#What do i do until volume 10

[scourgediva]

Oh! Yeah! I forgot to post about rwby vol 9! So!. I... didnt really enjoy it! No cinder = 0/10 /s. Fr tho, I can see why fans who have been with rwby since it came out would enjoy vol 9. but as someone who's watched vol 1-9 over the course of like 2 months, alot of the emotional moments don't hit as hard as they probably do for people who have been fans for years. That said, Neo power spike? Neo power spike. She's SUCH a cunt and I LOVE her.

Spoilers ahead! You've been warned. Buckle up, might be a long one.

That scene was great. Using her semblance to have everyone Ruby has let down or killed either directly or indirectly berate and beat the shit out of her was fantastic. The way Neo made her kill "Oscar"? Chef kiss their repeated voices of "Remnant would be better off without you." Was so so evil, all for Neo to offer her the tea at the end as a way to escape it all just as her team reaches her, to see their leader beaten and broken for the first time, right in their face? Something they can't turn away from or toxic positivity their way out of? Cherry on the top. Amazing scene, 10/10.

Idk if it's a hot take or not but Jaune should've stayed the rusted knight and came back to remnant older. Not only does he look better with the beard imo, but it would physically show how he's matured being stuck in hero complex time hell (Me too man) and it would be super interesting having everyone else react to Jaune suddenly being like. 30. Whereas team rwby didn't age a day.

Speaking of, that animatic of what was cut was SO GOOD why did they cut that? I would've loved to see how remnant would react to rubys "death", how much blame Winter would hold herself accountable for Weiss' "death", I'd be curious to see how Raven would react to the news of Yang's "death" after her warnings to not follow Oz, I'd be curious to see how the Faunus would react to Blake's death, and I want to see how Cinder would react to Rubys death! That's super cool! I want more! Does Cinder become hollow and without purpose now that Ruby is dead? Probably not, but hey. I wanna know more about remnant reacts to this news, and what happens fully when they return.

All and all, there were bits of vol 9 I liked, and bits that I didn't really feel for. When's vol 10? ( </3)

And with that, that's rwby. I've watched all of it. I want more, and I know I shouldn't. Why didn't I watch this sooner? Like before rt shutdown. It's been a hell of a ride, and I'll be there if/when vol 10 comes out.

Still surprised that they never made a RWBY warriors game. It's the PERFECT FIT for it.

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

trapped at the Lotus Hotel (putting together a photo book)

[moonysbookshelves]

The Cadence of Part-Time Poets

The Cadence of Part-Time Poets by @motswolo

Have been working on this 10 volume set for the past few months now, and they are finally complete. My Magnum Opus. I have peaked and probably depleted all of my brain power.

Thank you to @motswolo for writing such a beautiful story. My brain chemistry has been favourably altered. Will forever flinch when I hear Queen, The Beatles or Bob Dylan. Love to you from western Canada (west coast best coast lets gooooo).

I also posted a TikTok Reel of these since posts here are limited and I love the insides as much as the covers, so if you wanna see between the pages, here’s that.

Also thank you @avisbindery for letting me scream and cry in your DMs while I read the fic. May you get some uninterrupted sleep now LOLLL.

Going to write a whole essay below about the ideas and details because uhhh I wanna yap bit!

So for starters, I wanted to make these binds look like magazines because of the epilogue where (spoiler) Tonya sees Remus in a copy of New Musical Express. But of course this fic is long, so I was like, what if I do multiple volumes? This very quickly spiralled into me painstakingly (finding publication-accurate fonts almost sent me to an early grave) recreating 10 different music-focused magazines from the 70s and 80s from scratch (thank you to Photoshop, Affinity, Procreate and Canva). Each volume features a unique cover, along with stylized typesets to match that display the songs for each chapter but in different designs. And then I went a little crazy and made a 45 sleeve and a cassette too, to really set the scene when I took the photos lol

While the covers display the dates pertaining to the contents of that particular volume (Sept 1975 for volume one, for example) I was thinking about what the magazines would say if they were really published when Marauders are traipsing about being spectacular and famous in the future. I sprinkled in details from the fic itself and fanon-ed it a bit, but that was the general inspiration :-) Tried to keep the photos used either faceless/obscured, or to use the fancasts on Mots’ Cadence master post. I also tried to use period-accurate photos but didn’t always succeed, so settled for photos of 4 member bands where I had to :”) But the general intent with the facelessness was that they could be implied to be Marauders. If you squint? lol. Just pretend. Pls.

Volume One: Based upon The Record Song Book. This magazine went on to inspire the typesets, since it publishes lyrics and such. The cover images are of Spacey Jane and David Thewlis.

Volume Two: Based on ZigZag, specifically the issue from July 1978 featuring Siouxie and the Banshees just because I thought it looked sick as fuck. I re-drew the abstract shapes and such in procreate. The cover images are The Clash and a young Gary Oldman. Lord he was foiiine.

Volume Three: Based on Trouser Press, November 1980. The cover images are a young Metallica, and my personal fav fan cast for James, Reiky De Valk. The film negatives are from a Bruce Springsteen tour, 1976.

Volume Four: Based on Gay Times (November 1984), a queer magazine from the UK because this volume contains Wolfstars first kiss hehe. Also hence Somebody To Love plastered all over the covers. The Front cover is Inhaler. The “4A” on this one is of course the boys’ dorm number, but I made the A the lambda symbol as this was a pride symbol in the 70s after Stonewall.

Volume Five: Based on Melody Maker. Front image is Alex Turner. All of the text on this one is pulled directly from the fic. The scene where they all drop acid and James jumps off the roof Almost Famous style had me hootin’ and hollerin’… until Tomny showed up hahaha :”)

Volume Six: Based on IT (International Times, Aug 1971). Front image for this one is Joy Division, and the back features Jane Asher for Lily

Volume Seven: Based on Record Mirror, June 1976. Front image is John Taylor of Duran Duran. Yum.

Volume Eight: Based on Rolling Stone. More vibes than anything for this one, but the quote still makes me laugh.  Front image is of Matt Hitt. Can you tell I photoshopped a cell phone out of this one? IDK. This photo just screamed ‘Remus’ to me so I had to use it. The back image is an old cigarette ad, but the photo is taken in Shepherd’s Bush.

Volume Nine: Based on Fusion magazine. Front image for this one is once again Inhaler. Oops. Back cover is our gals. Images are Jodie Foster as Cherry, Brenda Sykes as Mary, and Goldie Hawn as Lottie.

Volume Ten: Based on New Musical Express. You know why :”) These are all victims of fanon, but this one especially. I wanted it to be NME instead of the re-invented logos I’d been doing for all the rest, as I wanted it to look like the magazine the Sister gives to Tonya. I referred to an issue of NME from October 1979 for this and layered in fic references where it made sense to. The cover image for this one is (I think) Cigarettes After Sex. This issue also contains all of the B-Side chapters, and the Marauders song lyrics too just for fun :)

Slasher Chick: This is just my take on what Sybill’s zine could’ve looked like. Prob way off but I just wanted to have fun with this one since I had no cover to reference lol. The zine contains her little write-up and the interview, lifted straight from the fic :")

ok yap sesh over byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee lmfaooooo

[chrattho1]

bsf!chris x reader

“what took you so long?”

summary: chris is in love with you more or less,he never made a move on you though, always scared that might ruin your friendship. but now that you’re taken—he wants you even more. in your grey set that he loves so much, you come around for a movie night and he is painfully hard the moment he sees you walk in.

warnings: male masturbation, pet names(?) idk what else to put in, not proofread

a/n: this is a blurb for my bsf! chris au,find more of it here

“we’re not watching cars for the third movie night in a row chris!” you snatch the remote from his hands and settle down next to him on the bed.

too close for his liking.

dont get him wrong, being close to you only makes him happy, the way you smell, the way your hair smells and sometimes tickles his face when you move. but right now he is focused on covering the lower half of his body with the covers, to say that he has a raging boner is an understatement.

“do whatever kid, and can you move i feel nauseated by your perfume” he puts his head on the headboard, trying to act like he is not in excruciating pain.

“woah there, whats got you all riled up?” you ask, tilting your face so its closer to his.

chris’s breath hitches the moment he feels your pretty features come close to his flushed ones. your long lashes fluttering as you blink at him in question, your plump lips sitting ideally waiting for an answer, a small strand of hair falling in between your eyes—right above your nose. god you’re beautiful.

“nothing im just snacky, mind getting me some snacks from downstairs?” he asks with a sincere smile.

you nod thinking nothing suspicious of it, he does get hangry alot so this was nothing new.

you walk out the room telling him to pick a movie before you come back.

chris watches you walk out, your ass swaying in perfect sync in that soft material that sticks to you, his thoughts not helping him one bit. he quickly puts a hand under the covers,reaching his hand down to adjust himself just a little bit before you come in again. that slight friction from his hands making him bite his lips.

“okay..i got you skittles and pepsi, thank you for restocking redbull before i come, you’re the best” the comment earning you a wink from chris to which you smile, his cheeky behaviour is not-not normal to you, thats how he has always been.

you both settle on watching “how to lose a guy in 10 days” , because , well chris lost the rock-paper-scissors game.

not even halfway through the movie, you notice chris moving every few moments, shifting and stirring next to you.

“motherfucker, could you stay still for a moment im trying watch the movie!” you yell lowly at him clearly not aware of the agony he is in right now.

“my allergies are making me itchy” chris whines and speaks softly knowing you’re too focused on the movie currently to actually pay attention or listen to him.

and then he realised it. you are too distracted.

“im going to go to the bathroom” he finally decides he’s going to do something about it or else he might come in his pants just by looking at you for so long (he has been staring this entire time, ofcourse).

you nod in response watching him go up to the bathroom attached to his room.

“turn the volume up will you? i wanna hear whats happening in the movie” he says standing by the doorframe of the bathroom, his oversized hoodie kind of covering the tent in his sweats.

“i can just pause it until you come back weirdo” you shrug at him with a mouth full of skittles.

“nah, i might take a little while” he smiles at your disgusted face, watching as you turn the volume up.

he closes the bathroom door behind him and lets out a huge sigh,he looks at himself in the mirror not believing what he is about to do with you sitting right outside.

he pulls his sweats down, looking down at his boxers which have a dark patch growing on them.

he cups his dick through them, biting his lips to prevent letting out any sounds.

he strokes himself a couple of times over his boxers before pulling them down,his cock springing up—desperate for touch more than ever, his tip swollen and leaking.

his thumb spreads the bead of pre-cum leaking from the tip, making him groan softly, his hand drags from there to the base of his dick, slowly starting to pump his slick cock in his hand.

“fuck” he curses softly, thinking about you— who is in his room right now, sitting on his bed, the bed that he has imagined doing the most unimaginable things to you on.

“oh—shiiit” his strokes get faster,the contact of his hand with his dick making wet sounds, but the movie playing outside is still louder.

“chris!” he hears you call him, but he doesn’t respond, scared his voice might betray him and let out a moan.

hearing your voice only made him feel closer, closer to cumming, cumming on your face, cumming in you, cumming in your mouth, these are all the things he thinks about, that grey set stained with his release.

“fuck-f-fuck-oh—-fuck ma- im-gon” his voice breaks apart with whimpers.

“ah—shit” with that, hot, white ropes of cum spray all over his hoodie.

his legs quiver when he looks down at the mess he’s made.

he quickly gets rid of the hoodie, balls it up and throws it into the laundry basket that he started keeping in the bathroom after nick told him too, thanks nick-he thinks.

he was still wearing a black tee under so he wasn’t walking out shirtless, its not like you’ve never seen him shirtless but he wanted to be decent (?)

he cleans himself up and walks out of the bathroom in a record of 6 mins. yes .

he sat down next to you,now comfortably snuggling close.

“what took you so long? and wheres your hoodie?” you ask him,noticing that his hoodie is not on him anymore

“had some bad food for dinner last night, and the hoodie was making me hot and itchy” he smiles at you when you reply with an “ew” not questioning his response.

taglist: @espressqe @ginswife @nononononshahsbba @sturnsburna @carolina454 @hope2244 @hotgirlbl0gger @violetstxrniolo777 @riggysworld @verycoolmiyah @kier-with-a-k @fadedstvrn @purpledreamertyphoon @mattsplaything @numberonekiddie @whore4chris @chris-hallelujah @sl4ttformattsturniolo @annsx03 @mattsdemi @chrisslittleslut @chrislittleslut @poolover123 @luvvnai @chrissturniolossidehoe @pompomprrin @idkwhatthisis2009 @harmonysturniolo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @soph-loren @ccsturns @lovesturni0l0s @chriss-slutt @wysmols @sturniolosluttt @mattsdillion @alyssa-sturn @herewegoagain-b @bilssturns @sturnobessed @mxnsonn @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @chrissturnioloswife88 @sxphiee3 @purpledreamertyphoon @whoreforchrissturnniolo

[binmeister]

It's natural

It’s perfectly natural and normal for a healthy male to need to do it, there's just a lot of unfortunate timing. Someone walks in on the guys mid-masturbation.

Saja Boys & Huntrix x Bodyguard! Reader | Fem & male

The deed is done. Thank you for interest checking. This idea popped up in my head randomly and I couldn’t stop laughing at the concept of it. 

Includes male!bodyguard and fem!bodyguard separately

CW: may be messy, crude humour, suggestive / NSFW content (R18+) - male masturbation, potential crack fic - MDNI

Huntrix x Male Bodyguard! Reader ── WC: 1.3k

Mira was the reason you had to implement a knock before entering rule.

It was late at night and you were struggling to sleep, restless in bed as you toss and turn to hopefully find that perfect sleeping position to no avail. You’d grumbled before finally sitting up in bed, flicking your bedside lamp on and scrolling through your phone before you contemplated what you could do.

You could exhaust yourself in a way that you were relatively familiar with.

You slipped your over-ear headphones on, opening a private browsing tab and navigated to the mildly shameful site that you’d occasionally visit whenever you needed to relieve some tension or knock one out so you could fall asleep. Blankly scrolling through the homepage until something caught your eye and clicking on the video and letting it play, instinctively lowering the audio on your headphones enough so it wasn’t obnoxiously loud as well in some mild fear that the sound could leak out and be heard outside your room.

You slipped the hem of your sweat pants and briefs just enough to free yourself from the confines, hand loosely wrapping around your dick as you let out low groan at the sensation. You have no clue what’s even going on in the video, just staring blankly at the woman on screen getting absolutely railed and letting the carnal side of your brain activate as the sounds and visuals get you hard enough to start jerking yourself off.

It’s been a few minutes, you’d started out slow and steadily ramped up the speed as small grunts and light huffs of air leave your lungs as your eyes are glued to the screen and you’ve upped the volume a couple notches. Your body feels like it’s on fire and you grit your teeth together to try and stop yourself from getting too loud, could feel yourself steadily building up to your high. 

But that moment is ruined when you door slams open, making you jolt and your headphones slip off your head and around your neck as your eyes catch Mira who’s staring at you with her mouth agape as she processes what she sees in front of her. You clearly didn’t hear her loud footsteps down the hallway. She had come to check if you may have been awake and wanted to watch a late night movie with them, she didn’t even have the decency to slowly click open the door in case you were asleep.

She slams the door closed again and you hear her yell through the door. “My bad! Thought you were uh.. we were gonna watch a movie, but maybe another time.”

All thoughts escape your mind as you feel the shame sink in and you sigh loudly before you respond back, dick unfortunately still hard.

“Give me 10.”

Zoey was the reason you had to implement a knock and wait rule.

A few weeks had gone by of awkward eye contact with Mira since ‘the incident’, the collective name you and the girls had given the unfortunate event and you were finally all back to normal. The girls were out today for some ‘girl brunch’ which meant you had the afternoon to yourself, a rare occurrence but it worked out for the better so you could all have some time apart.

Even though you were home alone you still instinctively kept your door closed, usually just preferring to have it closed even when you weren’t home - habit of just living with girls because you didn’t like the idea of them snooping around your personal space and you respected their space. Since you were home alone you thought you could rub a quick one out, no risk of anyone walking in this time. Surely.

You’re seated at your desk this time, propping your phone up on your table and letting the audio play out of the speakers instead of bothering to go grab your headphones and you bring up a random video again. Leaning back in your chair you slip your pants and briefs down enough to be free as you pull the hem of your shirt up to be held between your teeth as you blankly stare at the little screen. You go through the same song and dance, occasionally lifting your other hand up to raise the volume of your phone as your eyes glaze over and you let out small muffled moans against the material in between your teeth.

As your eyes fall shut and you’ve worked yourself up enough to start occasionally bucking up into your fist, you don’t hear the sound of faint knocking and your door clicking open immediately right after. What you do hear though is Zoey’s very guilty sounding ‘eep!’ as she shrieks, she doesn’t close the door shut as she slaps her hands to cover her eyes and she blindly turns around and walks into the doorframe. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I just wanted to let you know we were hooome.” She cries out as her face is beet red at this rate and you’re dazed as you’re trying to figure out what’s going on, brain barely functioning at how close you were to finishing and then you realise you’re extremely exposed right now and your shirt falls from your mouth and you rush over to slam the door closed as she manages to navigate herself down the hallway. You can still hear her distant apologies and you drop your forehead against the door as you yell out.

“Jesus Christ, can you guys wait before opening the door!”

Rumi was the reason you had to implement a knock, wait and confirm entry rule.

The last time you get caught is a couple weeks after that, at 6:30am on a weekend that had no scheduled events or proposed plans. Nothing. You’d waken up with almost painful morning wood and you just wanted to get it over with because at the rate things have been going you’ll likely summon someone the second you’re about to bust.

You don’t bother to pull up any material on your phone this time, thinking that maybe if you’re able to be more aware of any noises that you’ll be able to cover yourself up if someone randomly were to walk in. You’d glanced at the time and relaxed a little as you pulled the covers off your over heated body and slid your hand under your briefs, wincing a little at how hard you actually were and then you let out a sigh of relief as you slip yourself out of your pants. There is no way in hell that any of the girls would be awake given their horrendous sleep schedules.

Your grip tightens a little and your hips instinctively buck up into your hand, pre is dribbling out at this rate and you know you’re definitely close to finishing when your lungs tighten up and the familiar tension in your stomach starts to become unbearable. You’ve managed to stay quiet, only a couple of grunts being let out and mostly shallow ragged breaths. You feel the tension tighten, your dick aches and your head fogs up as you’re a hair away from cumming.

You hear the knock at your door, the brief pause and you panic as you feel yourself tip over the edge and make a mess of yourself as your eyes snap open to stare at whoever just invaded your room this time. Did god curse you? Rumi stares at you, her brain malfunctioning as her eyes flick from your face down to your dick and your cum splattered all over your stomach and chest and then back up to your face.

“I’m uh.. I’m just gonna- okay byeeee.” She sings out as she slams the door closed behind her after she awkwardly points to the hallway. Your chest heaves and the post-nut clarity is making the shame hit a lot faster than you would’ve liked, but you groan as your non-soiled hand rubs at your face. 

Maybe you should just never jerk off again, it’s truly not worth it.

Saja Boys x Female Bodyguard! Reader ── WC: 1.8k

Jinu is the first one you accidentally catch in the act.

He’s frustrated, sick of fans over-stepping boundaries and sick of the other guys messing around too much. Stuff that doesn’t normally bother him is starting to piss him off, like Abs talking with his mouth full of food or when Mystery randomly decides to scream for no reason. Just small things building up and it’s to the point that he questions whether or not killing his other group mates was really that bad of an idea.

Then Jinu realises he’s just sexually frustrated. There’s a time a fan all but shoves her tits in his face and he almost lets the idol image slip as he looks down to her chest a little too frequently and he’s beating himself up over it afterwards. He finally realises this fact after he catches himself staring at your ass for a little too long, or when his eyes trail down from your face to your cleavage and he just openly stares instead of his usual subtle way of taking peaks. He apologised profusely when he stopped paying attention to what you were saying and you’re not that bothered, joking that he’s got great eye contact skills though unfortunately he overshot the target.

He’d shooed the tiger and crow from his room, sitting on the edge of his bed and palms himself through his jeans with a hiss as he realises how sensitive he was. Groaning softly as he works himself up before lifting his hips to pull his jeans and briefs down his thighs and letting them cling to his knees. He’s slow with his hand, eyes falling shut as he lets his mind wander to whatever it needed. A brief flash of your tits appears in head and his hips buck up at that, he feels a little embarrassed to be using you for material but it was just a once off so surely it’ll be fine.

You knocked gently on his door, calling out to him and when he grunts from the feeling of his hand you mistake it as an okay to enter. 

“Hey for the upcoming event-”

You pause, door half swung open and Jinu freezes as he stares at you with wide eyes and his dick still in his hand - a dribble of pre breaks the tension. There isn’t a word uttered between you two as you quietly shut the door and he’s left on his own again, he hears your muffled voice through the door as he drags a hand down his face in shame.

“I’ll check back in later.” 

Abs was the second one you’d accidentally walked in on.

He’s got a fairly decent sex drive and usually knocks one out when he first wakes up as well as one right before he cools down for the night, helps keep a routine and usually keeps the demon in his head a lot quieter if he overrides it with post-nut clarity. Abs was feeling particularly pent up today though, having run a gym session with you and his eyes kept lingering on your ass as you’re doing your sets. When you catch him, he lies and mentions he’s just watching your form which you don’t particularly believe but he’s got a charming smile on his face that grants him a pass this time around.

You’re in the living room with a few of the other guys loitering about if not in their own rooms so it’s not uncommon for someone to drift away, which is what Abs does as he retires to his room saying he needs to do something really quick and no one questions him. Which leads to him sitting at the foot of his bed, shirt discarded and pants tight on his thighs as his hand rapidly jerks himself off. He doesn’t moan, occasionally lets out a groan and a grunt but mostly just lets out ragged breaths as he tries to get himself off fast. 

“Hey, Abby-” He hears your voice vaguely, but his eyes are scrunched shut and his brows furrowed as he keeps his pace up. Your muffled voice had asked if you could come in but he didn’t hear it, too busy pumping his fist to the point he lets out a deep ‘yeah..’ in ecstasy which had unintentionally answered your request on if you could pop your head in and talk to him about something. 

You’re surprised as you swing the door open, his eyes crack open at the sound and you freeze as you process what is going on. His hand freezes in place, you quirk an apologetic smile as you close the door. Abs lets out a husky laugh as his hand lets go of his dick as his brain works over time to figure out what the hell just happened.

Mystery was the third.

He doesn’t really get the urge often, but when he does - the only thing on his brain is how can he get it done and over with. He’ll go about his idol routines with no problems, get through practice or interviews with the same reserved smile and be perfectly fine on the outside. But in his mind? All he can think about is sex and it’s grating on his nerves.

Mystery is actually pretty glad that he gets away with keeping his eyes covered because in his head, it means he gets away with staring at you for extended periods of time and you have no clue where he’s looking. Like right now where he’s just staring at your tits as you arrive in their apartment, eyes locked on them as you walk in and likes the way they jiggle a little when you walk. When you carelessly plop down on the couch and you bounce a little from the spring of the cushion he has to excuse himself because he stared a little too hard at the way they’d bounced from that motion.

When he’s alone in his room he’s closed the door, doesn’t bother locking it because he’s under the assumption that everyone would be preoccupied. Terrible mistake on his part but at least he knows better for next time. He sits at the crappy office chair that he’d been given because he was told it’s good practice to not always just flop on the floor when he wanted to rest, stay in the the habit of appearing human. Doesn’t think twice about palming himself to ease the ache of his boner and has no other thoughts in his head as he frees himself and gives a few light pumps.

He hadn’t known you were only there for a short while, lost in his head as he drools a little as his mind flashes images of your chest or your ass, even the familiar feeling of your thighs lingers in his head and his hand starts to jerk faster. 

You’d bid the others goodbye, and out of habit you go up to Mystery’s door and knock before you crack open the door a little so you could properly bid him farewell too. You hadn’t opened the door too far when you realise you’ve caught him in an unfortunate position and slam the door closed, apologising aloud and Romance starts hollering behind you.

He didn’t even notice honestly, so when he’s instinctively following you around like he normally does he’s a little upset that you’re not giving him the usual physical affection he craves and huffs about it.

You hadn’t even meant to see Romance.

Romance isn’t ashamed of his urges, he’d jerk himself off in the middle of the living room if he really needed to but out of respect for the others he does the bare minimum of doing it in his room or in the shower if he really can’t be bothered waiting until he’s in the privacy of his room. There’s no real issues about that at least, the only real problem is that there’s been instances where he leaves his bed room door wide open.

The guys have told him off for it, told him to at least keep it shut or at least mostly all the way shut because they’re sick of walking by and accidentally making direct eye contact with his dick but Romance just shrugs it off and does his thing. The only thing is.. you weren’t made aware of this.

You’d come over in the evening and had no clue that the man was currently indulging in his self desires, so when you walk down the main hallway after entering the apartment you accidentally look into the room with it’s door wide open and make eye contact with Romance as he’s sprawled out on his bed jerking himself off like he’s not going to live to see tomorrow, you’re caught off guard. You froze in place for a moment before shifting your gaze away and continuing to walk towards the living room, Jinu greets you when he sees you and he notices the slightly embarrassed look on your face and sees Romance’s wide open door.

“Dude, seriously!” Jinu shouts and Romance responds with a whorish moan.

Baby was the last straw.

He doesn’t really do it out of necessity, honestly jerks off just because he’s bored. Which unfortunately happens a lot more often than he would want to admit but he’s pretty good at keeping it on the low. Usually he would do it in his room, scroll on his phone looking at memes while he jerks himself off absentmindedly but none of the guys are home and the living room is empty.

So he doesn’t really think about the consequences when he unzips his pants and pulls his dick out, spitting a little into his hand as he unlocks his phone and scrolls mindlessly. It’s loud soundbites, random gaming clips, the occasional mukbang highlight and some random compilation of comedy show bits with soap cutting videos slapped in the corner somewhere. His hand is slow and he’s not that interested in actually finishing himself off, just likes the stimulation.

Because of how loud his YouTube shorts were he doesn’t hear you when you enter their apartment, doesn’t register that you’d said hello because the videos playing out of his phone’s speaker was louder. It’s not til he actively senses your presence nearby does he pause and look up at you, hand still actively moving as he does so because he’s actually forgotten that he’s jerking himself off.

Your eyebrows shoot up when you see Baby on the couch, jerking himself off while watching random shorts and you turn on your heel and walk out. You do not get paid enough for this.

After that incident you complain to Jinu and sit them all down and talk to them about how maybe you shouldn’t be requested to visit as often as you had been told to because it’s a little insane how this had happened so many times, or at least if you’re still requested to come over that there needs to be rules set in place so it doesn’t happen again.

[authorhjk1]

How does BP gives head?

Ps. Yes I read the cr*****e one more than once

Jisoo

You melt into the seat of her car as Jisoo gently sucks your cock. She's bent over so she can easily access your cock and you can't help but stare at her amazing midriff. Her muscles flex as she takes you deeper.

When the school bell rings, you look at the building, hoping that her son will take a while before he gets here. Jisoo is not doing this because to get her son's grate up or anything. She just wants to "have fun". To put into her words.

"Mrs. Kim..."

You groan, one hand slightly pushing her head further into your lap, while the other holds onto the handle of the door.

A moment later you finally unload inside her perfect mouth. Your head spins as you feel Jisoo expertly swallowing your cum, before gently letting her tongue roam your cock again. Now you can see her son walking out of the school, while Jisoo continues to clean your shaft.

Jennie

You realize that Jennie doesn't care at all as she ruins her face on your cock. She doesn't care about her ruined makeup. She doesn't care about her soon to be angry stylist. And she doesn't care about her performance in 10 minutes.

She's just happy to take your cock down her throat. She loves the way you groan, sometimes even whimper when she makes you feel so amazing. Like you're in heaven. Just as much as Jennie is addicted to giving head, you're addicted to receiving it.

"Jennie..."

Your involuntary groan only encourages her further. You feel her throat tightening around your cock. The tears running down her cheeks eventually mix with her saliva. Her once smooth, silk like hair is a mess.

You know it's only a matter of seconds, until she makes you bust down her throat.

Rosé

You can't wrap your head around how your girlfriend can be sexy, cute and shy at the same time. Her tight pajamas show off every single curve of her body as she kneels in front of you, leaving gentle kisses all over your cock. Everytime you let out a groan or say her name, she blushes, but doubles her efforts. It's a fun mix of both sides of her personality.

Looking down on her, you don't just see her beautiful face, but you also have a great view of her ass. You can't help but reach down and grope her cheeks, which only makes Rosé moan around your cock. She does her best to satisfy you, her lips wrapped around your dick, both her hands stroking your base. And yet you slowly turn it around. She begins to moan more and more as you continue to let your hands wander along her curves.

"Show me your tits."

Rosé quickly reaches for the zipper of her top, excited to show you what she's got. She reveals her small, firm tits to you and you gently play with them as she continues to worship your cock.

Lisa

Lisa looks like she's walking around the city in only lingerie. You flew to Paris for your vacation, where the two of you met by chance. She isn't your girlfriend or anything, but the two of you have history from the last time you went to one of Blackpink's concerts.

She lead you into a small, cozy alley and is squatting in front of you. You hold her head with both your hands as her lips glide along the length of your cock. You're only gently fucking her face while she holds onto your thighs.

As time passes, Lisa's blowjob doesn't just increase in pace, but also in volume. The valley fills with the sounds of her slurping on your cock. The occasional gag here and there makes you shudder when you feel her throat tightening around you.

She looked gorgeous when you saw her at breakfast at the hotel this morning. But now she looks breathtaking. Just wearing something close to white lingerie, squatting in front of you in an empty alley, sucking your cock...

You wonder if heaven could feel any better.

[thanosscross]

My girl! - Choi Su-Bong/Thanos x reader part 1/?

Summary: You had been a dancer for Thanos a few times in the past, but after he started acting more like an ass you cut off ties, until he saw you again in a death game against him.

warnings: nothing really, just your usual squid game gore.

You had met the infamous rapper Thanos twice before, being called back to his music video shoots repeatedly, so you weren't strangers, but you were sure he didn't know you other than one of his dancers. You were mistaken though, The moment you stepped into the room Choi su-bong had his eyes on you, he liked you, you were the first one of his dancers to not throw yourself at him the moment he walked into the shoot. You watched as a few names listed off with their debts, stifling a laugh seeing the familiar face appear on the giant screen hit his vape before being slapped, frowning whenever you saw yourself, watching as you took the slap recovering quickly before it flashed to a man with 10 million won worth of debt.

Thanos felt his body tense watching the recruiter smack you, you were as small and fragile as a flower, why such force behind the slap? As you navigated to your bed to sit down, you spotted Thanos and another man causing a slight scene with a third guy. Smiling to yourself whenever you saw his friend stop him from hitting the dude, that's whenever you froze, your smile falling and face turning red whenever his head turned and his eyes locked onto you.

"Thanos? Who's that boss?" Nam-gyu asked "My girl!" Thanos shouted, a smiling stretching across his face as he ran over, throwing himself onto the bed next to you "What're you doing here, senorita?" He asked, making you shrink back into the mattress trying to hide from the sudden rush of attention being drawn to you. "M-my brother's in debt..I wanted to help him" You explained quietly, trying to get him to get the hint to lower his volume by emphasizing your whispers. "You were always so sweet, that's why I made you one of thanos's girls" He said giving you the infamous smirk he'd always flash you in-between filming scenes for his videos "I am not one of your girls, I like to think I have more respect for myself than that" You tried to say confidently, Choi su-bong laughed in reply, throwing his head back just to prove his point more that he found your reply terribly funny.

Before you could ask what exactly landed him here, the guards were waiting for you all to leave single file, Thanos made a point to stay by your side the entire walk out to an outstretched field with a doll at the end. "So, y/n, why didn't you come back for my last shoot?" He asked pouted, causing you to roll your eyes "I just, didn't have time, plus, I have the right to say no, ya now" You argued, trying to listen to the rules before the game started. "And with that, let the games begin" You took off as soon as you heard greenlit, it you were gonna do this, you were gonna be the best. Freezing when you heard red light, you looked at the people in front of you, jumping as a loud gunshot fired off and people started screaming. As you heard green light you used your time to look back, scanning for whatever the commotion was, and where choi su-bong was. Seeing him fidgeting with his necklace, you both froze as you heard red light again, locking eyes, you could see the blood on his faces, and the panic in his eyes, holy shit. Whenever you heard green you took off for the end, desperate to get away from this damn area, as you heard redlight again, you tried to stop, but the dirt shifted under your feet and you felt yourself start to lose balance. A hand grabbed your wrist, spinning you around, and pulling you in until you were face to face with Choi su-bong's chest "I gotchu, Can't have one of my girls dying on me can I?" You heard him say. You held your breath, waiting for it all to end, but instead the game persisted, Thanos taking you by the hand as he galloped and leaped the rest way to the end.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to hold back every bit of panic and anxiety that was currently washing over you "Hey, you're alright" He whispered, using his index finger to have you lock eyes with him, this was the Choi su-bong you remembered and liked working for, sweet, gentle, but after he got a little fame boost and a group of friends from his underground battles, he just got really rude and disrespectful, that's when he started to fully go by Thanos. "I-I don't wanna d-die here, su-bong" You whispered, gripping onto your jacket to keep your hands from shaking, he was quick to counteract that by grabbing them and holding them gently in his "You won't, I won't let you! You saw! I was like woosh woosh!" He shouted, recreating his actions from before, his gentleness was gone, and Nam-gyu now stood next to him. That's whenever it finally dawned on you, it wasn't that su-bong changed, he was acting badass for his friends, at your expense most times.

You were silent the walk back to the room, making a straight shot for your bed, desperate to get away from him. He was still on your heels, the entire walk, eventually catching you giving Nam-gyu an annoyed glare and shooing him away. "my girl! please! I hate when you ignore me!" He begged, you just kicked off your shoes and crawled underneath the blanket they provided you, not wanting to hear him. "Please" He whispered, kneeling down to rest his forehead against yours "Baby.." He begged quieter, running his hand through your hair "Just because I'm speaking to you right now, does not mean I forgive you" You replied "But you don't call me that, you had a chance, I asked you out to dinner, and then coffee after you said you didn't have time at night, and that's whenever you told me you don't date 'dancers' in front of all of your friends, remember?" You spat glaring at him, just wanting to smack him across his stupid handsome face. "I don't date people who work for me!" He whisper shouted at you, you huffed "Fuck you Su-bong" That's all you could you say, you were too pissed off to think of anything else, he took notice "Punch me" He offered "What?..." you questioned, he grabbed your hand balling it up "Hit me" He repeated, you just shook your head, trying to push him away, before you could realize what happened, Su-bong was tumbling down the few steps that separated your bed from the floor, you jumped up, well, you tried to, rushing to the bottom to check on him "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to shove you t-that har-" You were cut off by somebody shouting "Holy shit that crazy bitch just shoved that kid!" Su-bong's head snapped over, he immediately popped up, almost like a cartoon character "Who the hell!?" He shouted, you jumped, flinching back a bit worried he might be yelling at you, until he stormed off, you rushed out to get a better view of him nailing someone in the jaw, Nam-gyu and you both rushing over "Thanos!" He shouted "Su-bong!" You grunted, both of you shoving the other two away from each other "Nobody disrespects my girl!" Su-bong shouted, walking over wrapping his arm around your waist "Stop it" You whispered, feeling everybody staring at you, he just tightened his hold around your waist "Let's goo!" He shouted all of a sudden rushing over to where him and nam-gyu sat, ready to talk about the next game.

[lighting-and-shadow]

Ikigai, Part 10

Summary: You’re desperately in love with a man who already belongs to another.

Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.

Part 9

Your power’s been strange since that day you heard the melody. You haven't had the joyous occasion of it coming back into your life and your ears, but your heart still yearns for it, calls for it. You try not to dwell on it. That want, that need, takes backstage for the oddities that have been popping up since it first whispered in your ear.

Like now. You know Miss Hunter’s in danger even before the alarm attached to the earrings you gave her go off. You feel the dread in your heart, feel it fill your empty and lonely soul. The sheer volume of that feeling jolts you awake.

Sylus slumbers beside you. He insisted, worry lacing his voice and his hand gently brushing your cheek when he asked you to stay. The look in his eyes is what pushed you to do so. They were inquiring about your relationship, about where you stand after all that's happened.

You should’ve put your foot down. You should’ve kept your distance. Your mind told you so. Your heart didn’t listen, once again.

So you two share a bed again, entangled in each other’s embrace. Sylus’ fast heartbeat syncs to yours. His every breath is the most comforting soundtrack you’ve ever experienced.

Or, it used to be. Nothing could compare to the sound of your beloved being fast asleep until your heard that piece. That song of the stars, that hymn of the universe, is the best thing that’s ever had graced your ears. You hunger to hear it again.

And maybe that selfish wish is why you rush out of bed. You long to hear it again. Because that time, enveloped in that beat, is probably the only time in your life you’ve ever been at true peace. The only time you’ve ever truly belonged.

Miss Hunter is the key to that, and you haven’t seen her in some time, making room for her to bond with Sylus. You’ve pushed both of them into each other’s arms (ironic given that you still let yourself sleep in Sylus’).

That’s what you’ve assumed, anyway. Neither of them have told you anything of the sort. Sylus just spends more time in Linkon and Miss Hunter talks about him in a better light when you two text.

Feels like a husband trying to hide a mistress from his wife with the way they sneak around. And said mistress is her friend.

The mere thought makes you want to vomit. To expel that thought and all others that could follow from both your mind and stomach.

Stop it, you tell yourself as you unceremoniously wiggle your way out of a sleeping Sylus’ embrace. There’s nothing between you two, and everything is right between them.

Your rush, oddly enough, isn’t what wakes your boss. He eyes only shoot open the moment your warmth completely leaves his.

“Where…?” His voice cracks a bit, and he constantly blinks his eyes in the struggle to keep them open.

You wonder, in this moment, what you would do if two really were together. If he really was your husband like so many assume. If he really was yours and not someone else’s.

Would he coax you back into his arms, kissing the back of your neck and mumbling nonsense? Would you two play a game of back and forth, to see who will get up or who will go back to sleep? Or would he simply just wrap his arms around your waist like at the gala a few weeks ago, kissing you everywhere in order to wake himself?

Just the idea flusters you. So flustered that your first attempt on putting on a shirt is one that’s inside out and backwards. You quickly remedy this, glancing back at Sylus as you put the shirt back on right.

He doesn’t even flinch at the brief sight of your bare back. Understandable. You’ve seen him practically naked (except for a towel he haphazardly put on). He’s seen almost every inch of you, bandaging and stitching you back together in more ways than one.

What I wouldn’t give for him to take me apart in the best way possible?

Everything is so very, very hot again.

“Go back to sleep, Morana,” you whisper to him, not going back near the bed in fear you’d do something stupid like kiss him. “Something came up. I’ll handle it, and you call you after I do.”

“Alright,” he yawns. “Come back to me soon.”

You almost cry at his words.

“Be sure to tell the boys. You know how they worry about you.”

You nod, sending a quick text to your group chat with Luke and Kieran (the two menaces named it “When Mom Needs to Shit Talk Dad”) before you head out to your motorcycle.

You don’t check your phone for her location. Something tells you Skyhaven is the place. And another thing tells you that your world is about turn upside down.

As you drive, you soon don’t even need instinct for the former of your ideas. Because Miss Hunter’s thread appears, like the red guiding light in some video game. You know it’s hers because the stories it weaves are hers. The explosion. Her entry into the N109 zone. And some childhood memories she’s told you about.

But this isn’t Sylus’ connection to her that’s leading you. It’s someone else. A boy who’s been by her side for ages. A boy whose death drove her into your life and Sylus’.

You don’t quite see who this boy—man—is. Or maybe you and even Miss Hunter’s very soul are blocking him out. His blurry image conjures confusion, anxiety, betrayal, and layers upon layers pain.

You drive faster.

—

It’s surprisingly easy to find Miss Hunter. Pulling a few (sometimes literal) strings with members of The Fleet, a nice smile here, and a bit of manipulation there, and you find her. She appears to be in a nurse’s uniform, something that gives you pause. What makes you unpause is the aggressive man whose hands are on her.

His appearance flickers, much like Sylus’ did on that fateful day you first met him. Except his doesn’t bounce between dragon and human. No. For this man, you sometimes see a black bandage cover his eyes, and gold running down his body. Said body also becomes engulfed in black machine parts, and you hear them turn even when you’re some distance away.

He looks so much like Alex did that day years ago. Gold instead of silver runs across his metallic body and he lacks the powerful weapon they clutched in their hand. But the same emptiness is there. That same blank slate that hums with a power you want nothing to do with is there.

The difference between this man and Alex though is that he is still alone. He’s still someone’s pawn, and is willing to stay that way for the sake of the woman he loves.

Alex would never be in this position. Their family situation may be complicated, but Kai will never stand for it to escalate. She never allows her spouse’s family to have their way.

The man with cold violet eyes doesn’t have that. He stands a bastion between Miss Hunter and a horrific fate you don’t even want to think about. He stands between her and an evil that you can see in his thread.

Ever.

You hoped to never hear that name again. To never remember the scientists that poked and prodded at you when no sign of a soulmate came in at the expected age. You wonder if they told him about you. You wonder if you’re going to get dragged back into the strange rooms with the strange devices again.

You wonder if your rescue mission is about to become a failed one.

You call out Miss Hunter’s first name. She turns to you, and the military man finally acknowledges your presence. She runs to you, and you shuttle her behind you.

Calm yourself.

You take deep breaths, watching his thread like a hawk, dissecting each little notch and every little twist to find something to exploit. You don’t want to be near this man that represents everything that makes your skin crawl any longer than you have to.

“Apologizes, ummm?” You trail off, laughing at yourself. “I’m sorry, what’s your name? My friend here didn’t mention you in her report.”

“Report?” Is all that comes out of his mouth. His words are devoid of anything. No inflection. No feelings. Nothing.

Your blood runs cold. Miss Hunter hands begin to grip the back of your shirt. She trembles.

“Yes, yes. Her report. The Hunter Association did send her to investigate some things, correct?” The man makes a notion for you continue. “When she submitted it, it was decided by her boss that I’d come and pick her up.”

“The Fleet wasn’t informed about any such development.”

You figured as much.

“I didn’t think the retrieval of one hunter needed to be told to them. The Fleet is busy enough as it is. Adding more paper work and things to sign for us to get one of our own seems foolish, does it not?”

You hate staring at those dead eyes of his. But it’s the only way to get his attention. The only way for him to believe your words and let the two of you go.

But you can hardly focus on getting your words out. There’s something wrong with this man, something mechanical. Something that’s burrowed so deep within him that it messes with him on a fundamental level.

It’s not enough to change his soul, thankfully. You can still see his worry, even if it’s not on his face. You can still see his love for Miss Hunter, even if he doesn’t show it.

So you keep your eyes on his, and hope to the universe that your abilities and your voice are enough to get away.

“Than may I ask why the Association needs her, given the state she’s in and the fact that you didn’t inform us she was to be sent back to Linkon so early?”

“I’m afraid a stranger isn’t privy to such information.”

“Colonel Caleb Xia,” he sticks his hand out for you to shake it.

You take it, and give him your name.

“Now that we’re not strangers, answer my question.”

His attitude is grinding your gears. His attitude, the fear he's giving Miss Hunter, and just the wrongness about him makes you snap inside.

“Well, Colonel,” you’re more harsh with your tone now. “I don’t see why I should. You did not inform the Association of her injuries. You did not inform us that she would be taken on a private airship, forced against her will for treatment, and then hunted down like an animal when she made the reasonable assumption you wouldn’t let her leave and try to escape. I don’t owe a brute like you jack-shit, let alone answers.”

You stick out an arm to further shield Miss Hunter. This seems to rattle the Colonel a bit. So you push further.

“The way you speak to me gives me the impression that you’re suspicious of me. Which is ironic coming from a man that’s meant to be dead.”

Miss Hunter flinches at your words. You use your other hand to soothe her, and even your powers brush against her very soul to calm her. You hate to shake her so much. But using these words, using his own guilt against him, is probably the best chance you have of leaving here.

“Some things came up. Things that you don’t need to know.”

He steps closer to you.

“Ah. So we both have our secrets, don’t we?” You get in his face. “Only mine doesn’t cause my friends great distress.”

His emotionless mask finally cracks a little. Just a smidge. But his thread tells you of mountains and mountains of guilt. Of how it hurts to see the woman he loves so scared of him.

You don’t give a shit. Sure, you almost pity him a bit. But Miss Hunter’s shaky hands on your back, and the reminder of the love you know she deserves from Sylus kills that pity in seconds.

If anything, his cruelty is just another reason you’ll make sure he never has her. It’s just another reason for you to drive her into Sylus’ arms and break your heart again.

“It’s just a misunderstanding.”

The cliche words make you want to strangle him.

“I’d hate to know what kind of misunderstandings you’ve had in the past, Colonel, to think that any of what you’ve done is acceptable.”

“And what exactly is it that you think I’ve done? You just got here, Miss,” the way he says your name makes you all the angrier.

“I have eyes, Colonel. I know a terrified woman trying to escape from a domineering man when I see one.”

You hope flat-out calling him an abuser will get Caleb to back down. Because you know he’s doing all this with good intentions. He doesn’t want to hurt Miss Hunter. He doesn’t want to scare her.

Too bad the pathway to hell is paved with good intentions. Too bad he’s one of those people who refuse to see and acknowledge when they’re wrong.

“How did you find us?” He ignores your comments altogether.

Fine. I’ll play your game.

“By asking around. People are surprisingly agreeable to what you want when you’re not demanding or controlling. Right, Colonel?”

His face scrunches at your implications.

“I wouldn’t know. My job is to command or listen to orders. I do not ask for permission.”

“You know, every word out of your mouth makes me wish you stayed dead.”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your lips. You don’t really mean them. Not truly. Any family or goodness for Miss Hunter is something you’ll celebrate.

Even if Caleb is something that somehow falls into those categories. Even if the man you'll never allow her to truly be with is one of those people.

He’s caused so much pain. So much anguish in her threads and turmoil in her mind. The normally confident and headstrong hunter is silent behind you. Her soul begs for her to run.

You want to turn around and hug her. Give her a shoulder to cry on. To ease her mind while you plot with Sylus how to fuck up the lives of anyone who’s ever hurt her. You want to save her, protect her.

And the more these emotions boil, the more you wonder. Is this the influence of that song? Or is this just what it means to be so beloved by the universe? That even someone like you is drawn into her orbit, ready to give up the man you love for her in a heartbeat?

Once again, your selfish heart wonders if she and all the love the world wants to give her, is the reason you have no love at all.

“Harsh words from someone who just met me,” the Colonel’s quip drags you out from the depths of your self-hatred.

“You’ve just made that bad of a first impression on me.”

“What did I do to do that?”

“You do not want me to answer that.”

The Colonel and you say nothing to each for some time, just staring the other down.

“We really must get going. We have things to attend to, as I’m sure you do as well.”

You turn to try and leave, guiding Miss Hunter to walk in front of you, but Caleb grabs your wrist.

“Unhand me this second, or so help me, Colonel I will make you wish you stayed dead and buried.”

He lets go. You and Miss Hunter return to your old stance of her behind you while you face her childhood friend.

“She’s injured.”

“I’m aware.”

“She can’t work like this.”

“I’m also aware of that. I’ll treat her once we’re back in Linkon and she’s in a comfortable space.”

“She needs rest.”

“And she’ll get it. Away from you. Believe or not, there are others that care for her as well and can do so without violating her autonomy.”

“Why do you need her specifically?”

His change of topic doesn't go unnoticed by any of you. Once again, you play along.

“As I said before, it’s none of your business, so I won’t go into the details. All I will tell you is that her resonance Evol is needed for some investigative work.”

You pause, staring deeper into those cold eyes and his frantic thread.

“And, she has a capable partner that will look after her during this process. She won’t even have to lift a finger.”

“You?”

You almost snort. While you may have cynically thought of joining the Hunter's Association out of spite, you'd never truly consider it. Too... perfect for someone as broken as you. Too bright, too kind, too messy, too secretive, too—

It's just too much. Too much for you and your bloodstained hands and soon-to-be broken heart.

“Oh heavens, no. Not me. I’m not the fighting type,” you can hear Sylus and the twins cackle in your mind as you say this.

You may not like fighting, but everyone in Onychinus knows you can be deadly in one if need be. And some of your opposition actually fears you more than Sylus because of that. Because Sylus’ power is tangible, you can see his energy Evol as it snuffs a life out.

But no one can see it when you pull a thread out of someone’s heart. Or twist their very soul into oblivion. Or choke the life out of them with their own connection to their soulmate.

Your mystery is your greatest weapon. And it’s another reason you tell yourself not to divulge your secret ever again.

“Than how can I trust this mysterious partner if they don’t have the decency to show up themselves?”

Shit.

You gather yourself quickly. You need to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Your trust in my words are irrelevant. I don’t need your permission to take her anywhere, I’m just giving her childhood friend who’s worried about her well-being the curtesy of being told such information. I’m not leaving you in the dark.”

Caleb’s mask once again wavers, so you push more.

“I’m not leaving you frightened of the unknown and nor am I strong-arming you into doing what I want with my authority. I’m having a conversation with you in hopes you’ll see things from my point of view. And I’m not ignoring your clear discomfort nor your fears.”

“And what is it you think I’m afraid of?”

“That you’ll lose her again. Or they’ll get their hands on her.”

You know that’s the right thing to say when the Colonel’s hand begins to hover over his waist, where you assume his gun is. His eyes go dead again. Cold. Bottomless. All consuming.

Just where you want him.

“You think you two are the only ones they’re hunting? You think she’s the only one they’ve ever obsessed over?”

You hate yourself for this. For putting this information into his hands, their hands, again. Because you became a ghost once you entered the N109 zone. You disappeared from their grasp because the old man in charge of the Zion Hunt knows better than to blab about you.

It was your wish from him when you won his little competetion during your first year with Sylus. It was the wish and deal you made with him, his very soul the price should he ever break it. Whether it was you or Sylus that would come to collect, you hope to never know.

Because you were dead to Ever. And it was supposed to stay that way. But for her, and for Sylus, you’ll come back. You’ll put yourself back under their radar in hopes they’ll chase you and not her.

And while you’re at it, maybe you can save the Colonel as well. You may hate who he is right now, but you're curious about the boy he used to be. The boy Miss Hunter loves like family. The boy he was before Ever broke him like they broke you.

“You aren’t,” you continue. “In fact, I think the Professor loved me most of all before I left him.”

“Why?”

He’s still tense. Still ready to end your life and forcibly take Miss Hunter away. But you know where to strike. You know because his thread tells you he’s heard about you. About the strange little girl with no soulmate but with the power to see others, to touch others, to manipulate others.

Seems the Professor still remembers me.

You still remember him. You still remember how him and Josaphine and all the others treated you. You still remember the many tests, the files you read, and all the injections they gave you before your family sent you off to school that same day like nothing happened.

You still remember the adrenaline and joy that coursed through your veins the day you finally ran from it all. That same adrenaline pumps now at the thought of going back.

But you’d do it for her. For them. And hopefully, they’ll all forgive you for it.

“Because I turn everything we’ve ever known about humanity and love upside down.”

Bullseye.

Caleb lowers his hand to his side, no longer ready to shoot you. Because now he realizes you’re just like him, just like Miss Hunter. Another one of the Professor’s runaway “children”. Another one of his pawns that never wants to see him again.

“And do you know what my parents told me each time they took me to him?”

“What?” He asks the question breathily, shaken to his core despite how the chip in his head tries to stop him from feeling.

You pull at his literal heartstrings, at his soul, to bypass the machine. The power of universe itself is far more potent and compelling than some man-made computer.

“That it was for my own good,” that hits Caleb harder than any of your other words, and you scoff when you say it. “Selfish words by selfish people who refuse to admit when they’re wrong. When they refuse to see how they hurt the people they claim to love.”

Miss Hunter burrows deeper into your back. You twine your power into her threads to soothe her, since you can’t physically do it right now.

Her friend Caleb, on the other hand, seems to have been shattered. As if the weight of his actions has hit him. He doesn’t show it on his face or in his eyes, but in his thread. In the thread tied to the very woman who he scared so much.

“You love her, don’t you?”

No response.

“So why continue to hurt her as you do? Why continue to be like my parents and do something that she clearly doesn’t want and is only causing harm?”

“Because it’s a misunderstanding.”

“We already went over this, Colonel,” you’re gentle with your tone now, empathy bleeding into every fiber of your being.

I’ll get you out next, you tell yourself. I’ll get you and all the rest away from that man I should’ve killed years ago.

“But how about I put it another way? How do you expect me to believe you, who disappeared from her life once already and is now back and causing her pain, to be a better place for recovery than a place where everyone loves her and respects her ability to take care of herself?”

Once again, the Colonel doesn’t show how much of a gut punch your words are. You are a stranger, after all. And he’s been literally programmed to suppress how he feels.

So you tug at the string only you can. You tug on the connection on you can feel and twist and exploit. And he starts to feel it all. His guilt. His piles and piles of insecurity. And how maybe, just maybe, all you’ve been saying is right.

It’s a bit gross to you, to do this to a man who’s already been through so much. But he isn’t your priority. She is. The young woman who cowers behind you. The young woman who put her faith in you.

The young woman that will make the man you love feel whole again. She’s who you came for. She’s who you’ll help. Caleb will have to wait his turn.

“Think about what you’re asking me to do, Colonel, from my perspective. My friend, who I’ve seen be consumed by grief, finally has gets the green light to work again after losing the only parental figure she remembers and the only family she had as well as her home.”

You pause to look his in the eyes and play with his thread more before continuing.

“She goes on said mission, gets heavily injured, and I come to pick her up only to find her on the run from said family member who’s supposed to be dead, and she’s disguised as a nurse as she tries to free herself from him. Would you trust you in my shoes?”

He has no response again, so you deliver what you hope to be the killing blow, “She’s been through so much. Do you really want to make matters worse?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are, Colonel,” you don’t know what compels you to do so, but you lay a hand on his mechanical arm; it takes him by surprise, but since he doesn’t immediately retreat from your touch (and instead leans into it) you count that as a win. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I thought you were here to pick her up for a mission. How does my presence impact that?”

Got you.

While your words may sound like a slip up, you meant it. You meant for him to catch the underlying meanings of your words and press. You meant to reveal this “truth”.

“Alright, you caught me. There’s no mission. She called me directly because she was scared.”

You can feel the panic from Miss Hunter. You squeeze her hand, both to reassure her and as a promise to tell her everything later. Poor girl’s been lied to her entire life. And you understand that confusion and pain from being deceived by so many better than anyone.

The last thing you want is to become another person in that long list for her.

You take a deep, dramatic, breath. “You see, you never quite know how safe you are in this job. Whether it be Wanderers or rival organizations, danger’s around the corner for us Hunters. The explosion at your house made that all the more obvious.”

You pause, squeezing Miss Hunter’s hand again, making sure Caleb saw the turmoil and pain in your eyes. “So I came up with this system for me and her. A way to call each other discreetly and to be sure we’ll get back up from a trusted friend. Regardless of where we were of whether we had our Hunter’s watches. A way for us to protect one another while still respecting each other’s space.”

You don’t quite know what it is this time that gets Caleb to see the light. But something flashes across his eyes, and he finally backs down. You almost let out a sigh of relief. But your professionalism makes you choke it back down.

Don’t waver. You’re not in the clear yet. Not until she’s home and safe.

“I see…” his voice carries the most emotion you’ve heard from him.

You sneakily curl a finger around his thread, tapping into that heart of his that you know still sleeps in his chest. No machine, no stupid little chip, will keep you from reaching it.

So you rub the thread between your fingers. You rub it and make him see the pain he’s causing, the suffering on the woman he loves’ face. You force him to see that feeling and come face to face with the realization that he caused it.

Something shifts in the Colonel. You words coupled with you literally touching his soul get to him in ways he didn’t think possible.

“I see…” he says again, this time, with pain in it.

You finally relax.

“I’ll escort you out.”

Your stomach drops at the mere idea. “No need. I happen to have quite the memory, and can get us out safely on my own.”

“I insist.”

Please don’t.

“Haven’t you done enough damage with your “insisting” already?”

A low blow. But nothing is too low for you to get him to back off. To get away from this man that makes your friend tremble and you uncomfortable.

You don’t know if it’s the machine in his head, the emotionless landscape of his past life, or the way that history of his reminds you of your missing friend Alex. Any one of those could be what ultimately makes you not want to be in his presence.

The Colonel opens his mouth, probably to push his point again, but another voice interrupts him before he can.

“Colonel Xia. What the fuck are you doing?”

The voice comes from behind you and Miss Hunter. It’s female, and a bit scratchy. From disuse or just a natural undertone to it, you don’t know. But something about it compels you to keep your gaze forward. For whatever reason, you can’t bring yourself to turn around.

Miss Hunter can’t either, judging by how she buries her face into your back.

The steps of your savior are anything but comforting. A pit forms in your stomach. A pit that’s familiar.

Death approaches.

Every part of you wants to fight. To fight against what your lizard brain sees as a foe but what your logical one sees as an ally. It’s a confusing storm of emotions. One that gets worse once you see the woman.

She flickers. Just like Alex and Caleb. Just like Kai. Exactly like Sylus, given how her changes are that of horns and a tail.

She’s a fiend.

It’s the first time you’ve seen similar past lives. You’ve seen Lemurians. You’ve seen cyborgs. You’ve seen beings made of flowers and sand. But never two of the same.

Another fiend isn’t something you thought you’d ever see. Another fiend shouldn’t be possible, given that you know Sylus was the only of his kind (a dragon that's too human, and a human that's too much of a monster). Another fiend like him shakes everything you thought you knew.

Who is she?

Caleb, as if hearing your thoughts, answers for you, “Undertaker Rafia. What are you doing here, ma’am?”

The amount of respect he gives this woman shocks you somewhat. The same man who tried to force his own soulmate into compliance, who frightens even you, is on edge by the appearance of one woman.

A woman of tall stature. A bulky, muscular woman. A woman with pitch black hair and the palest skin you’ve ever seen. A woman who was once a fiend.

That same woman stands between you and Caleb, her back still turned to you.

“Why I’m here is irrelevant. You have a ceremony to get to, and if you don’t get your ass in gear, it’ll be your funeral I’m planning next.”

“Ma’am, I—“

“Get to it, Caleb. Before you piss me off more.”

Caleb seems to weigh his options for a second. Before he salutes her and walks off. The tension in your body finally releases. You can breathe now. You can exist now without the weight of the Colonel’s eyes and voice on your shoulder.

“I’ll escort the two of you out. You shouldn’t have any more problems.”

Despite the primal fear her appearance first gave you, you’re grateful. She turns to you, and you open your mouth to tell her thank you, but something makes all words catch in your throat. And you stare.

You stare at Undertaker Rafia, even as Miss Hunter’s hold on you becomes a death grip on you. Not because you’re grateful. Not because you’re in shock.

No. You stare for a reason you never thought possible. You stare because the sight before you shouldn’t be real.

She has no soulmate.

Undertaker Rafia has no soulmate thread. Just. Like. You.

—

You’re 7 and in love with your best friend, the son of mother’s own best friend.

You sit on the couch in the game room of his house, picking at the fraying knitted blanket. Your crush sits next to you, eyes more focused on the pause screen of his video game than you. You don’t mind though. His dedication to his games is one of the reasons you like him.

He’s so excited about them, rambling to you about them with wild gestures while you just sit and listen. He could fill up an entire conversation for you two. You don’t need to say a word. You don’t need to force yourself into the awkwardness of trying to find the right words.

You could just be there with him.

”Sam says you like me.”

You nod.

”So… you do?”

You nod again, still unable to utter a word. Maybe because speaking will make this all too real? Maybe because speaking will make him laugh at you?

You chase that stupid thought away. He’d never laugh at you. He’s always kind with you, offering you his blanket when he’s clearly cold, opening doors for you, listening to your opinions on the rare occasion you can your mouth to form actual sentences.

Your friend treats you so preciously. And it makes you hope and pray you’ll be lucky enough to discover that he’s your soulmate.

”But I’m not your soulmate.”

Your friend tilts his head at you. Your heart falls with the motion. And you force your mouth to move and for words to come out.

You can’t lose him.

”You don’t know that,” you barely manage to mumble.

He takes your hand, toothy grin on his face. A grin that you love and makes you flush and makes you smile the biggest smile in your little life.

”I guess we’ll find out.”

You could cheer.

That all goes away in a few days. Your love? Tossed aside. Your happiness? Dashed. The friendship and the new relationship with a boy you thought like-liked you? Gone.

One day, you’re happy and the sun is shining and the birds are chirping. The next, he’s dumping you.

”I like someone else now,” he says kindly, as if that’ll make the blow hurt any less.

Your mind races. What did you do wrong? What have you done to make him like this, to make him no longer like-like you? Tears gather in your eyes as your chest aches.

You clutch at it. The pain is unbearable. You think your heart is literally breaking, shattering. Thump, thump, thump, it goes steadily. But, the pain, oh the pain, makes you believe otherwise. How else could you explain the piercing stabs in your chest?

You can’t look at your friend. Can’t look at him with his apologetic eyes and sweet voice that tries to calm you down. Can’t look at him with his soft hands that rub your back and familiar clothes that you think look cute on him.

All there is for you is pain. Pain in your chest as you sob and sob and sob. The one person, your person, is leaving you. Abandoning you. When you thought he’d be the only person to ever stay with you.

He’s the only one who sees you in your silence. Where your family teases you and tells you to take a joke, he gives you comforting reassurance of your feelings. Where others tell you to speak up, he gives you space to find your voice. Where the world tell you your heart is too tender and too soft, he tells you it’s a gift to care so much.

He is your rock in the storm. Your everything. The one pillar in your life that makes the house of you stand strong. And now, he’s knocking it down without a care.

And with that, your sorrow turns to rage. At his betrayal. At his abandonment. At anything and everything about him and the embarrassment he’s causing you on this stupid couch you confessed on.

When you look at him, at his chest he’s trying to suffocate you in because the stupid boy thinks that’ll comfort you and mend your heart, you see it. You see this odd red string that shimmers. You push him away. You blink. All sounds are quiet.

The string is still there. Still shimmering, still floating, still making waves from his heart. You're as enchanted by it as you are lost by it. Why is it here? How is it here? What is it?

You just stare. Your friend’s hands still rub your back in vain. Your chest is still on fire. Your eyes still produce tears despite how much it hurts to, despite how much they make you choke and spit and cough.

You cling to the string instead of him. You cling to this mystery. Because every mystery has a solution according to your teachers. Every puzzle has an answer, one that makes sense.

What sense is there to be found in your friend? What sense is there to be found in your own heart?

As if knowing what’s going through your mind, the string calls out to you louder. It compels you stronger. To listen. To touch it. To experience it. So, in your confused and broken heart, you do.

And you see her. An unassuming girl. A girl who didn’t know your friend like you did. A girl who would never give a nerd like him the time of day because all that matters is popularity and talking and peopling and all these other things that just isn’t your friend.

”Is it her? Is she your soulmate?”

The other question slips out before you can stop it. Her name follows shortly after. 

You don’t even need to look at your friend to know the answer. The string tells you. It’s taken his place as your place of comfort. You grasp it in your hands.

Will this leave me too? you wonder.

”What are you doing?” Your friend asks; you barely hear him because no words out of his mouth matter more than this moment.

But his stupid words do tell you something. They tell you he can’t see them.

Am I the only one who can?

Maybe the string is secret you’ve been entrusted with? Maybe it’s your apology from the universe for your broken heart? Maybe it can be your new friend?

Excitement and glee unlike any you've ever felt flood your chest. The strings are yours. They're something no joke, no call to speak up, and no adult can take from you.

It doesn’t vanish when you touch it. It doesn’t leave once you have it in your grasp like your friend is doing now. It sits with you. It speaks with you. And you speak what it tells you.

”You two share dreams, right?” You don’t give your friend time to answer. “Started yesterday, you fell asleep beneath our special tree. She wasn’t at school that day. Fever.”

Your friend has nothing to say, so you continue, “You should give her the blue Jolly Ranchers the next time you two share. She knows they’re your favorite, so she lies and says she doesn’t like them. She also hates the watermelon, you know. But your smile is worth choking them down.”

The more you learn, the more the tears fall from your eyes. Guilt begins to replace your hurt. Your chest still sings with a blaze you can’t put out.

”She actually loves chess and checkers. Guess you have someone new to play with.”

One sob you can’t hold back interrupts you. Image after image that illustrates how perfect she is for him and how perfect you aren't enter your mind. Each one stabs a new hole in your heart.

”She’s perfect for you. So, so perfect.”

You break. You scream. You throw pillows around and toss the blanket that the two of were sharing at a window.

”Why? Why, why, why, why, why?!”

Footsteps rush up the stairs. Their family dog is barking. Your throat hurts. Your voice is scratchy. When was the last time you raised it? Ever?

As your family comes to your side, asking what’s wrong, and your friend looks at you with horrified eyes, you finally whisper, “Why couldn’t it been me?”

The ride home is a blur. Your family’s attempts at comfort are a blur. Everything but your final words to your friend is a blur.

Why? Why couldn’t it been me?

That’s the only thought is your head until you finally fall asleep. As well as when you get to school and spot your friend and his soulmate feeding each other those stupid blue Jolly Ranchers to each other, laughing.

He doesn’t spare you glance. He doesn’t reach out. He doesn’t talk to you. And you, with your new friend in the strings, let him.

Your teacher, however, doesn’t. She pulls you aside after class.

”Did you and,” she says your friend’s name, “get into a fight?”

You nod your head, not looking her in the eyes. Eyes are scary to you. They should say too much according to the books you’ve read. But to you, they say too little.

Now, you have your strings. You have these things no one else can see, but everyone seems to possess. Even your teacher.

Worry makes waves in her sting. Worry and exhaustion. So you cut straight to the point, even as your body begs you to just shut down and wait it out like usual.

”Yes. He broke my heart because he found his soulmate.”

Surprise colors your teacher’s string. After all, you’re a quiet child. One who keeps her eyes glued to the floor and voice barely above a whisper. One who—in some case, quite literally—runs from conflict and the rest of the world.

You don't talk to adults. They never listen anyway, so you stopped a long time ago. So you understand why hearing your voice so clearly and so directly is strange to your teacher.

You await her response, hoping and praying for something good. While you may still hurt from your friend’s abandonment, you got the strings out of it. Maybe an adult will listen and help you for once because of them?

”Oh honey,” anticipation builds within you. “You should be happy for him! He found his one true love… you two were never going to last long anyways.”

The world collapses again. Tears build in your eyes again. But you don’t let yourself cry. You don’t let yourself beg or scream or wail because that didn’t help you the first time. Why would it be different now?

Why did I even hope?

So you turn to her string. You turn to her love because yours is so meaningless and empty and a waste and nothing—

”You get glimpses of your soulmate when you paint, right?”

You just start talking before you can think. Again.

”The color purple comes in pretty often. That, and dolphins. It’s because it’s Mrs. Smith, the math teacher. Did you know she does opera on the weekends because singing gives her glimpses of you?”

Your teacher’s jaw is on the ground. You shuffle away as she tries to recover from what you just said. You wait for your family to pick you up, more hopeless than ever.

The next day, news spreads that your teacher and Mrs. Smith are together. It gets around that a pair of soulmates found each other miraculously after years of unknowingly working together for years. Your teacher tells her, your, story. And the world finally begins to listen to you.

You begin to speak. With so many eyes turning to you, wondering about where you got your information, you tell. You tell them about the threads and what they whisper to you. What they say about others, about their soulmates, about their pasts, and about their loves.

One of your classmates gives you a look. A look you know all too well. A look that resonants in their own thread, which tells you they don’t believe you.

You aren’t even surprised anymore.

But another classmate approaches you after class. Asks about their thread and their other half. And you tell them. To go to a cafe with their parents on a specific day at a specific time. There, they will bump into their other half and be able to share their thoughts with them.

They do so. And another success falls into your lap.

After that, more and more people approach you. Some kids. Some adults. Some old people. Some from school. Some from apparently the other side of the world. All hearing stories and rumors from those you’ve helped.

You tell every time. Despite their clear caution. Despite the glances you now get in the hallway. Despite how the loneliness piles and piles on top of the grave of your old love.

But the final nail in your coffin comes from your friend again. Or rather, from his family. Yours and his are trying to make you two talk again. To make everyone friends again and “keep the peace” as the adults are saying.

You don’t budge. His useless apologies and meaningless sorries bounce right off your ears. Because all you can see is his thread and his memories with her. All you can see is your broken love and his blossoming new one.

So you turn to another thread. Not your family’s because you know them far too well. But his mother’s, the only one who seems to understand you. And you’re floored again.

”Your husband is not your soulmate.”

For the third time, your mind can’t stop your mouth.

”Your bonds are both similar, so you just assumed as much. When you sleep at night, you get your other half’s memories, right? Well, you each got the wrong sibling.”

Chaos ensues. You’re being screamed at by all: your friend, his family, your family, and even yourself. You just retreat into your mind, and into the threads. It’s the one place that can never hurt you.

You family doesn’t hear from your friend and his family for some time. Your own family has been distant from you. You no longer care. All you need are the threads. They’re the only truly loyal thing in your life.

When you do hear from your friend and his family again, you’re greeted by warmth. By joy. By tears of absolute happiness.

”Thank you,” they all say. “Thank you for making us all whole.”

You wonder why. According to everyone, you broke up a family. And according to what you know, that should be bad. So why are you being praised? Why are you being thanked?

Your friend begins to hang out with you again. He becomes your voice again. He gives you snacks and blankets and pillows again. He looks at you with happiness again.

Than it all falls into place when you see him with her. When you see your teachers together. When you see the two new couples that form your friend's family.

Who cares who or what a soulmate’s love hurts? Everything is nothing compared to it.

You think this as you watch your friend play video games with his other half, smiling while you watch with your own wavering grin, heart stitched together by your own resilience and refusal to hurt again.

Author's Note: Also, please go to the original blurb to ask to be added to the taglist (it's impossible for me to keep checking every part every time I update).

2nd Author's Note: This has honestly been the most emotional and personal Ikigai chapter for me to write, since I based part of Reader's past emotional trauma on my own (it's the easiest for me to write and works as therapy, so win-win). I mentioned early on there would be flashbacks, and I wanted to showcase some of her young life and where her mindset came from. I have one more planned—which is coming next chapter—but let me know if you'd like more!

3rd Author's Note: If I wrote and published an acutal novel, would anyone here read it? Because I had a fiction workshop class and I'm so invested with the story I cooked up there!

4th Author's Note: What's your ideal date? I need ideas for a future scene in this series, and would love some more input.

Taglist: @eolivy, @rafayelridesfisheatsfish, @animegamerfox, @jasperjokester, @schrodingerskimdokja, @just--crys, @snowdynasty, @shi-thats-kiera, @mansonofmadness, @dwuclvr, @ameilli, @katiedoesstuff101, @everythingistaken00, @napa-the-yappa, @hanaluxx, @lovesick-sylus, @tenaciouszombiewombat, @ladyparamount, @applepi405, @midnight-reverie, @69-gojos-wife-69, @bellagrayson-wayne, @phisen, @idkmanimjusthorny, @munchychuusy, @autumn2534, @poptrim, @sillyfreakfanparty, @zaynesfirefly, @flamedancer13, @thissmartdumbass, @mrsllawliet, @jeondyy, @ssetsuka, @dels-page, @that-lost-one, @johnnysactualgf, @mariquitas-en-verano, @toelady, @sinnamon-bunn, @yesbiaswrecked, @doggyteam2028, @little-rays-of-darkness, @albatrossblue, @vyntheria, @silverianni, @browneyedgirl22, @tiklestar, @beaconsxd, @pepperushia

[flqwerjo]

˖ ݁˖ ❀⋆｡˚ ─── 𝑫𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑼𝑛𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠ℎ

˚.❀𝑨𝐿𝑇𝐸𝑅𝑁𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑉𝐸𝐿𝑌ᵎᵎ getting hot and steamy with your boyfriend while he's wearing the outfits from his concept photo

˚.❀𝑮𝐸𝑁𝑅𝐸/𝐶𝑊 ─── nsfw (mdni), scenarios (jungwon + hyung line), blowjobs , fingering , riding , shoe humping(??), implied pet play ˚.❀𝑾𝑂𝑅𝐷 𝐶𝑂𝑈𝑁𝑇 ─── 1.1k

𝒄ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡ᵎᵎ (˶˃⤙˂˶)

˚.❀𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑤𝑜𝑛

His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth , his eyes closing as his head tilted back , trying his hardest not to let any noise slip out ── the others were still there after all. He should've known better than to bring you with him to the photoshoot for their concept photos knowing very well just how erotic the "Make" concept was. Well , at least he knows now that latex gloves , a black suit and an eyepatch make you absolutely feral. You didn't even give him a second to breathe when he was done with his shooting and ready to clock out , your hand dragging him away into an empty dressing room. "Fuck.. you really couldn't wait until we were home... keep going", he mumbled under his breath , his eyes glancing down ── even if he could only see through one , the eyepatch didn't hinder him from seeing the sinful view. Your lips stretched around the girth of his cock , drops of Saliva running down to your chin from how sloppy and eager you were sucking him off ── but his eyes narrowed when he saw the subtle movement of your arm between your thighs , hearing your pussy squelching every time you plunged your fingers knuckles deep inside. It made his cock twitch in your mouth , his clawed latex fingers tightening their grip on your hair and scratching your scalp. He was close , too fast for his own liking but he knew he had to be done quickly before one of his members or a staff member came in.

"I promise I'll take proper care of you once we're home.. now be a good girl and take every single drop I'll shoot down your throat"

˚.❀𝐻𝑒𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑢𝑛𝑔

Of course he knew what he was doing , he had to bite back his smirk when he saw the way you rubbed your thighs together when he got his photos taken. That god damn slutty fit of his had your cunt clenching around nothing and getting flooded with slick , your eyes focused on his fingers as he pulled his white dress shirt further down to show of the SFX make up on his chest that said "Monster in me" ── what a fucking slut of a men he was. You didn't know if you should be mad or grateful for the outfit his stylists gave him ── either way , it had your pussy crying and wanting to get filled up. The collar around his neck wasn't helping at all , images popping up in your mind as you started to fantasize. He would look so pretty underneath you with his current outfit , the flushed makeup on his face just made you remember how his face always flushed when you'd ride his cock or overstimulate both yourself and him. Fuck , you needed to be fucked , now. "You're so eager...", his lips brushed against the side of your neck , his fingers digging into your hips ── he wanted to sound annoyed , even though he wasn't , but your pussy just felt so warm and wet around his cock , he couldn't act annoyed even if he really tried. "Don't act like you weren't eager yourself , you got hard as soon as you walked over to me", you mumbled under your breath , trying to keep your volume in check ── maybe fucking in a bathroom stall wasn't the best idea , it certainly wasn't romantic , but at least you've gotten your fill now.

˚.❀𝐽𝑎𝑦

"You sure are having your fun... can't this wait until we're home?", his words weren't as threatening as he wanted them to sound , his cock was betraying him with the way it started to chub up under his slacks. He was the next in line to get his photo's taken , the concept photo where he'd be tied up and he asked you to tie him up because he didn't want a staff member to do it ── what a bad idea that was. "Oh come on... you have 10 minutes left , one little blowjob won't hurt", you replied back with a small pout , your hands caressing from his chest down to his crotch , your hand squeezing the growing bulge before you rubbed your palm over it , a hushed hiss coming from him as his eyes closed upon the contact. "You better be quick", he mumbled to which you clicked your tongue , shaking your head a little ── an almost sadistic grin on your face as you pulled on the rope tied around him to pull his chest against yours. "Oh baby ... the roles are reversed now. You will listen to me now , I have the ropes in my hand", he should have known better than to ask you to tie him up , he knew that this was payback for the last couple days when he edged you too long for your liking , now it was his turn to be tortured. This was going to be a very very long 10 minutes for him.

˚.❀𝐽𝑎𝑘𝑒

He felt bad , but not as bad as he felt good ── why have the two of you never tried handcuffs before sooner? He came back home from his photo shoot with a little surprise , the handcuffs he had used as a prop for his concept photos ── he secretly took them with him without anyone knowing. He was beyond turned on , his cock was getting milked dry from your pussy and he was crying tears of joy ── well actually overstimulation but this was pure heaven for him. His teary eyes opened half way to look through his eyelashes , feeling himself getting hypnotized as he watched the way your tits were bouncing along with you. It didn't matter how much he was tugging at the handcuffs , they just wouldn't come off ── but he wasn't complaining , he wanted this , he wanted to be restrained. And next time it was going to be you , he wasn't going to sneakily return those babies.

˚.❀𝑆𝑢𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑛

He felt anxious , but the thrill only heightened his lust whenever he heard a noise outside of the dressing room , his fingers tightening around your hair strands. "Wear a pair of specs and you have your girl on her knees like a slut", he mumbled under his breath as his half lidded eyes looked down at you , his foot right between your thighs while he was busy fucking your face ── his cock stretching your throat every time he pressed your nose against his abdomen. He clicked his tongue when he felt and saw the way you were humping his leather shoe like a dog in heat , but the sight was so fucking hot to him. "Such a needy little slut... so fucking dirty , look at you humping my shoe like a fucking bitch in heat. Don't get my shoe dirty with your arousal , if you do , you'll lick it it clean with your tongue like a good little pup..", his voice was low and gruff as he said that , the way his voice sounded only made you whimper in response while your eyes shut tightly.

"Don't you dare cum ... I won't fuck you tonight if you do"

[ce1estiall]

flash forward

summary uconn!paige x reader asking your girlfriend, “do you ever wish you were an athletic person?” masterlist.

warnings fluff, one sexual thought at the end :p

celestial notes back at it with the tiktok trends. also two fics in one day?? what!!! also tysm for 200 followers!!

“i want everything about you to fall out for good

talking about you, talking about us

and talking about you and i.” flash forward - le sserafim

summer slowly started to enter at uconn, as the cloudy skies faded away and the temperature rising by the day. however basketball was something that was not going to leave for paige until the day she graduated.

paige had a practice earlier that saturday morning, but it was more conditioning than actual hoops. it didn’t help that the weather was 80° also when she stepped outside, practically drenched in sweat.

you were at your dorm, doom scrolling on social media in your bed. you were procrastinating an essay that was due tomorrow, when you get a text from paige.

p💗🏀: baby

p💗🏀: r u busy rn?

you click the notification confused. your fingers start typing

r: paige don’t u have practice rn?

p💗🏀: it just ended

p💗🏀: wanna grab some chipotle w me?

r: dont gotta tell me twice im getting ready

p💗🏀: i’ll be there in 10, love you

you flew out of bed and went straight to the bathroom, putting your hair in a slick back. easy, but simple hairstyle for any occasion. plus, you wanted the sun to shine on your curls. you grabbed one of paige’s hoodies that smelt like cologne and some baggy jeans. you paired it with some jordans and added your favorite necklace. it was a purple hawaiian flower, with 5 purple diamonds on the outside and a silver one representing the inside. paige has the same one, but in pink, representing your favorite colors. no wonder why it was your favorite.

you placed some pink lipgloss on when you heard knocking on your door. you opened the door with no surprise once you saw the 6ft blonde standing in front of you. her pin straight hair was down with a white essentials hoodie and some grey sweats. she wore some off-white air forces, and your matching pink necklace which glistened in the light. “you ready?” paige said, admiring you from head to toe while leaning on the door frame.

you nod, “yeah, let’s go.”

the drive was sweet, feeling the fresh air as your window was down, singing your heart out to your summer playlist as the blue sky spoke for itself. paige was attempting to not pay attention and only focus on driving, but failed when her favorite song came on, automatically turning up the volume.

paige parked the car, getting out and opening your door, treating you like a princess no matter the occasion. “why thank you!” you smiled, attempting to act all royalty. you held paige’s hand as you walked inside. “go find a table, i already know what you want.”

“aww, you know me so well.” you placed a hand across your chest, acting dramatic.

paige glared in a playful tone. “bro, you literally order the same thing every time.” you sent her a playful wink as you walked down to the table. you scrolled on tiktok and noticed a trend going around, where they asked their athletic significant other if they wished if they were ever an athletic person. you laughed, immediately pressing the “+” to start recording. just in time, paige came with 2 chipotle bowls, 2 cups, and a large bag of tortilla chips.

you secretly hit record, propping your phone on your drink when you decide to ask paige. “baby, do you ever wish you were an athletic person?”

paige was scooping her food onto a tortilla chip when she stared at you like you were insane. “is this a serious question? or is this a prank.”

you laughed. “yes p, just answer.”

she stopped touching her food and leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. she noticed the camera, knowing she was gonna have fun with this one. “i am an athletic person already, why do i have to wish for what i already am?”

you took a bite from your bowl. “i don’t know, i was just curious. i just thought you wanted more athlete. you can always improve in some area.”

paige glared with her icy blue eyes that could freeze anyone. “babe, they don’t call me paige buckets for no reason.”

you laughed silently to yourself. “what?” paige spoke, pretending to act clueless.

“paige, i’m fucking with you.” paige stared at the camera. “you know, you’re not very slick babe. i noticed that as i was about to eat.” paige leaned towards the table. “if my food is cold, i’m gonna be pissed.”

she took a bite of her food and nodded in satisfaction. “you’re lucky.”

“you know i love you, paige.” you smiled, eating some tortilla chips. you hit her hand playfully, which ended up with her pouting in protest.

you both finished eating and headed back to paige’s car. during the drive back to campus, you grabbed her hand, tracing small circle with your thumb. “you want dessert? my apology treat.”

paige looked up at you at the stop light with one idea in mind, as she gave a mischievous smile. “no, absolutely not.” you said sternly “my offers off the table now.”

[bangaveragewhitewine]

Lucky Me

single dad Eddie Munson x single mom Reader

A follow up to Meet the Parents 

You have thought, over the last few weeks, about how serendipitous this whole thing is, how the universe’s mysterious ways brought you here - to Hawkins, to the Hideout that night, to Eddie’s bed, and now this bench, watching your daughters play together.

After your one night stand, you arrange a play date and a date date. 

Word Count: 18.5k

Contents: Two love-struck sweethearts (I reccomend reading MtP first). This is not intended for minors, 18+ Oral (M&F receiving), PinV sex, some public groping, Eddie Munson’s filthy (magic) mouth. Eddie & Reader are both single parents. Parent-death mention. Reader suffers a bit with anxiety/gets overwhelmed. No physical descriptors for reader, but mentions wearing Eddie’s t-shirt to sleep in. Food & alcohol TW. Modern AU.

Note: I am incapable of brevity; I am a yapper. But I’ll cut to the chase - writing this has been a silver lining to a lot of change and crap days over the last few months, I started writing this in early January and here we are. I really hope you enjoy this one, and thank you for being patient with me!

Eddie Munson fics | dividers by @saradika-graphics

Your New Year started, as the previous one had - watching the clock and calendar reset to 0:00 as fireworks popped and sparkled beyond your window. The television volume is turned low, not to wake the sleeping girl beside you in her ‘Happy New Year’ hairband and pink pyjamas, sugar-crashed and rosy-cheeked. 

Hazel had wanted to stay up for midnight, but she was drowsy-drunk by nine-forty-five and after an early countdown you found on YouTube, she was asleep in your bed after ten. You did not need to be won over or convinced for a sleepover with your favourite person tonight; you would rather be here with her to kiss her warm forehead as the bells rang than rattling around downstairs alone or away from her at some party of sweaty bodies and strangers. 

Downstairs there are gold streamers to clean up, plates stained with pizza sauce and melted cheese and glasses sticky with the dregs of ‘fancy cocktails’ (a mix of juice and ginger ale that had Hazel giggling and delighted and dancing around the living room). They can wait until morning. Right now, you are content to settle to sleep next to her, feeling cautiously hopeful for what the year will bring. 

Your phone buzzes a few times with texts from friends and family, to be ignored ‘til morning for the most part. And then you see his name among the notifications, the bat emoji and the sweet words and your stomach flips and fizzes. 

Happy New Year sweetheart x

Eddie Munson has a consistent track record of making you feel flush all over in the few short weeks that you have known him. 

The timestamp reads 0:01; you feel tingling excitement that you were on his mind so soon into the new year.

It’s 0:03 when you text him back, and you wonder if he gets that same tightening feeling in his gut when he waits for your reply, like you do with him. 

Happy New Year Eddie xx 

Your brain buzzes as you consider double texting, adding in something sweet about him and Fae having a wonderful new year, but before you can type anything, he has messaged back. 

I hope you and Hazel had a fun night x 

You feel warm all over, smiling involuntarily at his sweetness, and send back a selfie of you both from your party for two earlier in the night - matching smiles and sparky dresses, just coz, and another of Hazel twirling in said sparkly dress.

We partied hard 🥂 bed by 10 😎 How was your NYE? X 

That familiar old feeling of anxious excitement and anticipation of texting a boy has found you again since your night and morning spent in Eddie Munson’s company. You have only seen him twice since; once at the girls’ dance recital and once in Bradley’s, when the girls spotted each other and had a high-pitched, excited reunion in the chip aisle (even though they had seen each other just two days before in school). You have spoken to him every single day since that morning in Munson’s, texts that turned into phone calls and FaceTimes. It had been mostly PG (mostly), but your shared simmering want barely contained as you spoke quietly lately into the night. 

Eddie returns a picture of Fae tucked up asleep under Wayne’s arm on the sofa, the older man with his eyes closed and head tipped back. A second picture of Eddie with a party blower between his lips and streamers in his hair follows. 

Party for one. The lightweights fell asleep before the countdown 🙄

The pictures warm your heart, and you can’t help but go back to the picture of Eddie for a few seconds more before another text follows. 

Can I call? x

Heart thudding quicker, you look down at sleeping Hazel, how her body moves with deep peaceful breaths. Her light sleeping phase has passed, now your daughter could sleep through a marching band most mornings.

You have already decided to tell him yes when he texts again. 

No worries if you’re too tired. Just wanted to hear your voice Hope that’s not too cringe x

You are so endeared by him and put him out of his misery with a quick tap of your thumb. His voice is velvet on the other end of the phone. 

“Hey there,” he murmurs. You can’t see his face but can hear the curved smile on his plush mouth. 

“Hi. Happy New Year.” 

“Happy New Year. I wanted to say it properly. You two looked like you had a fun time.”

Smiling fondly, you look down at Hazel again and brush her hair back with a mother’s gentle touch. 

“We did. She almost made it to ten thirty. We’re having a sleepover in my bed tonight, so she didn’t feel like she was losing out on any fun. I hope you’re not too lonely with the Sleeping Beauties?” 

Eddie laughs low in his throat. You imagine him looking at Fae and Wayne with his warm brown gaze. “Nah, they tried to stick it out. Can’t blame ‘em. Wayne made burgers and then we did sundaes for dessert, like a build-your-own kinda thing. Food comas all ‘round.” 

Their evening sounds comparably cosy to your own - homemade pizzas and the last of the Christmas chocolate to accompany Shirley Temples topped with extra cherries. 

“That sounds lovely, Eddie.” 

There are a few beats of silence, only breathing and the sound of distant fireworks. Eddie is the one to break it. 

“I’d love to see you soon. I wanna see a lot more of you this year, if you want that too.” 

Your chest feels tight in a good way, like your heart has grown too big for your ribs. Maybe Eddie can hear its sped-up thudding on the other end of the phone. 

“I do want that. I’m still looking forward to that date you promised me, Munson.” Eddie’s low laugh is music to your ears. 

“Maybe… Could we meet with the girls soon? On the second, maybe if you’re not busy? We could meet at the park over near the library, get some coffee. Let the girls run around and play fairies or whatever they do.”

Before Eddie can word vomit any more, you say yes. No hesitation. The thought of seeing Eddie coupled with Hazel’s excitement for a play date is too lovely to turn down. 

“I’d love that, Eddie. The second is good for me.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Great.” You can hear his grin. “This isn’t our actual date, by the way. I have a plan for that.” 

In your mind, you imagine his grin melting into the smooth smirk that tempted you when you first met. 

“Oh, you do?” 

“Oh, I do. Are you free next Friday? I have a capable and willing ‘sitter on hand - he comes included with the date. The girls could sleep over here. If you’d prefer to arrange your own, that’s cool. Wayne offered so… up to you.” 

He really had been planning this whole thing out. Your mind starts to race into your own planning mode, looking through your mental calendar and wondering if Hazel would be okay with a sleepover. Eddie’s voice brings you back to the moment. 

“You don’t need to answer now. I’m trying to be more organised this year. A resolution kinda. Tell me when we meet up, yeah?” 

“Yeah. Thank you, Eddie. I’m looking forward to it.” You want to say more, consider zipping your lip and swallowing down the words before you make it weird or too much. Decide, fuck it. “I can’t wait to see you.”

Eddie breathes out relief. “Me too. Me too, sweetheart.” 

You talk for a few more minutes before saying good night, wish each other another Happy New Year and sweet dreams. Hazel slumbers on next to you, and you settle down to sleep with a smile on your face. 

January second is not as bitterly cold as you had feared it might be. Bundled in hats and coats, scarves and gloves, you let Hazel pick the music for your short drive to the park with the playground that she always asks to go to. 

Your girl buzzes and bounces with excitement, smiley-faced in the rearview mirror. 

“I’m sooooo excited to see Fae!”

You catch her eye in the mirror and smile.“I bet she is so excited to see you too, honey.” 

“And we’re getting hot chocolate after we play! To warm up.” Hazel parrots what you had told her earlier, as excited by pink and white marshmallows and extra whipped cream as she was about the play date. 

Hazel talks and you listen, answering her unending curiosity about everything; if there will be other kids there (maybe), will Fae have her sparkly boots on (I think she will, let’s wait and see), if Hazel can have sparkly rainboots (let’s look next time we’re in Target). Her own boots (shiny red) knock against each other as you get closer to the park, excitement flowing off of her in buckets as your belly flutters with anticipation.

You swing your car next to Eddie’s black truck and try not to wince when Hazel squeals her joy. Fae sits in the passenger seat, waving both hands at her friend - by the slightly pained look on Eddie’s face, she is as high-pitched as Hazel is. 

“It’s Fae!! Hi Fae! Mom, let's goooo! I want to see my Fae!” she chirps. 

You share a smile with Eddie through the window, warm-cheeked despite the chilly day, and wrangle Hazel out of her seat so she can embrace her friend. Ten days without seeing each other was apparently unbearable, and they hug and squeal and jump like best friends parted for decades. 

Eddie lingers, watching you watch them, and reaches to squeeze your arm. A little more than two casual parents chaperoning playtime, and so much less than either of you crave. You had been spoiled by his touch and closeness that morning, only slightly satiated by his thigh and arm pressed against yours as you watched the girls prance and twirl at their dance showcase. 

The squeeze dulls the ache and makes it worse all at once. 

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

The weight of whatever it is between you is more than it has any right to be after the little time you had spent together - even though most of that time was having sex and sleeping together as strangers. Whatever it is, though it is laden with desire and cautious hope, does not feel heavy when you are sharing the load with Eddie. 

“Daddy, come on! Let’s rock and roll!” Fae beams, holding Hazel’s gloved hand in her own. 

“Mommy, can we go in now? Pleeeeease?” Hazel asks. 

Your respective Mini Me’s wear matching puppy-dog eyes and bounce in time on booted feet as they await permission (and assistance) to open the gate and start their imagination games. 

Fae Munson has never failed to put a smile on your face. The more you get to know her Dad, you see how much of him she has soaked up into her own self: their shared unbidden laugh, the spark of mischief when they want to push buttons and tease (always in good nature and never ever mean). She reminds you of starlight, breathtaking and sparkling, to your daughter's sunshine-brightness - they are a perfect pair. 

“Okay, okay. Chill for a sec,” Eddie laughs, wobbling his daughter’s head fondly, his hand spread wide like a spider over her lilac beanie. He holds the gate open, gentlemanly as you remember, and falls into step with you as the girls scurry on. “Pick a nice bench for us. I wanna check the slide is dry - Fae got a wet butt on it last time and she was not impressed.”

Fae is already telling Hazel about the horrors of the aforementioned wet butt - a horror of her own impatience and Eddie’s sleepy-headedness after staying up texting a certain someone late into the night. 

He winks at you before following after the girls, calling ‘wait for meeee’ in a girly voice that makes them squeal-laugh and pick up the pace toward the swings to leave Eddie straggling.

You pick a spot with a good view of the girl's realm to roam, but far enough away that they will feel independent and you can soak up your time with Eddie. He checks the swing seats and the slide, dried by the kids who had played earlier that morning and jogs back to you after giving them both a boost onto the jungle gym. You had no time to quadruple-check your appearance in your front camera - not that this was your date.

His smile widens when your eyes meet, and he slows down a touch to enjoy the vignette of you on the bench in the winter sun, glowing and gorgeous. Ethereal, breathtaking. Eddie kind of cannot believe that you are real; you are here, and you like him (at least he is pretty damn sure you do). 

You are warmed through by his gaze and fight the self-conscious feelings that creep in. You have thought, over the last few weeks, about how serendipitous this whole thing is, how the universe’s mysterious ways brought you here - to Hawkins, to the Hideout that night, to Eddie’s bed, and now this bench, watching your daughters play together. 

Eddie sits next to you, thinks about pulling you against his side to keep you warm. He knows he cannot, not yet, but maybe someday. 

“It’s good to see you,” he says. The sunlight shows flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes and the few silver strands in his dark stubble and hair, and you can see the warm vapour of his voice in the chilly air. 

“You too, Eddie. I’m really glad we’re doing this.” There’s an unspoken ‘for the girls’ and a more obvious ‘so that I could see you in the flesh and not just on my phone screen’ that hangs in the air between you. Neither of you needs to say it out loud. 

He smiles and knocks his shoulder against yours gently, radiating warmth and his spicy-warm scent. “S’better in person. Not that I don’t like texting with you, seeing you on FaceTime.”

There’s this familiarity between you, forged over text and video calls and a shared yearning for more that has been roadblocked by your responsibilities and real life. 

Feeling brave, you wonder aloud, “Is it just me, or does this not feel awkward and weird? Like, at all…”

You watch his smile spread, his dimples deepen. A wash of relief releases the slight tension in his shoulders and on his brow. 

“Not just you. We’ve talked most days though… And what’s this, like our fourth time meeting? I think we’ve broken the ice, sweetheart.” Eddie raises his brow, smirking in a way that lets you know that he is remembering that first night and the morning after. 

Warmth floods your cheeks and your belly, letting yourself remember how his hands felt on your body, how he took you apart and held you back together again. 

“Yeah. Yeah, we smashed that ice, huh?” 

His laugh is a smokey, throaty chuckle, bursting from his plush mouth. “Yeah, we did.”

It sets you off, a laugh that you try to haul back, but the seal is broken now, and you have well and truly dashed any iota of awkwardness that may have lingered. Like teenagers who should not be laughing but cannot stop, it gets funnier again just as you stop. The girls look over, curious about their parents shared laughter, and you both wave back at them as you try to settle yourselves. 

“Fae was so damn excited to see Hazel today. She woke me at seven - seven goddamn am. I can just about get her up for school, and then she wakes up at seven on the holidays,” Eddie says, watching them play together. 

“Mm, Hazel too. Seven thirty, but she hasn’t stopped talking about it since I told her she had a play date with her bestie.” 

Your daughter’s laugh blends with Fae’s, both perched in the basket swing that sways back and forth gently. It won’t be long until one of you is called up to push them higher than they can manage themselves.

“I’m glad she met Fae. Having a friend has helped her settle a lot.” Your eyes stay on the girls as you speak, and Eddie’s eyes are on you. “It was hard at first, she missed her old school, her friends, everything. I felt really awful about moving her entire life; she was so quiet, and I felt like the worst Mom ever.”

Your head turns to look at Eddie. “And then she met Fae, and she was like sunshine again. Brighter than ever.”

A warm smile spreads across his handsome face. His hand covers yours, a quick squeeze before retreating again.

“Faerie Dust,” he says, quiet voiced. “She’s good at making things better and she doesn’t even realise it.”

You match his smile, laughing quietly at the marvel that is Fae Munson. “Faerie Dust. Suits her, Eddie.”

“Doesn’t it just,” he says, glancing over to make sure the girls are still okay. “I’m glad she was there for Hazel. Fae… It’s not that she never had friends, but she’s never had a best friend. Not until Little Miss Sunshine over there.”

You feel tears pressing at the back of your eyes, happy relief to match your smile. It is one of those moments, those Mom Moments, when the difficult days and boundless motherly love are affirmed by realising that your kid is just as amazing to other people as she is to you.  

“M’glad she could be that for Fae.”

Eddie squeezes your hand; he gets it. Eddie understands the relief of knowing he is raising someone who is filled with boundless goodness and kindness. 

This time, he does not take his hand away so quickly. Alongside the adoration and pride for his imp of a daughter that fills his heart, there is a growing whisper of more-than-fondness for you and Hazel too. 

You sit in easy silence for a few moments, just watching the girls with their heads together, their giggling and giddy mischief make you both smile. The call comes then (as you knew it would), Fae hollering over at her Dad to come and push them in the swinging basket. She tacks on ‘please!’ and you can see Hazel’s excitement to finally experience the long-fabled crazy-high-swing-pushing that her friend had told her all about.

“Duty calls.” Eddie stands, shares a smile that makes your cheeks warm and the butterflies swoop, and saunters across to them, bringing his mechanic’s strength that earned him the ‘best swing pusher’ title.

With both girls holding on tight, you try not to white-knuckle the bench beneath you as you watch Eddie pushing them in a high swooping arc. Hazel’s little face is wide open and full of joy and her laughter blends with Fae’s delighted whooping. 

You see how Eddie is careful not to push too hard, too high, and how he keeps his body agile and strong to catch the swing again before pushing again. His face is animated as he teases the girls, kind-heartedly asking if this is high enough for them before sending them forward again before they can answer. It is easy to let your mind drift and remember his bare arms, dark ink and pale skin and the way they felt wrapped around you. 

“Mom, look!” 

Hazel’s delighted squeal brings you back to now, making your heart rate spike in a whole other way than your memories had. 

You wave over as she swoops up high once more, “Wow, that’s the highest ever!”

Soon, they are giggle-drunk and beg for Eddie’s mercy, and he only toys with them for a little while before slowing them to a stop, spinning them around a few times until they have had enough. When the girls feel steady-footed again, he helps them down to race each other to the jungle gym to climb and conquer the crow's nest at its highest point. You don’t miss how Fae hugs him quickly, foregoing first place for a little piece of her Dad.

Once more, you watch Eddie make his way to you; his cheeks have a rosy glow from the exertion of swing-pushing. Beneath your winter layers, your body yearns to have him close to you again - partly to steal his warmth but mostly because you miss the way you felt when he held you, hugged you, mapped the sweet and soft spots of your body like he wanted to memorise all of you. 

“What’s that look for?” Eddie asks, slowing to stand in front of you. 

“What look?” you ask, trying to play cool and not smile and flush hot-all-over like a teen with a crush. 

Eddie leans in closer, just enough that you can smell his cologne and spearmint gum, hear his stage-whisper.

“Like you want to eat me.”

The heat of his gaze and the way his lips curve in a wolfish smile bring you back to that night in the Hideout, his quiet deep voice takes you back to one particularly flirty FaceTime call long after bedtime. 

You stop yourself from saying “because I do” by sinking your teeth into your lip, barely stifling a smile of your own. 

Pleased with himself, Eddie retakes his seat next to you and lets his arm rest along the back of the bench, angling his body toward you. 

“I was thinking about our date.” 

You feel just as pleased with yourself when you see his smooth smile sparkle with something more boyish and exciteful, less suave than before. He had been building up to ask you.

“Yeah?” 

“Mmhm. I’m looking forward to it.”

When you shift your eyes away from Hazel and Fae and meet Eddie’s eye, your attempt to play it cool and his barely contained excitement spark like flint, cool exteriors cracking your faces into a shared smile. Both soothed by the simmering excitement you share. 

“Me too,” Eddie says, his mind racing to pull together his ideas for a great first date and pin them down. 

“Claudia’s going to take Hazel for the night.” 

Your cheeks heat up at the memory of Claudia Henderson’s intrigued smile and the flash of excitement that made her eyes sparkle when you asked if she would mind having Hazel overnight again. She didn’t pry, but made you promise her that you would be safe and relax, and to call her if you needed an SOS. 

Eddie’s fingers brush against your arm, a barely there touch through the layers of sweater and coat.

“I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty?”

It’s more than okay, and you have to stop yourself from blurting it out. You temper yourself from being too eager, too enamoured by this man planning a simple date. Later on, your brain will buzz with what to wear and whether you will stay the night with Eddie again, and you will fight that doubting voice that tries to dull the shine of this and ruin your excitement.

“That sounds great, Eddie. Seven-thirty is perfect.” 

Behind the leather and the wash-worn Metallica hoodie, the thermal beneath, Eddie’s heart is pounding and his stomach feels fluttery in a way it has not since he dated Fae’s mom. He thought that part of him was long gone, broken and buried.

“I can’t fuckin’ wait,” he says quietly. “I like spending time with you.”

Your heart is in your throat, and behind his smile, you see a glimpse of the same fears that rattle around your head. Your bodies are like two brackets on the bench, facing each other and holding between you the fragile buds and blooms of whatever this is, familiar and brand new all at the same time.

“Me too. I haven’t had something to look forward to in a long time,” you say, quietly sharing a secret in a mirror image of your daughters together at the top of the jungle gym. “Something that’s just for me. Y’know?”

You are fairly certain that he knows exactly what you mean, and you watch his shoulders sag ever so slightly, letting go of a breath that had been stuck in his throat.

“Yeah. I know that feeling, sweetheart.” 

The girls steal your attention again, waving and calling for both of you so that you will watch them go down the big slide, Hazel first and Fae shortly after. 

Soon, their patience for hot chocolate will wear thin and they will forget the playground in favour of sweet talking and puppy dog eyes with fluttery lashes, asking if it’s time for a treat yet. But until then, they are content to play and share secrets, whisper their shared wonder about what you and Eddie are laughing about.

The return to school and work is silver-lined by your date, a beacon of light in those dark and cold January days. You have promised Hazel a trip to Target for sparkly rain boots on Saturday, fuelled by Mom Guilt for leaving her on Friday night and dressing it up as her own glittering finish line to get through the first week of back-to-school. 

The week crawls by in work, doing inventory and taking a few eager and early Valentine's Day orders, planning a trip to the wholesalers in Bloomington before the Big Day and scheduling consultations with the brides and businesses who want the most special arrangements for the most loved-up day of the year.

With the lazy days and late nights of Christmas behind you, your texts and FaceTimes with Eddie are peppered through your workdays and tired evenings, sending little check-ins and anecdotes about customers in the florist and the garage and keeping each other company on video calls while Eddie folds laundry and you load the dishwasher. He has peppered your conversations with little hints about your date: dinner in the next town over so you can escape the bubble of Hawkins but be close enough for any parent emergencies. His excitement has matched yours, his nerves too, and he is counting down the days until he can see you again.

When you see Wayne in the dance studio parking lot on Thursday, there is an extra twinkle in his eye when he asks about your week and wishes you a late ‘Happy New Year’. There’s something of it, a Munson brand of mischief and magic, that reminds you of Eddie. He doesn’t tease or give you the shovel talk but quietly tells you to have a good time just as the girls are released back to you at six pm. 

All week, you have carried your excitement with you, tucked safely in your sternum beneath your cosy winter sweaters and your work apron. It is a different kind of simmering excitement and fear than you had felt that first morning with Eddie. As you fall asleep on (what Eddie has dubbed) Date Eve, cheeks still aching from smiling as you flirted hard with the mechanic over text, you imagine it as blowing soapy bubbles with Hazel in the garden when she was smaller. The slow blow, growing the bubble bigger and bigger with bated breath. Will it pop and leave your cheeks wet and eyes stinging, or will it float and shimmer iridescent in the sky? When your brain finally slows down, allows you to relax enough to drift off, you dream of Hazel’s baby laugh and the sun on your skin and bubbles flying up into the blue sky. 

You wake on Friday feeling like all of the water in your body has been swapped from still to sparkling. You make breakfast sandwiches with egg and cheese and stow a packet of Mini M&Ms and a little note for Hazel in her lunch box. Hazel is delighted by your extra good mood, singing ABBA and Shania Twain and Love Shack with you in the car, asking (full of innocence) if this is ‘that Friday Feeling’ she had heard grown-ups talk about.

You bring doughnuts into work and share your good mood with your co-workers who ask if you have heard from ‘your guy from the bar’ over the holidays. An unsubtle ‘maybe’ as you arrange a bouquet for a new mom sets them off, excited to know more and playfully frustrated by your elusive answers. You focus on the butter-yellow arrangement and avoid saying too much, smiling too much, or gushing about how you’re seeing him later today.

They already know. 

Eddie wanted to get you flowers for your date; he knew you had a particular love for them, one that brought you all the way to Hawkins to manage Ivy Lane Floral Boutique and restart your life in a new town. When he knew you were meeting a supplier earlier in the week, he swung an early lunch and called in to order a simple bouquet with a few ideas of what he wanted, helped along by your coworkers. They kept the order a secret, not wanting to spoil the surprise, off the books and safely stashed away from the other orders in the back. Most importantly, they will make sure you’re busy with something else or already gone home when he comes in to collect it later on. 

All day, you wait for something to dampen your sunny mood. A call from the school or a text to cancel or announce a change of plans or a change of heart. Something to drag you down, back to cold reality. Something.

There is no cloud to eclipse the sun, no rain to stop play. 

You leave work, pick Hazel up, make dinner for her, and pack her off to Claudia’s without a hitch - no tears, no “I want to stay with you, Mommy!”. You squeeze her extra tight when she lets you and thank Claudia for the hundredth time before heading home for your everything shower and a fortifying glass of wine. 

Time moves too quickly and then not at all as you wait for seven-thirty. There are discarded outfit picks and shoe options around your room, and your bathroom bin has black-smeared cotton pads and Q-Tips from an eyeliner mishap and laddered tights that caught on your rings. You look in the mirror, smoothing your hands over the bumps and dips that stand out and re-thinking the black skirt and sweater topped with an oversized leopard bomber (your Christmas gift to yourself). It felt too much and not enough, rethinking your lipstick and the chunky boots and how you had styled your hair. 

You’re just about to change back into black jeans when Eddie’s knuckles meet your front door. 

Your heart sparks and spikes with excitement. One more look in the mirror; deep breath, relax your shoulders, smooth your skirt one more time. You know you look good.

On the other side of your door, Eddie is vibrating with excitement and the sharp chill of a winter breeze. He can hear your footsteps as you make your way to him, checks his breath again and makes sure he’s not crushing your flowers in his sweaty palm. 

“Hi.” 

You’re a vision, haloed by the hallway light in the doorway. Like a painting he would have pored over in high school art history. 

“Hey.” 

Standing on your doorstep in black leather and charcoal, the porch light makes his curls glow like a halo. Eddie looks edible. 

It takes a moment for you to see the flowers, a bouquet of sweet-smelling deep reds, complimentary blushes and soft tones, a pop of purple.

“You look amazing,” he says, his smile is boyish and you can’t mistake the hunger in his eyes, see how his gaze lingers on where your skirt hugs your hips and the sheer black tights wrapped around your legs. After not-so-subtly checking you out, he remembers to be a gentleman. “I got you these. I know it’s probably crazy to get flowers for a florist…” 

“Eddie, they’re lovely. Thank you. Come in for a sec and I’ll get a vase.” 

When the door is closed, you take a moment to feel the weight of ‘this is really happening’ and the realisation that Eddie is in your house and you haven’t tidied much at all. You had accounted for every possible part of tonight, except this.

“Nice place,” he says, looking around at the maximalism of your style and the touches of parenthood until he simply has to get his eyes back on you. 

“We’re still making it ours, a few boxes left to unpack in the guest room.” 

Your hands cover his, feeling the chill carried from inside and the body-warm chunky metal of his rings as you take the flowers. You recognise them all, lilac, delphinium, ranunculus and rose, recognise their varieties and their meanings. Eddie had done his homework. 

“I love them, Eddie. Thank you.” 

Standing toe to toe, you breathe in the scent of him and close the chasm to kiss his cheek. 

“And thanks for supporting a local business.” 

His cheeks flame and dimple as you take the flowers and slip past in a haze of rich perfume, beckoning him to follow with that smile of yours. 

Hummingbird wings beat hard in your chest as Eddie follows you to the kitchen. You ask how Fae is and how the first week back to school went for them as you fill a vase for your bouquet to rest in. 

Eddie watches you easily move around the kitchen, admiring the bouquet as you untie the brown paper wrappings and lovingly make the flowers at home in the vase. His cheek is scorched from where your lips had grazed him, and yet he somehow manages to not sound like a bonehead as he answers you. 

He can’t tear his eyes away long enough to be nosy about how your house looks, if you have any pending DIY jobs you might need a helping hand with (he knows you are more than capable, wouldn’t want to offend with an offer to bang a nail in your wall). 

There is no prize for catching him looking at you. Eddie doesn’t hide his awe-filled and hungry gaze that makes you warm all over. 

Despite the heat, you bundle yourself in your scarf and wool bomber, and check that your bag has everything you might need for the night (and the morning). 

“Ready?”

“Ready.” 

Eddie smiles and steps closer, both of your black boots toe to toe again, and fixes your scarf slightly as an excuse to touch. 

“Perfect.” 

You resist ducking your head, decide to be brave instead of shy, and slip your hand onto the buttery leather wrapped around Eddie’s arm. 

“Not so bad yourself.”

You watch his gaze drop to your lips and the not-so-subtle way he moves millimetres closer. 

Drawn together to meet each other halfway, it can’t be deciphered who kissed who first, a product of mutual longing. Melted together by your kitchen island, you share your breath and your lip stain with Eddie.  

There are fireworks behind your eyes and trapped in your veins. After weeks of waiting and wanting, you are both finally put out of your misery. 

You can taste the want on Eddie’s lips, his tongue. A man long starved of the affection he deserves, scared to ask for it and try again. He has wanted and waited too, with itchy fingers and a twisting need in his gut, all because of you. The memory of you laid out on his sheets, remembering your body and the taste of you, had almost driven him wild. Now he has you held safe in his hands, and you have him too. You don’t want to stop. You don’t have to stop. 

But you do. As easy as it would be to walk blindly upstairs, finding and fumbling your way to bed, you both want more than sex. So much more. 

Kisses slow, lips smile. You give in to wanting and share one more kiss, let it linger.

“I really wanted to do that,” Eddie whispers, tipping his head forward against you. 

“Me too.” 

You thumb gently at his stained mouth, giggling at the mess you have made of him before he has even bought you dinner. 

“That colour suits you,” you whisper, before spilling into more giggling laughter, heads together. 

Eddie returns the favour, attempting to tidy the smudges and making it slightly worse. Best left to your expertise. Within moments, you look like perfection once again, no bleeding lines or spilled-over stains. 

“Better?” 

He takes a moment, gives you an exaggerated once-over before nodding. “I liked it messed up. But yes.”

“Like ‘Eddie Woz Here.’” 

Your eyes flash, siren-like. 

Eddie likes the sound of that, likes the look in your eyes too.

“Careful. Or I’ll mess it up again.”

“I hope you do.” 

Eddie’s head tilts back, eyes on the ceiling instead of you. “Oh, I’m in so much trouble with you. Fuck.” 

He does not sound too pressed about that, nor does he look too annoyed with that smile on his face. You’re emboldened by his playfulness.

“C’mon, Munson. You promised to wine and dine me. Let’s go before I need to fix my makeup some more.”

His face is split in a grin, pure delight to see this fun and feisty side of you that he had met in The Hideout, the same sweet woman with a devilish side that he had got to know more and more with every text. He does his best to ignore the stirring in his gut when you call him ‘Munson. ’ 

Waylaid by one more kiss by the front door, you are soon on your way to Bedford with the clock ticking down to the dinner reservation Eddie had made. The thirty-minute drive goes by in a blink, catching up on how your respective Fridays had been and checking in about things the other had mentioned during the week on your calls and in your texts, all soundtracked by Eddie’s loud rock music turned at a low volume.

He squeezed your knee at a few stoplights, and you covered his hand on the gear stick as you cruised down the IN-37. You did not miss how his cheeks looked even more red in the glow of taillights and how his dimples deepened in a way that made your tummy twirl with fondness.

Once his black Ford truck is parked safely in a little lot within walking distance from your restaurant and your activity for the evening, Eddie rounds the bonnet to open your door and offer you a hand.

“A gentleman. I better thank Wayne for raising you right.” 

Eddie smiles and squeezes your hand, keeping a hold of it as he clicks the lock and tucks the key away. 

“My Mom was big on good manners, but Wayne? He’s somethin’ else.”

Eddie had mentioned that he had lost his Mom young, alluded to the fact that his Dad was absent (and not the best when he was around). His love for his Uncle was clear, and from your interactions with Wayne long before you met Eddie, you know that it is returned in spades.

“That man can swear like a sailor though. Don’t let the smile and Southern Charm fool you.” 

There is a sparkle in Eddie’s eyes beneath the streetlights as you walk towards your destination, a little Mexican restaurant that shares its warm glow and spiced aroma from a tucked-away spot just off the main drag of Bedford. 

The air is cool, but Eddie’s warm hand makes it all feel warm and glowing. The small town feels different in the dark, looks different. You had viewed a house on the outskirts before finding your home in Hawkins, only saw the centre of town when you were trying to follow the Google Maps directions to the too-small house on the back end of town. 

You tell Eddie all about it as he navigates for you both, making sure you don’t need to dodge other pedestrians or lamp posts as he listens to your story. You realise halfway through just how boring it is and trail off. He squeezes your hand like he can read your self-chastising thoughts. 

“Well, I’m glad it was a shitty house. Hawkins is poky, but I think you fit in just fine, sweetheart,” he says, knocking your shoulders together. 

He winks at you when you look up at him, makes your gut somersault in such a pleasant way. 

“You can tell you’re not from there though,” he says. And when you try to decipher why, he simply smiles and says, “You’re way too pretty to be from Hawkins, honey.”

Your shoulder knocks against Eddie’s arm in playful retaliation.

“You’re so full of it, Munson.”

There is no malice laced in your words, and Eddie can tell it is your shields going up. He can see how you have turned in on yourself, self-conscious and self-sabotaging behind a bashful smile. 

“I mean it,” he says, squeezing your hand in a double time beat, “And not in the ‘everyone in Hawkins fucks their cousins’ way. Some do. I’ll show you my yearbook sometime, woof.” Eddie stalls your meandering pace a few feet away from the door of the restaurant. 

“I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re gorgeous, and you’ve got somethin’ real beautiful in here,” he says, tapping the centre of your chest. “You’re one of a kind.”

That part of you that ruins everything wants to duck your head beneath your wrapped-up scarf and brush him off, but the part of you that has been nourished by getting to know Eddie over the last few weeks, the part that you thought had withered away beyond revival, feels so much stronger, braver, brighter. 

You pull him closer so you can kiss his cheek, rest your head against his as you will the right words to come out of your mouth.

“You don’t have to say anything back,” he whispers. “Just needed you to know that’s how I think of you.” 

Pulling back a little to look at you again, hoping you will not duck your head or dodge his eye, Eddie smiles softly. “I don’t have any expectations here. I like you, I think you like me. But I’m okay to take it at our own pace. Even if it’s kinda ass-backwards.”

The truth of it makes you laugh, how this all started with pure lust and how it has blossomed into something that could be beautiful.

“I do like you, Eddie. It scares me a little just how much I like you.” 

You kiss him again, a sweet brush of lips that makes you both crave more.

“And I will like you even more once I’ve had a taco and a margarita.”

His laugh is loud, echoing into the dark evening and pulling attention from passers-by. 

“Food motivated, I can work with that.” 

Eddie cups your face with gentle hands and kisses you again until you’re smiling against each other's mouths, not caring that you’re in the middle of the street, blocking up the sidewalk.

The tacos are perfectly spiced and fresh with housemade tortillas and hot sauces, wedges of lime on the side, and the margarita you order has that perfect balance of sharp citrus and smokey tequila. The little table tucked away in the back has been the perfect spot to get to know each other more and more, picking back up the threads of conversations that were better explained in person rather than over the phone.

You both leave the bones of your past relationships mostly buried, a mutual unspoken agreement. It is enough, for now, to say that your relationship with Hazel’s Dad ended because he had found other things and other women he wanted to do instead of being a partner and a father. Eddie tells you that Fae’s Mom was his on-and-off girlfriend, that they were firmly off when he was told there was a baby on the way; he wanted to make something work and she didn’t want any part of it. There is so much more both of you can say, but tonight is not about the past.

Instead, you talk about books and films, Eddie tells you more about his love of music and how he got into D&D. You stash away the little tidbits of Eddie-lore for yourself. He asks about when you got into floristry, about the city you lived in before moving to Hawkins. Eddie isn’t shy about asking you things and you love that, love that he listens. He is a rare gem and you want to keep him all for yourself. It feels comfortable and easy, and you give as good as you get when he flirts with you and shares bites of creamy elote in exchange for a taste of your margarita. 

He tells you about how he wants to see the ocean one day, take Fae to dip their toes in the briny tide. His Mom had promised him she would take him one day, but they never had the money or the chance, and then it was too late. 

“Fae looks really like my Mom,” he says. “It spooks Wayne sometimes.”

The thought and the one that follows it make you smile, “So that means you must look like your Mom too.” 

You see a flash of boyish pride as Eddie nods. He tempers his smile with a bite of salty tortilla chip smothered in guacamole. When he shows you the photo on his phone - a picture of a picture with a hit of his thumb in the corner - you see the resemblance to Fae in his mother’s carefree smile, the sparkle in her eyes caught by the camera as she holds her little boy. 

“Beautiful,” you murmur, taking another moment to look at her before shifting focus to the four-year-old version of the man sitting in front of you. Rosy cheeks, smiling up at his Mama with his shiny milk teeth. He takes your breath away.

“Eddie, you little cherub!”

“Butter wouldn’t melt, huh?” 

He smiles, pushing down that heart-aching feeling he still gets when he thinks of her. More than once since meeting you, Eddie had wished he could tell his Mom all about you, gush and let her tease him a little about having a crush. Wayne, as always, had picked up the slack.

By dessert, you have promised him some wildflower seeds for bee-obsessed Fae, and Eddie’s been holding your hand since you passed his phone back. Your face hurts from smiling as you share horchata crème brûlée and sugar-dusted churros with hot chocolate sauce, even though your stomach is full and your skirt feels tighter than it had earlier. 

Eddie had switched to soda halfway through the meal so he could get you both back to Hawkins safely, but he feels more love-drunk than any buzz from beer could give him. His cheeks have that same rosy hue as the picture he showed you.

Your attention is pulled to the cinnamon sugar caught on his lower lip line. It has evaded the swipe of his tongue, chasing the taste of sweet and rich desserts. 

“Do I have something on my face, sweetheart?” he asks, catching your gaze fall to his mouth for the fifth time. 

“Yeah, you have a little…” Tapping your own lip, you watch a flicker of amusement cross his face. “C’mere, I’ll get it.” 

Your hand cups his cheek across the small table, reaching and leaning toward each other to meet in the middle. Your thumb grazes his lower lip, brushing away the sparkling spiced sugar, but neither of you move away. A second more purposeful slow drag of your thumb along Eddie’s lower lip sparks like a match; the hot flame is reflected in his eyes and catches on the embers of want that have settled low in his gut all evening, all week, longer. 

“Got it,” you whisper, feeling the same heat. 

“Thanks.”

Eddie’s voice is smokey and low, just loud enough for you to hear. He leans into your palm, presses his lips to your thumb. His eyes never leave yours.

Taking your hand as it falls away from his jaw, Eddie places another kiss on your knuckles and you can feel your heart hammering hard behind your ribs, hear it race in your ears. You are so focused on him that you barely register when he signals for the bill. He cannot see how your thighs squeeze together (not for the first time that night) beneath the table.

“So, did the taco and marg help?” he asks, leaning forward a little more. 

Puzzled, too mesmerised with want to get it, it takes another little prompt before you can answer. 

“Out there, you said you’d like me even more after a taco and a margarita…” Eddie’s smile is teasing in a fun way, wolfish and cool.

“Mmhm, the tacos were great. Best margarita I’ve had in years.” You mirror him, leaning in closer to say, “The company was my favourite part.”

Eddie laughs low in his throat, just for you to hear. “I thought so too. You’re somethin’ else.”

He is enamoured, nay entranced, by you as you hold his gaze, letting the fire burn between you for a moment until the server comes with the bill and card machine, asking if the food was okay, if you have had a good night. 

Eddie takes charge of the bill as you hype up the margs, promise you will come back again. You don’t see the tip he left, but the look on your server's face and her smiley ‘thank you so much’ tells you all you need to know. 

“Ready to head out?” he asks, tucking his card away again. 

As you stand to put your jackets back on (of course he holds your bomber for you to slip back into), you catch a table of younger women eyeing his broad shoulders and the shape of his arms, hear their whispers of ‘where do I find one like that’ and, ‘damn, he’s fine’. 

He does not let on if he has heard but drops a kiss on your lips once you’re wrapped up for the cold weather again before getting into his own leather jacket. Once his curls are freed from his collar, he pats down the pockets for his keys, wallet and phone before reaching for your hand.

You nab two lollipops from the hostess station, one each (and you don’t have to share them with the girls or worry about hard candy and their teeth), and step back out into the cool night air.

“So we have a choice to make.”

When you look up at Eddie, he has a faux-serious look on his face, and you can see the vapour of his breath in the air. 

“My place or yours?” 

You catch him, not for the first time, off guard, and he cracks out a delighted little laugh. 

“I was going to ask if you wanted to check out the arcade bar down the street or call it a night, but I do like how you think, sweetheart.” 

Full. Body. Cringe. 

“Oh…my god. Wait there for a sec, I’m going to walk in traffic.”

Eddie drags you back by your waist as you pretend to make for the quiet main road. “Nope, no way,” he laughs, winding his arms around you to lock you safely against his chest. Your arms wrap around his middle, locking him against you for warmth and just because you can.

You can still catch his aftershave beneath the lingering scent of warm spices as your cheek rests against his strong chest. 

“I thought that’s what you were going to ask,” you murmur, peering up at him.

“I was; you just got there first.” Eddie smiles, feeling the gentle stroke of your fingertips on the small of his back. “Either way, mine or yours, now or later, if it’s what you want, baby, I’m not ready to say goodnight yet.”

He kisses your forehead, soothing your racing mind. 

“I do. I’ve been thinking about it,” you whisper. “You know I have, Ed.” 

Some of your texts and late-night phone calls had toed that line, barely keeping a lid on your composure and need at the sound of his voice, but each time, you or Eddie had been interrupted by one of the girls about a bad dream or a glass of water.

“I know, baby. I know, me too.” His fingers drift beneath your chin, tilting your face up for a single searing kiss. 

“S’still early. We have plenty of time, no rush,” he murmurs, still in kissing distance. “Will we check out the arcade for a little bit? See if you can beat me on Mortal Kombat?”

You pull back a little, raising your brows at him in a way that makes his jeans a little bit tighter, “Oh, I know I can beat you on Mortal Kombat.”

Eddie scoffs, smiles that wolfish way you like. “You have no idea who you’re talking to. Palace Arcade’s reigning Mortal Kombat II champ two years running. You’re going down”

“Only two?”

For all your fighting talk, your arms are still wound around each other’s bodies. Instead of marching each other right to the arcade, you savour the physical closeness you have both craved and smile against each other's lips as you trade kisses and sass-filled barbs back and forth. 

A sharp breeze from the east is what separates and sends you toward the neon sign for Token across the quiet street, seeking warmth and a definitive answer to who is the supreme of vintage arcade games. 

You pay for the first two drinks and your play cards - two palatable low-alcohol beers and plenty of game credit to thoroughly kick Munson’s ass at every game in the place, including Dance Dance Revolution. Eddie picks air hockey to warm you both up; despite your shared lack of athleticism, you both show off your parental reflexes honed over years of catching sippy cups before they fall and protecting little heads en route to something that will leave a bump or bruise. He beats you by two points, tries not to be too smug about it. 

As you wait for Mortal Kombat to free up, you take turns on Pac-Man and savour the feeling of Eddie’s arm around your shoulders, murmuring directions and trying to steer you into the path of a bright blue ghost. His breath tickles your neck and the weight of his hand on your hip feels like it belongs there. You give as good as you get when it’s his turn, skimming your fingertips along the back waistband of his jeans before they tip-toe into his pocket. Eddie forgets about swallowing up the flashing yellow dots in favour of stealing a kiss that leaves you breathless, leaving Pac-Man himself to be swarmed by the colourful Ghost Gang. 

When it’s your turn again, Eddie ups the ante on distracting you now that the dam has broken. Warm breath and spiced praise whispered against your neck, ‘That’s it, good girl’ drag your mind into the gutter and soaks the gusset of your date-appropriate panties. Pressed close behind you, one hand on your hip and the other on the machine, the solid weight of him is the only thing stopping you from melting into a puddle at his feet. 

Your fairly public foreplay ebbs and flows as you move through the games, shelved in favour of playful trash-talk during two-player Mario Kart and Crazy Taxi, back on again when you find the Addams Family pinball machine, distracting whispers and wandering hands, lingering touches. Everyone else is too distracted by flashing lights and having their own competitive fun to notice or care. 

It’s not all flirtation (but it mostly is); there are sweet moments too and this feels so much more than a first date. You agree on the fact that Gomez and Morticia are relationship goals, and when Eddie spots a Dungeons & Dragons: Tower of Doom game you are flooded with cuteness aggression at his excited little gasp and boyish smile. 

“I’ve only seen one of these once before. I can’t believe they have it,” he says, his body fizzing with excitement. 

“You wanna play it? They might be done soon..?” 

Eddie eyes up the three players holding court at the machine, deep in gameplay. It makes him feel fond, reminds him to arrange something with the Hellfire guys sometime soon. 

“They’re in it for the long haul, I think. Anyway, I’ll be here all night if I start,” he says, shrugging. “I didn’t know they had this. Fuckin’ cool.”

“Well, if they move off you can show me, yeah?” His smile widens and he is barely holding on to reality, utter disbelief that you’re real and you care about his interests. 

Eddie lifts his phone out of his pocket and aims to snap a picture to send to the guys. 

”Hey. Stand in,” you insist. “Show off with your bounty.”

He brushes aside the whisper of embarrassment and hands over his phone. You snap a few pictures of him, beer in one hand and the other firing the devil horns, he sticks his tongue out for one. You catch another of him smiling wide (more at you than posing for the picture). 

“Much cuter than a guy holding a fish he just caught,” you tease. 

“Me? Cute. Psh, get outta here.” 

He thumbs through the photos, struck with some sort of nostalgia at how he can see more of his younger self after an evening with you than he has in a long time, despite the silver strands in his hair and his stubble and the lines around his eyes. He vows to send the pictures into the group chat tomorrow and tucks it away again so his attention is fully on you again. 

Pulling you closer so he can kiss you, Eddie feels a little giddy about how easily these moments of affection have blossomed between you over the last few hours. 

“Not as cute as you.” He does one more kiss on your nose. 

“Hey. Let me compliment you, Eddie.” 

He looks into your eyes, guided by your gentle fingers on his cheek. 

“I mean it. I know it’s hard to, but I think you’re cute.” You can see him fighting a scoff, an eye roll, so you pinch his chin gently and wobble his head. “I can keep going. You’re fucking hot, and you’re funny and you’re so kind. I don’t know how you’re real.” 

He cracks a smile, forces himself not to duck his head even though his shoes seem pretty interesting. He’s not used to this, having someone be sweet to him like you are, like you have been since you met. 

“I’ll try to take the compliments, thank you,” he murmurs, melting a little when you smile, proud of him and a little proud of yourself too. “I promise I’m real.” 

“Lucky me.” 

You reward him, kissing him straight on the lips as positive reinforcement. 

“Now I’m going to kick your cute ass at Mortal Kombat. It’s finally free.” 

If you weren’t so down bad for him, Eddie’s delighted victory over you might be a turn-off.

Alas, you have a thing for nerds.

Back out on the street almost an hour later, he bounces on his feet and mimes poor imitations of the moves he had doled out as Raiden, beating you (as Kitana) fair and square. 

Even when he’s playfully rubbing your face in it, promising he will go easier on you next time, you feel so far gone on him that it makes you ache. You have been carrying that pleasant tenderness in your chest and between your thighs all damn night.

Eddie’s glee is contagious, and you find yourself almost doubled over laughing at his antics as you head for the car. The cool air stings your too-warm cheeks as you walk hand-in-hand, your shared laughter ringing out and pulling attention from other pairs and groups bar-hopping and heading home for the night. The buzz from the cocktails has long passed, and yet you still feel a dizzying high from Eddie’s company. 

Closer to the car, Eddie quietens down a little and squeezes your hand. “Tonight’s been great,” he says, smiling softly. 

“I thought so too. You’re one hell of a date, Eddie. I’m glad we did this.” 

Your meandering pace slows as you near the truck, coming to a stop around the passenger side. 

“Me too, sweetheart.” Eddie ducks his gaze for a moment before looking back at you, you can feel his warmth and sincerity. “I meant what I said on New Year, when I called. I really want to keep seeing you this year. You… I really like you, and I don’t want to complicate what the girls have, but I want to try this with you. We can take it slow as you like.” 

There is an edge of nervousness that you have not seen much of all night, glimpses here and there swiftly covered by a joke or flirtation. But under the silvery moon, Eddie’s showing you his heart.

Your own heart beats hard and fast in your chest, endeared and excited by him, by the future. 

“I meant it too, Ed. I’d like that. I like you.”

His hands settle on your waist, and you instinctively drape your arms around his leather-clad shoulders. 

“So I can take you out again sometime?”

“Mhm. You better.”

He smiles so widely that it’s almost impossible to kiss you like he wants to, messier and less coordinated but full of want and elation.

“M’a lucky guy,” he whispers.

The solid body of the truck is cool against your back, a stinging contrast to Eddie’s warm chest as you crowd up close to each other. His tongue swipes against the plush of your lower lip, asking for permission already granted. The quiet moan that sticks in his throat as your tongues brush together makes you throb with want. Between the truck and the breadth of his strong shoulders, you are a willing prisoner to lust and desire, wanting to touch and be touched.

Your brain feels scrambled, loose wires on the fritz, as you make out and touch each other like two teens on borrowed time. Adults on borrowed time, real life and its joys and mundanity looming again.

“Your place.” 

Whispering breathlessly against his kiss-abused mouth, Eddie hums a quiet affirmative and can’t resist pulling your hips against his one more time before breaking the kiss. 

“Fuck. Yeah, yeah. Anything you want.”

He fumbles for his keys as your fingers trail down his shoulders, over his chest and down down down to his belt. 

“Anything?” 

Eddie nods, eyes fluttering shut as you cup him through his jeans. 

“Anything. Everything.”

He manages to unlock the car, a feat of determination and multitasking as you play with him. 

“I knew you were trouble.” 

Even as he playfully chastises you, his hips push forward in an involuntary roll seeking more more more of your warm, teasing touches.

You kiss his lower lip, trail your mouth down the dark grown-out stubble on his jaw. “You like it.”

You don’t see how his eyes almost cross when you kiss his neck, graze your teeth along the tendon and soothe the sting with your sweet tongue.

“Fuck, I do.” 

It is only when you hear other voices drifting through the almost empty lot that you manage to tear yourself away from each other, your hands above the belt again. Eddie presses one last firm kiss to your mouth, like a promise; ‘this isn’t over and you’re so in for it’ without saying a word. He opens the car door, a little less gentlemanly about where he lets his hands wander as he helps you into the passenger seat this time.

You feel a little giddy as you catch him adjusting himself as he rounds the hood, catching your eye through the windshield. 

“Minx,” he murmurs as he slips into the seat.

If you both did not have so much to lose, it would be a no-brainer to pull over to some shady lay-by and pick up where you had left off. But Eddie’s fresh bedsheets and the plum lace beneath your clothes deserve to be enjoyed. 

At red lights, he leans over to steal a kiss, leaving you wanting more when it turns green. You try to get your own back, tracing the inner seam of his jeans with painted fingernails until he warns you to behave yourself. The denim feels too tight and tighter still when he catches the way you squeeze your thighs together at his firm words. 

“Knew you were a real temptress beneath the flowers and sunshine.” 

He had said that one night on the phone, and the memory of his velvety voice in your ear had been stashed away in your bedside drawer for lonely nights. 

Now you had the real thing again, and you were going to savour it. 

You had both checked your phones before leaving the arcade, making sure there were no calls or texts missed from Wayne or Claudia. No emergencies; you have until morning to enjoy each other. 

It’s late, but not quite midnight, when he parks in his driveway on Birch Avenue. If any of his neighbours are up late enough to peer out of their curtains to see you hot-foot it hand in hand into the house, you don’t notice, nor do you care. 

Eddie makes light work of the lock, clinging on to his composure until he can close and lock it behind you again, encasing you both in the bubble of his cosy home all over again. Something like relief floods your body as you take in the familiar sight of Eddie and Fae’s shoes by the door, the lived-in loveliness of their house. 

And Eddie feels it too, he likes how you look in the low light of his front hallway - a little less put together than you had been when you left your house, perfectly unwound by the fun and flirtation of your evening together. 

There is this pregnant pause, a bubble of easy silence as you both just take it all in. When you catch Eddie’s eye, catch him looking, you smile and pull him into you again as you rest back against the door. 

Your lips meet in a slow kiss, much less frantic and boiling hot than before, and yet the press of Eddie’s leg between your thighs, bunching up your skirt, stokes the fire burning inside you. Like a slow match strike, you drag your hips and savour the pleasurable friction.  

Eddie takes advantage of your slackened jaw and slides his tongue against yours, swallowing down the sweet noises you can’t keep a hold of as you pull him tighter against you. 

His jacket is the first thing to go, pushed off his shoulders and down onto the floor. Your scarf follows, then your own jacket as you move blindly, as one, toward the stairs. 

After almost falling on his ass at the first step, Eddie breaks the kiss to lead you up to his room. You could probably find your way, but keep holding his hand as he leads you into the lamp-lit haven of his bedroom. 

His sheets are deep green this time; they look brand new and so soft. Before you can inspect them any further, Eddie’s hands are back on your hips. 

“Y’okay?” 

“Never better.” 

Another smiling sweet kiss moves you closer to the bed. It yields beneath his weight and yours as you straddle his lap; all decorum about keeping your skirt unbunched and tidy has long gone. Wide ringed hands take advantage of the gathered-up fabric, encouraging the push-and-pull friction you both crave. 

You feel him, solid and hot and straining against his denims. Since your hands wandered earlier in the night, you knew you wanted him in your mouth and nothing could change your mind. 

Eddie chases your mouth when you pull back; his eyelids are heavy, lips wet and red. You watch his brows pinch as you get a hand on him again, see his jaw slacken and feel as his legs widen to give you all the space you need. 

You find that spot on his neck again, the little nook that made him go almost crossed-eyed earlier, and soak in the breathy ‘fuck’ and the pulse and kick beneath your stroking fingers. Kissing lower, you pull gently at the neck of his fine knit charcoal sweater so you can nip Eddie’s collarbone, breathing in the musk of his cologne and the barely-there metallic tint of the chains around his neck. 

There’s a gorgeous pink hue across his cheeks and nose when you look up at him again, a dopey smile that makes you feel fond and urges you to kiss him again. Just one and you move away, leaving him pouting, wanting more, feeling greedy. With his hand on himself, missing your touch, he can’t look away as you rid yourself of the skirt and top. The shape of you in your bra and tights and boots makes him feel crazy. 

“Look at you. Pretty girl.” 

He spies the shape and shadow of matching plum lace beneath your tights as the boots come off. You’re not even trying to be sexy, not trying to tease him as you remove each layer, but he feels wild with desire anyway. 

Eddie is back on you once your tights have been dropped onto the pile of discarded clothes, his hands roaming over your hips and midriff, smearing wet kisses to your shoulders and chest. You feel his appreciation for the Third Love set (that had been long relegated to the back of your drawer) in the intensity of his gaze and the reverence of his touches.

If you’re brain could manage a coherent thought that’s not Eddie Eddie Eddie, you might realise that no one has ever desired you like this man. He’s not shy, nor is he coy or cocky about how he wants you; he just does. 

There are more messy kisses as you work his belt and jeans open, broken only when Eddie whips his sweater off. You feel an almost Pavlovian throb between your thighs at the metallic clinks of buckle and button. In his black tank top and open jeans, low on his hips, with nothing to hide his straining briefs and bulked-up arms, your mouth waters. 

You get stuck on his arms for a moment, the uncovered ink and firm muscles from his work hefting tyres and car parts all day. Giving in to impulse, you press wet kisses along the ‘one ring’ tattoo that wraps around his bicep and the cobweb that caps off his shoulder. 

“You’re unreal,” he whispers, bringing your mouths together again and getting his itchy hands back on you, the squish of your hips and the butter-soft lace. 

“Take your pants off.” 

You smile against his mouth when he moans, swearing quietly that you’re definitely trying to kill him. 

“No, I just want to get my mouth on you,” you promise, finger-tipping along the band of his underwear. 

“Jesus, that mouth.” 

His smile is sunshine, cheeks dimpled and rosy as he pinches your face so your lips pucker for his kisses. 

You won’t complain; kissing him has quickly become a top-five favourite thing to do, and you want as many as possible before you must part ways and go back to real life again in the morning. 

“Off. Please.”

Eddie decides he might, for the first time in his life, start doing as he’s told - well, as long as you’re the one telling him. You, with your kiss-swollen lips and siren-eyes. He would do whatever you asked, and not simply because your hand is holding his cock. 

His jeans come off, caught briefly by his still-on boots - that made you both laugh until you knelt between his legs to help untie his boots and free his ankles of tangled denim. 

He’s half expecting you to come back up to him, even though you look so pretty between his thighs. Like a flower or a jewel or something else poetically beautiful and precious in between his hairy thighs, doodled in dark ink. Less poetically, he thinks you’re hotter than any adult film or fantasy he could come up with, even on his loneliest nights. 

“You don’t have to…”

He wants you to (of course he wants you to) but doesn’t want you to feel like you owe him anything because he ate you out last time. Twice. 

“I know. I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to, Ed. Been thinking about it.” 

And you had been. More than you thought possible, more than you ever had with any other man you had been with before. 

Your cheeks are warm at your own admission, and Eddie’s are pink to match. Inside his head, he is whooping and cheering himself on. Being wanted, craved like this, is alien to him and he almost does not know what to do with himself.

“Can you pinch me real quick? I think I’m in some sorta dream or something.” 

A quick graze of teeth against his inner thigh confirms that he is, in fact, awake and alive, and you are real and past ready to get your mouth on him. He is almost embarrassed by the noise that escapes his mouth - part moan, part hiss, part giggle - but right now he is simply too turned on to give a shit about playing it cool. 

Not trying to stall, just to be considerate, Eddie passes you one of the extra pillows on his bed for your knees and gives you one more kiss before letting you do, at last, what you want to him. 

In your cosy space between his knees, you take a moment to marvel at the thick bulge trapped in black boxer briefs. You know it’s pretty, remember the way it felt splitting you open when he pushed slowly inside. Butterfly-gentle kisses weave your path up to the waistband and along the dark happy trail that guides you to your prize; the slight pudge to his belly makes your mouth water. You catch the hitch in Eddie’s breath when your nails bite briefly into the soft parts around his hips, dragging the briefs down out of sight and mind.

Just as nice as you remembered, the comedian in your brain wonders if there’s a lipstick to match the warm pink tip. If Eddie could muster the courage to look at you (he will, he just needs a sec), he might have caught the way you smiled at your own private joke. Instead, he feels your warm fingers and that smiling mouth against him before your tongue swirls just right.

He’s done for. 

You can’t deny how that wrecked sound from him makes you throb between your legs. It only spurs you on though, taking him in your mouth. Hot and heavy and thick enough to make you slow down, not choke yourself too soon, you hold no regret for your fixated thoughts this week. 

Eddie feels like a dumb seventeen-year-old again, not believing his luck that a pretty girl wants to do this with him and too horny-dumb to hold back his little noises or run his mouth. 

“Oh fuck, yes.” His voice is wrecked-raspy; he grabs at the duvet, white-knuckled and trying his best to keep his hips still for you.

When he feels strong enough, brave enough, to look at you (fairly confident he won’t expire or embarrass himself), he is sure that you’re straight out of a fantasy or a dream. The slow and determined bob of your head and smudged mascara beneath your eyes, the stretch of him beneath your cheek, and your body wrapped in that maddeningly perfect plum lace. 

When you look up at him, teetering on that line of too much, too deep, he’s already looking at you. Eddie looks utterly fucked; pink cheeks and flushed chest, wild hair and lips almost bruised from his own teeth. 

You’re fairly sure that it is your own involuntary moan that makes him gasp ‘fuck!’ in that wrecked way. Eddie forgets about keeping his hips still, thrusting forward to chase pleasure, enough to make you choke a little bit.

His fucked-out brain is a beat behind as you cough, spluttering as you pull back to catch your breath.

“Shit, sorry. Sorry.”

Even when you promise him it’s fine, Eddie is reverent about how he wipes your tears. 

You silence him with a quick kiss, covering his hands on your hot, damp cheeks as he holds you like a treasure. 

“Ed, it’s fine.” You kiss him one more time, slower. “It’s fine.”

Before you can get back to it, Eddie grabs a kiss of his own, slow and long, and drops his head against yours. 

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologising.”

Both smiling again, you are certain that a man has never been so deserving of having his soul sucked out through his dick. 

You would be honoured to be the one to do it.

Eddie catches the way your hips drag slightly against the pillow and almost bites through his lip. A little pressure takes the edge off, just right but not enough all at the same time; waiting can make it more fun. Every moment is fun with Eddie.

Before taking him in your mouth again, you coax his fingers away from nearly ripping the duvet and bring your joined hands to rest on his thigh. He is almost distracted by the sweetness of it until he feels your mouth again, all thoughts overridden by the velvety warmth of your tongue. 

His murmured praise for you, the breathy little noises he cannot keep behind his lips, only spurs you on more. They turn you on more too. 

When you have found the rhythm again, using your tongue and that sweet suction to make his eyes roll back, you lift your joined hands and guide him to hold your head.

“Fuuuck,” he breathes, husky and low. 

He’s not pushy about it, does not change up anything you’re doing, but you both lean into that extra layer of trust that has opened up between you. If anything, he is even more giving with his praise for you, how good you’re making him feel and how pretty you look for him. 

Eddie loves how he can feel that fluttering feeling when he tips against your throat, the snug heat of it; he soaks up the wet wrecked sounds and the sparkling tears on your cheeks until he feels too close too quickly. 

“C’mere. Come up here to me.” His voice is just short of pleading; he needs to get his hands back on you, wants to make you feel good too. 

“Everything okay?” you ask, hands on his thighs. The rough edge to your voice makes him tingle. 

“Fuckin’ peachy. S’just…been awhile. Didn’t want to come yet.” 

Kitten licking the tip again, a wet kiss to his belly, you feel a little devious. “Oh, good.”

Perched back on the bed and back in his lap, you cannot get enough of each other. Eddie is just about careful enough not to rip your lace when he gets his mouth on your chest, wet kisses and nipping teeth. The sound of your voice bouncing on the bedroom walls when he pushes your panties to the side to touch you bursts with relief, with desire for more. You feel his hardness throb against you at the sound of his name on your lips.

As quick and careful as you can manage, Eddie lays you out on his deep green bedsheets. He takes a mental snapshot of you, bra askew and eyes heavy-lidded, before resuming his kissing and touching. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against your breast, “So fucking pretty.”

“Me or my tits?” You stroke your fingers through Eddie’s hair, smiling dreamily when he looks up at you. 

“Both.”

He very pointedly kisses each one before nuzzling the warm space between, feeling your heart thumping beneath his lips. His mouth leaves wet little smooch-marks behind as he makes his way up to your lips again, sharing a few more smiling kisses as he reaches around on his bedside table for something to keep his hair out of his face.

You are painfully endeared by the triumphant little noise he makes when he finds it, and kiss him a little more about it, distracting his Boy Brain from the task at hand. Even though you are soaked for him, even though he is borderline painfully hard for you, there is this moment of total fondness for each other. Curtained in by dark curls, you are besotted by his pink glow and dimples.

Eddie shifts to kneel between your legs, winking at you before he flips his head back to gather and tie his hair up in an annoyingly perfect topknot. You are mesmerised by the flex and stretch of his arms, the light and shadow of his body in the golden lamplight. You wonder about summer, whether Eddie might wear his work coveralls tied at the waist to beat the heat of the shop. You hope so, and you can’t wait to see it; it makes your tummy flutter in a whole new way. 

The drag of thick thigh muscle against your core brings you back to the here and now with the man in your daydreams. You chase the feeling, jaw slackened by how badly you need him to touch you. 

Eddie can see it, and he likes how it looks on you. He wants to give you whatever you desire, everything you deserve.

His hands are not baby-soft; they are work-worn and guitar-string-scarred, but they are so gentle when he rolls your underwear down. They land somewhere amongst the rest of his and her's discarded clothes. Your bra is next, the last to go, forgotten until morning. 

He looks perfect, his head framed by your thighs, cheek resting against the soft fat and muscle. He looks at home there, watching transfixed at how you open up for those gentle hands, hearing the pretty sounds you make for him. His stubble is the right side of rough as he murmurs to you. 

“All this for me?” Eddie asks, watching for your reaction as his thumb glides over your swollen clit.

Even when your hips buck toward his touch, when your legs tremble as he dips the tip of his finger into you. It is all just enough for you to forget how to speak, play with his food while he’s waiting for an answer. 

Another featherlight swipe makes you gasp, wringing out a whine he wants to record and listen to on a loop.

“Answer me, baby, please. Is this all mine?” he whispers.

Your answering nod is a weak thrash of your head; you are pinned under his gaze like a specimen behind glass, trapped in syrupy amber. 

“Yeah. Please, Eddie.”

His answer smile is proud and lazy and lovely, all for you. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Thank you.”

You feel fit to implode, so tightly wound with need, and Eddie is about to unravel you - the anticipation is nearly too much. 

“Lucky me.”

And then he is almost silent, and any noises he does make are drowned out by you.

His hands might be gentle, but his tongue is silk-soft and sure as he ice-cream-licks his way into you. As much as you had been thinking about getting your mouth on Eddie, his mind had wandered back to that morning between your legs more times than he could count.  Now he is back there, a heavenly place, he has no ambition to leave despite how his hips press against the bed to seek relief. Right now, the sweet taste and the sweet sounds you make are enough. 

One leg over his shoulder, the other splayed out to the side like a ragdoll, Eddie has you just how he wants you: open and wantonly taking all of the pleasure and good things you deserve. He takes his time with you, watches what you like, what makes you throb and keen and gush. He takes his work seriously.

His mouth is firm, wet, determined, unravelling you from the very core. If your brain was not so blissed-out, you might realise that you have never been so at ease and your thoughts so syrupy-slow. There’s a fleeting idea that he might be some kind of sex magician - it makes you smile lazily at the ceiling - but you are pulled out of your head by the careful stretch and push of two fingers and his honeyed tongue. 

Between your thighs with the weight of your hand on his head, his mouth on your cunt, Eddie is fairly certain he could die happy here. He likes his life, loves it, but should an asteroid hit, he would feel fairly content with his life if these were his final moments. The zing of pleasure down his spine when you tug his curls makes him moan against you, slackening his aching jaw. 

He can tell by the slushy-wet sound, the heightened pitch of your voice, that you’re coming close to your high. With a slight bend and press, a wet suck around your clit, you feel tears spill over as your orgasm blooms, his name on your lips. 

It feels like you are floating, flying in free-fall with your back bowed in a wild arch from the intensity of it all.

Eddie thinks he might come on his nice new sheets at the sight of you, utterly consumed by pleasure, thighs like a vice around his head. Instead, he slows it all down; stills his fingers, but keeps them inside, and rests his cheek against the dough of your thigh, sucking ceased in place of lazy kisses as he watches your comedown. 

“You still with me, sweetheart?” 

You nod, hum a weak ‘mmhmn’ as your legs and tummy twitch with involuntary aftershocks of such an intense orgasm.

“Think I died.”

Eddie’s laugh is low, a little dirty, and you can feel his hot breath against your hip. 

“Sorry.”

He’s not sorry. 

You manage a lazy laugh, slow-blinking your eyes open as you reach out to him.

“C’mere.” 

The long, warm line of Eddie slots against you, moulding himself against your ragdoll body. He kisses your shoulder, your neck, lets you guide him in for a slow kiss that is little more than two lazy mouths smiling against each other. 

He is haloed by lamplight, curls spilling from his topknot. Eddie is so pretty, it makes your heart thud in a funny way. 

“Hi.”

“Hey.” 

His dry fingers are gentle as they swipe away your tears, smudging away the spilled mascara before drawing a line up your nose with his and back down again for one more kiss. 

“You’re a sex wizard.” 

The words have left your lips and Eddie’s shaking with giddy laughter before you realise you have said them, orgasm-drunk and loose-lipped.

“You think so?” he wonders aloud, while inside his head he is wondering if you might want a spring wedding. 

Cupping his cheek, you thumb over his pretty dimple. “Yeah.”

His eyes are sparkling, boyish and bright. “Magic mouth,” you tease.

Because he’s a menace, Eddie nips at you playfully and brings that magic mouth against yours for a kiss. 

“You sure that orgasm didn’t knock a screw loose, sweetheart?” 

He laughs when you shake your head, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. 

“Been called a lot of names, but Magic Mouth Munson sounds good to me.”

Eddie’s voice his muffled against your neck, playful as he seeks out the scent of you beyond your perfume and shampoo. 

“Who’s calling you names? Lemme at ‘em.” 

Your voice has a gorgeous, giggly timbre that he wants to hear every day; he has heard most evenings when you’re a few miles apart, decompressing and downloading about your days, but it’s better in person. 

Before Eddie can come back with something playful, his thoughts are derailed when you wrap your fingers around the length of him again. 

“You could do damage with this thing, could poke someone’s eye out.” 

“Yeah? Wanna do something about that?” 

He’s impressed at how quickly he could come back with something quippy, or anything coherent at all, what with how you are stroking him long and slow, thumb tracing that thick vein. 

You can hear the slight shake in his playful patter when you drag your fingers lower around the base. Another pretty noise spills from his lips when you roll his balls in your hand, feeling a little bad for neglecting them when they are so full and heavy. 

“I really do,” you murmur, turning your head. The closeness is enough to coax him away from your neck for a kiss. 

You can taste how much he wants you on his tongue; clarity comes slowly as you come back around from coming so intensely. 

The shiny foil packet winks at you from the bedside table, pulled to the front while Eddie was rooting for a scrunchie. When you reach for it, he his treated to a face full of boob, and considers his untimely death again. 

The huffing breath of his laugh against your chest tickles as much as it warms your heart. This is all so easy, so fun. You wish you had known him when you were younger, wish you had known how fun sex could be instead of something daunting. But you have tonight, and tomorrow morning too. He has this beautiful, half-dazed smile that makes your tummy twist and your heart thud faster.  

Eddie gazes up at you, a nude vision sitting mermaid style on his bed. The condom in your hand glints like a jewel. He nods, leaning up on his elbows and stifling his dad-grunt at the effort of hauling himself to sit up next to you. 

He used to dig at Wayne for those old man noises, how he pays the price. 

“Damn, you’re perfect.” 

Kissing again, Eddie cups your face like you are a treasure. That’s how he sees you, a pretty bloom amongst the weeds. You can feel it in his touch, how he kisses you, covets you. It feels like your world is tilting, making you dizzy. You both said you could take this slow, but you feel addicted to him already.

“How’d’you wanna do this?” he whispers, dipping his fingers back into the well of your body, working you up again. 

Your breath hitches, thighs twitch to open yourself for him. Brain still soft scrambled, you don’t know what you want more; to have him fuck you into the mattress, hard and dirty from behind, or soft and slow and deep. You want it all, and all you can think about his how good his fingers feel, how good and wanted you have felt all night with him. It’s almost too much; you want it all, and you have so little time and…

“Hey, pretty thing.”

Behind the tendrils of hair that have fallen around his face, you see the creased pull of his brows and the shade of concern in his eyes. When he says your name, it sounds reverent, like a prayer. 

“Where’d you go?”

Eddie searches for some hint on how he fucked up, tilts your ducked head up so he can see you fully. 

Your sad smile makes his heart hurt. 

“Talk to me. We can stop. It’s okay.”

The shift to pained horror at the suggestion startles him, and he’s relieved and confused all at the same time. 

“Don’t want to stop, I promise.” You take a shaky breath and lean into his hand. “Just… I want you so bad, and I know we only have a little time together…” 

Eddie shifts closer, winds his arms around you and holds you. Just holds you, his lips pressed to your head in a fierce kiss. 

He feels relieved and heart-sore all at the same time. The truth that you could not just drop your normal lives and responsibilities to see each other was like a shadowy figure that had loomed in the corner, so easily ignored when you were lost in each other’s eyes or flirting hard over pinball, but always there.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, smoothing one hand along your spine in soothing swathes of affection. “We still have time. And when we have to go back to real life, I wanna make time for you.”

You hug him tighter, eyes closed as you nod against his shoulder. “Want that too.”

Pulling back enough so you can look at him, reassure him with a kiss, you cover his hand on your cheek and let your foreheads rest together for a few moments. 

A small voice in your head is screeching ‘too much, too fast’ but the all-over calm you feel with Eddie sweeps it away like a sure and steady tide. 

“I get a little overwhelmed sometimes,” you whisper, saying what he already knows, what he has already seen. 

“That’s okay,” he replies, simply getting it. You think this man has seen it all; he’s unfazed and capable, but you know by the way he squeezes you, a reassuring touch, that he gives a shit. 

You kiss him again, the warm glow of want still burns, and even though his hardness has faltered out of worry, the feel of your body and the lick of your tongue against his slowly and surely makes the flames rise again. 

It is a slow tumble back onto the sheets and pillows, hands gripping and groping with confidence and care, and the firm weight of his thigh between yours right where you like it. You feel his hardness, the leaking tip and hot throb, press against you and there is a blind and giggly reach-around for the lost condom. 

Slow. Deep. You want to see him. There is time for it all, but right now you have your answer. 

He looks up at you, in awe of you. Eddie feels like so much has grown between you over just a few hours - somehow still capable of coherent thought as he watches you rip the condom open and straddle his thighs. 

The wait was worth it. 

You take your time, slowly sinking yourself down and savouring the stretch of him inside you. 

Eyes flutter, jaws slacken, brows pinch.

“Fuck.”

Said at the same time, breathy voices overlapping, he can feel a delicious pulse when you laugh. 

“Jesus, fuck. Wait a sec before you move,” he begs, his hands resting heavy on your thighs as he gathers himself. He circles his thumbs along the silvery stretchmarks and whispers of cellulite, soothing himself and you.

It only makes you hotter for him, fonder too. 

“You feel so fucking good, baby.” 

“You feel really big. Almost forgot.”

Eddie swears at the ceiling, eyes scrunched shut as you cover his hands on your legs. He can’t look at that blissful smile too long, like looking at the sun.

“You’re a fuckin’ vixen.” 

It’s fun to mess with him, bringing back the playfulness alongside that tender vulnerability; it distracts you both from how serious you both feel about each other, how scared you both are inside about fucking this up when you could have been fucking each other all night. 

Slowly, you lift and roll your hips, taking a moment to find what feels right for you both. Eddie watches you move atop him, that sensuous raise and roll of your body, the way your chest bounces and the ripple in your thighs when he fucks his hips up into you. 

“Gimme a kiss,” he begs, a vision atop the deep green sheets with his crown of curls. 

When you pitch forward, arms resting either side of his head, Eddie bends his knees and keeps himself snug inside of you as you moan against his lips. Wide hands come to rest on your ass, squeezing and jiggling to be playful and teasing. The stretch of him inside you, the way he glances against that spot inside you that is a haresbreath away from perfect has you wound tight again. So close to just right, but not quite. Your burning thighs are grateful for a break.

“I can help, baby,” he murmurs against your chin before catching your mouth in another messy kiss. “Please? Let me make you feel good.”

You feel empty when he slips out, but Eddie soothes your pouting lips with more kisses as you take his place on the bed.

“That’s it, my princess. Huh? You like being my princess?” he asks, crowding between your thighs to line himself up to push in. 

He teases you, wrapped tip kissing your swollen clit until you answer him, and then rewards you with a slow push to the hilt that makes you howl. 

“Oh fuh-fuck,” a strangled moan breaks from your throat and bounces around the room. 

Eddie’s eyes fall closed, rocking himself into you steadily with one hand behind your knee to keep you spread open for him. He sneaks a glance at where your joined, the stretch and suck of your body around him, pulling him in. 

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, bracing himself on the mattress so he can kiss you again. “That’s my girl.”

The stretch feels the right side of too much as he rocks forward, finding a steady pace to make you both moan. Eddie lifts up a little, pressing your thigh back closer to your chest to open you up a little more, so he can fuck a little deeper and make sure you keep making those pretty noises. 

You can see a dewy sheen to his skin as he pounds into you; this position works for him as much as it does for you. It’s not simply from fucking you into the mattress, rendering you into little more than a puddle of pleasure, but he is working hard to not come early and disappoint you - no mean feat when you are the picture of fucked-out, back arched, tits bouncing steadily as you moan for him. 

When he dips to kiss you, taste his name on your lips, you feel him dragging against that spot you couldn’t quite reach. Eddie feels the bite of your nails on his ass as you pull him into you, gasping at the pleasure-pain and the voractity of your ragged voice. 

“Oh fuck - oh! More, Eddie. Fuck!” you wail, wild for him.

He kisses his name off of your lips, holding back some animalistic roar of his own as he pushes you over the edge and feels you gush and squeeze around him. 

“Yes, baby,” he breathes, fucking you through it and kissing your flushed face as he teters on a knife edge of his own. “That’s my good girl.” The spill of tears on your cheeks makes his heart ache and his dick throb. 

He slows to a stop, following your lead as you slowly float back to earth. 

“There she is,” he whispers, smiling as he strokes the dampness away. “Hi, pretty. You alright?”

“Mm, just...” You close your eyes again, smiling dreamily about how good you feel, and give a lazy ‘okay’ sign with your fingers that makes him laugh. “Never better.”

Eddie is careful when he deposits your legs back on the bed, easing out just a little so he can sit back and gaze at you for a minute while you gather yourself. 

“Stop staring,” you murmur, giggle-voiced and feeling shy. 

“I like looking at you.” You hear his smile before you see it, peeking one eye open. 

Eddie tilts his head like he is considering a work of art. “Gorgeous.”

“Yeah?” Your quiet voice is teasing, back to your minxy-self after your sojourn to the stars, courtesy of his Munson Magic. 

“Yeah. Really gorgeous. Most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”

The warmth of his words and lazy drape of his body over yours, chest to chest so he can taste that lazy smile, is almost enough to overheat you. 

“You okay to keep going?” he whispers, leaning his cheek against your hand. 

“Yeah, m’good,” you promise, pressing a kiss to the dimple you are so enamored with.

He taps your thighs, strokes his fingers up and down and feels the goosebumps beneath them. “Like this, or do you wanna turn over?”

The overwhelm you felt earlier feels silly now, but you are too in the moment to let it take over again. He knows you like it from behind, remembers just how much you loved it the night you met.

“Mm, I’ll move. I feel like goo.”

“Sexy goo,” he purrs, swatting your hip playfully to make you giggle. “Very sexy goo.”

With his help, wide hands keeping you steady, you turn over and rest on your forearms, spreading your knees a little so he can admire the curve of your hips and the bow of your back. 

“That okay?” you ask, sneaking a peek over your shoulder just as he rubs himself along your slit. 

He can see your cheeky smile, barely concealed, but your eyes sparkle with mirth. 

“Okay? Fuckin’ perfect.”

He bites his lip when you rock backward, seeking him out with a dreamy look in your eyes. 

“Mm, put it i- ohh!” 

Those dreamy eyes drift closed as he presses inside, fulfilling your wish and filling you up. There’s an extra little shove when he’s all the way in, making sure you know just how full you are before he finds his rhythm again, following the beat of slapped-together skin.

“Good? That feel better?” 

He can feel you fluttering around him, he sees how you are gripping the pillow by your head and feels your hot slick drip down to his balls.

“So good,” you nod, rocking your hips in time with his. It is no put-on performance, he knows you are not simply inflating his ego with your praise. “Eddie, please. Harder.”

Heart aflutter, Eddie squeezes your waist and pulls you back onto him, harder and deeper like you wanted. “You got it, princess. I got ya.”

Head tipped back, jaw slack, Eddie almost misses when you snake a hand between your legs to touch yourself. The quick-circling tips of your fingers graze against him and he can hear your breathy little gasps against the sheets.

Your ass is sure to have the shape of his gripping fingers tomorrow, a visual reminder alongside that properly fucked feeling that will linger for a day or two. A babble-voiced chorus of ‘yes yes yes’ spills from your mouth as the knot of white-hot pleasure is pulled tighter and tighter with every stroke - your voice will be hoarse in the morning too, but you are too melted with pleasure to care.

All at once, you begin to fall apart and come hard as Eddie splits you open over and over and over. He watches you sob with pleasure into his pillow and feels his eyes roll back, his head following them as he swears up at the ceiling.

“Oh fuck, fuuuck,” he groans, barely clinging on to his composure as you fall apart for a third time. He keeps himself and check and slows enough to stay inside you as you slump further forward onto the sheets, bending forward to kiss along your shoulder and along your arm.

“Keep going,” you murmur, turning your head so he can press one of those wet kisses to your mouth. “Feel really good.”

You reach a hand out to the side, wrap your fingers around his wrists as he braces himself on top of you and starts thrusting again. Less coordinated now but it still feels amazing.

His breath huffs against your neck as you squeeze your walls around him, pulling more gorgeous groans and grunts from his mouth as he spills into you. 

The weight of him along your back, both of you spent and sweaty and sated, feels perfect as you float on your shared high. Eddie gives himself a moment before kissing your shoulder again, easing himself up and out of you so he can deal with the condom. 

You don’t see the proud little grin at his own reflection in the ensuite mirror, but you are wearing a dreamy smile when he comes back to lie with you and it makes his heart gallop. 

Tangled together with your head on his chest, you listen to that thud thud thud that matches your own hammering heart.

“You okay?” he asks, nuzzling your head before crowning you with a kiss. 

“Mmhm, more than okay. You okay?” 

“Fuckin’ A, sweetheart.” 

Your head tilts back and you pout for a kiss, which turns into slow, lazy kisses until the sweat on your skin makes you both shiver. Soon, you will move to the shower, sharing the hot water and kisses against the chilly tiles until your laughter rings against the walls and Eddie’s low dirty chuckle makes your tummy swoop. He will share his clothes with you, find something in his drawers for you to sleep in - a tshirt or a hoodie over the soft cotton undies rolled in your purse for tomorrow - and fetch two glasses of water before he holds you beneath the covers and you both fight to stay awake, keep talking.

Tomorrow will come too soon, but for now, you stay tangled together and savour every moment. 

It is a little before eleven when you knock on Henderson’s front door and hear Claudia and Hazel’s voices coming down the hallway to let you in.

Hazel almost bowls you over with the force of her hug, squeezing her arms around you as tight as she can. You dot a halo of smooches along her forehead and tune into her excited chatter about her sleepover with Miss Claudia. 

The older woman smiles at you both, you and your Mini Me, feeling fondness that makes her miss her son. 

When the door is closed behind you to keep the cold out and the cats in, she makes some tea for you both as Hazel gives you the full rundown of how she showed Claudia Inside Out and that next time she sleeps over, they will watch the second one.

Around the cosy kitchen table, you sip your tea and ask Claudia about her springtime trip to Boston to see Dustin and watch how gentle Hazel is with the two ragdoll cats.

Claudia says your name gently, bringing you back from being so besotted with your little girl and wondering how Eddie’s morning with Fae is going. 

“Sorry. What did you say, Claudia?” You shoot her an apologetic smile and sip your tea.

“I was just saying how amazing Hazel is. I say it every time, but she’s the sweetest girl.” She squeezes your arm gently. “And she’s really settled in. Told me all about her friends at school and her playdate last weekend. Fae Munson. Another sweetie pie.”

Your attempt to temper your expression leaves you with a tea-scaled tongue and warm cheeks. 

“Yeah. Fae has made her feel so welcome. They’re in the same grade and dance class. I’m sure she told you all about it. Two peas in a pod.”

Claudia squeezes your arm again, smiles warmly. “I know her Grandpa Wayne a long time. And my Dusty is great friends with her Dad, Eddie. He’s a good kid.”

Caught off guard, you can only nod. 

Two hours ago, you had been cosy in his bed, drinking coffee and sharing a plate of buttery toast with Eddie after he had made you come again. You knew just how good he was. Less than an hour ago, you had kissed him goodbye in his car and thanked him for a magical night. You miss him now, your chest aches with it, but you have your nightly phone call to look forward to, another date to plan. 

The older woman fills the silence that falls over the breakfast nook.

“If you need a babysitter any time, I’ll be here. Or if you need someone to lean on. I won’t pry, and I don’t gossip about my friends,” she says. 

There is a wave of relief that pours over you, slowing down your hammering heart and worried thoughts.

“You look happy. You’ve got this really lovely glow about you lately. I’m so glad you’re settling in, you and Hazel.” 

“Thank you, Claudia.” There’s a thick feeling in your throat and you blink a few times to clear your cloudy eyes. “I feel happy. I’m starting to feel at home here.” 

Hazel shuffles back over to the table, presenting her cheeks to you for two kisses before twirling over to Claudia. Your heart swells at her sweetness, her softness. 

“Miss Claudia, can I give the kitties a treat?” she asks, as Catrick Swayze and Luke Skypawker bump against your ankles, seeking some affection. 

Their furry heads feel like silk beneath your fingertips as Claudia and Hazel fetch treats for them and you snap a picture of them to send to Eddie. Swayze makes himself comfy on your lap, watching Hazel with his wide blue eyes, waiting for his treat. 

There’s already a message from him waiting for you; a picture, great minds. 

It’s Eddie, a few years older than the girls are now, standing by a lake, holding a fish he had just caught under Wayne’s patient tutelage. You can see the edge of his thumb holding the frame, and if you squint, you can see the reflection of Eddie and his phone in the glass. You pinch and zoom to look at his proud smile directed up at his Uncle rather than whoever took the photo, his pink-sunburned nose and his scrawny arms holding aloft the big fish for the camera, and the too-big Judas Priest t-shirt.

That cuteness aggression floods back and you want to kick your feet and squeal like a tweenager right here, right now in Claudia Henderson’s kitchen. She’s pretending not to see that big smile on your face, how you try to hide it by biting your lips, but she thinks this happiness suits you.

After poring over the picture, you read the accompanying texts.

Still think I’m cuter than him? 👀  Be honest…  x

You flash back to the night before, when you took the pictures of him in front of the D&D game, his bounty. 

Cute then, cute now. Period. X

Two blue ticks pop up right away; he was waiting for you. 

Damn, you like me or smth? 😘

Heart hammering, your thumb flies across the keyboard as the cat purrs in your lap. 

Mmmmmaybe  Call me later? x

Eddie’s typing right away, just as Hazel comes over to pet Swayze and feed him his treats. 

“Mom, he loves you! Look!” she beams. 

Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart x

Thank you thank you thank you for reading - I really hope you enjoyed this. I don’t think I’m done with Eddie, Reader, Hazel and Fae yet. I can’t promise when, I but there will be something more to this. Thank you again. Your comments, reblogs and likes are treasured and adored!

[alltimefail]

ATTENTION DEAD BOYS FANDOM:

We have some unfinished business and a case to solve: The Case of the Curious Cancellation! 💀🔎

Here are the ways you can help (be sure to read until the end).

I'm not sure how many people here on Tumblr are also over on DBDA Twitter, but there have been MANY developments in the last 24 hours and it's important for all of us to be on the same page if we're going to have a chance in hell of saving our show.

First and foremost, we need to get Dead Boy Detectives in the Netflix Top 10 again. This means running it as much as possible. Read about that below:

(SOURCE x)

As the graphic says, the goal is to have it running on a loop constantly, as much as you physically can. Be sure to have some level of volume on or else it won't count. If you're on Twitter be sure to post your rewatch (photos of your tv, commentary, etc.) with the hashtag #ReviveDeadBoyDetectives !!!

Also, there's no better time to do this: the Tweet below brings up a great point! 👍

(SOURCE x)

Second, and easiest thing: KEEP TALKING ABOUT THE SHOW AND CREATING CONTENT ABOUT THE SHOW. Analysis, fics, fanart, shitposts, gif sets, memes, tik tok videos, so on - do not stop! Reblog other people's stuff and talk about it! Give fics kudos, comment, make fic rec lists and post that WIP or sketch! The most important thing to remember is to TAG YOUR POSTS AND CREATIONS. We need to trend!!! On Tumblr make sure you continue tagging your posts as you probably already are (look at my tags on this post if you need help, and remember not to use "DBD" on here because that is another fandom! We use DBDA here). On Twitter you want to use the hashtag #ReviveDeadBoyDetectives for the rewatch and #SaveDeadBoyDetectives is a popular one, too. You can also use #DeadBoyDetectives. Hell, I usually use all three if I can! Hashtag every post you make about Dead Boys, no matter how annoying or "cringe" you may feel. Flood the fucking tag and do not stop.

Third, everyone needs to sign and keep circulating the petition. We've surpassed 5,000 signatures in a day which is fantastic, but we need more. Get everyone you know to sign it; tell them it takes no more than 15 seconds. Be annoying until they do it just to shut you up.

Fourth, request "Dead Boy Detectives Season 2" through Netflix's support website. It's a small thing but if we all do this a couple times a day it will get their attention. They really do vet these suggestions, and an influx of requests for a canceled show will raise eyebrows.

Lastly, if you decide to write Netflix (via email or a letter - their office address has been floating around) please remember to stay concise and professional. Don't curse at them, don't call names. State that you are disappointed with the cancellation of the show, maybe add an anecdote about what it meant to you, and I would even recommend attaching some articles that emphasize people's displeasure with the platform abandoning shows on a whim and Netflix's flippant attitude toward queer shows in particular. Dead Boy Detective Agency on Twitter has retweeted every article on this topic so far, you can find their page here.

You can also use graphics such as the ones below to affirm that the cancellation was unjust.

(Source 1, Source 2)

I know this feels like a lot: know your limits and take care of yourself. Whether you do every single one of these things or just a few of these things, every llittle bit helps!

Even in the worst case scenario where nothing changes, this gesture will mean so much to everyone who made this show. We owe it to the writers, cast, crew, and each other to TRY. We can all agree that this show deserves at least another season and if Netflix isn't going to do it, they need to be open to selling it to someone who will. We cannot keep allowing them to axe these queer and diverse shows with little regard for their customers and their employees, but also because it sets a harmful standard in the industry that is destroying television.

Let's crack this case and bring our agency back! I truly believe in this community!! 💜 We can do this!!

If there are any spelling errors or issues with links let me know! I did this on mobile because I want to mobilize this information as quickly as possible! I'll be adding on to this with new developments and can answer any questions you all might have. Lets save our show!

[pixiefelixie]

10:43

fem!reader x changbin | fluff, suggestive, car makeout!! ~1k

it’s loud outside. but with him, you’re safe. his.

“changbin, we can’t see a thing.”

your voice is tight, fingers clutching the edge of your seat like the fabric personally wronged you. outside is a blur of rain—windshield wipers doing their best but basically just smudging water back and forth while the storm rages.

like, rages. lightning flashes every other second. thunder cracks so loud you flinch without meaning to. water’s drumming against the roof like someone’s trying to break in from above. you can barely make out the lines on the road, let alone the car in front of you.

“we’re fine,” changbin says calmly, both hands steady on the wheel. “i’ve got it.”

you nod. you trust him. you do. but you also don’t trust the sky currently throwing a tantrum.

you try not to show it, but your body betrays you—legs bouncing slightly, thumb rubbing over your opposite knuckles, chewing at the inside of your cheek. you’re quiet, but it’s the kind of quiet that hums with nerves.

changbin glances over.

he sees it. you know he does, because something shifts in his face. without saying anything, he flicks on the turn signal and pulls into what looks like a small roadside rest stop. a little parking lot, half-empty, lit only by the dull glow of flickering streetlamps blurred by the rain.

“where are you going?” you ask, eyes wide.

he puts the car in park, turning to look at you. “we’re gonna stay here for a bit,” he says simply. “until it calms down.”

your shoulders drop the tiniest bit, tension easing before you even realize it.

changbin leans back in his seat with a quiet sigh, stretching his arms above his head. his fingers brush the car ceiling, and then he lets them drop with a thud onto his thighs, palms up, completely relaxed like you aren’t in the middle of a sky meltdown.

“you okay?” he asks, turning his head to look at you again. 

you nod a little, not fully trusting your voice yet.

he hums like he doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t push. instead, he rolls his neck a bit, then stretches again—this time leaning to the side until his shoulder lightly bumps yours.

“storms suck,” he says casually. “you can say it. i won’t tell the weather channel.”

you huff a small laugh, glancing over at him. he’s sitting there in the driver’s seat like it’s his own personal couch, one leg bent slightly, arm draped on the car door. completely unfazed.

you, meanwhile, are still curled tight like an afraid house cat.

“come here,” he says.

you blink. “i’m right here.”

he pats his shoulder. “closer.”

you hesitate. the rain thunders harder. a branch outside snaps and skitters across the pavement.

he lets his arm fall around your shoulders easily. and then you scoot over, just a little. enough for your side to press into his. 

he presses a kiss to the side of your head. “we’ll stay here as long as you need, darling girl,” he murmurs against your temple.

you squeeze your eyes shut for a second, overwhelmed in the best way. because only changbin could say something like that and make it feel like a promise instead of just words.

“besides,” he adds, tapping the center console, “if the storm tries anything, we’ll just drown it out.”

and then—he cranks up the volume.

the speakers burst to life with some ridiculously dramatic ballad he’s definitely obsessed with right now, the kind with a string section and a high note that could cause structural damage. it’s way too emotional for the inside of a parked car, but somehow, it’s perfect.

“is this... lee hi?” 

“don’t judge.”

you chuckle, the sound barely heard over the music flooding the car. you feel his hand slide gently down, settling on your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth.

you glance up at him, heart still beating faster than you'd like, but for a completely different reason now.

he meets your eyes, and there's a softness there that makes your chest ache a little. the music swells, the thunder rumbles distantly, but it all feels backgrounded by the way he's looking at you—like you're the only thing he's trying to focus on.

you don’t overthink it.

you just lean in.

and he meets you halfway.

his lips find yours like it’s instinct, like he’s been waiting for this moment even longer than you have. it starts soft but the second you tilt your head and press in closer, he deepens it. his hand on your thigh tightens just slightly, anchoring you there, while the one around your shoulders pulls you closer, gently but firmly.

your fingers find the fabric of his shirt, gripping it like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

the kiss turns hungrier, slower, but no less full of feeling. his lips part, and so do yours, and everything else fades: the storm, the car, the song playing like it’s trying to win an oscar in the background.

all you can feel is changbin—his hand on your skin, the steady rhythm of his breath, the quiet hum he makes against your mouth like he can’t help it.

you don’t even realize you’re reaching for the seatbelt until you hear the soft click. your body shifts instinctively, climbing over the center console as the rain hammers around you.

changbin’s hands are already there, steady on your waist, guiding you into his lap. his grip is firm, grounding, warm through the fabric of your clothes. he exhales a soft, amused laugh against your lips, but it melts away the moment you kiss him again.

absentmindedly, he reaches beside him and pulls a lever, seat clicking back as it reclines. this time, there’s no hesitation. just heat and urgency and that deep, humming kind of closeness that makes your skin buzz. your fingers tangle in the collar of his shirt, his hands sliding up your back, holding you like he’s scared to let go.

you shift slightly, your knees bracketing his hips, and the feeling of being this close—this wrapped up in him—is almost dizzying. you look down at him, hair falling slightly into your face, and he reaches up to tuck it behind your ear without breaking eye contact.

his smile is small. real. “hi,” he whispers, like you’re not already pressed up against him.

you let out a quiet laugh. “hi.”

and then you kiss him again.

slower this time. less heat, more heart.

you pour everything into it—the comfort, the quiet relief, the feeling that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. his arms wrap tighter around your waist, like he can feel it too. like he wants to say i love you without saying anything at all.

you don’t need him to.

because it’s there—in the way he kisses you, in the way he holds you, in the way he never once looked away when you were scared.

you love changbin.

and from the way he keeps whispering your name between kisses, like it’s his favorite thing in the world— you know he loves you too.

outside, the rain still falls. but in here, you’re warm. safe. his. and that’s enough.

[aestherin]

I CAN SEE YOU

track 10: galaxies

’Maybe fan fiction writers were actually onto something.’

That was the only thought going on your mind once you fully processed that your favorite singer was now driving you home, in his well-kept Aston Martin, on his passenger seat.

”Have you replied to my manager yet?”

”Yeah,” you reply as you scroll through your phone. “I just did what you told me, with a few tweaks.”

”And the tweaks are?”

”Well, I don’t want to send him a complete lie, you know. I’m not comfortable with that.” You inwardly wince as you recall the huge lie of a persona you’ve been living. Whether it was your ‘[Name] persona’ or your ‘Sky persona’ that was a lie, you could not tell. “So I just said: Yes, we’ve been talking.”

Scaramouche grins. “Smart.”

It was a witty answer, he admits. You two have indeed been talking. It isn’t at all a lie, but it also isn’t the full truth. You two have been talking, yes. But not about what you should be talking about.

And truthfully, Scaramouche couldn’t care less.

His songs stem from his life. And his life was at rest. 

Before you — the recent enigma that had struck him.

”By the way,” he breaks the silence. Though there wasn’t really any because he obliged you to play your playlist in his car. You didn’t play your own because God forbid he finds out right now that his full discography is in every single one of your well-curated playlists. “How did you even get to the park with all of the stuff you have? Especially that canvas.”

”Oh, I booked a cab because I had a lot of things!”

He hums in acknowledgment before once again glancing at the navigation app that now leads to your place.

‘The heck?’

He stops over to the side. You give him a puzzled look, seemingly still unaware of the reason behind his skeptic glare. “Are you sure this is the right address?”

You slightly lean over, face hovering closer to the screen. “Yeah, why? If you don’t want to go there, I could get off and book a cab, I don’t mind.”

He shook his head. “No, no. That’s not a problem for me. What I mean is, you gave me the address of a hotel.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You said you were staying here in Inazuma for three months.”

”Yes, I am.” 

“You’re staying here—“ he sternly points at the address flashed on his car’s screen. “—for three months?”

You suddenly felt the need to hide — though your knitted sweater wasn’t doing you any wonders like a blanket would — because yeah, that does sound a little too lavish. A five-day stay in that hotel might even amount to a month’s worth of rent!

You turned your head away. And to Scaramouche, it seemed that suddenly, the trees outside looked a lot more interesting to you than him. He frowned.

“I’m not planning to…” You whispered. If he didn’t lower the volume of his speakers, the song would’ve drowned your voice. “...but I just haven’t found a place to stay yet that allows me to lease only for three months…”

“Yeah, that’s kind of a weird term.”

“Mhm.”

His sudden silence felt a little too loud for your liking. Curious, your gaze found its way back to him, only to see that his was focused on the steering wheel.

‘What in the world is he thinki–’

“Say, how much are you thinking to pay for rent?” 

“Huh? Oh! I’m… financially comfortable so —”

His lips slightly parted in realization. “Right. Your family. Plus, you’re a well-known artist.”

Oh.

‘He knows my family.’

‘He probably thinks I’m like them, too.’

“Well,” he says as he starts to gear up again. “If you want, I could probably refer you to my landlord. My sister leased for like two months last time when her house was being renovated, I think he could do the same for you this time.”

Your eyes visibly twinkle at his words.

And for a moment, Scaramouche swore he was seeing galaxies.

Until he forcibly blinks himself out of his stupor. 

I CAN SEE YOU — scara x reader smau

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[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤLEFT ALONE * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where, after a difficult week, Matt takes out all his stress on Y/N, causing great damage to their relationship.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　fighting, yelling, cursing, dark thoughts. ANGST!

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

"I don't know where you want to get with that, Matt." Y/N sighed, closing her eyes tightly for a few minutes before opening them again, keeping them fixed on the road in front of the car. She had her head resting on her right hand, and her elbow braced next to the passenger door window.

Matt, as usual, had gone to pick up Y/N from work after her shift, but he was surprised to have to wait for an hour in the car for his girlfriend to finally be released, as her boss had demanded that she had to work overtime.

Despite being wrong, Matt felt furious.

His week was more than hectic with the start of sales of the 6 million clothing collection, as he and his brothers had to spend hours autographing photos of themselves that would go with each order. In addition to - by Nick and Chris's choice -, the three of them were the ones who hand-packed the first ones, which resulted in Matt having to stay awake until late hours, and waking up early everyday to fulfill his other tasks.

With all that, having to sit in his car for an hour, with only his phone and in such an uncomfortable seat seemed to increase his irritation, and he couldn't help but start an argument with his girlfriend, feeling like a pressure cooker about to explode.

"I'm just saying that you don't stop at home anymore. You just work all day, as if it was your number one priority in life. And now you've started this nonsense of working overtime!" Matt accused, gesturing exaggeratedly with his right hand while keeping his left one on the steering wheel.

"It's not like I asked to work overtime, Matt! You and your brothers have worked in a grocery store once, you know how it works-"

"Don't you dare bring up Chris and Nick's name. They have nothing to do with your lack of responsibility within a relationship." The boy took his eyes off the road momentarily, giving her a cold look that sent shivers running up her spine.

"Matt, you're being ridiculous! I understand your week has been tiring-" Matt cut the girl off again, shaking his head nervously.

"No, you don't know nothing, Y/N!" His tone was arrogant, a tone that the girl didn't remember ever hearing from him. "I'm exhausted because of my own work, and I still have to come and pick you up every day! And now you make me stay stuck in this car for an hour, waiting for Miss Perfect here to decide to leave." His voice gradually increased in volume.

Y/N could already feel the sensations of the ugly crying that was about to come, taking a deep breath and counting to 10 in her head.

"Then don't pick me up anymore, Matt! You were willing to come every day after my work just until some days ago, but if it's so hard for you now, don't come anymore." Y/N replied, her tone lower than her boyfriend's but still carrying much stress.

"How can you be so ungrateful?" Matt shouted, slamming his hands against the steering wheel violently.

"Matt, look, I'm sorry- Hey, keep your eyes on the road!" Y/N ignored the pang she felt in her heart at the brunette's words, fear rising through her veins as she saw the car move further away from the main road, as a result of his lack of attention.

Her eyes were wide as she raised her hands, ready to grab the steering wheel if necessary.

"You know what? I'm done." Matt spoke through gritted teeth, turning the car sharply to the right until it stopped on the side of the road.

"What are you doing? Matt?" Y/N asked, her breath coming out shakily as her eyes traveled down the dark, deserted street, to her boyfriend's face, which seemed to be covered in a gray cloud of hate.

"I'm done with this. If you don't want to take responsibility for your own mistakes and don't understand the seriousness of this relationship like I do, then maybe it's not worth the effort." He unlocked the doors, crossing his arms and keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his nostrils flaring as a result of his hard breathing.

"M-Matt, don't do that." The girl tried, swallowing hard.

She reached out her hand towards him with the intention of gently touching his arm, but Matt pulling away roughly, as if she were a plague, made her stop abruptly for a few seconds, her hand slowly lowering.

“I need to think, Y/N.” He shook his head, resting his elbows on the steering wheel and laying his head in his hands, closing his eyes tightly. "Get out." He demanded sharply.

Y/N's eyes widened, her heart stopping momentarily.

"W-what? Are you crazy? Look at the time, Matt. How am I going to-"

"Get out." Matt interrupted her, not once looking up. His tone was flat and cold.

Y/N looked at him for a few more seconds, as if waiting for him to apologize and say it was all a sick joke. But that never happened.

She quickly pulled the car handle, grabbing her purse and getting out of the passenger seat. The cold night air hit her body with force as if needles were piercing her skin, eliciting a strong shiver from her members.

Her hand pushed the door hard, closing it, the sound echoing like a dull thud. Her eyes watched the car restart not even a second later, screeching away.

Y/N remained still for a few seconds - or minutes -, watching Matt's car disappear into the distance, her hope of him turning around slowly disappearing.

"Come back." Her voice sounded so broken, just like her insides. "P-please."

She spun around, taking note of the street completely deserted of cars or humans, the only source of life being the streetlights.

The girl quickly hooked her purse onto her right shoulder, crossing her arms tightly around her torso and beginning the steps of the long walk she would have to take to get home - if she even could call that place her home anymore. The possibility of Matt kicking her out after the events made her legs tremble.

Her throat started to hurt from the crying that she was still holding back. The emotions rising in her chest were like bile in her throat; It burned and hurt like never before. Her heart felt like it was being crushed by a human hand, and it didn't take long for loud sobs to escape her lips, her eyes stinging from the hot tears in contact with the freezing wind.

It was minutes of walking without stopping, her feet ached from the tension in her body, a result of the intense cold and the several times she turned back, checking if she wasn't being followed.

The familiar street soon took over her blurred vision, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. Thick tears were still rolling from her eyes, but her sobs had stopped, being replaced by small sniffles.

Y/N shuffled down the sidewalk, passing the houses neighboring hers, before finally stopping in front of her front door. Her hands, practically frozen by the cold, opened her purse in a quick movement, rummaging through the smaller pockets, looking for the key.

She closed her eyes tightly when she couldn't find it, vaguely remembering just throwing it in the glove compartment of Matt's car that morning since she was in such a rush and still eating her breakfast.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she fished out her phone, cursing under her breath when she noticed that the battery was almost all gone. Just her lucky day.

She quickly unlocked the screen, going into her contact list and clicking on Chris's one. The boy answered on the second ring, surprising Y/N.

"Y/N? Thank God, where are you guys?" Chris's voice sounded relieved. Y/N frowned, her mind creating thousands of horrible scenarios as to why Matt hadn't gotten home yet.

The path she took, which took her almost 30 minutes of walking - or more, since she was walking slowly due to the cold - would not even take 15 minutes by car.

"C-Chris, open the door for me. Please." Her voice was broken, her teeth chattering as her body felt the temperature drop even more now that she stood still.

"Are you out there? Alone?" He asked exasperatedly. The sound of his bed shuffling sounded from behind, probably the result of him getting up.

"Yeah... Just hurry, please." Y/N repeated, her tone completely vulnerable.

The line went dead at the same instant. Her right hand - which was holding the device - moved away from her ear quickly, her eyes only finding the negative battery icon.

She threw her phone into her purse again, her eyes prickling with new tears that wanted to flow. Her mind created terrible thoughts about herself and her day, and all she wanted most was to sleep and perhaps never wake up again.

The sound of keys sounded on the other side of the door seconds before it was abruptly opened. Chris's figure appeared, his wide eyes carrying immense concern as they roamed Y/N's body, seeming to search for any injuries.

"Oh my God, you're freezing." He confirmed when he noticed her shaking, gently pulling her inside, before closing the door again. He rubbed his hands over Y/N's arms, which, even though they were covered by the fluffy jacket, were still extremely cold.

The warm air from the heater inside the house welcomed the girl's body gracefully, surrounding her like a thin blanket. She sighed, closing her eyes momentarily.

"Where the hell is Matt? I thought he was going to pick you up." Chris asked exasperatedly, helping her take her purse off her shoulder, hanging it on the rack next to the door.

Y/N felt her eyes fill with tears again at the mention of her boyfriend's name. An ugly sound of choked sobs escaping her throat caught Chris's attention, who stopped his movements and turned his eyes to her.

"Oh no, what did he do?" His tone was gentle as he approached, pulling her into a tight hug as he watched her shake her head in denial repeatedly, her lips trembling. "Let's go to my room, you need a hot shower and fresh clothes."

Chris slowly stepped away, keeping one of his hands on Y/N's shoulders, guiding her through the kitchen and down the stairs towards his own room.

The door was already open - being left like that when the boy rushed after receiving her call -, the two of them just passing through it before Chris closed it, keeping the hot air trapped between the four walls.

"Go take a shower, I'll get you some new clothes from your closet, okay? There's a clean towel in the cabinet under the sink." The boy indicated, watching his sister-in-law nod weakly, a low "thank you" escaping her lips before she could enter the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

It didn't take long for Y/N to step out again, already dressed in the Fresh Love sweatshirt set that Chris placed on the sink - just by putting his arm between the door and the frame.

Even though she wanted to melt like hot water and go down the drain just like her tears that fell imperceptibly, her feet hurt too much to support her weight for even another minute, begging for a rest.

Chris was sitting on the right side of the bed, his back against the headboard and his legs above the duvet, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, seeming to be waiting for her.

The sound of the bathroom door closing attracted his attention, and he quickly locked his cell, putting it on the bedside table before tapping the empty space next to him, silently calling Y/N to sit there.

The girl walked to the indicated side, lifting the duvet and sitting on the mattress, staying in the same position as Chris, but with her legs covered.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" He asked calmly, watching her closely, trying to read her expressions, but seeing only an ocean of pain in every line of her face and eyes.

"Matt left me in the middle of the road." She swallowed hard, shaking her head while closing her eyes tightly. "We had a fight. My boss demanded from me to work overtime and I forgot to tell Matt, so he ended up waiting for me for an hour in his car. He was tired from the day and the week, and I think the stress built up on both our sides, and he just started yelling at me." Y/N shrugged, sniffing momentarily, trying to hold back her tears.

"Wait, he left you in the middle of the road, alone and in the cold? To come home walking?" Chris's eyes widened, a look of disbelief occupying his blue orbs as he tried to process the information.

"Yeah." The girl's voice sounded low and vulnerable, her head lowering and her eyes focusing on her hands above the duvet, feeling embarrassed by her boyfriend's actions. "I tried to intervene at some point, but he was so mad." She took a deep breath, biting her bottom lip hard, the pain almost numb next to the one she felt in her heart. "I don't know what I did wrong, Chris." Her voice broke, a dry sob escaping her throat.

"I'm so sorry for my brother's actions, Y/N." Chris sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I promise you did absolutely nothing wrong. Don't let those thoughts get the best of you."

"I just... Maybe I'm not really giving our relationship enough credit. Or maybe I'm not enough to fit into Matt's life patterns and busy days." She douted, playing with her fingers as a nervous act.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep? I imagine how tired you are and it's late. We can talk about this tomorrow, but try to clean your mind for now, okay?" He suggested.

Chris helped her lay down after receiving a nod of agreement, adjusting the duvet over her body. The girl moved her head, laying it on his left thigh, seeking comfort. He quickly put his hand on her hair, stroking the area calmly, lulling her into sleep.

After making sure she was already dreaming, the boy moved her slowly - so as not to wake her -, laying her completely on the mattress before getting up. He sat down in his gaming chair, crossing his legs on the seat.

Chris closed his eyes tightly, massaging his temples, trying to reduce the tension there. His eyes remained on Y/N's figure, caring for her sleep like a worried older brother, longing to have the power to erase the entire event from the girl's memory.

Matt would hear from him when he arrived.

© vanteguccir

[fuctacles]

[start here]

“What do you mean you forgot?!”

Eddie flails his hands wildly.

“I just did!” he yells back.

“What the fuck, Eddie?!”

“Language!” Claudia Henderson pipes up from somewhere in the house. Turns out, she could be just as loud as her son when she wanted, but that’s a given when you have to rise him by yourself.

“Sorry!” Dustin yells back. And then, after a thoughtful frown in his friend’s direction, yells again, not breaking eye contact: “Can Eddie stay the night?!”

“What?!” Eddie hisses through his teeth.

“Sure!” His mom’s answer is immediate. “As long as his uncle knows!”

Ms. Claudia knew he was living with his uncle? How much has their sons shared about him? Has he spilled unknowingly?

“Of course!”

Eddie was for now the only person maintaining a reasonable volume. He turned his whisper-hiss on Dustin again.

“I can’t just impose on your house like that, Henderson!”

“You’re not imposing, mom said it's okay.”

Eddie throws his hands in the air. As always, Dustin was right in the most infuriating way.

“You’ll stay over until you finish the paper.”

“I don’t need babysitting to do my work!”

“You kind of do,” his friend points out, right yet again. “And here you won’t get distracted with your guitar or campaign.”

“Do you think it’s all I do?” Eddie bristles, at which Dustin waves his hand dismissively. 

“Or a book, or a nap, or whatever gross shit you ‘almost adults’ get up to.” He makes a face, as apparently talking about jerking off is below him.

“A nap sounds great, to be honest…” he hums thoughtfully, his mind zeroing in on its pick. Dustin huffs. 

“Well, write an outline and we can discuss a nap.”

Eddie did not expect being held hostage in Henderson’s house to write a paper, on a weekday night no less, but here he was. He’s been in worse predicaments, that’s for sure, considering this cell had a radio, a soft couch, and snacks. And as much hot tea as he can stomach, though Claudia Henderson might be underestimating his love for a good earl gray blend.

The afternoon goes more or less as usual, he and Dustin do their homework in the boy’s bedroom, and then Eddie gets dragged into a family dinner. But instead of finishing up or going home, he’s being approached by Mrs. Henderson holding a huge bundle of spare bedding.

“Is the couch okay? Steve got the guest bedroom, but if you ask nicely, he’d probably switch with you.”

Eddie is shaking his head before she finishes talking, but Dustin is first actually to speak up.

“Can’t he sleep here?”

His mom frowns.

“This isn’t a sleepover. Your curfew still applies.”

“But!--!”

“No buts! Eddie, sweetie.” She turns to the older boy again. “I’ll leave the bedding on the couch, you can sleep there or talk it out with Steve when he comes back.”

“Thank you.” He smiles at her, knowing he won’t be talking with the guy.

Dustin keeps trying to argue, so she adds:

“Dusty’s curfew is at 10 and don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

“I’ll tuck him in myself, madam.”

“Traitors! Both of you!”

When the outline is done, his belly full of toast and the outside properly dark, Eddie finds himself alone in the living room. Claudia advised him to help himself to the kitchen if he got hungry and not to stay up too late. She also told him Steve had a closing shift that day and always drives his friend home, but should be back soon as well.

Eddie manages to write the beginning of his stupid essay before he hears the keys jingle at the front door. He’s itching to look up and seek out Steve, but only does so when he hears him stop by the doorway. He’s surprised to see him but quickly schools his expression into an easy smile.

“Eddie! Hi!”

“Hi.” Eddie gives him a small wave.

“Staying over?” Steve walks in, eyeing the bedding next to him.

“Yeah.” He nods and points at the notebook in front of him. “Gotta finish an essay for tomorrow.”

“Uh, good luck.” Steve winces. “Want something to eat? Drink?” He points towards the kitchen, where he’s headed. Eddie shakes his head.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He’s written three sentences by the time Steve leaves the kitchen and walks towards the bathroom. The sound of a running shower is incredibly distracting. He can picture a small waterfall, deep in the forest and glistening in the golden green sunbeams. Close by is a clearing, created by countless adventurers stopping by to refresh before continuing their journey. They’d strip naked, men and women alike, fighters and mages, dipping in the chilly water to clean off the dirt of the road, the sweat from fighting off petty criminals. The water would be just deep enough to tease at the curve of his ass, lapping against the skin and mocking any bystanders for their solid form, making them wish they could liquify too and slip over the rippling muscles, trace the dips and—

Bad Eddie!

He blinks so rapidly that he gets dizzy, but the paper in front of him becomes visible again. The shower is still running and he reminds himself he’s not into jocks. He’s not into his friends’ siblings, not into whatever Steve Henderson is, no matter how objectively attractive.

He writes another two sentences by the time the bathroom door opens and he makes a point of not looking up. The smell of coconut walks by and he focuses on the tip of his pen. He hears the fridge door open and the steps reach his spot by the couch again.

“Beer?”

The water still clings to the weary adventurer, dripping from his hair. He has no shame, no place for it in the life he leads, not with a body like that. There’s a towel strewn around his shoulders and he was nice enough to put on underwear. He’s holding two cans of chilled beer, and all Eddie can say is:

“Please.”

He’s not expecting him to sit down next to him, smelling of coconut and damp skin, reddened from hot water and scrubbing it with a towel.

“Cherish it, we’re drinking half of my weekly allowance.”

“You have a beer allowance?” Eddie gapes at him and Steve just nods, like it’s normal.

“I’m not 21 yet but Claudia knows I’ve been drinking already anyway. So as long as I’m doing it safely and out of Dustin’s eyesight, she’s okay with it. We share wine sometimes.”

"That's nice." Eddie smiles, cracking his can open. "Wayne doesn't monitor my alcohol intake, but it's not like I'm partying much. I just drink with him or with my band sometimes." He shrugs and takes a sip. It's a more expensive brand than he's used to but all beer tastes the same to him anyway.  

"Wayne is your uncle, right?" Steve asks, lowering his own can.

Eddie suddenly realizes it's nice to be remembered as something more than a freak or a Satanist. He gulps down the bitter liquid.

"Uh, yeah. I live with him. Been since I started middle school."

Steve nods thoughtfully, staring at the wall. For reasons he doesn't dare to name, Eddie wishes his eyes were on him instead. 

"Your band is uh, something Coffin? Sorry, I don't remember." He turns towards him and smiles sheepishly and Eddie is taking it all back, take these dark brown eyes away from his face immediately. Steve knows half of his band's name? Be still his traitorous heart!

"Corroded Coffin," he chokes out. 

Steve snaps his fingers.

"That's it! You guys were at the talent show a couple of years back, right?"

Be still, be still, be still. 

"Yeah," he manages. "I'm surprised you remember."

Steve chuckles, but it's not a pleasant one. Eddie prepares himself to be ripped into shreds. Again. He should be used to that by this point, shouldn't he? But his ego is as easily bruised as it is big. 

"How could I not? The biggest disaster Hawkins middle has seen in years."

Eddie winces. It was expected and it still hurt. At least his not-crush could finally go further into the 'not; category. 

Bust Steve had to open his stupid mouth again. 

"It was stupid, in my opinion. You guys are clearly talented, and the music you play shouldn't matter. Most people don't like metal--hell, I don't like metal." He slaps his hand onto his bare chest, making Eddie nod, because yes, he's listening, he's paying attention, and he is looking at his hairy pecs, thank you. "But it was a talent show, judges should be more objective." He slumps into the back of the couch. "You were great on the guitar, I've never heard anyone play like that. I was surprised you could sing too," he says, rolling his head to the side to look at Eddie, who chuckles nervously.

"Why, do I not look like I have an angelic voice?" he asks, tilting his head. 

Steve shakes his head, making a lazy motion against the couch cushion. The closing shift and the beer seem to be getting to him. 

"I guess I wasn't expecting you to be so..." He tilts his head to the side and rolls it back, considering his thoughts and how to voice them out. "Multifaceted?" he offers hesitantly like it's not a word he uses often. Eddie can relate. "I had heard the music teacher talk about your ear, how you can pick up any song insanely fast. I know your English essays get praised, and I know you're unafraid to be yourself, against all odds. It's something I couldn't do..." he trails off, suddenly looking sadder than Eddie knew how to deal with. But to his relief, Steve shakes his head to get back on track. "I just wasn't expecting you to have a nice voice like that. In Hellfire, too. It's like you're taking on a completely new persona. It sounds..." He hesitates before his next words." Freeing." He decides, nodding minutely to himself. "Like you can just tap into another dimension, a nice one," he presses for some reason. "And just live it out. Like for a moment, you're becoming a different person."

Eddie considers him. The thoughtful look on his face that he's still not qualified to deal with. 

"What's wrong with you?" he asks and he hopes against all hope that it doesn't come off condescending. He's genuinely curious, hell, genuinely worried. What makes someone like Steve--America's poster boy, attractive and athletic--think this way?

Steve rolls his head towards him again and his smile is everything but joyful.

"I'm not sure," he admits. "The adult life is more than I've bargained for, I guess." He shrugs, but Eddie knows it's the easy, dismissive answer. And he feels like he needs to get to the bottom of this, his essay be damned. Happily.

"You live with Ms. Henderson, though. You don't have to be an adult-adult," he points out and waits, hoping he's not prying too much.

"Yeah, but..." Steve seems to be collapsing in on himself. "A lot has happened," he says as much as Eddie knows at this point. "And I've been feeling so small against the world, against the universe..."

Eddie's surprised at the mention of the whole universe, but it's not like he hasn't been thinking about it too, so he nods encouragingly. 

"And I'm so grateful that Claudia took me in, I'm so relieved..." He hesitates for a millisecond before his face hardens. "That I don't have to deal with my parents anymore," he finishes with conviction. "But at this point, I don't know who I am. High school doesn't matter, the sports teams don't matter. I didn't get to college, I'm working a shitty job, and not even full-time!" He throws a hand in the air. "Actual high schoolers are taking up all the hours."  

Eddie winces. 

"You're talking to a super super senior here, I don't think I'm doing much better," he points out.

"But you have the band," Steve counters. "It's fun, you have friends for it and if you do it right, it's a great career path."

"If we do it right."

Steve turns abruptly towards him, eyes wide, before he settles back down with a sigh. 

"I believe you can. With your insane guitar skills and all," he offers. 

Eddie chuckles. 

"Thanks, man. But I'm pretty sure you can figure something out, too. I don't believe your 'sports don't matter' thing, there's a lot of money put into it," he points out, not hiding his disdain but Steve only snorts at his tone. "And you probably could land a role in a hair commercial if you tried. Hell, with your looks you could easily become an actor," he reassures his reluctant night companion.

"So you think all there is to me is my good looks?" Steve asks, rolling his head towards him again, this time pouting. 

It kind of is what he said, isn't it?

"Well, no." He straightens up, ready to fix his mistake. Well, maybe not ready, but hoping. "Henderson, uh, Dustin, sings you praises all the time and none of them are about your great hair."

"Good to know a high schooler values me," Steve scoffs, his pout deepening. 

"So!" Eddie ignores him. "If you're a good person and a pretty face, that's a whole world opening up for you. Because as sad as it is, people are simple and need pretty things to ogle. It's what sells and you could totally use it."

He looks at Steve again and when the pout doesn't disappear, he realizes he just dug himself a deeper hole, doubling down on relying on looks being Steve's only option. He stares at his bottom lip as if it could somehow pull him out. It moves and he's hoping for some guidance, but all he gets is...

"Should I just become a stripper, then?"

The flash of images is like a bullet to his head. Steve in fishnets and ridiculously high heels, bending on a pole, chest hair sticking to his pecs with sweat and shining with glitter. His lips tinted with lip gloss--

"I mean, um..." Why is Steve's hairy chest right there for him to see? "Who am I to stop you, right?" he offers with a nervous smile. "If it makes you money, it's a job." 

"I guess." He shrugs, eyes still on Eddie, but the pout is finally gone, so he can breathe easier. It's been replaced with a thoughtful expression. Steve presses the back of his hand to his arm. "Would you come to watch me?"

"Huh?" Eddie frowns at him, at the hand touching him, a single finger running against the sleeve of his shirt.

"If I was a stripper," Steve clarifies.

Would he?

It's never been something he considered, the environment more fit for sleazy older guys who can't get a girl, or businessmen too busy to bother with one. Or bachelor parties. Would he go to a strip club then, if he was invited? Probably. But would he go for someone specifically? That sounds stalkery. Would he go if it was Gareth?

Gareth would look stupid in fishnets. 

But if he asked Eddie, for moral support, would he? Probably. He tries to be a good friend. So he half-nods, half-shrugs.

"If you wanted me to."

"But would you want to?" Steve presses.

"I've never been to a strip club, I don't know." Eddie raises his shoulder in a defensive shrug, kind of lost in the weird turn their conversation has taken. 

Even more lost when Steve's hand drops lower, the back of his fingers reaching the hem of his sleeve and touching skin. The light scrape of his fingernails sends a shiver across his bones. He goes lower and lower, tantalizingly slow into the ticklish spot on Eddie's elbow.

"I'd give you a preview before the show, you could judge if it's good enough," he offers instead, hand sliding down to his thigh, resting just above the knee. Squeezing gently.

Eddie doesn't see Steve anymore. Just his big hand wrapped around his leg. There's a tiny mole on his wrist and a light dusting of hair all the way to his fingers. 

"Would you want me to strip for you?" Steve presses, snapping his attention back to himself. 

His brain is uncharacteristically empty, and It takes him a long while to register, process and understand the heavy gaze Steve's giving him, the fingers digging into the meat of his thigh, the boy next to him leaning in, his eyes dropping to Eddie's lips. 

Eddie jumps up.

"What?!"

Steve is up as well, hands out like he's placating a wild animal. Understandably, because Eddie feels like one. He wants to run like a startled gazelle, or drop dead like an opossum. But he's there frozen like a deer caught in car's headlights. Are the doors locked? How much time would he lose looking for the key if it's not in the lock? Maybe he should try the window instead?

"Shhh, please," Steve's hissing in desperation, but Eddie doesn't want to look at him. "I'll leave, I'm sorry. Please forget about it, I'm sorry."

He sounds even worse than Eddie feels, so he risks a glance towards him. His face is pale in the dim-lit living room, eyes widened in panic. 

Maybe Eddie has been the car all along. 

He knows Steve would flee if he reached out, so he doesn't dare to, slowly shows his open palms again, empty of weapons or judgement. 

"Hey, no, it's okay. I don't care about that. You just surprised me." Understatement of the century. Henderson's brother coming onto him? Impossible, abstract, a fever dream. Maybe he did have too much of Ms. Claudia's delicious earl grey. Something must have been in the tea, the school has been trying to tell him not to trust the Brits all along. 

"You don't care?" Steve repeats, not looking like he's going to puke at the very least. 

Eddie considers his words.

"Not in a 'I'm gonna punch you' way," he offers the best he's got for now. Which even he has to admit, is fucking shit. 

Steve finally relaxes, or rather deflates, half turning towards the dark corridor. 

"Thanks. Goodnight."

As the stairs creak under his steps, Eddie is still processing. He slumps back down onto the couch and for once is happy to find a distraction from his thoughts in the form of an unfinished essay. The thing gets done in no time but he barely sleeps that night. 

tags: @i-have-three-feelings @mblogs @awkwardgravity1 @imacowboy3 @just-a-tiny-void @clumsiluni @shotgunhallelujah @halfadoginatank @carlprocastinator1000 @irregular-child @dreamercec @mightbeasleep @nerdyglassescheeseychick @ellietheasexylibrarian @wheneverfeasible @wormapothacary @estrellami-1 @tinyplanet95 @steddiefication @blasvemous