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ghost-proofbaby · 8 months ago

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"THE FIRST DATE"

EXTRA CONTENT - "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 7k+ → a/n: the very long awaited first date. this was requested by several people. wahoo! also, fair warning for second-hand embarrassment. i think eddie munson is the only person who drag me dancing around a bowling alley and i wouldn't smite them on the spot.

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

EDDIE: What about a fancy dinner date?

YOU: boring.

YOU: and too traditional. when were you even born, Munson? the 60s???

EDDIE: Ha. Ha. I don’t see you making any worthwhile suggestions, sweetheart.

YOU: i don’t have to make any suggestions, old man. YOU’RE supposed to be wooing ME

God forbid anyone walked in on you at this moment.

You were like a high schooler, lying on your stomach with your feet kicking up into the air as you stared at the screen, happily bantering with Eddie over text. All the butterflies, all the blissful jitters, all that dopamine rush that comes with school girl crushes – every single cliche was present and was in full force as you discussed the details of your first date with him. You used to scoff (albeit with hidden longing) at all the romance movies that you truly believed had overplayed all the giddiness, but now you got it. It was disgusting, the way he had you wrapped around his finger so easily, the way he had turned you into a heart-eyed shell of the woman you once were in the matter of a week.

EDDIE: So you have a thing for older men is what you’re telling me.

YOU: i NEVER said that.

EDDIE: Didn’t have to, sweetheart. I can read between the lines.

Over the last week, since the two of you had won the bet and you had won over with insistence on him properly asking you out, Eddie had been tossing around date ideas as he tried to plan this very first occasion. The only time you had even seen him was when your entire group met up, the latest outing having been for brunch on Saturday under the guise celebrating the one week anniversary of you and Eddie surviving twenty four hours together without killing each other.

Didn’t stop him from calling and texting you. And it clearly hadn’t deterred him from losing his mind over doing right by you with this entire first date ordeal.

YOU: i don’t even have the energy to explain to you how many times you have proven to not do that in the past.

EDDIE: I’ve read between the lines in the past!

YOU: you most certainly have NOT

EDDIE: I was able to read when you wanted to kiss me that night. That’s reading between the lines.

And so the giddiness rears its head, full fledged as heat swarms your body and your cheeks ache from your smile.

YOU: i hate you

EDDIE: No, you don’t

YOU: i do. i really do.

EDDIE: You’re such a shit liar

You nearly jump out of your skin when there’s a knock on your dorm’s door, annoying and persistent as it taps out some random rhythm that must be a song of some sort. But whatever song it is, you can’t recognize it as you stand, walking over to answer.

“Did you forget your key aga-” you begin, assuming it was just your roommate. You’re shocked to see Robin and Steve standing there, “What are you guys doing here?”

“We had a study date, in case you had forgotten and not seen our hundreds of texts,” Steve huffs, quickly crossing his arms.

You hadn’t seen their texts. Most of your screen time had been a bit preoccupied with a certain metalhead.

“Oh, shit,” your face falls as you open the door wider, side-stepping and motioning for them to come in.

“Yeah,” Steve snarks as he comes right in, Robin hot on his trails and seeming in a far more pleasant mood as the boy mocks you, “Oh, shit.”

Robin stops beside you as Steve helps himself to a seat in your desk chair, “Don’t mind him. He’s just cranky because he has to get A’s on all his mid-terms to keep his 3.0.”

“I am not cranky-”

“You are!”

“Am not!”

“You so are,” Robin continues to egg him on, choosing your bed as her resting place.

Your phone bounces a bit from the way she throws herself down on the sorry excuse for a mattress, and you recall how you had yet to reply to Eddie. Fuck.

“When did we even make these plans?” you ask, genuinely confused as you shut the door. You already miss the peace and quiet of being alone, free to preen at your phone and giggle to your heart’s content at the world’s worst flirt over text.

“Saturday,” Steve groans, throwing his head back.

“It was after brunch,” Robin clarifies, lifting herself up from how she was lounging amongst your blankets, “I mean, you seemed a bit distracted when you agreed, but… We did text you about it.”

You had been distracted. Eddie had managed to quietly ask the waitress to include your tab with his so he could pay for it without your knowledge, and you’d spent the entire time torn between being upset with the boy and absolutely fawning. It was a bit pathetic, looking back at it – the fact that those were the only two options your mind had presented you with. You’d scorned him over the phone later that night, and he had only laughed. You swear you can still hear it now, having heard it several times since – a low chuckle that rattled into the caverns of your chest, that bounced amongst vines of affection and willed open blooms of adoration just a little bit wider.

Part of you was still waiting for the wilting. For the other shoe to drop, for all of what had been exposed and had been planted to vanish from your grasps. That first Monday morning, you’d even woken up worried it had all been a dream.

“I’ve been busy,” you lamely try to excuse your radio silence.

“Busier than normal?” Steve’s brows quirk up, leaning back in your chair that emits a squeak of protest, “Or have you just been busy with new friends?”

Your lips twist and your nose twitches in confusion, “New friends? What the Hell are you going on about, Harrington?”

Robin fully sits up now, watching with piqued interest.

“Eddie,” Steve gets straight to the point, his previous sour mood finally melting slightly, “You can’t honestly tell me that nothing changed after that night.”

It was something neither of you had really discussed. Steve had seen you two, knew that a lot had truly changed based off of the way you’d tossed him right into the middle of the mess there at the end, but you and Eddie had never said anything about being together. Not to your friends, and not even to each other.

“Just because I don’t want to tear his head off his shoulders anymore doesn’t mean we’re spending every waking moment together,” you force your best scowl, as if that wasn’t exactly what you had yearned for all week.

Eventually, it had to wear off. That’s what you told yourself – at some point the initial rose tones would fade less vibrant, and Eddie’s intense occupation of your mind would lessen with the hues.

“I can’t believe it, but I am siding with Stevie on this one,” Robin finally contributes, “I mean, you guys won’t even tell us what happened that night.”

“Nothing exciting,” you’re quick to lie, “Just… I don’t know. Boring stuff. Getting on each other’s nerves, sitting around on his couch,” that gets a bitter scoff from Steve that almost makes you freeze up. Damn Eddie for teasing him with the truth about the couch, “Nothing worth making a big deal over. Like I said, we just learned to… to… tolerate each other.”

Tolerate was an interesting way to put spending hours on the phone together each night, sometimes falling asleep while still on the line.

Steve still looks as though he’s recalling all of Eddie’s annoying taunts from that night while Robin only grins salaciously.

“Tolerate each other?” she mimics you, leaning forward and pressing her palms into the edge of the mattress beside her knees, “Babe, have you two even said a single mean thing to each other since that night? I think he even smiled at you on Saturday. You’re practically married with two and a half kids already.”

He had smiled at you – multiple times. And each one had struck the most delicate of daggers right into your chest, lighting you aflame under his attempted clandestine attention. Every time those big, brown eyes had met yours from across the table, the ache you’d started to hold for him had only doubled in size. By the end of that morning, when the day had technically started to bleed out into the afternoon, you were nothing more than a vessel of pining for the boy that you hadn’t even gotten the chance to brush against amongst your friends.

“Whatever,” you murmur as you reach out to snatch up your phone, “I never even understood the whole half kid thing. Like, how the fuck do you have two and a half kids?”

“I’m sure Eddie would be more than happy to show you,” Steve teases despite his still half-traumatized look.

You’re quick to reach out a hand to whack the back of his head, “Shut up. Are we gonna keep sitting here while you two try to pry something that doesn’t exist out of me, or are we going to go study?”

Steve’s grumpy mood returns as he rubs the back of his head, him and Robin standing in sync to exit the room.

But before the three of you exit the dorm, you check your phone one last time, having to bite down on that girlish grin when you see two new text message notifications.

EDDIE: It’s official. I’m a genius.

EDDIE: Say, are you free tomorrow night?

—

Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough. A shift at your job, one too many hours spent sitting through lectures, ensuring a night of studying with Steve and Robin — all petty distractions, roadblocks on your path to the most highly anticipated first date of your life. Eddie wouldn’t even entertain you with details, only telling you to dress fairly comfortably and to put on your best game face.

And you did. To some extent, you really did.

But you’d finished getting ready hours in advance, something you blamed on nerves, and having that much time to kill with such nerves was dangerous.

Simple makeup turned a bit more extravagant, you had tried on nearly every outfit in your possession, you’d even eyed your hair curler on more than one occasion.

Comfortable. What the Hell was that even supposed to mean?

Your only solution had been to text the man of the hour himself, something to busy your thumbs instead of twiddling them or involving them in taking your date night look several steps over just comfortable.

YOU: okay, so. can you define ‘dressing comfortably’?

EDDIE: According to Google, “dressing in a way that makes you feel at ease in your body” :)

YOU: fuck off. you know that’s not what i meant.

Still no clues. He wasn’t caving so easily to your pestering. You should have known better, considering he’d been professionally dodging any questions or inquiries you had regarding the date for the last twenty four hours.

EDDIE: Don’t overthink it, sweetheart.

That certainly didn’t help. Not even in the slightest.

You don’t even reply to his text, already back to pacing your dorm before you finally cave to an impulsive decision you’d been grappling with for hours now.

There was a newish, sporty skirt in the bottom of your drawers. It was comfortable, it had built-in shorts, and it looked damn good on you. The hem fell right around mid-thigh and always flared in an overly satisfying fashion when you’d spin while wearing it. The material of the pleats was nearly impossible to wrinkle. It wasn’t overly soft against your palms as you still nervously smoothed it down once you’d shimmied it on, but you still repeated the motion in hopes of soothing some of your nerves.

You’re sure it’s the wrong option until Eddie sees you in it.

He texts when he’s on his way and you find yourself bounding outside to wait for him far too early to be reasonable. He hadn’t even arrived until after your back had nearly become one with the brick exterior of the dorm building's front wall, leaning into the scratch of the clay on your shoulder blade a welcome distraction until you heard the roar of a motorcycle engine.

You nearly grow dizzy from the sudden rush of nerves.

This is really happening. You’re about to go on a date with Eddie, the first time of what you hope will be many to come.

“Took you long enough, Munson,” you snark loud enough for him to hear as he clicks the Yamaha’s kickstand into place right by the vibrant red curb. There’s a sign not even a full foot away from where he’s standing that clearly spells out NO PARKING.

Oh.

If you hadn’t already been riddled with nerves, your knees would have gone weak at the sight of him.

Since when is that dressing casual and comfortable?

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” he shoots right back as he lifts the helmet off his head, and something inside of you clenched tightly at the sight with no plans to unwind any time soon.

Dark wash jeans plaster his legs, heavy combat boots smacking against the pavement as he walks to meet you halfway. The black shirt he’s donning isn’t extravagant, but something in the way that t-shirt material stretches across his chest has you burning from the inside out. He’s even gone so far as to tuck the shirt into the jeans, his black leather belt on show as he hugs the helmet below his bicep. And his normal leather jacket — you don’t believe you’ve ever seen it look better, ever seen it fit his shoulders so snugly. He’s dressed to perfectly match the all black bike, the image of a bad boy straight out of every cheesy movie you’d ever seen.

The only thing that breaks the illusion is the boyish grin pulling the arrival of his dimples along with it as he watches you push off the wall. His eyes are sparkling as you approach him, a constellation of hope and new beginnings twinkling right before you.

He’s not sorry that you waited on him. Not in the slightest. Especially when those starry eyes travel over your appearance.

You have to force yourself to tsk, because otherwise you might end up just another pile of ash for the poor landscapers to sweep up, “Haven't you heard it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?”

You stop in your steps just far enough to catch the way his eyes take you in. Drinking slowly. Following the trace of the just fancy enough tank top that you’d chosen to balance the skirt. Lingering on the plush of your inner thighs, barely peeking out the bottom of your chosen outfit for the night.

You almost start to feel self conscious until he lets out a little sigh, nearly a whimper as his eyes trail back up to find yours.

“I’m sure I have,” he chokes out, composure momentarily vanished as you distract him so easily, “But aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“I could say the same about you.”

You’re like a shark. If you stop swimming in the upstream flirtations, you’ll drown instantaneously in his big brown eyes.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you swear you see a hint of a blush across the highs of his cheek bones and sides of his neck as he holds out the helmet for you, “At least with me, it will.”

“Even the top secret location of this date?” you ask as you take the helmet, considering putting up a fight. You still hated him not wearing one for your expense, and you weren’t exactly eager for any sort of helmet hair, “Do I have to wear-“

He knows the end of your sentence before you even finish, “Yes. No exceptions; you have to wear it every time you ride.”

“Every time?”

“It’s for safety.”

“Isn’t it sort of unsafe for you to go without one?”

“You’re wearing the helmet,” he sighs, nose twitching with indignation as he holds staunchly onto the position, “And to answer your other question, no. I guess flattery will get you almost everywhere, but it’s a surprise.”

You fiddle with the chin straps, looking down as you feel his gaze burning the top of your head from this angle, “Fine. But we really should just get me my own helmet. You need to wear one, too. And…” you look back up, pausing before you properly put on the piece of safety equipment, “It’s a little oversized. You know, considering it was meant to fit your big head first.”

He narrows his eyes, still lit up with a sort of playfulness you haven’t grown accustomed to being on the receiving end of.

You like him quite a bit more than you bargained for. A lot more than five hundred dollars, or twenty four hours, ever would have summarized.

“We can go helmet shopping another day.”

We. Not just him, not just you. But you and him. A unit. A couple.

“It’s a date,” you whisper just before you slide on the helmet. You completely miss the wildfire that the ghost of a blush has finally become. You completely miss the way that your talk of you two together, you two as a couple with a future, affects him just as his has an effect on you.

Helmet hair is worth it, you decide, once you’ve saddled onto the bike behind him and he revs up the engine once more. You’re not as shy as you had been on that fateful night the week before, quick to wrap your arms around his middle and let your chest press hard against his back. The leather crinkles against the contact, the heat of him radiating, and you think you could spend forever like that.

You’re almost upset that you can’t smell his cologne through the helmet. That once terrible scent of boy.

Every curve and every slow stop is another excuse to cling to him tighter, every red light a reason for him to turn his head and catch a glimpse of you with a small grin that never once falters. You swear at one of the lights, when he revs his engine in a particularly rowdy fashion right as the light turns green and takes off particularly fast, you can hear his laughter over the loud wind mingling with the roaring engine. You know you can feel it, vibrating in his chest right along with your own that gets lost in the chaos of the unusually busy Tuesday night street.

When he pulls into the parking lot behind the older building, you catch sight of the neon sign out front and find yourself laughing again.

“Bowling?” you question, yanking the helmet off less than gracefully as he stands off the bike you’d just swung yourself off of, “You’re taking me bowling?”

He takes the helmet from you, suddenly looking a bit shy as he averts his gaze, “Not just any bowling. It’s… It’s the coolest bowling alley you will ever go on a first date at.”

“You say that to every girl you bring here?”

You’re just teasing him, trying to poke fun rather than succumb to all the fluttering that bruises your inner chest and stomach. But then he has to ruin your fun, strike a match and set you aflame so adroitly.

“Only the prettiest ones.”

You should continue the banter, challenge him on just who else fell into that category, but you can’t. It’s in that glimmer of his eyes and the indent of his dimples, the way he looks at you as he slowly rises and somehow softens his gaze all while keeping a threat of a bite beneath the tone. His eyes tell you that you are, without a doubt, the prettiest girl he’s referring to. That in this moment, you begin and you end his world, and not even the commotion of traffic or nip in the air that creeps up as the summer sun sets can deter his attention being set solely on you.

But his tone suggests something far more dangerous. He says it like you’re a prey, an unattainable catch that he’ll be chasing for the entire night. A wicked growl to that voice you’ve been falling asleep to over the phone far more than you care to admit in just a short week.

He says it like he’s going to ruin you. As if he hasn’t already injected himself into your veins, as if he isn’t the gasoline drowning and raging the burn within you.

But he keeps up the gentleman persona in the short walk up to the door of the establishment. Holds out his hand for yours to fit perfectly into, guides you to the inner sidewalk as cars fly past and the only thing between you and them is him.

The hunt is on from the moment he opens that door for you.

“Ever the gentleman,” you muse, voice hardly above a whisper as you brush past him and finally catch that smell of boy.

You think you’d drown in his cologne now if he gave you the chance. Bury your face in his chest, wrap your arms around him and press any inch of your own bare skin to his.

“Always,” it would have been a weak response if he’d only said it and nodded his head, but he takes it a step further. Right as you pass him, entering the brisk AC, his hand ghosts over the expanse of your lower back. Fingertips nimbly brushing right above the band of that skirt, grazing your tank top just hard enough for you to feel it and shiver.

It doesn’t stop there. The back and forth, the chase, the hunt.

The way he makes sure your knuckles brush his as he hands you your shoes, even more brushes of his palm flat against your lower back repetitively, the way he insists on a heavier ball that makes his arms strain and muscles display. Over the chatter from the bowling alley’s fairly nice bar and the music trickling out of the overhead speakers, you’re sure that your heartbeat has joined the ranks of audible noises to echo the nice haunt. You’re positive he can hear every thump, can pinpoint the exact moments that poor aching muscle inside your chest begins to race.

You go for a smaller weighted ball. You don’t think you could handle anything heavier with your current case of weak knees.

“Only an eight pounder?” Eddie tuts at you as you approach your designated lane again, “Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that.”

No, I can’t. Your fault, really.

“I have weak arms,” you try to defend yourself as you rotate the red ball in your hands.

His favorite color. It hadn’t been intentional, but the swirling shades of stark scarlet and deep maroons is a nice touch.

“Poor baby,” he teases, leaning into you as you deposit the ball right behind his own ball on the track where it already rests.

A twelve pounder. A smoky quartz design, black base swirling with misty white and gold accents. Far prettier than yours by a landslide.

And fitting for the pretty boy you’re faced with when you turn to watch him shedding his leather jacket onto the bench a few steps away.

“Not all of us are some big, strong macho man,” you scowl insincerely, moving to sit beside him and follow his lead in switching out shoes, “I’m betting now that by halfway through the game, you’ll be caving and begging to use my ball, Munson.”

You’re looking down as you casually say it, one shoe already half off and unaware of just how close he had gotten until his hand reaches over. Not even a second later, he has your chin pinched between his fingers, gentle as it guides you and forces you to look at him, “Careful. Bets seem to be awfully dangerous when it comes to the two of us.”

Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him.

The graze of those fingers against your jaw leaves a trail of ash, burning that lingers and thrums beneath your skin, heart officially skipping beats rather than merely speeding up. You’re coming to realize that when it comes to keeping up with Eddie Munson in his element, in all his charm and flirtatious banter, you’re a bit hopeless.

He has you trapped under his thumb — metaphorically and literally.

“Are you always this flirtatious with all your dates?” you spit out against your better judgment.

Why do I keep bringing up his previous flames? Do I really care? Do I really want to put myself through the torture of hearing about all of the girls, or guys, he’s wooed before me?

The same glittering eyes, the same hidden smirk from earlier. “Only the prettiest ones.”

“You keep saying that,” you mumble, chin pressing into his fingertips against their hold, “Just how many pretty dates have you had?”

The pride softens in an instant. His gaze is less sharp, grin less predatory as he raises his eyebrows.

“Does it really matter?”

You can’t help it. Your mind races ahead of you before you can stop it; you’re plagued in an instant with images of how many dates, how many other people he had indulged in over the year you two had wasted hating each other. You try to recall overhearing him describe any of those dates, try to remember if Nancy ever mentioned Eddie passing up one of the hangouts for a romantic endeavor.

You come up empty handed, but it doesn’t stop the overthinking.

“I guess not,” you feebly answer, unable to tear your eyes from him.

I guess not is really code for it matters so much more than I care to admit. An impossible riddle you can’t even expect him to pick up on.

His hand falls from your chin and finds home on your bare knee, warm palm swallowing it up. He gives it a squeeze, and you wonder for a moment if maybe he can read your secretive language. Maybe he’s seeing right through your overconfident front, maybe he has felt every racing of your pulse.

Maybe, he’s as nervous as you are.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t think you can bear another moment of this new intimacy. It had been easier when the two of you were on a ticking clock, confined to his apartment and parameters of a bet that never really mattered. Vulnerability had less of an edge when you could yearn and pine to see it flourish in the real world — but now, here it was, twisting away within you both a week later and pricking away as the stakes at hand come to light.

“Are you ready for me to absolutely demolish your ass at this game?” you joke.

“Demolish me? That’s some big talk for someone using an eight pound ball, babe.”

“It’s not about how much you’re packing, pretty boy,” you scoff, “Just that you know how to use it.”

He smiles slowly, but the quick squeeze of his hand tells you the vulnerability is here to stay. He feels that cutting edge too, and he’s not shying away.

He leans right into it, just as he does your personal space, “Bring it on.”

—

“You’re cheating!”

“I’m not!”

“You are! Who the fuck gets three strikes in a row?”

Eddie strolls back towards you, self-satisfied smirk curling his lips and his hips swaying with arrogance as you continue to pout at his sudden show of sportsmanship, “I believe the answer is me, sweetheart. Wanna see me make it four?”

“I hope you just jinxed yourself,” you scowl as you hop up off the couch and Eddie swaggers right past you, hardly affected by the palm you smack into the center of his chest for good measure, “I hope you roll nothing but gutter balls the rest of the game, you prick.”

“Like you have been?”

“Burn in Hell.”

Eddie’s cackle echoes through the fairly busy alley. It wasn’t overwhelming, the lanes of either side of yours staying empty, the only other groups several ways down. So far, the date has been good. Even if Eddie was wiping the floor with your severe lack of skill.

Both of you had opted for Cokes rather than alcohol, Eddie had ordered some sort of platter with onion rings and mozzarella sticks that the two of you had easily been devouring between turns. Playful banter had been kept up easier than breathing, barking words without bite being snapped back and forth loud enough for the entire establishment to hear the two of you being exceptionally childish.

At some point, your nerves had melted. And you didn’t even need a lick of alcohol in your system for it to happen.

“Try to aim for the pins this time,” Eddie continues to taunt you from where he’s spread out on the brown faux leather bench you’d been taking turns warming the seat of.

Your fingers slide into the holes of your ball with ease, courtesy of the grease from all your snacking, “Try shutting the fuck up.”

More of his laughter sounds off, and you nearly trip on your walk up to the markings on the linoleum wood flooring. It’s a nice sound; a beautiful response to words that could easily read identical to how the two of you used to fight. But these aren’t fighting words, they’re words passed between two… two… friends?

Is that how you should continue to classify this? Were you and Eddie really still just friends?

The sound of your ball stuttering in hops across the beginnings of the lane replaces his laughter

No. Easy question – there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that the two of you were definitely not friends. Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken. And for the remainder of this date, you could live with that.

Eddie sucks in an audible breath, letting the air whistle between his teeth as your ball veers at the last second and misses the pins entirely. Again.

“Th-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, spinning on your heel and holding up a warning finger. It’s harder to hold in your own grin when Eddie’s already smiling into his fist, leaning his elbows onto his thighs as his big eyes peer at you, clearly amused, “Don’t say a word.”

His knuckles dig further into his mouth.

“I meant to do that.”

His eyebrows shoot up, still not speaking.

“It takes real talent to avoid pins like that.”

He leans over a bit further, and you swear you hear him emit a snort from behind that damn fist.

You open your mouth to continue with the bit when the clattering of your ball returning to the ball rack comes from behind you. Eddie only shrugs cheekily as he finally drops his fist to grab for a mozzarella stick, his smile contained but those damn dimples still flashing you brilliantly.

Without taking your eyes off him, you hold up a warning finger for emphasis once more, trying to bite down any signs of your own amusement as you take a few steps back in the direction of the rack and repeat yourself, “I meant to do that.”

“Sure you did,” he muses before taking a bite of the mozzarella stick smothered in marinara sauce.

“I did.”

“I believe you.”

“I-”

It seems the Universe is in the business of interrupting you two. As if it seems all that hope and potential flourishing in the space between you two and decides that simply won’t do. As if it’s too much.

Maybe it is. But maybe, just maybe, you’re enjoying too much.

Suddenly, before you can even finish your sentence or grab for your ball, the lights of the alley have dimmed. A few spotlights over the alleys themselves light up, erratically waving patches of light over the shining floor as the music that had been playing overhead cuts out to be replaced with some poor employee’s voice.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen-” you and Eddie share a confused glance, “-The time is officially ten o’clock, meaning nineties night has officially begun! Have fun, and enjoy yourselves as we throw you back to the decade of Nirvana and Beanie Babies for the rest of the night with these straight jams.”

Your face scrunches up in a comical cringe before the buzzing static of the speaker can even cut out and the beginning lines of Say My Name by Destiny’s Child begins to play.

You aren’t entirely sure of how it happens. Maybe it’s all the playfulness in there, in all that electric teasing at the tip of Eddie’s tongue and all that hopelessness bubbling up in your chest as it dawns on you of the fact you were finally on a proper date with Eddie. Maybe it’s simply a good night for you to continue to make a fool of yourself, and Eddie sees it as a chance he’ll always be right there with you, prepared to make a scene as he follows your lead.

He stands up to approach you where you’re still rooted beside the rack, matching your own grin that blooms genuinely at the sound of the song.

It was one of your favorite’s. A small fact about yourself you don’t think you’ve ever told Eddie – that you can remember.

It’s small, at first. Just mouthing along to the first verse as he moves towards you, recognizing that excitement lighting up in you, shimmying his shoulders ever so slightly. He looks like an idiot – he’s absolutely your idiot.

“Did you know it was nineties night?” you mumble as he gets closer, shaking your head slightly.

“Stevie might have mentioned something about you enjoying nineties nostalgia,” he drawls, still taking sure steps towards you.

“Did you ask him for advice for our first date, Eddie?”

“No,” he scoffs quickly, finally close enough to grab you gently by your hips. He’s nowhere near manhandling you, but it’s still reminding you of the game, of the hunt, at play. You’re his prey and he’s officially making his move. Carelessly, nonchalantly. “He mentioned it ages ago. When they were trying to convince me you weren’t all bad.”

Your smile widens, “Was this around the time I threw a glass at your head, by chance?”

“Maybe.”

The dulcet instrumental of the song continues on overhead, beginning to pick up in beat, making you nod your head along as Eddie finally starts to tug you closer.

You’re in public, and you both should know better than to make absolute fools of yourselves, but it doesn’t seem to matter when all you can really see is him.

Your friends had also spent ages trying to convince you that Eddie wasn’t all bad, but you’d always known that much. You’d seen glimpses of the good in him from that very first night. When he’d made you feel welcome, when he’d given you a life-preserver to cling to when you’d felt most out of your element. You knew that Eddie Munson was one of those people who had a hardwired habit of trying to make people feel welcome.

Even in a room full of people, when you’d be non-stop embarrassing yourself endlessly.

All his jests had been further proof, but when he sees your rock on your heels as you enjoy the music, he takes it a step further. He grabs one of your hands with his free one, keeping a hold of your waist, encouraging all your giddiness over the song. Every single person in the establishment could be staring at the two of you – you didn’t care.

When he starts dramatically mouth along to the chorus of the song, swinging you around slightly, it takes very little provocation for you to join in with him.

You both could’ve taken a step further, and properly sang along in the most obnoxious voices possible, but you don’t. There’s still the slightest blanket of security there as Eddie keeps the antics mostly silent, reserving his dramatic reenactments of vocal runs for your eyes only. Even yanking your hand up close to his mouth, as though it was a microphone, as he swings you around again. You quickly become a giggling disarray, hardly able to keep up your own footing, eyes squinting with joy and what must be the messiest and ugliest smile possible showing off all your teeth. The type of smile and laughter you’d normally try to hide on instinct. The kind of smile you cover up.

But you can’t, because Eddie is keeping his sturdy grip on your hands with his own, and he’s drinking in every second of your joy. He’s vibrant as he watches the way he’s entertaining you. Shamelessly staring, making his antics falter.

“Baby, say my name,” he purposefully sings along dramatically, quietly but terribly off-key.

You can’t help but let out a snort, “Eddie, you’re an idiot.”

He ignores you, and continues to give you your own private concert, switching rapidly between singing the main song and the backup vocals, which only makes your stomach further ache with laughter.

This is what you’d been yearning for the last year. This silly side of him, an absolute fool who couldn’t care less about the stares of others.

The seductive side of him was enticing. The honest version of him nice. But this side of him? Carefree, rowdy, indiscreet? It may be your favorite yet.

Only the sound of a nearby teen couple mocking you two break the moment, just as you’ve begun to jokingly whisper-sing back into Eddie’s pretend microphone made of your joined fists. They make what must be vomiting noises, and you catch the tail end of one of them jokingly poking a finger towards their outstretched tongue as you finally sigh deeply.

You should probably feel embarrassed. Later on, when you find yourself in bed later tonight and attempt to find some rest, you’ll probably ruminate and burn yourself alive with all the embarrassment. But not right now; not with your boy still in front of you, smiling just as desperately wide as you were.

His dimples would probably consume him if you let him go on any longer.

“Eddie,” you choke out through residual laughter, tugging your hands free as the song starts to fade out. You make no move to remove yourself from him, though. Your arms find home around his shoulders, hands splayed just below the nape of his neck, “People are staring.”

“Good,” he snipes back, finally dropping the act but not the glee, “Probably entranced by how pretty you look right now.”

“Pretty? I probably look like a loser. They’re probably already engraving a trophy for world’s ugliest smile-”

“Oh, don’t do that,” his forehead falls against yours, rolling his eyes, “Shut up and take the compliment. I love your smile.”

There’s something unspoken there. He loves your smile, yes, but he’s also been denied of it for a very long year. It’s the first step of making it up to you, making up for lost time.

Making a fool out of himself, just to see that goddamn smile.

With your arms around his neck, his forehead pressed against yours and the tip of his nose bumping yours, the game of bowling is all but forgotten. Even the teens, still side-eyeing the two of you, can be pushed aside in your mind.

All your insecurities of the night that have crept in the shadows become insignificant. You don’t care how many dates Eddie has been on before you, you don’t care that you’ve clearly become a prey caught in his web. You don’t even care about the way you’re losing.

It’s the perfect first date. When one of his hands wander, playing with the hem of your skirt, knuckles and rings brushing against bare skin, it’s perfect.

“Hey,” you whisper, “I’ve got a question.”

“I have an answer.”

“You sound very sure there, big guy.”

“I am sure,” he pulls his face away just a bit, but his gentle touch against your thigh lings. The other hand stays warm against your lower back, keeping you pressed up against him, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken.

Hearing him say it out-loud will still be nice, though.

“Does this mean we’re official?” you breathe out, trying to cling to all your bravery and not let it slip away, “Like – God, I sound like a high schooler right now – does this mean we’re… you know…”

“Dating?” he’s grinning, unable to hide his giddiness.

“Yeah. Dating.”

The hand tracing circles on your exposed outer thigh rises up to your cheek, brushing along it as he tucks a bit of your hair back. You swear you see it shaking out of the corner of your eye.

“I sure would like to be,” it was shaking. You know it surely, because his voice is as well. Vulnerable and honest, just how you like him, “We don’t have to tell the others, we can take it slow, but-”

“But we’re dating.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement – an affirmation. You and Eddie Munson, the man you swore you hated just over a week ago, were dating.

He only nods, and you consider the way that his dimples might just swallow you whole instead of him.

Not enemies, not friends – lovers. It has quite the nice ring to it.

“Well, in that case,” you finally pull away, dropping your arms slowly and letting your fingers catch on the chain of the necklace he currently wears. A red guitar pick, something you’ll surely learn the story behind soon enough. “Better go and roll that fourth strike, boyfriend.”

His head rolls back, and a joking groan falls from his lips as his neck stretches and nearly distracts you momentarily, “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re making fun of me, you little shit.”

Another laugh falls from your lips as you step around him, quirking an eyebrow. Perfect first date, indeed.

“Get used to it, Munson.”

“I plan to, Sweetheart.”

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

#ghost's stories #beyond the hours #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #their love language is just being mean to each other i'll be honest #i've been nervous about posting extra content about them for a while but save the leaves #i might revamp the masterlist #also side note but i also think reader's outfit would totally get a scolding solely because that is not safe attire for riding on a bike #eddie should have shoved her into his jacket and scowled about it but he's just easily distracted by how pretty he finds her

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cashmoneyyysstuff · 9 months ago

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dk why but im thinkin about shoto w a sweet tooth who follows you and hangs around the kitchen waiting for the cookies you made to finish baking while staring at the oven like a kid, soooooo.. (shoto might be a bit ooc, slight super small pinch of angst but super fluffy as usual ! gn reader, mentions of food, lemme know if i missed sum else ! <3)

"sho.." shoto hums in response, eyes fixed on the oven.

"the cookies aren't gonna bake faster if you stare at 'em."

you hold back a giggle when he slowly turns to look up at you from where he's crouched down on the floor. his eyes that were practically pasted to the oven widening the slightest bit like he'd been caught doing something bad. he blinks at you, then swiftly looks away.

"i'm just checking to make sure they don't burn." he explains. you don't know if you've seen him blink more than four times the entire time you've been staring at him staring at the chocolate chip marshmallow cookies you made together. (together meaning with him watching you most of the time and occasionally mixing. as much as you love your boyfriend, he should absolutely not be trusted around food.)

"that's what we have the timer for." you quip, leaning against the kitchen cupboard and crossing your arm with a smirk.

he looks up at you, then fixes the kitchen timer sitting on the stove with a little frown that you recognize as a pout, you huff out a light laugh at his cute expression. from his miniscule facial expressions you can see he's a little embarrassed at the fact you'd outsmarted him. he turns to look at the cookies again.

"i can see when they're done baking better from here. faster than the timer can."

"oh yeah ?"

he nods "very clearly."

you snort. after looking at him for a while longer you sigh to get his attention. it works immediately and he looks up at you, eyes occasionaly trailing back to the oven towards the cookies as he waits to hear what you want.

you wordlessly spread your arms out, batting your eyelashes at him. he blinks, then a small smile grows on his handsome face in realization. he slowly walks over to you before pulling you into a comfortable hug, he huffs out a chuckle when you squeeze his waist.

shoto buries his head into your shoulder, right into the crook of your neck, and breathes you in. he’s had a habit of doing that often—if not every time you hug—and you don’t really know why he does, but you definitely don’t mind.

"you could've just told me that you wanted to try the cookies first." you tease, giggling when he huffs against your shoulder. he turns his head to speak against your neck.

"that wasn't my intention." he mumbles weakly, nosing at your neck when you scoff out a laugh.

"right. that's why you were practically glued to the oven mere seconds ago."

"i did no such thing."

"don't lie !" you reprimand, tugging at his hair lightly in joking punishment "you're not getting any cookies if you do." you hear him huff and feel a slight smirk growing against you.

"i..may have been surveying them rather closely—"

"very closely."

"—but it was simply to check." he finishes, ignoring your comment. shoto noses at your shoulder and sighs "i felt like even though you wanted to make the cookies together, i was barely able to help you with anything.." he trails off. your eyebrows furrow, and you try pull shoto out of the nest he's made for himself inside your shoulder, but shoto could be extremely stubborn when he wanted to be. his arms tighten around your waist and he his hair tickles against your cheek when he tries to shove his head inside your shoulder somehow.

you sigh, giving up your attempts to get him to look at you and simply settle on running your fingers through his hair, soothing him as he sighs contently. "sho, you helped me out lots. you always took over for me when i didn't feel like mixing anymore and helped me out with those big strong arms of yours." you feel him smile against you and your smile grows mirroring his.

" but i really wanted to help you out more, i know i'm not really good at this.." he mutters sadly, a frown grows on his face and you feel the corners of your mouth turn down as well.

"but you're real good at a lot of other things ! i'm not great at everything either." you reason, absentmindeldly twirling a strand of his hair around your finger "but i could teach you some tips and tricks, if you want."

he looks up at you at that, the smile growing on his face makes your heart race. "really ? i might be a little hard to manage." he jests, running his hands up and down your sides. his eyes brighten the more he looks at you and you're 100% sure you mirror his expression when you throw him a smug smirk.

"don't you underestimate me, mr todoroki ! you're nothing compared to what i've dealt with before."

"oh ?" he hums, lifting a brow. you nod and his smiles grows " and what, if i may ask, have you dealt with before ?" he challenges.

"that is classified information that i cannot disclose. you're just gonna have to trust me." you shoot back and press your finger to his lips, snickering when his eyes widen a fraction before he looks down at you playfully. he takes hold of your hand and presses a kiss to each of your fingertips, making fireworks go off inside your stomach.

"well then," he presses a final lingering kiss to the back of your hand with a run of his thumb against your skin. his eyes glow with mischief when he looks at you.

"i'm in your care."

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kimmie2me · 2 months ago

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A Taste of Care

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Pro Hero!Bakugou x AFAB!Pro Hero!Reader

.....

The invitation to the annual Pro Hero Gala lands with a quiet thud on your desk, and you nearly ignore it, honestly – it’s one of those events everyone expects top heroes to attend, but no one actually enjoys. You wonder how the organizers can still think it’s a good idea. You glance over at Bakugou, who rolls his eyes the second he catches you even looking at it. “Not a chance,” he grumbles, turning back to whatever report he’s pretending to focus on. “Hell’ll freeze over before I show up there.”

“Yeah, but…they invited us both.” You can’t help it—the thought of skipping nags at you, guilt bubbling up. You turn the envelope in your hands, debating. “I mean, if we don’t go, they’ll probably think we don’t care or something…”

“Good,” he mutters, "Because I do not care."

You make the decision then, mostly because you can’t imagine telling someone who went through the trouble of inviting you that you just… didn’t feel like going. “Fine,” you say, sighing. “I’ll go, then. You don’t have to worry about it.”

A heavy pause lingers, and then Bakugou’s gaze snaps up. “You what?”

“I’ll go. On your behalf. It’s fine,” you insist, smiling a little to soften it. But there’s something in his eyes, and you think he feels that tug of guilt too, though he’d never say it. Finally, he just sighs and mutters, “Fine, fine. I’m going. Don’t start whining about this later.”

And that’s how you end up at the Gala, arm in arm with one very reluctant Bakugou.

.....

You’ve barely been here for an hour, and though Bakugou’s already made three attempts to pull you towards the exit, you’re still here, being polite and nodding along as people pass by, each one taking a little energy from you with their relentless questions.

At some point, a waiter passes by with a tray of drinks, and you reach out, half-relieved for a distraction. The waiter places a delicate, glass thimble of juice in your hand, barely bigger than your thumb. You eye it, perplexed.

“One sip,” you murmur, taking a cautious taste. It’s sweet and refreshing—too good, actually, like someone figured out the perfect formula for juice. The flavor surprises you, so you hold it in your hands like you’re savoring a precious heirloom, taking tiny sips to make it last.

“Hey,” Bakugou says, turning back from where he’s been roped into some pointless conversation with another hero. His eyes narrow when he sees the minuscule cup in your hands. “You tryna torture yourself or somethin’? Why’re you drinkin’ it if you don’t even like it?”

You blink, mildly surprised by his assumption. “No, I do like it! It’s just... y’know... small. And I didn’t want to—um, ask for more.” You hesitate, aware of the ridiculousness of it all. “They might think I’m being greedy, you know?”

Bakugou makes a face, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re kiddin’ me.” He sounds genuinely irritated now, and it’s impossible not to feel embarrassed, though you give a nervous smile.

“No, no! It’s fine, 'Suki, really.” You tug at his sleeve to keep him from storming over to whoever poured this pathetic excuse for a drink, though he stares at you, unamused, for a moment.

“Fine,” he relents, still looking unconvinced. But when you try to wave him off a second time, and a third, his patience visibly thins. “Alright, that’s it.” He grabs your now empty cup with a sense of purpose, muttering under his breath as he maneuvers through the crowd. You reach out, embarrassed to death that he’d take the trouble to do this.

“Katsuki, you don’t have to—please, it’s okay! Really, it’s fine!”

He gives you a brief, sideways glance, his expression somewhere between exasperation and begrudging affection. “For god’s sake, Cupcake, I’m doin’ it ‘cause I want to.”

The bartender hardly has time to react before Bakugou is right in front of him, holding up the empty cup like it’s some sort of evidence. “Listen up. This microscopic cup you handed out, where the hell d’ya even find one that small?” he demands, raising an eyebrow at the bartender, who looks both puzzled and terrified by Bakugou’s intensity.

The bartender stammers something about portion sizes, but Bakugou cuts him off, pointing to the counter like he’s about to place an order in a war zone. “Whatever you put in here, put it in a real glass this time, yeah? And don’t skimp. What is it, anyway?”

“Uh—it’s, um, a mix of, uh, passion fruit, lemon, and a hint of, uh… elderflower…”

“Good. That’s exactly what I wanted to know.” He watches as they pour the drink, nodding in satisfaction once they fill a glass you can actually hold with more than two fingers. When he finally returns, he looks triumphant, almost like he just completed some crucial, life-or-death mission.

“Here,” he says, handing you the glass with that rare softness in his eyes that he only gets around you.

And as you take the first sip, savoring the full taste this time, you glance up at him, fighting a smile.

“Y’know,” he mutters, clearly aware of his over-the-top reaction, “I ain’t lettin’ you get ripped off on my watch. ‘Specially if it’s somethin’ you like.”

You savor every last drop of the drink, finally taking fuller sips now that it’s in an actual glass. The elderflower and passion fruit mix is refreshing, and it brings a soft smile to your lips every time you taste it. And when you finish the last drop, you look up at Bakugou, feeling a bit embarrassed but grateful.

He’s watching you intently, arms crossed with a proud little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “All done?” he asks, clearly pleased with himself.

You nod, setting the glass down. “Yeah. Thanks, 'Suki,” you murmur, hoping the slight blush on your cheeks isn’t too obvious. “We can go now.”

Bakugou’s face lights up in an almost imperceptible way. He clears his throat, looking around as if anyone might overhear, but the relief is clear in his expression. “’Bout damn time.”

A couple of weeks pass, and life returns to the usual pro hero routine—patrols, training, the occasional event, and repeat. After a long, grueling day of patrol, you return home exhausted and immediately head to the shower, letting the hot water wash away the day’s aches and strains. The warmth is a balm for your sore muscles, and by the time you get out, you feel somewhat revived, if not a little sleepy.

You toss on a cozy set of clothes, ready to finally relax and start prepping dinner. You make your way to the kitchen, but as you open the fridge, you notice something unusual: a piece of paper stuck to one of the shelves. Curious, you pull it out and immediately recognize Bakugou’s handwriting, all sharp lines and bold strokes.

In the middle of the note is a hastily-drawn little doodle of himself, smirking with a thumbs-up, along with the words: “Surprise. You better not ration this either.”

You stare at the note, momentarily confused. What’s he talking about?

Then you glance down, and your eyes widen.

Sitting on the shelf, right next to the vegetables and leftovers, is a large glass pitcher filled to the brim with the juice from the gala—your favorite mix of passion fruit, lemon, and elderflower.

A laugh bubbles up from your throat, and you can’t help but shake your head in wonder. Of course he’d go through the trouble of making an entire pitcher for you. And not only that, but he left a note, reminding you not to hold back or ration it like some precious artifact.

You pour yourself a full glass, taking a long sip, and the familiar taste brings a warm, giddy feeling to your chest. For a moment, you just stand there in your quiet kitchen, holding your glass and staring at Bakugou’s note with a grin that won’t leave your face.

It’s just so… him. Thoughtful in the most roundabout way possible.

You take another sip, glancing at the time. He’ll still be on patrol for a bit, but you already can’t wait to tell him just how much his little surprise means to you.

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stevie-petey · 1 year ago

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we thought love was something (we weren't meant to find)

﹂ season two of "come home"

as you approach a year since will's disappearance, things seem to be back to how they were. you still have jonathan and the boys, hawkins is boring again, and you and steve harrington aren't really friends. you convince yourself that it's fine, but time can't heal all wounds, and you sure as hell have your fair share of them. when will starts having episodes and your brother hides a literal monster from you, junior year becomes a lot more painful than it already was. (and because you can never win, steve gets dragged into it). (more complicated feelings arise). (as usual).

episode one: MADMAX - what does steve fear more ? you or the plague ? currently it's you, some guy with an awful mullet stares you down in the parking lot (gross), nancy invites you to a party from your nightmares, and you become an official unlicensed therapist for will. yay for junior year !

episode two: trick or treat, freak - you and nancy have a bonding session in the library (kinda hot tbh), billy gives jonathan and steve a common cause to unite on: Protect Y/N, you're a chauffeur to a very sad steve harrington, and dustin uses will's trauma to his advantage.

episode three: the pollywog - you lecture jonathan about daddy issues and then have an intellectual debate about healthy relationships, you play Mr. Love Dr with Steve, nancy and jonathan go on a sick side quest (and actually inform you this time !), meanwhile: you're about to put a leash on your damn brother.

episode four: will the wise - jonathan is gone for one day and suddenly all hell breaks loose, your hesitant friendship with steve is already rocky (thanks billy) but steve is hot when he's angry tbh, you become a couple's counselor to lucas and max (sorry dustin), and you're now officially the world's worst cat owner ever. and babysitter. but what else is new ?

episode five: dig dug - you and dustin bury a body and con your mother into fleeing town, great sibling bonding time ! you play hockey with a monster, dustin gets ghosted by his friends, and now it's your turn to kidnap steve (technically dustin does, but you don't stop him) who later gives you some terrifying realizations.

episode six: the spy - dustin and steve haggle a butcher, you throw some meat at steve and then have a weird conversation about love, you stop dustin from becoming an incel, and then you wrestle some demodogs like any real woman would. side note: steve is hot protecting the kids.

episode seven: the mind flayer - jonathan is back and has a lot of questions and you have even more for him, the gang gets back together and ties will to a chair, you tell the kid a story to distract him from his demons, steve is a confused mess but at least youre with him, and someone makes a surprise appearance (her name rhymes with shell).

episode eight: the gate - you encourage nancy to take your place (everyone is shocked), you and steve are the newest babysitters in town, billy ruins things as always, tunnels are weird when youre concussed, you remind jonathan of an old promise, and when the snowball comes you make your own promise with steve that you know you can keep.

⌑ set between seasons 2 and 3

﹂ episode nine: the fall - surprise ! life still carries on even with minor brain damage from constant concussions :( on the bright side, you and the gang all become homies. meanwhile, steve grapples with the warm fuzzies and parental issues before his worst nightmare happens: you meet robin. the horrors !

⌑ status: FINISHED

⌑ season two title based on this song x

⌑ blurbs set within "come home" can be found here x

⌑ “come home” season masterlist

*note: this is a part of my stranger things rewrite, “come home”, and other seasons can be found linked above :)

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wtlws masterlist #ch season two #m's writing #get ready gamers #season two is alllll about steve and the kids #this is the season ive been waiting for <3

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kyouka-supremacy · 1 year ago

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BSD Magazines Archive

After *checks* six months of working on this, I've finally completed the bsd magazines archive!! The photos above are only meant as table of contents: this is the folder with all the images included above in original quality and more, for a total of 360 pictures with multiple scans to display the best quality available on the internet. Here you can find the spreadsheet with the issues details, including magazine name, date, name of the illustration artist and translation when available, and most importantly source credits for every picture I included. In hope that anyone can find this useful or interesting, please enjoy!

Special thanks to @amythedemisimp, who shared with me so much useful material, and without whom I wouldn't have started this project to begin with.

#You can kinda see the magazines industry progressively die...#bsd #bungou stray dogs #mine #my masterlist #I know I don't care about notes and I probably won't care for this post either #But I've been working on this for six months so I'd really appreciate it if you consider reblogging this!!#That said *throws a kiss to the sky* this is for you crop top chuu/aku

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sanasanakun · 1 year ago

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One day I will write an entire piece on why Ranni's questline is a perfect example of a subtle, gothic, and chivalric romance story but one that still manages to be so blatantly in your face about both the Tarnished and Ranni's feelings for one another that you can't miss it. And yet, people still insist that it's platonic because Ranni isn't jumping into the Tarnished's arms and proclaiming her undying affection for them (even though she does say she loves them in her own quiet way with the fucking key but I digress) and it makes me fear that reading literacy is at an all-time low worldwide.

#don't even get me started on the people who only talk about how it can't be romantic because "they can't have sex #like my brother in christ what are you talking about and why is that a qualifier for romance???#why can't they just chill or why can't you be more creative #also ranni is literally a god now so if you really care or want it to happen in your headcanon just say she moved to a new body #add this to the im high and reddit pissed me off masterlist #lunar princess ranni #ranni x tarnished #ranni the witch #literally the entire latter half of her questline could have come out of a Mary Shelley book #the tarnished #tarnished elden ring #elden ring

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osamusriceballs · 1 year ago

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Last-Minute Plans

Ushijima x fem reader

Warnings: NSFW (cockwarming, rather soft)

Words: ~ 1,5 k

About: Wakatoshi got a ring for you, and he needs to make sure it fits.

A/n: Happy Birthday to our beloved Wakatoshi-kun~

"It fits,"

he mumbles with a sigh of relief, one he hadn't realized he was holding. He looks contently at the jewelry now adorning your ring finger.

Ushijima knows that he's late with this. He should have attempted this plan a long time ago; he despises last-minute actions. Lately, however, you've insisted on waiting until he returns home late from practice due to extended training sessions just before the crucial match, making it impossible for him to secretly slip that ring onto your finger to see if it fits. He's aware he hasn't been giving you the time you deserve lately, but he's determined to make it up as soon as he can. He intends to spoil you as soon as the match is over and his schedule finally allows him to have more free time, treating you like the princess you are.

He had nearly abandoned the idea of trying the ring on your finger. He considered simply hoping for the best, planning to alter the ring quickly after proposing if it didn't fit. He knows you wouldn't have minded, but he wanted this moment to be perfect. The first difficulty he had encountered, however, was that you had rings in various sizes in your jewelry box- probably for different fingers, but even after sorting through them, he was still not convinced that he chose the right size.

Relief washes over him as he sees the ring fitting comfortably, and for a short moment, he envisions your future together. He dreams of having you sleep beside him every night, of going on the vacation you've always dreamed of, and of giving you the beautiful wedding ceremony you've always wanted. He's already asked Tendou to be his best man and informed his parents of his plans. He even decided to send his father a notice that his son will be getting married soon—hopefully.

The ring looks stunning on your hand. It's noticeable yet subtly elegant. He's confident you'll love it; you've often praised his taste, describing him as simple in his choices, which you adore.

His gaze drifts to your peaceful sleeping form. You must be exhausted not to have woken up yet. Normally, you'd wait until he returns or awaken when he quietly lies down beside you, an act he's yet to master. You'd always greet him with a tender kiss, a gesture he cherishes most during his days and misses the most when he's away. Yet, you sleep soundly, your face soft, breathing steady. You're wearing one of his shirts, the old Shiratorizawa jersey you claim is the comfiest—adorable on you, he agrees.

He's fairly certain you're wearing only flimsy panties beneath, but he'll take his sweet time tomorrow to explore every inch of your body.

"Toshi," your sleepy voice pulls him from his daydreams, and he quickly hides the ring, clutching your hand in his. You stir, turning towards him, brows furrowing as you reach out blindly.

"Y/n, go back to sleep. It's late," he murmurs in a soothing tone, knowing you find his voice calming.

"I missed you," you groan, squinting your eyes as you try to make out his face in the dimly lit room.

"I missed you too," he replies, smiling softly and leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. You smile in return, bringing your free hand to his cheek, a bit clumsily—almost slapping his face, but he doesn't mind; he is simply happy having you close.

"You haven't shaved today," you mumble as you caress his cheek. He hums in response. "I forgot. Does it bother you?"

"No, it doesn't. But you never forget to shave. What was on your mind today?"

You, he thinks, but for once, he refrains from sharing his thoughts. He needs to distract you, to take back the ring unnoticed. How you haven't noticed it so far surprises him.

"I was thinking about…" he begins, his voice trailing off, unsure how to respond without you getting suspicious.

"Wakatoshi, come to bed. You seem really tired," you yawn, and he suddenly knows what he needs to do.

Ushijima leans down to kiss you again, this time deepening the kiss with more passion. He feels your response, your body arching into his touch, your lips moving in sync with his.

"Toshi," you're already breathless after a few kisses, and he finally feels your hand relax, fingers intertwining with his with the metal still on your finger. He typically holds your hand more firmly, but now he keeps his grip gentle, ensuring you don't feel the ring on your finger. With his free hand, he traces the hem of your shirt, his fingers gliding beneath the fabric, encountering the softness of your skin.

"Want you, but I'm tired," you whisper against his lips, prompting him to nuzzle against your neck. "Should I pleasure you? Should I make you feel full?" You moan softly and weakly nod, your eyes barely open in the dark room. Unbeknownst to you, a wave of relief washes over him. This may not be going exactly as he planned, but making love to you with the ring already on your finger is better than he could have imagined.

He quickly runs through potential scenarios in which he could smoothly slide the ring off your finger, deciding to position himself behind you while maintaining a hold on your hand in front of your body. Shifting his body weight, he maneuvers behind you until his chest presses against your back. He skillfully settles beneath the blanket without releasing your hand, making sure not to tighten his grip around your fingers. His lips find your neck, where he places the gentlest kisses against your skin, earning the softest, most beautiful moans from your lips. His hips begin to rhythmically move against your backside, and he feels how he hardens in his pants.

You contently hum while you lean into his touch, raising one leg to allow him to slip his thigh between yours. "Feels good," you murmur as he starts a grinding motion against your pussy. He feels his growing need, a nearly instinctive response to your body. His earlier suspicion about you wearing only his shirt and panties appears accurate; that much he notices when his shorts ride up and his bare thigh grinds against your cunt. As much as he wants the feeling of your bare skin against his, he knows that undressing might raise too much suspicion. Instead, he guides his free hand downward, gently tracing circles against your clothed center.

"You're so perfect. So beautiful. I love you so much," he whispers into your ear, causing you to shudder in his arms. Your grip on his hand tightens, while your other hand softly clutches the sheets. He understands your needs. Grateful that he's still wearing the soft shorts, he pushes them down slightly, quickly freeing his cock.

"Should I use some lube?" he asks, concern lacing his voice, worried about hurting you since he hasn't fully prepared you yet—a truly challenging task when ensuring your hand remains held and he can only use one hand properly.

"Think I'm wet enough," you mumble, and he dips two fingers between your folds to confirm, and he is rewarded with enough arousal to forget about his worries.

As much as he wants to ravish you right now, he knows you would probably drift off to sleep if he makes love to you tenderly—so that's precisely what he does. He gently spreads your legs further with his thigh, allowing his cock to rest between your legs. It has almost become a routine for him to set aside your panties and gradually ease his cock inside you- a practice that you often do after he comes home late from his practice sessions.

A breathy moan escapes your lips at the stretch, and he feels his own body tensing at the sensation of your soft walls around him. He continues to push until he's fully inside of you. You always take him so well—it feels breathtaking to be buried deep inside you. He still hopes you'll succumb to sleep in this embrace, even though he's surely wide awake himself.

"Feels good," you hum, your breathing gradually returning to a steady rhythm. He pulls you closer, inhaling the soothing flowery scent of your hair- a scent that always brings him comfort and calms his mind when he can't seem to rest. You might not fully grasp how much he loves you—how every fiber of his being yearns for you, how he wishes for you to be happy and to be his. This is precisely why he plans to propose to you tomorrow and to place the ring back on your finger. You wouldn't refuse him on his birthday, would you?

"Sleep well, my love."

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spaceshipellie · 1 year ago

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everything’s about you to me

*✧･ﾟ: SERIES MASTERLIST

summary: in the midst of the apocalypse, you and ellie find each other after you’ve both lost everything. what started out as a mere safety in numbers pairing, turns into something imperishable. however, after some time you get separated, leaving you both to believe the other is dead. four years later you find a commune in wyoming.

moodboard

prologue

chapter one: things have changed

chapter two: this house is a graveyard

chapter three: bathe me clean

chapter four:

chapter five:

chapter six:

chapter seven:

chapter eight:

chapter nine:

chapter ten:

chapter eleven:

chapter twelve:

i’m not exactly sure how many parts this series will be but currently my planning says twelve 🖤

#everything’s about you to me #spaceshipellie fics #ellie williams masterlist #ellie williams fics #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams #tlou part 2 #tlou fic #ellie x reader

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perfectsunlight · 2 years ago

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(𝟑𝟓) - 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

“i don’t think i can do this, y/n.”

today had been particularly harsh for her. your girlfriend had been singled out for messing up some of the choreography. that was only this morning, too. once you had vocal lessons, jimin missed her cue by accident because she was trying to read too far ahead on the sheet music, but that ended up with your vocal instructor scolding her. everything that could have gone wrong, kept going wrong, which was why the moment she was free from her classes, jimin practically ran to you and ningning’s dorm room.

your fingers ran through jimin’s dark hair as she curled into your chest, burying her face into your neck in search of comfort. “one bad day does not mean a bad life, my love.” you tried to reason, making sure to keep your voice soft enough for her to hear.

you noticed her fingernails were inflamed, and you immediately tsked. “baby, you know that’s bad for you.”

you opened your mouth to say something else, but the sudden dampness on your shoulder immediately caught your attention.

“oh jimin,” you whispered before running a hand down her back. the taller girl’s body wracked with silent sobs, the damp spot on your shirt only growing as she cried. “let it out, it’s okay.”

you had seen your girlfriend frustrated before, it wasn’t like you all were free from the stress. however, you had rarely seen her cry because of it.

truth be told, you were the only person who had ever seen it.

“i can’t do it, this is impossible.” jimin sniffled and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. the weeks of pent up frustration finally got to her, and she felt truly inadequate compared to the other girls there.

all of the other trainees, including yourself, had been casted through auditions. jimin was the only one who was casted by an instagram DM. it was this mere difference that caused her to be very insecure in her abilities, despite being referred to as the next visual of SM entertainment.

this insecurity was something she only ever confided in you, because she refused to let the others see her as anything but strong. jimin was never one to break down like this, but she only ever felt comfortable enough to do so around you.

your thumb caressed the side of her cheek, wiping away some of the stray tears that kept falling from her eyes. your heart ached for your girlfriend, because you knew how hard it was for her to put on a brave face for the others.

“jimin-ah,”

your soft words were the most soothing sound to her ears. jimin’s racing doubts halted in an instant at the sound of your voice. she could only whimper in response, still somewhat overcome with the plagues of doubt and memories from earlier.

your lips pressed against hers gently and you could taste the salty tears in the kiss. it was a soft, but passionate kiss, where jimin could feel the burning love you held for her. your pulled away and she chased your lips, relishing in the comfort you radiated.

once the both of your lungs had an overwhelming desire to breathe, you simply rested your foreheads against each others. your chests rose and fell, and for a fleeting moment, jimin felt as if all her problems had disappeared.

“if anyone can do this, it’s you.” you whispered against her lips. “nobody has the work ethic you do, nobody has your visuals, and most importantly,” you paused to give her a reassuring smile.

the raven haired girl caressed your cheek with her free hand, nuzzling her nose with yours. yu jimin knew she would never find this sort of comfort in anyone else. nobody would be able to give you this amount of peace, this feeling of true alleviation from all her pain could only come from the girl who put the stars in her sky.

“nobody has what you bring to the table, jimin. don’t ever forget that, no matter what.”

your lips brushed against hers once more, but it was jimin who closed the distance between you two this time. the kiss was short and sweet, and if anything it could have qualified as just a peck.

jimin pulled away after a moment, glossy eyes and tear stained cheeks still present, but the storm raging in her mind went silent. in that moment, jimin realized that no one else would be able to calm the raging seas in her heart and mind. your midas touch would forever paint her bluest shades golden, like the light of her life you were.

“you know me too well.” jimin whispered as she stared into your eyes. you only smiled, and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “you’ll always have me here, jimin. always.”

“what happened with you and minjeong? if you don’t mind me asking.”

jimin’s head turned to face you, caught slightly off guard by the sudden timid question. she knew you would eventually ask about it, but part of her thought you maybe wouldn’t considering the other party involved was not someone you were associated with anymore.

her hand set her phone down so she could give you her full attention. “well,” a sigh escaped her lips. “honestly, after talking with you about what happened, i didn’t want to look at her.”

your gaze softened at her vulnerability, and you couldn’t help but feel an all too familiar sense of tingling in your chest at the sight of jimin seeming so internally conflicted. it reminded you of the many times you held her in your arms while she vented.

it felt like an entire lifetime ago, but you remembered it all like it was yesterday.

“i started thinking about everything that went down before we broke up, and nothing was making sense anymore. honestly, it hurt my head to think about it too much,” karina chuckled and rubbed the back of her neck. “i just don’t know how to describe it.”

“like you were running in circles?” you implied, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. karina’s lips mirrored yours, recalling just how easily you could understand her.

“you know me too well.”

she immediately followed up, trying to continue the conversation as naturally as possible. “plus, talking to min about anything relating to you isn’t something that happens.”

you nodded, understanding and being fully aware why it would be such a sensitive conversation. you hadn’t spoken to minjeong since the night you and jimin broke it off, and neither of you had attempted to rekindle the former friendship since.

to make matters more complicated, jimin was dating her ex’s best friend, so it was not exactly appropriate at any time to mention anything regarding either of the former relationships.

“i mean, you are dating your ex’s best friend.” you joked, trying your best to mask the sarcasm in your tone with a chuckle. it was subtly hidden, but jimin knew you well enough to see through your feeble attempt. she knew that it hurt you to see her with your former best friend.

she bit the inside of her cheek before looking down at her hands. truth be told, jimin felt guilty about her decision to “date” minjeong just out of pure pettiness. it seemed like a good idea at the time, as any ex lover may think, but the asepa member knew better than to think so now.

“y/n,” she looked up, feeling hesitant about what she was about to say, but knowing full well that she needed to get this off of her chest. she had to tell you the truth, because if she didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself knowing that she continued to cause you pain regarding this.

“i need to tell you something.”

you scooted closer to her, clearly worried about whatever it was plaguing her mind. seeing jimin with such an internal conflict, right in front of you, was definitely not something that you found a happy sight to see.

“jimin,” you spoke gently, concern laced in your features. karina’s eyes met yours, and she didn’t realize she had been picking at her cuticles until you had gently placed a hand on top of hers.

“you know that’s bad for you.” you chastised lightly, also recalling how many times you had to stop her from ripping the skin because of her anxiousness.

the contact felt like electricity coursing through her body. for the first time in years, you were touching her. jimin’s train of thought almost immediately derailed at the small action, but she tried to keep it together so you wouldn't think she was short circuiting in front of you.

“it’s about minjeong.” karina finally said slowly, “it’s about minjeong and i’s relationship.”

from the mention of the infamous relationship between your ex and ex best friend, you naturally tensed up, and she felt it too. you instantly removed your hands when you realized what you had done out of pure muscle memory.

“i’m sorry.” you quickly rambled out, but before you could apologize again, your ex lover interrupted you. “it’s okay.” she blurted out, probably a little too quickly to be considered anything but friendly.

“sorry, continue.” you motioned for her to continue, shooting her a tight lipped smile. you could feel the looming tension, but you didn’t know what else to expect at the moment. all you knew was that whatever it was, it was enough to cause the older girl physical discomfort that manifested onto her guilt stricken face.

the aespa leader’s midnight hues met yours, the eye contact intense and the silence looming being almost deafening. you swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling suddenly worried for what jimin was about to say.

jimin’s eyes never wavered from yours, and you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing up from the intensity swirling in them. you knew you didn’t trust jimin entirely, but for some reason you felt like you could trust her in moments like this.

“it’s all fake. i only did it out of spite after i saw you and yunjin at the store.”

your world felt like it stopped spinning in that moment, it was as if the walls to your bedroom were caving in.

however, what you didn’t know, was the from the other side of the bedroom door, yunjin’s world was also caving in. she had heard every single word.

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ ┊ ☪︎⋆ ⊹ ┊ . ˚ ✧

you and jimin met as trainees before she debuted, and you two never felt more in love. however, once she breaks up with you before her debut, you completely leave SM entertainment under the notion of needing a fresh start. you eventually debuted a few years later in le sserafim, where you met huh yunjin and have slowly started developing feelings for the idol. much to karina's dismay, she hates to see you have moved on, but deep in your own heart, you still can't help but feel as if maybe she has forgotten about you.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @captivq , @wonyoluvr , @yunalvrrr , @spritin , @babycubchae , @vnschldd , @sserafimez , @chaersly , @rosiehrs , @baldd , @bwljules , @jenaissantesworld , @jennasluma , @dream-chasers-things , @lcv3lies , @elyds , @archerheejin , @vnschldd , @skisk1 , @cfvgbhndun-new-blog , @silantryoo , @phamminji , @bzeus28 , @writingficsblog , @strangegirlcode , @uzumakioden , @noiacha , @sserabey , @archerheejin , @pindoris , @yourstrulytrissmerigold , @jisooftme , @yacii , @ddrummie , @justalittledissociation

[ 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ]

#smau #kpop smau #aespa #le sserafim #huh yunjin #yu jimin #kpop crack #fiction #winrina #aespa x reader #lesserafim x reader #original work #about you masterlist #perfectsunlight

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