventual implosion of your so-called friendship three years later, she never let you forget it.

Knowing what you know now, pressed up against Nancy sitting crouched beneath the rotting jungle gym across the street, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief that you’d always had enough foresight to stay out of the house – Vecna’s home. 

Suddenly, you think you can see movement. Figures skulking around in the dark on the third floor, a ghoulish face peering out at you from the attic window. 

You tell yourself the house is empty, that Vecna isn’t up there, despite how patently untrue you know that to be. Part of you wants to take some sort of comfort in knowing that you won’t have to enter the house, but all you feel is the violent buzzing of your anxiety. 

You gasp out loud when the radio crackles, slapping your hands over your mouth and startling yourself as much as your companions. 

“B Team to A Team, do you copy?” Dustin’s voice comes rasping over the static. 

You watch as Steve brings the radio up to his mouth without ever taking his eyes off of the house, you wish you were half as calm as he looked. 

“Copy.” 

“We’re all set back here – go for Phase One?”

“Ready when you are.” 

You feel yourself break into a cold sweat. 

Phase one means you’re one deck. This is all happening very fast – too fast, if anyone were to ask you. Nobody is asking. 

Then, in the distance you hear the first crunch of chords, a rippling echo of a sound that knocks you on your ass, right back to nights and weekends at the Hideout and half a hundred other dingy dives across Roane County. 

Your breath catches in your throat.

If you close your eyes, you imagine you could picture yourself sitting parked behind a slapdash Corroded Coffin merch table set against a far wall, piled high with t-shirts, bumper stickers, and boxes upon boxes of cassettes. 

In your mind’s eye, Eddie leans into the microphone and introduces the band to middling enthusiasm. 

“This one goes out to all the ladies,” he says, like he always does before the first song because of how you’d once expressed vehement disdain for front men who would dare do something so cheesy. 

Your nerves are a swarm of bees in your bloodstream as you suck in a breath through chattering teeth and the sound continues, three descending notes that bleed into a quick, hard riff that shoots adrenaline like lightning down to the tips of your fingers.

It only takes you half a moment to realize you know this song, and the buzzing of your adrenaline surges, thought differently than before – blinding terror has suddenly bled away to be replaced by the kind of heart pounding excitment that comes from standing in the crowd at a rock concert. 

Oh my God, You think, He’s so fucking cool…

It breathes a spark of courage into you, and with a series of short, deep breaths, you fill your lungs and ready yourself to move. Without the necessary prompting you’d all agreed upon, you scramble out from beneath the jungle gym much to Steve’s hushed chagrin. 

You curl your hands into trembling fists as you pad across the grass out into the street, stopping just short of the curb and turning your gaze up at the looming Victorian. In the intermittent flashes of crimson lightning, you can see the bats crawling across its visage, like thousands of teeming maggots, squirming in the belly of a roadkill carcass. 

You suck in a breath and hold it, watching, waiting.

Eddie’s guitar has piqued their interest, just as you’d planned for, now you’ve got to make sure they follow through with that curiosity and clear a path for Nancy and the rest. 

Phase one is in effect – time to go to work.

[curiooftheheart]

For some reason as I was driving my brain started devising of all things ways for media to fucking suck in an urban fantasy world. Stuff like

“Have you ever noticed that all well known troll characters in movies are at best fat, sloven comic relieve when they aren’t just savages!”

“What the fuck why did they cast a full human to play a famous half orc in this documentary! And how do you fuck up a tusk prosthetic, it’s just teeth!”

“Wait why does the desert elf character have a name that sounds like someone made a shitty stereotype of a sylvan elf? Two racist acts in one.”

[auroisweird78]

Day5: jealousy (angst)

I couldn’t bring myself to write about a breakup because no so here is some childish jealousy brought to you by long distance.

It had only been a few days since Jere had seen Bojan yet he couldn’t help himself but miss the Slovene. Keeping the band and Bojan’s Insta stories active and alert was something Jere found himself doing quite often. So it wasn’t surprising when Jere had been scrolling, that the notification of Bojan’s Instagram story came like a Christmas miracle. But that Christmas miracle however was soon exchanged for a bag of coals as his eyes landed on his boyfriend lounging on top of another man. That man in question being the British photographer Damon Baker, who Jere had only talked to on the phone a few times while Bojan set off to do other things. The guy was nice from what Jere could see, touchy but nice. He had no need to feel any sort of feelings towards Damon asides from neutral but now with this guys hands all over his gorgeous boyfriend, the feelings could only be summed up as red, bright red. Of course, he couldn’t fault Bojan, as the Slovene was known for his love of physical affection but when the person he engaged this action with looked the way they did and was able to appreciate the beauty which was Bojan, it definitely left a sour taste in the Finn’s mouth. Where Jere was all loudness and childishness, only being able to mirror his love into a song about boats that some fans had coined as huhagay. Damon was poised and confident, capturing Bojan in truly beautiful and also hot pictures that had left Jere reeling for the last week and a bit. There was no competition really, Bojan loved Jere but that couldn’t reassure the Finn as much as he’d like. Neither could watching the story over and over again, the more he watched the more he noticed. From the hand placements (far too close to Bojan’s ass for Jere’s liking), to the stares, to wait… did Bojan just kiss Damon’s neck! Oh this was—-

Bojan ❤️ is calling…..

“Hey babe you weren’t picking up your texts? Are you alright? You completely forgot about our arranged call.” Bojan starts, his words seeming to trip over one another as he puts the camera closer to his face. Something that never ceased to entertain Jere as his boyfriend shows off his unruly eyebrows and big brown eyes.

“I just doing stuff you know very busy, I’m sorry it slip mind”

“Mmm you sure? You look sad” Bojan says, a slight pout to his lips as he continued scanning the Finn’s face.

“I’m not sad I just…”

“Hey Bojan, do you know where I put the fishnets?” And as if the night couldn’t get worse, Damon Baker had to make a star appearance.

“Oh last time I checked Kris had them. Now what were you saying Jere?” Bojan said, centring his whole attention to Jere. How could Jere be mad at his boyfriend? He was the best thing to come out of last year and maybe that’s what made Jere so jealous?

“I’m feeling just fine, rakas”

The mood board is inspired by the 2007 movie stardust ahhhhh after star Bojan I couldn’t help but think of stardust

[mocacheezy]

Watched Rise of Beasts with @minoan-ophidian today, so here are some of my scrambled sleepy thoughts (under readmore bcs of spoilers)

Mirage made me cry there near the end, HE CANNOT DIE AFTER ALL THIS. He grew up on me and I started caring about him so quick.

I loved how both Noah and Optimus are just trying to look out for their own people but come together in the end. NOAH AND PRIMAL SAVING PRIME WAS ALSO A MOMENT WHERE I JUST WENT YES

Birb wife died and I really, really hoped she wouldn't. I thought that was cosmic rust or something of the like. Atleast Primal was able to come to terms and make her suffering end.

Speaking of Airrazor, I cannot believe she didn't tell others she has been hurt, like Elena saw it and said it doesn't look good, they probably wouldn't be able to completely reverse it but like... Rhinox or Cheetor could stay with her? Or they would know to watch out for her, instead our poor girl looks like she's corroding and gets brainwashed by Scourge.

Elena asking Primal if the Maximals are responsible for things the ancient civilizations accomplished and him chuckling before saying they had nothing to do with it and can't take credit for human ingenuity/imagination ... I do not remember the exact words, but I am OVER THE MOON LIKE YES!! YES, THE CIVILIZATIONS HAD CONTACT BUT THE ALIENS WEREN'T WHY THEY EXISTED AND CREATED MANY AMAZING THINGS!!! I LOVED THAT!

Primal communicating and trusting the humans, the Maximals being part of the community for 100 of years, being able to trust their safety and the safety of the transwarp key... It made me emotional, especially with how Prime initially reacts to having humans help

It also made me panic a lil when Primal entrusts Noah and Elena with the key, because HE BELIEVES NO HARM WILL COME TO IT. AND NOAH ALMOST DESTROYS IT!!! LIKE!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAA!!!!!

PRIME DIDN'T DIE THANK FUCK!!! I know these are supposed to be the prequels to Bayverse movies, but honestly? There could be some mumbo jumbo conjured up as to why "he might be dead, or maybe he survived". It's nice there was no need for that.

I wasn't sure Bee was going to come back, and boy am I glad there were those energon deposits on Earth

I did not expect Wheeljack. I forgot he was here, and tbh if his name was smth else that would be perf fine. But eyo.

Nightbird is my love, my life, gender goals, the queen, I am presenting my throat and I would let her slice it willingly like MA'AM. The non-binary energy as soon as she came on screen was yes. Just yes yes yes. Perfection. My she/he/they (ona/on .com) self is ECSTATIC, I love her. If I cosplay transformers in the future she is absolutely one of the characters

Arcee was so gorgeous, my bi heart was all doki doki

Scourge was also super cool and I really enjoyed the interactions with Unicron and how Prime killed him. Fucker deserved it.

Tbh I want to keep going but my eyes are falling shut from all the energy my excitement burned up so lemme just say

GREAT MOVIE!

LOVED IT!

WENT IN WITH NO EXPECTATIONS AND MINIMAL KNOWLEDGE, AND HAD AN AWESOME TIME

If I had to rate it, it would be 9.8/10, with that 0.2 just me wishing the Maximals talked more and that Barney came in frame, said Yeeeesssssss and got punched in the face by Primal. Rattrap would be too powerful if he was in the movie, he would steal all the spotlight off of Mirage, so his absence is understandable.

And @ my slovene peeps, Cineplexx theater is INSANELY GOOD folks, Supernova Rudnik delivered quality experience, 3D očala so izredno prijazna za nas špeglarje. Pokovka je gromozanska, in slushy tasted great.

So yeah, GREAT TIME, I RECCOMEND THE MOVIE, and here are pics of the earrings I made and wore to the cinema!

[krukel]

people you'd like to know better tag ❤️

Thank you @jerichoes for the tag 🧡

Three ships: Honestly struggled with this one so much and I can't reach 3 I think, but villaneve from Killing Eve my beloved <3 (Long ago I liked harry/draco) (sorry)

Last film: I really don't watch that many movies, so I think it was Barbie when it was in theaters.

Currently watching: I'm really one of those people who needs the stars to align in order to watch anything so everything I'm watching I'm watching with a group: I'm watching Stranger Things with a group of friends and rewatching Sense8 with a different (overlapping) group. We watched the new Doctor Who special and I really liked it <3

Currently reading: I'm listening to American Gods by Neil Gaiman, which I'm really enjoying but also is taking so long, I'm on hour 17 of 21. I also started on My Cat Yugoslavia by Pajtim Statovci, but I haven't gotten very far yet.

Currently consuming: Masayahs music, I need her to become more popular because there are zero translations available and now I'm just struggling to get the lyrics. I have full documents with my own translations, but my Slovene is not that good yet, and she also uses a lot of colloquial instead of standard language so that makes it harder to google. But her music goes so hard and I recommend it a lot!

Currently craving: Just for my heating to be fixed ;-;, my heating is broken and the landlord said it would be fixed by now, but it hasn't and its very cold. (First snow today! That was nice :) but it does show I need the heating)

tagging: @skylightdistraction, @jamesschaos, @yeah-a-gonger, @serenitybun and @flapdr0l

[sketchy-angel]

Dual (Dvojina) movie review

Dual is one of my favorite sapphic films of all time and in this post I'll try to convince you all to watch it with as little spoilers as possible.

I discovered it while browsing through a site that lists Croatian movies. Here is the link to this film's page

As far as I can tell it's only available to watch on Vimeo for $2.50 but I'm sure you can find other sites with English subtitles.

Most of the movie is in English with occasional uses of Slovenian and Danish. When I watched it on Vimeo the non-English parts only had Croatian subtitles which is why I think it's better to find an alternative site if you don't speak those languages.

The movie was made by two Croatian studios - Studio Dim and PomPom Film, but the director, Nejc Gazvoda, is Slovenian.

Synopsis

"Due to a weather problem a plane from Denmark is forced to land at the Slovene airport. Amongst the passengers being taken to a hotel in Ljubljana, is a quiet, beautiful young Danish girl Iben(25).

This is how she meets Tina(25) who drives a shuttle as a summer job. Iben asks Tina to take her for a midnight drive around town and Tina agrees even though the request seems a bit odd.

The unexpected love blooms between the two girls, but they aren't able to realize their love because od one's big secret and other girl's try to find her place in the world. "

This movie took me on a roller-coaster ride of emotions. Here's what some people commented on IMDb...

"The importance of chance meetings cannot be neglected in the lives of human beings as they prepare them to discover life and its varied facets."

"It's a beautiful movie with the melancholy coldness of Eastern Europe combined with the Nordic neurotic atmosphere."

"This movie is so realistic that you almost feel like you're eavesdropping."

"This is not a love story, but rather reaches higher, to the service of man to man in his search for freedom and meaning. That's how nature works too, dying supports (new) life. Nature sustains life."

I agree with all of these, especially with the person who said that this film makes you feel like you're eavesdropping. The dialogue is realistic and the delivery is perfect and really pulls on the heart strings.

There is one scene in particular that makes me cry every time. It's hopeful but also makes me feel hopeless at the same time. I don't even know how to describe it without diving into spoiler territory.

This movie is not for everyone, especially if you're looking for a happily ever after kind of ending, but I'd highly recommend watching it if you're looking for a realistic and emotionally driven drama.

Also, I really like the soundtrack, in particular the song Cold Hearts by Monkey Cup Dress. Here's the official music video for that song featuring some snippets from the film as well as scenes acted out by different actresses (I'm not sure why, but it's a nice MV)

[iheartcborle]

Also to whoever sent merry Christmas you're right and I love you YOURE A BUM YOURE A PUNK YOURE AN OLD SLOVEN JUMK LYING THERE ALMOST DEAD WITH YOUR DROP IN THAT BED YOU SCUMMBAG YOU MAGGOT YOU CHEAP LOUSY-

SAY FAGGOT sorry. also NO ITS OCTOBER. HALLOWEEN. SPOOKY. HALLOWEEEEN MUSIC HORROR MOVIES FUN COSTUMES SWEEEETS!!!!!

[e-idp]

Italy Driving Guide As A Foreign Tourist

Driving in Italy is not so different to driving in other countries, as long as you have an International Driving Permit and an understanding of the basic rules. international driving permit Italy.

If you’re planning to make this dream trip come true, you need to know some important things before booking that ticket. This guide is packed with information you need to know about Italy, from driving do’s and don’ts and driving situations to rental cars and top destinations. Reading this guide is essential to ensure you live the best time of your life while in the country. international driving permit italy

General Information

Located in the south-central of Europe, Italy is the home of fascinating architecture and tasty dishes. Because of its vibrant culture and turbulent past, the country attracts millions of tourists all over the world. Before you dream of enjoying a slice of Neapolitan pizza and Italian spaghetti, you need to know the travel restrictions and safety measures observed in the country.

Geographic Location

Italy is a country at the south central of Europe bordering Spain, France, Austria, Romania, and Greece. This boot-shaped country is just a bit protruding into the Mediterranean Sea, comprising the Po Valley, islands like Sicily, and the southern side of the Alps. Italy is known for its scenic landscapes, where you’ll find rugged mountains and pristine lakes in different regions of the country. international driving License Italy

With only a few roads connecting each region in this rugged landscape, each town in the country is unique, with varying cuisine and dialect. The country has general temperate climate because of the mountainous landscape. However, as you go to the southern part of Italy, you’ll find beautiful coastal areas. Indeed, the country has a varied landscape that caters to all kinds of tourists.

Languages Spoken

Standard Italian is the primary language in the country. You may notice that there are varying dialects in each region in the country, but not all of these dialects have legal protection and recognition. Because of this, people had to learn the Standard Italian to communicate with others. Aside from Italian, the people also speak French, Catalan, Slovene, German and Sardinian in other regions. international driving permit italy

Land Area

History

Italy has a rich yet turbulent history that inspired hundreds of movies. The country was first inhabited by the Etruscans, who founded a civilization between the Arno and Tiber rivers. In the 3rd century BCE, the Romans took hold of the entire Mediterranean, extending its power from India to Scotland. However, barbarian invasions seized power from the Romans in the 5th century CE, ending the reign of the Roman empire.

During the Renaissance era, Italy flourished because of artistic, technological, and intellectual endeavors. However, the loyalty of the city-states was divided between the pope and the Holy Roman Empire, waging a savage war between the states. Italy has suffered immensely during the two world wars under the rule of the fascist Benito Mussolini. international driving permit italy

Government

Italy has a bicameral parliament, which primary function is legislation, comprised of the Chamber of Deputies and the Senate. The members of the Chamber of Deputies, or the lower house, are elected by the proportional representation system. Most senate members are also elected in this kind of system. But some of them are appointed by the president and ex-officio presidents.

The country is headed by the president, elected by the parliament, and three representatives of every region. As the head of the state, the president can dissolve the parliament on his own initiative or at the request of the government. The government comprises the president of the Council of Ministers and other ministers of particular departments. The government is responsible for administrative policy.

Tourism

Tourists love to visit the major cities in the country in which the all-time favorite city is Rome. With beautiful monuments, scenic landscape, and majestic architecture. It’s no wonder that Italy is a top country destination in the world.

International Driver’s Permit in Italy

Driving in Italy to explore cities and towns can be one of your unforgettable memories. Assuming you comply with all the requirements and follow the driving rules. One of the requirements for driving in Italy is an international driver’s permit (IDP). An IDP is a travel document that allows you to drive in a foreign country. international driving permit italy

Is a Local Driver’s License Valid in Italy?

A local driver’s license is valid in Italy for up to six months if you have a visa on your passport. All licenses issued in the European Union are valid in Italy, even without an international driver’s permit for Italy. However, if you’re from a non-EU country, you have to have an international driver’s license in Italy. An international driving permit is necessary in Italy, especially for driving permits that are not in Italian or English.

Do You Need an International Driver’s Permit in Italy?

Foreigners need an international’s driver’s permit to drive in Italy for up to six months. When renting a car, you have to present an international driver’s license in Italy along with your local driving license. An international driver’s permit can help you avoid negative situations with the authorities. If you’re driving in Italy with a US license, you still need to present an IDP to the authorities.international driving permit italy

IMTA

www.e-idp.co.uk

[gasstationpopcorn]

thank you for the tag, vee ₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎ @vse-kar-vem i think i did this or a similar one already?? well anyway... last song: you look so fine by garbage

favourite colour: black

currently watching: just finished season 2 of uk vs the world, rpdr s16 is still going, also watching ekipa bled and what else....random slovene movie on the weekends.

sweet/savoury/spicy: savoury>spicy>sweet

relationship status: preparing to die alone

current obsession: joker out......

last googled: pleading eyes emoji 🤍 needed to ask about my pay and come off as a gentle soul 💅

tagging anyone who sees this and wants to participate 🫵

thank you @andrwminward !! 9 people you’d like to get to know better

last song: kill her freak out by samia 🩵🩵

favorite color: green !!!

currently watching: women’s d1 ncaa swimming and diving champs 🫶

sweet/savory/spicy: SPICY !! yay

relationship status: single but maybe not for much longer !?!

current obsession: honestly not much rn. working on some new ocs and continuing a fic

last thing you googled: how is college diving scored

no pressure tag: @fromjannah @bnsfrailway @grieving4theliving @mildew-dread-mold @speciouspessimism @littlelesbianlegend @declanshole @likeconcorde and anyone else who wants to 💖

[itishebihime-samaforyou]

Guess who's the ass that's gonna purchase all Chronicles of Narnia books when she gets her pay for this month

That's right. I'm that ass

[luveline]

can we pls get some more soft remus with just tooth rotting fluff??

basically baby fever universe ♡ fem!reader | 0.6k words

You hold your breath as Remus' arm hugs behind your shoulders, his hand coming to rest above your heart loosely. 

It's new to you for him to be so close. For anyone. You want it so badly it aches, like you're mourning that he's going to pull away before he does.

He draws shapes into your skin. It doesn't tickle but it gives that same feeling, a lightness that has you suppressing a giggle. Your exhale sounds pretty blissful as a consequence, and Remus hears it. 

"What?" he asks, brown eyes dark in the sunlight streaming in through the open window. 

Your legs are pulled up where his are kicked out. You let your thigh drop onto his lap and move that tiny bit closer, gazing up into his face with a small smile playing over your lips. 

"What's that look mean?" he asks, insistent. 

"This is nice." Your hair rubs against his clothed shoulder. 

"What? The movie?"

"No… Us. This is nice," you emphasise. You wrap both hands around his bicep tucked between your bodies and hug it to you. 

Remus looks very fond, suddenly. He's usually a short fall from unreadable, his impassive expressions both nerve-wracking an enchanting, so to see his affection so clearly is a heart-rending thing. You try not to blink as you take him in. 

"This is really nice," he agrees, the hand he's wrapped around your neck moving up, his fingers moving carelessly but never cruel over the hill of your cheek.

His touch lightens and your eyes close. It almost feels like the rain, his cool fingertips ghosting down your warm face. 

He stops his touching to lean in and kiss your cheek. He pulls back to take in the invisible mark he's left behind almost thoughtfully, pulling his arms away from you. 

You frown. "Where are you going?" you ask at his movements. 

Remus has back into the corner of the sofa. "Nowhere, baby," he says reassuringly. "Come here."

He opens his arms and makes grabbing hands until you're in reach. He's touching you as you draw closer, your hands and then your arms, your chest and down to your ribs, light and chaste touches until you're half sitting in his lap, your face encouraged into his collar. 

"This is nicer," he says. 

You hum. It's more than that. 

Remus rubs your back. You love how it feels and want him to feel just as treasured as you do, so you bring your hand to the neckline of his shirt and pet the only naked skin avaliable to you. You draw over the suggestion of his collar bones with a careful touch before slipping your hand under his shirt to stroke the nape of his neck, a slow back and forth. Soft hair under your fingers, you push your nails gently against his scalp and scratch delicately. 

He's putty underneath you. Relaxed, his soft abdomen pressed to yours, his hand sluggish where it loves the breadth of your shoulders. He chases a line down your spine and has to stop, shuddering as you card your hand through his hair.

"S'that feel nice?" you whisper. 

He only nods. You grin to yourself and press a smiling kiss to very bottom of his throat. 

"Your hair is so soft," you tell him.

His head tilts back into your hand, following your massaging unconsciously. 

"Don't fall asleep on me, handsome," you say. 

"You're on me," he argues, his voice thick. 

You continue to scratch his scalp lightly until he's dozing and find you can't blame him for it, stroking his lovely hair until your hand grows sloven and you're falling asleep too. 

[tired-biscuit]

my bf is taking me to the cinema to see the slovene version of the minion movie tonight, and idk guys i think i might be ready to marry

[ephemerlskies]

constant craving 04 (final) | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: “drabble” series, best friends to lovers au, slight angst, FLUFF, bestfriend!au, unrequited love, smarter idiots but still idiots all the same

⇢ word count: 6.8k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol, excessive drinking (drink responsibly), pining, jungkook is an overdramatic baby, a surplus of feelings (i am disgusted with myself), one (1) fire hazard

⇢ summary: with the Friendiversary approaching quickly, both you and Jungkook have an array of trials to navigate through. and, as Seokjin gets caught in the crossfires, you must finally make a decision that will define how the rest of your life will unfold. 

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: wow.... so bitches really call this a drabble series then write a 6 thousand word finale... its me im bitches... anywho, i really love the way this played out!! jungkook had to hit the bottom to start rising to the top and it shows. also, the ending is like....... hehe well ill just let you all see for yourselves. enjoy my lovely readers! this wrapped up such a heartfelt series that is so dear to my heart. thank you all for the support for this! and i might whip up a few drabbles simply because i think this relationship is really cute hehe ok... happy reading! <3

part four: i love you too

Carrying that music box in his pocket felt like a well-deserved and all too grim reminder of what went down a few days ago. Sitting drunk yet again, though one would best describe Jungkook’s posture as more of a sloven pile of flesh and bones withering away on a bar stool, he searched for the wallet which was in one of his four pockets.

He reached for the wrong one. Instead of the faux leather skimming his skin, it was a solid wood corner pricking the pad of his index finger. It stung more than it should have. Perhaps he'd gotten a splinter, or the top layer of his skin was simply too raw from all the wear and tear of your fight. Jungkook wasn’t one to jump at such negligible shocks, but it sank him back into that night. It wasn't the wooden corner at all.

You loved him. You still love him.

That's what you said. That's what nearly put him on the floor instead of in his chair, and what had been preying on his mind as if he were no different than a helpless animal drowning his regrets in whiskey. And he knew he should have said it back. 

Jungkook theorized ways to defy the cruel restraints of time, and if the universe would be so kind as to allow him to travel back to that day in middle school when he happened upon a scared, flush-faced student running so fast and panicked that they bumped into each other, just to be the one who said 'I love you' first. Or those genies and shooting stars and blessed fountains that supposedly granted wishes; he would pay no hesitation to plead with whatever deity would listen and permit his most prioritized desire. 

The retrospective bargaining remained a ghost haunting just about every waking moment of his life. Though, he had not been quite sure if said ghost was some cosmic sent presence or simply his own guilt. If regret took on physical ramifications, then Jungkook would have been convinced that was why he felt as if his legs wouldn't have been able to carry him even if he tried.

If I could just go back to that night with the knowledge I know now, I would have hauled my ass to your house instead of that club and told you that my choice was made for me the moment I met you. Every other person I ended up with these past twelve years was simply a buffer for loving you. I had to prepare myself, because loving you was something entirely too tremendous for a boy still grappling with his own faulty speech pattern to assume.

I wish you knew that. I wish I didn’t stand there like an idiot and let you leave, thinking me some hero for finally letting this new guy Seokjin take the place I had always imagined being in. I wish I had just said that I love you.

I love you.

I love you, ___.

Jungkook’s vision resembled that of a smudged lens. However, there were no fingerprints on his eyes. The world had turned blurry and colorless, the latter he knew was not due to the sixth order of whiskey he let soak into his heart’s open wound. 

A life of color was one of the many things that left when you did.

He didn’t know it then, but Jungkook was being fervently dramatic since it had not been more than seventy-two hours the last time he spoke to you. Thought to him, it was akin to being just short of death and taking another breath would have been an expense he wasn’t sufficiently funded to pay. 

Whatever happened in the interim of him paying his tab and walking out onto the sidewalk must have landed somewhere in the blacked out stretches of his inebriated memory, since he was now staring at your contact gleaming on his phone bearing the semblance of one guardian angel.

It was so ingrained into his routine. Opening the app with the phone icon, clicking the ‘recent’ tab, and finding your name no further than three contacts down the list because he called you as if he had important things to tell you, though normally it was just to hear your voice or to tell you about what he had for lunch. And it nestled into his muscle memory as natural as it was for him to breathe or blink. Even when alcohol debilitated his driving, walking, and thinking, his body was drawn to seek a haven such as yourself. And he nearly pressed ‘call’.

Before the comfort of your voice could ring through to his phone, reality descended upon that reflex. Right now, you were probably with Seokjin, attending some pretentious art gallery for one of his colleagues.

It was just Jungkook and the night sky and the moon that he hoped you were gazing at too; it would be the only connection to you as of now. The moon, a parcel for the most longing gazes.

There are stories where the two protagonists get it right. This was not that story. That reality stung more than the residual burn of whiskey clinging along his throat.

Both you and Jungkook made every wrong decision possible. From the moment you subjected yourself to exploiting the veneer of being a ‘good friend’ to disguise any true feelings that might have taken light, to the moment Jungkook was presented with all the excruciatingly obvious signs that you were in love with him, but was simply too inept to notice, to the both of you neglecting any urge threatening the bounds of platonic. Any path that would have steered to a destination where you two would get that happy ending was conveniently untaken.

And you had a long journey riddled with heartbreak after heartbreak to prove it.

He traded his phone with that wooden music box, scuffing the soles of his shoe as he walked back home, hoping he’d be able to give the gift to you on your Friendiversary.

-----

Your pain was still raw. In this way, you had not considered, or rather avoided the idea of tending to such delicate wounds. The days leading up to the infamous anniversary had been spent hoping you would organically heal enough to allow the presence of Jungkook while denying another reopening in your wound.

You had been juggling a not so thrilling number of conflicts the three days preceding that self-acclaimed national holiday.

One, Seokjin and his bottomless supply of invitations that you felt too obligated to refuse. He had such a life packed with plans which is more than you could have said for Jungkook. He, most likely, busied himself with promoting ranks in some obscenely violent video game. Two, a mutual friend of yours had told you Seokjin was fixing to make your relationship official this coming Friday, and you didn’t want to admit the lackluster reaction upon hearing the news was equivalent to receiving a C on a test. It wasn't the worst grade to receive, but you knew there would always be something better than adequacy. Not satisfying enough nor disappointing enough to be dealt with without bending a few expectations. And three, all you really wanted, the only agent of excitability (both good and bad) that diluted the festering numbness in your heart just a tad more, was thinking about seeing Jungkook on your Friendiversary.

But with that excitement, was its equally worrying constituent: whether or not you would be able see Jungkook that day without cracking under pressure.

Things weren’t exactly attuned between the two of you. Your emotional stature had never been more unsynchronized and offkey with Jungkook’s, so, forcing a celebratory movie or dinner would be no different than adding cornstarch to the already thick tension.

“___? Are you listening?” Everything Seokjin had just been droning on about filtered in and out without a single word being absorbed, and you could have pretended this wasn't the case but  stress had apprehended caring enough to lie.

“Sorry… No, I wasn't. I’m just stressed is all.” Since that was only a half lie, self-admonition had not yet taken permanent residency whenever you would look at Seokjin’s eyes offering nothing but genuine tact.

“Oh, sorry to hear! Are you okay? Anything you wanna talk about?” That, and the soft press of his hand over yours had swallowed you into a perpetual, guilty cycle of comparing two incomparable people.

Seokjin was always like this. Serving a gentle smile and honest ears as a vessel of calmness during whatever calamity you were grappling. It was safe knowing if you fell, you’d have a comfortable cushion to soften the impact. He was mindful with his words and had the intelligence to articulate them with impressive eloquence. You were more likely to see pigs fly than to see him stutter. He had a diverse group of friends and walked a steady path to a financially secure life. And you started to wonder what else one would need in a partner? Any sensible person would do much more than you had to snag someone like Seokjin, as handsome as he was kind and respectful. He seemed to have everything Jungkook lacked, including mutual feelings for you.

It would have been entirely too easy to pick him, as if there was a ‘Seokjin’ button and a ‘Jungkook’ button and you could press Seokjin’s on a whim. If choosing him would have meant miraculous nullification of all your very real and very unremitting feelings for that idiot you called your best friend, then you would have done it in a heartbeat.

There wasn't a 'Seokjin' button or a 'Jungkook' button, nor was there a button that would wondrously redistribute your feelings towards Seokjin.

And then there was Jungkook. Always in the back of your mind when he wasn't tenanting the focus of it.

He was never predictable in the ways that mattered. It was just as difficult figuring out his next move as figuring out whether this trait was exciting or exhausting.

Though, this had not been to say you didn’t know him well; in fact, all his habits and preferences and pet peeves could be bound into a book, written by you, and it would be so accurate anyone who read it would think it was an autobiography. He knew you to the same caliber. Where Seokjin would ask what was wrong, Jungkook wouldn’t need to. He already learned your behavior to know to say something along the lines of ‘tell me what’s wrong when you're ready, we can watch your favorite movie or swing by that Chinese place with those great fried dumplings in the meantime’. And on more favorable occasions, he'd say nothing and simply wrap you in his arms and let his shirt become a delta for your tears.

To anyone else, that might sound entirely too frank and perhaps a bit dismissive to be comforting, but to you it was the exact cure for each affliction. To never need explanations that would validate your feelings because Jungkook saw to that right when he took notice; to never manufacture fake smiles through failed attempts at cheering you up since, of course, he knew exactly what to do to vegetate joy in your heart and earn a smile from years and years —and years— of practice. It had almost driven you mad, thinking about how he knew from a shift in your brow what you were feeling and yet, somehow, never realized how deeply in love you were.

All the while, the moment you were convinced you had been versed fluently in his every move, he would pawn another blindsight that would leave you breathless and amazed all the same. Jungkook always had concealed tricks up his sleeve, and life was anything but repetitive with him. You would more often than not find yourself struggling to relearn language and existing itself just to keep up with him. How exactly he managed to wield such diametric facets of being was an enigma beyond the reasoning of this universe.To feel like home, somewhere you belonged outside of your own body, and a daring voyage into a completely new world all at once must have meant he was some sort of Godsend. Only angels could have sculpted a soul so magnetizing, you assumed.

Seokjin was an umbrella, shielding you on some arcane journey under an unforgiving rainfall. Your shoes kept dry and your hair intact.

And if he was the umbrella, then Jungkook was the rain. Falling everywhere and all at once, so that you couldn't help but let yourself be saturated in his entire, vibrant being. And who’s to say letting such a water fall against your skin was a bad thing? Sometimes rain is cleaning, gentle even. They bear fruits as beautiful as rainbows that guide you to an unnamed treasure.

Your treasure, however, had a name.

Jungkook calling.

"___? Hello? You in there?" Seokjin waved his hand in front of your face mostly in a jesting manner, but part of him felt like your eyes were blinded by something held in your heart. If he hadn’t pulled you back into reality, you might have been lost forever.

“I'm just…” Your attention had abandoned this conversation the second his name gave light to your screen. “Sorry, um…”

“It's okay, you can take the call. I’ll be in the kitchen making us some coffee.”

If you were to thank him profusely, it would have been far too obvious how much you missed seeing his name among your notifications, and most likely expose how often you spent thinking of Jungkook while you were supposed to be enthralled with Seokjin. So, you just nodded and answered the phone.

Nodding and answering, as though that didn't feel like taking a breath of clean air after hours of swimming through muddied waters.

“Hello? ___?”

“Jungkook.” It took you longer than usual to form a response and what was assembled had been a half-baked utterance just to let him know you were on the other side of the phone, hearing his voice and feeling a surge of energy course through your veins like he was some delicious narcotic filling life into you after only a week without him.

“___.” Jungkook was in his own debt of words as well. The exchange halted for a few seconds, a jaded breathing cutting the cracked static.

“Look-”

“Hey so-”

Any hope that you had finally caught up to the same page as Jungkook was lost. Now, it seemed you two were reading entirely different books.

“You go.” You said after another dreadful pause. He was the one who called, so he should be the one carrying the burden of navigating through this deafening tension.

“Well, I- uh… I… Well, you see I was just, um, wondering…” Jungkook’s heart must have shut off. That would explain why even the most rudimentary of words felt closer to a foreign language. Or, why he was making conscious efforts to counteract the threat of his nearly dormant lisp.

His brain was drained dry of any blood, his inner mechanisms were shutting down. Even without the alcoholic filter catching words and common sense in its web, Jungkook felt himself fall into an overactive state of dumbfoundedness. Sobriety only a cataract for his emotional override. 

“Our friendiversary?”

“I’m sorry, I did not understand literally anything you just said.”

“Me neither.”

The charming and familiar laugh that spilled through the speaker reminded you that Jungkook was in fact a real person. Not some figmented embodiment of every lost and unrequited and tortuous feeling you had been suppressing for twelve years. Jungkook was real, his laugh and everything else you loved about him were all so incredibly real. And more importantly, the pure joy you felt was real; a permanent serialization of his. Your smiles and his smiles had always surfaced in tandem.

Now, you both were laughing. Neither were warranted by his messy attempt at forming a coherent sentence. The weight of discomfort shedding from your shoulders had been partnered with a slew of relieved chuckles.

“Anyway, um. I- I still wanna see you on our Friendiversary. Or, at least give you your gift.” Admitting that was terrifying but the thought of breaking the consecutive streak of eleven years simply because he was too much of a coward to admit he wanted to see you dizzied him. However, the thought of spending your friendiversary alone terrified him beyond comprehension. So, he thought not about that as a possibility; he carved an opening to his heart in hope you wouldn’t send sharp thorns of rejection into it.

“Yeah, I, uh. I still wanna see you too. I mean, it is a national holiday. We gotta have holiday spirit, right?” You were forcing playful banter, it felt like lemon juice scouring cuts on your tongue, but you were so desperate to make things between you two feel normal.

“You’re right! So, um… You can come over tomorrow night. I’ll set up a surprise or whatever.” He seemed to have fallen back into stride with pre-confession Jungkook. Trying to keep up with him now would just exhaust you of all your means, so you chose to save the rest for tomorrow night. Even if that meant watching him walk away to some unforeseeable finish line; his back, the last part of him you’d see until you could finally collect your broken pieces and start walking as well.

“Sounds good! I’ll, um, see you then.”

“See you, ___.”

You had no idea, and how could you, that Jungkook was now wiping small clusters of wetness from the bed of his eyelids. Why he thought you, the one person that remained a constant in his life, would say no to him over one fight (of many) made for quite the spill of tears. But if you did know, you would have told him you felt like crying too.

"Hey! How did everything go?" You were so immersed in your virtual conversation with Jungkook you nearly forgot the person you were presently with. The train of guilt wouldn't stop for your pathetic attempts at disembarking.

"Oh! Thanks for the coffee." You sipped, and it had just been a stall to blink away the tears that were straying beyond your will of concealment. "It went good. We're still celebrating our Friendiversary."

"Friendiversary?" Seokjin's light chuckle veiled his tense concern.

"Yeah... Uh, it's just this thing we do to celebrate our friendship. The day we met."

"Oh... that's..." His eyes were scaling the rim of his mug.

"That's what, Seokjin?" You were stern, knowing well enough it was born of far more than platonic defensiveness. And you had no right to be the one prosecuting him since you clearly had more to hide than meets the eye.

"I mean, it's just interesting how dedicated you are to an anniversary with a friend." Seokjin wielded that soft-spoken voice which made it difficult to be anything but patient with him. And from the tone of it, he seemed to have no ill intentions with that statement, though it had not been an entirely innocent observation. To you, however, it felt like he might as well have set you on fire.

"Interesting? What is that supposed to even mean? I mean, we've been friends for twelve years. I- I don't know why people are always so judgmental." Your arms crossed over your chest, hoping he would take notice how much his comment slighted you. If asked, you would have insisted you would have been this worked up over any of your friends. Though you knew well enough this was untrue, and it made you feel even worse acting as though Seokjin was the one at fault here.

"I'm sorry. I'm not judging you, really. I just... I just have never heard of two friends doing something like that so religiously."

You sighed out all your anger, knowing the way you snapped at him was merely misdirected frustration. "No, I'm sorry. I know it's kinda weird."

"Look, I get it. You guys are close. But, ___, you talk about him so much that half, no, over half of your stories include him. We've been dating for, what, barely a week now, and I know more about this Jungkook guy than I know about you, and I haven't even met him."

Lips parted, ready to dispatch another slew of defenses to refute all the things he said. It was more disappointing than it was shocking to find nothing but a long sigh emerging. Because he was right. Jungkook has been interwoven so thoroughly in your last twelve years that if you only told the stories without him in it, then it would be the least accurate and nondescript retelling of your life. Fragments of an unfinished novel. It would miss the most crucial pieces, entire chapters, of your story.

You would have been presenting a shell of you, hollow and one dimensional. All the inner parts of you, the lungs and veins and tissue that gave you life and made you whole belonged solely with Jungkook.

That's why you sat there, blank faced, foolishly waiting for the words that wouldn't come to your aid because you had no place to contend with him.

"Seokjin... I'm with you..." It's all that would come up your throat, and it felt like acid. You were sure it burned his ears when he heard them more than it had your throat.

It hadn’t even been partially true. Physically you were with him, but in your head you were sitting on your couch with Jungkook, consuming a concerning amount of junk food while chatting through a movie used more as background noise than entertainment.

"Okay. Does that mean you don't have feelings for him?"

"Well..."

"Can you confidently say you could replace all the time you spend with him with time you would spend with me?" Seokjin must have noticed your returning tears because he loosened his verbal grip from your throat. To you, it sounded like he was pacifying you for some horrible sin, to anyone else it sounded as though he was simply trying to dredge up feelings that would disrupt the chance of a relationship between you and him. "___, I like you. I really do, but in all honesty, I'm looking for something serious. I think we would be great together, but only if you don't have any feelings left for him."

"Seokjin..." You regretted looking at him.

Sweetness was strewn in his eyes and gentle smile. Seokjin was softer than cotton, which made the real threat, the rough sandpaper wearing away skin and bones, you. It made it all the more painful to know you had been keeping everything you felt for Jungkook hidden from Seokjin. Though, if one would have presented an objective point of view, your feelings were far from secretive. And the most brutal honesty was that you knew feelings for Seokjin were never in your attainability. Not the way they always had been for Jungkook.

He was the wrong person who crossed paths with you at the right moment. A mere convenience. And you knew he deserved much more than what you had to offer.

"And maybe I'm being an idiot, but I like you too much to give you some ultimatum which would put you in such an unfair position. So, I'll let you think this over." His compassion felt more like a sharp blow to your chest. “No pressure.”

If he hadn’t smiled like he did, then you would have broken up with him right then and there. It was not possible to rip away such tender hope away from a smile so sweet.

"I'm sorry." You meant the remorse behind those words and it still hadn’t amounted to a proper consolation. "I'm sorry. I guess... I guess I'll go... Seokjin?”

“Yes?” He replied quickly, and you knew only a pace that rapid was one brought on by a sliver of faith that you might have made your decision right then.

“You’re a really great person. You deserve the world.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t give him what he wanted. And as bitter and unkind as that might have felt at the moment, it was the only bit of truth and relent you could have offered him.

-----

In your bed, sleep became somewhat of an abstract desire. You knew your rest was deprived from you when the digital clock on your bedside told you it was six hours past the time you'd normally fall asleep. It was because you really did have a choice to make now.

To choose Seokjin, and know you'd collapse in the safety of his reciprocated affection, though haunted by how you would never feel the fullest extent of content. And you would live with that until resentment and distance wedged irreversible damage in your relationship.

Or, to choose Jungkook, which would catapult you into a depth so dark and tenuous that you would have no idea whether you'd meet gentle snow or hard, deadly concrete when you landed. And maybe you'd never land at all; maybe you would be caught in a state of falling down and down forever, until your beating heart eventually stilled.

Which one was worth it? Which were you willing to risk? These were the questions that kept you awake.

The hours leading to your undisclosed celebration events with Jungkook ceased being actual points of your existence and merely obstructions that you had to plow through in order to arrive at some conclusive moment. Something that might give you an answer to all your questions. Something that might have released you from devotedly checking your phone for a Jungkook patented text or call.

You were turning into a half-being. Someone who could only inhale a full breath, laugh an intentional laugh, and sleep a soundless sleep when their other half was there.

If you thought being in love with Jungkook for your entire friendship was pathetic, then you couldn’t fathom what you had become now.

Standing in front of his door, the same one you lugged him to that night he was too drunk to balance on his feet, when you willingly carried all the weight he couldn’t, when your lips became acquainted and comfortable with his within half a beat, you felt as if this chunk of wood was mocking you. A partition barricading you from Jungkook. Your Jungkook. The man you always felt you were on the outskirts of, with only a window to peer into his unreadable mind. And that was enough for you ―until now.

Now you were going to knock on that door with your hand, make him open it for you, and walk into his home. You would be the one to step foot inside of the very structure that only solicited closed doors and immovable walls and fogged windows. And you would leave behind your timidity, every feeling and urge that left you with disappointing compromises for the sake of maintaining this friendship.

You would be selfish, and he would finally feel a mere glimpse of what you have always felt for the best and worst of your life.

Even when he opened the door, arming a smile that actively disarmed you, this home of his was yours to conquer. This was your time to act for you alone, despite how many smiles he sent your way. You had not any weapons or shields or an infantry for a clutch. You just had your heart and all the love it carried. 

“Hey! ___, you look… You look great.” There was no real incentive for him to censor how he truly thought you looked. Immeasurably beautiful. It was simply his own nerves impeding on the feelings that were too intense to express without it being followed by an entire soliloquy of I love you’s.

“Thanks... You too...” You could almost feel the words brimming in your and Jungkook’s mouth, carrying such raw emotions and longing intentions.

"I'm really glad that- Jungkook..." Walking into his house punctuated what you were about to say.

His living room was strewn with enough candles to steal the last of your words and to consider his house a fire hazard. That didn't negate this lovely sea of lights to be anything but romantic and thoughtful. A bit cluttered, and not at all perfect, but it must have taken Jungkook hours to set up every wax column. The thoughtfulness of this gesture would have astonished you had it not been for the consistency of Jungkook snatching your breath and words away whenever he tried. It was antithetical, the way you expected his surprises. Yet, always surprised all the same.

Unpredictable, completely surrounding you just like the rain.

"I had to turn off my fire detector but... Worth it." Jungkook considered the number of mishaps that could have dampened any chance of this being romantic.

A candle could tip over and set his entire place ablaze, the wax could leak onto his carpet and tabletops, damaging his furniture and savings for replacements, you and he could have suffocated from all the fumes steaming from the wick. But if that look on your face didn't feel like the only bit of revival to keep his heart's steady beating, if your eyes didn’t look as though it was the only set of eyes that shed beauty into this world then he wouldn't have used up exactly three lighters to pull this stunt. But it did, and he felt warmth and color return to every inch of his body.

He would have used hundreds of lighters to ignite thousands of candles if that meant an ounce of happiness from you. He wanted to say that, but he knew the candles said it for him.

The spectacle almost made you forget why you were here in the first place. It almost made you forget the resolve you managed to gather before entering. And then he said your name.

"___."

The letters flowing from his lips as if they could only be pronounced by his tongue. It sounded so good. So good, that if anyone else were to say it then it wouldn't have been your name at all. It would have sounded wrong, sullied. And it wasn't supplied by neat articulation, this new belonging of your name in his mouth. The need for him to sculpt your name into this world was more than that. "I will never forgive myself if I don't get this out while I still can."

"Jungkook, what is all this?" You didn't know why you felt a collection of tears brimming along your eyes, but you didn't care to figure it out. Perhaps you felt an influx of feelings, an abundance too heavy for your body to seal within the confines of your emotional seams, so they overflowed in the form of tears. This certainly had not been the first time you cried over Jungkook, but you had never cried over him like this.

"___, I love you!" Jungkook said loudly. It was just you and him who could hear, but it felt as though he wanted the entire world to know.

"What? I- You- What?" Your lack of verbal poise was indicative of your love for him once again taking the reins of your mind and heart. Words were a luxury you couldn't afford as of now. You just had to feel everything you were feeling until the rainstorm settled. The hope that he would spare you some remnants of fluency was far along, and you weren't too sure if what Jungkook was about to say would be gentle enough to leave you with any words at all.

"I love you. I don't know why I didn't know it sooner. Or maybe, I- Maybe I did know?" Jungkook sighed at his own ineloquence. "I'm stupid! That's it. That's my only excuse. I'm so stupid. The way I felt about you, the way I still feel about you, is something I thought all best friends had. I thought everyone felt like the moments they weren't spending with their best friends just felt like filler moments. Like, every day I spent without you was just a span of time I had to wait out until I see you again. Like every damn moment of my life is spent waiting for you. And if I don't end up with you then... then I'll never stop waiting."

"Jungkook, I-" He prevailed in surprising you, taking words and breath and thoughts all at once.

"And, I'm that stupid! I really thought all best friends had those moments when they stare at you, and- and-" Now, you weren't the only one with wet eyes and cheeks. "And I just feel like looking at you and being with you just makes me better. It makes me a better person, or something, and it makes me feel like... Like I'll never get hurt again. And even if I do get hurt, I know it's you I want to be there. I know that whenever something bad happens to you, or when you feel like crying or when you're happy or angry or anything that I want to be the one who gets to be by your side. When I look at you, all I want is to love you. To love all your pain away."

"You really mean that?"

"Yes! God, I love you." You didn't notice how it happened, but Jungkook's arms became a shield around you. Inside his arms you were indestructible. Your hands pressed against his cheeks, memorizing the plush, smooth skin. The world could hurl all the fire and ice it had, but it wouldn’t matter. "___, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out. I'm sorry that in that period, I hurt you. Please, forgive me. I love you, and I want to be with you."

"Of course, I forgive you. I... I can't believe this." Hearing everything you always wanted from him was drastically different when it was actually unfolding. It was a million times more than any hope or dream you used as a salve for your longing. It was everything.

"Maybe it took so long because I was afraid. Because the idea of loving you was something I wasn't ready for. Even though I did love you, God, who was I to take on something as fragile and crucial as loving you. I know I probably would have messed it up. And, fuck, maybe I'm messing it up right now. But I just needed it to be perfect. I needed loving you to be perfect because I don't want to give you anything less than that."

"You were always enough for me, Jungkook. More than enough. You were and are everything to me" His arms that pressed you further into him expressed how happy that made him. 

"But I'm not perfect yet. I might mess up... A lot. No, I'll definitely mess up. I don't know if I can offer you perfect yet. But I do know that through everything I have never stopped loving you and I will never stop loving you."

"Jungkook... I don't know what to say." Your thumb grazed a falling tear from his face. Jungkook had not cried often in front of you; and you could tally up the amount of times he had on your fingers alone. But when he did, it was still as beautiful as when he was smiling or laughing or even scowling.

"You could say you love me back." You did. You loved him, his smile that was currently on a mission to melt your heart, his arms that carried both the good and bad parts of you, his wit that you always relished in. All the reasons to love him were an endless flowing river. If you were lucky enough, you would catch a glimpse of each beautiful current and be able to give name to the gravity that pulled you into him.

"I love you too, you idiot." The last word caught in your throat because your lips were being kissed instead.

His lips. Warm and exciting, allotting your being with an infinite devotion of his. And it was more than you could have ever hoped for.

It felt like fire. Like a grove of candles encapsulating the origin of heat. You and Jungkook, holding each other so close, you could have become one. Hot and all-consuming of anything in its path. If one stood too close, they would suffer scorching embers that stray from the orange pyres. Seokjin, Irene, and any other unassuming casualty that had the misfortune of stepping between the two of you, harboring the burn scars to remind them of what fumed from their interference.

Every element concocting between you and him was that of a bright flame, cremating pure metals and wet woods and thick forests alike.

You were in his home. His arms and lips and hands told you it was your home as well. All that time spent wondering why you could never slip inside before was never because he didn't want to let you in. And the thing is, you never thought to knock until now. You sat outside in a silenced hope that he would voluntarily open that door for you. But unknown to you, Jungkook seemed to be waiting as well. Waiting in a large room with empty spaces where you belonged and where he kept reserved for your residence alone.

He waited even when he wasn't quite sure of who he was waiting for, or if you would ever actually spill your warmth into his home. He waited until his fingers turned to ice and his eyes fell to exhaustion, for you to walk inside.

"So, you're like my boyfriend now?" Your voice brushed against his smiling lips.

"Yeah, your boyfriend, or whatever."

"You know this means you have to top next year's friendiversary. And I mean, all these candles? That's gonna be tough." It could have counted as sensory overload, the feeling of his palms flush against your back, the tip of his nose grazing yours, the bright array of candles illuminating the room. But you were so, incredibly cold without him that this felt like solace to you.

"When have I ever disappointed you?" Jungkook regretted what came out of his mouth too late to stop himself from saying it.

"Oh, I couldn't count the amount of times on my fingers alone! What about that time you forgot our chains for the tires on our trip to the mountains? We almost died." His eye roll only encouraged you to continue. Maybe, if you were lucky, he'd equip that cute pout whenever he wanted his way. "Or what about when you swore you brought water, but three miles in on our hike you had that look on your face. You know I reminded you to get water and you swore you did. Or what about-"

"Okay! I get it! I fuck up, jeez." He scrunched his nose, his eyes waning into crescents courtesy of that grin of his. You counted the number of wrinkles along the bridge of his nose as you always did, though you had acquired an expertise in the geography of his face. Each line and angle and ridge were now and eternally yours to restudy and marvel. "Hey, uh, almost forgot."

He reached into his front left pocket. "I, um, kept carrying it around thinking I'd see you somewhere. Kinda dumb right?"

"Not dumb." You opened the tiny box, wound the handle until the spring felt tight and you could see the throngs prick the textured wheel, and it was one of those moments where you didn't see a gift in your hand. You simply saw his thought and sentiment manifested as a box of wood that sung a tune.

All the things Jungkook wanted to give you, the sun and the moon and the entire universe were not his to give. So for now, he settled for this music box and there would be a day when he would collect each celestial being and place them right into your hands. Maybe then, he would feel less of a debt for possessing such a love like yours.

"This is... I love it. Thank you, Jungkook." You smiled, but it was motivated in the hopes he would smile back. You thought he deserved that much, at least. And he did.

"Sooooo... Can I tell Seokjin that you're actually in love with me and that he sucks ba-"

"Um, absolutely not!" As always, his crudeness and slight inability to remain mature for too long only wedged you deeper in love.

So, terribly in love. Your state of constant craving for Jeon Jungkook had been left barren. That desolate, solitary province was no longer yours to take residence in.

You had a home now. And you had no need to crave Jungkook anymore. He was right here, holding you.

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

a/n: okay, cry with me.... these two.... such hopeless saps for each other i'm here for it. final destination is simp city... also (spoiler) it is completely canon that irene and seokjin bond over their mutual heartbreaks and get to smitten hehehe. anyway, my loves i hope you enjoyed this finale as much as i enjoyed writing it!!! it was a short but heartfelt journey with these two and i will miss their idiocy sm. thank u for your endless support i love u all!!! <3

[kirieshhhka003]

can you order hcds of Bruno and Leone with a clueless reader? I mean, they have kissed and it almost seems that they are in a relationship and he still asks them: "Do you like me? It is confusing for me" - "S / o anyone would say that we are in a relationship" - "! ARE WE? ?!

Thank you for your request, sweetie💚

Bruno Buccellati and Leone Abbacchio x S/o who is clueless about their relationships

Bruno Buccellati

Bruno invited S/o to his apartment for a movie night. He bought some snacks and sweets, cleaned up every corner of his flat (he doesn’t want to be a sloven in S/o’s eyes). Oh boi, he was so excited

They decided to watch a comedy, a movie was really good, but not as good as S/o’s profile. As time passed Bruno got closer and closer to S/o and finally, their hips touched, Bruno wrapped his arm around their shoulder

S/o looked at Bruno, their eyes met, and when Bruno leaned to kiss S/o they shrank back. He was confused but they looked so bewildered that he decided to slow down for a little. Was he too intense? Did it scare them?

- “Babe, what’s this?” - “Bruno, all this really confuses me and I need to know who am I to you?” - “Wha-... Are you serious?” Awkward silence set in the room. Are they really serious?

“I want to be honest with you and I really like you, but all those things that happen between us are strange and I don’t know what to think. So please, be honest with me too, what are we?” - “We’re dating. And we’ve been dating for two months. Or at least I thought so” - the man had a lump in his throat and his voice was trembling. Bruno looked like he was about to cry(he actually was)

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I thought that you don’t see me as someone worthy of you” - “How can you say that? Do you really think that I’d do something like that just to stroke my ego?” - oh gosh, his eyes were already wet - “How could you think that you’re worthless of me? How could even you think that you’re worthless of something? You’re so amazing, you can’t even imagine how gorgeous you are to me”

I’m sorry that I made Buccellati a crybaby, but I really felt like that

Leone Abbacchio

S/o and Leone were on a mission together. They were supposed to pretend to be a married couple, so they won’t look very suspicious. And, of course, they got a one number at a hotel, because it’d be queerly for a spouses to live in a different apartments

S/o decided to go out to the balcony to enjoy the view of the setting sun. It was a middle of the summer and nights were especially warm. A light breeze caressed S/o’s face. It was so calming and soothing

Leone saw S/o in a soft orange light of the setting sun, they were so vulnerable and dainty that it made his heart do a backflip. They hadn’t much time for themselves lately and it was a great opportunity to spend this evening in a company of each other

Leone’s steps were almost soundless, he approached S/o and tenderly hugged them from behind. They didn’t expect that, Abbacchio could tell it by the way their body shuddered. He chuckled at this quietly and kissed their temple in an attempt to quiet them. “It’s me, amore” he whispered in their ear

S/o was taken aback to say the least. Abbacchio wasn’t the one for affection, even with the ones he loves and adores, and his current behavior was strange

S/o relaxed in Leone’s arms and put their head oh his shoulder. Some time they were just standing there, clasped in each other’s arms, enjoying the view of a setting sun. But S/o’s quiet voice suddenly pierced the soothing silence - “What is that supposed to mean?”

And now it was time for Abbacchio to be taken aback. “What do you mean?” - he asked utterly confused. “This situation. What does it mean to you?” - they replied stuttering a little. “Wha-... It means that I’m hugging my beloved. And what do you mean?” - his voice was disgruntled

S/o turned around and looked at Leone with a big surprised eyes - “Beloved?” - “Yeah, beloved! What’s happening?!” - now Leone was irritated, S/o ruined his romantic mood and the whole atmosphere. “So we’re dating?” - “YES!?” - now, this situation started to get Leone on nerves. He recoiled from S/o, lit a cigarette and took a deep puff

“O-oh, I’m sorry. But you acted so cool, I just didn’t know what to think!” - “Are you serious? We kissed, we fucked, and you thought that we were friends?!” And now, that was awkward, but they finally set all things right

Masterlist | Smut Masterlist

[johnkrrasinski]

Cherry Pie 🍒

full masterlist

Pairings: Steve Rogers x female!reader

Word count: 2,181

Warning: SMUT!!!! a lot of sexy times. steve being a horny boyfriend. public sex, fingering, oral sex. (MUST BE 18+) 

Summary: you boyfriend, steve rogers is an insatiable little shit. but you loved it though. 

a/n: this one’s for @nellblazer​‘s “The 80′s Challenge.” i chose the song prompt “cherry pie by warrant” and when i read the lyrics, i immediately knew that i had to write something sexy with steve rogers based on the song.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

South Waren was a peaceful suburban city where most newlyweds migrate to, to start a new beginning, write on a fresh page and build a family life of their own. The tranquil community was one of the most innocuous and amicable districts in America. 

Noiseless and serene; those are the most fitting words to describe the tone of the neighbourhood. Each morning, there would only be the chirping sounds of the birds, joyful giggles of the kids as their parents kiss them goodbye before they leave for school and the sonorous chitchats of the wives as they are going for an early jog. 

But the rules were violated since you and Steve moved to the well-grounded town. 

To say that you were a lovely pair of newlyweds would be an inadequate understatement. You and Steve were practically rabbits. Before you decided to tie the knot, you and Steve dated for two years until Steve surprised you with a stunning diamond ring as he got on his knees. 

To the people that you pass on the streets or the waiters/waitresses that served you at a five stars restaurant, you looked like a normal, lovely couple. But to those who are unfortunate enough to be close enough to you both as friends, that they’d often go on double dates with you or attend major events together or those whom the devils targetted in red underline because they were ill-fated enough to live near you… May the heavens be with them. 

You and Steve just couldn’t get enough of each other. There wasn’t a single day where you could spend more than one hour without leaving subtle touches and vamping glances on each other that would result in you both lying bare on top of each other, bathed in sweat and inebriating euphoria. 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Thanksgiving last year, you invited Steve to celebrate the day at your parents’ house. On the dinner table, Steve was a refined gentleman, dressed in a plaid blue shirt. He brought a bottle of Beaux Freres Willamette Valley Pinot Noir from 2017 as he charmed the pants off your parents with his courteous manners and judicious words. He’d crack a few witty jokes that would effortlessly elicit laughter out of your sister and your parents. 

But when the midnight lurks and when it was only the two of you in the tiny kingdom that was your childhood room, it was a whole ‘nother story.

Steve had you pinned beneath him doggedly as if you were nothing but a rag doll that he could mend and break whenever he wants. He sealed your moans with his palm as he vehemently pounded into you as you tried so hard to mute your cries, but you couldn’t any longer. Your parents’ room was literally next to yours and you’d be doomed if they heard the sounds of your moans and whimpers due to Steve’s brutal thrusts. 

“Shh, you don’t wanna wake your parents up, do you?”

You felt like he was splitting your body apart with his enormous cock that was relentlessly moving in and out of you. Your brain was cluttered as you felt the tightening coil in your stomach. Your muffled wails grew louder as you held on to Steve’s dishevelled hair with your polished nails leaving fiery scratches down his back. 

“I can feel how tight you are for me. C’mon, cum for me, baby. Cum for me now!” Just a few more deep-seated thrusts and the inflating bubble inside you burst. You were grateful to whatever disappointed God and angels in heaven, watching over you for Steve’s dexterous hand that was still swaddling the noises from your lips because you were practically shrieking and your whole body trembled. Steve kept going until he reached his own release and that’s when he lifted his hand off your mouth too. 

He kissed you passionately, tangling his tongue with yours as he breathed into your parted mouth. Your drop of sweats mingled as your sticky bodies jumbled with each other’s warmth and remnants. He got himself off you then laid next to you in your small twin-sized bed. He pulled you close against his chest and you laid there with your labouring breath beginning to slow down. 

“You just defiled my impeccable, childhood room.”

“We just did, baby.”

“But you coerced me into it.”

“Yeah, but you loved it.”

“I sure did.” 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

You and Steve had this tradition every Friday night with your friends back when you still lived in Brooklyn. You would come to Barton’s Nest; a ramshackle Victorian pub owned by Clint, to have a drink and share a few tales and hilarity of the despair and the discrepancies the week had afflicted each one of you. 

When the night got a little tipsy and you’d had a dozen of alcohol in your system, Steve would excuse you both from the table and drag you to the pub’s lavatory because he just couldn’t contain his deprivation of you any longer. 

Steve loved you whether you were in baggy clothes or when you were dressed like a lady; a silk red dress with cleavage so low and a slit so high that it enervates him on the knees every time you so much as breathe, let alone when you rub your high-heeled foot against his leg.

But Steve loved you the most when you were like this; a petite tank top displaying your lovely shoulders and fitting high-waisted skinny jeans that suit you like a magician with a pair of gloves. You looked casually beautiful and he just felt the mighty urge to take you right there in the bathroom stall. 

You were reclining on your hands against the sink as you threw your head back, your skull nearly hit the mirror, with Steve’s fingers down your pants. Your jeans had been pushed down, pooling around your ankles with your underwear still on as it got ruined with your dampened pussy. 

His fingers deliciously stroked your clit before it moved lower to your opening and intruded your body with their lengths. His skilful fingers scissored your inside as you moaned in pleasure. The lust overclouding your mind, blurring your visions like fog on the mirror. 

“Fuck, Steve…” You could feel your knees wobbling, and if he weren’t standing so close to you, you would’ve collapsed on the floor already. 

“What is it, babygirl? My fingers fucking that cunt good, down there?” As he grazed the spot that erased all the memories and knowledge stored in your brain because it was so tantalizingly precise. 

“So good, yeah…” You uttered breathlessly. You bit your lip, trying to suppress your cries, fearing that someone would walk by and they might hear you. 

But Steve was a reprobate varmint. He couldn’t care any less about people hearing you both or knocking furiously on the door. He didn’t even bother locking the door. When he had you in this misty state, he was going to take his sweet time in toying with your body with whatever creative method he came up with at that moment and he was going to have his fun. 

“Look at me.” With every control you regained over yourself, you opened your eyes to stare at baby blue ones that were a lot darker now; filled with desire and mischievousness. It was hard for you to keep your gaze at him when he was staring at you like this with his fingers unapologetically messaging your heated core, but you knew better than to disobey him. 

“Look at you, you’ve only got a couple of my fingers in that dirty cunt and you’re already this fucked out.” Then he kissed you, only to leave you even more sloven. Tongue taking over your mouth, as if he was marking his territory. 

“I can feel you clenching, babygirl. You can’t help yourself, can you?” 

“I’m- I’m so close, Steve, please…”

“You want to soak my fingers with your cum, is that it?” He teased. 

“Yes, yes, daddy, please.” 

“Go ahead, babygirl. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You didn’t hold back any longer, you squealed in bliss, the adrenaline of fornicating in such a public place ignited your senses. You made a mess all over Steve’s hand as your knees wavered. When you had given Steve all that you had, Steve only smirked maliciously, loving to see you crumble beneath him. It made him feel powerful, like a king who had just claimed victory over a battle. 

“There you go, so fucking messy.” 

When your high started to come down, your hazy sight stared into his delinquent face, as he retreated his fingers out of you and wrapped them around his lips. “So fucking delicious…” His mouth made obscene sounds of enjoying the taste of your release, painting an even more erotic atmosphere in the lavatory. 

You walked hand in hand after that to go back to your mates, pretending as if nothing hadn’t just gone down in the back of the pub. You sat with cum-drenched underwear in your jeans whilst Steve nefariously sipped on his beer and joked like a professional comedian.

Wasn’t the first time he washed his hands and got away with an impious crime.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

A drizzly Sunday evening, splatters of the rainfall clinging to your window; there wasn’t much to do other than being cooped up in your couch in your oversized sweaters and a mug of sweetened hot chocolate. 

The tenuous sounds of the movie playing before you shepherds the individuals before the screen. It had been a week since you and Steve had officially moved in and it took you three days long to set every furniture and embellishment in the right places. 

The ivory couch in the living room was new and clean until you and Steve decided to desecrate that too. 

You threw your head back and laid it against the length of the headrest, with your legs spread wide open, resting them on Steve’s sturdy shoulders. Your fingers massaged his scalp, trying to hold onto him for dear life. 

You were panting rapidly, not even bothering of containing your wails this time. Not when Steve’s face was caged within your thighs. You’d try to escape and lock them together but you couldn’t even if you wanted to anyway. Not when Steve was holding you down rigidly with his hands like this. 

His tongue made lewd noises of lapping your sit hungrily like a famished man. The way his beard would tickle the insides of your thighs made your head spin like an accelerated carousel. Drops of sweat clung to your skin as it fell to your breasts, burning up the temperature in the room, despite the chilly weather. 

Your stimulated sense tried to focus on the program playing before you, but you just couldn’t. You felt dizzy, your lips felt dry and you couldn’t think of anything else but the feel of Steve’s tongue sloppily sucking all the way up from your entrance to your clit. 

“Oh fuck, Steve…” 

Steve paused for a moment to look up at you. You were a salaciously picturesque sight. Covered in sweat, fogged with lust. Your lips were parted with your eyes closed. Your chest was heaving up and down and your breasts were displayed overtly above him. Your cold hard nipples were moistened with his saliva from his previous warmups before he moved to the more sensitive part. 

Steve resumed his violation on your body, as his right hand levitated to your hardened nipple. He groped the globe and pinched your nipple as if it wasn’t stiff enough already. He loved taking you from every possible angle and he loved exploring your body in the most adventurous way.

What can you say? He’s a multitasker. 

He slurped your flowing juices as your body kept producing due to his relentless devouring. He kept swallowing your sweetness until you fell apart. Your shrieks echoed against the walls, as you were engulfed in euphoria. You made a mess on Steve’s mouth but he didn’t mind one bit. 

In fact, he loved it. He loved you raunchy and he loved you nasty. 

“Oh fuck yeah, babygirl. You taste so fucking sweet. Just like cherry pie.” 

After you regained your composure, you opened your eyes and lift your legs off his shoulders. You got up from your seat and switched places with him. As if he had nimbly memorized the cue, he took your spot that was still warm from your butt, as he spread his legs to make room for you who were now on your knees.

You immediately zipped down his pants and pulled it down along with his briefs, just enough to unfetter his throbbing member and let it sprung free in the air. He sat with his arms rested against the length of the headrest where your head was previously placed on, like a king on his cushioned throne.

The imperious look on his face only got you going even more. You licked your lips as you maintained eye contact with his lust-drunken eyes. “Time to return the favour, daddy.”

[sharkneto]

Thanks for tagging me, @clementineofmine! :)

25 fics

475,274 - so close to that half a mil milestone!

Lend a Hand (my first fic to cross the 1,000 kudos mark), Had Worse, Holding It Together (my first big, multichapter fic), Minor Convenience, and Lonely Drunk

I do - or I try to! I'm horribly behind right now, but I try to respond. I like the interaction and I appreciate people taking the time to comment. Nothing a fic writer likes more than chatting about their fic :) I appreciate every one I get, they mean the world to me.

I mean... If we're talking emotional punch, it's hard to beat Nice Things Can't Last Forever (They Still End Too Soon). That one is more just grief, though - in terms of straight angst, maybe Searching for Good Times or Crueler to Remember (I cheated, I listed three)

Happiest ending... maybe The Zoo Is Better When It's Not All Dead

I do not! I have some regular crossovers I think about for fun, but I have no real interest in actually writing any. They're for easy daydream plots.

I haven't received direct hate, but I've received "constructive criticism" in comments and I've gotten a rude bookmark before. I'm lucky, people are nice 99% of the time.

Nop. Too busy going insane over platonic relationships.

I don't think so?

I have! Bone Weary can be read in Slovene HERE. It's cool as fuck.

I have not. Closest I've gotten is brainstorming and bullshitting with @non-plutonian-druid

Five/Delores. I will never be over those two.

Oh god. My WIP folder is a disgrace, there are so many fics in there. I'm hesitant to say never finish, because I don't think I've really written any of them off as Never To Be Finished. But a fic on the far back burner is my Rob and Sarah holiday fic. It's just so self indulgent, as close to original fiction as you can get with it still be fanfic. My OC's from my AU of an AU, where the character actually from the source material makes a cameo.

I think I'm good at characterization, having characters sound distinctive and like themselves. I also feel like I hit emotions well.

None, I'm a god. Actually, though, I think I have a hard time letting characters sit. I always want to give descriptors to exactly tell how they are moving or reacting while talking. I see the conversation happening like a movie in my head, and I want to directly translate how I'm seeing it to the page, motions and all. I think I could have better flow if I simplified. I can't bring myself to, though. Those eyebrows are going to twitch and you, the reader, are going to know about it.

I think you have to vibe it out. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. A disclaimer when Google Translate is being used is a must, if you are doing that. A heads up to the people who actually speak the language that you're about to butcher the fuck out of it.

Technically, it's Captain America waaayyy back when I was in high school (I think that fic might actually be lost to time now, idk the state of ff.net anymore). I would actually count The Umbrella Academy though, as my true start.

Oh. Huh. I'll take this in the Malevolent direction - I've got a fic I've been working on, on and off, for like - fuck - a year now. I really want to sit down and just finish and share it. One of these days, maybe. It's an outside POV on Arthur and John's whole deal (what else would I be writing :) )

Making me choose just one :( I think... I think it's A Rusty Cog. I come back and just read that one a lot. It was a cathartic write, and that slow, slow recovery to almost okay is so important to me.

Thanks again for the tag, Clem, that was fun :) If you're interested in playing, @ancientstone @ford-ye-fiji @assaily and anyone else who sees this and wants to play - consider yourself tagged!

Author Interview

(This was originally a tag meme that Mod Ragna was tagged in ages ago, so feel free to tag others if you answer it!)

How many works do you have on AO3?

What's your total AO3 word count?

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

What fic has the angstiest ending?

What fic has the happiest ending?

Do you write crossovers?

Have you received hate on AO3?

Do you write smut?

Have you had a fic get stolen?

Have you had a fic get translated?

Have you co-written a fic?

What's your fave ship?

What's a WIP you want to finish but never will?

What are your writing strengths?

What are your writing weaknesses?

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages on AO3?

What's the first fandom you wrote for?

What fandom/ship have you not written but want to?

What's your fave fic you've written?