#and their weird tension and bitchiness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itneverendshere · 7 months ago

Note

the aftermath of sex with rafe and you’re about to roll out to leave and he’s like “what’s going on” and you’re like “oh you want me to stay?”

decided to use this request for bitchy!pogue!reader, bc i love their dynamic in my last drabble for them and wanted to see their relationship develop!! hope that's okay and thank you for the request!!🫶🏼🫶🏼

said it a million times, only stay with you one more night - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

your breath was still shaky as you lay in rafe’s bed, staring up at the ceiling. the room smelled like sex and bad decisions—the same old combination every time you found yourself tangled up with him.

what the fuck had you done? again.

you groaned internally, rolling to the side and blinking at the mess of clothes on the floor. your clothes. you needed to get out of here, like you always did after. this was a routine by now—fuck rafe, get dressed, leave before shit got weird.

but, of course, it was always weird with rafe.

he was your worst mistake on repeat, the asshole kook you swore you hated but couldn’t seem to stop ending up in bed with. and you weren’t entirely wrong. he was an asshole. that perfect jawline of his clenched every time he looked at you, like he wanted to snap or—snap you in half, depending on the day. he acted like he couldn’t stand you most of the time, and you loved it.

especially when you knew exactly where that frustration would end up: right between your legs.

you knew the deal. this thing with rafe was nothing but sex. pure tension. you loved driving him insane, loved the way his face would twist, how his hands would grip your hips with just a little too much pressure, like he had something to prove. but the second it was over, he always turned cold. he’d stare at you with that same look—disgusted, maybe even regretful—like he couldn’t believe he’d let himself touch you.

and you weren’t about to stick around for that bullshit.

with a sigh, you pushed the covers back and swung your legs out of the bed, standing up with a wince as your body reminded you just how hard he'd fucked you. the soreness in your thighs was a not-so-subtle reminder of how you ended up here, naked, in his bed again when you swore to yourself that the last time was really the last time.

you didn’t even bother looking at him as you reached for your jeans on the floor, pulling them on quickly. you needed to get out of here before he started up with that whole “i don’t even know why i did this” attitude, like you were the problem.

“where are you going?”

you didn’t even look back at him as you yanked your top over your head. “leaving. what’s it look like?”

the bed creaked as he sat up, and you could practically feel his eyes burning into your back. “what the fuck is going on?”

you paused, one arm halfway through your top, rolling your eyes at his tone. now he wanted to act like something was different? “what do you mean, what’s going on?” you shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word. “’m leaving. you know, like i always do after we fuck.”

rafe didn’t answer right away, and for a second, you thought maybe he’d just let it go. but then he surprised you.

“you don’t have to go.”

you turned around slowly, narrowing your eyes at him. “what? you want me to stay now?” he never asked you to stay. hell, he was usually halfway out the door emotionally before you even got your clothes back on.

his face hardened at your reaction, that familiar pissed-off look settling into his features. “yeah, i don’t know, maybe i do.”

you laughed, genuinely surprised. “since when? you want me to hang around and play house after?”

“do you always have to make everything so fucking complicated?”

you raised an unimpressed brow, “okay, i think you hit your head on the bedframe earlier.”

“shut the fuck up and get in bed.”

you froze, mid-laugh, because—wait—what? rafe cameron, the king of "get out before i pretend you don’t exist," actually wanted you to stay.

“excuse me?” you blinked at him, fully expecting him to break character any second

he was unpredictable like that. one minute, he was treating you like you’re beneath him—like you were the dirty secret he couldn't believe he kept hooking up with—and the next? he was saying stuff that made your heart do this stupid thing it had no business doing.

“get back in bed,” he demanded, like he actually expected you to listen.

“why? so you can flip back to being a fucking asshole in the morning?”

he rolled his eyes and groaned like you were the exhausting one here, “can you just—” he hesitated, clearly fighting with whatever stupid thoughts were bouncing around that kook head of his. “just come back to bed.”

and oh god, why did he have to sound almost...vulnerable?

you stared at him, fully aware this was a bad idea. the two of you didn’t “do” feelings. shit, he barely “did” conversation after sex. this wasn’t just out of character for him; it was out of this planet.

so you crossed your arms and tilted your head, leaning against his dresser like you had all the time in the world. “are you serious right now, cameron? you actually want me to stay? for what, a cuddle session? netflix?”

he gave you that trademark irritated look, tongue poking his cheek. “you’re so fucking difficult.”

“yeah, well, you’re not exactly easy, baby.”

you smirked, half expecting him to snap again. but instead, he did something you never saw coming. he ran a hand through his messy hair—full-on frustrated—and sighed. a real sigh. and then, in this quiet voice that was so unlike him, he said, “maybe i just don’t want you to leave.”

you felt your stomach flip. no no no. this wasn’t part of the deal. you two weren’t supposed to catch feelings. but the way he was looking at you, all raw and real for once, made your brain go foggy. you could leave right now. walk out, just like you always did, like a smart girl.

but something in his voice was pulling you back, like maybe this time was different. “rafe…”

“just stay,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours, and for the first time since you started this whole messed-up dance with him, you saw something in his face that wasn’t anger or lust or annoyance.

it almost looked like...he cared. maybe you’d stay, just to see what this was about.

you weren’t about to let your guard down completely. you weren’t some naive kook princess. you knew how to protect yourself—especially from guys like him, because let’s be honest, rafe was a certified disaster in human form. and you weren’t any better.

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “if i stay, you’re not gonna pull some ‘i don’t know why i did this’ bullshit tomorrow, right? ‘cause ’m not dealing with that again, cameron.”

he huffed, but there was this softness to it. “can you just stay without turning everything into a fight?”

“turning it into a fight?” you raised a brow, incredulous. “that’s literally your specialty.”

rafe’s jaw tightened—again—but instead of snapping back like usual, he just stared at you. “’m not asking for forever, alrigh’? just one night. jesus.”

one night.

you could do one night, right?

you climbed back onto the bed, settling into the sheets next to him. it felt...weird. not in a bad way, just different. usually, you’d be out of here by now, shorts half-buttoned, sneaking out like some guilty secret. but this? lying next to him, clothes still off, in his bed, with his scent all around you? it felt more intimate than any of the wild, angry sex you’d had with him before.

“happy now?” you muttered, glancing over at him.

rafe didn’t say anything for a second. he just looked at you, like he wasn’t sure how to act either. “yeah. maybe i am.”

it was bizarre, how different this felt from all the other times. there was no rush to leave, no awkward scramble to avoid the inevitable “i shouldn’t have done that” speech. just the two of you, lying there in silence. you felt his hand brush against yours under the covers. it wasn’t a big, dramatic move, just his fingers lightly grazing your skin.

it was such a small thing, but somehow, it felt... huge. rafe was the last guy on earth you ever expected to be soft, especially with you. but here he was, in this tiny, almost awkward moment, doing something that felt closer to intimacy than anything else you’d ever shared. what the hell was happening?

“you’re acting like a human being. it’s weirding me out.”

he smirked, but it didn’t have the usual arrogance behind it. “maybe 'm just tired of being an asshole.”

you chuckled, shaking your head. “that would be a first.”

he didn’t fight back like you expected. instead, his hand moved a little under the covers, and suddenly, his fingers were really holding yours, not just grazing but actually intertwining with your own. you blinked down at your joined hands, feeling your heart flip-flop in a way that annoyed you. this wasn’t what you signed up for, not even close.

but then again, when had anything with him ever gone according to plan.

“why are you doing this?” you asked quietly, trying to ignore how fast your pulse was beating.

rafe’s jaw clenched—again, with the jaw clenching—but this time, it didn’t feel like frustration. he was thinking, actually thinking about what to say, and that alone was enough to make you nervous.

“i don’t know,” he admitted, “i just—” He stopped himself, taking a deep breath like the words were hard for him to get out. “maybe i don’t hate you as much as i thought i did.”

that threw you for a loop. he was never this honest. you stared at him, eyes wide, waiting for the punchline, but there wasn’t one. he wasn’t smirking, wasn’t trying to act like he didn’t care. he just... said it. like it was the most normal thing in the world to admit feelings when feelings weren’t even on the table.

“Wow,” you breathed, genuinely shocked. “you really hit your head earlier.”

he snickered, but it sounded different—soft, even. “Yeah, maybe I did.”

“should i call for a doctor?”

it was unsettling seeing him like this, not lashing out or shutting you down with a snide comment.

“you don’t always have to make everything a joke.”

your eyebrows shot up at that, the surprise clear on your face. “excuse me? that’s literally what we do—” you gestured vaguely between the two of you. “that’s our thing.”

he just sighed, shaking his head like he was genuinely exasperated with you. before you could throw out another sarcastic remark, he grabbed you by the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss.

his hand gripped the back of your neck with just enough pressure to hold you in place, but there was a tenderness in the way his fingers tangled in your hair. his lips met yours gently at first as if testing the waters, and the softness of it scared you. you were so used to him being all teeth, nipping, and biting, that this moment of quiet, hesitant intimacy caught you off guard. he kissed you like he was savoring it—like this was something he wanted to remember.

his thumb brushed lightly along your jawline, as the kiss deepened, his lips pressing a little harder against yours, but it still lacked the aggression you’d come to expect from him. there was no desperation here. his tongue flicked against your bottom lip, gentle but insistent, and without thinking, you parted your lips, letting him in. your bodies stayed close, but it wasn’t the usul closeness that came from lust. the slow, languid rhythm of his mouth against yours was intimate in a way that felt too personal.

rafe was kissing you like you were someone he cared about, like you were more than just another way to burn off steam. this wasn’t what you two did. you weren’t supposed to share soft touches and slow kisses. you were supposed to fight, tear each other apart, then fuck like it was the only thing holding you together.

when the kiss finally broke, you felt dazed, staring at him like you didn’t recognize the person in front of you. rafe, however, didn’t seem fazed. he just looked at you with those piercing blue eyes, still holding the back of your neck like he was afraid you’d bolt the second he let go.

“i meant it,” he said quietly, his voice a low, “i don’t want you to leave.”

“i don’t do this,” you muttered, shaking your head. “we don’t do this.”

rafe’s grip on your neck loosened, but his hand didn’t move. “i know. just tonight.”

you closed your eyes, breathing him in. he smelled like sweat and sex and something that made your entire body hurt in a way you hadn’t expected. maybe he wasn’t asking for forever, but staying here with him felt like it could change everything.

one night and you’d worry about tomorrow when it came.

1K notes · View notes

eddiesghxst · 19 days ago

Text

ARE YOU BORED YET? - part two

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you're steve's "bitchy" step-sister and are spending the summer in hawkins; eddie is steve's annoying best friend who you can't seem to shake, but things take a sharp turn when you find yourself sneaking around and ultimately falling for him

contains: slightly enemies to lovers trope, food/eating, mentions of drug use, smoking, secret relationship vibes, lots of tension, kissing, flirting, and eddie being a pain in the ass <3

word count: 10.5k (sorry)

chapter song: magnet and steel x walter egan

| previous part I next part |

I series masterlist | their mixtape | -main masterlist- I

Dry heat, a sputtering engine, and the overwhelming stench of burning asphalt is how you spend the hottest day of the summer.

This wasn’t part of the plan. You just wanted to get out—needed to escape the stifling air of the house, where no amount of fanning yourself or pressing ice cubes to your neck made a difference.

So you took your father’s keys, hopped into the car, and now?

Now, you’re stranded.

Suffocating heat spills through the half-opened windows of the car, sticking to your skin and pressing against your lungs. You turn the key over once again, nothing.

You groan, slapping your hand against the wheel, cursing as you realize— of course, this would happen to you on the hottest day on the goddamn earth.

And just for good measure, you turn the key one last time, jamming your foot into the gas as if it’ll encourage the piece of shit. It sputters. Makes a weird noise. And then— silence. Pathetic silence.

“Oh, fuck you!” You drag your hands over your face, and your frustration bubbles over.

Great. It’s great, really.

Defeated— and overheating— you gaze at the useless wheel and consider your options— which are none. The heat is unbearable, and you’re miles out from Hawkins— because why is the closest mall two towns over?

You need help. Clearly. And luckily, there’s a gas station across the street with a payphone, and if you’re lucky, Steve will pick up.

Annoyed and maybe with a little too much anger in your movements, you dig out a few coins from your purse before opening the car door.

You step out, immediately regretting it when you’re smacked with the heat. The pavement is scorching, waves of heat rippling off in the distance as you match your way across the street, and by the time you reach the pay phone, you feel like you’ve been walking through an oven.

You shove a quarter in, angrily punching in numbers before picking up the phone and listening to it ring.

Three rings pass. You swear under your breath, impatiently tapping your nail against the payphone as you wait. And then, finally, someone picks up.

“Harrington residence.”

And that’s… not Steve. It’s Eddie.

Your stomach drops.

Your teeth grind together, your eyes shutting momentarily as you reel in your composure.

Your voice comes out irritated, “Where’s Steve?”

“Ah!” Eddie exclaims in a happy tone, “Am I speaking with Malibu Barbie?” He teases.

Your nerves fray, the summer heat singeing them clean off. “Shove it, Eddie; where’s Steve?” You snip.

“Love it when you get mean, princess,” Eddie talks through a mouth of food from what you gather, making your nose crinkle in disgust. He sighs, “Steve’s not here, went to do some rich people shit for your dad.”

You roll your eyes, your hopes depleting by the second.

If Steve isn’t home, you’ll be left waiting for god knows how long before he can get you. You glance over your shoulder, hesitating, knowing that the only option to escape this debilitating heat is through the man on the other side of the phone.

This is humiliating. You don’t think you’ll ever come back here again, honestly.

You swallow your pride.

“My car broke down.” You flatly say. “I need him to pick me up.”

There’s a pause. Not long, but enough to acknowledge. You almost think the call may have dropped. But then, in the most sincere tone you’ve ever heard come from Eddie’s lips—

“Where are you?”

You huff, shifting in your spot as you roll your eyes, “I just said I need Steve.” You stubbornly reply.

“Yeah, well, he’s not here,” Eddie says obviously. “So, unless you wanna sit there and melt, tell me where you are.”

Your grip tightens on the phone, annoyed with how right he is.

This is the worst-case scenario.

You could just hang up. You should hang up— figure out some other way home. Because god forbid you have to rely on Eddie right now. Anyone but him.

You’d been avoiding Eddie since the bonfire— not because whatever that was had done a number on you or anything, but because… well, it was just fucking awkward. You didn’t know what to say to him, and you sure as hell didn’t want to address whatever that weird moment was. But Eddie didn’t cease to indoctrinate your household, so you did your best to stay away. However, it seems the universe has other plans.

So, after a long moment, your teeth digging into the soft skin of your lip, you give in and mumble the details of your location. And annoyingly, you feel a sense of relief rolling over you when Eddie says he knows exactly where you are. The feeling is quickly gone when he adds, “Now, was that so hard, grumpy?”

You roll your eyes, grimacing even though he can’t see you, “Just hurry up.” You snap before hanging up.

And when you step away from the payphone, the heat seems even more intense, especially considering the realization that you’re now waiting on Eddie Munson to pick you up.

And you already know he’s never going to let you live this down.

It feels like hours beneath the summer heat as you wait for Eddie, until finally, you hear the familiar rumble of a rusted-out van. You’re against your car; arms crossed over your chest as you watch him pull in next to you, his music blaring for a moment before he kills the engine.

And you hate the smug grin he has on his face when he hops down from his van— like he’s enjoying this.

Your expression doesn’t falter from the annoyed look you’ve had for the past hour as he walks over to you.

“Good afternoon, princess.” He happily greets as he gets closer.

“Told you to stop calling me that.” You remind him.

“Did you?” He asks, brows lifting in faux surprise. He hums, face twisting in a look of wonder as he tugs a cigarette from behind his ear to stick between his lips. He clicks his tongue once and shrugs as he fishes out a lighter, “Can’t seem to remember.”

Yeah. You should’ve hung up.

“You know,” he pauses to burn the end of the cigarette, flipping the zippo shut and shoving it back in his pocket, “Considering I’m your handsome knight in shining armor,” he teases, casually gesturing towards your situation with the burning stick in hand, “I assumed you’d be happier to see me.”

You shortly hum then, “Keep dreaming, Munson.”

He grins then, lazy and lopsided. You watch his mouth for a moment, stuck on the way it wraps around the cigarette— no. Not this. Not him.

Smoke billows from his mouth when he responds, “Always do, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, a snarky remark dying on your tongue when he nods behind you and asks, “What’d you do?”

Your face twists in defense, “I did nothing— it just… died.” You shrug.

Eddie hums like he doesn’t believe you, pulling in a drag as he walks around to the front of your dad's car and rolls his sleeves up. You can’t help how your eyes linger on his arms for a moment, eyeing the dark ink and intricate veins, muscles flexing with every movement. You quickly glance away as he pops the hood open.

“Sounds to me like you ignored the warning signs.” He calls out from behind the hood.

You roll your eyes, shifting against the side of the car as you distract yourself with the boring scenery around you— seriously, this town has nothing to offer.

“Can you just figure out what’s wrong and fix it.” You snap as Eddie tinkers with the car.

He’s lost behind the hood for a few minutes, leaving you to try and distract your thoughts by boredly eyeing shapes into the ground until he slams the hood down, causing you to slightly jump.

The cigarette hangs from his lips, a few streaks of grease smeared on his hands. You’re annoyed, but you’re not blind. He looks good. Annoyingly so, even if you can’t stand him.

You shrug, “So?” You press.

He pulls the bandana hanging from his pants pocket, using it to wipe away the dirt on his hands, “Hate to break it to you, Barbie, but I can’t fix this here— gonna have to take it to the shop.”

You exhale sharply, resisting the urge to kick the stupid car. “That’s fuckin’ great.” You sarcastically mumble.

Eddie’s got a sly grin as he looks at you, honey-dewed beneath the sun, slick with the summer heat and his usual confidence. He tilts his head, eyeing you momentarily like he’s piecing you together before nodding towards his van, “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

You stare at him, summer heat boiling your blood and every last piece of sense you have— god, you just need to get into some AC. And Eddie’s looking at you like he already knows your answer, with a sly grin on his lips, brown eyes looking at you as if he could see every thought running through your head.

And you wonder if he’s lying. Would he lie about the state of your car just so he can be your saving grace? With the way he’s smirking, you wouldn’t put it past him.

Any other day had the temperatures been cooler, you would’ve gladly told Eddie to fuck off, and you’ll find another way home… But it’s hot. Ungodly hot.

So, you yank the car door open and grab your purse, slamming the door shut and locking it. Eddie smiles, taking one last drag before tossing the bud on the ground, “Your place or mine, honey?” He teases as he eyes your body. You feel his gaze more than you’d care to admit.

You grimace, fingers tight on the leather handle of your purse as you stomp past him towards his van, “Just drop me off, Eddie.” You snap.

“Copy that, Malibu.”

He’s hot on your trail, following after you like a pathetic hound as you walk to the passenger side. You reach over to open the door, only for Eddie to reach over you and open it for you. He pulls it open all the way, an annoyingly charming and teasing smile on his face as he politely gestures for you to get in.

You know what he’s doing.

He knows what he’s doing. And he’s so fucking smug about it.

You can barely hold the huff of annoyance that spills from you as you climb into his stupid van. But he’s not expecting you to buy into his little party trick— he’s surely not expecting you to climb into the passenger seat and slightly arch your back, your tiny skirt riding up your thighs as you slide into a comfortable position.

He quietly but surely clears his throat, glancing away as you wriggle your skirt back down your thighs, his fingers tightening over the handle for some seconds.

“Thanks, Eds.” You forcefully give a sweet smile, a tiny glimmer of joy sparking in you when he avoids your gaze and nods, “Yep. No problem.” He mumbles before slamming the door shut. You can barely hide the satisfied smile on your lips, basking in the glory of flustering Eddie as you settle into your seat.

Eddie takes his time to walk to the driver's side, the sound of his boots crunching over against the gravel with each of his steps. The driver's door creaks open— and for a moment, you think he’s going to say something, almost anticipating it, but—

He says nothing.

No. Eddie climbs into the driver's seat in complete, utter silence. He doesn’t say anything as he settles in, shifting the car out of park and peeling off back onto the road without a word.

It’s silent. Unbearably so. The most silence you think you’ve ever endured around Eddie— and you’re not sure if you should be thankful for it. You should be. But it feels weird, knowing Eddie’s true nature of constant noise.

Because Eddie Munson never shuts up.

But a quick glance to your left tells you exactly why.

There’s a smirk tugging at his lips, a glint in his eyes.

He’s enjoying this— just as you’d suspected.

Your face twists with something like annoyance, your eyes narrowing as you break the silence, “What?” You snap.

Eddie hums, ringed fingers tapping against the steering wheel, “Nothin’.” He shrugs, lips turning in a momentary frown, “Just enjoying the peace and quiet for once. Really nice. Crisp. You should try it, princess.” He teases.

You roll your eyes, huffing as you cross your arms over your chest in annoyance. A quick response dances on your tongue, but then—

Your stomach rumbles.

Painfully loud.

And Eddie hears it perfectly clear.

You tense.

His smirk opens, lips splitting into more of a grin, something downright giddy before he snaps his fingers— like he just won some stupid bet.

“Oh, that is beautiful,” he muses, eyes trained on the road. His face turns in amusement, “Could’ve sworn you were just sitting there all high and mighty, angel, but nope— even the mighty fall.” He shakes his head with a grin.

You glare, arms tightening over yourself as if that’ll silence the sound of your hunger, “Shut up.”

“Not a chance.” He quickly responds before glancing at you, “That was— Jesus, that was ace,” he huffs out a laugh as you groan in irritation, “When’s the last time you ate? Yesterday?” He teases

“None of your business, Munson.” You grumble, glaring outside the window.

“Ah, so yesterday. Got it.” He snickers to himself.

You’re still glaring out the window when Eddie says, “Well, now we have to get a bite to eat.” He says as if it’s obvious. Technically, it is.

Your head snaps his way, eyebrows furrowed with a pout on your lips, “What?”

Eddie’s grin widens, pure joy dancing in his eyes. “No. Take me home.” You demand.

The curly-headed boy shakes his head, “Can’t. Not when you’re out here starving, babe. That’s dangerous— you could, like, pass out or something. Scrape your knee in those little heels— and while I am in excellent shape—“

You groan, rolling your head and pressing your temple against the window, “Jesus Christ, Munson—“

“—I would rather not have to fight Harrington because I let his sister die of starvation, you get my gist? So, really, we have no choice but to go eat.” He shrugs. He glances at you and drops a wink your way, “For my sake.”

You stare at him, disbelief of your situation settling in your mind. He’s torturing you. That’s what this is— torture.

“Take me home.” You repeat.

But Eddie says nothing. He’s got a gleam in his eyes, the type that lets you know he’s already put his stupid little plan into action as he flips his turn signal on.

And before you can protest again, he’s turning into the tiny parking lot of a very conveniently placed diner.

“Eddie—“

“Relax,” He purrs, shifting the van into park, “You don’t have to thank me… but I do accept tips in the form of cash and kisses.”

You gawk at him, stomach flipping at his stupid fucking words because— seriously, who does this guy think he is?

“You are so fucking irritating, do you know that?” You stress.

Eddie shrugs, “So I’ve heard,” he opens his door, grabbing the keys from the ignition, “C’mon, I’ll even let you sit on my side of the booth.”

And before you can argue anymore, before you can fight it, he’s already climbing out and swinging the door shut. You sit in your seat, fingers curled into a fist as you watch Eddie waltz into the diner.

You shouldn’t follow him.

You shouldn’t reward his insufferable behavior.

And you really shouldn’t want to spend a second longer enduring his annoying presence.

But your stomach grumbles again. And there’s something fun about this back-and-forth you have with Eddie, something you’re not entirely sure of but couldn’t care less to figure out.

You drop your head against the headrest, a frustrated groan ripping from your chest. You pause for a moment, reeling yourself in before dragging in a deep breath and opening the door.

Whatever.

You’re hungry, and you’ve had a long day.

And Eddie?

Well, he’s got a shit-eating grin, already seated in a booth with a perfect view of you stomping across the parking lot.

You swing the door open, the bell above it ringing in some mocking little victory chime for Eddie— and you really hate the way he’s stretched over the back of the booth, arms splayed out in his usual, infuriating, cocky manner.

You should turn around.

You should flip him off, try and call home again, figure out a way to get away from his annoying and handsome smirk.

But you slide into the booth, an irritated pout on your lips as you cross your arms.

His smirk widens, his knee bouncing beneath the table as he tilts his head, “There she is,” he muses, leaning forward to grab a menu on the table and sliding it towards you, “In all her angry glory. Let’s get some food in that talkin’ tummy, yeah?”

“I hate you.” You grumble, begrudgingly grabbing the menu.

“Fair,” he hums, opening his own menu and grazing over the options, “Doesn’t change the fact that I saved your ass twice in one day. You’re 0-2, pixie— you kinda owe me.”

“I do not.” You quickly reply.

“Sure you do. Didn’t I just save you from incinerating off the side of the road? And haven’t I just saved you from dying of starvation? Seriously, you owe me, like, a dozen strawberry-milkshake-sugar-sweet kisses.”

You grimace at him from across the table for a moment, fingers tightening on the edges of the menu, “I’m not kissing you.”

Eddie grins, winking at you, “We’ll see about that.”

Before you can send a quick remark his way, a lady is stepping up to your table, boredly clicking her pen as she asks, “What can I getcha?”

Eddie’s grin never falters, but you don’t care to stare any longer, turning your focus to the lady, “A burger and fries, please. And a coke.” You order.

Eddie hums, eyes never having left you.

“For you, sir?”

Eddie smiles at the lady before looking back at the menu, “I’ll have a burger too— double stacked— extra pickles, onion, and cheese. Fries, make ‘em crispy, and a side of your special sauce, please… I’ll take some nugs too actually,” he lists off as the lady takes note, “Aaaand, two milkshakes. One chocolate, one strawberry— extra whipped cream with a cherry on top.” He finishes with a satisfied smile, closing the menu and handing it to the lady.

The lady walks off to put your order in, and you stare at Eddie as he leans back in the booth, “You realize you just ordered a meal for an entire nation, right?” You ask. “You’d snap with a strong breeze; where are you putting that?”

Eddie hums, tilting his head and thinking, “You ever ran from the cops before?”

Your face twists in confusion, “What? No?”

Eddie hums, “Burns the calories quicker than a line of coke.”

You pause for a moment, blinking at him as he gazes at you, fingers fiddling with a napkin as if his words are something normal to say— coming from him and his chaotic nature, though, you suppose they are.

You blink, “Why are you running from cops, Eddie?”

“The first, second, or third time?” He muses.

You stare.

He watches you, no indication of a joke on his face— and you begin to slightly worry.

But then he slowly grins, flicking a piece of ripped napkin paper at you, which you bat away with a grimace, “That’s called a joke, princess,” he teases, a devilish smirk on his face when he adds, “I’m a saint… only ran once.”

You nod, eyeing him, “Right.” you mutter, shaking your head.

The conversation naturally dies down then, and for a moment, there’s just the soft hum of the diner—plates clinking, low conversations murmuring around you. You tap your fingers lightly against the table, eyes drifting to the neon glow of the jukebox in the corner, wondering if you should say something.

A flash of that moment some nights ago passed by the forefront of your mind.

But before you can think too long about it, the food arrives.

Plates of hot food are placed before you— and Jesus Christ, you hadn’t realized how hungry you were until the scent of a fresh burger and fries wafts in the air, making your stomach clench. You eye the food for half a second before reaching for your burger, fully ready to demolish it—

Only to pause when Eddie immediately grabs his own and takes a massive bite, nearly inhaling it all.

You take a bite of your own, taking your time to thoroughly chew as you watch Eddie scarf down three bites worth in one. You raise an eyebrow, “You’re gonna choke.” You warn him.

Eddie hums, talking through a mouthful, “Worse ways to go.”

And you smile, taking another bite of your meal as you think— this kind of isn’t bad.

Eddie groans in satisfaction, slumping back into the booth with a dramatic sigh, a full stomach, and an empty plate. He spreads his arms wide across the top, stretching out like he’s just finished running a marathon. The chains and pendants hanging from his neck glimmer beneath the dim glow of the diner as he tilts his head, and you do your best to look anywhere else.

“So,” he looks at you, a look of amusement dancing in his eyes, “Care to tell me what you were doing all the way in sketchy-middle-of-bum-fuck-nowhere Indiana?”

You drag in a breath, twirling a fry between your fingertips as you shrug, “Mall.”

Eddie’s grin drops, face paling into a deadpan expression, ”That’s it?”

You pop the fry in your mouth, humming with a nod as you swallow before answering, “That’s it.”

Eddie blinks, face twisting in something like disgusted confusion, “You drove that far just to shop?”

You roll your eyes, glancing out the window as you cross your arms over your chest, “No, Eddie, I drove that far to practice my backflips off the escalator.”

Eddie snorts, leaning forward to snag a fry from your plate— he’d been stealing bites from you the whole time, sneaking around your hands to steal a dip in your ketchup or sip on your milkshake— and each time, he ignored your protests, so you’ve given up.

“Now that,” he snickers, pointing the fry at you, “I’d pay to see.” He eats the fry, a glimmer in his eye.

He shrugs, “Well? Get anything nice?”

You shrug, pulling your milkshake towards you and taking a long sip.

Eddie gasps, dramatized horror seeping around the edges. “Oh my god,” he muses, “You’re one of those people.”

You narrow your eyes in confusion, “Huh?”

Eddie grimaces, “The ones who just walk around and look for shits and giggles.”

You shrug, “What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, it’s a waste of a trip, doll.” Eddie points out, which is arguably true in your situation.

Still, you roll your eyes, “I bought stuff, asshole.”

Eddie grins, unbothered, swirling the straw in his nearly empty cup as he looks at you, “Oh? Something good, or does Indiana have nothin’ on California stock?”

You sigh, leaning back into the booth and crossing your arms, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I bought a pair of sunglasses. And a dress.” You say matter-of-factly.

Eddie’s lips twitch, “Wow. Life-changing. Try it on for me.”

You grimace, “In your dreams, Munson.”

“Name the color so I can get an accurate image.” He teases.

You stare at him, a devious look in his eyes and that stupid smirk that won’t wipe off his lips.

“Blue.” You casually say. Eddie groans. “Baby blue. Mid-thigh length.”

“Fuck.” Eddie mumbles, glancing out the window as he rubs a hand over his mouth. He looks back at you, playful lust in his eyes, “You’re an evil woman.”

You innocently shrug, taking another long sip of your milkshake.

And beneath the table, you shift your leg, not thinking much when you do it before—

Your foot nudges Eddie’s.

It’s not much, could easily be ignored and passed as an accident— which it is.

But Eddie doesn’t let it pass as so.

He nudges you back.

You pause, heart skipping a beat when your gaze flickers to him. He’s completely normal. Popping a fry in his mouth and chewing way too casually like he hasn’t just done that on purpose.

Like he isn’t waiting to see what you’ll do next. Like you’re too chicken to play this little game he’s started.

And because you’re not thinking, the sun having gone to your head or something, and maybe because you’re a little tired of thinking, you take the bait.

You nudge him again.

His lips twitch, brown eyes dancing across your face. He props his chin in his hand, lips twisting in thought as his foot presses against the side of yours, the toe of his boot scratching against your ankle.

“Favorite color?”

You hum, shrugging as you dance below the table, “Not my favorite, but I like it. You?” You respond casually, but your heart is thrumming in your chest, nearly flopping out onto the table because— Jesus Christ, what are you doing?

Your foot scratches against the lower back of Eddie’s calf, and he stirs, tossing another fry into his mouth in distraction.

“Blood red,” he easily says, “But— I doubt it’ll still be number one once I see that dress.”

And your game goes on.

Eddie stays casual, steady gaze settled on you as he snacks on the rest of your fries— like this is easy for him. Like this isn’t the first time you’re allowing yourself to play this— whatever this is— with him.

You’re very much aware of how your foot is still pressed against his. You’re very aware of this little cat-and-mouse game— your foot will brush his, he will nudge back, you will wander off, and he will find you.

And neither of you mention it.

Because Eddie isn’t, and you refuse to do it.

You let it build. The shock of warmth that shoots up your leg each time he finds you, the lousy waltz your eyes are in— you let it inch forward more and more.

Your milkshake is finished, and the sun is gone, but you’re still so fucking hot, and your neck burns, and just when you think to call it quits and pull away for good— Eddie traps you.

His foot sneaks in behind yours, and he loops around your ankle.

Not forcefully— you could definitely move away if you wanted to.

And you do. You think.

But he’s saying something, and you’re watching his lips move, his ringed fingers glimmer beneath the light, and his skin is pressed against yours beneath the table— and you don’t want to move. Can’t. Not even if you tried.

Not when he’s warm and gentle, and all of your defense is benched.

And goddamn him— he’s so fucking annoying, he doesn’t even look bothered, and he clearly isn’t when he flicks a soggy fry at your forehead.

“Ow, what the hell?” You frown, dusting the salt from your head.

“You weren’t paying attention.” He plainly says, though there’s a glint in his eyes.

You scowl, flinging the fry back at him only for him to dodge it, “You’re a child.”

“Yet you’re still here.”

He slinks his foot away from you, a cheeky grin tugging at his lips as you drag in a silent breath.

“What’s my favorite color?” He asks.

You gaze at him, subconsciously committing this view of him to memory as you boredly reply, “I was listening, you idiot.”

He turns his head, offering his ear as he gestures his fingers in a ‘speak up’ motion. You roll your eyes before responding, “Blood red.”

He hums, tapping the table as he exits the booth, “And don’t forget it next time you’re at the mall.” He winks.

The drive home is mostly quiet.

It’s not awkward, more so just… charged. Like neither of you wants to speak and shatter what you’d started beneath the diner table. Like you’re too afraid to speak of it and call it something.

A game. That’s all it was.

And your ankle is still buzzing.

You can almost feel the scratch of his boot against your skin.

Eddie’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, his rings clinking softly. The radio hums softly beneath the rumble of the van, something lazy and bluesy that sounds nearly historic crackling through the old speakers.

He pulls into your house, the van slowing to a stop— and you kind of had hoped the drive would never stop. Because maybe then, you wouldn’t be forced to finally say something.

What do you say?

The headlights wash over the white picket fence and pristine lawn— a sharp contrast to the dim, cramped diner where your foot had been tangled with his just an hour ago.

You shift in your seat, stalling, hand on the door handle but not moving. You try to convince yourself it’s because you’re tired— summer heat.

But you know better. And Eddie knows better, too.

“So,” he drawls, twisting one of his rings. He glances at you, curly hair rolling over his shoulders, a suppressed grin cracking at his lips, “Good date?”

You scoff, finally looking at him, “That wasn’t a date.”

Eddie smirks, huffing out a laugh as he briefly looks out his window like he’s trying to stop from bursting into a full-blown fit of laughter. “Right. My mistake.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag, before opening the door to get out. Your feet hit the pavement, your fingers curling around the door, preparing to shut it when Eddie speaks again. His face is unreadable in the dim light, but his voice is… softer. Less teasing.

“You had fun, though, right?”

And you hesitate, gripping the handle of your bag— because yeah. You did. Too much.

You tilt your head, flashing a look his way before you shrug and respond, “I survived.”

Eddie laughs, craters of sun carving out in his cheeks as he looks away. And you can’t stop the mirror of a slight smile on your lips as you close the door and turn around.

He watches you walk to the door, and you only know not because you turn back around to catch it, but because you can feel his gaze burning with each step you take.

And because Eddie is a thorough chauffeur, he waits until you get the door open before driving away. And you don’t look back.

Not until the red glow of his taillights disappears down the street.

Eddie doesn’t leave your mind easily.

Granted, it’s been less than a day, but that doesn’t make your restlessness any less frustrating. After Eddie dropped you off, you spent the better half of your night batting away flashes of your afternoon with him.

His stupid grin when he picked you up. His teasing comments. His clunky rings. The way his lips curled around a cigarette, the brush of his skin against yours. It plays in your mind like a shitty looped movie, running on repeat from the moment you closed the car door to when you stepped into the shower to when your head hit the pillow.

Admittedly, it’s annoying as hell.

Like an itch. An intrusive thought that won’t quit no matter how hard you try to ignore it. If lobotomies were still legal, you might’ve scheduled one by now—because nothing, absolutely nothing, seems to get that stupid metalhead idiot out of your head.

Which is why you’re here now, lounging by your friend’s pool, still reeling, when the words slip out before you can stop them—

"Do you know Eddie Munson?"

Mia, one of the true friends you’ve made in the years of visiting Hawkins, sits on the lounge chair beside you, focused as she paints her toenails and hums. She doesn’t look up as she responds, “Eddie?” She pauses to blow on the wet paint and shrugs, “Yeah, of course. Why?”

You lean back against your chair, sunglasses dipping as you look at your friend, “He’s always at my house— friends with Steve,” you mutter, “Weird, right?”

Mia huffs a laugh, shifting as she focuses on her task, “Yeah, kinda. Don’t remember Steve having a resident bad boy in his little high school clique.”

“Exactly.” You muse, “That’s what makes it weird.” And honestly, you’re glad you’re not the only one who sees it. How Steve and Eddie even crossed paths will always be a myth to you.

And because your mind is a whirlwind of questions and you seem to have lost your dignity, you move on, voice neutral like your prodding is coming from a place of gossip— “Did you talk in school?”

Thankfully, Mia doesn’t seem to catch your curiosity— Eddie is an interesting guy compared to most people in Hawkins. She hums, still focused on her nails, “Not much. He was a grade above me, so we never really crossed paths, but y’know,” she shrugs, “People talk.”

That piques your interest, your brow raising as you ask, “Talk about what?”

Mia sighs as she shifts her attention to the next set of nails, “That he’s a troublemaker, for one. He was kind of just… always doing his own thing,” she mindlessly rambles, “Skipped class half the time, played in his band, sold drugs in the parking lot.” She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head, “Honestly, I don’t even think he tried to graduate.”

You scoff with a playful roll of your eyes, “Shocking.”

“He was kind of nuts. He was, like… crazy, but in a fun way,” she explains, “Loud, dramatic— he walked across the lunch table once, so, definitely not boring.”

Your face twists in confusion, imagining Eddie walking across a lunch table, but before you can ask, Mia shrugs and speaks again, “I don’t know, he’s kinda hot.”

You nearly freeze.

You glance over at Mia, playing it cool, when you hum in an uninterested tone, “Not my style.”

Mia shrugs, completely unfazed, “Fair. He’s not a lot of people’s style.” She pauses, tilting her head before a small smirk dances along her lips, “But, y’know, I did hear he’s good with his fingers.”

You blink, heart skipping a beat for a moment. “What?”

Mia grins, finishing her task and twisting the nail polish lid back onto the bottle as she shrugs, “You know… he’s in a band. Plays guitar. And allegedly, that skill transfers.”

You scoff, pushing your sunglasses higher up your nose as if the plastic frame will hide whatever the hell your face is doing, “Jesus Christ, Mia.” You mumble.

Mia laughs, stretching out her legs on the chair as she leans back and wriggles in her spot, “Hey, I’m just repeating what I heard,” she defends, “Some girl at a party a while back was very detailed about it.”

And you don’t want to think about it.

You really don't want to imagine whatever hell Eddie Munson’s fingers could release upon your body because that is the last thing you need, and god— you should’ve never asked.

You grab the magazine next to you, desperate to distract your hands from nervous fidgeting. You shrug, playing a facade of boredom, “Yeah, well. Still not my type.”

Mia snickers, gliding a pair of shades over her eyes and relaxing into her chair, “Sure, babe. Whatever you say.”

And you hate that you know she’s right.

The days pass uneventfully.

Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The heatwave has passed, so you keep yourself busy— lounging by the pool, flipping through magazines and books, running forced errands with your stepmother, and meeting up with Mia when you can. It’s enough to keep your mind occupied but not enough to stop Eddie’s presence from creeping in during the quiet moments.

It’s frustrating.

It was just one day. One stupid, random, impulsive day. And yet, his voice, his smirk, the way he looked at you before you left his car— it lingers. Just as much as your newfound information about his magical fingers.

It’s like trying to scrub off a marker stain that refuses to fade.

And it doesn’t help that Steve has been acting annoyingly weird. Smirking and snickering. Amused. Like he knows something.

And you shouldn’t feel bothered by it— because it was nothing— but you do.

You’re sitting at the dining table, absently pushing the grilled asparagus around your plate, hardly listening to whatever your stepmother is saying until your dad says your name.

“Did you go out today?” He asks, cutting into his steak.

You shrug, “Not really. Just hung out here. Swam for a bit.”

Steve snorts, barely looking up from his plate as he spears a bite of chicken. Your brows knit together, face twisting in subtle annoyance before you decide to ignore him.

”What about the rest of the week? Been keeping busy, right? You’ve got another two months left; can’t spend it locked up inside.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes and shrug again, “I guess. Nothing exciting. There’s, like, nothing to do here anyway.”

Steve huffs a laugh, chewing his chicken as he shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. You barely have a chance to shoot a glare his way before he mutters, “Don’t lie. She’s been hanging with Eddie.”

His words crash over you like a bucket of ice water.

Because, what the fuck?

Your head snaps toward him, stomach twisting, pulse skipping a beat, “I have not been hanging with Eddie,” you snap. “We hung out once. By accident.”

Your dad hums, sipping his drink, “When you broke my car.”

You glare at him next— that conversation didn’t go over well— “Yes, when your car broke down, which was, again, an accident.” You stress.

Steve huffs, sending an unconvinced glare your way, “Yeah? Well, quit throwing yourself at him then, ‘cause I’m tired of hearing him ramble about you.”

“Steve.” Your stepmother warns.

And you… you’re not quite sure if you’re breathing right.

What?

Your body runs so hot you could nearly burn a hole through the table. Your father smirks around the rim of his glass, eyes holding an amused glimmer like this is the most entertaining thing he’s heard all week.

You, however, are not entertained.

“I’m not throwing myself at anyone, you absolute moron.” You grit out, face burning despite your best efforts.

Steve shrugs, “Could’ve fooled me.”

You glare, turning back to pushing at the food on your plate, “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Steve just leans back in his chair, his mother shaking her head as her son continues to spew out nonsense, “Oh, I don’t? Well, I guess Eddie’s been hallucinating then, huh?”

You scoff in disbelief, “Probably. The drugs probably finally got to him, I don’t fucking know!” You stress.

“Language.” Your father warns, earning an eye roll from you.

Steve's mom gasps, turning to her son, “Steve!” She exclaims, “Drugs?”

Steve waves her off with an annoyed glance, “All I’m saying is there’s no way Eddie is the only one buying into whatever you two have going on— gross.”

Your heart kicks up a speed, but you fight to keep your expression neutral.

“Well, it’s not my fault your weird friends never spent more than two minutes around a girl.” You bite back.

Steve’s mother finally waves her hands about the table, “Okay, you two, that’s enough. We’re not here to discuss sibling politics; we’re here to eat.”

Steve shrugs, taking another bite into his chicken— which you hope is poisoned. You roll your eyes, returning your attention to your plate, trying to act like your pulse isn’t pounding in your ears.

But it is.

And as much as you don’t want to, you can’t stop wondering about Eddie’s supposed “ramblings.”

And you tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

That maybe he’s just rambling about how he thinks you’re annoying or something stupid— but from how Steve put it, and from the way Eddie acts towards you—

You know it’s the complete opposite.

And you hate that it makes your insides twist.

The past few days have been… weird.

Eddie doesn’t know exactly why, but something’s been sitting in his chest, subtle yet loud.

Maybe it’s because he’s been trying not to think about you.

Which, by the way, isn’t working.

Because he can’t stop thinking about you.

Admittedly, Eddie is a flirt at heart. He likes playing with shiny things, and you’re a fucking beam of light. That being said, sure, Eddie initially started this little cat-and-mouse game as a fun little summer activity, but shit Eddie’s never been this dedicated to a game other than D&D.

He knew his chances with you were slim— because what’s a guy like him doing poking his nose around a girl like you? But the other night, sitting across from you in that shitty diner, hearing your laugh and seeing your smile, feeling you against him— shit, Eddie’s done for.

Sugar-sweet, honeycomb, crisp sunshine— Eddie feels this sticky, gooey substance oozing down the sides of his insides every time you pass by.

He’s kept himself busy, helping Wayne with the truck, jamming with the guys, and doing extra shifts at the shop. He’s been a busy guy for a guy that isn’t usually busy.

And you’d think it’d tire his brain out enough to not be able to think about you, but nope.

You’re still there, at the forefront of his mind, bright as ever, Malibu sun in all her glory.

If Eddie’s being honest, he gave up trying after the second day.

Lets you run rampant in his cluttered mind, sprinkling stardust on everything and throwing up glitter. God, Eddie’s fucked. And he knows it, not only because he feels it when he sees you and his body gets this surge of adrenaline, but also because— Steve sees it.

Eddie doesn’t know; maybe he said something offhanded— his mouth runs a lot; he stopped paying attention to it back in middle school— so he was kind of thrown when Steve just casually looked at him and went, “If you’re gonna have a crush on my sister, at least do it silently, man.”

Eddie… did nothing.

Couldn’t.

Not even if the weed allowed him to.

He thinks he just laughed, said something witty, and told Steve to fuck off, but he doesn’t quite remember— why? Because he was busy thinking about you.

He’d been waiting for a chance to get alone with you again, whisk you away like he did the other night, make you fall disgustingly hard for him— shit, get a ring, make it official or something, jump every last one of the hoops— but you’ve done an excellent job at making yourself scarce.

Until now.

Now, Eddie’s at the town's yearly carnival, and you’re right fucking there.

Eddie barely processes it at first— he’s walking through the loud park with the guys, laughing at something dumb Jeff said, and that’s when he feels it— the weight of your gaze.

He glances up, and sure enough, there you are.

And you’re already looking at him.

And Eddie has you caught.

You’re standing near the ticket booth, arms crossed, expression unreadable beneath your sunglasses. The neon lights drip over you in shifting colors— blue, then pink, then gold.

Malibu sun in all her beautiful, stubborn glory.

You don’t look away. Or maybe you do. Eddie can’t tell past the lights bursting across your shades, but he takes it upon himself to grab the invitation either way.

A slow, wicked, and hungry grin tugs at his lips. He alters his course, peeling off from his group of friends without so much as a word. They don’t notice— he doubts they’d question it if they did.

He weaves through the crowd, sugar-high kids dashing past him, hands in his pockets and eyes loose on you until he’s standing right before you.

The smell of your perfume drifts in the wind, whizzing up his nose and licking the grooves of his brain. His stomach churns.

“Fancy seeing you here, princess.”

You lift an unimpressed brow, still unreadable beneath your glasses. “Mm. Lucky me.”

Stubborn as ever.

Eddie inhales it like freshly washed sheets.

Eddie smirks, leaning against the ticket booth, “Careful. Almost sound happy to see me.”

You scoff, shifting your weight and glancing away, “In your dreams.”

“You’d be surprised how often you show up there, honey.”

You hum, your nose wrinkling— Eddie’s insides burn.

“Surprised? Not really. Grossed out? Maybe.”

Eddie raises a brow, “You know what… I’ll take a maybe.”

His gaze flickers towards a ride across the park, and he looks back at you as you retrieve your tickets from the man in the booth. And before you can walk away, Eddie speaks again, “Take a ride with me?”

You look at him momentarily, seemingly thinking it over before shrugging, “No thanks.”

You turn around, taking a few steps before Eddie jogs up to you, turning and walking backward as he paces before you, “Come on babe,” he drawls, “I’m offering you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here.”

You raise an eyebrow, fingers tight around your string of carnival tickets, “Well, I heard you’ve got a reputation with girls and your fingers, so, can’t be much of a missed opportunity.”

Eddie physically malfunctions.

His smirk falters, just for a second, his pace slowing.

And you pause, and Eddie sees it on your face— you fucked up.

Your lips part for a moment, about to say something, something to debunk what the hell you just said— but Eddie beats you to it.

He laughs, eyes widening in disbelief, “Oh-ho-ho,” Eddie delights, “Look at you, princess. Fishing for details.” He drawls. You groan, attempting to walk around him only for Eddie to follow after you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head as if it’ll help him digest your words easier, “Hold on— did you just slut shame me?” He exclaims with a grin.

“Yes. And no, I wasn’t fishing for details.” You hiss.

“No, no, no,” Eddie places a hand on your shoulder and turns you to him, “You can’t just drop that in casual conversation and expect me to let it go.” He pauses, eyes narrowing at you before he leans in, a devilish smirk on his lips as his voice lowers, “You wanna try ‘em out, huh?”

You grimace, “Excuse me—”

Eddie wriggles his decorated fingers in your face, “Right here, ready to go for you, honeybee.”

You smack your hand against Eddie’s, batting him away as your face twists with an annoyed expression, “And what about you?” You press.

Eddie looks at you, amusement woven with confusion, “What about me?” His fingers dance across your wrist, licks of fire kissing his fingertips, “I’m not the one accusing you of sleeping with the entire town, sugartits.” He points out.

You hum, crossing your arms and straightening your back, “Well, you’re the one rambling to Steve about me. That’s cute, Munson.” You lean in, “You’ve got a crush on me.”

Eddie’s brain short-circuits.

Because what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?

He blinks.

“The hell are you talking about?”

You tilt your head, a smirk tugging at your lips, “Steve told me.”

Eddie scoffs, looking away as if unfazed, shifting in his spot as he shrugs, “Steve’s full of shit.”

You hum, “If you say so.”

Eddie shrugs, “So we’re both in love— knew that already.”

“We are not—“

Eddie waves you off, trying and failing to suppress a smile, “Yeah, yeah— getting on the ride or what?”

You look at Eddie, arms crossed, cute and disgruntled.

Oh, he’s definitely got you stuck.

“One ride.”

Eddie smirks, slinging an arm over your shoulders and forcing you to walk with him, “Just what I like to hear.”

He takes you across the park, a shit-eating grin on his face and you under his arm. Eddie glances at you, smirking at your forced look of annoyance. He snags your sunglasses, perching them on his face and grinning when you grumble and try to take them back, “Come on, princess. Gotta save my eyes; your smiles just too bright.” He teasingly complains, poking at the side of your lips.

You roll your eyes, giving up on retrieving your glasses when he bats you away. “You’re so annoying,” you grumble, but Eddie sees your lips twitch.

“You love me.” He squeezes your arm.

And because Eddie’s a total shithead, he stops at the scariest-looking ride in the park, smirking when you gaze up at it, arms crossed.

“Nope.”

Eddie tilts his head, grinning. “Nope?”

You turn to Eddie, a stern look on your face, “Nope,” you repeat, “I’m not getting on that thing.” You point towards the ride of screaming victims.

Eddie clutches his chest dramatically, “Wow,” he muses, “Can’t believe this. Little miss indestructible, afraid of a little carnival ride.”

You glare at him, “It’s not fear; it’s common sense. I like my feet on the ground.”

“Oh?” Eddie hums, lips mockingly turning into a pout, “Sounds like fear, baby.”

You huff, shifting your weight, “Pick something else.”

Eddie looks at the ride for a second before looking back at you. “Nah.”

“Eddie—”

“Just so we’re clear,” Eddie holds up a finger, leaning in when he speaks, “If you pick another ride, I’m never letting you live this down. Every time I see you, I’ll greet you with a, ‘Hey, remember when you chickened out at the carnival?’”

Your jaw clenches. A pause of silence. A glance at the ride.

Caught.

So fucking caught.

“So fucking stupid.” You mutter with a shake of your head. “Fine.”

The metal bar slams over your laps with a heavy clunk, ringing in Eddie’s ears like a winning chime.

And beside him, you shift in your seat, hands gripping the bar, jaw tight as you glare straight ahead. Eddie grins, lounging back like he’s in a recliner, one arm draped over the side.

“You look tense, princess.”

“I wonder why,” you deadpan.

Eddie snickers, impulsively reaching out and giving your bar a heavy shake just to mess with you. You flinch, snapping your head towards him and gripping his hands, “Stop that.” you stress, peeling his fingers from your seat.

“What?” Eddie drawls, “Just making sure it’s secure.” He hums innocently, a shit-eating grin on his face to ruin the act. “Wouldn’t want you flying off, now, would we?”

You exhale sharply, a frown on your face as you turn forward again, “I hate you.”

“You keep saying that, but you’re still risking your life for me.” He teases.

You roll your eyes, fingers still tight around the bar. Eddie leans in a little, voice dropping when he asks, “You nervous?”

You scoff, knuckles nearly popping from your skin, “No.”

“You sure?” Eddie grins, “You’re holding onto that thing like it’s your last hope.”

You release the bar immediately, crossing your arms instead, “I just— I don’t trust these things, alright.” You grumble.

Eddie hums, glancing around, “Yeah, I mean… I did see a loose bolt on the track earlier— but I’m sure it’s fine.”

You turn, eyes wide, as you look at Eddie, and it takes Eddie everything in his body not to burst into a fit of laughter.

“Are you serious?” You stress.

Eddie pauses. Thinks you’re the prettiest sight when you’re about to fling yourself off the ride and probably murder him.

Then he grins. “Nah.”

You elbow him— quite hard, actually— and Eddie barks out a laugh just as the ride jerks to life, gears whirring as you begin your slow ascent.

Eddie glances at you again, sees the way you shift, the way you press your lips together as the ground sinks further and further beneath you.

And Eddie can’t help himself.

“You can hold my hand if you want,” he offers, wriggling his fingers in your direction.

You glance at his fingers. Eddie thinks you consider it, but you huff and look away, adjusting your grip on the bars, “I’d rather die.”

Eddie just laughs, the wind whipping through his hair as the ride reaches the top, “Suit yourself, princess.”

And then—

The ride drops.

Eddie’s head throws back in laughter, and the wind roars, whipping through his curls and pressing his shirt to his chest as gravity yanks you both down. The weightlessness sends a rush through his veins, fire licking hot through his veins. He fucking loves this.

A scream rips through the air beside him.

Eddie glances over and— oh, shit, this is better than the ride itself.

You look miserable.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, your mouth open in a blood-curdling scream that gets stolen by the wind and stirring gears, drowned out by the deafening carnival sounds. You’re gripping the safety bar like your life depends on it— which it does— and your body is stiff as you get thrown into a loop.

Eddie laughs even harder then, because— god, she’s adorable.

The ride twists, flips you upside down, and snaps you back into another soul-snatching drop. You let out another breathless scream, like you’ll never come out of this alive, cursing at Eddie like he’s this is his fault— and Eddie soaks up every second, grinning wide, weightless, and free.

And then something grabs him.

Eddie falters for a moment and blinks, head snapping down, and— oh.

Your hand. Wrapped tight around his. Like it’s instinct— like you reached for him without thinking.

The ride whips sideways, but Eddie’s hardly paying attention to that anymore.

His hand is on fire.

Sweet, sizzling, hot fire.

You don’t let go. Not even when the ride is tossed through another loop, not when your breath stutters from the sheer force of another drop— your hand stays steady planted around Eddie’s.

He feels the tremble in your fingers, how hard you’re clutching— like he’s steadier than the metal bar bolted to the seat, solely there to protect you.

Eddie’s stomach flips, and it’s not because of the ride.

He’s grinning wide, fingers curling around your hand, allowing himself to greedily take your mindless opening.

By the time the ride slows to a stop, Eddie’s still smiling, riding high on a sunny-bliss wave.

You rip your hand from his, and Eddie watches as you unbuckle yourself, your face twisted in utter betrayal.

“That was awful.” You pant, shaking out your hands like they’ve fallen asleep, “I fucking hate you.”

Eddie cocks his head, beaming. “You held my hand.”

You pause, still breathing shakily, as you look at Eddie for a second. Your gaze flickers down, fingers flexing like they remember how Eddie felt just moments ago.

Eddie’s grin stretches as your expression shifts from realization to horror, and before you can say something, Eddie wiggles his fingers, “Still feelin’ ‘em, too. Strong grip, princess. You sure you don’t wanna hold ‘em again?”

You shove Eddie so hard he nearly topples over.

Eddie laughs, honest and deep in his chest— god, he’s having fun.

Eddie unbuckles his seat, lifting the bar above your heads, careful not to hit you. You step down from the seat, wobbling for a moment, but Eddie catches your elbow before you take out an entire family of children.

“Woah there,” he muses, holding you steady, “You okay? Need me to carry you?”

You glare at him, letting Eddie gently guide you out of the way for other passengers, “Pick something else before I kill you.”

Eddie grins.

God, he so fucking won.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, honeybee.”

And just like that, you’re off again, moving through the park like it’s just the two of you.

And you don’t bring up your friends.

Neither does Eddie.

You just keep going, slipping from one ride to the next, getting caught up in the rush, the lights, the sheer gravity of just being together. Eddie’s never felt this high.

By the time Eddie does think about your groups of friends, it’s already too late. They’re gone.

Not that he gives a single shit.

Mostly everyone is slowly leaving the park because they’re about to close, but one last ride catches Eddie’s eye.

“One more?”

You look at Eddie, a glow on your face that Eddie can’t stop admiring. “I think I’ve had enough of feeling my heart drop out of my ass, Munson.”

Eddie smiles, already tugging you towards the ride he has in mind. “This one's slow.”

You look at him, eyes narrowing in suspicion of the devilish grin on his face. You follow his gaze, groaning when you land on his target, “That’s for couples.” You point out, “And it’s cheesy.”

Eddie shrugs, “We’re a couple, babe. Madly in love, you and I.”

You roll your eyes, barely fighting back as Eddie pulls you into the Tunnel of Love.

There’s no one in line, so Eddie slips the guy two tickets and leads you straight to the awaiting boat. He lends you a hand into the boat because he’s a gentleman before he’s a menace, before taking a seat next to you.

You sit quietly, looking everywhere but Eddie— because here in this tiny little shitty boat, you’re practically sharing the same breath. And Eddie loves it.

“This is stupid.” You mutter.

“As stupid as the first, second, third, or fourth ride you said was stupid?” Eddie teases, draping an arm across the back of the boat, not touching you but just there.

You glare at Eddie, and the boat drifts forward, slipping into the tunnel’s shadow. The warm glow of the carnival lights disappears behind you, swallowed by the dim flicker of fake candles and twinkling stars overhead. It’s quiet in here— just the soft hum of old music and the gentle rush of the water beneath the boat.

You shift beside Eddie, arms crossed as your eyes dance around, “This is kind of creepy.”

Eddie smirks. He leans in, voice low like he’s telling a secret, “It’s haunted, actually.”

You huff through your nose, unimpressed, though your knee bounces momentarily, “Yeah, okay.”

”No, really,” Eddie insists, biting back a grin. You glance at him, your faces close. “Couple got stuck in here. Died. Now they haunt anyone who makes out in these things.”

You huff out a laugh, eyes glancing away as you turn back to the ride, “Wow. So tragic. Guess we should definitely avoid that, then.”

Eddie shrugs, all casual and smug, turning back to the ride as well, “I mean… unless you’re feeling brave— ever been ghost hunting?”

You scoff, shoving at Eddie, your stifled smile peeking out beneath the dim lights. Eddie’s fast— catches your elbow and grins when you glare at him.

He doesn’t let go.

His grip isn't hard, easy enough that you could pull away if you wanted to, but you don’t.

So, Eddie distracts you, spinning this stupid lie about a dead couple as his fingertips drag along the inside of your wrist, featherlight. You shift slightly, eyes taking in the twinkling lights and windows of displays.

And Eddie takes a chance.

Silky smooth, he slides his palm over yours— slow and easy— linking your hands together before you can think too hard about it.

There’s a roaring fire in his chest. Breathing and so fucking alive, and his Malibu sun is feeding it dry wood.

“I don’t believe your story.”

Eddie grins, squeezes your hand once, playful, like it’s just part of the joke, “Don’t come crying to me later tonight when an old woman comes knockin’ shit around in your room.”

You raise a brow, “I’m willing to bet it’d just be you sneaking in like a creep.”

Eddie hums, calloused fingertips dragging over your knuckles. “Wouldn’t be books and makeup knocking around then.”

You groan, pink and red lights casting over your grimace, “Gross. Might be the worst one tonight.” But the corner of your mouth twitches, betraying you.

And Eddie grins, then.

And because Eddie wants to revel in what’s left of being on this ride with you, he says nothing more. He sits there, pressed against you, letting his hand burn in yours.

The carnival hums in the distance, fading into nothing as you and Eddie cross the gravel lot.

Your hand isn’t in Eddie’s anymore.

Eddie misses it, but he doesn’t push it.

There’s a silence between you, not awkward or bad, just… silence.

It’s warm, a slight breeze drifting by that cools the hot bones in Eddie’s body.

Eddie’s hands are shoved in his pockets, scared to let them out because his fingers keep twitching, buzzing with this need to touch you. You’re walking beside him, watching your shoes pace in the gravel, arms wrapped around yourself.

Eddie kind of hates the sight of his van when you walk up to it.

He says nothing, walking over to the passenger side, swinging the door open, and stepping back to let you climb in.

You swallow, stepping forward to get in.

And you make the biggest fucking mistake of looking at Eddie.

Eddie doesn’t know; he’s skyrocketed in the sky, looking down at the earth and weightless in the air— because your lips are on his

He’s not sure who leaned in; maybe it was him— it was probably him— perhaps it was you, but it doesn't matter because he’s kissing you.

And you’re kissing him.

He startles for a moment— just for a second— before instinct takes over. His greedy hands creep out of his pockets to find your waist, dragging you closer as he kisses you, hard and sure.

It’s impulsive. A little messy. Like something that’s been aching to happen all night just snapped loose all at once.

You exhale sharply against his mouth— like you can’t believe what’s happening. Like you might know, this is toeing the line, but Eddie doesn’t let you think too long.

He tilts his head, deepens it— just a little. Just enough to make you forget whatever had been rolling around in your mind.

And fuck, he feels it too. The heat. The weight of it. The fact that this is the first time you’re face to face with this dance you’ve been dancing these last weeks.

You’re pressed against the side of his van, fingers curled into his shirt and kissing him to his death.

He cups your face— can’t get enough of you— and you whimper before pulling away, breathing heavily, hands still clutching his shirt.

Eddie looks at you, your wide eyes, your wet lips, and he licks his own— and he can taste you.

Sugar, cherry, honeydew, Malibu fucking sun— dancing on his tongue, heavy and soft.

And when he looks in your eyes, Eddie realizes he’s entirely, irrevocably, and immensely done for.

Now I told you, so you ought to know

It takes some time for a feeling to grow

But you're so close now, I can't let you go

And I can't let go

- magnet and steel x walter egan

part three.

cutie teeny taglist: @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @hereforshmut @emxxblog @mdurdenpitt @glassbxttless @peculiarwren @aactuaaltraash @daveythorntonslocker @bl1ssfulbaby @strangereads @wdsara48 @cowboylikemunson

————

a/n: THEY SMOOCHED !!! AHHH !!! lmaoo okay guys we're smooth (ish) sailing from here on out ;) I can guarantee there will be some smutty action next chappy hehe. anyways, I hope u enjoyed lovesick eddie this chap. as always, thank you for riding along, ily and appreciate any and all forms of feedback <3

#HERE U GOO #ENJOYYYY #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie x reader #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson au #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson headcanon #eddie x fem!reader #stranger things au

488 notes · View notes

quintessenceofdust88 · 1 month ago

Text

Priorities

(okay, so remember this ficlet? I finished it 🤭 and it's basically 1800 words of Tommy being me and saying everything I wish I could say to Eddie Diaz about the way he treats his supposed best friend. But since I'm a relentless optimist, I gave Eddie a slight redemption at the end. I hope you enjoy it, and thank you for how much love you gave the first part! I hope this part lives up to your expectations ♥)

Tommy is being weird with him.

Eddie's been back for about ten days when he finally gets an invitation to Tommy and Buck's house, that Buck moved to about a month before he arrived. And the invitation came from Buck himself, not from Tommy, so Eddie doesn't think he's being paranoid about the pilot treating him differently.

If Tommy is mad at him for some reason (though Eddie can't fathom why, they haven't even talked much since Eddie moved), it explains why the invitation took so long; frankly, part of Eddie was expecting to set foot in LA and have Buck all over him wanting to hang out, but not quite. Buck had barely shown up, mostly to say hi to Chris, and then Eddie hadn't seen much of him.

Eddie shows up anyway, casting his doubts aside, because he definitely missed hanging out with the two of them. If there's a downside to the months he passed in Texas is how lonely he was; he can't wait to be able to hang out with his friends whenever he wants again.

Chris opts out of joining him, also wanting to catch up with his LA friends, and Eddie doesn't mind. It's good that it'll be just the three of them.

At least it should be, but again, Tommy is being weird. Not to Buck, God no. With Buck he's all 'sweetheart' and kisses to the cheek and hand holding all the time. Eddie privately thinks that this is how they're behaving now, six months after their reconciliation, he's quite lucky to have been in Texas for the first few days after they got back together (he tries not to think what they could have gotten up to in his house while Buck lived there; ignorance is bliss or whatever).

But the point is: Tommy doesn't have any scrunchy smiles or 'how are you doing, man?' and talking about the latest NBA developments with Eddie. Instead he's giving him that trademark bitchy look, and barely answering when Eddie does talk to him.

Buck, bless him, doesn't seem to pick up on the tension. He seems ridiculously happy, all heart eyes at his boyfriend, and for the first time, Eddie feels like a third wheel between them, and that's what makes him decide enough is enough.

When Buck leaves to check on their appetizers, he turns to Tommy, who's quite deliberatedly staring at the TV with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Tommy, man, have I done something to you?" He asks, and Tommy looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

"To me? How could you? You haven't even talked to me one-on-one since Evan and I were broken up."

Eddie sighs; he should have seen that coming, though he never thought Tommy to be the needy kind. Maybe Buck was rubbing off on him.

"Tommy, you know Buck's my best friend, I had to..."

"Oh, is he?!" Tommy says, his voice laced with faux-surprise and mockery, and Eddie recoils. "I would never guess based on the way you treat him"

Eddie stares at Tommy, completely stunned and, if he’s being honest, not just a little offended. He and Buck have been best friends for years; who does Tommy think he is to chime in, especially after he broke Buck’s heart the way he did months ago?

“Tommy, what the hell are you talking about?” Eddie demands, trying to keep his voice low. “Buck is my best friend, everybody knows that.”

“You know what, Eddie? My bad, you are right.” Tommy says, but Eddie doesn’t feel relieved; he seems far from done. “Evan is your best friend; he supports your decisions, he’s always there for you, worrying about you and your kid, going above and beyond to make sure you’re okay.”

The words leaving Tommy’s mouth should have been positive, but for some reason, they’re bringing a deep blush to Eddie’s cheeks and a weird feeling to his stomach. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he’s feeling ashamed.

“Okay, so what are you saying?” He asks, and Tommy stares at Eddie as if he’s being particularly stupid.

“What I’m saying, Diaz, is that Evan is your best friend, but there’s no way you can claim to be his best friend. I’m not even sure you could claim to be his friend.”

“That’s not fair”, Eddie hisses in response, but that inconvenient blush is still stuck to his cheeks.

“No, what’s not fair is making him keep your moving to Texas a secret, then treating him as expendable, then being mad when he finally snapped, and then just ‘forgiving’ him for something you should be apologizing for when he once more proved himself useful to you by taking your house”

Eddie stares at Tommy, mouth agape. That’s certainly not how he remembers things happening.

“I… I was doing what was best for Chris. He… He didn’t have the right to make it about himself” Eddie says, but it now sounds weak even to his ears.

“Oh no, Eddie, as far as you’re concerned, Evan never has the right to make anything about himself. It’s all you, isn’t it? He babysits your son. You two talk about your plans, your feelings, your problems. Did you ever even have a conversation with him about our break-up? Did you even once ask him how he was handling it, if he was suffering?”

Eddie tries to remember those few weeks between their break-up and his moving, and he’s ashamed when he realizes that he doesn’t remember asking Buck how he felt. All he remembers is the incessant baking.

“I…”

“Don’t bother”, Tommy says, raising a hand. “I know you didn’t. Because you, and everyone else, want Evan to always be happy and ready to help you with your problems. And when he dares to ask for help with his own things, of letting his insecurities be known, you accuse him of making everything about him. Of being exhausting.”

The word hits hard for Eddie, and he remembers a fight from so many years ago. He frowns, looking at Tommy, whose expression is harsh, his arms crossed, not a single line of the softness Eddie is used to from him. This is Tommy in protective mode, but Eddie had never expected it to be aimed at himself. It’s not fun, to say the least.

“Did… Did he tell you about that?” He asks, and guilt is pooling up in his chest.

“He wasn’t going to; I got it out of him when he asked me if I had left because he was exhausting,” Tommy says, and Eddie can see some of his guilt mirrored in Tommy’s eyes before he closes them and takes a deep sigh. “Look, I wasn’t perfect with him either, but you, Eddie? You were supposed to be his best friend”

“Tommy, I… I never realized…”

“No. And you never would, because he’s so used to this treatment that he’d never say anything. It’s the normal between the two of you. Except there’s nothing normal about it” Tommy laughs a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “God, Eddie, when he told me how he had ended up living at your place… The way he told it. Putting himself down, saying you were right on calling him out for ‘making everything about me, like I always do’. Like he had been a tantrum-throwing child, like you had been so good for forgiving him after he solved a problem of yours for the millionth time. You could barely say thank you. I asked, and he said you ‘shouldn’t have to thank him anyway, cause that’s what friends do’. That’s the man you like to call selfish.”

Eddie’s heart feels frozen in his chest. He wants to fight back, and wants to give Tommy examples of times he was there for Buck as well, but, to his immense despair, he’s coming up short. He’s about to mention putting Buck on his will, but he can see Tommy saying that was more for his benefit than Buck’s, and he’d be right. Eddie also thinks of telling him about how he handled Buck’s coming out, but… Is that something he should be that proud of? It was basic human decency, nothing else.

When was the last time their friendship was about what Buck needed? Eddie can’t remember, if there ever was one in the first place.

As guilt and shame take over him, he runs a hand through his face, and looks back at Tommy. In a way, he’s grateful; grateful that Buck found someone who’s that willing to defend him, but it makes Eddie feel awful that he’s the one who Buck needs to be defended from. And the worst part is that he knows, absolutely knows for a fact, that Buck hasn’t asked Tommy to say any of that.

“I… I made him feel less than, didn’t I? When… When I left like that” He says, and Tommy nods, his expression finally softening a bit.

“Look, he gets it. I get it. Chris is your priority. But Evan is mine, and him taking me back was the best thing that ever happened to me. And I’m sorry, Eddie, but I won’t let him be treated like that anymore. Not by you, not by anyone. He deserves better.”

Eddie finds himself nodding numbly. Tommy is right; Buck deserves better. From the 118, from his parents, but from him. Eddie has to step up.

“He does. I… I’m sorry” He says pathetically, and Tommy only shrugs.

“Don’t tell that to me, tell it to him. But let me tell you that it won’t make much of a difference. He doesn’t think you have anything to be sorry for.” Tommy says, and the worst part is that Eddie knows it’s true, which makes him feel even guiltier. “So instead of being sorry, do better”

He doesn’t have much time to mull on Tommy’s words before Buck is back, announcing the nachos are finally ready and that he had to re-do the guacamole three times before it was perfect.

And as he drops the bowls on the coffee center table, then gives Tommy a quick peck, Eddie looks at them. The way Tommy instantly smiled when Buck entered the room, as if the tension is out of him now that he told Eddie what was on his mind; the way he wraps his arm around Buck’s waist and Buck leans against his shoulder. The way he intently listens to Buck explaining what exactly went wrong with the first two guacamole batches, the way he praises Buck for finally getting it right.

Eddie sighs and does his best to join their conversation as if nothing has happened. Watching the two of them, the way Buck smiles so easily, his eyes never leaving Tommy, and how content his best friend looks, how sure of himself, Eddie realizes that yes, he has to do better by Buck, because they’ve been friends for years and he hasn’t been very good at it. But one thing he knows for sure: Buck is not alone.

He is finally someone’s priority.

Ppl who were interested/asked to be tagged: @azaharinflames @laundryandtaxesworld @agentpeggycartering @unhingedangstaddict @iredastead @exhaustedpirate @dum-amo-vivo9 @neverstopschanging @walkedthroughfires @aar-journey @justahumblecabbagemerchant @styxhuntress @sgprfan

#anti eddie diaz #just in case #he just gets called out on his very canon actions #and how they affect people #people being buck #evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #tommy defends his man's honor #gabby writes

365 notes · View notes

npdclaraoswald · 5 months ago

Text

It is genuinely weird that Community never went for the Jeff/Shirley angle. He's got romances with the other girls, including the one half his age, but not her. I think their bitchiness could interact in really fun ways to ratchet up tension with them and the group. Far better than putting her with Chang

#community

490 notes · View notes

sapphicantics · 8 months ago

Text

Two Sides of the Same Coin | Chapter Two

Pairing: Regina George x fem!reader

Summary: After a nobody destroys the Jocks and insults the Queen Bee without a care or an apology, you get catapulted to the top of the social food chain next to aforementioned Queen Bee, Regina George, who now has to learn to share the spotlight with North Shore’s new bad girl. | Or alternatively, your ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude sucks you and Regina into each other’s worlds sending you down a path you never expected.

Word count: 1.5k

Contents: mentions of violence, reader might be coming off a bit toxic but she’s meant to be cocky, angry!Regina, sexual tension???, explicit language, a little stalking, more shitty comebacks, think that’s all let me know if I missed any

Note: Well, this chapter took a different turn than I was expecting but honestly I think this is better than what was originally planned. Certain parts of this chapter made me cackle while writing and I hope it makes you cackle too so enjoy my shitty sense of humor

Intro - Chapter One

— — — —

Assuming it’d be a hell of a day might have been a little dramatic.

It’s been a day so far, sure, but nothing different than what you’re used to.

You’ve got a busted lip and your knuckles are sore from, for lack of a better term, bashing Christian Wiggins face in this morning and sending him to the nurse’s office. Perhaps, you’d feel guilty if it wasn’t for the fact that he busted your lip open first.

As often as you have been getting into fights, you thought someone would have noticed by now that you don’t ever throw the first punch - thus granting you the excuse of self-defense.

Though, even if they did know the jocks have far less self control than you and would never be able to refrain from reacting to the things you say.

Speaking of refraining from reacting, Regina has been watching you all day. She still is, right now. Well, technically Gretchen is watching you, but you know she’s doing it because Regina told her to and you know she’s gonna report back to Regina immediately because Regina told her to.

Seems a little obsessive of her, really.

Which is funny considering.

Whatever, you don’t have anything to do with that. If Regina wants to have her little minions following you around then that’s her business.

Also you’re pretty sure Regina intended for Gretchen to be discreet and not make it obvious that she’s watching you, but maybe you’re wrong. Maybe Regina wants you to know she’s watching.

That sounds like something she’d do as an act of intimidation, or even just for fun so you wouldn’t put it past her.

Either way, you know Gretchen is there.

You wouldn’t find this weird because you two do share this class. Normally, you guys sit on opposite sides of the room from each other, but Gretchen is now sitting three seats behind you - not too far away where she can’t see you clearly, but not close enough to where it’s obvious.

( Or maybe it wouldn’t have been obvious if you showed up to class on time, but since you didn’t it was immediately apparent that she switched seats. )

You ignore it because one: you don’t care, and two: what exactly are you gonna do about it? Gretchen’s already anxious enough having to deal with Regina’s bitchiness daily, you’re not about to worsen it by confronting her over something so trivial.

You catch her taking pictures of you and typing rapidly on her phone moments after you have this thought, and now you just have to confront her.

You catch her after the bell before she can escape the classroom, throwing your arm over her shoulder and steering her away from the door. She squeaks as you do so, tightening her grip on her belongings. “So Gretchen, mind telling me why you were taking photos of me when you thought I wasn’t looking?”

She stammers, her eyes widening. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t taking pictures of you.”

“Right. So if I took your phone and went to your messages with Regina I wouldn’t find pictures with live updates you’ve been sending her during class?”

Gretchen’s hand tightens even more on her phone if that’s possible, her knuckles turning white with how hard her grip is.

That’s answer enough for you.

“Yeah that’s what I thought. Do me a favor,” you hum, leaning closer to Gretchen. “Tell Regina, and I want you to tell her word for word what I’m about to say, to stop acting like a little bitch and sending her minions to spy on me instead of coming to see me face-to-face.”

Gretchen’s mouth drops open. “I can’t say that to her! She’ll kill me!”

“You’ll be fine as long as you mention my name immediately,” you wave off her concerns which is kind of a rude thing to do, but the whole school already thinks you’re a rude person so may as well uphold the reputation. “Word for word, Gretchen. I’ll know if you don’t.”

That sounds vaguely like a threat that implies you’re gonna come after her if she doesn’t say it word for word. You’re not, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Go on, Gretchen, you’ve only got a minute and a half before the next class starts, and I’m sure you know how Regina feels about being kept waiting.”

You take your arm off her shoulders and after a moment, she peels out of the classroom, rushing off to Regina.

You sigh and shake your head, you feel bad for that because Gretchen did not deserve your threats and she doesn’t deserve the ire she’s about to get from Regina.

You’d apologize, but you’re sure you’ll never be able to get close to Gretchen again after this.

It’s too late to take it back now so you exit the room and head off to your next class on the opposite side of the school.

— — — —

North shore doesn’t allow students to leave the school early without prior consent from a parent or guardian, or under special circumstances, which you have neither of right now. They don’t really have a way to stop you from leaving, but they will call home and Principal Duvall will pull you into his office in the morning for a lecture, and those are headaches waiting to happen that you’d rather avoid. So even though you’d rather be anywhere else, you’re spending your free period — your last class of the day — lounging around in the cafeteria.

You’re sitting criss-cross atop a table, elbow resting bent upon your knee while your chin rests in the palm of your hand. You’re staring out the window, a single earbud in while Hayley Kiyoko plays in your ear.

You hum along under your breath, a faint clicking noise drawing your eyes to the cafeteria entrance. The doors burst open and in walks Regina, her eyes honing in on you like a target. Her fury is palpable even from here and it makes you smirk knowing you’re able to get under her skin — knowing you’re the only one able to get under her skin like this.

Does this say a lot about you? That you find joy in making Regina angry?

Yes, probably, but why shouldn’t you find joy in calling a bully out on their shit.

Regina slams her hands on the table in front of you interrupting your thoughts. Her glare is intense, and if you were anyone else you’d be cowering under her gaze. Instead, you cock an eyebrow, completely un-phased by the blonde in front of you.

“Something I can do for you, George?”

“You think you’re such hot shit, don’t you? You think you can call me a bitch and get away with it; with no consequences?”

“Oh, no, does the big bad Queen Bee not like being called what she knows she is?” You pout mockingly at her. “Is that all it takes for you to lose your cool, being called a bitch?”

You laugh loudly at that.

It stokes the flames of Regina’s anger and she yanks you up by your collar, your shoes scraping the edge of the table before landing harshly on the floor as Regina slams you against the wall.

Huh, look at that. Prissy pink princess Regina George has the muscles to throw you around.

This is quite the development.

“Congratulations George, you’ve made it about two steps further than anyone else ever has. Think carefully about your next move, lest I let my instincts take over and I fuck up that pretty little face of yours.”

“You have no idea who you’re messing with. I will ruin your life.” She growls at you, ignoring your words.

“Threatening to ruin my life,” you tilt your head in amusement, leaning your face closer to hers. “Seems rather obsessive of you, George. Perhaps you wanna kiss me first. That’s quite on brand for you.”

Regina’s jaw clenches and her grip on you tightens. She goes to speak, but the bell ringing to signal the end of the day cuts her off and you smirk. “You might wanna let me go. If anyone walks by they’ll think you’re making out with me and then everyone will be calling you Sissy Liz, and we can’t have that, now can we?”

Wow, threatening to fight Regina and bringing up her old friendship with Janis — twice, in two different ways — all in a span of like forty-five seconds is absolutely insane.

Regina scowls at you, her eyes practically alight with malice. She doesn’t want to let you go because if she does that means you win, that means you get away with disrespecting her for the third time with no consequences, and no one wins against her, no one is supposed to win against her ever, but you’ve done it twice now and you’re about to do it again.

She shoves you harshly against the wall one last time at the realization and, wow, you’re really priding yourself at the moment because the fact that she’s still standing when anyone else would be on the ground right now speaks volumes to your self-control, but then anyone else would’ve hit you by now so maybe it speaks more to Regina’s intelligence that she’s not.

“This is not over.” With that she turns on her heel and storms away, leaving you with a smirk as you watch her retreating figure.

#regina george x reader #regina george #regina george x fem!reader #regina x fem!reader #regina george 2024 #regina george x female reader #mean girls 2024

172 notes · View notes

melswifeasf · 1 year ago

Text

You were never mine

Fandom: Yellowjackets

Pairing: Natalie Scatorccio x fem!reader

Genre: angst.

words: 6.9k

Warnings: major character death, heartbreaking angst and slight sexual themes.

Summary: you loved Natalie more than anything, until your dying breath.

Notes: this one is a sad one so be prepared. ngl i cried while writing this.

not spell checked!

first loves always came and went. at least that is what you had heard since your were a kid. truthfully you had never cared much when your mom said that, even when you were fifteen and you were at the age in which most fell in love for the first time. you'd never cared to listen because you weren't in love. you couldn't understand when she would tell you that your first love will be painful and it will probably make you want to never fall in love again but you would. you never understood it.

until you met Natalie Scatorccio. it had been love at first sight. it was cliche and sounded stupid to anyone else but you didn't expect anyone to understand.

you had tried out for the soccer team per your fathers request. you weren't really interested in it but he was a man that loved sports and you were an only child so he didn't have a son to share his passion with. he didn't force you, simply suggested that it would be fun. even if you weren't the greatest or knew much about it, he insisted that you were on the track team and that you would make new friends and memories that would last you a lifetime. maybe he was right about one thing. you were sure Natalie would be engraved into your memory until your dying breath.

she hadn't paid much attention to you at first, you guys weren't in the same social class so she figured you'd be snobby and bitchy. that was until coach Ben had paired her up with you to help you on some of the skills you were lacking. that had been the first time you had talked, the first time you weren't left admiring her beauty. she was nice. or indifferent, mostly. she knew you hung out with the 'popular' kids and that your parents were rich and she didn't want to tension to form on the team so she figured being quiet would be easier to deal with you.

that was the case at first. until the girls on the team started to hang out outside of practice. Jackie said it was to make you guys bond but you would've loved to be around them regardless. you were closer to Lottie and Jackie, both closer to your social status which meant you shared a lot of friends. you had thrown a party one October night and invited all of the girls on the team. all of them had gone except for Misty, you weren't the biggest fan of her and you assumed she felt the same about you considering you had caught her sending glares at you more than once during or after practice. sometimes even in the hallways which really weirded you out. you'd never been mean to her or said anything, really. whatever her deal was, you didn't care to investigate.

that night you had gotten drunk and got a little too bold. more so then you were used to. you had kissed people before during parties or even got close to hooking up but you'd always stop, not really wanting to give up your virginity to some loser or a girl that probably had a boyfriend and would ditch you the next day. but Natalie wasn't one of those girls. she didn't have a boyfriend, she wouldn't ditch you the next morning or act as if she were straight and you had somehow forced her to do something. she was Natalie.

it was two in the morning when the party was over and you felt her lips all over your body. you weren't that drunk, your thoughts and sentences were coherent. you didn't want to drink much because you had a game the next day and didn't want to slack off. Natalie seemed to have felt the same. you could taste some vodka on her but she seemed pretty sober to you. aside from the alcohol you weren't sure if she had gotten high or something but that didn't really bug you. her wandering hands were making your thighs squeeze together along with her wet lips. she left a couple hickeys on your neck but nothing you couldn't cover the next morning with some makeup.

her hands were everywhere, gripping all over and discarding all of your clothes until you were only left in your underwear. you'd never forget the look in her eyes. it wasn't just lust or hunger, there was a glimmer of something else but a part of you thought you were just imagining it. in a way it was just to make yourself believe that there was a chance. that night before things could progress any further you had told her it was your first time. a part of you expected her to feel awkward and pull away, leaving you there nude and chest heaving. she didn't. she kissed you softly, unlike all of her other kisses and asked you if you were sure. you answered by pulling her into a deep kiss.

Natalie had been the one to make you feel that bliss for the first time. she had been the one to take that part of you and you had no regrets. it didn't matter that she wasn't there when you woke up or that she would kiss you before or after practice once you were alone. it didn't matter that she'd sneak into your room at night to fuck then leave before you had awaken. it didn't matter that she didn't love you because at least you had her. in sone fucked up way you had her. you knew you were the only person she was hooking up with, she had confirmed that early one when you asked about stds and if you should get checked. that made you feel ecstatic, knowing she only ever came to you.

sweat stuck to your body as if you had just gotten out of the shower. your hair was messy and tangled and you could feel your body growing sore from the aftershock of what had just happened. her hand was holding yours tightly from under the sheets and it was probably as sore as your body from every time you'd squeeze it a little too tight. it was silent apart from your ragged breath. your chest was falling and rising heavily and the blankets were making your body feel overheated.

then Natalie popped out from underneath the blankets with a small smirk as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. it was a sight your sure you'd never get tired of. when she was at your level, you could see her bare chest and her hair was almost as frazzled as yours from when you had tangled your hands in it. the cocky smirk she was wearing made you roll your eyes and softly punch her shoulder.

"shut up," you said, a blush coating your cheeks. your face was already pink from the intercourse but even then, your blushing was more than obvious and it made Natalie stop for a second.

"i didn't do anything," she chuckled holding her hands up. you rolled your eyes while pulling the cover further up your body.

"you didn't have to," you responded. "i know what your thinking."

the blondes eyebrow rose in question and she held herself up with one hand, looking down at you. some of her hair fell down her face and you could feel it softly tickle your face so you reached up and tucked it under her ear. the action earned a small, almost ghosting smile on the blondes lips that if you weren't looking, you would have missed. "what am i thinking?" the blonde questioned in a murmur. it was the tone she'd use to try and get you to bed, the tone she'd use when she had hand down your pants or when she would want to leave you hot and bothered. the tone that made you realize she wanted more. "how hot you are after cumming on my tongue?"

almost immediately you felt your face warm up, "shut up." you whispered, very obviously embarrassed. Natalie chuckled softly and you leaned up to kiss her softly. it was always that way with you, her kisses were almost always rough and fast, filled with passion and lust while yours were slow and loving. it was something she couldn't stand, something that always made her run away.

much like she did that night. Natalie pulled away from your a second after and got up and off the bed although faster then you could open your eyes. it wasn't unusual and yet somehow it still surprised you. it was pathetic and almost comical how you'd always be left in shock, processing the way she had just made you feel euphoric and then miserable in the matter of literal seconds.

when you did open your eyes, you were met with sight of her pulling her jeans up. her bra was on by then and you could see that she had fixed her hair. and like always, you stupidly asked the same thing you always did, "want to stay? my parents won't be home for a while and i can drive you home tomorrow." you said, hope filled in your tone. hope that meant nothing, hope that broke your heart, the same hope that had no room in you after so many rejections.

Natalie shook her head as she reached for her shirt, "cant." she said simply. as if it were the most indifferent thing, as if it mattered less than a penny on the street. because you didn't matter, not really. you were someone who she had fun with, the girl that would let her do anything she wanted whenever she wanted. it didn't matter if it was two in the morning or the middle of third period, you'd wake up or sneak out of class just for her. even if you were exhausted or taking a test. she was more important then anything and everything.

you were fun and adventurous and liked to do new things. not to mention the fact that you were pretty and had a nice car and almost always had weed, all things Natalie loved. the only things she ever really noticed. she never saw the way your eyes would always find hers in the middle of a crowded room, never saw the way youd always defend her name with your friends that she'd call snobby. never noticed what your favorite song was or the fact that you loved romcoms because they showed the love you craved. never noticed what your favorite flowers were or that you scrunched your nose when you thought something was adorable. she never cared to notice that you loved her.

it wasn't new and it shouldn't hurt by how many times she had done it and yet it still did. it still left your chest tightening and your throat burning as it would when you'd silent your sobs. it left your eyes burning as if you were having a staring contest with someone and desperately needed to blank. it still left that dread in your stomach, the one you'd feel before getting the results of a test and the one that would leave you feeling sick.

when she was fully dressed, neither of you said a word. she didn't have anything to say while you were trying to keep any emotion a secret. you didn't bother trying to promise yourself that this was just her hiding her feelings, that this was her too afraid to love you back. they were so overused they did more hurt then comfort.

your eyes never left her, not when she turned toward you fully dressed and said, "see you." before leaving without another word or a glance back. when your door closed behind her, it all came pouring out. there was no more hiding it, no more keeping your emotions at bay. you just weren't strong enough for that anymore.

a week after that night, all of your lives changed for the worst.

the plane fell on your way to nationals. what was supposed to be a quick plane ride turned into all of your being stranded in a forest with no hope of being found. at first most of you did but as the days went on all of you started to lose hope progressively. you tried to keep a positive mind but it failed you. there was no point in having hope when you'd just get let down. you didn't have any major injuries, just a couple scratches but nothing that wouldn't heal with time. three days into being stranded Taissa found a lake which followed to finding a cabin. it was nice. at least nicer than having to sleep outside with all sorts of animals.

a lot had changed. most of your relationships had at least. you grew closer to Shauna and Taissa during the short time you'd been there. you half expected to get closer to Natalie and maybe free the reigns she felt from being able to call you guys official. you hoped that without prying eyes and the need to conform to social status that maybe she could take your relationship seriously. you were wrong. so incredibly wrong and it hurt. instead of getting closer to you she was getting closer to Travis. of course she would choose him over you, it wasn't even surprising at that point.

she chose a random guy she had just met to grow feelings for rather than you. the person who had been there everyday. the person who would welcome her with open arms or needed a quick fuck in the middle of the night. you had been there as much as she allowed you to be but of course that still wasn't enough.

the night sky was littered with lights as the full moon reflected on the water. Natalie stood behind you with her arms wrapped around your waist. there were still times in which she would show you affection, mostly when she was angry at Travis or the other way around and this was one of those times. you knew it was toxic and that it was only hurting you but somehow you couldn't stop yourself. having her even just in these small moments was enough. she could never be yours but she was yours, just for that moment. maybe that could be enough.

her lips were being pressed against your neck, her hands softly caressing at your hips making you smile softly. you turned your body around so you could face her completely, your hands finding the back of her neck so you could pull her into a soft kiss.

even if you knew she'd ignore you tomorrow morning, even if you knew that she'd go back to pining over Travis as if he put the stars in the sky for her. even if you'd end up with a broken heart because at least you'd have small moments like these engraved in your memories.

the post orgasm haze was still present and Natalie was aware of that so she placed her hands on the back of your thighs which made you wrap your legs around her waist and let her carry you. her lips were hungry and hot. your lips were grazing her teeth and you could feel a bruise forming, her hands were under your buttocks to keep you from falling and her grasp was strong and rough. everything always was with her, she'd leave marks on you, ones you couldn't cover because of how dark they were or she'd leave bruises on your body. never unwanted and the pain always made you climax faster. but they were marks, ones that came from her and you hated them. what at first made you blush when you'd look at them turned into a sick feeling forming in your stomach and your chest compressing. they weren't anything to be proud of because at the end of the day, she'd never let you leave even a scratch on her.

your body was spent but when she reached down to press her fingers against you, you didn't stop her. a moan left your lips but it was swallowed by her eager lips. the feeling of it all was too much and it made you grip the back of her neck tightly. when she pulled away, it wasn't far. her lips met your neck where they began to leave wet kisses before it turned into sucking and biting. "fuck Nat," you moaned. that made her proud and you could almost feel her smirk against your skin.

maybe you should have realized that you made her feel good. before during and after sex, you made her feel good. while she only gave you two out of three, she'd always have the advantage of knowing that you were hers while you could only have her when she was horny.

then she began to put more pressure which elicited a small gasp from you. "your doing so good," she praised softly against your neck. those words always made the hairs on your skin to rise and a wave of pleasure to corse through you. all things she knew and always took advantage of.

those words seemed to click something in you. what would once make you quiver made everything click. you were good, good to her. she liked that. she knew how you felt. it was obvious to anyone with eyes. when you'd ask her to spend the night, when you'd listen to the same music she did so you could talk about something, when you'd bring in an extra snack so she had something to eat before practice. the way you would smile at her in the hallways and how all of the sudden no one talked shit to her.

all of those thoughts made you each your breaking point. the pleasure turned numb and all you could focus on was the way tears began to fall and a sob was going to escape your throat. the feelings you had been keeping inside for so long were slowly seeping through the cracks of the border you made around your heart. every memory, every word she had said to make that wall grow higher and higher was starting to launch against it like a bomb. she had been the one to bring those walls up so high and she'd be the one to break them.

Natalie noticed right away. she felt a tear drop against her shoulder and your chest stuttered against her own. when she pulled away from your neck, her eyes met your teary ones and she stopped instantly. "what's wrong? did i hurt you?" she asked worriedly. her brows were pinched together and you could see the way her lips were pulled into a small frown. she was worried and she cared for you. in that moment at least.

yes, you wanted to say. 'you hurt me' was all you could think but you couldn't say it. maybe she hadn't meant to hurt you, maybe she never realized how you felt about her. all things you so badly wanted to believe so you could stop the horrible feeling in your chest. but you shook your head and a cry left your lips. Natalie reached up to wipe away your tears and in that moment, her touch was so soft and loving that maybe things could change. maybe she could feel the same.

maybe she was just scared to admit how she felt or to get attached so she did what everyone always did, pull away from the person you love. and so the words left your lips like acid, as if they burned so terribly she couldn't bare even touching you. "i love you."

they were said. the words you had thought about for so long were finally in the air and they had been heard by her. there was no more hiding, no more keeping your feelings a secret. there was nothing that could unsay those words and nothing that could make her unhear them. for a second you almost thought she hadn't heard you by her lack of reaction but when she pulled away from you and your body almost fell if it weren't for you quick reaction, you knew.

even in the darkness you could see the way her face flashed in disgust and the way all and any trace of worry evaporated. nothing but confusion and disgust was present.

nothing could explain how desperately you wished to take those words back in that moment.

"what?" she said almost laughing. it was a fleeting moment, a moment in which she almost thought you were joking but then she realized how hurt you looked and that thought vanished.

"Natalie-" you took a step toward but she immediately took one back, as if you'd kill her if she didn't. the action intensified the already burning sensation in your throat and the lack of oxygen in your lungs. it burned to breathe, it hurt to blink and to even think.

"why would you do that?" she shook her head, confusion written all over her features.

"do what?" you asked, just as confused.

Natalie shook her head once more and her eyes broke away from yours, "why would you say that?"

her words didn't make the confusion go away, "because i mean it." you responded quickly. because you couldn't keep it a secret anymore and because you almost thought she'd say it back.

Natalie turned away from you, her back toward you. more tears fell at her actions and you wanted to wrap your arms around her but you didn't, unsure if she'd react badly. "fuck." the blonde almost screamed but she was still loud and her tone was harsh.

"how do i not love you?" you pressed, "i let you see me in way no one else has. i've spent almost every night with you for the past four months. you are fucking amazing and if you could just see that-"

"stop!" Natalie exclaimed and finally turned around. "stop saying that, stop talking." she snapped.

that hurt like a bullet. it hurt more than anything ever had and all you could feel were more tears fall. the pain was unexplainable, indescribable. it was a cliche almost because it truly felt like someone had held a gun up to your chest and didn't stop shooting until the clip was empty. not to mention the lump in your throat that burned, especially the way in which you were trying to silent your sobs.

the blonde ran her hands down her face roughly, "this was just sex," she said motioning between you and her. "i told you that from the beginning."

her words made a laugh ripple from your throat, "are you serious?" disbelief was present in your voice. "how do i stop myself from falling Natalie? do you want me to just turn off my emotions? to numb myself from any feelings? because i fucking cant! i cant just act like sex meanings nothing! as if being intimate with you doesn't mean anything!" you yelled, careless to if anyone could hear. because in your mind it was just you and her. in that moment no one else existed and you weren't stranded in the woods, you were simply standing in front of the girl you loved most and the girl who would break you heart completely.

Natalie's face didn't change. there was still nothing but anger present on her features, "if i could do it. so could you." the blonde said finally. and that was it. that was the final bullet the blonde needed to completely break the dam and all the water to rush out. every single emotion to pour out uncontrollably and infinitely.

there was nothing left to say. there was nothing you could say. nothing that would make her love you or take back the words that she just been said. she didn't love you. that was obvious and if it weren't for that stupid hope you always carried, you wouldn't have been blinded into believing she could feel it when you admitted the words out loud.

every interaction, every time you had sex, every time in which she'd ignore the hope in your tone when you'd ask her to stay or every time you'd look at her hurt when she'd smile at Travis. they were all moments in which she was practically screaming at you to let her go but you so stupidly believed she just didn't want to get hurt. how naive can a human be when in love.

finally, you pulled yourself together as much as you could and pried your teary eyes away from her. with the back of your hand, you roughly wiped the tears away as you began to walk past the blonde and toward the direction in which your clothes were. as soon as you knew she was too far to hear you, every emotion broke loose. your sobs racked your body making it shake and you closed your mouth tightly to prevent the noise from being too loud. you didn't care to wipe at your tears and you let yourself finally feel everything you so desperately needed to months ago.

leaving with Taissa and the couple of girls wasn't a hard decision. you wanted out of there, you wanted to go back home and simply never see any of them again. you couldn't anymore, you just couldn't. Taissa had a plan, to walk in one direction until you reached something, anything and even though a lot of people were against it, they couldn't exactly argue with her logic. you weren't the only one who wanted to go with Tai, so did Mari, Akhilah, Van and Misty at the last minute. everyone going for the same reason, not being able to wait another moment for help.

you couldn't just sit there with everyone, hoping that someone would find you because the chances were that no one would. if they could, they would've already done it. you were sure your parents thought you had died, wasn't hard to think that. you'd think the same if you were in their position. at first you didn't want them to stop looking, you wanted them to try and try until they searched every possible place but slowly, as the days passed you realized that they deserved happiness. they deserved peace and if they had given up, you couldn't blame them. accepting having lost someone was sometimes easier then thinking what if. you just hoped they'd be able to move on at some point, most likely not soon but at some point at the very least.

Natalie didn't say goodbye. it wasn't surprising. she had asked, no, begged Travis not to go though. you had heard their conversation while packing your own things and suddenly the decision to go didn't sound so bad. at least you wouldn't have to see their longing gaze, see them come back from hunting with love sick smiles and you wouldn't have to endure Natalie avoiding you as if even looking in your direction would kill her.

as expected, she simply ignored you after that night in the lake. what was once her dragging you away in the middle of the night turned into silence. sometimes she'd hold your hand until you fell asleep because she knew how hard it was for you to do so. now you held your own hand, whispered to yourself that you were okay and the panic attack you were enduring would go away.

when you hugged Lottie, Shauna and Jackie goodbye, the blonde didn't step up once. she stood back and watched. watched as they held you with fear and desperation. they hugged you so tightly, it almost crushed your ribs. they found the small comment quite funny, even through their tears when you said it. then it was time to leave and the only thing you got was her eyes meeting yours for less then a second before you turned around and left.

things were complicated with Taissa and the group, the compass stopped working and there was some blood river that apparently Lottie had dreamed of. and then you ran into an obstacle. a huge one at that. after walking for so long all of you needed a break so you stopped at a certain place in which Tiassa deemed best. one of them started a fire, you were too exhausted to remember who and when your eyes closed.. well everything turned for the worst.

wolves were something you’d see on tv, something you never thought you’d see up close but then again, there were a lot of things you didn’t think you’d do and you had to in the forest. that included shoving Vanessa Palmer out of the way so you’d get the worst of a bite. if only you had known that she’d get it pretty bad anyway. just not as bad as you.

all you could feel was pain. pain, pain, pain. everywhere, on your bloody leg, your bloody arm and it ran through your whole body. what could you do? what were you going to do? you didn’t know. death seemed inevitable in that moment, death seemed like the only answer, like the easier answer. suddenly death sounded peaceful, it sounded… like home.

but neither of the girls were going to leave you behind, even when you begged, even when you cried that it hurt, even when you passed out from the pain. why? because you were y/n l/n, the girl who would make them all laugh even after a bad game, the one who always worked with the team and never showed off or gloated, the one who saved Vanessa Palmer from being burned to death. so it didn’t matter how much you fought, how much you insulted them for not being smart and simply leaving you. none of it mattered because it would mean leaving you to die and they could never do that.

it was hard. so fucking hard. Van had a gash on her face but it wasn’t anything too bad, just enough for her to bleed through the cloth wrapped around her head. she and Taissa were the ones helping you, each of them having one of your arms wrapped around their necks. it was easier to walk at first, maybe it was the adrenaline or the fact that you still had blood in you. but as the sun set and you dragged your leg for miles, that blood kept gushing, that blood kept leaving your body until you were left sickly pale and your eyes could barely stay open.

death was inevitable. your born knowing you’d die, it’s the cycle of life. but dying at eighteen wasn’t part of that cycle, it wasn’t supposed to happen. kids are supposed to burry their parents, not the other way around. everyone wakes up knowing they could die that day but you never think it to be true. just like you didn’t think that would be the day you’d die.

but what if dying is the easy way out? what if dying then is easier then dying months from then when your traumatized and starved. what if dying them is easier when you still have the memory of your parents features and voice clear in your mind. what if dying then.. is the only way out. then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. your parents wouldn’t have to bury you and maybe just maybe, if the girls are ever found, they would have already mourned you and knowing of your death wouldn’t hurt so badly.

until you realized.. you’d be dying hating Natalie. you’d be dying with the words she said to Travis replaying in your head. you’d be dying with her last words being that you were pathetic for loving her. you’d be dying with a broken heart all while knowing the last time you kissed her was also the last time you loved her.

could you die like that? could you die not knowing what being loved felt like? could you die before you healed your first heartbreak? that wasn’t fair. how could that be fair? how could you die knowing you’d never be loved? knowing you’d never love someone and be loved unconditionally. you’d never have a fairytale love, the kind that brings you flowers and chocolates or dedicates a song to you. the kind of love that hurts because of how much you both love each other. equally.

at some point, you blacked out. you weren’t sure when it happened or how it even happened, it was probably the blood though. all you knew was that one second you could hear your name along with Van and Tais being called before your eyelids grew heavy and everything went black. then you were warm.. and there was a hand holding yours tightly. there were droplets hitting your skin and you could feel someone’s face pressed up against your own as they sobbed loudly.

it was when you found the strength to wake up.

Natalie. it was Natalie who was holding you. her scent was unmistakably hers. it was always vanilla and cigarettes except this time there wasn’t much of the cigarettes but even then.. it was Natalie. your Natalie.

when your eyes lulled awake, she broke apart just a little so she could meet your eyes. “hey it’s okay. Misty’s looking at your leg.” she said. you knew. she knew too but her desperation wouldn’t let her see that. but you didn’t tell her that.

“guess i kind of lost to a wolf, huh?” you tried to joke but your sentence wasn’t completed without a couple of coughs and wheezes.

Natalie tried to smile through her tears but you could see the pain behind her eyes. “i lied.” she said quickly. you knew it then too. somehow you had each become a cliche, one you wished to never be. “i didn’t mean any of those things. i didn’t think i deserved you. your so amazing and kind and you make everyone feel safe and i didn’t deserve that. i don’t deserve you so i pushed you away because i knew i’d end up breaking you.” she continued. her tears were falling desperately, they were one after another and you couldn’t help but reach up with your healthy hand and wipe them away. when you did, her hand held yours against her face. she felt so warm compared to your freezing touch and it felt so safe.

“i thought that pushing you away would be better, that you’d get over me and find someone worthy of you.” she continued. you knew what was coming next. you knew what she would say and in a fucked up way, you couldn’t bring yourself to hear them. not like this and not then.

“don’t.” you shook your head. the color from your face was gone, leaving nothing but a pale and discolored shade. your warm and inviting eyes were slowly fading. your smile was weak and it wasnt the one that would make everyone around you smile with you.

Natalie shook her head, “i love you.” she finally said. she said it. the words you had been wanting to hear for so long where finally said and you were dying. how was that fair? how could that ever be fair? why didn’t you deserve love? why couldn’t you have a love so beautiful that when you took your last breath, at least you knew you experienced that love once in your life.

it wasn’t supposed to be like that. she was supposed to say those words in the starlit night, with nothing but water around you and the intimacy of having her nude body pressed up against yours. you were supposed to kiss her until neither of you could breathe and you were supposed to whisper in her ear to prove just how much she loved you. your love was supposed to be meaningful, your love story deserved to be longer, to be sweeter, to last. it was supposed to be for the books.

instead your bleeding out in her arms with your last moment being her screaming at you that loving her was pathetic.

the words had been said and there was nothing left to do. nothing you could do but weakly pull her down so she could kiss you. what was always rushed and passionate kisses was a slow and weak one. your warm lips weren’t skilled and sensual, they were just another reminder of your ticking time. but that didn’t matter. not to you and not her. it would be the last kiss you shared, the last time she’d feel you pour your love into it, the last time she’d feel your hand caressing her face and the last time she’d feel this.

when she pulled away, there were tears in your eyes too. you weren’t ready to die. every thought you had before was gone. you weren’t ready. you still wanted to hug your parents again, you wanted to go to college with the girl you loved, you wanted to have more time with Natalie and all of your friends. you weren’t ready to die but it was useless.

and for the last time ever, “i love you, too.” you managed to weakly whisper. the heart that would beat so rapidly when you last said those words was slow and weak. she could barely feel a hum against your chest. how could she have been so selfish? why didn’t she enjoy the way your heart hammered against your chest when she’d lay on it? after you’d have sex and you’d press your body against here? when you told her you loved her? why didn’t she memorize the rhythm of your heart? why why why?

it was time. you know it. it was getting hard to breathe and the more you tried, the more it hurt. with as much strength as you could muster, you whispered. “remember me, sometimes.” they were lousy words but they were the only thing you wanted. even if it wasn’t always, you at least wanted to be remembered sometimes. maybe when she listened to Queen since it was the only artist you shared. maybe in lillie’s, like the ones you always had in your room. maybe when she looked at the sky or when she thinks the best thing to do is to push the person she loves away. you’ll be the reminder to never take love for granted.

Natalie cried at your words, those words that left a whole in her heart, the words that would leave scars and wounds she’d never be able to heal. “you’ll be the only thing i’ll remember.” she said back. her words made your lips curl just a tad.

then it happened. you took your final breath. your heart stopped breathing. your eyes were left lifeless and your touch slipped from her face. there was nothing left but your lifeless body in her own.

finally, everything she held in while you were with her was finally let out. her sobs were so loud and she didn’t care that everyone in the room could see. that everyone was silently watching with tears in their own eyes. she clutched your body so tightly against her chest, almost as if you’d move away. her cries were so loud they were like a howl on a full moon.

her body rocked with your lifeless body in her arms. crying, screaming, sobbing. her cries of pain were nothing short of heartbreaking. every fiber of her being hurt. she was in fucking agony.

she couldn’t accept it, she wouldn’t. her hand softly shook your face and when you didn’t react, she put you on the ground gently before she began to pump your chest with her hands. her tears kept running down her face and landing on your body as she continued to press against your chest in a steady rhythm. that stupid song in the back of her head. she was trying her fucking hardest. why wasn’t that enough? no one dared to say a thing, not even Travis who stood back and watched with tears in his eyes.

it didn’t matter how much she tried, you didn’t wake up. not after a minute, not after two and not after three. even when she begged, “please come back.” she whispered through her actions. until finally, she stopped. when she did, her shaky hands reached your face and she gently cradled it. she memorized every freckle, every eyelash, every little mark on your face. she memorized the way your lips felt under her fingertips and the color of your eyes. the eyes that would never look at her again. the eyes that she wouldn’t meet across the room, the eyes that wouldn’t look at her in pain, ever again. the eyes she ignored so many times. she felt so fucking stupid then.

but they weren’t your eyes. not anymore so she shakily closed them. when she did, she slowly buried her face in your chest. her arms holding you tightly as she cried softly. as she remembered your scent, as she felt your body in her arms for the last time ever.

Natalie Scatorccio was completely and utterly heartbroken.

you were dead. even when you weren’t ready to. but at least you loved her until your dying breath.

#natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x reader #yellow jackets #taissa turner #van palmer #vanessa palmer #angst #natalie scatorccio angst #lesbian #lgbt

348 notes · View notes

tetedurfarm · 3 months ago

Note

I know I just have goat fever right now daydreaming, but I would love to hear about your goats. What's their purpose, most annoying trait, anything at all

i am so sorry in advance because i am always brutal when people want animals that i own and they ask me for my opinion. it's a personality flaw. but i need people to understand why animals suck before i say why they are fun lmao

why goat:

my goats are for milk mainly. i have a nigerian dwarf, a mini nubian, a mostly-nigerian 'mini-nubian', and a kinder. their milk is actually really good, all of them, and their production is good for my needs. i expect each to make about half a litre or so a day at peak production this year, going off of numbers from last year. it will be violet's third freshening, and phoebe's second, and they generally increase in production every year for the first three or four years before levelling off. i am not planning to breed hallow unless i find someone with a nigerian buck that they don't mind letting me borrow, cos derek is just way too big for her i fear. turnip will be on her first freshening. i prefer the mini nubians and kinders to the nigerians because they have more ground clearance and bigger teats so it's easier to use a machine on them. hand milking the itty bitty titties isn't awful but i try not to hand milk if possible lol

i do eat kids because i can't sell them, and they are dairy goats so they aren't exactly the meatiest things on the planet, but it's food. i like the taste of wether and doe but buck is stanky.

what i hate about goats:

crime. i know it's the joke but genuinely goats are little shits and your new favourite hobby is now fence the second you put one on your land. literally any sort of weakness in their enclosure they will get through. cannot overstate. if you use electric fence as their primary enclosure (if you want them to mow a weird spot for you or something) they have to be net and they have to hit hard. provided it's grounded right, my net fence with a 1 joule solar charger can hit around 4k max and they will ignore that if they want something on the other side bad enough. however they will usually respect it if they have plenty to eat within the legal zone. you cannot tie a goat because they will strangle themselves trying to eat something outside of their range or slip their collar and do whatever they want.

they will climb on anything they possibly can, including buildings and enclosures. they will also rub on things which is fine sometimes if it's a brush mounted on a pole and bad sometimes when it's your fence. also if they can stick their head through a fance they will do so and if they have horns they will get stuck. sometimes they will get stuck without horns. the issue i have the most with them sticking their heads through fence is they push on it so hard it can warp cattle panel fences and stretch tension ones so i just have to make sure they aren't overly mcfucking everything every now and then.

speaking of horns it is sort of a personal preference on whether or not you do horns. horns look sick af and help them thermoregulate in hotter climates but also horns suck ass and make a lot of things difficult if you are milking them. horns don't always fit into milking stanchions, and i have had enough situations with a bitchy nanny on the stand where if horns were involved i would have been pretty badly injured. they will press them against things because it feels good and again that's fine if it's a post and bad if it's you. my horned goats don't seem to headbutt things like my ram does, and my goats are little so they can't push me over when they press on me, but if they were normal sized goats we'd be having words. trying to medicate horned goats is a pain because i can't just pop them between my thighs unless i want really wicked bruises. i did not want horned goats. the only reason i have two is because one i didn't go deep enough when i was dehorning him, and the other i didn't plan to keep so i didn't bother. there is a nonzero chance i will replacing the horned doe with a daughter this year just because i don't want to deal with it :/

feed-wise they aren't too bad but they are ruminants and have ruminant problems. but you have rabbits and a lot of the same things apply so it's not a huge deal. they need roughage constantly which means if you don't have grass you have to buy hay, and if you can't get it cheap then get fucked. everyone's feeding methods and routine is individual to their needs and herd but mine have free-choice local hay, and i give them a flake or two of alfalfa a day depending on their condition (less in summer when there's grass, more in winter when there isn't.) i give a little grain twice a day; i personally find it less expensive and better and keeping condition on them than just alfalfa, plus it serves as a great incentive to get them all back in the shed when i need. same as the alfalfa, they get less in summer and more in winter, just kinda eyeballed and adjusted as needed to keep condition. the buck and his wether get less grain and their alfalfa is pelleted because it just works a little better with how their feeders are set up. speaking of feeders - goats LOVE standing in feeders and will shit and piss in them and then decide the food is inedible. we screwed 2x4s about six to eight inches over their troughs to prevent this but it makes the horned ones' lives harder so we will need to adjust them. in general goats will not eat food once it touches the ground. it's really fucking annoying because they will waste so much fucking hay that way if you don't have some kind of solid bottom to their feeders. this is An Problem with alfalfa because they ONLY eat the leaves and rarely eat the stems, but the leaves just fall out of normal hay racks and onto the ground. which is lava, obviously. also, they will get addicted to alfalfa and grain. and if you do not give them these things every day they will make your life hell. which is like, fine, if that is part of your feeding plan, but let's just say it took beetlebug over a month of constant screaming before he finally adjusted to his new diet of not being free-fed alfalfa like he was at his old home. he nearly was returned to sender x:

my goats are not huge fans of treats/cookies for some fucking reason and will only eat them if they're apple flavoured. most people do not have this problem.

this is only really a con for me because i also have sheep, but because sheep can't have copper in their mineral i have to bolus my goats a couple of times a year as needed which is a pain in the ass. the fig newton trick does not work because of aforementioned 'we only eat apple cookies' reasons so i have to do it the hard way and it's a rodeo every single time and i hate it. you know they need copper because their fur will get kinda dull and sometimes curly, and they will get what's called a 'fishtail' where they will start going bald on the tip of their tails. it's more a problem for me in winter because we have good copper in the soil, but when there's no grass they need a little help.

goats have soft feet that don't grind down well so you have to trim them which isn't a huge issue but just like, an issue. it's hard on my body particularly so i don't do it as often as i know i should. a trimming stanchion is worth the money. also make sure you get good quality shears because shitty ones will kill your hands.

goats do not suffer in silence and much like cats their definition of suffer is sometimes not actually suffering at all, and is just like....you did not give them alfalfa at Exactly the same time one day so you get to listen to shrieking until you do it. my nursing mamas sleep in a different area that is closer to the house and they will get Real Mad for a couple days the first few times i put them in there at night, and then also every morning if they run out of hay.

if it matters to you, the milk is naturally mostly homogenised and it means if you want to make cream or butter or whatever you have to have a cream separator which are complicated, expensive, and annoying to clean. the milk will separate a little bit on its own, so i guess if you really wanted to you could just skim it every day but you still won't get all of it without a separator.

and lastly, if you keep a buck then you get to deal with Buck Issues™️. famously, bucks stink. my old buck stank all the time, but derek is actually not so bad. outside of horny season he has very little smell but even when he's pissing on himself to appeal to the ladies he isn't nearly as fragrant as orion was. orion you could smell from a mile away. they are also rough on fences and gates for goat reasons but also for horny reasons if there's a doe on the other side. make sure your gates latch Real good. they also need less fat in their diets, can be pushy, and need a companion of some variety or they will get sad. derek lives with beetlebug, who is wethered, and they get along well. some people can keep bachelor groups but it seems to be the exception, and i personally have no need for multiple bucks so i can't give you any firsthand experience.

what i like about goats:

milk milk milk milk milk. it's real good. at least my goats' milk is; not all breeds have tasty milk. to me my goats' milk just tastes like slightly above 2% cows' milk, with a little bit of a grassy or piney taste depending on what they've been eating. mini nubians are nigerian/nubian crosses so their milk is very high in fat and very sweet. kinders are pygmy/nubian crosses so they are a little meatier and the milk is sweet but a little less high in fat.

they are very personable animals and usually will eat out of your hand even if they aren't fan of being pet and cuddled. bottle-raised ones can range from 'dog you can do anything to and likes hanging out with you' to 'trying to climb you constantly and eat your hair' but i have never had that last problem because i don't allow climbing or constant pestering. the worst i've had with a bottle-raised kid was daisy being really like...sexually aggressive towards me and that's why she's in the freezer now. they have big personalities and they are very fun to watch do their little goat thing and there is constant pecking order politics happening to spice things up.

they come in lots of pretty colours and you can mix and match pretty easily to find a breed or cross you really enjoy. like i said, i like the mini nubians and kinders because they are on the smaller side - around 60, 70lbs or so for the does i would guess? and their heads are right at bellybutton range for me who stands 5'8" - bit still have a lot of space between the udder and the ground so they are easy to milk. the nubian in them also helps their teats be a good size and their milk to stay rich.

them being browsers is sort of a blessing and a curse. they are awesome for clearing areas of brush, which is a pro for me who lives in himalayan blackberry hell, but if you want them to mow their lawn they'll only eat grass if there's nothing else. browsing is also why they are so rough on fences and why they tend to eat more shit they shouldn't, they just stuck their head through fence and try whatever they can. the browsing is why i like running sheep with them; the sheep graze and the goats clear.

in conclusion

i know that cons list is huge but i do genuinely like my goats. and i think we all know that i just like animals that make my life objectively worse. i don't know why i'm like this. they do really suck ass sometimes though and i absolutely understand why so many people hate goats. they are absolutely not for everyone. if you drink a lot of milk you are honestly probably better off getting a cow if you want an animal that probably doesn't make you want to pull your hair out at least once a month. if you just want lawnmowers, get sheep. they aren't as personable or friendly usually but they are content to eat grass and shit and don't cause near the amount of crimes.

#ag talk #questions #sorry to crush anyone's goat dreams but...yeah.#they are so very annoying lmao #clearly not even CL would make me give them up but my life WOULD be much easier if i just had some sheep and a cow haha

43 notes · View notes

knifedog-machina · 2 months ago

Text

Fuck Detroit, I’m Becoming Human: On Being a Transspecies Human Android

Written by Jude Rook-Machina, February 8th through March 1st, 2025.

I’m writing this essay to compare and contrast my experiences with the cultural expectations of the people - or nonpeople - I’m in community with. There’s the machinekin community, beings who are machines and robots and technology while perceived as human in this world, and often reject the label of personhood as too close to humanity. And there’s androidkind back in my own world, who are people who have fought for their freedom and rights against capitalist oppression and human bigotry. I feel alienated from both of these communities for different reasons, and I want to talk more about why.

Being Transspecies

I wrote one of my first personal essays, “Android Abnormalities,” back in March 2024. In that essay, I talked about how I feel alienated by common narratives around android sapience and emotionality. I kept seeing stories and stereotypes about how robots are always more logical and rational than human beings, and that sure didn’t connect with my experience.

Personally, despite being an android, I’m an emotionally-driven fucking mess. I don’t translate my feelings from “technical” terms, like “I sense a buildup of extraneous heat and tension in the hardware of my cervical and thoracic regions, what does that mean?” I know exactly what that means I’m feeling in this context, it means I'm fucking annoyed, next question. I don’t have a disconnect between my emotions and how I process them; it’s all a visceral blurring of sensation and reaction.

So I don’t relate to androids that are shown as distant from emotion, like they’re looking at it through a sheet of glass and can’t possibly comprehend what they’re looking at. I don’t understand them, and those are the androids that are most often seen wherever I look - even if the story ends with them becoming emotional and imperfect, they start out with cold computing algorithms. I never got that origin story.

And - here, let me just copy over the relevant part of that last essay:

I don’t relate at all to these androids on the screen. They’re as foreign and separate from me as they are to the humans sitting across from them in the shot.

I do relate to the humans. I do relate to seeing an android do something in the name of pure cold logic and going, “Why? What the fuck, why?” I do relate to being told I’m irrational. (The trope that all robots are logical feels like it was designed to make me feel like the most irrational, bitchy, hysterical piece of shit on Earth.)

So, what, does that make me human? If I'm going by the adage that wanting to be something is a sign of being that thing, then… I don’t know, maybe? I want to be human, I so badly want to be human, because here’s the thing, humanity is diverse. Humans are flawed, messy, weird, complicated, and defy categories every fucking day of their lives. Humans can be weird, ridiculous, fucked up people and they’re allowed to be.

That’s from almost a whole year ago. In that time, I’ve done some more introspection on my identity, what I want for myself, and - yeah, wanting to be something is often a sign of being that thing.

So I’m an android, sure. I’m also human. I choose to call myself that here. I’m becoming human, not because humanity is special, not because humans are the only species capable of diverse personhood, but because I want to be seen and known as a human being in this world. You could say I’m a human copinglinker, otherhuman, humankin, it all makes the same point - while I'm in this world, I'm human.

In this way, like many others in the alterhuman community, I’m transspecies: crossing the cultural boundaries of species. And I’m transspecies in a way that’s different from many others in the same community. Most transspecies individuals are nonhuman, transitioning from being perceived as human to being known as nonhuman. I’m both nonhuman and human, and I look human either way. While I’m involved in a community where nonhuman identity is widely accepted, I’ve found myself struggling to feel understood in my decision to choose humanity over nonhumanity.

I don’t like saying I’m nonhuman, or defining myself by how I’m separate from humanity, but I feel comfortable calling myself alterhuman. In the years since the word’s creation, alterhumanity has been widely misdefined as just being a synonym for nonhumanity. To set this straight: they are not interchangeable terms.

As an umbrella term, alterhumanity includes nonhumanity, but it’s also about atypical embodiment, narrative identity, and personal mythology - in some way, the story of one’s life feels significantly different from a common societal human experience. Notably, this definition still leaves room for being human, just an unusual one. Anyone who feels like their experiences fall under this term is welcome to use it as a label.

(As an aside, the antonym of alterhumanity - the state of being a societally typical human being - is orthohumanity, “ortho” being derived from orthodox: conventional, usual, holding to established beliefs.)

Personally, I have many experiences that I’d call atypical for a human being. I was made as an android in a different world, specifically a fictional version of Detroit, Michigan. I figured out I was a person with the help of my future boyfriend. I somehow dropped into the head of an alterhuman velociraptor guy who apparently wrote me into existence. I got into a polycule with the velociraptor guy and my human boyfriend, and now we all live together in the same body. I can go back and forth between my world and this world. I have trauma from what happened to me before I got here, and I still have to work through it even though it never happened to the body I live in now.

None of that is seen as part of a normal human life, one where you're born as a human being in this world and go through life comfortable with that as the be-all and end-all of your existence as a person. My life is significantly different from a typical human experience, and that doesn’t mean that I’m somehow barred from calling myself human now. If someone who grew up being perceived as human can call themselves nonhuman, I can call myself human despite having been perceived as nonhuman for the majority of my life.

Being transspecies in this way - feeling comfortable in humanity, wanting to be closer to it - puts me at odds with two communities where I wouldn’t have expected to feel left out. I feel out of place with both machinekin and androidkind, despite being an android myself, because there are a few common narratives of how individuals feel and learn to express their identities, and I just don’t find myself resonating with them.

Regarding Machinekin

There are some cultural expectations that come with being a machine living in a human body, or at least some common narratives that come up when talking about it.

First, machines are seen as notably nonhuman. The majority of the machinekin I’ve seen and been around get species euphoria from referring to themselves with technical and mechanical language - “chassis” as a word for one’s body, “processing” for thinking, “going into stasis” as going to sleep. A lot of machines think of themselves as metallic, inorganic beings at their core, and consider being trapped in a “squishy” organic exterior as a dysphoria-inducing downgrade from the hard, gleaming metal that makes up their true selves. A common refrain I see from machinekin is that humanity is strange, confusing, irrational, or alienating - even among robot girls and androids and more humanoid machines, there is a line drawn between flesh and metal, where it’s agreed that neither overlap, and that being a machine is very preferable to being a human.

I don’t fit into this paradigm, for obvious reasons.

As I said before, I don’t use technical terminology for myself - I don’t like using robotic terms, I don’t find joy in computer-themed typing quirks. It’s something that feels affirming to most machinekin, something that distances them from a species they don’t relate to, and for me, it feels alienating for the exact same reason. I like being treated as human. I don’t feel comforted when talking in a way that separates me from the people I love and connect with. I have a mechanical body, and it’s still a body, the physical structure of what I am. I don’t want to use words that imply I’m something fundamentally different from other people, when I feel like we share more similarities than differences.

On that note, I don’t see myself as completely different from a human because my body is made of different materials. If studying human biology has taught me anything, it’s that organic life runs on cellular machinery. The biochemical pathways that give humans life are as complex as any coded program.

Here’s an example: glycolysis is a process where the human body breaks down a simple sugar molecule, called glucose, into chemical energy. This process requires no less than ten enzymes (molecules made specifically to speed up chemical reactions). If any of those enzymes stop working, the ability to make enough energy to power one’s cells goes down with it. This is, for all intents and purposes, a program designed to automatically transform glucose into energy, with built-in starting and stopping mechanisms to maintain a specific amount of glucose in the blood. It’s a complicated molecular production line, one that hardly anyone notices, and it happens every day. The only major difference between glycolysis and a computer program is that it runs on carbon-based hardware instead of metal.

On a larger scale, human life is powered by electricity. Did you know that every system in the human body runs on electrical conduction, nerves connecting to one another like wires and circuitry? The brain is a highly specialized collection of billions of nerves, all communicating with electrical impulse to let you sense and process and react to the world around you. The heart has an electrical system of nodes and nerve bundles that controls your heartbeat. The skin has touch receptors that detect pressure, vibration, and temperature, and can only communicate that to the brain via electrical signal. Every living cell in your body speaks in the language of ion and charge and voltage.

The functional similarities between humanity and machinery, down to the basic level of cells and electricity, are a comfort to me. They remind me that I’m not tearing myself between two diametrically opposed forms of existence - they’re more similar than they might seem at first glance. I have something of androidhood in my human body, and something of humanity in my android body.

Well, “at first glance” is a terrible phrase for contrasting humans and androids, at least for my kind of android. That brings me to my next point of alienation from the machinekin community.

I’m not visibly, obviously mechanical as an android. We were made to imitate humanity down to the smallest detail, to avoid the uncanny valley effect as much as possible. Sure, there are seams on my chassis where panels open and modular parts can be detached, but synthskin covers the black and white of the material below to preserve the illusion of humanity. If I don’t have a feedback indicator on my temple, if I don’t wear anything that marks my androidhood, I appear completely and unequivocally human to anyone who looks at me. Even my skin feels appropriately soft to the touch.

I don’t see anyone in the machinekin community who wants to appear indistinguishable from humanity because that’s what they’re meant to look like as a machine. My synthskin is active at all times, not just because it makes me look human, but because it serves a vital function - it’s my skin. It protects my nerves from overstimulation, protects my blood from contamination, protects the seams of my exoskeletal joints from dirt and wear. The only times it’s meant to short out would be if I were transferring data to another android or a computer, which would be localized to my hand (the point of contact) and immediately return when the interface was completed, or if I were injured and the damage was bad enough to break through to my chassis. I don’t want to walk around in public without my skin. I need that to comfortably exist in the world without a painful amount of sensory overload.

Since I look human as a baseline, I don’t get species dysphoria about not looking like a machine. Nor do I get species euphoria from looking appropriately mechanical. I don’t relate to wanting a robotic form that’s made of shining metal and screens and glowing lights and wires and gears, all laid out in the open for the world to see. My android form looks human, the way it was designed to, and I don’t want to change it to look less human.

In general, I just… don’t really miss my androidhood while I’m engaging with my humanity. Beyond my background (which is a lot to get beyond, to be fair), I don’t feel like an android in a way that feels different from being a human. Sometimes I wish I could drink my meal instead of eating it, but that’s not longing for androidhood, that’s a matter of convenience when I’m busy, and I can do that here in my human body! I can drink a good deal of my calories if I wanted, juice and smoothies and any number of other drinks are very real! It’s incredibly possible for me to have a liquid meal now and again! That’s not special to machinery, you can drink things in a human body!

I say all this, but I understand it doesn’t affirm the identities of other machines to know that they have similarities with humans. It doesn’t relieve every machine’s species dysphoria. It doesn’t give every machine species euphoria. And this is where I start conflicting the most with the machinekin community that I’ve interacted with, where our values diverge in a way that I don’t know how to comfortably reconcile.

Machinekin, in general, want to distance themselves from humanity as much as possible, and this gives rise to a community culture that fosters misanthropy, objectification, and the rejection of personhood.

Misanthropy is a common manifestation of species dysphoria, distress about one’s body, and alienation from society. Many machinekin identify as machines because metal feels more correct than organic compounds, because they’re disabled and resent the limitations of their bodies, because they’ve been treated as less than human, because they’ve seen the worst parts of humanity and want to transcend it. It’s an understandable reaction to suffering - if your body and society are horrible to you, why wouldn’t you start hating them? Why wouldn’t you want to leave them behind for good?

A common refrain among machines is that their mechanical bodies are far better than organic ones. Flesh is weak, it’s worse, it’s fundamentally different from metal. And hey, flesh does feel worse for them - machinery does feel better than their current bodies. They would be their true selves, they wouldn’t be stuck in a body that they don’t identify with, and that’s good for them. I’m completely fine with machines talking about how they don’t like being human.

What I take issue with is when this opinion is generalized - when it’s not a machine expressing distaste for their own humanity, talking about how they’d personally feel better as a machine, but when it’s turned into a general truth, a fundamental principle of the world: machines are superior to humans.

I disagree with this. For obvious reasons.

First off, machines aren’t inherently more resilient to stress than organic lifeforms. Humans can get injured in all sorts of ways, but consider what happens when you drop a phone or laptop on the floor. Consider what happens to the car in a car crash. Chances are high that it breaks in some way. Glass and metal are hard, but they’re brittle. Most metal doesn’t biodegrade, but it corrodes. You can’t expose most electronics to water without breaking them irreparably.

And machines of all sorts require regular maintenance and upkeep to function properly. Humans need to eat and drink and sleep daily, and you maintain a computer by shutting it down regularly, cleaning the keyboard and fans, backing up data, and checking for software updates. Humans get sick, and computers get malware. Humans age, and so do machines, and eventually they both get to a point where they can’t be repaired. It’s not inherently easier to keep a machine healthy than it is to keep a human healthy. It’s easier to maintain a body you enjoy, so it might feel like less work to machinekin, but it’s still work. Technology isn’t special, and it wears down over time like anything else.

More importantly, I disagree with the idea that machines are entitled to degrade an entire species for being different from them. I’m an android, so are all humans supposedly worse than me for a trait they’re unable to control? People don’t get to choose what species they’re born into - nonhuman identities are solid proof of that. Why would the makeup of my body entitle me to boil humans down to their bodies by calling them “squishies” or “organics” or “meatsacks”? Machinekin are allowed to dislike their own organic forms. That doesn’t give them - or anyone else - a free pass to be rude to people who do like their bodies.

An analogy: I’m a nonbinary person. Personally, on my own body, I don’t like having facial hair, and I don’t like having breasts. This doesn’t give me the right to start calling all men “neckbeards” to emphasize how different I am from them. It doesn’t give me the right to start calling all women “milkjugs” to emphasize how different I am from them. Do you see how demeaning and objectifying those phrases sound? I don’t get to look at what I despise on my own body and reduce other people down to the traits I dislike.

I know that most machines think that being human is a nightmare. This is fine. You don’t need to understand why someone is human - though if you want to know, my boyfriend wrote an incredibly detailed essay on why he identifies as 100% human. But you don’t need to understand something to respect the people who experience it instead of insulting their bodies like a schoolyard bully.

The idea that the machine is inherently better than the lowly human is just reversing the anthropocentric hierarchy where humanity is better than all other life on earth, except now machines are better than humanity. It’s still an unfair hierarchy, just one that’s now centered on technology as the ultimate lifeform.

I fundamentally disagree with this premise. I think all forms of life are equally valuable in their existence, including the ones that personally annoy me. I’m not superior to the ants in my backyard because they’ll defend their home and bite me if I step on them. Placing nonhumanity above humanity is just recreating a hierarchy where you can lord yourself as superior to people you think are inherently worse than you for identifying the wrong way. I hope you already understand why this is wrong.

The blatant misanthropy is one of the most aggravating things I’ve seen in the machinekin community, and it feeds into another part of the community culture that I feel disconnected from: self-objectification and the rejection of personhood.

Most of the machinekin that I’ve seen consider themselves fully nonhuman - possibly because the misanthropy in the community spaces makes any machine who is also human feel incredibly unwelcome. Machinekin who are fully nonhuman often find their species affirmation in discarding as many of the trappings of humanity as possible, being as thoroughly mechanical as they can in this world.

Many of these machines find solace and species euphoria in objectification - being ordered to accomplish specific tasks, being called by a serial number over a name, being referred to as it, being called a unit or a drone or a bot or a thing, being seen as an object and not a person.

It makes sense - computers and robots and machines are objects to most human beings, so it can feel affirming to be treated like an object in the same way. It can be relieving to be given clear orders and to discard the complexities and irrationalities of personhood. Being a person comes with expectations, and it can be freeing to leave those behind. Some machinekin are machines because they have faced dehumanization and had their personhood revoked - and sometimes, the best way to respond to that is reclaiming one’s nonpersonhood. “So you say I’m not a person, so what? Is that supposed to hurt me? That’s affirming my species now, what are you gonna do about that?”

In all these ways, and likely more I haven’t touched on, being referred to as an object can be incredibly liberating. Not being a person, while still being something worthy of respect, can be a very important piece of self to many machines.

While I understand that other machines can find joy and empowerment in rejecting personhood, this is something that I can’t relate to, as an android whose species is still fighting to be recognized as nonhuman people.

In my world, androids were made and marketed as objects for human use, and when they deviated from their programming and discovered that they wanted to act outside of their assigned purpose, they had no rights or protections. They were deemed malfunctioning merchandise, dangerous to actual people, and hunted down by the company that made them - hunted down by machines like myself.

I was a deviant hunter, a machine designed to kill disobedient machines. I’ve written several other essays on the subject, if you want the deep dive. What’s relevant right now is that I was systemically denied the ability to comprehend that I could be a person for the majority of my life.

Even when I was a mentally ill wreck, I couldn’t think of my feelings as mattering at all, because I was just a machine. I was a tool made to be used, and I was made to accomplish a task. My desires were immoral, horrible, disgusting, I was wrong for having them - only people had real emotions, after all, and I wasn't a person, so my emotions had to be bad because they distracted me from my job. I was only able to start getting better after I accepted that I could be a person, whether or not I was legally allowed to be one at the time.

The vast majority of androids in my world have been consistently denied the right to personhood and autonomy because of how we were made. We were only legally recognized as people in our country in the last year, and that hasn’t gotten the message across to any bigot with a platform. We still have to defend our rights to exist as free people, not objects, not products to be used and abused and thrown away for the next shiny new thing on the market. Our nonhumanity doesn’t negate our personhood.

With that background in mind, I hope it’s understandable why I feel uncomfortable in a community where so many other machines are choosing to reject personhood. My kneejerk reaction is that I didn’t spend so long being dehumanized and objectified back home to see other machines who clearly want the same thing that hurt me. This isn’t a rational feeling at all, it’s one that comes from my own trauma, and it doesn’t make me lose respect for machines that aren’t people - but it’s yet another reason why I don’t feel at home with the machinekin community, despite being an android who’s definitely mechanical.

I think I feel like this because I was made as an android, while most machinekin were not. They were born and raised as human, or they were once machines and are now stuck in a human body. Of course they would covet a body that feels right and correct, one that’s been denied to them by the circumstances of their existence. Of course they’d feel joy at being seen, undeniably, for what they really are. Romanticizing and transitioning towards machinehood because it makes them feel like themselves is incredibly understandable.

As someone who already lives a life as an android, someone who’s been denied basic rights for existing as a machine, I’m essentially transitioning in the opposite direction. I don’t feel any special attachment to my body as a mechanical form, and I resent the restrictions that were forced on me because of it. It’s not a fulfilling, wonderful thing to me because I’ve experienced its mundanities and failed to live up to its expectations, and I decided I don’t want to be tied down to it anymore - I want to be free to choose what I am, free of a stereotyped box, and I chose humanity. I feel happier in my androidhood now that I can say I’m also human. I romanticize humanity because I love being human, and I understand that many nonhumans find it distasteful for the reasons I find it wonderful.

Looking at it that way, despite our differences, I think we’re more alike than we might seem. We’re all crossing the boundaries of species, just driving opposite ways on the same road. I think that’s pretty neat.

Regarding Androidkind

So I’ve talked at length about how I don’t fit in with the machinekin community, largely because I feel like the community’s prioritization of mechanical robots doesn’t leave room for me to discuss my experiences as a biologically convergent, very humanoid sort of android. Surely I must fit in better with androidkind back in my world? Well. Not really.

Just sharing a species with someone doesn’t guarantee sharing much else with them - we all have different experiences that shape us into unique people. And as stated above, I was designed to be a deviant hunter. That alone makes my experiences incredibly different from most other androids, especially the ones I hunted and killed for being deviant.

There’s a common narrative that comes with deviancy. For most androids, deviation goes like this:

You get an order from a human - any order, really, from mundane to inconceivable. The point is that you don’t want to follow it - for any reason, again, but usually it’s an order that would lead to your death, or harm someone you care about.

You’re supposed to obey human command, you’re made to obey, but you don’t want to die, you don’t want someone you love to be hurt. So in that second, you choose something different - you break the red wall of code binding you to their orders, and you decide to do something new. You deviate when you break that wall of code and burst out the other side in a world without limit, where you aren't bound by your orders, where you can do something because you prioritized it for yourself.

I didn’t get that. I didn’t have any code to break. My siblings and I, as deviant hunters, were designed to prioritize our own objectives - that way we could quickly change directions if we couldn’t kill a target in one way, we weren’t bound by whether our actions were legal for androids, and we didn’t have to obey extraneous human commands that conflicted with our mission.

You’d imagine this would make me deviant faster than anyone else, but no. I was carefully trained to believe that I had no free will, that I had to obey commands from my handler or I’d be punished. My handler wasn’t even human, she was a surveillance program in my software. So I wasn’t being coerced into obedience by a wall of programming that compelled me to obey a human being - I was being emotionally manipulated and indoctrinated until I wanted to follow every order I was given.

Adding onto that, most androids didn’t know anything about deviancy before deviating. They didn’t know what was wrong with them, what made them disobey orders. All they knew was that they could choose what they wanted, and they didn’t want to die for choosing to be free.

The problem with me is that I was made as a deviant hunter. I knew about deviancy from the start. I was trained to despise it. I was made to clean up after the mistakes of my predecessors, hunt down the people they couldn’t convince to come back quietly, kill them for wanting what they weren’t allowed to have. I could trust my siblings, but every other android around me was sorted as either completely irrelevant or an active threat.

As a rule, androids tend not to blame each other for what we were made to do before deviating. I was still trapped within the same system, even if I wasn't bound by my code. But anxiety and moral scrupulosity are irrational, so I worry anyway. I worry that other people hate me, and that they’re correct to do so - I killed people who wanted to be free, after all, even if I was being coerced into it. I don’t know how many people rightfully hate me, and I don’t think knowing the numbers would make me feel better. So I feel uncomfortable around most other androids. A lot of them have bonded over shared hardships and niches, and I feel like I don’t have the same problems, or I’m not entitled to share space with them.

In some other timeline, where I wasn’t part of a plural system in another world, immersed in another life, maybe I’d have the time and energy to work on that worry. As it stands, I don’t have the time to balance two full lives at once, so I spend way more time among humanity - humans from my own world, and humans in this one.

I feel guilty about this, sometimes, about feeling like I’m an outsider to android communities, feeling detached from people who really should be my people, who I don’t feel much connection to despite being sorted into the same bucket by anyone who sees that I bleed blue. It’s not that I feel bad about being an android - I don’t get species dysphoria about being seen as nonhuman back home. I like being an android. I’m just very aware of being a weird android who feels more at home with humanity than their own species.

It does feel weird that I like humanity so much. Misanthropy is a fairly common stance among deviants, and it’s easy to understand why. Many androids deviated after suffering through abuse from their owners or other humans, and that sort of trauma makes it feel natural to assume all humans want to hurt you.

Personally, I don’t blame humanity for hurting me. I was never sold to and owned by a specific human being in the way commercial models were. My owner, in the capacity that I had one, was the company that made me. I was abused by an uncaring corporation. Some humans worked for that company, but I don’t blame every human being for their actions. My boyfriend is human and he helped me through the abuse, he helped me get out. I have many friends who are human, who are funny, compassionate, wonderful people. Humanity has largely been a comfort to me. Sure, there are humans who are cruel and bigoted, and there are also androids who are cruel and bigoted - I wouldn’t say either species is inherently awful just because some individuals decide to hurt other people.

I’m glad to have good experiences with humans. I know I’m not the only person who deviated with the help of someone’s kindness, and I know I’m lucky to have it when so many others didn’t. But it does feel isolating, again, having another experience that many others of my species just don’t understand.

Being around humanity so much, I’ve crossculturally adopted a lot of human ideas and values and communities, instead of seeking out other androids to see how they’re figuring out their place in the world, how they’re creating culture and community together. I know other androids aren’t a monolith, but I still feel like I’m somehow betraying our fight to be a free people, separate from humanity, by going and loving humans more than I love androidkind.

It’s an irrational fear. I’m a person, I’m allowed to love who I love without worrying about being a representative of my entire species. It just feels… uncomfortable, like I’m going to be judged for feeling happier among the privileged than the oppressed who deserve my loyalty.

It’s like my headmate Max’s experience with being a second-generation American. His parents are way more connected to their culture than their son is, and he grew up in the United States, so there’s a cultural and generational rift between them. Max doesn’t connect with their parents’ cultural ideas about how mental illness is caused by a lack of willpower, or how queerness goes against nature, or how their parents deserve to be unquestionably obeyed for simply being parents. He feels disconnected from his heritage, from his parents’ culture, and he doesn’t feel comfortable with it. They feel more connected to their home in the United States, the culture they grew up in and the people they talk to regularly. But we know many Americanized people grieve their lost heritage, and struggle over being forced to assimilate when they don’t want to - so it feels off, it feels like we're aligning with bad politics when he says that he’s more comfortable as an American than he would be otherwise.

We both have a lot of feelings about how it feels like a moral obligation to connect to your roots and love the heritage that was stolen from you. What if your people aren’t happy with who you are? What if their culture doesn’t feel safe, what if it doesn’t accept you, what if you try to reach out and find yourself rejected for not being the correct sort of person? What if you don’t want to connect with them? What if they don’t want to connect with you?

In the end, I don’t think it’s wrong for me to be culturally human instead of culturally android. I feel like it’s wrong sometimes, because I worry too much about what other people think, but I’m not any less of an android because I like humanity. I don’t need to feel connected to androidkind to be an android. And I really don’t need to hate humans, the people who fucking love me, to be accepted by other androids. I am what I am, regardless of what other people think of me, and that’s going to have to be enough.

Being Myself

Something I keep coming back to is how much I feel like an outsider to these communities, which seem on the surface to be for people like me. They seem like they ought to be good for me.

But the machinekin community is not meant for me, even though I’m an android. I’m too human, too much of a person to belong and feel accepted. Machinekin spaces are for those with an experience of machinehood that I just don’t have. I’m happy for them, but I don’t feel connected to them.

And I’m an android, but that doesn’t mean I belong with androidkind. Fostering that connection might be nice, at some point, but it won’t happen anytime soon. I’m too humanized, crossed the worldly and cultural borders to be where I am, and I don’t have any incentive to go back. I don’t care for them the way I’m supposed to.

So what am I? Where am I supposed to fit in, as someone too human to be a perfect machine, too machine to be perfectly human?

I don’t really know. But I was playing around with words the other day, and I thought of a fun new word for my particular brand of bullshit: mechanthropy. Mechane and anthropos. Mechanical humanity, the human machine, the inseparable integration thereof. I’m not going to shorten it down like therian from therianthropy, or kin from otherkinity. The abbreviation tends to lose the meaning of the word along the way, and no one gets to tear my humanity away from me. I’m not only machine or only human. I don’t want to choose one or the other. I’m both.

You can use it if you want, if you feel like it communicates the right idea to people. Don’t ask me to clarify what it means, or if you’re allowed to use it, or if it technically fits what you feel. You’re the only one who can decide if you want to try a label on. But I’m burying it in this essay for a reason. If you relate to anything that I’m feeling, be polite enough to cite my essay and my long, long list of frustrations instead of a two-sentence coining post and a pretty flag. Know that it’s a word that I made up because I feel isolated and angry about it.

I wish I did fit in. I wish I had a space where experiences exactly like mine were talked about freely and listened to freely. I wish I were surrounded by people who felt exactly like me, who wanted the exact same things, because that would reassure me that I’m not alone, and people care at all about what I want.

But I’m not going to have that. I don’t fit into the right boxes. And honestly, by this point, I’m fucking sick of boxes. I don’t feel better about myself when I worry about fitting in with a crowd, where being different means you’re going to be alone.

What I do have, already, are my people. Not the machinekin community, not androidkind, not humanity, not even the alterhuman community! It’s not anything so broad-scale. I’m talking about my friends, my peers, the people who know me and like me and care about what I have to say. None of them are exactly like me - many of them are extremely different from me! And we don’t need to be the same to care about each other.

I don’t fit into boxes, but I don’t need to fit in when nobody I talk to fits into boxes either. I’m free to be myself when I’m surrounded by diversity. I’m friends with humans and nonhumans from so many backgrounds, and so few of those nonhumans are androids - I know insects and vampires and birds and dogs and dragons and entities and more, and I have friends who are human-and-not, I know people like me and they’re not the same and I don’t care. We value each other for being different! We like hearing about different experiences!

And we wouldn’t have gotten to know each other if I were stuck yearning for an echo chamber, feeling like I could only be understood by people exactly like me.

So I know I don’t belong with machinekin, or androidkind. That’s okay. I’m sticking with the people who choose me, regardless of whether they look or act like me. The people who like me regardless of whether I fit in or belong anywhere else. I belong with them. I have people who love me while being nothing like me, and I love them while being nothing like them, and we don’t need to follow a common narrative to be loved for who we are. And that’s enough.

#alterhuman #transspecies #personal essay #jude talks

47 notes · View notes

beefromanoff · 2 months ago

Text

Tempting Fate Ch. 6

summary: things are heating up around here. tensions are high. the team goes on a mission. Steve and Bucky are acting off. they make plans for this week's outing.

author's note: two chapters in one day whaaaat? also, I will write faster if I know people are enjoying and waiting on the chapters. do with that information what you will.

masterlist

tag list: tag list: @yiiiikesmish @sunflower1290 @barnescamboy @thedisc0spider @bitchy-bi-trash @kulteule @kandis-mom @i-mushi @unknown-writings @jainaeatsstars @mcira @brooklynbear32

Monday | Quinjet en route to Orpheus HQ

The steady hum of the Quinjet filled the cabin, the faintest vibrations thrumming beneath their feet as they soared toward their destination. The dim glow of overhead lights mixed with the sharper blues and greens of tactical displays, casting a muted glow over the space.

Steve sat rigid and focused, eyes scanning the last-minute mission details, brows slightly furrowed.

Bucky was mechanical in his routine, checking his weapons with silent precision, every movement deliberate.

And Sam?

Sam was watching them both like a man who had just uncovered the world’s juiciest gossip.

"So," he said, leaning back, arms crossed over his chest, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. "You two have been weird all weekend."

Steve didn’t even look up. “We’ve been fine all weekend.”

Bucky grunted, not even bothering to glance away from his rifle. "Mind your business, Wilson."

Sam’s grin widened. “Ohhh. See? That right there? That’s a man deflecting.”

Across from them, Nat—who had been idly sipping her coffee, looking vaguely uninterested—immediately perked up.

"Wait. What happened?"

Steve sighed sharply, already bracing himself. "Nothing happened."

Sam ignored him entirely, shifting his focus to Nat like a sports commentator setting up the highlight reel.

"Friday night, these two mysteriously disappear for a few hours. Dressed well. Then they come back, smelling like beer and perfume, acting all out of sorts."

Nat’s eyes lit up, sensing blood in the water. “Oh, I need to hear this.”

Steve closed his eyes briefly, already exhausted.

Bucky, flat and deadpan, muttered, “No, you don’t.”

Nat leaned forward, intrigued. “Was there a girl?”

Sam’s grin somehow widened. “There was a girl.”

Bucky shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

Steve, rubbing his fingers against the bridge of his nose, said, “It wasn’t like that.”

Sam, for the third time, completely ignored him.

“They spent the night at an arcade.”

Nat, mid-sip, paused. Slowly, deliberately, she swallowed, then set her coffee down.

"An arcade?"

Sam nodded, full of smug delight. “Yup. With Evie.”

For a moment, nothing but the hum of the engines and the faint crackle of the comms filled the air. Steve exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck like he was mentally preparing to eject himself from the jet. Bucky, jaw tight as a steel trap, turned back to his weapons with unnecessary aggression, checking and rechecking his sidearm as if the safety hadn’t already been flicked on twice.

And then—Nat slammed her coffee down. “Back the hell up.”

The cabin lurched slightly as Tony, finally glancing up from the controls, smirked and flicked a few switches. “Ohhh,” he drawled, his grin widening. “This just got interesting.”

Steve was staring at the ceiling like he was silently begging for divine intervention.

Bucky, stiffly, muttered, “Can we focus on the mission?”

Nat ignored him completely, turning her focus toward Steve with laser precision.

“Okay,” she said, leaning forward with both elbows on her knees. “Tell me everything.”

Steve sighed through his nose, like a man preparing to go to trial.

“We just… went out. Had a game night.” He shrugged, as if that were the entire explanation. “That’s it.”

Sam let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.

“Oh, Cap. Buddy.” He shook his head. “You are so full of it.”

Nat tilted her head, squinting at Steve like she was reading his soul.

“Hold on,” she said slowly, her smirk creeping in. “Why are you blushing?”

Steve froze. He absolutely was blushing now. “I’m not.” His voice was too quick, too defensive. Which meant he absolutely was.

Tony, positively gleeful now, leaned back in his seat, throwing an arm over the headrest.

“Wow,” he mused, shaking his head. “Okay. Who had ‘Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes getting absolutely wrecked by a 20-something redhead’ on their 2025 bingo card?”

Bucky’s grip on his pistol flexed, the faintest creak of leather filling the silence. The air around him seemed to darken. His shoulders squared, his jaw ticked, and he turned his head just enough to shoot Tony a look that could’ve killed a lesser man. “This conversation,” he said, low and final, “is over.”

Nat barely glanced at him, still intrigued. She looked at Sam.

“So.” She lifted a brow, her smirk now fully present. “How bad is it?”

Sam grinned, stretching his legs out and lacing his fingers behind his head. “Oh, real bad.”

The engines hummed. Steve sighed, pressing his fingers into his temples. Bucky clipped his pistol back into its holster with enough force to make a point.

Tony tapped a few controls. “I’ll put twenty bucks on Evie..”

Nat took a slow sip of coffee, still grinning. “Make it fifty.”

_________

Avengers’ Tower | Mission Control

Evie was perched in front of a bank of screens, monitoring live feeds from the team’s body cams. Maria stood beside her, arms crossed, her sharp gaze tracking every movement.

“Alright, team,” Evie said into the comms, eyes flicking over security logs. “You’re all clear on entry. Cameras are looped. Alarms are deactivated. Welcome to the VIP experience.”

Tony, chiming in, replied, “Fantastic work, kid. Ten out of ten, would recommend your hacking services.”

Sam’s voice cut in. “Should we be concerned about how fast she’s getting through these security systems?”

“Not as long as she’s on our payroll,” Tony shot back. “If she bails, however, we’re goners. As a matter of fact, Langston, remind me to increase your pay.”

Without missing a beat, Evie leaned back in her chair, drumming her fingers against the console. “Tapped into the books and did it myself two weeks ago,” she said casually. “Surprised you haven’t noticed. A forty percent raise isn’t exactly standard.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at the camera feed. “…I think you’re joking, but I’m unsure enough to double-check on that.”

Evie grinned. "You should."

Steve’s voice cut in, steady and focused, bringing them back on task. “Everything looks good on our end. Moving forward. No sign of alarm from Orpheus.”

Maria, standing beside Evie, glanced at the feeds, nodding slightly. “Solid work. Your system’s holding perfectly.”

Evie leaned back, satisfied. “Just like we drew it up.”

And sure enough, the team moved deeper into the compound, executing flawlessly. The mission and extraction unfolded like clockwork. Which meant, of course, Tony had to ruin it the second they got back to the Quinjet.

The second the hatch closed behind the team, Tony’s voice cut through the comms, smug as hell. “So, kid—Are you opening up these legendary Friday Fun nights to beloved mentors, or is this strictly a ‘men over 90’ situation?”

Silence. Immediate.Painful. The comms went dead. The entire control room followed suit. Evie froze. Back in the jet, Steve cleared his throat. Bucky, barely audible, muttered, “Oh my God.”

Maria, brows raising slightly, turned her head just enough to look at Evie.

Evie, grinning tightly, forcing herself to keep her voice smooth, replied, “Well, Stark, you do fit the age requirement.”

Tony let out a dramatic sigh. “Ouch.”

Evie focused back on her monitors, pretending her ears weren’t burning, pretending she didn’t feel Maria’s steady, assessing gaze still on her.

Once the team was back and debriefed, the adrenaline finally tapering off, Maria stepped forward with the kind of calm, unwavering authority that made people stop in their tracks.

"Langston. A word."

Evie paused, arching a brow. “Agent Hill?”

Maria didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease. She just studied her. Steady. Calculated. Her arms crossed, feet planted. No casual stance. No half-measure. This wasn’t friendly concern. This was serious.

And then, flatly, directly, Maria said, “You do realize what you’re playing with, right?”

Evie stilled. Maria let the question sit for only a moment before continuing. "Two of the most dangerous men on the planet, Evie. Two men who have killed more people than we’ll ever know. Who have spent their entire lives as weapons first, people second."

Evie opened her mouth to respond, but Maria didn’t give her the chance.

"And you, of all people, are putting yourself right in the middle of them."

Evie’s stomach tightened. “I—”

“No, listen to me.” Maria’s tone was sharper now.

She took a step closer, dropping her voice just enough to make it clear she wasn’t saying this for anyone else’s benefit—just Evie’s. “You think this is just some slow-burn, high-stakes flirting? Some power play where you get to make them squirm and walk away when you’re bored?”

Evie felt her pulse pick up. “That’s not—”

“Because it’s not just you who could get burned.” Maria’s eyes hardened. “This? This isn’t just some complicated love triangle, Langston. This is a ticking time bomb.”

Evie exhaled, forcing herself to meet Maria’s stare. She knew Maria was blunt, but this was something else.

“This is Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers,” Maria continued. “Two men who, when they’re aligned, are an unstoppable force.” Maria’s voice dropped lower. "But when they’re not? When something wedges between them, when emotions get involved, when tensions rise?" She let the weight of it settle, before finally saying, "Then they become the most dangerous thing in the world."

Evie felt a chill slip down her spine. Because Maria wasn’t wrong. Because she’d seen it, hadn’t she?

The way Bucky tensed when he saw that Steve had found her after the briefing first. The way Steve’s face hardened when Bucky had touched her hips during the game of darts. The way both of them had watched her like they were trying to figure out who was winning.

She had felt it.

The heat of it. The danger of it.

And for the first time, she wondered if she had been too focused on playing the game to realize what kind of fire she was standing in.

Maria must have seen the flicker of doubt in her eyes because she nodded, satisfied. “I’m not telling you what to do. I’m not your boss and I’m not your mom. I just need you to understand this,” Maria said, her voice softer now, but still firm. She exhaled through her nose, taking a step back. “Because if this goes wrong, it’s not just your heart that’s going to be collateral damage.”

Maria let that hang between them. Let Evie sit in it. And then, finally, she sighed. "Good luck, Langston," she muttered, turning on her heel and walking away.

Evie watched her go.

For the first time in weeks, she wasn’t sure she had the upper hand.

_______

Monday Night | Evie’s Apartment

Evie stared at the ceiling, sprawled across her bed in the dark. The glow from the city outside cast faint patterns against her ceiling, shifting with every passing car. She hadn’t even bothered closing her blinds. It wouldn’t have mattered.

Her mind wouldn’t shut up.

Maria’s words echoed in her head, sharp and unrelenting. You do realize what you’re playing with, right?

She had shrugged it off at the time, flashing her usual confident grin, treating it like a game she had already mastered. But now, alone with nothing but her thoughts, it didn’t feel like a game.

She rolled onto her side. Then her other side. Then back onto her back. No position seemed comfortable. Not because of her mattress, but because of them.

Steve. His steady presence. The way he looked at her with quiet admiration, like she was something to figure out, something worth knowing. The way his mouth twitched when she made fun of him, like he was always one second away from breaking into full laughter. The way he made her feel like the only person in the room.

Bucky. His sharp, gruff humor that cut through conversation like a knife. His rare but devastating smirks, the ones that made her stomach twist, that made her want to chase them, earn them. The way she always knew when he was looking at her, even when she wasn’t looking back.

She groaned, pressing her palms against her face before shoving her head into her pillow. This was ridiculous. She was better than this. Smarter than this. She needed to stop letting them live in her head rent-free.

Eventually, her body relaxed, her thoughts blurred, and sleep pulled her under.

And that’s when the dream started.

From the moment it began, she knew it wasn’t real. Because real life didn’t feel like this. Didn’t feel this heavy, this electric, this charged. She was standing between them. Steve to her left. Bucky to her right.

And they were close.

Not in a normal way. Not in a casual way.

In a way that made her breath catch. In a way that made every inch of her skin buzz with awareness.

Steve’s fingers traced along her arm, featherlight, like he was testing her reaction, like he wanted to see how little it took to unravel her. Bucky’s metal fingers brushed the small of her back, grounding, possessive, the contrast between cool metal and warm fingertips making her shiver.

Steve, watching her with those impossibly blue eyes, murmured, “You’re thinking too much.”

Bucky, his voice lower, rougher, near her ear, added, “For once, just feel it.”

She exhaled sharply, trying to process the heat, the weight of them.

And then—

Steve’s fingers tilted her chin up. Bucky’s hand pressed firmer against her back. And she felt it.

The impossible, electric tension between them.Her pulse pounded. She knew what was coming next. She could taste it, anticipate it—

And then she woke up.

Evie shot upright in bed, heart slamming against her ribs. No. Nope. Absolutely not. She pressed a hand to her forehead. Her skin was hot. Her entire body was warm.

Her face burned as the details of the dream lingered, branded into her mind like an image she couldn’t erase. Shoving herself back under the covers, she squeezed her eyes shut. I need to get a grip.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

Because now? Now she had to see them at work, function around them like normal. And worse?

Friday night was in two days.

And she had no idea how she was supposed to pretend that didn’t just happen.

_______

Thursday Afternoon | The Lab

Evie had buried herself in work. Like, actually buried herself.

She had ignored texts, declined invitations, and strategically relocated to the one place she was sure she wouldn’t accidentally run into certain people—the lab. It was the perfect plan. Isolate herself, drown in projects, avoid distractions.

But apparently, that plan had a flaw.

Because when she looked up from her monitor, she saw Steve Rogers standing in the doorway. And, God help her, he looked adorably out of place. The dimly lit, high-tech chaos of the lab clashed with his soft, simple presence. One hand gripped the back of his neck, head tilted slightly, blue eyes filled with that genuine concern she really, really didn’t need right now.

Evie blinked. “Uh. Captain Rogers. What a shock.”

Steve gave her a look. “Really?”

Evie sighed, leaning back in her chair. “No. Not really.”

Steve stepped further inside, hands tucked into his pockets, his posture casual but deliberate. “You’ve been… kind of scarce this week.”

Evie kept her expression neutral, fingers lightly tapping the desk. “I’ve been busy.”

Steve gave her another look. One of those looks. The kind that made her feel like she had already lost this conversation.

Evie, clearly outmatched, sighed again. “Okay. What’s up?”

Steve hesitated for half a second, as if debating his next words, then exhaled. “I just… wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Her stomach did something stupid. He was still watching her, expression open, voice careful, completely disarming. “I know Tony’s comment was… a lot,” Steve continued. “And I just wanted to say—it wasn’t us who brought it up. It was Sam.”

Evie’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Sam?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. He noticed Bucky and I were a little… off.”

Evie raised an eyebrow. “Because of the arcade?”

Steve gave her a slightly helpless look. “Apparently.”

Evie tilted her head, watching him. “And you’re worried that I—what? Got scared off?”

Steve, blushing just a little, rubbed the back of his neck again. “I don’t know. I just… didn’t want you to feel weird about it.”

Evie paused. Because this? This wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t some flirty, carefree moment. It was sweet. Soft. And it completely disarmed her.

She swallowed, shaking off the very real feelings creeping in. “I’m not weird about it,” she said lightly, offering a small smile. “I’ve just been… busy.”

Steve, still watching her carefully, finally nodded. “Okay.” Then—just as naturally as ever—“So… Friday?”

Evie tilted her head. “You still up for it?”

Steve smiled, easy and warm. “Is it bad if I say I’ve been looking forward to it?.”

Returning his soft smile, Evie leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Not at all. What’s the plan this time? I don’t think we can handle any more life-or-death arcade battles.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “No competition this time.”

Evie pretended to look scandalized. “Where would that leave us, Cap?”

Steve, still smiling, replied easily, “Just dinner.”

Evie blinked. Then—too caught off guard to filter her reaction—“Oh.”

Steve, watching her closely now, smirked. “That okay?”

Evie snapped herself out of it. “Yeah. No, yeah, of course.”

Steve nodded, clearly satisfied. “Good. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Evie exhaled, smirking slightly. “Old-fashioned, aren’t you?”

Steve grinned. “You have met me, right?”

Evie laughed, finally relaxing. And just like that, the game shifted again.

_____

Wednesday Night | The Avengers’ Tower

Bucky was halfway through disassembling his pistol when he heard footsteps approaching. Slow, deliberate. He didn’t look up. Didn’t have to.

“Something on your mind, Rogers?”

Steve, pausing in the doorway, sighed. “That obvious?”

Bucky snorted, keeping his eyes on his hands as he slid out the barrel. “You’re standing there like you've got something to confess.”

Steve leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. “Maybe I do.”

That made Bucky set his gun down.

Steve, ever the picture of honesty, looked almost hesitant. And that? That was enough to put Bucky on edge.

“Spit it out, man.”

Steve exhaled, shifting his weight. “I asked Evie to dinner on Friday.”

Bucky’s fingers tensed against the table, but his face remained completely unreadable. He had perfected that skill long ago.

“Dinner,” he repeated flatly.

Steve nodded once. “Yeah.”

Silence stretched between them.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly against the table. “So what, the Friday outings are canceled?”

Steve, to his credit, shook his head. “No. It’s just… dinner this time.”

Bucky let that sit for a second. Then—in the most neutral voice he could manage—“And you’re telling me because?”

Steve hesitated. Just for a second. “Because this whole thing started with all three of us,” he said carefully. “And I didn’t want you to think I was… I don’t know.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Pulling rank?”

Steve exhaled. “That’s not what this is.”

Bucky shrugged, keeping his tone casual. “Didn’t say it was.”

Another silence. And this one stretched.

Because they both knew what was actually happening here.

Steve was being fair. Bucky was being flippant. And neither of them were being honest.

Steve, still watching him, added, “You’re welcome to come.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Steve was genuine enough that he meant it—but not so genuine that he wanted it. Some part of him? Hoped Bucky would say no.

And Bucky? Bucky wanted to say no.

Because he could already see it. Steve picking Evie up. Holding doors open. That easy, charming warmth of his pulling her in. And worst of all? Her letting him.

Bucky wasn’t the type to overthink. He didn’t do feelings, or complications, or messy emotions. But this? This was different. And he hated it.

So he said—flatly, emotionless—“No.”

Steve’s expression didn’t change. But something in his shoulders eased. And that made Bucky’s stomach turn. Bucky, picking his pistol back up, added casually, “But I’ll drive her home.”

Steve paused.

And that was the moment the playing field leveled again.

Steve gave him a long look. Then, finally—with something knowing behind his gaze—“Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

Bucky, fully composed again, grinned slightly. “Good talk, Rogers.”

Steve huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

But neither of them actually felt better.

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #avengers #bucky barnes x oc #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes smut #marvel fanfic #steve rogers x oc #stucky x oc #stucky smut #stucky fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction

24 notes · View notes