#There's no reason to get embarrassed because you spilled a few secrets!}-

[charliedawn]

"Marry me."

How I think marriage proposals would go for those characters.

Sandor Clegane:

"…Wanna get married ?" You asked as both you and Sandor were sleeping side by side in the forest. Sandor blinked—half asleep. He had back pain and a headache. He had hoped that the wine would help him to fall asleep quicker, as to not have to hear you say any other crazy thing or request for the day. But, of course. He was mistaken.

"Huh ?" When the information seemed to eventually settle in his brain, his whole face seemed a perfect depiction of confusion. He finally turned around and you could see in his eyes that he wasn’t exactly sober either. You decided this was the perfect moment to ask—since he would probably not even remember you asked the next morning. It gave you courage to ask again.

"Wanna get married ?" You repeated with a little more determination and this time, he answered.

"No."

"Ah."

"…"

"…"

"…You. Wanna get married ?" He asked this time—more because he was curious than awaiting an actual answer. But, you took your chance and answered truthfully.

"Sure."

He was momentarily surprised by your confidence before he huffed a laugh and wrapped an arm around you.

"…Fine. We’ll get married in the morning. Now, hush."

There was then a moment of silence before you both bursted out laughing. Just two drunks having the most normal conversation ever. You knew that by tomorrow, he would have surely forgotten all about tonight. But for now, you were satisfied with the knowledge that his subconscience hadn’t said no.

Oberyn Martell:

"Would you like to marry me ?" You asked Oberyn while he wad writing and whose lips curved slightly into a small smirk at the request. He was used to your rather straightforward nature. He liked it even. It made him laugh and enjoy your presence at parties. You were curious and completely unashamed or afraid of any consequences your requests or demands would bring. This is why he always caved. But, he could also be playful and this is why he answered with a small grin:

"No."

He was curious to see your reaction, but his smile slightly faltered when he saw the hurt in your eyes at his rejection. It was the first time he had seen you so upset and he immediately regretted his words.

"Oh. Okay then." You were embarrassed and turned around quickly to get back to your own private quarters. But he was by your side in an instant and wrapped his arms around you from behind.

"I was only kidding. I would LOVE to marry you, sweet peach."

He then kissed the back of your neck lovingly. You let out a sigh of relief as you leaned back against him.

"…Really ?"

He chuckled.

"Yes. Really."

He then kissed your temple and you stayed in his arms for a while before he started nuzzling the back of your neck.

"But what brought the subject, sweet peach ?"

You sighed before closing your eyes.

"…You’re the only one who truly enjoys my presence. You laugh and smile at me, even when my words are nonsense. So I thought…why not ask ?"

Oberyn seemed taken aback for a moment before his smile widened and he pressed your back further against him to kiss your shoulder and whisper in your ear.

"Let me tell you a little secret. I would marry you for your nonsense, my dear. Because your nonsense makes more sense to me than this whole world does…"

Tyrion Lannister:

"Do you want to marry me ?" You asked Tyrion one night and the man was so stunned that he spilled his cup of wine.

"What ?"

Tyrion was the most decent between all the Lannisters. He had helped you more than once and there was no doubt in your proposal. You would never find better husband.

"You heard me."

He stayed silent again and made you nervous. Would he refuse ? Would he tell you that he has already found someone ? Would he tell you that he has no interest in you ? But, he didn’t. He simply sighed.

"…Why ?"

Why ? You could tell him a thousand reasons why. Because he was one of the few good men you knew. Because you had no intention of marrying any other. Because you knew he could be gentle. Because he was funny. Because he could be brave. Because he had the heart of a true lion…but no. You wouldn’t tell him like that. Because even if you did, he wouldn’t believe you.

"Because I want to." You settled for instead and his eyes widened slightly in surprise before he smiled a little and shook his head.

"Why would you want to marry an imp ?"

"It is not an imp that I am marrying, but a prince." You retorted. You both stared at each other and his gaze softened as he started actually considering it for a moment.

"You would be miserable." You frowned in incomprehension at his words.

"Why ?" He glanced away for a second.

"Because I am not a good man."

You huffed a bitter laugh at his words.

"Haven’t you heard ? There are no good man left, my prince."

Tyrion seemed taken aback, but he couldn’t deny the truth behind your words and drank a little of his wine.

"Tell me, Tyrion. If I was to become your wife/husband. Would you hit me ? Would you abuse me ? Would you lie to me ?"

He shook his head with a small smile. No. He wouldn’t. You smiled back and Tyrion finally nodded understandingly. It wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about finding a good man. It was always about finding the one who wouldn’t hurt you…And hence, he understood and maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a wife/husband ?

Jaime Lannister:

"Jaime…" You sat down next to him at the feast prepared for the Lannisters and even though you could feel Cersei glaring daggers at you—you grabbed his hand. He didn’t react, but you could feel his fingers slightly curving to hold yours.

"Hello, buttercup." He finally greeted you in a whisper and you couldn’t help but smile weakly. You knew of his heart and his loyalty to his sister. It wasn’t really your business to interfere, but you didn’t like how Cersei was treating him. And, you also knew that his heart could maybe be won over.

So, you did the most nonsense ever and challenged him. You stood up and faced him—catching the attention of everyone in the room as you declared loudly.

"Jaime Lannister. I challenge you to an arm wrestling competition !"

That ought to have gained his attention as his eyes finally met yours and what he found in there made his eyes widen in surprise. You were determined and even though he was a knight—you didn’t seem scared of losing. He tried to laugh and wave it off as a mere joke—but you didn’t back down and even provoked him.

"Are you perhaps not a lion ? But a scared chicken ?"

That oughta do it. He was up before you could even pronounce another word and the fury in his eyes made you smile. He had taken the bait.

"If I win, you must agree to one single demand of my choice without knowing what it is !"

"And if I win ?" He quickly shot back and you bit back a laugh.

"Then I will give you whatever you want."

In a matter of minutes, everything was settled and you were both in position. Everyone assumed you were mad or had consumed too much wine to challenge Jaime Lannister—but it couldn’t be further from the truth. You had planned it carefully. You had trained and trained your body and your mind. You had worn big sleeves to hide the muscles hidden underneath. This could be the most important challenge of your life and you wanted to win. More than anything.

The moment Jaime gripped your hand, his eyes stared straight at you as he realised what you had done. This was not the strength of the Y/N he was accustomed to…but it was too late to stop and in a matter of seconds—Jaime Lannister was on the floor.

Everyone was stunned.

But, you only gracefully stood up from your seat and looked down at him before smirking.

"…I will be waiting for that marriage proposal." And with that, you were out of the room—leaving a very confused Jaime and a very angry Cersei behind. But, you knew that a lion never backed down from his word. And Jaime would be yours.

Petyr Baelish (Littlefinger) :

"Marry me." Littlefinger didn’t even seem surprised by you sudden demand. Everyone knew that your father wished to marry you off to Ramsay Bolton. And even though Littlefinger wasn’t sure why you would come to him with such a request, he didn’t show it.

He didn’t even look up as he simply asked.

"Why ?"

You huffed a bitter laugh. The man would sell mother and father for a throne. And he dared to ask why ?

"Does it matter ?"

He licked his thumb to turn the page of the book he was reading nonchalantly, even though you knew that he was secretly weighing the pros and cons of such an alliance.

"Depends. What will it bring me ?"

You looked away.

"Don’t pretend not to realise how advantageous it would be for you to be a part of the Lannister family. You’d have an easy access to the iron throne."

He hummed and pretended to think about it. It was true marrying you would be a fast way to get access to all the nice advantages of being a part of the so-called prestigious Lannister family. But, it had its own set of disadvantages to consider. He would become more than just a little man in the shadows that no one would deem worthy of being a threat, he would become a lion. A black lion.

"…Tell me why you would lower yourself to such an alliance with me. Surely, there would be one handsome young man who would say yes to such a proposal without even blinking. Why go to me, princess/prince ?"

You hesitated before sighing in defeat.

"…Because if I am to marry a snake, better be one I know than one chosen by Tywin Lannister."

At that, Petyr finally dignified you with a glance. You held his gaze and after a few seconds, he smiled.

"Very well, my beauty. Lead the snake to the lion’s den then."

Sansa Stark:

You and Sansa had been longtime allies and friends. You were maybe the only friend she had ever had after the almost complete destruction of House Stark. You had developed feeling for her over time and knew that asking her for her hand wouldn’t be easy—but you were willing to try.

"Please, Sansa of House Stark." You knelt on one knee before her with a rose in your hand and the other hand on your heart. "Would you marry me ?"

Sansa was surprised by the proposal. She had married twice and both marriages weren’t a success. She had lived through nightmares and pain out of such a dream as marriage. She used to want to get married with someone she loved so badly, but not anymore.

"My heart is not so easily won by a rose and pretty words anymore." She replied instead—thinking that she would succeed in breaking your resolve. But, she was mistaken.

"I know. I know that I may never be worthy of even your eyes on me. But…I am a fool, and my heart beats for you. And if you want it ? Then it’s yours. And even if you don’t want it. Let me fight for you. And prove my loyalty to the most beautiful and strong lady the North has ever seen." You pleaded and Sansa was rendered speechless.

She looked into your eyes and saw only love and adoration. She then glanced down at the rose you offered her and after a moment of hesitation, she finally took it.

"…You may try to win my heart, Y/N. But, I cannot promise you success."

You smiled and shook your head.

"Just having you acknowledge my feelings is enough for hope to enter my heart."

Sansa smiled back.

Maybe…romance wasn’t utterly dead.

Jon Snow: (Before the tragedy 😭)

"Marry me." It was said with such confidence that Jon himself was stunned as he looked up at you with widened eyes.

"What ?"

"You heard me."

There was a moment of silence before Jon smiled and he suddenly pulled you into his arms. There was no yes or no. Just a moment of pure euphoria as he couldn’t stop laughing as he buried his face in your chest. He was so happy, he forgot to form words.

When he was finally calm once more, he kissed you passionately.

"Yes. Yes. Yes, I will."

You both started laughing together and Jon even fell back on the snow as you held him tightly.

Daenerys:

"Marry me." You demanded and Daenerys looked back at you. She didn’t seem surprised or even mildly confused by the demand. She knew of your feelings for her—and she was more than happy to reciprocate.

But, marriage ?

Marriage meant boundaries. Marriage meant attachment. Marriage meant she would have to think about you and a possible future where she wasn’t all powerful.

She sighed before stroking your cheek and offering you an apologetic smile.

"My dear Y/N…If only I could, do not believe for a second that I would say no. But, as the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms…I cannot."

You closed your eyes and a few tears rolled down your cheeks. You had expected such an answer of course, but still…your heart ached.

"I…understand." You forced yourself to say and Daenerys nodded. She was a queen. A khaleesi. And you were just…human.

Ser Jorah:

"Please. Marry me." Ser Jorah was stunned at the unexpected request and turned towards you with widened eyes. He was about to answer when you quickly added.

"Love me. Hate me. I want you and you want her. But, I am not asking for your love. But for your protection, kind ser Jorah." He closes his mouth and seemed to think about it for a moment. He knew that you were a young lady/man who had left her/his family to join Daenerys. He had no idea you held such feelings for him…

"You can have my protection, but why go to such lengths to have it ?" He finally asked and you sighed before taking his hand in yours.

"Because it is not only physical protection I seek." You then laid his hand flat upon your heart and Ser Jorah seemed taken aback once more. He looked at you and you didn’t shy away from his gaze.

You knew Ser Jorah was honourable and even if he would never return your feelings, he would make a far greater husband than anyone you ever knew. He would respect you and your heart. And that was more than you could ever wish for…

Ser Jorah accepted.

After all, it was only his name that you were going to bear and his sword that would protect you. You would call him husband, but only in name.

[lovebugism]

omg omg omg I can’t wait for tcar part 9 🥹 I miss eddie spaghetti and peach so much 🥹🥹🥹

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | sunshine, sometimes

summary: the gang searches for peace of mind at lake lemon. after an enlightening conversation with steve, eddie unknowingly stirs up a storm. (17k)

pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader, mentions of past steve harrington / f!reader

tags: experienced!reader, idiots in love, domestic bliss (road trip edition), newly established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort, the gang's all here! TW probable typos, swearing, mentions of b*lly h*rgrove and toxic relationships, kissing, heavy petting, fingering, eddie coming in his pants (vol. 3), smut 18+

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 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

You think it’s entirely possible that you made Eddie up in your head.

Sleeping next to you, painted in satin shades of pale pink and milky white, he looks exactly like a dream.

His curls are wild, spread across his face and cotton pillow in a chestnut-colored halo around his head. Soft snores billow from his rosy mouth in heavy, even breaths — a heavenly sound you think could lull you back to sleep all over again. His long lashes flutter against the flushed apple of his cheek, made a gentle strawberry shade from the ardor of his slumber. The soft color splotches the tip of his nose and the plush of his lips.

Eddie’s made of all the prettiest colors you wish you could paint. Maybe then he’d finally see himself the way you do. He possesses an otherworldly kind of beauty — one bordering on religious — something holy people used to sacrifice themselves for.

And here he is. In your bed and on your mouth, like a vivid ruby lipstick stain you’re not rushing to rub out just yet. Or ever, if you had anything to say about it.

“I can feel you staring, weirdo,” Eddie mumbles, slurred and heavy with sleep. The words come out muffled because his face is shoved into the pillow.

You’re not as embarrassed at getting caught as you probably should be. 

You could deny it if you wanted. His eyes are still shut. You’ve got every ounce of plausible deniability to defend yourself with, but for some strange reason, you don’t feel the urge to. He was far too pretty not to be unabashedly examined, like a piece of art you could stare at for ages and find something new in every time.

“Really?” you hum in return, voice as quiet with leftover fatigue as your sleepy smile. “I didn’t know my boyfriend had superpowers.”

The smile that tugs at Eddie’s mouth is absentminded but no less sincere. It’s lopsided and rosy and full of all the love he has for you. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of being called your boyfriend. He figures his chest will swell every time he hears the words — as long as they spill from your mouth, anyway.

“You weren’t supposed to know about that,” he teases quietly — eyes still shut, grin still pressed into the pillow.

“I can keep a secret,” you promise in a whisper. Your hand rises from beneath the fluffy comforter to spread across his cheek. Your palm settles warmly at his jaw as your fingers brush a few rogue curls from his forehead. “As long as you give me a kiss for it.”

Eddie’s smile, weighed down by sleep and adoration, only widens at your words. 

His button eyes are swollen as he blinks the haze of sleep from them. It feels a little like his heart has stopped when he’s able to see you clearly. 

It’s like he’s looking down a high-up cliff or staring into the deep abyss of outer space — a warm, empty, and lurching feeling in his chest that only comes from witnessing something so profound.

The profundity in question is you.

It’s your wild hair and puffy cheeks and crooked smile. It’s the way your swollen eyes twinkle with adoration at an ungodly hour of the morning. The way your honey voice seems to match the golden sunrise. You’re an angel in the flesh — a divinely ethereal being wearing his Hellfire tee to sleep in. 

The beauty you are takes him by surprise for all of half a second. It makes him forget how to breathe and makes his brain go all fuzzy. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time every time he looks at you.

“Well, as long as it’ll keep you quiet,” Eddie huffs, feigning annoyance, as he lifts his head off the pillow to settle onto yours. 

His plush lips press against your subtle smile a second later. Your mouths entwine something heavy, like maple syrup or marshmallow fluff — a kiss so full of sleep and distant longing.

But that’s all it is. A kiss. It’s nothing more than an innocuous peck that Eddie stamps upon your mouth. His nose smushes into the side of yours, and he’s gone as quickly as he came. 

Your shut eyes flutter open again. They widen when Eddie ducks down for another sneaking peck. He lingers a few moments longer this time, like he can’t quite get enough of you the same way you can never seem to get enough of him.

Your grin grows. You feel a bit like you’re glittering all over when Eddie settles back onto the mattress. But maybe that’s just the rising sun peeking in flaxen shades from the window — or maybe it’s love sparkling like orange embers in your chest. Maybe it’s both. 

Maybe loving Eddie feels pink and gold like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.

It’s just as easy, anyway.

“Ooh,” you singsong with a smile as you prop yourself on your elbow. “Two for one deal, huh?”

The boy shrugs one shoulder. His leadened lids fall over his chocolate syrup eyes when sleep threatens to pull him under again. He shifts against the mattress to get comfortable, though it’s much harder without you pressed against him.

“I gotta secret identity to protect, sweets. Gotta make sure we keep it under wraps and everything, you know?” The tired boy’s mumbles are followed by a hearty yawn that scrunches his sleep-ridden features.

“Well, you can pry this secret from my cold, dead hands,” you lilt quietly, leaning down to sprinkle a featherlight kiss to his flushed cheek. His skin is warm against your mouth, rosy with a good night’s sleep.

“Well, except for Robin,” you whisper shortly thereafter. “I have to tell Robin.”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in place of a laugh.

“And Steve, too. He’ll be mad if I tell Robin and not him.”

“Right,” Eddie scoffs with a tired nod against his pillow.

You can tell he’s trying hard to stay awake for you. He’d done this the night before, too — kept talking to you even though his body was threatening to shut down after a long day of school and road-tripping. You’d called him out on it then, and he confessed that it hurt too much to stop talking to you. He said he’d rather be exhausted than miss you, even for the faintest fraction of a second.

A smile hints at the corners of your lips as you stare down at the boy. You duck down once more to brush a fleeting kiss to the warm apple of his cheek — there and gone again. 

Eddie sighs at the heavenly feeling, then scrunches his features in annoyance when the mattress shifts beneath him.

“Where are you going?” he grouses over the sound of your padding feet and the door creaking open. He’s got one tired eye squinted when he rises to look at you over his shoulder. His untamed curls are as drenched with sleep as the rest of his softly swollen features.

You stand in the doorway and smile back at him. You don’t look nearly as exhausted as he does. That’s only because you spent the better part of the morning ogling at him, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

It wouldn’t change anything, anyway.

Slumber looks too good on you. It’s got you glowing like a pink and orange sunrise, grinning like the morning dew has kissed you. It’s a very distinct part of your beauty that took Eddie several days of unabashed staring to understand. You’ve got a far-off kind of quality about you, dreamlike. 

You’re a nymph made of flower petals with unearthly eyes and angelic lips. You’re a swan princess who’s enchanted his imagination. His mind can’t go anywhere without bumping into thoughts of you — like some romantic spell you’ve cast upon him.

Still a bit grumpy with sleep and overcome with yearning, Eddie makes a mental note to add you to a future campaign. What better way to tell someone you love them than by making them your muse, solidifying them in the history of you forever?

“I’m gonna tell everyone that my boyfriend is basically the metalhead equivalent of Clark Kent,” you joke with a crooked smile that flashes your similarly crooked teeth.

The door creaks when it shuts behind you. Eddie’s chest aches with the empty feeling of missing you. The warmth of adoration lingers, however, as though you’d never left at all.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Thankfully, no one had gotten Jason Voorhees-ed while you were sleeping.

You make your rounds about the cabin, peeking into darkened bedrooms and making sure everyone was where you’d left them. You knew Robin hadn’t truly meant her words from the day before, about Ted Bundy or some equivalent creep stalking the woods of Lake Lemon. She’s sincere but in a blatantly irrational sort of way. Sweet but slightly insane. She’s an illogical genius that unintentionally gets in your head.

You’re grateful to find that you hadn’t woken up in the middle of slasher film, however. You’re able to exhale a trembling sigh of relief as you walk into the kitchen.

Steve The Hair Harrington unknowingly keeps you company as you break out the supplies needed to make a couple of teenagers a sufficient breakfast. His soft snores fill the quiet cabin from where he’s sprawled out in the center of the pull-out couch in the living room. He’s twisted in a thin white sheet and gripping a single pillow like his life depends on it.

He used to hold you like that, too. Like you were a buoy in an ocean and the only thing keeping him afloat. He’d cage you in his arms with a grip that only seemed to intensify with his sleep. It felt like being suffocated almost. But in a good way.

The memory is glittering with reminiscence instead of soaking in heartache. 

You don’t miss being with Steve, nor do you miss the person you were when you were with him. You do miss the closeness of him, though — in the simplest, most human way. Also, you just really like taking the piss out of him and all his little idiosyncrasies.

With his sleeping form so near, everything you do feels so much louder in the quiet. The fridge closes too aggressively, the eggs crack too sharply, the cabinets close too harshly. You grimace with every noise you make, checking over your shoulder to make sure Steve hadn’t heard from across the room.

He hadn’t. ‘Cause he tends to sleep like he’s hibernating.

He doesn’t rouse when a humming car crunches against gravel when it pulls into the driveway outside — or when the bowl of pancake batter in your hands clatters to the countertop accordingly.

The milky white concoction sways in the container, splashing in pearly dots onto the gray granite. You’re too distracted to focus on the mess. Your heart starts to race at the appearance of the sudden visitor with the irrational thought that Ted Bundy was strolling up to your doorstep like some kind of offbeat traveling salesman. 

God, you need to stop hanging out with Robin so much. Or watching so many horror movies. Maybe both.

Because it’s only Nancy. 

It’s sweet, beautiful, lithe Nancy Wheeler and her beat-up Station Wagon. 

Her curly hair is cropped at her shoulders, hastily combed through and pinned out of her face with a butterfly clip. Her pretty pink skirt swishes around her knees as she reaches for a leather satchel in the backseat. Her purple and white Emerson College tee is tucked into it, matching the same-colored Converse on her feet.

“Hey,” she greets with a pretty wave and delicate smile when she catches sight of you in the doorway.

“Hi…” you respond, mixed with a breathy sigh of what should be relief. 

Because she isn’t Ted Bundy — or some local Lake Lemon serial killer. She’s far too pretty and far too kind to be either of those. But your heart still thrums something fierce against your ribcage when you look at her. You’re still drenched with ice-cold fear when you know you should be relieved.

But despite your clammy trembling hands, you hold the door open for her.

She winces at the sight of Steve’s sleeping figure on the couch, ocean eyes widening at his freckled back peeking from beneath the thin sheet. Her footsteps become noticeably lighter as you lead her into the kitchen. 

It’s far too big for just the two of you. The open space is filled only with a distant awkwardness and the potent smell of sweet vanilla you’d dropped into the pancake batter.

“Sorry…” Nancy grimaces as she sets her bag on the dining table, as though her company was something she needed to be excused for. Her bushy brows pinch together, and her doe-eyes swim with apology. “I know I was supposed to be here last night…”

You shift your weight on your feet across from her, arms wrapping around yourself for further comfort. She’s just a few feet away from you, but the distance feels cavernous.

“Yeah, is— is everything, you know… okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s just— it’s dumb,” Nancy scoffs out a laugh, shrugging off your worry with ease. Her gaze flits to the ceiling. You can see smudged eyeliner around her eyes, like she’s still wearing yesterday’s makeup. “I got carried away with the school paper after school, and I didn’t get home until late, and I… I figured I should just wait until morning to make the drive, you know?

You nod slowly in response — for a couple seconds too long, maybe — as you think of what else to say. “Well, was, uh— was traffic okay, at least?”

“Yeah. It was fine,” she answers and bites back a yawn. “People around here are amazing drivers, you know, so… It was a perfect, anxiety-free three hours.”

Her plush pink lips curl into a smile. 

Yours follow suit, but the breathy laugh that spills from them feels much more forced.

“You’re probably tired, huh?” you wonder, then ramble before she can answer you. “I could get Steve to move upstairs with Robin— or Robin can come down here, and you can take the bed. Unless you wanna share with her, but fair warning, she does kick in her sleep, so…”

A giggle spills from Nancy’s mouth. It’s a soft, bubbly sound that squints the edges of her eyes. Her pointed chin tucks to her chest like she’s trying to hide the gentle grin from you. 

You can’t tell if she finds your babbling amusing or endearing like Eddie does. 

You quickly realize you don’t care — you’re just proud that you’ve made her smile. And, fuck, you can’t even blame Steve for wanting her more than you because look at her. You should hate her, yet you can’t take your eyes off her.

“No, I’m good. We can… deal with all that when everyone wakes up, I guess,” she dismisses with a shake of her head. 

You vaguely catch her eyes darting past you to the tornado of breakfast behind you — a whirlwind of uncooked food, miscellaneous containers, and crumbled napkins. It’s a mess only a gentle, well-meaning child could make. That’s what you feel like most days, anyway, so you guess it kind of fits.

“Do you want help with breakfast?” Nancy wonders when her gaze flits back to you.

You can’t tell if she’s asking to be kind or if she really wants to. You decline either way. “No. You’ve— You’ve been driving all morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you affirm with a wavering smile.

Her grin is equally sheepish. She falters, a tad bit awkwardly at first, before mumbling something and heading out the back door to explore.

A trembling sigh of relief shakes through your chest when the sliding glass door swishes shut behind her. 

It gets better over time — the preliminary tension that settles like suffocating humidity between the two of you — but it never gets any easier. A forgive but can’t forget sort of rigidity you can’t quite smooth out.

You get only a few more minutes of uninterrupted solitude after Nancy’s gone. The last bit of peace you’re bound to have all day.

A door clicks open and shut again from down the hallway, followed by the subtle scuff of socked feet against carpet. 

Your eyes widen softly when Dustin appears from around the corner, though you figure you really shouldn’t be surprised. Of course he was the kid that woke up before the rest of his friends. You feel a bit like you should fix him a cup of black coffee while he reads the business section of the newspaper. He’s far more mature than you were at fourteen.

“Oh,” you hum quietly, a soft smile twitching at the edges of your lips. “Morning.”

Dustin’s swollen eyes squint at you. His gaze darts around the room, as wild as the chestnut curls on his head. It’s strange not seeing him in his usual Thinking Cap. He looks a little foreign in his baggy blue Scooby Doo pajama pants and baggier yellow Camp Know-Where tee.

“Where’s Eddie?” he wonders aloud when he turns back to you, like he can’t quite fathom seeing one of you without the other somewhere nearby.

Your chest aches. You don’t know why. 

Well, you do, but you figure it shouldn’t hurt as bad as it does. 

Dustin was Eddie’s friend. He had zero obligation to care about you the same way. He didn’t have to like you past his not-so-subtle admiration for your boyfriend, but it still hurts that he doesn’t think you’re as cool.

“Uh… Still sleeping. I think,” you lilt, voice as high and light as the salty breeze slipping past the slightly ajar backdoor.

“Oh. Okay.” Dustin nods and doesn’t say anything further. He doesn’t seem as weighed down by the silence as you are. He peeks over his shoulder at Steve’s rousing figure on the couch and then at the pots and pans of food on the counter. His tired blue eyes fill with light when they flit at you again. “Can I help?”

He’s suddenly aglow with a boyish sort of enthusiasm. His bushy brows raise and a smile pulls at his face, and you find it dreadfully hard to tell him no.

“Sure. If you want to, but—” You’re about to prattle on and on about how he shouldn’t feel obligated to. That he’s a kid on vacation and can sleep in if he wants. That he shouldn’t have to worry about helping you if he doesn’t really want to.

But he’s already walking to the sink, flipping on the faucet so he can wash his hands.

Your aching heart swells with warmth.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

The rest of your friends wake up one by one.

Mike and El come out shortly after Dustin, the latter already dressed for the day. She’s a ray of sunshine compared to her grumpy boyfriend. His hair is a wild raven halo, and his cheeks are lined with indentions from the sheets. El hangs on his arm in a pair of jean coveralls, sparkling like the cerulean waters outside. 

“Wanna call Hopper?” you ask the blushing girl from where you scramble eggs at the stove.

She nods with her cheek smushed into Mike’s shoulder, eyes wide and sheepish like she’s embarrassed about wanting to talk to her dad. You don’t blame her for it. You tend to call Hopper after most minor inconveniences. 

Dustin mans the kitchen while you help her with the telephone. He’s very meticulous about the cooking, like he’s got flipping pancakes down to a science. He’s too good of a sous-chef for you to get mad at him for stealing from the stack every now and then.

Robin and Max are sitting at the dining table by the time you get back. They’re practically zombies, silent and grumpy, with their freckled features scrunched like they take offense to the early morning.

Lucas is the last of the kids to come out, though a part of you thinks it might’ve been intentional. 

He’s traded his pajamas for day clothes — Hawkins Tigers track pants and a fitted t-shirt. He idles in the kitchen for several long moments with his trembling hands balled into fists. You can tell he wants to sit next to Max. The thought of rejection keeps him from gravitating towards her, though. Instead, he stands at the counter next to Dustin and tries to hide his grieving.

Steve comes second to last — which is strange, because he was the first one there in a sense. The volume in the kitchen grows too loud for him to ignore. When he comes to the begrudging realization that there’s no falling back to sleep, he decides to join the rest of you.

His feet trudge down the hall when he returns from the bathroom. The only remnants of slumber he wears are the sweatpants and wrinkled t-shirt he’d thrown on sometime after waking up. His structured features are seemingly too sharp to be weighed down by fatigue.

“Where are those little shits going?” he wonders in the place of any actual greeting. He eyes Mike and El as they depart through the sliding glass door. His bushy brows scrunch in confusion and distant worry — neither of which ever seem to leave him.

“Probably to talk to Nancy—”

“What?” Steve sputters, wide-eyed and gaped mouth. “Nancy’s— Nancy’s here?”

Your brows pinch at his shock. You scrape fluffy yellow eggs from the skillet into a large bowl, fit to feed a sizable family — yours of which has squeezed like sardines into this cabin. “Well… You did invite her, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but…” he trails off, features twisted in puzzlement. His anxious hands prop against his sweatpant-clad waist. “When did she get in?”

“This morning—”

His eyes fly open once more. His head whips over his shoulder, like he might see her standing there, then turns back to gape at you again. “And you didn’t wake me up?”

You scoff a faint laugh at him. “Why would I wake you up?”

“‘Cause he’s in love with her,” Dustin answers for him, mouth full of the pancake he grips in his right hand. “Obviously.”

“Shut up,” Steve squints at him with all the annoyance of an older sibling despite having been an only child all his life. His irked features relax when his cinnamon gaze flits to you. “Where is she now?”

“Uh… She went for a walk a while ago,” you answer absentmindedly, as though she hadn’t been on your mind the whole time. “I think she’s sitting out by the beach waiting for everyone to get up now, though.”

You and Steve share similarly narrowed eyes when you look out the kitchen window. The brunette girl sits at the square table outside the cabin. You can only see the profile of her pointed features as she smiles up at her younger brother and his girlfriend — a look so full of annoyance it can only be love.

“Maybe take it down a few notches before you try to talk to her, alright, Stevie?” Robin teases from the dining table.

“Yeah,” Lucas lilts with a slow nod, obviously playful in his dogpiling. He leans against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, trying hard not to smile too wide. “You look a little crazy right now, man.”

“It’s only ‘cause you little shits drive me crazy,” Steve defends in a monotone.

“Go tell her breakfast is almost done,” you advise with a sincere smile, though your eyes sparkle with mischief. “You can use that as an excuse to talk to her instead of whatever bullshit you were about to make up.”

Steve nods with a flat face. “Thanks, Peach.”

Dustin and Lucas help you transport the containers of food to the rectangle dining table — pancakes, eggs, sausage, and only halfway stale biscuits. Basically whatever leftover groceries you could find in the cupboards and the fridge.

Steve is too busy idling in one place to bother helping. With his eyes trained on the sliding glass door, it’s too apparent that he’s in his own head. He’s trying hard to work up the courage to talk to a girl he’s known for years now. 

As you sit in your seat at the table — beside Robin, across from Max, with a spare chair open for Eddie on your other side — you watch the fidgeting boy from over your shoulder. His pointed features harden slightly with his newfound bravery, his chest puffing with a wavering breath in. You watch him take a firm step towards the door, but he’s stopped in place by three bodies already walking towards it.

Nancy was already on her way back, with Mike and El at her side. Steve had been too late  — too doubtful of himself, too frightened of the pushed-away problems he’d caused. He’s forced to share awkward, trembling smiles with his first love and not a thing more. 

You feel his heartache as if it were your own.

Eddie’s footsteps stomp, stomp, stomp down the spiral staircase when he finally comes down.

Your heart warms at the very sight of him, as though you were looking at the rest of your life in the flesh — wild hair, swollen eyes, wrinkled t-shirt, and all. It’s too early to smile as wide as you do.

“Morning, Eds,” you greet, because everyone’s too busy stuffing their faces or writhing in unrequited love to do it for you.

His lips curl into a soft smile, weighed down by fatigue but rosy with his love for you. The pink expression grows when he sees the full table and the seat you left open for him. “Morning, sweetheart,” he lilts in response.

“How convenient,” Dustin squints from the head of the table, adjacent to Lucas and Eddie’s vacant seat. He’s got scrambled egg clinging to the side of his mouth as he chastises, “You show up right when breakfast is done.”

“Sorry, Dusty Bun,” Eddie apologizes with a teasing inflection that would imply that he’s not actually sorry. His chair scrapes against the kitchen tile when he pulls it out from under the table. “It’s not my fault I have impeccable timing.”

Your eyes dart to the boy standing beside you. They dance across his sleep-ridden features as your lips quirk in a cheeky half-smile. 

You know better than anyone that he’s only ever late to everything. The only time you can count on him being early is if there’s a Hellfire campaign or when he’s coming in his jeans. 

Eddie grows sheepish with the same understanding. His cheeks flush with a poorly hidden smirk as he sits down next to you. “Don’t say anything, Peach,” he mutters quietly to you.

The table, now sufficiently full, seems to thrum with life. Whether they’re picking at their food like Steve and Lucas, or stuffing their faces like Dustin and Robin, you can’t help but smile softly at each of them. 

They feel like family — like you’ve upped and carried your home with you three hours away. You’d forgotten what not being alone felt like before now. Your chest swells with a newfound life you didn’t even know you were missing.

“Uh, did everyone pack a bathing suit?” you wonder aloud with a bright smile on your face, a measly question to fill the silence and the sound of silverware against porcelain plates.

Everyone nods and hums soft “yeah”’s with their mouths full — except for Eddie. 

The boy beside you stills with his fork in front of his mouth. His dark eyes go wide as he looks over at you. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters in the place of an answer. “I was supposed to pack a bathing suit?”

You find his forgetful disposition rather endearing. You can too easily imagine him standing in the middle of his bedroom, mouthing everything you told him to pack while counting them on his fingers. You can see his brows furrowing with a distant pout while he asks himself “what the hell am I forgetting?”

You’re too in love to be annoyed with him — or ill-prepared.

“I packed trunks for you. It’s okay,” you murmur in response, voice as quiet as the smile you look at him with.

Eddie’s chest aches. It’s too warm to be his heart breaking — too fluffy and sticky and sweet. It’s a burning sort of pain that can only be pure, unadulterated love. 

“God, you are the woman of my dreams, baby,” he confesses lowly, mostly to himself.

You only hear the words leave his mouth because he’s leaning in to kiss you. You don’t meet him halfway, but instead grin softly at his efforts, which you know are bound to be interrupted.  

“Hey!” Dustin scolds through the bite of biscuit in his mouth. “No kissing at the table!”

Robin licks syrup from the corner of her mouth, then concurs through her pancakes, “Yeah. You wanna make everybody here puke or what?”

“Or what,” you answer the rhetorical question, meeting her deadpanned expression with a smile. You tilt your head to your shoulder and scrunch your nose. “Preferably, at least.”

“How about everyone just keep their hands to themselves, yeah?” Steve advises in a monotone. His honey eyes flit around the table with a significant focus on you and Eddie and Mike and El. He waves his fork in his hand, still piercing the cooled piece of scrambled egg he hasn’t eaten yet. “How about that?”

“Okay, Hopper,” you scoff to yourself.

El snorts a quiet laugh from across the table, on Max’s other side.

Steve flashes you an annoyed glance from across Robin sitting between the two of you. Despite his monotoned features, his eyes sparkle with an adoration for you he couldn’t conceal if he wanted to.

He tries to, anyway. 

“Bite me,” he grumbles with narrowed eyes.

Eddie huffs dramatically from beside you. The sound gets your attention — makes you turn your head to look at him again — which is all he really wanted to do, anyway.

“Stop flirting!” the boy grumbles, wide-eyed and chewing through his mouthful. “I’m sitting right here!”

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Eddie Munson was never supposed to believe in love at first sight. That stuff was for children, chick flicks, and over-played ballads — not metalheads who’ve never been loved before and have had to improvise all their awkward tenderness accordingly.

But then he met you. And he didn’t love you then, but he knew something was different. Off. Metamorphosing, even. 

It was different from love — whatever strange, foreign thing he was feeling way back when. It didn’t hurt nearly as much, and it didn’t feel like every single one of his atoms had been set ablaze. It was softer, warmer, a gentle familiarity in a stranger who just wanted to get high.

You sat down in front of him on that rotted park bench in the middle of the woods, and it felt like he was staring the rest of his life in the face. There was no falling head over heels like all the songs on the radio said there’d be, but rather an “Oh, hi, it’s you. I hope it’s always gonna be you.”

He feels that foreign, fluffy feeling in his chest even now as he stands on the shore in a pair of trunks you bought because you knew he’d forget his. He watches you wade into the cerulean sea with a lily sort of hesitance. You’re so much smaller than the wide-open, but he loves you so much you seem swallow it all whole anyway. 

You’re a pretty little thing in a canary yellow bikini, sunshine incarnate. Your thighs are round and full. The pudge of your stomach is soft and tender. The scarred marks on your back and shoulders are like so many little kisses, each of which he longs to give you in return.

You possess an intimidating sort of beauty, one that Eddie found easier to admire from afar. You were entirely too captivating — warm and gentle like a summer rain dying to be danced in.

“Stop being such a baby!” Robin calls from further in the water. Her sandy-colored hair is a darker shade from the salty sea and pushed back over her forehead and ears. 

Her chapped lips curl into a pink smile as she looks up at you. Not even she could hide her admiration for your fantastical, demoniacal beauty.

“The water’s not even that bad!” the girl continues in half-hearted taunts. “Just run in!”

“It’s cold!” you insist, shivering when a brutal breeze brushes by. You tense and tighten the grip you have on yourself. Your arms are crossed over your chest in a feeble shield that does little to protect you from the water nipping at your ankles.

Robin cackles at your wincing.

Eddie might’ve defended you if he wasn’t so lost in the eternal blue of you, more infinite than the water you stand in or the sky you idle beneath. 

You look so soft in the golden sunlight, so diabolically angelic. Lithe, unholy, yet pure all the same. Built for sin but looking just like Heaven.

Eddie Munson wasn’t supposed to fall in love. He wasn’t even looking for it until it tripped him, ate him up, and spat him out. The universe does whatever the universe wants sometimes, he figures, and if you can’t laugh at their stupid jokes, then that’s on you.

“Holy shit…” Eddie mumbles as the realization pierces him like a dull needle between his ribcage. That searing, subtle feeling of being in love. 

It’s frightening more than it is anything, really — the understanding that you’re diving into something that could ruin you, something you’re going to let ruin you. There’s nothing but a thin line between love and horror.

“Huh?” Steve hums with a cartoonishly scrunched nose and furrow to his brow.

He was the only one close enough to hear him. Everyone else was separate but still near, using every inch of their reserved space. 

Nancy’s reading a book in one of the lounge chairs with El and Max sunbathing on towels close by. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike are roughhousing in the water — no doubt irking Steve and his lifeguard-esque spidey senses. Robin, meanwhile, was still coaxing you inside.

Eddie’s head snaps in Steve’s direction. He squints through the wisps of gray smoke rising from the grill. “Huh?” he repeats like the idiot he is.

“You said something.” The brunette boy responds. Not a question, but a statement of fact.

“No, I wasn’t,” Eddie sasses back despite having been caught red-handed. He shrugs and crosses his pale arms over his chest. “I was just… I was just talking to myself.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause that’s not weird or anything.”

Eddie bites back a too-harsh jeer. He watches Steve flip a steaming burger on the tiny grill in front of him with a floundering sort of finesse. He scoffs out a laugh. “Making fun of me isn’t gonna compensate for you having absolutely no idea what you’re doing over there, you know?”

“How hard can it be?” Steve wonders, bouncing his shoulders and gesturing with the spatula in his hand. “They’re burgers. Just flip ‘em before the burn, and they’re golden— well, not golden, but… you get it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at the boy’s blind optimism. Steve’s got all the trappings of a rich kid who never had a fend for yourself night where dinner was just chocolate milk, dry cereal, and pizza rolls. “I thought growing up in the suburbs, you would’ve perfected the art of grilling by now.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly have anyone around that often to teach me, so…”

Steve isn’t exactly playing the woe is me card. He’s just stating a fact that most everyone in Hawkins seems to know by now. It blows the wind out of Eddie’s sails, anyway. 

It’s hard to understand sometimes that Steve’s got his own thing going on — his own secrets with his own trauma he keeps hidden from the rest of the world. Eddie spent his whole life thinking that if he was richer, or if his house was bigger, or if the kids at school liked him more, he might’ve been happier growing up. 

Steve Harrington is living proof that that’s not always true.

Eddie walks a few steps closer to the grill. The smell of smoke and cooked meat pervade him instantaneously. He snatches the spatula from Steve’s hand, who’s too off guard to dodge him. 

His frizzy curls bunch at his shoulders when he tilts his head to the side, flashing the brunette boy a sickly sweet smile. “Let the trailer trash show ya how it’s done, Stevie.”

“First of all, don’t call me that,” he retorts with a flat face, golden biceps crossed tight over the chest of his fitted tee. “And second of all, what the hell do you know about cooking?”

“When you grow up in a trailer park, you know how to make at least two things by the time you’re seven-years-old — pizza rolls in the oven and burgers on the grill.”

Steve’s honey eyes narrow. “I don’t trust you not to poison us, Munson.”

“What? You think I’m gonna poison a bunch of kids and my girlfriend? That’s, like, the lowest of the low,” Eddie defends with bubbly laughter sputtering from his mouth. He flips a smashed burger and lets it sizzle over the low flame before pointing the spatula in Steve’s direction. A mischievous glint sparkles in his eye. “But you, Harrington? You should definitely be worried.”

“…Girlfriend, huh?” 

Eddie, visibly surprised by the lack of a comeback, glances over his shoulder at the boy. His fleetingly puzzled gaze gives way to a teasing pink grin. “Yeah… Jealous?” 

It was a joke, but Steve starts to stutter over himself like he’s guilty of something. “What? No,” he argues between forced laughter. “Why would you— Why would you even say that?”

“‘Cause I actually had the balls to ask out the girl I like, and you’ve been ogling at Nancy for an hour trying to figure out how to talk to her without coming off like a total creep.”

“That’s not… I wasn’t doing that.”

Eddie shrugs. “Okay.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I said okay!”

“Jeez…” Steve concedes with a dramatic huff. “I have no idea what Peach sees in you, ya know?”

“Me neither, honestly,” Eddie confesses with a distant smile, grinning at the grill like he can see you in the wisps of thick smoke. “I always thought it was my strong arms and sparkling personality.” 

“See, that’s what I’m talking about! You can’t be serious about anything!”

“I can be serious about some things.”

“Yeah?” Steve muses with raised brows and a smile that says otherwise. “Like what?”

There’s a million stupid jokes Eddie could make just to piss him off all the more. He swallows them all down in place of something more real. “I don’t know… Peach is pretty cool, I guess… Don’t really wanna fuck that up…”

Steve nods, proud of the answer he wasn’t expecting. “Good. Don’t.”

“And what would you do if I did, tough guy?” Eddie jokes, narrowing his eyes at the boy beside him. “Beat me up?”

He answers without missing a beat. “Yeah.”

“You don’t exactly have the best track record for that. I’m pretty sure you’re on a world-record losing streak, actually.”

“I don’t have to win,” Steve assures with a strange sort of sternness to his words. 

Eddie is visibly shocked by the sudden seriousness, wide-eyed and confused. 

The brunette boy sighs before explaining. “That time I got into that stupid fight with Hargrove, it wasn’t about trying to beat him, you know? I was trying to— I don’t know— I was trying to… keep him from hurting the people I cared about, I guess.”

“Peach?” Eddie presses with furrowed brows.

Steve shoots him a dumbfounded look, confused by the confusion. “She didn’t tell you about that?”

“...No?”

“Then, uh… Never mind.”

Steve closes in on himself all over again — an impenetrable brick wall with abs and a chiseled jawline. Eddie feels so suddenly left out, like there was some secret everyone was in on but him. He abandons the grill entirely. 

“Nope. No way. You have to tell me now.”

“I don’t have to tell you shit, Munson,” Steve scoffs, side-stepping the wild-haired boy and taking his place in front of the grill. The burgers are cooked through now, perfectly seared and smoky. He plates them all like he wasn’t on track to burning them. Eddie lets him do it.

“I swear to god, I will give you food poisoning on purpose, Harrington—”

“It’s not my story to tell, alright?” Steve interjects the half-hearted threat.

“Well, I mean, it sorta is because you were just about to tell it, so…”

The brunette grumbles something under his breath like a rolling storm cloud.

You and Robin watch the encounter from afar, both of you someways from shore. Now submerged to your shoulders in the sapphire water, you’re not nearly as cold as when you first stepped in. It feels as soft as silk now, sparkling around you like diamonds every time you kick your feet to keep yourself afloat.

A smile quirks at your mouth at the sight of the bantering boys — one you used to love and one you think you’ll love forever.

They’re complete and utter opposites of each other. One golden, one pale. One broad, one lean. One with trimmed honey locks that shine golden in the sun, and one with long curls so dark they seem to reject all light entirely. 

They both wear deadpanned looks of utter annoyance on their features, having no idea how close they’re standing to each other.

“The sexual tension is ripe between those two,” you confess to Robin, though it’s mostly for yourself.

“Think they’re gonna kiss?” the brunette girl jokes as she blinks salt water from her eyes.

“I don’t know… They might…” you observe quietly, squinting in the distance in a feeble attempt to read their lips. The conversation seems heated — well, as heated as it gets between two boys who think they’re better off as enemies. 

You long to understand what they’re saying and mourn the fact that you don’t.

“Bet I can get them to kiss by the end of the night, though,” you answer more finally and with a glint to your eye — a result of your looming mischief rather than the glittering sun above you.

“Please, don’t say it…” Robin grimaces.

“Truth or dare,” you singsong with a beaming grin.

The girl makes a pained sound at your words. She bubbles her freckled cheeks and squeezes her eyes shut tight. She ducks herself beneath the water in attempts to hide there, knowing there are some things you just can’t run from.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

You hold onto your love for Eddie like so many flowers in your hand. 

It’s a collection of wild things — honeyed daffodils, fluffy white daisies, and pretty pastel forget-me-nots. Their vivid green stems feel like stripes of hardened silk in your palm. 

Maybe you’ll shape them into a crown later, place them on top of your lover’s wild curls the next time you see him. You hope that isn’t too long now.

Max was the one that wanted to go on a hike. Upon the other boys’ insistence of tagging along, she spat like venom in return — “No boys allowed.” And, quite frankly, none of you were in any position to deny Maxine Mayfield of anything.

Robin hadn’t even wanted to go until that moment. She complained she was too tired after a day in the water to spend an evening in the woods. The thought of making fun of Steve seemingly cured her. 

“Yeah,” she lilted with a smile, voice raspy from hours of nonstop laughter. She slid a cap over her drying locks, leaving it backwards and lazy on her head. She bounced her brows and walked backwards behind the group of you. “Go on your own hike, Stevie.”

“We will!” Steve argued in return, like a child not easily left behind.

You can’t be sure of what they’re up to now. Nothing, maybe, or perhaps everything. You just hope Eddie’s missing you as much as you’re missing him — innocently, gently, childishly. 

Maybe he’s seeing your face in the crystalline waves of the sea like you’re seeing his face in the satin petals of the flowers in your hand.

“Having fun?” you ask Max over the subtle crunch, crunch, crunch of grass and leaves and twigs beneath your feet. 

The redhead’s eyes widen at the suddenness of your presence — or rather, how slow she’d been to register it. Noticing her languishing stride, she puts more pep in her step. 

“Tons,” she huffs.

You become a silent observer of Max Mayfield for a moment. You blink at the girl beside you —  with pretty red plaits down her back and pale shoulders peeking from her tank top — and try to make sense of her. It’s an impossible task.

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not,” you confess with a quiet laugh.

“I’m not,” she affirms with her own scoffed-out chuckle. She tucks a rouge wisp of amber hair behind her ear and averts her gaze to her beat-up sneakers. “It’s… actually been kinda fun so far.”

With a blooming feeling of relief and slight accomplishment, you nod in response. “Good.”

“I just wish the boys weren’t here, though,” she admits with a distant girlishness, kicking a rock with the tip of her shoe. It clunk, clunk, clunks down the hill. She screws her freckled face. “They’re making it all… weird.”

“Weird how?” you press gently. 

You don’t want to push her so hard she closes up again, but you don’t want to stay so quiet she thinks you don’t care. It’s tricky work, getting close to Max Mayfield — like digging through a brick wall with a plastic spoon.

“Weird as in… I don’t know— they’re making it something it’s not supposed to be, you know? Like, Dustin is cool, but that’s because his girlfriend just dumped him and everything,” the girl rambles with a shrug. She lifts her arm to duck beneath a low-hanging branch, scraping her calloused palm against the wood as she goes. 

You’ll hear a low thud moments later when Robin smacks her forehead against it. She’d been too busy explaining how to tell the difference between poisonous and nonpoisonous mushrooms to Nancy and El — the former only half as enthused as the latter.

“El and Mike are always sneaking off to suck face, and Steve and Eddie keep ogling at you like they’ve never seen a girl before, and Lucas won’t stop asking me if something’s wrong, and—”

“He’s just trying to check up on you,” you interject gently, letting the wound-up girl take a much-needed breath.

“Yeah, well, it’s annoying,” she grumbles like a thundering rain cloud. “I’m trying to forget my problems, not talk about them.”

And, honestly, you think she might be onto something. Teenage girls are basically tiny pessimistic philosophers — your problems don’t exist if you don’t look at them, she tells you in essence. The logic is cynically sound to an unhealthy degree. It’s a poison apple you’ve plucked from the tree and eaten whole once.

“You gotta talk about them eventually, Max,” you tell her. Not because you have, but rather because you haven’t, and you’ve seen where that’s gotten you.

Max stops in her tracks. She turns ninety degrees to glare at you — arms crossed over her chest, bushy brows quirked like the right side of her lips. She looks bitterly amused at your words. 

You cower beneath her icy blue stare. You know you’ve said the wrong thing.

“Oh, yeah? Like you’re talking about them, too?” she sasses with all her practiced teenaged apathy.

You falter. “Yeah, well… Don’t do what I do, alright? Do what I say.”

Max scoffs. It sounds almost like genuine laughter in its curtness, as though it were truly sincere. She shakes her head with a cynical smile. “Face it— we’re both hopeless…”

Her words leave you stunned, as though she’d pierced you with the poison tip of them. There’s an edge to them that cuts you and leaves you bleeding as she walks on without you. The wind brushes your exposed skin, a reminder that the world is still going even though it feels like it’s frozen still. 

Robin and El walk by you a moment later. The former rubs her aching forehead over the brim of the cap on her head. The latter is elbow-deep in a drawstring bag looking for a bandaid to give her. 

Nancy, either poetically or cruelly, is the one who notices the splintered ache you are.

She smiles with her pretty pink lips and blinks at you with her stone-blue eyes. She’s as pretty as she ever was — with her bare, sun-kissed face and oversized cardigan pushed up to her elbows. It’s hard to admonish someone who looks as sweet as she does. 

Her attention alone is enough to heal you, like a dog licking a weeping wound. You hate her as much as you worship her. The loathing feels religious.

“Who are those for?” she questions innocently, motioning to the flowers in the limp hand hanging at your side.

“Oh, uh, they’re— they’re for Eddie,” you sputter in a mumble, suddenly aflame with embarrassment. You turn your red-hot cheeks away from her and look at everything but the girl in front of you. “It’s… It’s stupid…”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s sweet,” she disagrees, grinning so sincerely it scrunches the sloped bridge of her nose.

“I don’t know, I just… I felt a little bad about leaving him behind, so…”

“He did look a little like a sad puppy when we left,” Nancy confesses in a soft giggle.

You roll your eyes despite the lovesick smile on your face. “He always looks like that when he doesn’t get his way.”

“He really likes you. I can tell.”

Your heart lurches at her words. 

“What the hell do you know about him?” is first fleeting thought that scorches your mind. “He isn’t yours. You don’t get to know him.” 

The misplaced anger is raging crimson, vivid enough to taste. Or perhaps that’s just the metallic tang of your blood as you bite your tongue.

Your rage is engraved into your bones at this point. 

It isn’t fair, not to either of you, so you swallow it down.

“You think so?” you wonder instead.

“Oh. Totally,” she scoffs like she’s never been surer of anything in her life. 

Her sneakers scuff against the rough terrain of Lake Lemon as she starts walking again, towards the sound of trickling water. You follow behind her on instinct and watch her angled profile flit to the blue sky above you. Gray clouds start to gather in the distance, concealed by the green of towering trees. 

“The way he looks at you… It’s really sweet.”

“Bet it makes you miss Jonathan, huh?”

“I always miss him,” she answers without missing a beat, though she seems so suddenly forlorn. “Even though I know I’m not really supposed to.”

“What do you mean?” you press with pinched brows.

She tilts her head and looks at you beneath her lashes. “We, um… We broke up, actually.”

“Oh. Shit,” you stutter, surprising even yourself because you hadn’t meant to say the words out loud. It makes you that much more embarrassed at yourself. “I— I’m sorry. I didn’t— shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know,” Nancy assures kindly, giggling and bringing you at ease again. She smiles so softly, like she isn’t hurt by it all — by what you’ve said or what she left behind in Jonathan. 

You squint at her with a question on your tongue. How can you seem so happy after having lost a piece of yourself? you want so desperately to ask. How has that not ruined you entirely?

She sighs, still with a reminiscent smile. “I haven’t really… you know, talked about it, so…”

“Are you…” you start, but trail off again. Your head whips from her to the rocky trail you descend down, trying to keep focused without tripping over yourself in front of her. God knows you’ve done that enough for a lifetime. “Are you okay?”

Nancy thinks on your words more than you expected her to. “Uh, yeah. I think so. I mean— I guess that’s what this trip is about, you know? Trying to be okay again.”

You nod in response. You figure that’s why you ultimately asked Max to tag along in the first place, and why her friends had decided to join — those heartbroken and otherwise. 

“Sorry about that, by the way,” Nancy follows quickly with wet eyes and pinched-together brows. She’s waiting for you to condemn her, though you’re not entirely sure why.

“For… what?”

“You know, not telling you I was coming and… everything.” 

You wonder if she truly does mean everything or if it’s just a figure of speech. Nancy has a world of things to say sorry to you for — she knows this, most barbarically so.

“Steve told me it was normally a him, you, and Robin thing. He said you wouldn’t be upset about it or anything, but I feel like… I don’t know… like I’ve intruded or something?”

“No,” you assure almost instantly because you know what non-belonging feels like. You don’t want it to eat away at her like it did you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah?” the girl presses with a twinkle in her eye.

“Totally.”

She exhales a sharp chuckle through her nose. It’s almost a sigh of relief — like your words have removed a hulking weight from her bony chest. “I was so scared things were gonna be…”

“Weird?” you finish for her when she trails off.

Her sheepish smile matches your own. She nods. “Yeah.”

“That was forever ago,” you shrug, repeating the words you’ve been telling yourself for ages now. It made everything much easier to stomach. You found it much safer not to feel any of it at all — to keep the hurt from touching you entirely.

Nancy nods. Her words leave her mouth, soft like a song and kissed by sorrow. “I know, but… Things were…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence. She doesn’t have to. 

You were there for all of it. Most of the bloodshed was yours in the end.

“Yeah,” you huff so deeply it deflates your tightening chest.

“It was all just bullshit, you know?” Nancy says, shaking her head like she’s detested by the memory. “Steve shouldn’t have done what he did, but… It wasn’t like I was raring to stop him.”

“It wasn’t your job. You didn’t know me— you never had to… defend me or whatever.”

“I know, but… I think maybe I should have.”

The two of you stop in place and share a look of distant longing. Not the kind you often give Eddie — not the kind full of puppy love — but rather one of acute understanding. 

She didn’t know you, and you didn’t know her. You thought it was better off that way. Her presence was so often forced against your will. Like Pavlov’s Dog, you knew she only ever came with your inevitable heartache. Steve drifted to her like she had her own gravitational pull. He only came back to you when she was gone.

Jaded by heartache, you learned to hate her. The wrath ate away at you accordingly. And here she was — all your anger in the flesh — extending an olive branch and trying to make you whole again.

“Whoa…” you hear Robin croon lowly in the distance. 

Your attention leaves the piercing moment and darts over to her. She stands between El and Max in front of a leaning willow. She parts the weeping leaves with the palm of her hand and marvels at something further in the juniper you can’t see. 

You give Nancy a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes — too weighed down by the heavy moment — but it isn’t any less sincere. You walk away from her and towards the three others. It takes her a moment or more to follow you.

Past the swaying willow is a shrouded cove. The clear water is kissed by streams of sunlight poking through the fluttering leaves. It possesses a hearty smell of rain and wet grass, the very breath of spring. 

It’s a corner of the world that feels so pure, so untouched by the rest of the world. You can hear words hidden in the rippling water — “Swim with me,” it calls to you. “Let me cleanse you. Let me save you.” 

“Sweet…” Max hums to herself, apathetic as ever, though utterly unable to tear her eyes from the sight before her.

El nods, similarly mesmerized. “Yeah. Sweet.”

Robin turns to you, smirking all cool in her backwards cap and baggy jeans and thumped forehead. She bounces her brows and beams. “Bet the boys haven’t found anything this cool.”

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

“Hey, look!” Dustin shouts to the others, eyes squinted with the intensity of his grin. He holds up a shining red rock, made smooth from the water rolling over his feet. “I’m pretty sure it’s a gemstone! Like, a ruby or something!”

He’s met with several unenthused gazes from the rest of the boys on shore. 

Mike squints at him from where he sits next to Lucas in the sand, both of them equally mopey without their girls to bring them back to life. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s just a rock,” the raven-haired boy monotones.

Dustin’s smile washes away like the ebbing tide at his ankles. He looks back at the weighty thing in his hand and realizes that he doesn’t actually know the difference. “Oh…”

“What do you think the girls are doing right now?” Lucas wonders aloud. He can’t go more than five minutes without bringing them up, which Dustin has bitterly observed a number of times. 

He’s more worried about Max than anything, about her eagerness to get away from the boys — from him. He doesn’t know what he could’ve done so wrong to make her pull away like she has. His chest aches with the uncertainty.

“Talking about us, probably,” Mike answers.

“That’s a little sexist, Mike,” Dustin scolds as he walks back on shore, kicking up white sand behind him as he goes.

“What do you think they’re doing then?”

“Talking about you,” the curly-haired boy retorts with narrowed eyes. “‘Cause you’re a dick.”

Mike squints an eye as he looks up at him, shielding his vision from the white sun. He flips the boy off with a pale, bony finger.

Eddie watches from a distance. He stands beside Steve in front of the bubbling white waves, though it’s not really by choice. He’d much rather be standing next to you. He searches for you in the pearly waves and weeps because nothing compares to the real thing.  

“Well, why don’t we just find out?” he offers with a shrug and a lopsided grin.

“Uh, because they said no boys allowed,” Steve answers like it’s obvious.

Eddie meets the boy’s furrowed brows with jettisoned ones hidden behind curly bangs. “…Okay?”

“And, I don’t know— I kinda don’t wanna get my face ripped off.”

“And what would poor Steve Harrington do without his pretty little face?” the wild-haired boy singsongs in response, face scrunched in feigned sympathy.

Steve squints. “You know what? Please, leave. I encourage it, actually.”

Eddie grins wide and tilts his head to his shoulder. He blinks at the boy beside him with glittering chocolate eyes that match the frizzy curls billowing in the breeze. “But then who would I annoy?”

“I don’t know. Your girlfriend, maybe,” Steve responds in a monotone, grunting softly as he bends down to pick up a handful of rocks from shore. He flicks his wrist to skip them across the water. It becomes quickly apparent that he’s never done it before. Each pebble plops hopelessly into the salty sea. “Anyone but me, preferably.”

“But you can’t break up with me, so… that’s an obvious bonus.”

“Jesus Christ…” Steve mumbles within an annoyed exhale. “You are the most insufferable person on the planet, you know that, right?”

“Tell me what happened with Billy, and I’ll leave,” Eddie challenges with narrowed eyes.

It’s too good a proposition not to give any thought to. Steve thinks about it for a beat, then shakes his head and turns away. “Yeah, no,” he concludes, skipping another rock that sinks to the bottom almost immediately.

“Why?”

“’Cause you annoying the shit outta me now is nothing compared to what Peach’ll do if she finds out I told you.”

“And what’s that?”

Steve shrugs. “…Be mad at me?”

Eddie scoffs and crosses his pale arms over his chest. “And that would just be… inconceivable, right?”

“I spent enough time pissing her off.”

“What’d you even do, anyway? Or is that another secret everyone seems to know but me?”

Steve shoots him another bitter side-eye. He tosses out another pebble. It bounces on the water once and then disappears beneath the surface. “I think these are questions for your girlfriend, Munson.”

“No, these are questions for bros, Harrington,” Eddie jokes, shoving the boy on his shoulder. His touch is more aggressive than he realizes and it makes the disgruntled brunette stumble slightly to the side. “Isn’t this the sort of things bros talk about?”

“Oh, my god…” Steve mutters to himself, shaking his head and wondering how he got here. What was supposed to be a trip with you and Robin has turned into him babysitting with Eddie fucking Munson.

“Am I not bro enough for you, Harrington?”

“That word has lost all meaning now—”

“C’mon, just tell me, man,” Eddie pleads with a newfound seriousness. “Every time I almost get something outta her, she just— she clams up, you know? I love her and everything, but fuck— it feels like she only lets me know her so much. It’s agony sometimes, dude.”

Steve doesn’t mean to, but he melts.

Maybe it’s the foreign emotion he’s getting from the local freak, or maybe it’s the confession that’s unknowingly slipped from his lips. 

He sighs. Then shrugs. “It was a long time ago. And I was a douchebag.”

Eddie snorts. “Figures.”

“Do you want me to tell you or not?” Steve bites. 

Eddie curls his lips around his teeth, puts his mouth in a tight line, and stays silent. 

The brunette boy continues. “I liked her and everything, but I also liked Nancy, you know? I really liked Nancy. I mean, Peach was a lotta fun, but Nance— she was the kinda girl you wanted to settle down with.”

Eddie feels his chest tighten, and the confession’s only just started. 

You were fun. The most fun he’s had in his life. He’d kill to settle down with you, to have an entire future of fun. There was never any but with you — I love you, but it’d be a bad look to settle down with the town slut. Eddie wants all of you, the good and what everyone else has collectively decided is “bad.” 

He loves the sound of your laughter as much as he loves the sound of your moans. 

He wants a lifetime full of both.

“—So every time Nancy broke up with me, I’d go back to Peach. And I wouldn’t tell her about… about any of it. You know, that I still wanted to be with Nancy and everything. And that’s… I think that’s the worst part about it. ‘Cause she thought there was a chance we would get together, you know? And I wanted her to think that, ‘cause I wanted her to always be there when I was— when I needed her…”

Steve squints off into the blue — where the darker-colored water meets a lighter-colored sky. The white sun casts harsh shadows on his already chiseled features. His face scrunches into something sharper, whetted edges of held-back emotion.

“A part of me knew the only reason Peach stuck around was because she thought I’d finally come to my senses and ask her out, you know? But I was… so far gone for Nancy back then it’s not even funny,” the boy confesses. He exhales a curt, cynical chuckle from his nose and shakes his head at himself. 

“I knew I was gonna keep chasing after Nance, but I couldn’t let Peach know that because I didn’t wanna be... I don’t know… alone, I guess? I needed someone to go to when my heart got broken., you know? But when I went back to Nancy— over and over and over again— it’s like… where’d Peach go? Who did— Who did she have to turn to, you know?”

Silence rolls in like the whispering breeze. It settles heavy like the gray rain clouds on the horizon.

Steve sighs like a strangling hand has finally let go of his throat. Like he can finally breathe again after saying all that out loud for the first time. Beside Eddie, the boy stands golden, grieving, and utterly changed. Steve towers over his old self in the memories he wishes he could get rid of and mourns the people he can’t un-hurt.

And it fucking sucks. 

What he did to you sucks. The person he used to be sucks. And it sucks that he’s changed too much to hate now. Where is Eddie supposed to put all the anger simmering in his chest and scratching at the back of his throat?

“And, yeah,” Steve suddenly concludes, flicking his wrist to toss another rock out to sea that’ll never see the light of day again. “That went on for a while until she got with Hargrove, which was… a total fucking train wreck.”

Eddie doesn’t know how to respond, so he just laughs — a short, sharp, and scoffing breath. 

“Wow,” he muses with his brows raised and hidden beneath his bangs. He shakes his head in complete and utter bemusement as he looks over at Steve, eyelids as heavy as the forced smile on his face. “You guys are fucking assholes, you know that?”

Steve exhales sharply from his nose in place of a laugh. He shakes his head in agreement anyway. “Believe it or not— people can change, Munson.”

The wild-haired boy squints. “Really?”

“I did. Peach did,” he answers with a shrug, then averts his gaze entirely to mumble, “You did, too, I guess…”

The half-heartedly grumbled phrase feels almost like a compliment — more so when it’s spilling from the mouth of someone he used to hate but has grown to sort of tolerate on handpicked occasions. 

It’s great beauty, to grow and shift and become the person you were also meant to be. And what praise it is to be seen in your becoming.

From a brief distance, they hear a soft and relieved “Fucking finally,” spill from Dustin’s mouth.

Eddie turns and finds you coming down from the trail. Well, you and the rest of the girls you ditched him for, but all he can really see is you. 

He’d missed you in a way he knows he shouldn’t have. Not just because you were only gone for one measly hour, but because that one measly hour ate away at him as though it were eons. 

He knows he shouldn’t miss you so hard, but sometimes the absence feels strangely fulfilling. It’s a reminder that you’re real and not some dream he made up in his head. A reminder that he’ll meet you again because you’ll always come back to him.

“Have fun?” you ask when he’s close enough to hear you. You’ve got one eye squinted to shield from the sun and also to conceal the beam threatening to take over your features.

“Oh. Tons,” Eddie scoffs in a deadpan. “Didn’t even miss you.”

“No?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Well, I didn’t miss you either,” you confess in a similar lilt and with a similar grin that drips with honeyed adoration. “’S why I spent the whole time picking these flowers for you.”

You shrug and hold out your left hand, where a bushel of tiny flowers rests softly against the edge of your palm. It’s a mixture of vivid colors — of greens, blues, purples, and yellows. They’re wild and beautiful and drenched in sun. A whole lot like the love he has for you.

The dull ache of his broken heart sears with warmth when you put it back together again.

Eddie’s toes dig into the sand as he fills the short distance between you. He curls his fingers around your elbows, takes you in his arms, and feels whole again. With a rosy smile and sparkling chocolate eyes, he groans, “Oh, god, I hate you so much…”

Your cheeks hurt with how large your grin has grown, with how hard you try to hide it. It’s not nearly as painful as the adoration burning wildfires behind your ribcage. “I hate you more, Eddie Spaghetti.”

There’s no need to admit you’re only joking.

The words are so obviously playful. 

And both of you know what they really mean, anyway.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

The heavenly cadence of spring rain sings a wild song on the old tin roof.

It began first as a few gentle taps, a sparse sprinkle that tricks your brain into thinking it’s not really there at all. Then the greying clouds gave way to darker, more ponderous ones. The soft drizzle became a roaring rain that fell all together, all at once.

A foggy grey covers the cabin and lulls its inhabitants to sleep. Swim-tired, sunkissed, and energy-spent — you all return to a sweeter sort of peace. The sudden exhaustion feels like rose petals. It’s gentle, pure, and liquid smooth. 

Robin clocks out first, and in record time. She stomps in from outside, terribly sunburnt and complaining relentlessly — before and after a cold shower. She shoves a burger in her face and passes out on the couch soon after.

Steve makes fun of her for it, but he goes right after her. He lays opposite her on the small couch, both of them fighting for room, even in their sleep.

Nancy went a lot more quietly, and only after the millionth time you assured her that she was more than welcome to take the bed. “It’s not like Robin has any plans of sleeping upstairs right now,” you joked, nodding your head over to the brunette girl who had her chin tilted backward and her mouth wide open.

You can’t be entirely sure what the kids are up to now, but they’ve all returned to the bunk room. It’s quiet, but not suspiciously so. You figure they’re all either sleeping or fighting it, so you decide to give them privacy while you sit alone in the kitchen — waiting for Eddie’s shower to end and for Hopper to get off the phone with you.

“Having fun?” the man wonders politely.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum in response, cheek propped lazily against your fist as you lean over the granite countertop. You’re too heavy with fatigue to do anything else. Your legs are sore and your skin is sun-drenched. Slumber all but sings your name like a siren out at sea.

“What about El? She doing okay?”

“Yep.”

“You’re watching her and Mike, right? You’re not letting them go off alone?”

“Yes, Hopper,” you singsong in an impatient-sounding sigh.

The man huffs out a laugh that crackles from the other line. “You sound like you don’t wanna talk to me, teacup.”

“I’m sorry. ‘M just tired. Running after kids all day is exhausting,” you confess in a series of barely intelligible mumbles.

“Exactly. That’s why you wear protection—”

“Hopper!”

“I’m just saying!” Jim defends between a bout of gruff laughter. “I don’t want you  coming back from this trip and having a mini-Munson nine months later, alright? That’s all I’m saying.”

You have a hard time placing his intention — if he’s truly being protective or if he’s just making fun of you. He’s more than aware of Eddie’s secret, after all, so you coming home with a mini-Munson is virtually impossible. But, then again, no-parents-empty-cabin surely has its own lewd history.

You figure it’s a healthy mixture of both, and decide to take the piss out of him, too.

“Oh, trust me, lurch. There’s gonna be a million mini-Munsons when I get back. What do you think I’ve been doing all this time, huh?” you argue with squinted eyes and a sudden fire behind your sunkissed lassitude. “Please ignore the sounds of moaning and squeaking, by the way.”

A beat of utter silence passes. 

The other line is perfectly mute. You can’t even hear his breathing.

“…That’s not funny,” Hopper grouses in a monotone.

“I’m not laughing,” you retort, giggling anyway. You couldn’t hide them if you tried. Fuck, you miss annoying this man in person. 

You collect yourself with a sigh and continue. “Believe it or not, I’m perfectly abstinent, okay? I’m not some kinda fiend that… You know what— I don’t want to talk about this with you, actually.”

Hopper exhales a sigh of relief when you cut yourself off. “Good. I checked out of this conversation about a minute ago.”

“I’m good. El’s good. Everyone’s currently sleeping, so… Thanks for checking in, lurch.”

“Remind me to ask for Harrington next time I call.”

“Will do.”

You hang up the phone with a smile and a plan to trek upstairs and tell Eddie all about it. You’ll sit on the bathroom counter and laugh about it with him while he finishes up his shower. You’ll leave out the million Munsons part, of course, because you don’t want him to think you’re a total weirdo.

Eddie finds you first.

“Mini Munsons, huh?” you hear the boy chuckle behind you.

Your heart lurches against your ribcage at his sudden arrival. You spin around to face him, features wide and gaping as you figure out how to worm your way out of this one. “I was— I was just kidding. Hopper was being annoying, you know? So I was… I was just fucking around with him…”

Eddie meets your wild-eyed shock with a much cooler, pink smile. It’s lopsided and wide and beautiful. Leaning against the wall, he bounces his shoulder and juts out his lip. “Well, I know that’s your favorite pastime, so… I guess I won’t hold it against you.”

You know he’s joking, but you exhale the breath you were holding in relief anyway. “Thank you…”

He walks the short distance to meet you. His bare feet pad against the kitchen tile until he’s close enough to wrap you in his arms. He carries the smell of your body wash with him — a warm, floral, and sweet scent. His hair is damp and pulled back out of his face, dripping onto the neck of his t-shirt.

His palms are wide and lotion-soft as they smooth up your forearms. “Uh… Everyone’s asleep now, I think, so… You wanna go talk?”

He looks at you so sweet, you’re almost certain it’s code for something. Not sex, maybe, but something almost as gratifying. It’s Eddie — he kisses you stupid like he was made to do it. You’re more than happy to make out like teenagers until the rest of the cabin starts to stir again.

“Sure, I do,” you answer with a shrug, trying to keep an air of nonchalance about you even though you’re beaming up at him like schoolgirl — some innocent being that’s never been hurt before.

You let him lead you up the spiral staircase with that same giddy grin. You barely let him shut the door behind you before you’re pushing him against it. 

You hear him gasp quietly when your arms wrap suddenly around his neck. He’s tense when your body presses against his, like hugging a mountain’s edge. It takes him a moment or more to respond when you start kissing the breath from his lungs.

He finally relaxes with a soft exhale that fans against your cupid’s bow. His idling hands settle over your hips, fingers threatening to crawl beneath your cropped shirt when it rises to reveal a sliver of your skin. You’d kill for him to touch you further, but his touch stays perfectly still. You’re just glad he’s holding you at all.

He tastes like nicotine, soda, and summertime — clean, boyish, and nostalgic. Your tongue swipes gently over his plush bottom lip for more. You expect him to open up further for you, to let you explore the mouth you already know like the back of your hand. You’re heartbroken when he pulls away from you entirely, missing him the second he’s gone.

Eddie’s grieving in a similar way. It’s hard for him to part from you when you kiss him like no person on earth has ever been kissed.

He breathes out a soft laugh as he peers down at you. He grins crookedly with his freshly swollen lips. “Not that I’m not enjoying this or anything, sweetheart, but when I said talk, I really did mean talk…”

Your blood runs red-hot. “Oh…” you sigh like an idiot because you can’t think of anything else to say. You feel like a total fool — spent ages denying the slut stereotype just to jump someone’s bones the second you got them alone. Maybe they were right about you.

Eddie sees you second-guessing everything, watches you form a long-winded apology inside your head. He follows up quickly to quell your worry. “No, it’s okay— it’s kinda my bad, actually. I guess I should’ve clarified.”

You muster a trembling smile when you step back from him. You’re cold the second he’s gone. You have to fight back the shiver that crawls up your spine. “Well, you did say talk, so…”

“Yeah, but how often do I say things I actually mean?”

“Sometimes,” you answer sheepishly, gazing at him from beneath your lashes in a sincere response to his half-joke. “I hope…”

I hope you meant it when you said you liked me, is what you’re really trying to say. I hope you meant all the nice things you’ve said about me, ‘cause I don’t think I could handle them never being real.

He seems to hear everything you don’t say. 

His rosy lips tug into a slow smile as he tilts his head to his shoulder. “Well… maybe when it comes to you, sweetheart.”

Your girlish smile returns to you — wide, innocent, unhurt. You like feeling this special. You like Eddie belonging to you in a way he doesn’t to anybody else. It’s a primal sort of possession, a borderline unhealthy one for someone who loves like it’s breathing.

“What did you wanna talk about then?” you wonder, then scrunch your nose with a distant wariness. “It kinda seems serious now.”

“No,” Eddie scoffs, walking away from you and towards the bed. “Not serious.”

The mattress squeaks under his weight when he flops down onto it. You want to scold him for being so rough with an obviously aged thing that doesn’t belong to him. You’re already gravitating towards him with an unrealized smile on your face. 

You sit down beside him, far more gently than he had. You settle on top of the fluffy comforter and curl your legs behind you. Eddie lays on his side, propping his head up with one hand and using the other to trace the faded scars and beauty marks on your thigh. 

His finger trails absentmindedly over your skin in a featherlight touch. Chills erupt over your skin, and he smiles to himself. You’re still learning how to be touched so delicately.

“Spit it out, Eds. The tension’s killing me,” you laugh with words you’ll regret a second later.

“I don’t know… I just— I wanted to ask why you never told me about Steve,” the boy says with a nonchalant shrug, like the words don’t suck all the breath from your lungs. He’s too busy watching his finger dance across your skin to see the shock flood your features. “Like, I knew you guys had— a thing or whatever. But I didn’t know… you know, the rest of it.”

Despite being unable to breathe, you try to muster a laugh. “This sounds like a pretty serious topic, Eds.”

His wide-eyed gaze matches your own. His stare darts upward to meet yours. The chocolate of his irises are full with brooding. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. Actually, he spent his entire showering thinking of ways to bring this up that would be the least painful for the both of you. But in true Eddie Munson fashion, he can’t ever say the right thing.

“No! No, it— it doesn’t have to be. I was just… It was just a question, you know?” he sputters hopelessly. He glances away and mumbles to himself, “A really dumb, stupid question…”

Despite the overwhelming urge to find the deepest, darkest hole and hide there, you can’t tear your eyes away from the boy in front of you. You’re not really looking at him, though, much too deep in your own head about the whole thing. 

You can’t stop thinking about what he must’ve heard — how he felt when he heard it. Did he think of you differently? Even for a fraction of a second, was he embarrassed at the very thought of you?

“Are you saying that… Steve told you about… all of it?” you ask slowly, terrified of the answer.

“Uh, yeah…” Eddie hesitates, equally as apprehensive. “Honestly, I think we were going a little insane with the girls around…”

He exhales sharply through his nose in place of a laugh and flashes a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It ebbs away a moment later.

“Why would he do that?” you wonder with wide, wet eyes. The question is more for yourself than anything. You can’t begin to understand why Steve would’ve opened up about such a thing — to Eddie, of all people. Your Eddie.

“I asked him about Billy—”

“What do you know about Billy?”

“Well, he brought it up, but—”

“So you spent the entire time talking about me?” The laugh that spills from your mouth is bitter, cruel. 

Eddie, who’s never known you to be either, chuckles emotionlessly back. “Well… No. It just— It just came up, I guess.”

You smile despite the emotion swimming in your glassy eyes. It makes the boy cower inside himself, unsure which contrasting reaction to pay the most attention to. “My relationship with Steve and Billy just… came up?”

“Yeah. It’s not a big deal, babe—”

“It’s not a big deal because they weren’t your exes,” you bite like a snarling dog. “If I spent the entire time talking about you, you wouldn’t be too happy about it either, would you?”  

Eddie’s eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “I didn’t come up? Not one time?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. The volume of your answer and its blurted sincerity take him by surprise. You wave your hands wildly as you ramble. “I told Nancy that I missed you and that I couldn’t wait to see you and give you a bunch of stupid flowers—”

You motion to the makeshift bouquet sitting on the nightstand. They idle in a clear shot glass Eddie found in one of the cabinets. He couldn’t stand not giving them a home.

“—While you were off with Steve, talking about everyone that’s fucked me over!”

Your rage is as wild as it is brutal. You’re painted red from the slaughter you’ve been forced through. It’s given you claws and teeth accordingly. 

Like a stray dog that bites the gentle hand trying to feed it, you’ve been so obviously mistreated. Eddie knew that before he knew you — ‘cause he’s got eyes, as well as a bleeding heart. Someone didn’t love you the way you deserved to be loved, and now the memory turns you cruel.

“It wasn’t like that, okay?” Eddie presses with an urgency you can feel on his hand curling intently around your calf. His fingers tremble with sincerity. His dark eyes swim with it, too. “I just— I wanted to learn more about you because you never tell me anything!”

“Yes, I do!” you scoff.

“Then why do you never talk about Billy?”

“Why do you care so much about Billy?” you cry with a broad, disbelieving smile. “Why do I need to talk about him? He doesn’t even matter— he doesn’t even exist anymore!”

“Because something obviously happened! And if that thing is bothering you, I wanna be able to make it better!”

“That’s what therapists are for, Eddie. Not boyfriends.”

“Yeah, not any that you ever had,” he scoffs to himself before he can stop it. 

You tense beneath his hand. He deflates with a sigh — squeezing his eyes shut and asking himself how the hell he manages to make the bad shit that much worse. 

“Sorry. I’m— I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t bring any of this up to hurt your feelings, alright? I just wanted to— I don’t know— I just wanted to talk about it, okay? That’s all.”

You can tell he’s being sincere. That he really did just want to talk about it, and that he really is worried about you, and that he really does want to make it all better. He wears it all over his face. His features are soft and blurred and utterly genuine.

You haven’t yet softened your sharp, whetted edges. “You said we didn’t have to. That this trip was supposed to be fun.”

He flinches at the way you spit the words at him. They’re coated in vinegar, venom. It sinks into his skin and maims him accordingly. His bushy brows furrow, the corners of his mouth turn downward, and his eyes go glassy — a sad puppy indeed.

“You’re not having fun?” he wonders in a wounded whisper.

His hurt becomes your own. It only makes your anger tower mountains over you. “Not anymore,” you answer lowly and through a tense jaw.

Eddie’s spent a lifetime screwing things up. He’s spent a lifetime apologizing for them, too. This one aches worse than all the others combined. “I’m sorry…” he mutters quietly.

You’ve never seen him this somber. This sad.

The broken look of your lover’s heartache cracks the hardened porcelain you’re made of. You let out the breath you were holding in a trembling, heavy sigh. “No, don’t— Don’t apologize.”

“I feel like I shouldn’t have brought it up…” he confesses with his gaze cast downward.

You bring a hand to the one idling on your leg. You rest your soft palm over his bony knuckles. Your touch is much warmer than the iceberg you were just minutes ago. 

“It’s okay. You were just curious. I shouldn’t have blown up the way I did,” you concede. The softness he’s more familiar with finally returns to you. The corner of your lip quirks into a wavering half-smile as you joke, “But if you want the entire list of guys that have fucked me over, it’s a really— it’s really fucking long one.”

You laugh quietly at your joke. 

But Eddie knows it’s not really a joke, so he stays unsmiling.

His touch is still soft, though. He takes to rubbing your calf again — a slow and measured up and down — a reminder that he’s still in your corner. “Well, you can tell me about it when you’re ready.”

“What if I’m not?” you wonder, hesitant and testing the waters. “Like… What if I don’t want you to know all that stuff?”

Eddie’s gaze flits away from yours as he ponders the question. He purses his lips to the side and nods to himself, visibly deep in thought. “Then I’m good with not knowing,” he answers after a few, long moments.

“Are you?”

Again, he thinks.

“Not really. No,” he responds, still as honest as he’s always been with you. He grins lopsidedly and bounces his shoulder. “But if it means I get to keep you, then… Yeah.”

You exhale a breathy laugh at his words.

Eddie’s wavering smile breaks out in a sheepish beam at the sight of your more genuine grin. 

“Can I have a kiss?” he whispers to you, as innocent and mousy as a child.

Your hand gives his a reassuring squeeze. “You never have to ask, Eds…” you remind him.

You lean down to press your mouth against his. He tilts his chin to meet you halfway. It’s chaste and lingering — a delicate peck that expresses all the swirling emotions neither of you could name if you tried. 

“There isn’t anything about you that I wouldn’t want to know,” Eddie confesses after he’s pulled away from you. The breath of his words fan across your cheek, he’s still so close to you. His deep galaxy eyes dance between both of yours. “You know that, right?”

A smile tugs slow at your mouth. “Now, I do,” you nod in return, even though you’re not sure if you believe him. 

He only says that because he doesn’t know you — the deep, dark you that you try to keep hidden from yourself and the rest of the world. He’d learn everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve done, and he’d hate you. He wouldn’t be able to look at you the same.

You can’t stand the thought of Eddie looking at you the way the rest of Hawkins does — with eyes squinted and twinkling with an admiral sort of disgust. So you’d rather him not know any of it at all.

Silence dances into the room as effortlessly as a spring breeze. The rain’s offbeat cadence taps hard against the sliding glass door across the room. You have the sudden urge to walk outside and stand it. You think it’d be easier to drown in the warm deluge than in your own thoughts.

Eddie’s rosy mouth turns slightly upward. Yours does, too, in anticipation of what he’s about to tell you.

“Wanna fool around?” he wonders, if only to brighten the heavy grey mood.

The sound of your laughter is sunshine — a metaphor he’s been trying to write for years. “You can’t just say that every time we’re alone, Eds!”

“Why not?” he challenges just to tease you.

“Because you know we can’t,” you answer with a soft sort of sternness about you. Your eyes are firm with sincerity, though they sparkle with mischief.

“We’ve been here almost two days, and I haven’t got one whiff of Jason Voorhees, babe.”

“That’s not what I mean,” you mutter, then whisper more quietly. “There’s people downstairs.”

“Well, you can be quiet…” Eddie lilts, grin lopsided and pink as he rises off the mattress to lean closer to you. His breath fans across your chin, coated with nicotine and something sugary. He tilts his wild head to the side and raises his brows in question. “Can’t you?”

“I’m not sure that you can, Eds.”

“Don’t worry about me,” the boy assures, voice low and suddenly serious.

His warm palm travels up your calf, smoothing over your knee and curling around the side of your thigh. His touch is almost as all-consuming as his stare — deep chocolate brown, as infinite as a galaxy. You fall into them accordingly. You couldn’t deny him if you wanted to.

You try, anyway.

“Eddie…” you start, a warning that trails off when he squeezes the buzzing skin of your outer thigh.

“Lay down,” he urges. It’s too soft to be a genuine command. It gives him ample opportunity to turn it all into a joke on the off chance you reject him completely.

You don’t. You couldn’t.

You find yourself slithering past him and closer to the headboard before you realize you’re doing it. It’s like you’re made of magic, totally under whatever spell he’s unknowingly cast upon you. Your head’s swimming with his sorcery as you lie back on the pillows. 

Eddie follows you, resting his body above yours. It’s a comfortable sort of weight, heavenly even. He props himself up on his forearms so he isn’t crushing you completely, though you wouldn’t complain if he did. 

You want him to ruin you, and then you want to thank him for it.

The untrimmed edges of his curls hang down over his face. They tickle your jaw when he kisses you with the ardency of someone who wants to swallow you whole. His tongue swipes against yours, slow and more aggressive than either of you expect. He sucks on your swelling bottom lip right after.

The gray world around you explodes with a burst of a thousand colors. You can’t see any of them because the inner workings of your mind have been stripped away and replaced totally with Eddie. His nose nudging against yours. The taste of his mouth. The texture of his tongue. The warmth of his breath. His hand traveling down down down your body.

His palm starts at your cheek, cupping sweetly at your jaw so he can open your mouth wider for him. Then his touch trails down to your neck, taking a brief pitstop to feel the rapid thrum of your racing pulse, before falling to your chest.

You think he must be able to feel your pounding heart through your t-shirt when he cups your breast. His thumb swipes over your hardened nipple in time with his tongue diving deep into your mouth. You feel his lips curl into a smile when the combined efforts make you shiver.

His fingers smooth over your ribcage, then your stomach, and then your hips. 

It’s a touch featherlight, yet steady and earnest at the same time. His hand creeps slowly over the thin fabric of your shorts and settles between the warmth radiating between your thighs. He cups you gently through your clothes and kisses the breath from your lungs. It’s like he’s trying to kill you.

You buck your hips slightly upward in a silent plea for more. 

The boy above you has the nerve to pull away from you to ask, “This okay?” 

His hair is mussed from where your fingers had entwined so intensely in his chestnut strands. His lips are rosy and swollen and wild. You get lost looking at him. 

With dazed eyes trained on the pink mouth you so desperately want to kiss again, you nod like an enthusiastic child.

“Can I do more?” Eddie wonders through heavy breaths.

“Please,” you hear yourself say, right before your hips cant against the subtle weight of his palm.

You watch with wide, unblinking eyes as Eddie brings his hand to his mouth. His pink tongue darts out to lick the pads of his middle and forefinger, leaving them glistening as he slithers them into your shorts. 

His efforts to be easy with you are appreciated but virtually unnecessary. You’re as slippery as satin for him, drooling in anticipation for him to make you feel good. 

He slides two fingers into your trembling pussy with little effort. The fatty edge of his palm settles over your swelling clit. Your head tilts back against the pillow while you exhale a pretty moan.

With your eyes fluttered shut, you don’t see the crooked grin tugging slow at Eddie’s mouth. “Shh…” he shushes, only half playful, before engulfing your mouth again and swallowing each of your gentle cries. 

He’s moaning with you, though, at the soft squelch your pussy makes when his fingers sink to the knuckle inside you. You feel the smooth metal of his rings on the outside of your cunt and the inside of your thighs.

And fuck, you’re so pretty for him — always so pretty for him — that it makes him forget about the ache of his stiffening cock. His yearning for you throbs like a heartbeat. He wants so desperately to fuck you, to really fuck you until he’s got you gushing all over his lap. But he figures he can settle for this for now. 

But the way you’re moaning for him just now? It doesn’t really feel like settling.

“You’re so pretty,” he hums lowly, almost to himself. “Have I told you that?”

He has. Plenty of times within the few months he’s been able to do that without it being too weird. It feels like the first time he’s ever said it to you, anyway.

A breathy moan spills lightly from your lips, like a spring breeze coated in sunshine. It’s the total opposite of the storm swirling outside the bedroom. 

Your cunt involuntarily squeezes his fingers at the compliment — walls sticky, hot, and pulsing. You all but melt around the two digits he presses inside you.

He figures you must like the praise, which is great ‘cause praising you is the easiest thing on the planet. 

“You have such a pretty pussy, too,” he confesses in a gritty whisper.

You moan for him again, a muffled cry stuck in your throat.

“Feels so warm around my fingers… And you’re so tight, baby— I don’t know how I’m gonna fit my cock in you—”

His words are as sinful as they are vivid. 

Behind your shut eyes, you can see the vision of him on top of you. You can feel his sweaty body sticking to yours like glue — similar to the honey you leak for him while he fucks you. 

If you try hard enough, you can almost replace his fingers for his cock. You know it’s nowhere near as pleasurable as the real thing, though.

The thought of him fucking you — making love to you — has you whining and writhing beneath him. Your hips jut upward, looking for pleasure and running away from it all at once. His fingers squelch as they push in and in and in. You drool impossibly more for him, drenching his fingers and his rings and the cotton sheets below you.

“You could take it though, right?” the boy above you wonders, swollen lips quirked in a heavy half-smile. “You’d take whatever I give you, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

You hardly recognize him now. Not because he’s teasing you — because you’ve gotten more than used to that — but because he’s so damn confident. 

He talks to you with the finesse of a guy who’s done this a thousand times, to a thousand different girls. You’re the first, and you know this, but he’s ruining you like he created you.

You nod with a satin sigh.

The silent admission makes Eddie’s head spin. 

He shouldn’t have you in the first place, the metalhead freak he is, yet he’s got two fingers inside you and your permission to go further. And he wants to — god, he wants to — but he’s scared it’ll drive him crazy. 

Crazier than he already is for you, if that’s possible.

“Get on your side for me, yeah?” he whispers to you, surprising himself with his newfound dominance.

You’re too far gone to do anything but obey him. 

You maneuver onto your side like he asked, feeling like your bones are made of melted honey. Eddie follows you. He keeps his fingers nestled deep inside your thrumming heat as he curls in behind you. 

His stiff, aching cock is hard and heavy against your clothed ass. Despite the layers of clothes separating you, his warmth presses so intently against you. You clench around him at the feeling — tighter when his fingers begin to crook inside you. You tilt your head back and moan, rutting further back against him.

Eddie smushes his nose into your hair and hums a moan in his throat. His heavy exhale fans against the shell of your ear. He keeps working you open with his fingers, a slow and measured rhythm he maintains with the thrusts of his hips.

He’s terribly sensitive, almost embarrassingly so. You drive him too wild for anything else. Even like this, without being inside you and with his clothes still on, he feels like he might explode.

You’re much of the same. The pad of his thumb rubs mercilessly at your swollen clit as his fingers coax you towards a head-spinning orgasm. The overwhelming pleasure crawls up your throat, strikes you like lightning, and swirls in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t run from it if you tried.

It doesn’t stop you from canting your hips back and forth — a feeble attempt to cope with the overwhelming pleasure Eddie gives you with nothing but his hand. With his pale arm caging your side and his lean body behind you, curling and melting with yours, you can only get so far. 

All you can do is take it.

Eddie whimpers delicately in your ear as he humps your ass. He babbles in faint whines — things you don’t think he realizes he’s saying. 

“You’re so hot, baby,” he slurs heavily, swollen mouth tracing the shell of your ear. “So soft, too... Fuck... Keep grinding back on me like that— shit, yeah, just like that. ’S gonna make me come in my fucking pants, baby.”

If you weren’t drowning in the void of your own pleasure, you might’ve asked him to come. No, begged him to. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” you would’ve assured him, only slightly teasing. But you don’t do any of that because his fingers are shoved so far into you that you can feel them in your throat. 

Or maybe that’s just your impending climax choking you. 

You couldn’t form an intelligible sentence if you wanted to, either way. 

Instead, you roll your hips back against his cock and act like he’s fucking you for real. The idea of it alone sends you catapulting into an orgasm. You’re so far gone for him — for the freak of Hawkins — you let him ruin you while you fall for him like the rain pounding at your window. 

Effortlessly, unapologetically, and over and over and over again.

Eddie dampens his boxers in the same way you drench his fingers. His twitching cock drools for you, more and more as he nears his peak. He hasn’t felt anything as gratifying as grinding against you like this. He’s bound to be a fucking goner the second he’s caught inside your snug pussy. 

“Can feel you trembling for me, you know?” he continues to ramble, only half-aware of the sin spilling from his rosy lips. His thumb presses against the fleshy hood of your clit. He’s barely moving it, but the pressure alone has you buzzing.  “You’re gonna cum so hard for me, aren’t you? Gonna make a mess all over my hand?”

You bite back a cry — quite literally, with your teeth caging your bottom teeth — and lean your head back to bear your throat. You throw a hand back in search of Eddie. Your fingers twist in the mussed curls at the crown of his head.

“Mm, Eddie—” you call in a muffled cry, overwhelmed and half-frightened by how good he’s making you feel. By how hard you’re about to cum for him.

“I know, baby. I know,” he coos sympathetically to you, crooking his fingers in time with his grinds against the plush of your ass. His cock starts to ache all over again, this time with hunger. 

Through a breaking voice, he begs. “Go on and cum for me, yeah? Let me make you feel good, baby. Cum all over my fingers, baby— I need it… I fucking need it. I’m so fucking close—”

You bury your face in the pillow when you cum, crying his name into the cushion for only the two of you to hear. You tense, thighs shaking and toes curling, as you gush around his fingers — like the pouring rain outside. 

You drip mercilessly for him, a slippery mess between your thighs you know you should be ashamed of. You might’ve been, if it were anybody else.

Eddie stills behind you, though his fingers remain relentless. He coaxes you completely through your orgasm just as he’s reaching his own. His moans come out in gasps — choppy, sharp breaths through a swollen mouth. His aching cock spits in the confines of his boxers, several warm loads that cool too quickly. 

He trembles through his high, trying to trek through its entirety but growing so suddenly sensitive. 

You let him work you through yours. His fingers, now wrinkled at the pads, are frozen inside you while his thumb circles softly at your delicate clit. You twitch with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Your hand leaves his hair to grab his wrist, a silent plea that you can’t take anything more.

And the two of you just lie there, for several long moments — sticky, blissed-out, and so intently pressed together. You let the heavy moment of your ebbing orgasms linger. You decompose together in the heavy honey of pleasure.

It’s all so messy, but then again, everything seems to be. 

His hair, his fingers, his boxers. 

Your thighs, your bed, your heart. 

Words. Life. Love.

[justananxiousweirdo]

Ski Aggu NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

All thoughts are about you. He’s immediately carrying you to the shower and helping you clean up. He’s learned to bring water in before hand so he doesn’t have to grab it afterwards. And he loves taking you out to eat afterwards unless you just want to order in. He’s also the one to dress you afterwards almost always in his clothes. But his goals are keeping you clean, fed, and taken care of.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Aggu loves his arms and hands. He goes to the gym to keep up with his biceps and his hands are just the right amount of veiny and he loves watching you fall apart around his fingers.

It’s VERY hard for him to choose a favorite of yours. He loves your eyes and your smile and your waist and thighs and boobs and ass and everything. But if he absolutely had to it’d probably be either your boobs, smile or your eyes. Or perhaps your ass or thighs- this man really can’t pick. He loves your boobs bc they’re boobs, he loves your ass bc he loves to grab it, smack it, squeeze it, whatever, he loves to have his hands on your ass. He could and does get lost in your eyes every time he looks into them, he loves your smile and even more he loves to be the reason for it. And your thighs he loves when you trap his head in between them due to pleasure and over stimulation.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves watching his cum spill out of you. He could watch his cum drop out of your pussy for days. But if you won’t let him cum in you he finishes on your thighs, he loves seeing your thighs covered in his cum.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He would kill for you to tie him up but he’ll never say anything. It’s his secret and as much as he wants you to do it he’s too embarrassed to bring it up. But he does hold your hands down so you can’t move them from time to time.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

That man knows what he’s doing more than anyone else. And I’m not saying he’s ran through or anything but he’s definitely had a few partners all of which have been more than satisfied. That man is a god with his tongue, fingers and cock.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any. Bros just happy to be there.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s usually serious but he’ll dabble in goofiness occasionally.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s pretty in between, it’s not too bushy but it’s not exactly groomed. And no he doesn’t dye his pubes to match his hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s usually pretty romantic and absolutely worships you but sometimes when he’s a little rougher some of the worshiping disappears. Not that you mind of course.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jacks off the the thought of you rather often, sometimes he just can’t wait an hour to get home or if he’s off touring and he can’t get to you. Any time he gets too riled up thinking about you and isn’t patient enough he’ll find the nearest private and clean place and yank it to the thought of you. He doesn’t even need pictures or anything he has the image of you burned in his memory.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Aggu is definitely kinky. He likes to tie you up or hold you down. And he would live for you to do it to him. He loves being rough, for him the harder the better. And marks are a huge thing for him, he wants there to be visual proof of everything that happens on both of you. Whether it’s hickeys, bruises, scratches, lipstick, whatever he just wants some marks on the two of you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere and everywhere you two are alone together. His sex drive is through the roof. Obviously he prefers places like beds and couches because he wants you guys to be comfortable but he will bend you over any desks, tables, counters, etc. And when in doubt there’s always a wall nearby.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Literally anything to do with you. You can just say his name, look at him, be within his line of sight and he’s already thinking about the things he’ll do to you the second you guys are alone. And he’s absolutely loosing it the second you touch him. Obviously there are some wholesome moments that make him forget that sex is a thing because of how cute he thinks you are but for the most part it’s the second he sees you or hears you, or thinks of you. That man is madly in love with you and with that comes, well, him. (Get us because come and cum… you get it)

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

If you’re more than a little tipsy or sleeping or anything like that because he refuses to take advantage of you. He also rules out things to do with piss and blood or anything that causes actual harm to you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He’s a god with his tongue. He’d give it to you any time. He LOVES eating you out. He loves the way you taste and how you fall apart so quickly on his mouth. He adores the way you look sitting on his face. He loves the way your thighs clamp around his head and when your hands fly to tangle themselves in his hair. And he lives for your fucked out over stimulated expressions.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He loves to be fast and rough but will go slow and sensual to show you how much he loves you when he wants. He usually lets you set the pace, asking you if you want faster or slower but if its up to him it’s fast.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If he ever turns down a quickie he’s been replaced by a clone. That man loves sex and will never turn down a fast one. He’ll try to be as fast as possible when he knows he doesn’t have enough time and often pushes his limit too much and will either be late to things or he doesn’t actually get to finish because he overestimated how fast you two could be. Usually he just opts for being late.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He only takes risks you want to take. He mostly knows what he likes and doesn’t like, but if you ever want to try something he’ll try it for you. Even if it’s something he doesn’t think he’ll like he’d do it for you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can last a pretty good while. With how high his libido is he can last a long time and can sometimes work himself up to four rounds. But he tries to stick to two or three.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He’s never bought any but if you have a vibrator he'll occasionally use it on you. But he’s always more than enough for you so it’s not often. Usually if he is using it it’s for his entertainment in public. He’ll turn it on and watch you struggle to keep your composure. It doesn’t always have to be in public though especially if that’s not what you’re into but if it is: good luck. Because you will be edged over and over at award shows, parties, interviews, his shows, anywhere and everywhere you let him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

BIGGEST TEASE EVER. He loves to tease you until you can’t take it anymore. He will tease you until your eyes are brimming with tears, your legs are shaking, and your pussy is aching for him. He also absolutely loves to edge you. Anything that drives you crazy and makes you sexually frustrated is a yes for him. But he hates when you frustrate him too much. He’s into it for a good thirty seconds before he gets too impatient and just needs to take you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

I’d say he’s rather loud, sometimes he’s intentionally loud, adding in extra moans, groans, and grunts. He makes quite a bit of noise naturally because you feel so good but he notices the blush that creeps into your cheeks when he groans your name. He notices the way your pussy pulses every time he grunts. You love to hear his pretty voice in bed and who is he to keep it from you?

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Aggu likes feet. Like not really in a fetish way but if he doesn’t it’s a very light and small fetish, but he’ll always offer to paint your toes, massage your feet, or tie your shoes/ put them on or strap on your heels. Like he’d never go so far as to suck or toes or anything like that but that man has a small thing for feet.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I’m sure we’ve all seen the picture and videos of him in his boxers, Aggu is PACKING. He’s probably 7- 7 1/2 inches.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

As I’ve mentioned before he's has the highest sex drive. Nobody can match his freak.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If he’s already tired after coming from a show or something he falls asleep as soon as he knows you’re taken care of, otherwise he always waits for you to fall asleep first.

[spideyhexx]

MORE CORYO PISS KINK PLS!!!! BARK BARK BARK🐕🐕

AYE AYE (pls no one look at me idk what ive done) this is academy coryo

mdni; cw piss

coryo was disgusted with himself at first when he realized he liked it.

he jerked off in the shower one morning and pissed afterwards and for some reason, the feeling and the sight turned him on. So naturally, the next time he fists his cock, he imagines someone else pissing. Not on him, he tells himself that would be too far.

Anyways, it makes him come the hardest he has in a long while so now it becomes a regular thought to jerk off too. And this thought spirals. He finds himself liking the pressure of his bladder. Rubbing his cock when he’s desperate to pee. Not letting him go until he’s made himself come.

One day it’s too close. Too close and he almost wets his pants. Would he like that? He thinks it’s a disgrace if he lets himself but one day he drinks so much water, it just happens. He blames it on the water intake, not his inner thoughts wanting to feel his pants and boxers wet, warm, the hiss of his stream. He’d even try to take his pants off, only for his dick to come out and piss on the floor of his bathroom before he can aim it right. But he liked it.

Fucking hell, he almost couldn’t stop jerking off that night. He thought about a pretty person pissing their pants…or skirt or underwear because of him. Because of his hand pressed to their bladder. He wondered what the whines would sound like and he was desperate to hear it. But he could never tell anyone about this, could he? Surely, his future partner would hate it. Be disgusted with him.

So he kept it fantasy.

But when you are with him. Months, maybe even over a year into dating him and mention having to pee, you clock the way his pants get tighter and he hardens. You test it out, mentioning having to piss very badly a few days later and Coryo gets the same look in his eyes that he does when he’s horny. You’ve known that look.

You can’t deny the thought of it turning him on so much turns you on, that it’s something you’re interested in trying but Coryo embarrasses easily. So you ease into it. Taking a shower with him, you mention having to pee. Coryo is going crazy. He’d wanna ask you to just do it. But his words die in his throat.

And you fulfill them, asking if it’s okay if you just go. And he nods. He’s hugging you from behind and he goes to step away but you don’t let him. He looks down and watches you piss, he can feel a little bit of the warm liquid on his legs.

He can’t stop himself, he hardens and you tease him, trailing your hand down his chest to his cock, rubbing your thumb on the tip as you get him to spill his dirtiest secret to you.

[ilguna]

☼ cruel summer pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you've tolerated Finnick for the past year, but after a rough night, you decide that you're done.

warnings; swearing, embarrassment

wc; 1.5k

notes; i tweaked the request a bit to make me more comfortable. it's a songfic, cruel summer by taylor swift.

–

The cool summer breeze feels nice on your hot, flustered skin. It’s been over an hour since you were interviewed by Caesar in front of the entirety of Panem, but you feel like you’re still stuck on stage, unknowingly making a fool of yourself.

How were you supposed to know?

The one person that was in charge of telling you how you should act on stage, decided that he was done teaching when it was your turn to sit down with him. While your partner got all the details on how it would work, exactly how much time would be given, and an angle he should go for—you got nothing.

So, you told him that you were going to go get Mags, then, if he refused to help. She’s the other mentor, the only option that you had left beside the escort, who taught you how to walk in heels and act properly. As soon as you threatened him, you were talking to a completely different person. 

He told you it didn’t matter who tried to help you, because you were a lost cause anyway.

You gave up after that, and you didn’t leave your room for the rest of the night.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done that to you. It started with the training days, he told you not to touch anything and if you did, you needed to act helpless. You listened, because he hadn’t given you a reason not to, yet. In the end, you ended up scoring lower than you should’ve.

Every person that offered an alliance with you, he turned down before you were even aware of it. You found out that the careers wanted to include you after your partner told you. When you tried to fix it and see if you could still join, your partner told you that you were fucked after your score.

He’s been sabotaging you this entire trip. It’s like it’s his goal to get you killed in the arena.

Which wouldn’t hurt as much, you’d be able to swallow the idea, if it weren’t for the fact that you know him for more than his name. You’re not entirely sure what happened to Finnick Odair while he was gone last year, or how the arena convinced him to turn his back to you, but you can’t call him your friend anymore.

The two of you were inseparable before he was reaped last year. You spent every waking moment at each other’s side, and only left when you were on the verge of being grounded.

The Finnick that you see now can’t even be related to the one that held onto you and cried because he was afraid of dying in the arena. That he wouldn’t be good enough, because he was so young, and no one had won at his age before. Or how terrified he was to lose himself, and your friendship in the aftermath.

If he’d known that both would end up happening, anyway, you don’t think he would’ve fought as hard to survive. The change in his personality wasn’t immediate, he let you be around him for the first few weeks. The two of you were as normal as you could be, considering the fact that he was working through a few issues at the moment.

By the end of the summer, he told you to stop coming around. At the beginning of the school year, he had a whole new friend group, and no time in his schedule for you. No matter how hard you tried to appeal to his new interests, and make his friends like you through small gifts, it never worked.

The final time you tried, he exploded on you in a full classroom, and made a comment about how you must have a crush on him or something. 

The way you sat at your desk and didn’t say a single word for the rest of the week, let alone the month, still haunts you. And in that time, a lot worse things had been said about you and your behavior prior to the silence. It was hard to continue to deny every rumor that came your way, especially when half of them were true, which meant that he had been spilling every single one of your secrets.

It was cruel.

You could’ve been the same back, you know a lot of embarrassing things that he made you promise never to tell anyone. You could never imagine hating him enough to ever do that to him, not even now. He deserves it, but if you did, then that means you lose what little chance you have at getting him back. 

Well, you’re not sure if that matters either. You go into the arena tomorrow, and assuming that your odds continue to fail you, then that means you have no more chances. Even if you manage to get out of this alive, you probably won’t pursue Finnick any further, especially after what he did to you this week.

The sound of knuckles knocking on glass makes you look up from the streets below, and the blur of color. It’s got to be some sort of festival, that’s all that makes sense to you. There’s hundreds of people walking up and down the streets, playing music and dancing around. 

When you look at the glass doors behind you, you expect to be met with the escort, telling you to get off the balcony and go to bed. Instead, you’re met with the sight of Finnick, looking down at you.

He hasn’t changed out of what he wore for the interviews, either. The one thing that’s missing from his outfit is the black blazer, which he probably ditched somewhere in his room. He’s got the sleeves of the button-down pushed up to his elbows, you can’t imagine he’ll be dressed like this for much longer.

You watch him for a couple of seconds, letting your lungs have their way by stealing your breath. It’s quickly followed by a pair of shameful hands, strangling you so that you remember that you’re supposed to be done with this. Whatever you’ve kindled and allowed to grow for Finnick is dead.

You turn away, sighing. This is the last thing you need right now. You don’t need him to come out and ridicule your performance. You get it. You managed to blow the very last opportunity at getting any sponsors, and now you’ll be going into the arena without help. You’ve got low chances.

The door slides open, revealing the laughter coming from inside of the building. For you, it was a short dinner. You ate and left wordlessly to come and sit out here to clear your mind. You didn’t consider the fact that they’d want to stay up later to talk, or have your partner rewatch his interview.

“I will say, you really do know how to make a show out of nothing.” Finnick says, you close your eyes.

You don’t say anything to him, hoping that he’ll leave you alone when he realizes that he’s not going to get a reaction out of you this time. Usually you have something to say back, so this will be a new experience.

Finnick takes a seat next to you on the concrete floor, paying no attention to the expensive chair behind him. It would be in his best interest to sit there, if he wants to preserve the state of his brand new black slacks. In the past, he would be treating every movement like it hurt to avoid accidentally ripping or staining them. Now, money isn’t an issue.

You can feel his eyes on you, waiting for you to look back at him. 

“Nothing?” He sounds amused, “I know it’s eating you up inside.”

You grit your teeth.

“Fine by me, I don’t want to hear your nasally voice anyway.” He laughs, “I really do want to know how you managed to pull that off. Seriously, (Y/n), it’s like you haven’t seen a single Hunger Games interview in your life. Are you really that airheaded?”

Silence.

“Damn, I thought that one would get you. Well, if you’re looking for good news, it’s the fact that you’ll die pretty—”

“Will you just leave me the fuck alone?” You shout at him, locking eyes. Neither of you move for a long minute, as if you’re trying to decide who gets to break the tension first. The second his lips twitch, you turn your body further to look at him. “You got what you wanted, Finnick! Aren’t you happy? You’ve killed my chances at surviving! I’ve got no sponsors and no allies!”

He makes a noise, “That was your own doing.”

“Was it?” You hiss, “I can’t believe I trusted you, especially after what you’ve done to me this past year. Look at you! The Finnick I knew would be ashamed of the way you act now!”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, you can tell by the look on his face that he thinks this is a joke, “Why don’t you fight back like this every time?”

You shake your head at him, and for whatever it’s worth, you scream: “I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?”

He looks up grinning like a devil.

[musicalhell]

Persephone's Gambit Christmas sneak peak!

In the spirit of "just because I wanna" here's a preview of a future Persephone's Gambit installment in the form of some E/C holiday fluff!

The second surprise came on Sunday morning, when Erik emerged from his room. Christine was drinking her morning cup of chocolate, and at his place at the table there was a parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with what looked like a bit of ribbon from her sewing basket. "What's this?" he asked, prodding the package as if expecting it to explode.

"It's a present," Christine said simply.

"A present?" Erik asked with the bafflement of one who has heard of such things as presents but never expected to see one for himself.

"Yes, I…." Why did she sound so embarrassed? "I wasn't sure if you cared, I suppose you have reason enough not to, but I…I still wanted to do something…"

Erik frowned; he disliked the sense of missing something. "Christine, I'm afraid I'm not following you."

She looked up at him, eyes wide as she realized how lost he was. "I thought you knew…today's the twenty-fourth. It's Christmas Eve."

Christmas…another thing he knew of in the abstract, but had little experience with. He had no memories of his parents celebrating the event; presumably they went to Mass and then joined neighbors for Réveillon while he was shut up at home. Most of his travels had been among close-knit communities where he never fully belonged, or people of other faiths. By the time he'd returned to France, Christmas was just another part of a world that had no place for him.

But Christine…of course Christmas was important to her. "Well?" she demanded with an air of anxious anticipation. "Are you going to open it?"

Feeling uncommonly awkward under her eager scrutiny, Erik undid the ribbon and pulled open the wrapping. A long spill of red emerged: a scarf, a few shades darker than the one Christine cherished so dearly. He rubbed the soft yarn with his fingers, the ridges where her crochet hook had twisted and shaped it into the object he held. "I…" What could he say? What was he supposed to say? "Is this what you have been working on in your room?"

"Yes…I took it to rehearsal a couple times but I was afraid people would ask questions and I wasn't sure if you might see it, you're very hard to keep secrets from but I knew my room would be safe…" She was babbling, nervous. "Do you like it?"

Why did his chest feel warm and tight at the same time; why did he want to smile and cry all at once? "Yes," he said finally, his voice rough around the constriction in his throat. "It's beautiful…thank you."

He excused himself from the table to collect himself, and on returning to his room he remembered the note Raoul had given him for today. Realizing it must also have some connection to the season he opened it, and found the guess confirmed:

I hope you will forgive me for missing our regular meeting this week and the next, but I will be much engaged with family until the new year, and I suspect you may consider the time better spent in your current company. Think of it a gift from myself, if you like.

Joyeux Noël, Erik.

Overflowing with emotions that frightened him, Erik returned to the parlor. "Christine, I…" He swallowed hard, willing control over his turbulent heart. "I didn't get you anything."

"I know," she said with a smile, her sad, trying-to-be-brave smile. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," he insisted. "I should…I want to do something for you." He sat beside her, all devotion. "Tell me what gift you would like, and you shall have it."

"Anything?" she asked after a moment, biting her lip.

Erik hesitated; a request for "anything" indicated a great demand. He steeled himself regardless. "Anything you wish."

"Well…I have no need for trinkets or baubles. But I wish…I would very much like to go out tonight, stroll through the streets, attend the service at La Redemption…"

"Is that all?" Erik asked, incredulous. "Christine, you know you have leave to come and go from here whenever you wish."

"No, I meant…go out with you. Together."

"Together?" Erik's heart hammered against his ribs.

"Yes, I thought perhaps…it will be cold, and with the scarf wrapped around people might not notice…" She was babbling again, but Erik scarcely heard her over the voices both eager and terrified warring in his mind.

She wants to be together—with you, on today of all days…

The streets will be crowded, people everywhere, nowhere to hide or escape…

Isn't this what you wanted: to walk through the city with your wife on your arm? What have you been laboring for all these months, if not this?

It's not ready…I'm not ready…

It was that last thought that stunned him, the realization that his hesitation to test the efforts of his latest designs were not his perfectionism, but his lingering horror of the stares and whispers and taunts. But tested they must be, and there was only one way of doing it.

Christine, who had been waiting in silence, greeted his own silence with quiet resignation. "Never mind, it was only an idle thought. I don't—"

"No." Her disappointment, her determination not to let him know how disappointed she was, tipped the scales. "I said anything, and I meant it. In fact…" He smiled as he took her hand and helped her up. "…It seems I have a present for you, after all."

[cheetabites]

☆ ~ you don’t have to fight anymore

pairing: platonic!mizzen x district 5!reader summary: while you’re stuck in the cage you offer to be someones pillow for the night—or which mizzen ditches coral to get some well earned rest, maybe even a friend. but friendships don’t make it that far when it’s all for themselves. warnings: bonding (at first), canon violence, death, some language, uploaded via iphone, this was in my drafts for too long so i uploaded it :0

when he first approached you you’d felt fear, it wasn’t a secret that his district partner was one of the scariest tributes in here and your position didn’t really make you trust others that easily. but when you looked over you could sense he wasn’t planning to harm you, him looking more scared than you as he approached.

you were quiet as he stood infront of you, eyes directed away from his form to hopefully encourage him to spill the reason he came. but only after a few moments you couldn’t stand the awkward silence any longer, “with coral’s tight grip on you i never thought you’d ever make any connections with anyone but her.”

mizzen’s eyes embarrassedly shot down to his feet, your tone letting him know this was already a bad idea, “well i- just wanted to talk to you, it kinda gets boring talking to one person all the time.” at that your eyes softened a little, reminded that the other tributes you’d soon be against we’re around your age - mizzen looking like he were one of the youngest - and were all coping in different ways.

“right, sorry,” you shot him an embarrassed smile before patting the open spot next to you, “here, to make up for the bad first impression i made.”

he shot a sideways smile in thanks, making himself at home on the uncomfortable rock you perched yourself on before nervously turning towards you. “what’s your name,” there was genuine curiosity on his face, making you both confused and appreciative in a way.

“(name),” you smiled for a short moment but then frowned as the awful thoughts of what’s to come poisoned your mind and shot down your elevated attitude from moments before, “what does it matter anyways? in a few days we’ll be fighting to the death, not caring about our opponents name or the life they had before.”

“oh,” hurt blossomed across his face, sitting in silence for a bit as he pondered what to say back, “it matters because our names are the only thing we can keep, the rest of our life stripped away from us as soon as our names were called.”

“i know we’re all gonna die - that much is clear - but i just hoped i could know you all before that,” guilt bubbled back at the back of your throat again, his face scrunched up in a sad frown when you looked back at him. 

“shit, m’sorry kid, things have just been overwhelming,” you finally turned towards him, averting your whole attention to the conversation, gesturing towards him as you muttered your next words, “and that doesn’t excuse my behavior, since you’re obviously handling it somewhat better than i am.”

you paused for a moment, “it just that, knowing eachother will only make it harder when one of us have to die,” a tinge of sadness in your gaze as you looked at the young boy.

“that’s true,” mizzen looks down at his hands, a tear slipping down his cheek as he tries his best to get it together, upset at how emotional getting reaped made him and not wanting others to find him as an easy target because of his open vulnerability, “ it’s just, maybe we don’t have to be enemies.”

his innocence made your heart hurt, “maybe not out here but in the arena you have much better chances with coral, so sometime along the way we’ll be on opposite sides.” not sparing any time after to change the subject.

“well I’m actually kinda glad you came,” you offered a smile, “it’s nice knowing that they’re people who care enough to ask those types of things regardless of the circumstances we’re in.” mizzen smiled in return - the drying tear tracks staining his cheeks - although halfway through it, it broke into a yawn.

“you should go rest with coral,” you gestured where she was, not hiding the fact she was watching our interaction, “don’t want her coming for my head before we even get into the arena by keeping you here.”

mizzen looked back at her before shrugging, “i don’t think i mean that much to her, she’s probably just watching to make sure i don’t betray her in the arena.”

that caused the words to die in your throat, not knowing how to respond, having to have him to continue the conversation, “could i just stay here for the night? I don’t want to go back.”

you nodded in response as a sense of protectiveness washing over you, “you can rest on my shoulder too if you want, i know that there isn’t much in here that’s comfier.” mizzen looked at you for a second, contemplating your offer before gently resting his head on you, muttering a little ‘thank you’ before he closed his eyes.

-

it didn’t have to end like this, it shouldn’t have ended like this. the guilt bubbling in his throat mixing with the bile that he had to force himself to hold back as he watched your body fall from the beam before landing with the harsh smack on the arena floor.

what’s worse was that he was apart of this.

although he knew coral was planning to kill you, did he have to be apart of the joint effort? couldn’t he have distracted her a bit or maybe messed up so you could get away? couldn’t have coral asked tanner or treech to do it with her instead?

his momentary shock was dissipated as coral called for him and the others, readying up to hunt lucy gray after catching her emptying the water bottles they had gathered prior to killing you.

he carefully climbed down from the beam before crouching at your body - making sure the others weren’t watching before continuing - to mutter the last message to you that’ll come from his lips, “rest, it’s your turn to dream now.” he paused for a moment before his shaking fingers gently shut your eyes closed.

before making his way to the others, he shot a sorrowful look over his shoulder one last time, knowing that soon he’ll either join you or he’ll have to live with the guilt of what he’d done.

-

a/n: uploading a treech fic soon! and completely disregard the fact that this wasn’t posted on saturday :0

© mirrorsmoonlight. don’t translate or repost my works on any platform. dec 23 2023.

[starlight-storytime]

ok so blame it on the dead guy has to be the danny phantom or dc wip right

surprisingly not! "Alright, blame it on the dead guy" is actually my unsub!Spencer Reid fic bc it is CRIMINAL how few plot-driven fics with serial killer Spence assigned his own case are out there

like?? he has SO much potential but I've never come across an Unsub Reid fic that interested me so I decided to write one myself 🥸 1k snippet under the cut!

Spencer volunteered to go first, shifty and nervous. “We—ah, well, we might as well get this out of the way.”

They didn't think to take her out of the viewing room—or, still trusted her enough not to—because they let Elle stay in the corner to watch that stupid, sweet boy get through an interrogation with Hotch. The reality, the potential, hadn't really set in. The team were still scoffing and disbelieving about the mere idea that Elle was a suspect, let alone actually considering she could have killed someone and should be kept aside in a waiting room.

She didn't know whether their trust was heartwarming, or if it hurt to know she was betraying it. That she was making Spencer betray it.

“Where were you last night?” Hotch asked bluntly, diving right to the thick of it.

“890 Glendale Avenue, Queen’s Motel, room 128.” Spencer answered immediately, staring at his shirt cuff as he picked at it.

“A motel?" Hotch raised a brow. "Why weren't you at home?”

“I was, um, visiting Elle. Like I said, this case got us both really heated, and I thought as—as her friend, I should comfort her, y'know?” Spencer looked up as if asking for Hotch's approval, before realizing where he was, and looking back down at his hands awkwardly.

“How long were you at the motel?”

“From 7:23pm to 6:51am.”

“All night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what room was Elle staying in?”

“128.”

“So then—wait.” Hotch visibly double taked. “What room did you stay in?”

“128. Sir.”

Spencer was turning a shade of delicate rose, those honey amber doe eyes burning a hole into the ground as he very determinedly stared down at the table, lips slightly twisted.

“How many beds were in the—”

“We slept together!” Spencer burst out, hands over his face as if he couldn't bare to be seen and his ears a burning flame. “They only have queens at Queen’s Motel, which is why they're mostly popular for discreet hookups, affairs, and young couples for privacy. There's no cameras on premise for that exact reason but I can guarantee that we were preoccupied for the entire night and didn't have time to go kill anyone.”

Spencer looked up at his boss beseechingly, and his every move screamed earnest innocence. Hotch was briefly stunned silent by the outburst.

The viewing room, on the other hand, is hooting and hollering, gasping and grinning and exchanging promises to pay back bets they had apparently made.

"That's why he's so nervous, that sly dog!” Morgan crowed.

Elle stared at the picture of embarrassed, inexperienced young coworker spilling about an unlikely office romance in front of her, and now understood exactly why Spencer had said what he did on the car ride over

“I have a tattoo of four dice on my left hip, in the order 1, 3, 1, 2. I got it for twenty bucks at a Halloween flash sale in Vegas, when I was 16.”

Elle was so overwhelmed by everything going on after hiding a body and disposing of evidence, she can barely process the spontaneous fun fact Spencer shared.

“Is that your worst secret or something? Trying to make it even now that you— have mine?” Elle weakly joked. It seemed so Spencer that the worst thing he ever did was get an underage tattoo.

Spencer glanced at her briefly before turning back to the dark road he was speeding down, headlights off. “Just remember it. It's on my left hip, an inch above the bone.”

The entire viewing room was staring at Elle now, any ideas of her involvement with the murder last night swept out the door. She can only confidently manage a secretive tilt of her head before she's looking away, towards the sight of her best friend saving her from a charge of second degree murder.

“You and Elle…slept in the same bed the entire night, then?” Spencer nodded behind his hands. “Alright. Sure. She never got up to use the bathroom, get a drink, anything like that?” Hotch's attempts to keep up professionalism were crumbling, with Spencer looking exactly like an embarrassed teen who desperately didn't want to talk about girls with his father.

“We were occupied until roughly 11pm, and slept in the same bed the entire night. We never left the room, she never left my line of sight, please just hurry this up.” Spencer says directly into his hands, not even pretending to not be hiding from eye contact anymore.

Hotch grimaced, as much as the man ever showed weakness. “You say she never left your line of sight, rather than she never left the bed.”

“The only time we got out of bed was to take a shower and replace the sheets, but those all came in the suite. We did them all together, barely an arms length away from when I entered the hotel room to when I got into this interrogation room. We fell asleep cuddling and woke up the same way. I'm a light enough sleeper that she couldn't have moved me without drugging me, and I didn't take anything unsealed last night. ” Spencer peeked out from between his fingers, and the skin that can be seen is an impressively tomato red. “Please, Hotch.”

Hotch sighed, kneading his brow for a long moment before picking his papers up and motioning for Spencer to leave. The boy practically sprints, going straight out the door and into the viewing room with such an apologetic face Elle can almost believe they did have this night he implied, rather than the one that really happened.

"I'm really, really sorry about having to talk about this with the whole team, Elle." Spencer apologized, even as Morgan was shaking his shoulders like the kid had scored the winning play of the season.

He didn't even lie when he said we spent the whole night together, an arms length away. Elle realized incredulously, filled with exhilarated relief at the fact that they were actually going to get a way with it. We did sleep in that queen bed together, even if nothing happened.

Hotch put his head in reluctantly. "This will be brief, but for the sake of protocol..."

Elle put on her best swagger and a smile for Hotch. "Of course, boss." She blew a kiss behind her on a whim, and the team burst into another round of whispers and gossip as the door shut.

Elle reclined in the metal chair, half nervous and half amused. The look in Hotch’s eyes is so tired dad that she can fool herself into thinking this is a meet-the-parents scenario.

“Did you know he has a tattoo?" Elle said idly, picking at her cuticle. "On his hip, the left one. You'll never guess the story behind it.”

The tired look he gave her aged him ten years, and Elle laughs so hard she almost cries.

She dramatically goes over the tattoo story she heard in the car, and then proceeds to make up one of the best nights of her life, using unnecessarily raunchy detail until it's all too much. Too much in general outside of an erotic romance novel, but way too much for her boss to hear about from a coworker he has to look in the eyes. (And, the boy she can tell he's starting to consider like a son.)

Elle doesn't get arrested for murder that day. The least she can do is cover for Spencer now, when he's being blamed for a string of murders he didn't even do.

[rendy-a]

Hello- hope your having a great day! :)

Congrats on 500 followers! You really really really REALLY deserve it.

I was wondering For your 500 follower event can i please get romantic scenario with Riddle on asking for a dance 👉👈

Thanks for your support!  Riddle is one of the few characters the game actually mentions having ballroom dancing skills, so this request fits him well! 

“What about him?” a sandy haired boy in a RSA uniform asks you.  You roll your eyes and turn to him, “Not this again.”  He flashes you a wicked smile, “What?  It offends my pride as a matchmaker to see my friend without a date to the big dance.”  You laugh at that.  Since you’d made friends with the RSA boy, he’d been attempting to set up you and the rest of the first-year students with dates.  You weren’t sure just what sort of criteria he’d been using for these so-called matches.  It seemed to you that he’d suggest that any boy or girl who happened to walk by was his target’s prefect match. 

You know he meant well, so you responded, “Naw, Ruggie needs someone rich enough to take care of him.  We are both poor as mice, its not really a great match.”  Your friend seemed to consider that.  “So, then what are you looking for in a partner?” he asked.  “Well…” you trailed off.  In truth, you did have someone in mind.  Someone who had helped you in the past, someone you admired, someone who made your heartbeat faster; only, it was a secret.  You looked up and see your friend smiling devilishly at you, “Oh go on and spill it.  I can read it all over your face, you’re already in love.” 

“Well, I’m not saying there is someone,” you began, “but if there was, I’d want him to be a proper gentleman.  Kind to animals, with a gentle smile.  Someone who always keeps his word.”  You get a faraway look in your eyes as your thoughts drift off to Riddle.  “Hmm, plenty of legitimate gentlemen at Royal Sword, let alone the few louts at NRC that might qualify,” he peers at you slyly, “That bit about animals sounds specific though.  You definitely have someone in mind.  Limited numbers of people at school with an animal connection.  Let’s see, a couple of people have pet birds and horses at RSA.”  You panic, that was far too close a guess, “LET’S NOT BE HASTY!”

Your friend laughs and lets the matter drop and you were glad for it.  It’s not that you were embarrassed about liking Riddle but more that you didn’t want to have anyone encourage you over it.  The dorm leaders had special duties they needed to attend to for the dance.  On top of that, there was schoolwork, clubs, and all the normal dorm duties.  You didn’t want to burden Riddle with escorting you to the dance as well.  You felt that, if you asked, he’d be gentlemanly about it and accept.  Then though, you’d only be adding to his troubles.  No, you’d rather just attend alone and quietly admire him from afar. 

On the day of the dance, you meet up with your friends.  Some had dates and some were going alone.  The large group was quite friendly though, and you felt welcomed by everyone.  Even a few RSA students had managed to infiltrate the close-knit group of NRC First-Year students, your friend included.  Although in his case, it was probably due to being the one who had helped so many of them find dates.  He really was quite the matchmaker, you thought as you watched Deuce shyly smile at a kindly Fair Maiden Academy student he’d asked to the dance.  “Okay!  Everyone have fun, but you better all remember to save a dance for me!” you playfully shout as the group sets out. 

You hadn’t really expected the whole group to take you seriously, but it felt like each of your friends, new and old, had made it a point to seek you out for a dance.  You had a proper waltz with Jack, a lively ‘dance’ with Deuce and even a little spin with the FMA girl that was his date.  Each one was enjoyable for many reasons but mostly because they allowed you to pass close by Riddle as you spun around the dance floor.  Maybe you couldn’t bring yourself to dance with Riddle but, as you shared the floor, it was like you were dancing with him in some way.  A time or two, your eyes even met across the floor and you’d give him a smile and an encouraging nod.  All in all, you felt rather pleased with the outcome of the dance.

Then, the lights dimmed, and Crowley’s voice echoed across the venue.  “I want to thank our distinguished guests for joining us here tonight.  I hope you have come to see the quality of peers you have here at Night Raven College.  I want to give you this last opportunity to dance tonight, because I am so kind.  Please enjoy this, the final dance of the evening.”  You clapped your hands along with the rest of the attendees and snickered at Crowley’s ‘oh so kind’ remark with your NRC friends.  Then you began to look for a partner for the last dance.  When you turned, there he was.  Your friend from RSA smiled and held out his hand, “May I?” he asked.  You gave him a nod and placed your hand in his own so he could lead you out to the floor.

Fittingly, the last dance of the evening was a waltz.  You took your position across from your partner and he began to lead you in the dance.  Your eyes gazed across the room and found Riddle standing on the sidelines, surprisingly not choosing to take part in the final dance.  “Hehehe,” your partner chuckled softly.  “What’s so funny?” you asked him between spins.  He smiles at you wickedly and says, “This.”  Then he turns you into a violent twirl that leaves your head spinning.  When you turn to scold him for getting a bit too exuberant with the dancing, you find him gone.  He’d disappeared, abandoning you on the dance floor.  Your mouth falls open and you stare off at where he’d been in shock, what was he thinking?

You didn’t have long to stand in wonder though, another couple bumps into you rather quickly.  “Oh, sorry,” you say but before you can finish, another couple bumped into you.  Without the rhythm of the dance, you were just a hazard out on the floor.  You looked for a gap to slip out of and felt another person brush against you.  You apologized on reflex and turned to avoid further contact when the other person instead pulled you closer.  You gasp in surprise and look to see Riddle pulling you into a waltz hold.  “Quickly, Prefect,” Riddle commands, “before we are run over.”  You place your hands in the correct place to begin waltzing and surrender control to Riddle.

Riddle was a talented dancer, that could not be denied.  In mere moments, he had joined the flow of couples and gotten you out of harm’s way.  “Thank you,” you say quietly to him as you turn in another twirl.  “I can’t believe he did that,” Riddle replies tightly, “That was the height of rudeness.  To abandon a partner in a dance is reprehensible.  To do it to you is just, just…” and then he trails off.  You smile shyly at the comment that was a sort of round-about complement.  You look at him curiously and ask, “Why weren’t you dancing?”  He looks at you startled.  “N.not that I’m saying you couldn’t have been.  I just wondered because you seemed to have enjoyed dancing tonight.”  He turns slightly, refusing to meet your eyes. 

Finally, he looks up at you, “You kept looking at me.  I thought…I thought if I waited, you’d come and ask me to dance.”  Then he turns away with a flush creeping into his cheek.  Riddle was waiting for YOU to ask HIM to dance?  You didn’t mean to but soon you found a large and radiant smile plastered on your face.  Here and there, you would both happen to look at each other at the same time but those moments were brief as one or the other of you would quickly look away when it happened. 

At last, the dance ends and the dancers execute the final bow or curtsy to their partner and find their way off the dance floor.  Riddle offers you his elbow in a gentlemanly manner.  “After all that, I’d be remiss not to properly escort you home.”  You smile and gently squeeze his arm in return, “I think I’d like that very much, thank you.”  That walk home was enlightening.  You’d tried to excuse your friend’s behavior as a joke (Riddle was not impressed) and asked him about his dancing (you were very impressed).  You spoke about the dance and the set-up before finally coming to a topic you had held yourself back from asking. 

“Riddle, why did you stay until the end of the dance?  Not very many people did, and I thought you’d have left early too so you could get back to your studies or dorm work or something.”  He takes a few silent steps before answering.  “I’ve learned things this year, things I’d probably never have learned at home.  School is important but if I devote all my time to rules and studying, I’ll miss out on some important parts of my life.  I don’t want that to happen.”  At this, he lays a hand over your own and squeezes gently.  You squeeze back in response, smiling into the night.  You’d have to text your RSA friend later and thank him for setting you up.  He was a great matchmaker after all.

[cisthoughtcrime]

Hi you posted about getting your wisdom teeth taken out- just wondering if I could ask a couple questions, if not feel free 2 disregard. I am terrified of anesthesia, how out of it are you upon waking? Am I going to spill my worst thoughts and secrets? I went under recently for an IUD placement but the procedure only took about 15 minutes so it was a lower dose or however that works. I reacted fine then, I cried but I remember waking up in the recovery room and everything after that and I was conscious. Is it a more intense process for the wisdom tooth surgery? I'm not sure if I've worded everything correctly bc it's a confusing thing to ask about. I am more worried about the anesthesia than any part of the recovery.

hi! sure thing, more under the cut so this doesn't become a long post on everyone's dash

tbh this was my first experience with general anaesthesia since I was a little kid, so idk how representative my experience was in general. I'm also a bit of a tank when it comes to substance tolerance, so I might have shaken it off faster than someone lighter-weight. they gave me laughing gas and IV anesthesia, the slower kind that takes ~5minutes to knock you out totally rather than the "count down from 10" type. the laughing gas did absolutely nothing to me tbqh, but I remember the IV starting to kick in ~2min after they put it in and making some groggy reference to the couch scene in Get Out cuz it felt a bit like sinking (into a pillow, not into a freaky void lol). My memory after that starts in the recovery room with the feeling like I had just lost my train of thought and like I had just been talking in a different place (I had tbh, but I still don't remember it). I definitely wouldn't describe it as "intense". I was a tiny bit disoriented, but I knew where I was and why I was there. At the time, I thought I was lucid and speaking like I was sober and the only reason it sounded goofy was the gauze in my mouth, but I was just kind of saying some goofy incoherent stuff. Really the worst thing I did was swear a lot and make some deeply stupid nonsensical puns, most of which no one could hear through the gauze anyway. I didn't bring up any topic unsolicited -- i think I was really just responding directly to whatever words I heard around me (like the nurse said something about "training" and I said "choo choo" and then explained the joke a few times). My dad was there picking me up and there are plenty of things I don't want him to know, but none of them came up or came out at all. If you're really anxious about spilling your deep dark secrets, mention that to the nurse or whomever and ask if they can help in that window where you're most "out of it", then once you're out of the building just go to sleep asap. When my sister had hers out, I drove her and she spent the whole car ride telling me she loved me and the world and everything but mostly me. it was super sweet, but not private info. a few friends told me similar things about their experiences because they knew I was nervous and didn't know what to expect, and none of them mentioned volunteering private thoughts or secrets. Honestly this has made me wonder if kids are just lightweights or if people put on a huge act for those viral videos or if they give different drugs in different areas, because today was nothing like the cartoonish loopy state I half expected. I even won a few rounds of Boggle as soon as I got home (under an hour after waking up).

TLDR it was really pretty chill. I don't think I embarrassed myself more than saying the same thing multiple times or making dumb incoherent jokes, and even 30min after regaining consciousness I felt slow and a little groggy but fully mentally there. by 90min after, I felt normal but tired. I'm typically anxious about surgery stuff, but this was a much more low-key experience than I feared. genuinely hope this helps at all :)

[eilouros]

hello loves! my name is kris and i'm v nervous excited to be here with my bby sooah. it's been a few years since i've rp'd so please bear with me as i try to figure this all out again. here is some info about this troublemaker and i've written up some plots below. if nothing sparks your fancy though, i'm happy to think something up together! ♡

plots: - you know her as the campus cat that you always hang out with and sooah has not had any motivation to reveal that she's actually a student here. - you thought you were alone when you had your embarrassing moment or spilled a secret but little did you know that sooah was hanging out right above and now she won't stop teasing you. - there's something you've been wanting to do but you can't bring up the courage to do it. good thing sooah will do just about anything and you ask her to come along for the ride. - oh sweet darling baby. you're the younger sister she's never had and she babies the shit out of you. - you're going to have a heart attack because you come up to the rooftop and all of a sudden you see a girl hanging out dangerously close to the ledge. little do you know that's just her thing. - it's raining and all of a sudden there is a strange woman clinging to your arm. sooah! does! not! fuck! with! getting! wet! - a best friend pls. i promise she only bites with love. - you were first loves but yuck sooah would never admit that because commitment issues. she ended up breaking your heart or maybe you did. either way it didn't end well. - for whatever reason, sooah scares/intimidates you and that naturally makes her want to push your buttons more. also idk why my formatting keeps getting fucked up. someone pls send help

[cherry-bloooom]

i wrote something new #yay

this is about my oc ravyn and her abuser percy. this one’s a hard read in subject matter and in length HELP but i hope u enjoy reading anyways yay!!

CW IF U NEED IT…

domestic violence, attempted sa, alcoholism, vomit, mention of drugs, implied rape? (it’s literally 2 words), suicide mention, blood mention, uhhh i think that’s it

Ok have fun if you read thank you and i’m sorry

word count: 8k

I walked home from work, since nobody could give me a ride. It was still light out, so it wasn’t that harsh of a walk, but I was trembling the whole time, and the cool fall temperature wasn’t helping at all. I couldn’t stop replaying the whole conversation in my head. I almost regretted telling them anything at all, and part of me wished I could’ve just kept my mouth shut, but it was impossible to stop once I started. I had to keep it a secret for so long, the words wouldn’t stop flowing out of my mouth. All the shitty things he did to me, the awful words he said to me, the things he made me do, I told them everything. The words hung in the air in Mr. Silvestri’s office for a while after I said them, and even a few hours later they were still haunting me and following me around. It all felt so dirty to admit. Part of me knew it was good to let out, I mean, it felt good to finally just tell someone the truth, but I felt so horrible for making them listen to it all. It felt shameful, in a way. My legs wobbled, thinking about the utter embarrassment I’d feel coming back into work the next day. I could only imagine how they were gossipping about me now that I’d left.

Mr. Silvestri offered to give me a ride home since it was supposed to get dark soon, but I insisted it was alright. In my head, it was the least I could’ve done to make up for spilling my guts earlier that day. I didn’t want to bother him anymore with it, or Michelle either. God, I thought so sure she was sick of me then. The whole reason they wanted to talk to me was because I was “distracted” at work. I felt awful, for all of it. I did. They’re not my parents, I thought, I shouldn’t be burdening them with my personal problems like that. I got myself into that situation, it was my responsibility. Maybe I should type up an apology for them, I wondered. I felt it was more formal through writing than in person or over the phone or something. I always struggled with coming up with the right words anyways. I felt a lump forming in my throat, but I tried to choke it down as I pulled my phone from my pocket and typed a text to Mr. Silvestri. I typed as I walked,

“this message is for both you and michelle. i truly apologize for taking the time out of your guys’ day and making you listen to my sob story like that. i realize how inappropriate that was to share details about my personal life in a work setting, especially taking into account the subject of the details that i shared with you both. i really hope you can disregard anything and everything i told you today, and we can continue to maintain a professional, non-personal relationsh”

That was all I came up with before I turned the corner onto my street and saw Percy’s car in the road, with him glaring at me through the windshield. My blood ran cold and my trembling became worse. He never shows up without telling me, why is he here? Maybe he needed something? I checked my texts to see if maybe I missed a message from him, but found nothing. I swallowed hard and inched toward the car.

Before I was even ten feet away, he rolled down the window and stuck his head out, yelling, “Get your stuff, Ravyn, you’re coming over to my place,” in a low, menacing, angry tone, the kind he only ever uses when he’s drunk. I nodded my head, and rushed into the building and up the flights of stairs. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I began to panic. Why would he be so mad at me now? What did I do wrong this time? Was it because I was too tired to have sex last night? Or I didn’t wanna smoke before work today? God, whatever it was, I just hoped it wasn’t that bad.

I made my way upstairs to my apartment as my thoughts kept racing. That lump in my throat returned as I thought of what would happen when we got back to his place. I was panicking and didn’t know what to do, thinking of any way to escape the situation. I thought about calling Mr. Silvestri, or even Michelle while I was up in my room, but I thought about the message I was gonna send to Mr. Silvestri. I couldn’t trouble them with this anymore. I don’t want to lose my job, and I can’t lose their respect anymore than I already have. I grabbed all the clothes I could, shoved them in my old backpack, and left again to get in the car.

As soon as the door opened, the stench of alcohol and fast food emanated from inside the car. He didn’t say anything right away, which wasn’t unusual for him, but right as I sat down and the door closed again, he began to interrogate me.

“So what did you do all day at work?” He started.

“What do you mean?”

“C’mon, don’t play dumb, Ravyn.”

I really had no idea what he was aiming for here. It could mean anything with him.

I had to think of something other than the truth. I squeaked out, “Well, I.. I mainly just, um, was at the register all day, dealing with customers.. I got to chill for the most part..”

“Was your boss in today?” His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter.

A bead of sweat dripped down my forehead, and I mumbled, “W-why? What do you mean?”

I was staring at the road, but I could see his eyes roll in the corner of my eye. He continued through clenched teeth, “Did you guys, uh, talk about anything?”

Did he know about what I said to Mr. Silvestri? There’s no way, how could he know?

I hesitated for a moment, “I, um..”

“Did you tell him about us?”

I felt the blood rush out of my face and I got lightheaded, like I could pass out right then and there. My heart was beating out of my chest, twice as fast as it was before.

Immediately my voice became defensive, and I stammered out, “Why would I tell him anything like that? He.. He’s my boss, not my friend or something..” I needed to make this as believable as possible. “Besides, I.. I would never tell anyone. I mean it, Percy.”

I winced and my voice quivered as I muttered his name, and I tried to mask it by lowering my voice, hoping the rumbling engine and the traffic noise would drown out the fact that tears were forming in my eyes.

He had no more questions, and no responses, so he remained silent for the rest of the drive. His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter after my response, and his irritated gaze continued to follow the road as he drove.

We got to his shitty apartment building, and even as we were entering the building and climbing the flights of stairs, he said nothing. He drunkenly fumbled with the key before unlocking the door and making a b-line for his bedroom, not even bothering to glance at me. Once again, this wasn’t unusual for him, but with how he’d acted in the car, it just felt so much more hostile that time. I stood in the dimly-lit kitchen for a moment, studying the dirty dishes piling in the sink, all of which being Percy’s dishes, the cabinets and cupboards left open without a care, and the caked-on food crumbs that littered the countertops, and felt a bit queasy. The stench of B.O. and weed didn’t help either. Before my eyes dared to investigate the smelly trash, Percy called me into his room, his voice droned across the apartment and attacked my ears. His roommates must be coming home soon. He doesn’t like them seeing me here, I don’t think.

I trudged my feet across the floor, each step heavier than the last. My heart rate wouldn’t slow down, and each time he spoke it only got faster. I made my way through his bedroom door, closed it behind me, and dropped my backpack onto the floor. It was dark, his blackout curtains blocked the sunset from shining into the room and the only things lighting up the room were his computer monitor, his light-up rainbow keyboard, and the dim, blue LED light strips around his ceiling. In front of the computer, he sat in his oversized gaming chair, and clicked around. I tried to catch a glimpse of what he was doing from where I was standing, but he was so close to the screen, I couldn’t see past his face. I looked around, waiting for him to say something, or direct me to do something, like he usually does, and examined what I could in the dark, his sheetless mattress on the floor, with nothing but a blanket and two flat, old, yellowed pillows on top. He proceeded to say nothing, or even look at me as I stood and waited. I helped myself to take a seat on the bed, nearly tripping over the bong and empty beer bottles he always kept on the floor. The mattress had so many crumbs on it, it almost felt like sandpaper. I know my house isn’t much better, but I really have no idea how he lives like this.

I sat in silence, staring around the room. I reached into my pocket to pull out my smokes and lighter, and put a cigarette in my mouth and lit it. I took a deep inhale, and it actually sort of calmed my nerves, before they were out of whack again from Percy finally saying something to me.

“What are you doing?”

I almost jumped out of my skin from just the sound of his voice.

“Just.. having a smoke..?”

He groaned, “Put it out. I have a fucking headache.”

I sighed and put it out on the ashtray next to the bong. I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands, or to keep myself busy. Usually he’s done something, or at least said something if he was really that angry with me. I kept sitting quietly, not making a sound. Maybe I needed to start the conversation?

I hesitated, but blurted out, “Um… How… was your day today?”

He didn’t respond.

“Percy?” I called out, wincing again at his name.

No response, again. I sighed. I couldn’t take this anxiety anymore.

“Why won’t you talk to me..?” I pleaded with him.

He finally turned around in his chair, and looked me up and down, saying nothing. He stared right through me, as if I wasn’t even there. It was such a cold, harsh look, I still can’t shake it from my head. He turned back around to face the computer, and finally spoke,

“Ravyn?”

My heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

My face went cold and my limbs went numb. I physically bit my tongue to keep myself from saying anything else. I gnawed on my lip, and chewed on the dead skin that flaked off. I felt lightheaded. I stared around at the room again, not making any noise. He kept clicking away like I wasn’t there.

From where I was sitting, I could finally kinda see the monitor around his big head. I leaned my body to get a better view, and saw he was stalking Michelle’s Facebook. One of his favorite pastimes. I remember a few months ago when he made me install a VPN on his computer so he could keep looking at her profile. He said it was so we could watch The Office together on Netflix. Still can’t believe I fell for that one. He scrolled through her posts for a while, inspecting every single detail of each photo she posted, before clicking on Rebecca’s profile.

I don’t know much about Rebecca, really, or what happened to her. All I know is that Percy dated her before me, she’s Michelle’s sister, and a while before I met Percy, she killed herself. From all the posts I see of her, she seemed like a really nice girl. She was really pretty. If I remember right, she killed herself while still dating Percy, and if this is insensitive, God forgive me, but I don’t really blame her. I can only imagine the shit he put her through to drive her to that point, and for God knows how long. That poor girl.

My train of thought got derailed as he clicked onto Mr. Silvestri’s profile, too. I could see his body tense up as he scrolled through it. I wasn’t sure what to do besides just sit there and watch him sit at his computer. I wanted to go home. Well, not really, since I knew Percy would’ve just followed me there. I wished I could’ve just gone somewhere else, anywhere that Percy couldn’t torture me. I didn’t know where that would be though. I thought to myself, maybe the diner? Mr. Silvestri knew how bad it was, I guess, but would he let me retreat to the diner to stay away from him? I debated the answer in my head, before remembering the message I’d typed for him and Michelle. I seriously need to learn some boundaries when it comes to this stuff.

My decision-making was cut short after Percy suddenly remembered I existed, and he commanded, “Come here.”

After growling over to me, he lifted his hand to reach a bottle of Modelo sitting next to the monitor. I flinched when his arm raised, but thankfully he didn’t take notice. I stood and took a few steps toward the computer, and waited for further instructions as he remained sitting. He rose from the chair, and towered over me, staring directly into my soul. It always scared me just how much taller he was than me. He loomed over me with a look in his eyes, one that confirmed he knew just how much power he had over me. I hated that look, I always, always did.

“Sit down,” he growled again, and I immediately let my legs go weak and sat on the gaming chair. I sat my hands neatly on my knees, clasping them together, trying to hold them from trembling. My eyes darted around the desk, and admired the filth that completely enveloped it; empty beer bottles, an overflowing ash tray, condom wrappers, a bunch of dead lighters, his phone, half empty McDonald’s cups, food wrappers, used tissues, dirty plates, cups, and silverware, and random crumbs. I refused to let my hands touch anywhere near the desk.

“That’s your boss, right? Spencer Silvestri?” Percy asked, gesturing to the screen in front of me. It displayed Mr. Silvestri’s Facebook, with a picture of his old truck as the profile picture.

“Yeah, it is,” I answered as my breath hitched.

He reached over me, aiming for the mouse, and I flinched again. He clicked on another tab on the screen, displaying his email inbox, open to a message from Mr. Silvestri’s email address. My heartbeat quickened as I realized that fact, and my palms became even more clammy than before. I skimmed the email, with the only thing I caught being, “...and I just had a fucking meeting with Ravyn in my office, and she was telling me all about you.”

My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach. Why would he tell him? Why were they even talking about me? I was so confused. This couldn’t possibly be happening to me, I thought, the one time I opened up to someone about it.

My eyes flitted across the email thread some more, until I felt Percy’s large hand gripping my shoulder tight. It was so large, it sunk into my collarbone, and I winced in pain.

“I thought you said, earlier, ‘you’d never tell anybody,’” he mocked, mumbling drunkenly.

I turned my head to meet my eyes with his, and he was staring right at me, with a crazed, empty look in his eyes. My lip quivered and my eyes welled up with tears again.

I muttered, “I.. I don’t know what he’s talking about, I-”

“Bull-fucking-shit, Ravyn,” Percy interrupted, grabbing my shoulder tighter, “I’m tired of the fucking lies. All you’ve done since I came and got you is lie to me.. I want the truth. Now.”

I dropped my head down, my hair hanging in my face, blocking my view of him. I looked at my hands and they were trembling uncontrollably. I grabbed at my pants with one hand to keep it steady, and put my hair behind my ear with the other.

I began to beg, “Percy, I..”

But before I could say anything useful, I was unexpectedly flying out of the chair, as he grabbed my wrist and pulled me out himself. I tried to pull it back from him and writhe out of his grip, but it did nothing. He knew he was stronger than me, and I did too.

“Tell me the fucking truth,” he demanded through clenched teeth. My heart was pumping so fast, and my breath was so rapid, I really did feel lightheaded. I think I was almost hyperventilating. I needed to think of something, anything to get him to calm down.

“N- no, Percy, sweetie, of c- course I didn’t talk to him, I.. I think.. I think he was just trying to scare you. I didn’t talk to him all day, I.. I’m not even sure he was in today at all. I promise, Percy, please, just believe me? Please?” I pleaded with him. Usually the “sweetie” stuff worked to make him calmer. I would’ve done anything for him to let go of me.

My prayers were thankfully answered, as he yanked me to the side and shoved me toward the mattress, where I then stumbled backward onto it. I rubbed my wrist and shoulder where he grabbed me while they ached and throbbed in pain with each time my heart beat. I watched him cautiously, where he stood with his back towards me, rubbing his temples with both hands. He was quiet for a moment.

The silence was broken with a question I’d never expected.

“Do you know what happened to Rebecca?” he muttered.

I was taken aback at first, but went along with it to keep him calm.

“Yeah, kinda.. Didn’t she-”

“She killed herself. Last July,” he began, “She slit her throat. At work.”

My eyes widened and I covered my mouth with my hand.

He continued, “She used to work with Michelle, and.. She did it while they had a shift together..”

Percy paused for a moment, reaching for a case of beer tucked away under the desk. He pulled out a bottle, grabbed a bottle opener from the case, and tossed both in my direction, nearly hitting my face. He swigged from his own bottle, sighing after swallowing and wiping his mouth.

He continued on, “You wanna know who found her, Ravyn?”

I fiddled with the bottle opener, “Who?”

“It was him.. that fucking.. asshole boss of yours. Whatever his name is.”

“..Mr. Silvestri?”

My body tensed up as I felt millions of questions swirling in my head, and I felt even dizzier than before. All of this was so, so confusing, and making me sick.

“Yeah,” he continued, “he’s.. he’s the one who found her.. lying in her own blood on that bathroom floor.. He helped Michelle and her.. ‘girlfriend’, or whatever, move from New York to here after that.”

Me eyes widened, and my mouth was agape. He paused to take a sip of his beer, but noticed I hadn’t even opened mine. He insisted, “Drink it, I gave it to you for a reason.”

The taste of beer always made me nauseous, especially the shit he would always buy. I sighed to myself and popped open the cap, and took a small sip. My stomach churned.

“Everyone thinks he’s such a great guy, Ravyn,” he drawled, his words slurring together, “He’s so.. Kind, and generous, and selfless, apparently..” He started wobbling back and forth where he was standing, and collapsed in his chair, turning towards me finally. He continued again, “but what nobody talked about when it happened, was.. Why she did it.”

I took a swig to appease him.

“Do you know why.. why she did it?”

In my head, I had a clear answer as to why. “No.. Why?”

“Because of your fucking boss. He.. he killed her, Ravyn.. You know that, right?” He questioned with a twinge of hostility in his voice, “He was.. he.. he was so hard on her, and- and his fucking brother.. What was his name, Frank? Or something?”

He looked to me as if looking for confirmation. I nodded along to keep him quiet, and he sagged his head down, looking to the floor.

He went on, “He.. They both fucking.. They pushed her to the edge. And Spencer did nothing to stop it.. Nothing. At all,” he shook his head gently. Chuckling, he inquired, “You.. You probably think he’s a good guy, too, huh? Just like everyone else, right?”

My heart sank again at his question. His head raised and his gaze met mine, and I turned my head to avoid eye contact. That drunk look he had plastered on his face always terrified me, and it still does. When he started to have that stupid look on his face, that was when I knew I wasn’t in control of the situation anymore. He was completely unpredictable from that point on. He raised his bottle to his mouth and chugged the rest of the beer inside, before tossing it to the ground. I shook with anxiety as I pictured what he was describing to me. All I felt was complete shock. I had no idea that Percy and Mr. Silvestri had a history like this. I had no idea that Rebecca killed herself so gruesomely, and God, while Michelle was there, too? That’s so awful. My head was reeling just thinking about all of it.

All I could mutter out was, “Well, I.. I never knew about that, with.. With Rebecca.”

He laughed to himself and shook his head again, “Yeah, well, not a lot of people do,” he sighed. He looked down to the floor again before asking, “But, really, Ravyn.. What do you think of him?”

He stared at me with daggers in his eyes and my heart sank again. To stall, I took another sip of beer, my face contorting with the stomach-turning flavor coating my whole mouth. I needed to think of the right thing to say. I really like Mr. Silvestri. He seems like a good person, he’s always been nice to me since I started working at the American. He’s always offered me rides home, paid time off, and he’s always so friendly with me when it feels like nobody else wants to be. I didn’t believe a word of what Percy said, about him being the reason Rebecca did that. Mr. Silvestri didn’t “kill” her, it was her decision. Not his. Maybe it was because she was stuck with such a shitty person when she died. It was always someone else's fault in Percy’s eyes.

I was so unsure of what to say that wouldn’t make him even more upset than he was. He was so unpredictable though, I didn’t know what that had to be.

I took a chance and squeaked out, “No, no.. He’s a bad person for doing that.. To Rebecca.”

I held my breath waiting for his response.

He chuckled again, and gripped the armrests of the chair, “Oh, so, you like him otherwise?”

My breath hitched and my eyes widened as I realized my mistake. I rushed to defend myself, “N- no, not at all, I don’t like him at all.. He-”

“Ravyn, please, just stop with the fucking lies. You know how much it bothers me when you fucking lie. C’mon, just be honest.”

My hands gripped my beer in near terror, and my body shook again. I scrambled for words again, “Percy, no, I- I’m being honest. Really, I don’t-”

He interrupted me again, “You like him better than me? Huh? Is that it?” He rose from his seat, his fists clenched. He stared down at me like I was nothing, nothing but a pest or a nuisance just by sitting here. I was nothing to him.

My eyes widened as far as they would, and my body shook furiously, “N- no, I-”

I was flying out of my seat again like I was before, this time being dragged by the hair. He grabbed my hair close to my scalp and pulled as hard and fast as he could. I yelped in pain when I came up, and dropped my beer on the floor.

He leaned down to get in my face before he bellowed, “I know you do, slut. It’s fucking obvious.”

My eyes welled up with tears and my lip quivered again, my eyelids sealed shut. When I opened them, he was looking me up and down as if I was filth. He then started searching the room, his eyes darting from one side to the other.

He let go of me, and I fell backwards into the wall as I watched him search around, throwing things onto the floor, making a bigger mess than there already was.

I was so confused, I took a chance by asking him, “What are you-” before he interrupted me again.

He hastily asked, “Where’s your phone?

I shook more, and my question slipped, “Wh- why?”

He turned back towards me and barked out, “Where the fuck is it?”

I panicked. I didn’t want him to see my message for Mr. Silvestri, then he’d know I was lying about not talking to him. Then, I would be in major trouble with him. Please, God, just put me out of my misery already, I thought.

“I- I don’t know,” I stuttered, looking to the floor.

He had a crazed demeanor to him, an empty, cold, crazed one, before he slapped me as hard as he could, right on my cheek. I almost tripped into the mattress from being knocked back so hard, and I raised my hand to ease the stinging pain.

He got low, and yelled in my face, “Why do you keep fucking lying? What the fuck are you trying to hide?” before hitting my face again, several times in a row. Each time I yelped out in pain, each one more shrill and pained than the last. Hot tears began to involuntarily fall from my eyes. I tried to block the hits with my arms in front of my face, but he used his other arm to hold my wrists and pull them down as he hit me. The final slap he dealt was so strong, I fell back into the mattress, and down he came along with me, kneeling in front of me, winding his hand back to hit me again.

I ducked my head and covered my face with my arms again, and began sobbing as I cried out to him, “N-nothing, Percy, I- Please, stop! Please!”

“Show me your fucking phone, then. Where is it, Ravyn?” He muttered, hovering over my trembling body.

I wiped my tears and broke into uncontrollable sobs and hiccups. I tried to say something between my heaves, but ultimately I was so upset I could barely breathe let alone speak. I managed to get out between hiccups, “J- Just please, stop.. Please, Percy, please, just.. leave me alone..”

“Stop?” he mocked, “You want me to stop?”

“Please,” I cried out, “just leave me alone.”

“Then tell me where the fuck it is, Ravyn. Stop acting stupid.”

He paused, waiting for my response, but I was crying so hard nothing would come out. The longer he had to wait, the more frustrated he got, and he began raising his hand again, winding it back to hit me, slowly and deliberately. I think it was his way of trying to scare me.

I screamed out in terror and shielded my face again with my arms, and fell onto my back as I tried to dodge the incoming blow, my body bouncing off the mattress.

My eyes were shut tight, when instead of a smack, I felt his hand press against my mouth, physically shutting it.

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispered, “you’re making a fucking scene.”

I let my hands fall down onto my chest, no longer protecting my face, and I continued to sob underneath his hand. I could physically feel with my hands how heavily my heart was beating. I opened my eyes wide, and my terrified eyes met his dead ones. I continued to whimper out under his hand, tears falling down my face and hyperventilating.

For a moment, he looked at me a different way, and cocked his head to the side. I saw a faint smile crack onto his face, but it left as soon as it appeared. He sat down on the bed next to me, and ran his hand through my hair, leaving the other one on my mouth. It made me feel sick, the way that he would touch me.

He finally spoke again, “I bet he likes getting to see you like this,” while pressing his hand harder on my mouth. It started getting harder to breathe. He continued, “So fucking helpless, right?”

He moved his hand from my face down to my neck, and he started softly grabbing at it, then down to my chest, rubbing through my shirt. I took a deep inhale of fresh air, still softly crying, wishing he would get his hands off of me and leave me alone.

Everything was happening so fast, I couldn’t process what he meant by anything he was saying. Now that I had a moment to think, I realized what he was so angry about. The image flooded my head and I felt nauseous just thinking about it. I can’t believe he would think that about me, and about Mr. Silvestri.

While I was reeling from the image in my head, he moved his hands from my chest and trailed down to my hips, where he grabbed both my sides and pulled me towards him, so I would be right underneath him. He then hovered over me, my legs under him, my face right underneath his. I still cried, not daring to move an inch and make him even more angry.

“So, tell me, does it feel better when I do it, or him?” he asked.

I nearly gagged. I tried to defend myself, “No, I don’t- he doesn’t- I’ve never-”

He interrupts with a groan, “Oh, my God, Ravyn, just shut up. I know that’s what you’re hiding. You’re not a very good liar, you know that, right?”

He grabbed my face by both sides, caressing my stinging cheeks. He asked again, “Do you like lying to him like this? I wonder if he ever falls for it,” and he smiled, in this sick, lovey way.

“Answer my question,” he continued, “does he feel better or me? C’mon, just be honest, sweetie.”

I stayed silent as he rubbed his hands all over my body.

“Answer me,” he said again, this time with that angry drunk look creeping back. I cried out, sickened by anything I came up with to say.

To counter my lack of response, he balled his fist, and punched near my eye. I yelped out in pain again, and the heavy hot tears came back as I started sobbing uncontrollably again. With his left hand, he slapped the other side of my face, and placed his right hand on my neck squeezing tightly. I couldn’t breathe between the sobbing and his hand on my throat. I started to squirm from the pain of all his weight on my throat and the lack of air.

“Come on, fucking answer me. Which of us feels better?”

I could barely breathe at this point, my head reeling from no oxygen, the pain on my face, neck, and arms, and the anxiety building in my stomach for the last hour or so making all my organs do backflips. In desperation, I cried out to him, “You! You! I promise, you do!” and as I did, I clawed at his arm, pushing it away with all the strength I had in my body, but it did nothing. He wouldn’t let go.

“So you finally admit it, huh?” he said in a sickly sweet tone, and that stupid smile creeped back onto his face. He continued, “So what started it? Did he promise a raise, or something?” I could smell the alcohol on his breath, his face was mere inches away from mine. His grip on my throat got tighter, and with my crying and hyperventilating, I was close to not breathing at all.

My body flailed in distress, and my attempts to push him away got more dire. “P- Percy, let go,” I managed to get out, “Please, I- I can’t breathe,” and I started coughing, and my legs began to kick around underneath Percy to somehow get him off of me.

He finally let go of my neck, and I took a huge gasp, coughing and hacking, before breaking into large sobs again. I laid there, shaking, and covered my face, gently massaging where he hit me the hardest. I lowered my hand down to my neck where he was grabbing me, and it instantly ached and throbbed with a single touch. That, and my eye, turned into a nasty bruise the next day.

I didn’t get more than a moment to recollect myself after he had a modicum of mercy on me, since less than 15 seconds after he pulled away, I suddenly felt his hot, disgusting mouth and slimy tongue inside my mouth. My stomach wretched as I tasted his beer, and it hit me with a sharp pang, feeling as though it turned itself inside out. The thoughts he put in my head of Mr. Silvestri and I wouldn’t leave my head. The pain of his slaps, punches, and tight grips intensified tenfold, and my body was so sweaty and sticky and warm from all the crying and anxiety. Now, even my ears were being assaulted with his heavy breathing right in my face, his groans and moans making my body limp with disgust. I felt utterly hopeless as my mouth salivated uncontrollably, all of my senses colliding together to make the most horrific, mind-splitting experience I’ve ever been through.

Everything got infinitely worse by the millisecond, until it all came to an explosive and violent climax, as I vomited onto everything within about 2 feet of my mouth, including my own face, my clothes, the mattress, my hair, and best of all, Percy’s mouth and face. As soon as he felt the hot, sour, acidic mush rush out of my mouth and into his, he backed off of me immediately, and stood up in shock, coughing and dry heaving for the dramatics. I sat up as it spilled out of me, and I let it splash onto the mattress and floor, trying to avoid my shoes and clothes as much as I could.

When Percy was done spitting on the ground and coughing, he wiped his face, and roared out, “Ugh, what the fuck!?”

I continued throwing up as he screamed at me, it seemed like it would never stop. My shirt and pants were utterly soaked in my own puke, and after it finally died down, I was left there, panting and drooling. Every part of my body screamed out in pain; legs, arms, face, throat, stomach, eyes, head.

Percy stood and watched me vomit and drool onto his bedroom floor in horror, until I was done, where he swore under his breath while stripping down to just his boxers. I couldn’t watch. I knew I would throw up again.

“Are you fucking serious right now? I just cleaned up my room today, fucking really?” was all he could say.

I continued panting and wiped my mouth. I stared him dead in the eyes with a lifeless expression, meeting his horrified, shocked look.

“God, fucking- Jesus, dude, I-” he stammered to himself before getting dressed again. He continued, “I’m gonna.. go brush my teeth. Just.. put some new clothes on, alright? Jesus..” He swore under his breath before rushing out of the room, and slamming the door behind him.

I remember spacing out for a bit after he left. I think I was just processing all that happened since he picked me up. I was so dazed, I couldn’t remember the fact I was covered in vomit until I looked down and saw the undigested bits of food sitting on my shirt. I slowly got up from the bed, avoiding the puddle of puke by my feet as much as possible, and my body violently shook.

As I stood, my phone dropped from my pocket and hit the floor with a thud. I looked down at it, and recalled the text for Mr. Silvestri again. I couldn’t remember a thing about what I said, at first. I remember thinking, “What did I even write again? Something about Percy, I think? Oh, right, I was apologizing for.. something?” It’s kind of funny in hindsight.

I reached for the phone and placed it in my back pocket, and as I did I caught a slight glimpse of the sunlight from behind the blackout curtains. I stepped towards it, and pulled one of the curtains to the side, and admired the beautiful sunset that he had blocked off. His apartment was on the 4th or 5th floor, so I was able to get a good view of the skyline and all the surrounding streets, all being lit by the warm sunlight that shined down on it. The cars sparkled as they drove down the roads, and I felt the heat beat onto my face, grounding me and bringing me back from this terrible, terrible night. As I gazed out the window, the sun shined directly onto a playground by the park a few blocks away. The colors of the metal structures looked so vibrant, almost like they did when I was a little kid. I wished I could go back in time, and enjoy that just one more time, before I got into that complete fucking mess. I’d have done anything for that.

I kept admiring the playground, until I was interrupted by Percy opening the door. My heart jumped again, and I closed the curtain and faced him.

“Why didn’t you change your clothes?” he questioned.

I needed to think of a quick excuse. “I, um, needed to use the bathroom first. I’ll just change in there.”

“Well, it’s open. Be quick.”

I grabbed my backpack off the floor, and weakly shuffled out of the room, past Percy, who stared at me as I left. I closed the door behind me, and entered the bathroom.

As soon as the door closed, I broke into a stifled cry. I remember thinking to myself, “I can’t fucking do this anymore.” This was the absolute final straw for me. Things had already gotten so bad over the months I was with him, but that night was when I decided I had enough. He’d put me through worse things before, but I knew that night that I couldn’t take anymore. I looked at myself in the mirror, my eye and throat already turning a light maroon color, and could do nothing but just keep crying. My weak stomach twitched as I thought about everything he’d done and said to me, that night and previous nights. I was just so done with all of it, and I needed to escape somehow.

I thought about that playground in the sunlight, how pretty it looked. It looked just like the one I used to play on with my friends when I was a little kid. It made me feel so nostalgic, I remember, and sad, too. It kept popping up in my mind, and an idea came up in my head, too, to escape all of what was going on in that apartment. I knew this would be my best chance, so, before I could even realize what I was doing, I snuck out of the bathroom, cautious about my footsteps making noise, passed the smelly garbage and the dirty dishes and the crumbs on the counter one final time, and cracked the door open just enough to fit myself and my bag through.

I left the apartment building and began walking towards the playground. While my legs were wobbly and I kept nearly falling, the walk was centering, and relaxing. The quiet birds and rustling leaves in the wind were refreshing after all that happened at that apartment. It was a friendly reminder that at least I made it out alive, and on my own terms. I walked, one step after the other, enjoying the peace and quiet that I so rightfully deserved.

I finally made it to the playground. The sun was almost done setting, and it was starting to get dark. The whole park was empty, I think, apart from noisy wildlife in the bushes and trees that surrounded it. I saw an old wooden bench, sitting by a tree facing the playground, and I shuffled over to it and sat down, placing my bag next to me.

After I sat down, I admired the playground again, this time up close. The curvy yellow slide, and the red swing set, and the green monkey bars all reminded me of a time where life was peaceful, a life I wanted back so, so badly. I remembered the reason I was there, the person I was escaping, and I began to cry with my head in my hands, right there on the bench. It started as soft hiccups, but ended as loud wails as all the memories came flooding back to me, and I let out all the frustration, and anger, and sadness, and pain I’d endured for the last 7 or so months. I panted and my body crumpled into a little ball, where I hugged my knees and sobbed for a while. Nobody was there to hear or judge me, for the first time in a really long time. If someone was there, I’m sure they would’ve mistaken my crying for screaming. I felt so used and tired and violated, and I needed to let it out.

My sobs died down, and I wiped my face as best as I could. I bet I looked crazy, crying hysterically while at a playground. I could only imagine what my makeup looked like, it probably smeared all over my face. Sniffling, I grabbed my phone from my pocket, and turned it on, only to rediscover the unsent message one last time. I began thinking about the whole conversation with him and Michelle, thinking about what they told me. They both were so horrified with what I told them, and said he was a monster for what he put me through. They advised me to stop hanging around him, and I told them it wasn’t really my choice, whether he left me alone or not. I swore I saw Michelle tear up a bit before she had to step out for a moment, leaving me with just Mr. Silvestri, who sat quietly before saying he was “so, so sorry.” They both seemed to feel so horrible about it all. I still felt awful for sharing it with them, and making them worry. I thought I should’ve presented it a different way to them instead of sorta unloading it on them so suddenly. I don’t regret it now, but at the time, I definitely did.

It was getting progressively dark with each passing moment. I almost couldn’t see across the playground. I needed a way to get back home, but I’d just used the last of my paycheck buying Percy food, and had no money for an Uber. I sighed to myself when I came to the realization, and scrolled through my contacts, figuring out who to call. Mom? No, she’d be pissed, and she was probably high around that time, anyway. Mavis? God, no, I didn’t want her to see me like that, I hadn’t seen her in months. I’d have been horrified. Nobody seemed like they would help, except maybe Mr. Silvestri. I really, really wanted his help, but I knew he’s probably still at the diner, and didn’t want to bother him. Ultimately though, I said to myself, “can’t hurt to try, I guess,” and clicked on his contact and called his number.

Ring..

Ring..

On the third ring, he picked up.

“Hey, Ravyn, what’s up?”

His voice filled me with instant relief, and sooner than I thought I would, I teared up. It sounded so much nicer than Percy’s.

“Hi, Mr. Silvestri, um,” I started, “I’m really sorry to bother you while I’m not at work, but um.. are you busy right now?”

“Don’t be sorry, you’re alright! C’mon, kid, it’s never busy here, you know that,” he joked, chuckling to himself. I couldn’t help but let out a small giggle into the receiver. He continued, “Why, what’s up, hon?”

I gulped before I spoke again, anticipating the worst.

“Well, um, I just, um.. I just left Percy’s, and uh,” I stammered, “I could use some help, um, getting home, and was.. wondering if you could give me a ride.”

The other line went quiet, and my brain filled with guilt. I immediately followed up with, “I- I’m sorry if you can’t, I’ll.. try to scrape some money up for an Uber or something, it’s alright, I’m sorry-”

He interrupted my apology, “No, no, Ravyn, you’re okay, I can come get you, no problem, absolutely, don’t worry. It’s just.. are you alright? Is everything okay?” He asked gently.

A tear fell down my cheek when he asked that. I responded, “Yeah, um, I’m alright, I, uh, I just left his apartment, and, um.. I’m just at this park a few blocks away. I walked here myself, um.. I’m alright. Yeah.”

“Alright.. I’m glad. So he’s not there with you?”

“No, no, I just.. up and left.”

He sighed in relief, and said, “Good, good.. So, where’s that park, kiddo?”

“Oh, um, I can send you the location, if that makes it easier,” I said, a glint of eagerness in my voice.

“Yeah, do that for me, thank you,” he started, “You’ve got all your stuff ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m ready,” I sighed.

“Okay, hon. Send me that location and I’ll be there as soon as I can, alright?” he asked.

I confirmed, “Alright..”

“I’m gonna clock out now and get goin’. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Alright, yeah,” I started, and before he could speak again, I quickly interjected, “And, by the way, um..”

“What is it?” he questioned.

“Thank you, for, uh, you know.. all of this. Really.”

Mr. Silvestri paused for a second, before responding, “Of course, Ravyn. You have nothing to thank me for. I’m glad to help,” he said, before pausing again. He repeated, “See you soon, kiddo. Send me that location thingy.”

“Alright, I will,” I verified, taking a deep breath in and finally letting all my anxiety go.

“Bye-bye, hon, stay safe.”

“Bye,” I said, before hanging up the call.

I sent him my location, to which he read immediately and sent a thumbs up emoji in response. I laughed softly, exhaling through my nose, and really smiled for the first time since I left work that night. Like that, my nerves finally calmed down, my shoulders relaxed, and I waited.

[tmtwl]

Barf

Its so hard feeling this way. Every moment i feel like im about to spill over in want and love and unconditional infatuation. And i think of you in comforting thoughts and things that could never happen and in things i dont necessarily want. I just think them because if they ever were to happened it would be with reason and it would mean something, it would be something for us, a secret. And then i barf mentally because im a creep and this is creepy and jesus christ what is wrong with me. And its not even a crush im just obsessed and i cant pretend thats its a silly little thing because it just had to be them, it just had to be, didn’t it. I think the universe hates me or is trying to make me a tough kid but i cant handle the problems or embarrassment that wont matter in a few years because im not reminiscing about it, im experiencing it now and i just cant do it. I cant wait until i get bored of this person and i get over it. But it’ll be hard because i find them so interesting, well not really but i wanna wrap my mind about what they think about, and im not too close with them but i have the opportunity to be and that easy access to them is making this all the more worse. And they look so good in green.

[theholydragonslayer-blog]

“Oh, god. I feel so embarrassed right now!”

[snzhrchy]

OKAG SO HEAR ME OUT. So a Chishiya x reader (female preferred if ur comfortable writing it) okay so you tell Kuina That you have a small slight (huge) crush on Chishiya, and one day reader is fighting with Kuina because of a game or something?? And she accidentally blurts out you like Chishiya in front of him, and reader was super embarrassed so avoided him until one day they found her Chishiya on the rooftop, readers abt to leave but Chishiyas like “wait, I like you to.” And then goes completely silent after that, leaving reader speechless.

IM SO SO SORRY IF ITS CONFUSING IM HAVING A CHISHIYA BRAINROT.

— ☆ Tongue Tied !

chishiya shuntaro x gn!reader

summary; chishiya really has his ways of making you speechless. notes; happy new year eve eve taglist; @rippl3s | lmk if u wanna be on it !

Saying that your body was cramped was an understatement - all of your limbs were sore; you could barely walk two steps without falling over.

You had just come back from a spades game and you were terribly tired. All you wanted to do was lay down on your bed and fall into a deep slumber but before doing so, you had to chew out Kuina first.

The game would've ended much faster if it weren't for Kuina's carelessness and her irresponsibility was the main reason as to why you felt as though thousands of needles were being stabbed at the bottom of your feet.

You walked absentmindedly across The Beach in search of a certain brunette, trying your best to avoid any other people who might be drunk.

At last, your eyes landed on her and rage began to fill you up. You jogged up towards her as fast as your fatigued legs could carry you - you were running on pure adrenaline now.

'Kuina!' you called out to her, she looked towards your direction and gave you a small wave along with a small smile that nearly made you forget that you were ever mad at her.

'What's up?' she said as you came to face her. 'Seven of Spades,' you managed to blurt out. Her smile dropped and she started to look regretful. 'What about it?' she asked, crossing her arms.

'You left me! I had to run a good few miles and twist my ankle before someone came to my aid!' you complained. It was true, the game was disastrous. You could've died if it weren't for another player helping you to get to your feet.

'I'm sorry?' she spoke, 'it's not my fault you were too busy staring at Chishiya to care about yourself! You're just so in love with him!' After Kuina said that sentence, she wished silently that she had never said it.

She wasn't wrong though, your infatuation with Chishiya was getting rather concerning as you (willingly) put your crush over your own personal safety. Kuina wasn't at fault here.

However, you couldn't focus on the game or the argument anymore as you finally noticed Chishiya's presence. He had been there all along watching the fight unfold in-front of him.

'Is it true, Y/N?' Chishiya spoke at last with his usual smirk plastered across his face. He was amused - it was almost as if your feelings were just a form of entertainment to him.

Your gaze shifted from Kuina’s expression of regret — her eyes were glued to the floor beneath her and she was biting her lips — and to Chishiya, who was quietly observing the entire situation with a chips packet in hand.

‘I… I can’t do this right now,’ you announced as you turned on your heel and left, leaving the both of them perplexed.

Kuina ran after you, apologizing to you: 'Y/N! I'm really sorry, okay? Can we please just talk - I'll tell him it was a misunderstanding.'

Kuina's statement brought your movements to a halt, you turned to look at her, with tears that were present on the edges of your eyes. 'It wasn't a misunderstanding; you told him upfront that I love him and we both know how smart he is, he knows it's not a misunderstanding.'

This situation was really starting to stress you out; not only were you mad at Kuina for spilling your secret, you were also terribly embarrassed that Chishiya know knew.

You ignored all of Kuina's apologies and ran to your room, shutting the door tight. You tried to fall asleep that night but couldn't due to the past events of the day. You kept tossing and turning, in all sorts of positions but sleep didn't show you any mercy.

A few weeks passed, you were still too ashamed to show your face to Chishiya but luckily, you and Kuina were back on good terms.

It was difficult but in the end, you both admitted to your faults and became friends again.

You and Chishiya barely talked, it was only a few exchanged during or after games; it was only ever 'good luck' or 'stay safe', nothing more than that.

That was until, after a rather difficult game of hearts, you were wanting some fresh air that wasn't present in the intoxicated atmosphere of The Beach which was filled with the smell of alcohols and cigarette smoke.

You made your way to the rooftop of the huge mansion, wanting to breathe again and maybe stargaze a bit. Tranquility was difficult to find in The Borderlands and you want to make most of your remaining time here.

Quickly, you walked and climbed to the top of the building. Once there, you managed to take a deep breath and felt all your worries evaporate from your body.

'Hi,' a comfortable yet cold voice spoke, making you jump - you were too wrapped up in your own thoughts and daydreams that you didn't even realise Chishiya's presence.

'Hello,' you mustered out, mentally wishing to melt so you wouldn't have to deal with such an awkward conversation.

'Do you remember when Kuina said that you liked me?' he asked - he wasn't even looking at you, his eyes were glued to the scenery in-front of him.

Now, you really wished to melt, you couldn't stand being here anymore.

However, you managed to reply to his question with a "yes", trying your best to not cringe or remember. It felt as though he was just trying to mock you.

He stayed silent for a few moments until he finally spoke: 'you know... I never thought I'd feel this way about someone but I think I like you too.'

What? Were your ears deceiving you? There's no way the calm and collected Chishiya would ever be interested in someone like you.

'I'm serious,' Chishiya added.

You honestly couldn't believe it. After weeks of hiding from him, you honestly couldn't believe that he had reciprocated your feelings.

You didn't know how to respond to him at all, words were caught up in your throat. He already knew you liked him, he liked you too so now what?

[glorious-poetato]

[Celebrity crush]

Tommyinnit x Celebrity/actor!reader

Warnings:mentions of eating gross food

Summary: your tommys Celebrity crush and in a spill your guts interview you reveal he's yours.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

"Hello, y/n welcome so glad you could make it." James cordon said "thankyou for the invite I almost declined because of the gross food involved. So I plan to just answer all the questions." I replied "well let's not waste any time and start the game." James stated.

"Okay so if you decide you can't answer the question you have to eat the gross concoction of food in front of you." James explained. "So y/n I'll start easy with the first question. What film was your favorite to act on?" James questioned. "Oh that's easy it 100% has to be stranger things. I made so many friends and it's just lovely working with everyone their." I said simply.

He continued asking me questions some being harder then others. I ended up only eating one gross thing as I didn't have many secrets are Celebrity drama. That was until he asked if I had a crush on any other celebrities. The truth was I did and I didn't know if I wanted them to find out. I almost ended up talking a bite of worm spaghetti. I could bring myself to do it though. Reluctantly I said "Fine I'll tell you my Celebrity crush I really hope they don't see this though that would be embarrassing. Okay my Celebrity crush issssss......tommyinnit aka tom simons or whatever you want to refer to him as."

James smirked "don't worry I'm sure he won't see" he said while winking at the camera. For some reason that wasn't very convincing. I finish up the interview hope that you revealed nothing to bad And thanking James for having me.

A few days later I open Twitter to see y/ninnit trending. Oh God what have I done I'm not to shocked though as I kind of figured this would happen. But I was more worried if he had saw the video yet.

Wilbur's pov:

--------------

I had started streaming and chat immediately filled with watch y/n's spill your guts interview. Or has tommy see y/n's interview. I was just going to do a chatting stream today but now I'm here reacting to y/n's interview. I'm toward the end now still confused why chat wanted me to watch it. That's when I hear y/n get asked who their Celebrity crush is. When I hear the answer I turn to and ask "chat should I call tommy?" Little did they know tommys Celebrity crush was actually y/n.

Tommy's pov:

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I get a call on discord from wilbur immediately answer. "HELLO" I yell. I almost got cut off by wilbur saying "Tommy did you see Y/n's spill your guts interview yet?" "No I haven't. why?" I question him. He then tells me to go watch it from the 8 minutes mark then to call him back. I tell him okay and hang up. I then open a tab and bring up the interview skipping to the 8 minute mark.

I watch for a second till y/n gets asked who their Celebrity crush is and they hesitate for a bit but then I hear "Tommyinnit aka tommy simons" I go wide eyed I was her Celebrity crush she knows I exist. I immediately calm down and call will.

"WILBUR I'M Y/N'S CELEBRITY CRUSH. SHE THINKS I'M A CELEBRITY. SHE KNOWS I EXIST. OH MY GOD WHAT IF SHE IS WATCHING. WHAT DO I DO WILL?" I yell into the mic.

"Tommy calm down and stop yelling you're giving me a headache" wilbur tells me "Okay will I'm sooo calmmm now TELL ME WHAT TO DO! please." I say "Tommy just send her a message or something." Will tells me "Okay bye will bye chat." I say as I hang up. I go to Twitter and go to y/n profile sending a message saying.

"Hey it would be really cool if we could meet up and do a vlog together" I see her begin to type and say "I would love too I'll be in brighten next week for a event so we could do it then if you'd like."I look at the message in disbelief and quickly say that's cool and I send one final message saying"If I don't disipont you when we meet would you like to go on a date" "That would be amazing" she says. I can't wait to tell will about this I think.

The end

(Sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes)

-poe <3